of her.

"Oh, yes, I know, mamma," she called back in answer to a protest from
the next room. "These curtains _could_ wait till to-morrow, but they are
all fresh and ready to hang, and I'll sleep better if they are on their
poles instead of on my mind."

[Illustration: "'I'LL SLEEP BETTER IF THEY ARE ON THEIR POLES INSTEAD OF
ON MY MIND.'"]

As she climbed up and down the step-ladder her thoughts were not on the
curtains which she adjusted mechanically, nor on the song which she was
humming in the same way. She was composing the letter which she intended
sending to the Girls' Winter Camp in Florida, applying for the vacant
position, and she wanted to make it perfect of its kind. Mrs. Ware,
watching the zest with which she fell upon her work of beautifying the
little cottage, thought it must be because she felt the truth of the
refrain which she sang softly over and over:

"'Mid pleasures and palaces, tho' we may roam,
Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home."

She was so glad to be back herself, that presently, when she had
occasion to go through the room again, she joined in for a few notes in
passing.

The sweet alto voice made Mary suddenly aware of what she was singing,
and she gave a guilty little start, glad that her mother could not know
that her thoughts had all been absorbed in planning to get away from the
home she was singing about so fondly.

"It does seem nicer to be back than I thought it would," she admitted to
herself. "But maybe that's because I know I don't have to stay. Even the
finest cage in the world is more attractive with its door open than
shut."

Although she did not realize the fact, much of her hurry to get the
house in order was due to a feeling that the summons to take advantage
of that open door might come very soon, and she wanted to be ready when
it came.

Late that afternoon she started to the post-office with two letters, one
to the principal of the Girls' Camp, the other to the teacher in Warwick
Hall who had been given as reference.

"Oh, I hope my application will get there in time, and I hope my
references will be satisfactory," she thought earnestly. "They ought to
be impressed, with a list which begins with Bishop Chartley and Madam,
and General Walton's wife, and includes twenty people from New York to
Fort Sam Houston in Texas."

Just then a wagon, bearing a huge load of hay, creaked slowly along the
road past her, and a half forgotten s