" replied Miss Stuart, kindly, "we have not done much more
for you than you girls have done for us in a different way. True, through
my brother, we happened to have the money to pay for our good times; but
poor Ruth and I couldn't have had those good times without the other
three 'Automobile Girls.' How is Grace's headache? Will she be able to
see our friends this afternoon?"

"Shall I ask her?" Bab suggested, going in to the bedroom through the
French window which opened onto their porch.

She came out, shaking her head. "Grace is not well enough to get up yet,"
she explained. "She says she may be able to join us for a few minutes
when our guests arrive; but you are not to worry. Her headache is
better."

"Shall we have tea out on our veranda, Barbara?" Miss Sallie asked. "I
cannot tear myself away from this view. How exquisite the lake looks down
between those mountains. And what is the name of that hill over there?
Oh, yes, I know you girls have told me the name of it many times before,
but as I cannot remember it, you will probably have to tell it to me
repeatedly. Monument Mountain, did you say? Oh, I recall the story now.
An Indian girl is supposed to have flung herself off of it on account of
some love affair. Curious people the Indians," she continued. "Do you
know, Bab, I am much interested in our little Indian girl? She is a very
beautiful child, and her race is not usually beautiful. I don't
understand the girl looking as she does. I shall go to the hospital with
you to see her soon. Now, hurry along, child, and order the tea." Miss
Sallie paused for an instant. "And tell the waiter to see that the
service is good. English people are so particular about their tea!"

Barbara was back from her errand just in time to see a pony carriage
drive up in front of the hotel. She went forward to meet their guests,
sighing a little to herself. "I do wish Ruth and Mollie would come. I am
sure I shan't know how to talk to these English girls by myself. I hardly
spoke to them the night of our famous coon hunt."

Gwendolin and Dorothy Morton came half shyly forward. They were tall,
willowy girls, with soft, brown hair and lovely complexions.

"I know why English girls are thought to look like roses," flashed
through Bab's mind. "These girls are just like roses bending from long
stems." Barbara came forward, speaking in her usual frank fashion. "I am
so glad to see you," she declared. "Will you come to our little private