ant you to be at home when
the frocks arrive."

Several other customers had entered Madame Louise's establishment.

Harriet Hamlin flushed at the dressmaker's question. But she replied
carelessly: "Oh, yes; I shall be in all the afternoon. You can send them
at any time you like."

Before Mollie and Harriet had gotten out into the street, Mollie clutched
Harriet's arm in swift remorse. "Oh, Harriet, dear, I have done a
perfectly awful thing! I must go back and tell Madame that I cannot take
that gown. I don't see how I could have said I would take it. Why, it
will take me ages to pay you so much money!" Mollie's eyes were big and
frightened. Her lips were trembling.

"Sh-sh! You silly child!" Harriet protested. "Here comes Mrs. Wilson. You
can't go to tell Madame Louise you have changed your mind before so many
people. And what is the use of worrying over such a small debt? The dress
was a wonderful bargain. You would be a goose not to buy it."

Now, because Harriet was older than Mollie, and Mollie thought her very
beautiful and well trained in all the graces of society, foolish little
Mollie allowed herself to be silenced, and so made endless trouble for
herself and for the people who loved her.

"Don't tell Barbara about my buying the frock, Harriet," Mollie
pleaded, as the two girls went up the steps of the Hamlin home, a short
time before luncheon. "I would rather tell Bab about it myself, when I
get a chance."

"Oh, I won't tell. You may count on me," promised Harriet, in sympathetic
tones. "Will Bab be very cross!"

"Oh, not exactly that," Mollie hesitated. "But I am afraid she will be
worried. I am glad we are at home. I want to lie down, I feel so tired."

Not long after Harriet and Mollie had started off on their shopping
expedition, Bab came across from her room into Ruth's.

"Ruth, do you think I could telephone Mr. Dillon?" she asked. "I picked
up a piece of paper that he dropped in the garden yesterday, and I
forgot to return it to him."

"Give it to me, child. I told you yesterday that I did not wish you to
grow to be an intimate friend of that man. But I am writing him a note to
thank him for his kindness to us last night. I can just put your paper in
my letter and explain matters to him."

Bab carelessly tossed the sheet of paper on Ruth's desk. It opened, and
Ruth cried out in astonishment. "Oh, Bab, how queer! This note is written
in Chinese characters. What do you suppose Peter Dillon is