only one.'"

The end of this quotation brought them to the porch, and Billie looked
for the bell.

"Now then," she said, and braced herself for the ordeal.

A stout, middle-aged person, without any of the outward characteristics
that are so often bestowed upon landladies in general, opened the door
and looked at them inquiringly.

"Is there some one you wish to see?" she asked them.

"Yes," replied Billie in a weak little voice. "I would like to see
Miss--Miss Beggs if she is at home."

"She isn't," said the middle-aged person. "She went away for the summer
two days ago."

"Did she leave any address?" Billie managed to ask.

"No, she didn't; but I guess I could find out from one of the other
ladies who is a friend of hers," the woman volunteered obligingly. "That
is, if it's very particular," she added.

"Oh, yes it is," said Billie earnestly. "I would be very much obliged if
you could get me her address."

"Well, I can't just now, because the lady that knows it isn't at home.
But if you'll leave me your address I'll send it to you as soon's I find
it out. Have you paper and pencil?"

The girls had not.

"Wait then, and I'll get something on which to write your address."

The landlady went inside, closing the door after her, and in spite of
herself Billie uttered a little sigh of relief. She felt very much like a
reprieved criminal.

A moment later the woman reappeared with a pencil and paper and
painstakingly wrote down the address Billie gave her.

"Thank you so much," said the latter, as she turned away. "You won't
forget to send it just the first minute you can, will you?"

The woman nodded and closed the door with a little bang.

"I wonder why she didn't ask us in," said Laura, as they ran down the
steps. "It was queer to keep us waiting outside."

"Yes, it makes you feel like a book agent," chuckled Billie. "But oh,
girls," she added, "I didn't know how much I dreaded facing Miss
Beggs till I found out I didn't have to. I don't mind writing to her
nearly so much."

With somewhat lighter steps and lighter hearts they turned toward home.
But Billie could not get the hundred-dollar statue which she had broken
out of her mind.

"I feel," said Laura, as they were turning the corner into her own
street, "as if I ought to pay for that horrid old statue, Billie."

"What do you mean?" queried Billie, while Violet regarded her with wide
open eyes.

"Well, if it hadn't been for me and my old boo