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hair, and a shower of coaxing little pitfalls called dimples round her pretty mouth. She made think of a sunbeam, a morning songbird, a dancing butterfly, or an impetuous little crocus just out after the first spring shower. Dislike her? You could n't. Approve of her? You would n't always. Love her? Of course; you could n't help yourself, I defy you. -I

To be sure, if you prefer a quiet life, and do not want to be led into exploits of all kinds, invariably beginning with risk, attended with danger, and culminating in despair, you had better not engage in an intimate friendship with Miss Pauline Oliver, but fix your affections on the quiet, thoughtful, but not less lovable girl who sits by the bedside stroking Elsie Howard's thin white hand. Nevertheless, I am obliged to state that Margery Noble herself, earnest, demure, and given to reflection, was Polly's willing slave and victim. However, I've forgotten to tell you that Polly was as open and frank as the daylight, at once torrid and constant in her affections, brave, self-forgetting as well as self-willed; and that though she did have a tongue just the least bit saucy, she used it valiantly in the defense of others. "She'll come out all right," said a dear old-fashioned grandfather of hers whom she had left way

back in a Vermont farmhouse. "She's got to be purged o' considerable dross, but she 'll come out pure gold, I tell you."

Pretty, wise, tender Margery Noble, with her sleek brown braids, her innocent, questioning eyes, her soft voice, willing hands, and shy, quiet manners! "She will either end as the matron of an orphan asylum or as head nurse in a hospital." So Bell Winship often used to say; but then she was chiefly celebrated for talking nonsense, and nobody ever paid much attention to her. But if you should crave a breath of fresh air, or want to believe that the spring has come, just call Bell Winship in, as she walks with her breezy step down the street. Her very hair seems instinct with life, with its flying tendrils of bronze brightness and the riotous little curls on her brow and temples. Then, too, she has a particularly jaunty way of putting on her jacket, or wearing a flower or a ribbon; and as for her ringing peal of laughter, it is like a chime of silver bells.

Elsie Howard, the invalid friend of the girls, was as dear to them as they were to each other. She kept the secrets of the "firm;" mourned over their griefs and smiled over their joys; was proud of their talents and tenderly blind to their faults. The little wicker rocking-chair

by the bedside was often made a sort of confessional, at which she presided, the tenderest and most sympathetic little priestess in the universe; and every afternoon the piazza, with its lattice of green vines, served as a mimic throneroom, where she was wont to hold high court, surrounded by her devoted subjects. Here Geoffrey Strong used often to read to the assembled company "David Copperfield," "Alice in Wonderland," or snatches from the magazines, while Jack Howard lazily stretched himself under the orange-trees and braided lariats, a favorite occupation with California boys. About four o'clock Philip Noble would ride up from his father's fruit ranch, some three miles out on the San Marcos road, and, hitching his little sorrel mare Chispa at the gate, stay an hour before going to the post-office.

This particular afternoon, however, was not one of Elsie's bright ones, and there was no sign of court or invalid queen on the piazza. The voices of the girls floated out from Elsie's bedroom, while the boys, too, seemed to be somewhere in the vicinity, for there was a constant stirring about as of lively preparation, together with noise of hammering and sawing.

"If you were only going, Elsie, our cup of happiness would be full," sighed Bell.

"Not only would it be full, Bell, but it would be running over, and we should positively stand in the slop," said Polly. "No, you need n't. frown at me, miss; that expression is borrowed from no less a person than Sydney Smith."

"Don't think any more about me," smiled Elsie. "Perhaps I can come down in the course of the summer. I know it will be the happiest time in the world, but I don't envy you a bit; in fact, I'm very glad you going, because you 'll have such a lovely budget of adventures to tell me when you come back." "When we come back, indeed!" exclaimed

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Bell. 66 Why, we shall write long round-robin letters every few days, and send them by the team. Papa says Pancho will have to go over to the stage station at least once a week for letters and any provisions we may need."

"Oh, won't that be delightful, — almost as good as being there myself! And, Margery dear, you must make them tell me every least little thing that happens. You know they are such fly-aways that they'll only write me when they learn to swim, or shoot a wildcat, or get lost in the woods. I want to know all the stupid bits: what you have for dinner, how and where you sleep, how your camp looks, what you do from morning till night, and how Dicky behaves."

"I can tell you that beforehand," said Bell, dolefully. "Jack will shoot him by mistake on Thursday; he will be kicked by the horses Friday, and bitten by tarantulas and rattlesnakes Saturday; he will eat poison oak on Sunday, get lost in the cañon Monday, be eaten by a bear Tuesday, and drowned in the pool Wednesday. These incidents will complete his first week; and if they produce no effect on his naturally strong constitution, he will treat us to another week, containing just as many mishaps, but no duplicates."

By the time this dismal prophecy was ended the other girls were in a breathless fit of laughter, though all acknowledged it was likely to be fulfilled.

"I went over the camping-ground last summer," said Margery. "You know it is quite near papa's sheep ranch, and it is certainly the most beautiful place in California. The tents will be pitched at the mouth of the cañon, where there is a view of the ocean, and just at the back will be a lovely grove of wild oaks and sycamore-trees."

"Oh, won't it be delicious!" sighed Elsie. "I feel as if I could sniff the air this minute. But there! I won't pretend that I'm dying for fresh air, with the breath of the sea coming in