Indignant tears were in her eyes; it was hard not to be wanted, to be thought too little to play with. Bess and Louise had such good times with the boys and she had nothing in the world to do this afternoon. To be sure they had been very gracious all morning, and had even allowed her to listen to a thrilling chapter in the history of the Carletons, but this was too good to last.

At lunch certain signs passed back and forth across the table arousing her curiosity, and afterwards when she found them laughing on the stairs and begged to know what they were going to do, Carl had replied provokingly, "What do you suppose?" and now they had run away with Ikey somewhere. The house was very quiet; Carie was taking her nap, Aunt Zélie dressing to go out. Helen sat down on the top step of the porch and wiped her eyes, saying to herself, "They are just as mean as anything, but I don't care-I'll have a good time too. I think I'll ask Aunt Zélie to let me go with her."

It happened that as the runaways reached the gate Aunt Marcia's coupé turned the corner, and her horrified eyes beheld their flight. When she stepped from her carriage her lips were firmly closed in a manner which indicated that they would be opened presently for somebody's benefit. She was so absorbed that she almost fell over the woebegone little figure on the step.

"You have been crying-what is the matter?" she demanded.

"Oh, Aunt Marcia, I didn't see you-please excuse me," said Helen, whose politeness rarely failed her, rising and putting away her handkerchief. Mrs. Hazeltine saw pretty clearly how matters stood.

"Never mind, my dear," she said; "perhaps you would like to take a drive with me. I am going out to Cousin John's."

Helen was her favorite among the children, because she was quiet and demure, and did not tear and soil her clothes as Bess and Louise did. Helen on her part looked up to Aunt Marcia with deep admiration, and meant to be just like her when she was grown. So she ran off very happily to have her dress changed, while Mrs. Hazeltine waylaid Aunt Zélie as she came downstairs ready for a walk.

"Dear me! the children have been in mischief," was this lady's inward exclamation, for she knew the signs of disapproval, and felt like running away, as she used to do when a child, from Sister Marcia's lectures.

She only sat down on the bottom step, however, and waited.

"How do you do, Zélie? I see you are going out and I shall not detain you for more than a minute. Little Helen is coming to drive with me."

She seated herself in a judicial attitude on one of the high-backed hall chairs.

"I do not wish to interfere," she continued, "But I should like to inquire if you know where the children are this afternoon?"

"I have a general idea," Aunt Zélie replied, slowly putting on her glove and reflecting that it would take more than her sister's powers to be able to say at any given moment exactly where they were.

"I thought you did not know. They are running through the streets, Louise without her hat. It may do for boys, but for little girls I think it disgraceful."

"I told them they might go to the Ford's; they do not play in the street. You must have seen them when they were on their way there, and I do not object to their running."

Mrs. Hazeltine shook her head. "How can you think it proper for Bess and Louise to race with the boys in that fashion? You seem to be conscientious, yet you do not restrain them in the least."

"I own I do not know how to make a difference between girls and boys. Why are they born into the same families if they are not meant to play together? And if they are to be strong and healthy they must be out of doors. I am sorry to seem to set my judgment up against yours, but-"

"You are stubborn, Zélie, like all the Hazeltines. I believe in fresh air as much as you do, but I should send Bess and Louise to walk with Joanna. However, I see it is of no use to talk to you. I should never mention the subject at all if I did not feel a deep interest in the children." Mrs. Hazeltine rose. "Here comes Helen," she said, "so I'll not detain you any longer," and taking her little niece by the hand she sailed away.

Meanwhile the culprits were taking breath on the grass in the Fords' back yard, Ikey hospitably treating his guests to apples and salt.

"I suppose," Bess began, taking a bite of her apple, "that it is rather mean to run away from Helen, but we have been very good to her to-day, haven't we, Louise?"

"Yes, we have; and the more you do for her the more she thinks you ought to do."

"She can't expect to go everywhere we go," said Carl decidedly.

The business on hand this afternoon was nothing more or less than the erection of a telephone which had been constructed by the boys out of fruit cans and pieces of old kid gloves. The main difficulty lay in getting their line across the street, for it was to communicate between Ikey's room and the star chamber. An attempt had been made once before, but the result was such a mortifying failure that their energy and interest flagged for a while.

The trees caused most of the trouble. Their line first caught in one of these at such a distance from the pavement that while they were absorbed in getting it off a gentleman who happened to be passing had his hat suddenly removed. This accident convulsed everybody but Bess, who in great embarrassment tried to explain that it was not intended for a practical joke. Finally it was caught and broken by the angry driver of a market wagon. Carl, who disliked to give anything up, had ever since been trying to think of a plan.

"There must be some way," he said as he lay on his back looking up at the sky.

"I know!" cried Bess, seized with an inspiration; "clothes-props!"

"What about them?" asked Ikey doubtfully.

"It isn't Monday, and any way we can get ours.-Mandy will let us have them," Bess said reassuringly, and then she unfolded her plan.

"Isn't she clever?" exclaimed Louise admiringly.

"We'll try it, it may work," said Carl, with masculine condescension.

"What in the world can those children be doing?" somebody wondered as she looked through the half-closed blinds of one of the Brown house windows a few minutes later.

Mounted on a chair near the Fords' front fence stood Bess holding aloft a clothes-prop, and looking like a small copy of "Liberty Enlightening the World." Through a groove in the top of the pole ran the line, one end of which was safely fastened in Ikey's window. Louise had the rest of it in charge and slowly dealt it out as she crossed the street in front of Carl, who by means of another pole kept it elevated beyond all harm. Once over the street it was easily attached to a cord hanging from the star chamber, then slowly and cautiously Ikey pulled it up. Several times it caught in the trees, but a careful jerk sent it free, and at last it was safe.

"Three cheers for Bess! It was her plan," called Ikey from above.

"It really worked very well," Carl acknowledged.

"I knew all the time it would," added Louise, as they went inside to finish their work.

The watcher in the Brown house window returned reluctantly to the book she had been reading, as though she found the bit of real life more entertaining.

When all was done it was pronounced a success. Even though you could not hear so very distinctly, at least the bells fastened at each end tinkled most realistically when the line was pulled.

As they came out of the side door at the Fords' after inspecting Ikey's end of the telephone, Louise catching sight of a ball which lay on the grass made a spring for it. The others rushed after her, there was a scramble that would have shocked Aunt Marcia beyond expression, and Carl getting possession tossed it with all his might-he did not stop to think where. Alas! it went over into the next yard and a crash of broken glass told the tale. They looked at each other in consternation, and Ikey ran and peeped through the fence.

"You have broken one of the Brown house windows," he reported.

"It wasn't all his fault, it was partly mine," said Louise, who always stood by her friends in trouble.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Bess. "Just when we were going to be so good! What will Aunt Zélie say?"

"I'll have to go and tell them I did it, and that I'll have the glass put in," said Carl.

Louise at once volunteered to go with him, and Bess suggested, "Let's all go."

Ikey did not like the plan exactly, but he would not have objected for the world. Louise tossed back her long braids and put on her hat, and the solemn little party started out.

"Whom shall I ask for?" Carl suddenly demanded, as they marched up the newly reddened walk.

"Dear me! We don't know the name," gasped Bess, feeling inclined to turn and run.

"Never mind, just ask for the lady of the house," said Louise, her courage rising to the occasion. "It sounds beggarish, but you can't help it."

Bess and Ikey retreated a little when the door was opened by a woman who asked somewhat gruffly what they wanted.

Carl hesitated, so Louise in her politest manner inquired for the lady of the house.

"What do you want with her?" said the woman, eying them sharply.

"We want to see her," was the emphatic reply.

"Well, you can't, then," and the door would have been shut in their faces if a voice from inside had not called "Mary!"

She disappeared for a moment, then returning asked them in.

Bess held Ikey's hand tightly as they followed the others along the hall. To think of being inside the Brown house!

Before they had time to consider what they were to do or say, they found themselves in a quaint room with dim old portraits on the wall; but all the children saw was a lady with white hair and bright eyes, seated in an invalid's chair by the window. As Louise advanced timidly, followed by the others, this lady held out her hand, saying:

"You wish to speak to me, Mary says; I am very glad to see you."

They all felt reassured by her pleasant tone, and Louise found her voice.

"We came to tell you that, while we were playing, Carl threw his ball and broke your window. It was partly my fault too, and we thought we would all come and tell you."

"I am very sorry about it, and I will have a new pane put in," Carl added.

"I am sure it was an accident," said the lady, smiling; "you must not feel badly. I shall be glad of it if it helps me to make the acquaintance of some of my new neighbors. Won't you tell me your names?"

Louise's dimples at once began to show themselves, for she was always ready to make friends, and she gave her plump little hand, saying:

"I am Louise Hazeltine, and this is my brother Carl and my sister Bess, and Ikey Ford who lives next door."

"We are much obliged to you for not minding about the window," Bess added, forgetting her shyness.

"Won't you sit down and talk to me for a while? I am Miss Brown."

The children smiled at each other. "We have always called this the Brown house," Carl explained.

"Then you won't have to change. It is much simpler than if I had happened to be named Green or Black, isn't it?" said their new friend, laughing. "And now I am sure you can't guess what I call your house."

Of course they couldn't, so she told them that she had named it the house with the Big Front Door.

This amused them very much, and Louise asked, "How did you know we lived there?"

"Oh, I have seen you going in and out. I can't move about easily, so when I grow tired of reading or sewing I look out of the window."

It was astonishing how much at home they felt. Bess and Louise sat together in a big chair chattering away as if they had known Miss Brown all their lives. When she asked about the telephone, even Ikey had a word to say as they grew merry over the story of their difficulties.

As they were leaving, Bess said demurely, "Miss Brown, I think we ought to tell you that we have been playing in your garden. We didn't mean to do any harm, but Aunt Zélie says it wasn't respecting other people's property."

"My dear children, I wish you would come often and play in my garden," was the hospitable reply.

"I am afraid your Mary wouldn't like it," said Louise; adding quickly, "and we'd rather come inside now and see you."

"Thank you, I hope you will come, and you must excuse poor Mary; she is not so ill-natured as she seems."

"Aunt Zélie," said Carl that evening as they were relating the day's adventures, "Miss Brown is tiptop, she wasn't a bit mad. There is something about her like you."

"Why, Carl! Her hair is white, and she is not nearly so pretty," cried Louise.

"Well, goosie, I didn't say she looked like her, did I?"

"She is very nice at any rate, and has lots of things to show us some time-things she had when she was a little girl. We may go to see her again, mayn't we, Auntie?" Bess asked.

"Do you think she would like me to go to see her?" Helen inquired.

"Probably she wouldn't mind; we will take you sometime," Louise replied graciously.

Helen had returned from her drive in a happy frame of mind, for Aunt Marcia had bought her a charming little card-case, and had ordered some engraved cards to go in it. Her sisters admired it as much as its proud owner could desire, and were quite attentive all the evening.

"Mary," said Miss Brown that night, "those are nice children; and just think! I already know four of my neighbors!"

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