s refreshing coolness, and proceeded
to enjoy contemplating herself in the role of a heroine.

After two wretched hours in which the only alleviating feature was her
heroic resolve that her suffering should affect no one but herself Ruth
fell asleep. And almost immediately, as she thought with indignation,
she was waked by Peggy, who stood over her, holding fast to her shoulder
and shaking her vigorously at intervals, as she cried: "Oh, you
sleepy-head! Aren't you ever going to get up?"

"Don't, Peggy!" Ruth's tone did not reflect the cheeriness of Peggy's
greeting. She jerked away with a feeling of aggrieved resentment. To be
shaken awake was something she had not bargained for, in mapping out her
course of action. How her head did ache, to be sure. If Peggy had only
let her sleep a couple of hours longer in all probability she would have
felt much better.

But Peggy had no intention of letting anybody sleep. "Get up this
minute, both of you," she insisted. "We've got oceans to do to-day, and
everybody must hustle."

Ruth reluctantly obeying the summons, clutched the bed post to steady
herself. Her head swam. The pain was fiercer, now that she was standing.
It was all very well for Peggy to talk of hustling. Probably if her own
head ached distractingly she would be satisfied with a less strenuous
word.

"See you later, but not late, if you please." Peggy shot out of the
room, and the door slammed to behind her breezy departure. Ruth started
and shuddered. She had a feeling, which she would have recognized as
unreasonable if she had stopped to analyze it, that she would have
expected more consideration from Peggy.

But worse was coming. The boys had been invited to breakfast, in order
that the day's festivities might begin as early as possible, and so
ardent had been their response that Peggy found them on the porch when
she came down-stairs. She threw the door open and gazed at them
commiseratingly. "Hungry?"

"Starved," Graham looked at his watch and sighed. "We've been here a
trifle over two hours."

"Nothing of the sort, Miss Peggy," exclaimed Jack. "It's hardly half an
hour."

"Half an hour is bad enough. We all overslept. If you'd like, you may
hurry things by setting the table, while I mix the griddle-cakes."

Graham smacked his lips. "Maple sirup?" he asked insinuatingly, and at
Peggy's nod, he indulged in frantic demonstrations of delight. Jack
looked at him disapprovingly. "From your actions I sho