Ruth looked provoked. "I won't be called horrid names, Grace Carter!" she
asserted, indignantly. "Heiress or no heiress, when my turn comes for a
husband I won't look at any old foreigner. A good American citizen will
be a fine enough husband for me!"

"Hear! hear!" laughed Mollie, putting on her hat. "Don't let us quarrel
over Ruth's prospective husband just at present. It reminds me of the old
maid who shed tears before the pot of boiling fat. When her neighbor
inquired what troubled her, the spinster said she was thinking that if
she had ever been married her child might have played in the kitchen, and
might have fallen into the pot of boiling oil! Come on, 'old maid Ruth,'
let's be off."

The girls walked briskly through the bracing mountain air.

"I expect you will have a letter from Hugh or Ralph, Ruth," Barbara
suggested. "They told you they would write you if they could come to
Lenox for the week of games."

Ruth went into the postoffice to inquire for their mail. The other girls
waited on the outside. A tall young woman swept by them, leading a
beautiful English deerhound on a long silver chain. She had very blond
hair and light blue eyes. Her glance rested on Barbara for the space of
half a second.

"Dear me!" Barbara laughed. "How very young and insignificant that
intensely superior person makes me feel! Maybe she is one of the
heiresses Grace told us about."

"Here is a letter for you, Grace!" said Ruth, returning to her friends.
"The one addressed to you, Bab, is probably for you and Mollie together.
It is from your mother. Then I have two letters for myself and two for
Aunt Sallie. It is all right; Hugh and Ralph will be here the first thing
next week," announced Ruth, tearing open one of her notes.

"What would Aunt Sallie say if she could see us opening our mail on the
street?" queried Barbara, as she promptly followed Ruth's bad example.
"But this is such a quiet spot, under these old elms, that I must have a
peep at mother's letter. Mother is having a beautiful time in St. Paul
with Cousin Betty, Molliekins," continued Bab. "And what do you think?
Our queer old cousin is sending us another present. What has come over
her? First she sends the beautiful silk dresses and now--but mother
doesn't tell what this last gift is. She says it is to be a surprise for
us when we come back from Lenox."

"What fun!" cried Mollie. "Our crabbed cousin is having a slight change
of heart. She has always been