Lawrence was
born," said the one called Edna. "It's as old as--as the hills, and may
be older for all I know. If you weren't so deep in that old Butterfly
book you would have heard it long ago. Here! let me fix that hat. What
would your Aunt Annie say if you were to come home with it at an angle
of forty-five degrees?"

"Is it so bad as all that, Edna?" asked Bee indifferently. "Someway, I
never do get my things on right. Now Adele's are always just so. I do
believe that she could dress in the dark, and come out looking as neat
as a pin."

"Where is Adele, Bee? Why didn't she come to school this afternoon?"

"She was not feeling well, so Aunt Annie thought it best to keep her
home," answered Beatrice. "Aren't you going now, girls? I must hurry."

"Oh, Bee! why?" came from the group in a chorus. "We've been waiting for
you ever so long so that you could go with us to Edna's. Do come! It
won't be any fun unless you do."

"I can't," replied Bee. "I'd like to ever so much, but I must finish my
letter to father. It has to be written today so that it can reach New
York in time for Saturday's steamer."

"Will you come tomorrow then?" asked Edna. "You and Adele too."

"Yes, if Aunt Annie doesn't mind. Now I must go. Good-bye, girls."

"Bee," called one as Beatrice started on at a brisk walk.

"Well?" Bee paused good naturedly.

"Edna was telling us how long your father had been away, and I want to
ask you if you think he would know you if he were to meet you
unexpectedly?"

"Oh, Sue, that's mean!" came from the girls in shocked tones. "Don't
answer her, Bee."

"But I don't ask for meanness," went on Sue apologetically as she saw
the look that came into Bee's eyes. "I really want to know."

"Why, of course he would know me," uttered Bee hastily. "I'm his
daughter."

"Yes; but--" began the irrepressible Sue, when Edna caught her about the
waist and pressed one hand firmly over her mouth.

"Go on, Bee," she cried. "I'll attend to her. You'll have to hurry if
you get home in time to finish that letter."

Beatrice turned, and slowly went on her way. Her uncle's house, where
she lived, was in the western outskirts of the town more than a mile
distant from the school. It behooved her to hasten if she were to finish
her letter before tea time, but that question of Sue's had set her to
thinking.

On the death of her mother, ten years before, her father, overwhelmed
with grief at his loss, had accepted an offer to