she added,
hastily interrupting the surprised and remonstrating thanks of the
other. "And now we must see about that scapulary thing, or whatever it
is, for your nun's dress."

And there was no more about it, only an unusual feeling in Martha
Josselyn's heart, that came up warm long after, and by and by a little
difference among Leslie Goldthwaite's pretty garnishings, where
something had got crowded out.

This is the way, from small to great, things sort themselves.

"No man can serve two masters," is as full and true and strong upon the
side of encouragement as of rebuke.

CHAPTER XIII.

A HOWL.

The tableaux had to be put off. Frank Scherman was obliged to go down to
Boston, unexpectedly, to attend to business, and nothing could be done
without him. The young girls felt all the reaction that comes with the
sudden interruption of eager plans. A stagnation seemed to succeed to
their excitement and energy. They were thrown back into a vacuum.

"There is nothing on earth to do, or to think about," said Florrie
Arnall dolefully.

"Just as much as there was last week," replied Josie Scherman,
common-sense-ically. Frank was only her brother, and that made a
difference. "There's Giant's Cairn as big as ever, and Feather-Cap, and
Minster Rock, and the Spires. And there's plenty to do. Tableaux aren't
everything. There's your 'howl,' Sin Saxon. That hasn't come off yet."

"'It isn't the fall that hurts,--it's the fetch-up,' as the Irishman
observed," said Sin Saxon, with a yawn. "It wasn't that I doted
particularly on the tableaux, but 'the waters wild went o'er my child,
and I was left lamenting.' It was what I happened to be after at the
moment. When I get ready for a go, I do hate to take off my bonnet and
sit down at home."

"But the 'howl,' Sin! What's to become of that?"

"Ain't I howling all I can?"

And this was all Sin Saxon would say about it. The girls meant to keep
her in mind, and to have their frolic,--the half of them in the most
imaginative ignorance as to what it might prove to be; but somehow their
leader herself seemed to have lost her enthusiasm or her intention.

Leslie Goldthwaite felt neither disappointment nor impatience. She had
got a permanent interest. It is good always to have something to fall
back upon. The tableaux would come by and by; meanwhile, there was
plenty of time for their "bees," and for the Cliff.

They had long mornings in the pines, and cool, quiet afternoon