ie said you were the most popular girl at Three Towers
and that all the girls loved you. I can't say that I blame them, my
dear," giving Billie's flushed cheek a gay little pat. "I'm not very sure
but what I may do it myself. Now here----" And she went on to give
directions while Billie followed her with wondering eyes. How could a
woman who was old enough to be Connie's mother look so absolutely and
entirely like a girl of twenty? She was not even dignified like most of
the mothers Billie knew--she did not even try to be. Connie treated her
as she would an older and much loved sister. One only needed to be with
them three minutes to see that mother and daughter adored each other and
were the very best chums in the world. And right then and there Billie
began adoring too.

"Now I'll run downstairs and get something on the table for you girls to
eat, for I know you must be starving," said Mrs. Danvers, or rather
"Connie's mother," as Billie called her from that day on. "Don't stop to
fix up, girls, for there won't be a soul here to-night but Daddy and
me--and we don't care. Hurry now. If you are not downstairs by the time I
have dinner on the table I'll eat it all myself, every bit." With that
she was gone into the next room, leaving a trail of laughter behind her
that made Billie's heart laugh in sympathy.

"Connie," she said, sitting down on the edge of the bed and regarding her
chum soberly as she opened her bag and drew out a brush and comb, "I'm
simply crazy about your mother. She's so young and pretty and--and--happy.
Does she ever do anything but laugh?"

"Not often," said Connie, adding with a little chuckle: "But when she
does stop laughing you'd better look out for 'breakers ahead,' as Uncle
Tom says. Mother's French you know, and she has a temper--about once a
year. But for goodness sake, stop talking, Billie, and get ready. You've
got a patch of dirt under one eye. What's that I smell? It's clam
chowder!"

"Clam chowder," repeated Billie weakly. "Are you sure it's clam chowder,
Connie?"

"Yes, clam chowder," repeated Connie firmly.

CHAPTER XVI

CLAM CHOWDER AND SALT AIR

Connie was right, gloriously right. It was clam chowder--the kind of clam
chowder one dreams about--come true. Uncle Tom had made it just that very
afternoon and had brought it over in a huge bucket that was always used
for such occasions.

The girls ate and ate and at