lected their traps and luggage
as unlike as possible. When Hope reached the drawing-room Mrs.
Rollston was making to Faith a half-apology for her early visit.

"I knew, if I could time my call exactly right, I would not bother you.
There is always a breathing-space while waiting for the cab, and--"

"And you have exactly hit it!" broke in Hope, coming forward to give
her greeting, as Faith turned away. "We are pleased to meet you again."

"Thank you. I find myself, in my idle time here, waiting upon my
husband's business, taking more interest than is perhaps strictly
allowable in you both. Can you pardon me?"

"Freely," said Faith, "and we return it. Hope and I had a smart
discussion over you, last night. She says you are an American."

"Does she?" turning swiftly to the sister. "What makes you think so,
Miss Hope?"

"Your manner, your dress, and your accent," was the prompt reply though
the girl flushed a little in embarrassment.

"But how do you young English girls so well understand these points of
difference when--"

"Oh, but we're not English girls!" cried Hope.

"That is, not entirely," qualified Faith. "Our mother was English--"

"But our father's American!" Hope finished the sentence with a
triumphant air, and her visitor laughed.

"You seem proud of it, too," she said.

"I am. Faith does not care so much, but I'm very glad it is so. We
went across with father and Debby once, and stayed a year. It was such
a pleasant time! Father's people live in an old town they call
Lynn--such a pretty, shady place, with a drowsy air that wakes into
real life two or three times a day, when the factory people stream
through the streets--for you see they make shoes there."

"Do they?" asked the lady with a peculiar smile, as if this were not
great news to her.

"Yes. Uncle Albert's house, where we lived, was almost hidden beneath
great elm trees, and he and Aunt Clarice were so good to us."

"And we kept bees," put in Faith, looking exactly like her twin in her
sudden animation. "I used to help uncle swarm them myself."

"And we went down to Boston every few weeks," Hope crowded in again,
"and that was fine. I love Boston. Its narrow, crooked streets make
me think of our own Portsmouth, here, but with a difference. And oh!
the gardens, and the Common, and the Museum--"

"The cab's at the dure," announced Debby in an abused voice, feeling
that this lively talk was scarce seemly in view of the