then sure.

"Mrs. Harding is calling me. Good-by till I see
you. We're coming the third. With heaps of love to
everybody, Your own

"GENEVIEVE HARTLEY."

"Well, I like that," bridled Tilly. "Just think--not go until the
fifth!"

"Oh, but just think of going at all," comforted Alma Lane, hurriedly;
"and in sleepers, too! Sleepers are loads of fun. I rode in one fifty
miles, once--it wasn't in the night, though."

"I rode in one at night!" Tilly's voice rose dominant, triumphant.

"My stars!"

"When?"

"Where?"

"What was it like?"

"Was it fun?"

"Why didn't you tell us?"

Tilly laughed in keen enjoyment of the commotion she had created.

"Don't you wish you knew?" she teased. "Just you wait and see!"

"Yes, but, Tilly, do they lay you down on a little narrow shelf,
really?" worried Cordelia.

"I sha'n't take off a single thing, anyhow," announced Bertha, with
decision, "not even my shoes. I'm just sure there'll be an accident!"

Tilly laughed merrily.

"A fine traveler you'll make, Bertha," she scoffed. "Sleepers are made
to sleep in, young lady--not to lie awake and worry in, for fear
there'll be an accident and you'll lose your shoes. As for you, Cordy,
and the shelf you're fretting over--there are shelves, in a way; but you
lay yourself down on them, my child. Nobody else does it for you."

"Thank you," returned Cordelia, a little stiffly. Cordelia did not like
to be called "my child"--specially by Tilly, who was not quite sixteen,
and who was the youngest member of the club.

"But, Tilly, are--are sleepers nice, daytimes?" asked Edith Wilson, who,
as usual, was hovering near. "I should think they'd be lovely for
nights--but I wouldn't like to have to lie down all day!"

Tilly laughed so hard at this that Edith grew red of face indeed before
Alma patched matters up and made peace.

It was the trip to Texas that was the all-absorbing topic of discussion
that day; and it was the trip to Texas that Cordelia Wilson was thinking
of as she walked slowly home that night after leaving the girls at the
corner.

"I wonder--" she began just under her breath; then stopped short. An old
man, known as "Uncle Bill Hodges," stood directly in her path.

"Miss Cordelia, I--I want to speak to ye, just a minute," he stammered.

"Yes, sir." Cordelia smiled politely.

The old man threw a suspicious glance over his shoulder, then came