nt Nettie sniffed a little, but Missy wasn't questioned. And now the
scene of our story may shift to a sunny morning, a few days later, and
to the comparative seclusion of the sanitarium barn. There has been,
for an hour or more, a suppressed sound of giggles, and Gypsy,
sensing excitement in the air, stands with pricked-up ears and bright,
inquisitive eyes. Luckily there has been no intruder--just the three of
them, Gypsy and Missy and Tess.

"You're wonderful--simply wonderful! It's simply too swagger for words!"
It was Tess speaking.

Missy gazed down at herself. It WAS swagger, she assured herself. It
must be swagger--Tess said so. Almost as swagger, Tess asseverated,
as the riding outfit worn by Miss Valerie Jones who was the swaggerest
member of Macon City's swaggerest young set. Yet, despite her assurance
of swaggerness, she was conscious of a certain uneasiness. She knew
she shouldn't feel embarrassed; she should feel only swagger. But she
couldn't help a sense of awkwardness, almost of distaste; her legs
felt--and LOOKED--so queer! So conspicuous! The upper halves of them
were clothed in two separate envelopments of pepper-and-salt material,
gathered very full and puffy over the hips but drawn in tightly toward
the knee in a particularly swagger fashion. Below the knee the swagger
tight effect was sustained by a pair of long buttoned "leggings."

"You're sure these leggings look all right?" she demanded anxiously.

"Of course they look all right! They look fine!"

"I wish we had some boots," with a smothered sigh.

"Well, they don't ALWAYS wear boots. Lots of 'em in Macon City only wore
puttees. And puttees are only a kind of leggings."

"They're so tight," complained the horsewoman. "My legs have got a lot
fatter since--"

Thrusting out one of the mentioned members in a tentative kick, she was
interrupted by the popping of an already overstrained button.

"SEE!" she finished despondently. "I SAID they were too tight."

"You oughtn't to kick around that way," reproved Tess. "No wonder it
popped off. Now, I'll have to hunt for a safety-pin--"

"I don't want a safety-pin!--I'd rather let it flop."

The horsewoman continued to survey herself dubiously, took in the bright
scarlet sweater which formed the top part of her costume. The girls
had first sought a more tailored variety of coat, but peres Merriam
and O'Neill were both, selfishly, very large men; Tess had brilliantly
bethought the sweater--the