them it was my mother's, and that I wore it when I was
a little baby. That is true. Isn't it, Aunt Debby?"

"You might lose it--" Debby began.

"If I do, no one will care except me. I'd dearly love to have it, Aunt
Debby. Isn't it my own to do with as I please?"

There was no argument to bring against this, and Debby remained silent.
Hester, pleased with the bauble, pinned it on her dress and then set
about replacing the other articles in the trunk.

The pin might be cut glass or something better. Neither Debby nor Hester
knew, nor could they know that it would bring to Hester loss of friends
and--but neither the girl or woman could anticipate that. At present,
all they could do was to admire the glitter of the stone and watch the
changing lights play upon it.

CHAPTER III

I was the last week in August when Debby Alden and Miss Richards moved
into the cottage at the east end of Lockport. The seminary was not to
open until a week later and Hester was with her friends, assisting in
every way she could in putting the place to rights.

Thursday evening, the house was immaculate. There was neither fad nor
fancy about its equipment. Debby had brought down some great
four-posters, old blue china, and solid silver. Miss Richards had
several black walnut armchairs that were old enough to have been
Mayflower Pilgrims, but which were not. There was a rug which Miss
Richards had picked up in Europe twenty years before and a gay screen
which Lieutenant Richards had bought a century before in an old junk
shop in China.

"We look as though we had stepped from a previous century," said Miss
Richards. "We haven't a modern article about us--" She glanced toward
Hester and then added--"except Hester."

"You really need me," responded the girl. "I'm the only piece of
twentieth-century furniture you and auntie have. I think I shall remain
with you. I could study just as well here as shut up in that old stone
building. I really think I could get my lessons better."

"I think so, too," said Miss Richards, "that is if you refer but to book
lessons."

"What other kind could there be?"

"The kind that people teach you. They are all sorts of lessons, as
varied in kind as there are people. The girls at Dickinson will teach
you many a good lesson."

"I should think you and Aunt Debby could do it better. I've quite made
up my mind to be but a parlor student."

"There are some things Debby and I cannot teach you. We love y