That was a characteristic Bobby Littell remark, and the other girls laughed.

"I had a letter from a girl who lives in Glenside," confided Betty, re-braiding her hair. "She and her sister are going--Norma and Alice Guerin. I know you'll like them. Norma wrote her mother went to Shadyside when it was a day school."

"Yes, I believe it was, years and years ago," returned Louise Littell.

"The aristocratic families who lived on large estates used to send their daughters to Mrs. Warde. Her daughter, Mrs. Eustice, is the princ.i.p.al now."

Betty wondered if Norma Guerin's mother had belonged to one of the families who owned large estates, but they went down to dinner presently and she forgot the Guerins for the time being.

That was a busy week for the school boys and girls.

The beautiful house and grounds of Fairfields were at their disposal, and the gallant host and gentle hostess gave themselves up to the whims and wishes of the houseful of young people.

"Racket while you may, for school-room discipline is coming," laughed Mr.

Littell, when he went upstairs unexpectedly early one night and caught the abashed Tucker twins sliding down the banisters.

Both Bob and Betty had wired Mr. Gordon of their safe arrival in Washington, and Bob had also telegraphed his aunts. While they were at Fairfields a letter reached them from Miss Hope and Miss Charity, describing in glowing terms the boarding house in which they were living and the California climate which, the writers declared, made them feel "twenty years younger." So Bob was a.s.sured that the elderly ladies were neither homesick nor unhappy and that added appreciably to his peace of mind.

He and Betty found time, too, to slip away from their gay companions and go to the old second-hand bookshop where Lockwood Hale browsed among his dusty volumes. He had set Bob upon the trail that led him West and brought him finally to his surviving kin, and the boy felt warm grat.i.tude to the absent-minded old man.

Mr. and Mrs. Littell rigidly insisted that the last night before the young folks started for Shadyside must be reserved for final packing and early retirement so that the gay band might begin their journey auspiciously. The Tuesday evening before the Thursday they were to leave for school, the host and hostess gave a dance for their young people.

"I'm glad to have at least one chance to wear this dress," observed Bobby, smoothing down the folds of her rose-colored frock with satisfaction. "The only thing I don't like about Shadyside, so far, is that restriction about party clothes."

"I imagine it is a wise rule in many ways," said Betty sagely, thinking particularly of the Guerin girls, who would probably be hard-pressed to get even the one evening frock allowed. "You know how some girls are, Bobby; they'd come with a dozen crepe de chine and georgette dresses and about three clean blouses for school-room wear."

"Like Ruth Gladys Royal," giggled Bobby. "I remember her at Miss Graham's last year. Goodness, the clothes that girl would wear! The rest of us didn't even try to compete. And, by the way, girls, Ruth Gladys is going to Shadyside. Her aunt telephoned mother last night while we were at the movies."

"That's the girl we went to call on that day we saw Mr. Peabody tackle Bob in the hotel," Louise explained in an aside to Betty. "I wonder why every one seems bent and determined to go to Shadyside this year."

"Because it is a fine school with a half-century reputation," Bobby, who had studied the catalogue, informed her sister primly.

"I'm not going," objected Esther. "I think it's mean."

"Mother and dad need one girl at home, dearest," her mother reminded her, as she came in looking very handsome and kindly in a black spangled net gown. "All ready, girls? Then suppose we go down."

It was a simple and informal dance, as befitted the ages of the guests, but Mr. and Mrs. Littell knew to perfection the secret of making each one enjoy himself. There were a handful of outside friends invited, and Betty, to whom a party was a never-failing source of delight, felt, as she confided to Bob, as though she were "walking on air."

"You look awfully nice in that white stuff," he said frankly, and Betty liked the comment on her pretty ruffled white frock which she had dubiously decided a moment before was too plain.

Betty was what country folk call a "natural-born dancer," and she quickly learned the new steps she had had no opportunity to practice since going West. All the girls and most of the boys were excellent dancers, too, and Bob was not allowed to beg off. Frances Martin, the last girl one would have named, had taught a dancing cla.s.s in her home town with great success and she volunteered to lead Bob. To his surprise, the boy found he liked the music and movement and before the evening was over he was in a fair way to become a good dancer.

The party broke up promptly at eleven o'clock, and a few minutes later the whir of the last motor bearing home the departing guests died away.

There was a natural lingering to "talk things over," but by twelve the house was silent and dark.

Betty had just fairly dozed off when some one woke her by shaking her gently.

"Betty! Betty, please wake up!" whispered a frightened little voice.

CHAPTER VIII

TOO MUCH PARTY

Betty shared a room with Bobby. The single beds were separated by a table on which an electric drop light and the water pitcher and gla.s.ses were placed.

Betty's first impulse was to snap on the light, but as she put out her hand, Esther grasped her wrist.

"It's only me," she whispered, her teeth chattering with fright. "Don't wake Bobby up."

"Are you cold?" asked Betty, sitting up anxiously. "Perhaps you were too warm dancing. Do you want to get into bed with me?"

It was a warm night for October, and Betty was at a loss to understand Esther's shivering.

"I can't find Libbie!" Esther cried. "Oh, Betty, I never thought she would do it, never."

Betty reached for her dressing gown and slippers.

"Don't cry, or you'll wake up Bobby," she advised the sobbing Esther.

"Come on, I'll go back with you. Don't make a noise."

The girls occupied three connecting rooms, and Esther and Libbie had slept in the end of the suite. To reach it now, the two girls had to go through the room where Louise and Frances lay slumbering peacefully.

Betty breathed a sigh of relief when they gained Esther's room and she closed the door carefully and turned on the light.

Esther's bed, madly tumbled, and Libbie's, evidently occupied that night, but now empty, were revealed.

Esther dropped down on the floor, wrapping her kimono about her, and regarded Betty trustfully. She was sure her friend would straighten things out.

"Where is Libbie?" demanded Betty. "What is she doing?"

"I don't know," admitted Esther unhappily. "But I tell you what I think--I think she's eloped!"

Esther was only eleven, and as she sat on the floor and stared at Betty from great wet blue eyes, she seemed very young indeed.

"Eloped!" gasped Betty. "Why, I never heard of such a thing!"

"She's always talking about it," the younger girl wailed, beginning to cry again. "She says it's the most romantic way to be married, and she means to throw her hope chest out of the window first and slide down a rope made of bedsheets."

"Well, I think it's very silly to talk like that," scolded Betty. "And, what's more, Esther, however much Libbie may talk of eloping, she hasn't done it this time. All her clothes are here, and her shoes and her hat.

Here's her purse on the dresser, too."

"I never thought of looking to see if her clothes were here," confessed Esther. "But then, where is she, Betty?"

"That's what I mean to find out," announced Betty, with more confidence than she felt. "Come on, Esther. And don't trip on your kimono or walk into anything."

They tiptoed out into the wide hall and had reached the head of the beautiful carved staircase when they saw a dim form coming toward them.