By Amy E. Blanchard.

Illustrated by Ida Waugh.

TWENTY LITTLE MAIDENS.
Small 4to. Cloth, $1.50.
TWO GIRLS. GIRLS TOGETHER.
12mo. Cloth extra, $1.25.
Two volumes in a box, $2.50.

Purity of tone and reality of impression are the leading tokens of a book for girls by Miss Blanchard. She enters with a peculiar zest into the spirit of girlhood.

Persis was at that moment knitting her brows over some papers at a table in Annis’s little attic room.

Page [50].

THREE PRETTY MAIDS

BY
AMY E. BLANCHARD
AUTHOR OF “TWO GIRLS,” “GIRLS TOGETHER,”
“BETTY OF WYE,” ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ALICE BARBER STEPHENS

PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
1897

Copyright, 1897,
BY
J. B. Lippincott Company.

TO THE DEAR SHARERS OF ALL MY JOYS
AND SORROWS,
MY WARMEST ADMIRERS, MY
LIFE-LONG LOVERS, MY MOST-CHERISHED
COMPANIONS,
MARY AND LUCY,
THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH
TENDER RETROSPECTION AND
DEEP AFFECTION BY
THEIR SISTER,
AMY E. BLANCHARD.

Philadelphia, 1897.

CONTENTS.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

THREE PRETTY MAIDS.

CHAPTER I.
HOW THEY LIVED.

It was in a comfortable-looking house, surrounded by a garden, in the most attractive part of a pleasant city not two hundred miles from the nation’s capital, that the mother of the pretty maids sat sewing one day in early October. She was listening for the first footstep which should announce the return of her girls from school. And presently she heard the front door shut, then a quick, light step on the stair, and a voice coming nearer and nearer, singing,—

“Where are you going, my pretty maid?”

Then the door burst open and Persis Holmes appeared.

“Where are you going, my pretty maid?” Mrs. Holmes asked. “At the rate at which you are travelling I think you will go straight through the wall. Where are the others?”

Persis laughed. “I am going at something of a gait,” she replied. “I always do that way. I can’t be stately to save me. Where are the others? Let me see. Lisa was too dignified to run home, and Mellicent is so daft about Audrey Vane that she must walk home with her every day, consequently I,—only I,—the unqueenly, the unsentimental, am here, as you see, to get the kiss you have all fresh for me.” And Persis gave her mother a vigorous hug.

“I’m not sure but that you have more real sentiment than your sisters,” replied Mrs. Holmes, as she disengaged herself from the close hold of her daughter’s arms.

“I?” exclaimed Persis, opening her eyes very wide. “Why, mamma, I am the most practical child you have. Don’t I fly into the kitchen when Prue is out, and with real housewifely mind make gingerbread and ‘other country messes,’ like the neat-handed Phyllis in L’Allegro? And doesn’t papa always send me to pay bills when he cannot go himself? And—why, mamma, I’m not queenly like Lisa, nor seraphic like Mellicent. I am just plain me, the least good-looking of your trio. I am the mortal, Lisa the queen, Mellicent the fairy. But a mortal can love you just as hard; can’t she, mamma?”

“Very hard,” laughed her mother, as a kindling glance of Persis’s eye showed signs of a second energetic attack.

“I spare you, mamma! I spare you,” began Persis. “Here comes Lisa. I must go and hunt up something to eat. I am half starved. Heigho, Miss Dignity! I beat you home, didn’t I?”

“I should hope so, if it depended upon my making a tom-boy of myself in order to get here first,” replied Lisa, lifting her hat from off her well-set little head. “Mamma, you have no idea what a terror Persis is. She romps home like a great hulk of a peasant girl.”

“Lisa was so mad because I tagged her ‘last,’” laughed Persis. “Lady Dignity was covered with confusion to that extent that you could scarcely see her.”

“Mamma, do make her behave properly,” entreated Lisa. “I shall choose some one else with whom to walk if this continues,” she said, imperiously, to her sister, who made a little grimace and escaped from the room.

“Persis is perfectly incorrigible,” continued Lisa, giving a gentle pat to the curling locks about her temples as she glanced toward the mirror.

“Oh, never mind her, dear,” advised her mother; “she is full of life and as spontaneous as the flowers that grow. I don’t believe in too much self-repression. How is Mellicent’s headache?”

“Headache! She trumped it up. I don’t believe she had any to speak of. It wasn’t so bad but what she could traipse all the way home in the sun with Audrey Vane.”

“My dear, you are in a very fault-finding humor, it seems to me,” gently reproved Mrs. Holmes. “You have been working too hard and are hungry. I think you will feel better when you are rested and have taken a bit of something to eat.”

“It is such a bother to go and get it. I hate fussing with food and that sort of thing,” grumbled Lisa, throwing herself on the lounge.

“Well, lady fine, you don’t have to fuss,” said Persis, who had just entered the room with a tray in her hand. “Will your majesty deign to trifle with this humble fare which your cringing slave has brought you?” And Persis set the tray on a chair by her sister’s side.

“Oh, that looks good,” exclaimed Lisa, raising herself on her elbow. “What kind of preserves, Perse? Strawberry? That will be fine with biscuits and that glass of milk.” And she looked with appreciation at the dainty way in which Persis had prepared the modest luncheon. “Persis is a born housekeeper,” she said, graciously. “She has the most domestic turn of mind, mamma. I wonder that she has so good a record at school,” with a little air of superiority.

Persis’s eyes danced, and it was evident that a sharp rejoinder was on the tip of her tongue; but at a warning glance from her mother she refrained from answering Lisa, and turned to greet Mellicent, who now entered the room. She was the youngest of the three daughters, and many persons thought her the prettiest. Her delicate complexion, large blue eyes, and golden hair truly gave her a spirituelle appearance, upon which the little girl quite prided herself, and of which she was apt to make capital. She had been rather delicate as a small child, and never quite outgrew the idea that, in consequence, she must always be considered.

Lisa, the eldest, on her part, demanded with great exactness what she called “her rights.” She was a tall, handsome girl, with brilliant complexion, brown eyes, and soft curling chestnut hair. Her girl friends pronounced her “so stylish,” and envied her fine presence.

Persis was quite aware of the superior claims of her two sisters, and when quite a little girl she was discovered by her grandmother looking very thoughtful and serious before her mirror. Grandmother Estabrook was a dear old lady, rather given to old-fashioned ideas of what was meet and proper for children to do, and on this occasion she spoke with decision.

“Persis, my child, have you nothing better to do than to sit there gazing at yourself. Take care, my child; beware of vanity!”

“But it isn’t vanity, grandma,” Persis had replied, looking up with tears in her eyes. “I wish I had to be vain, ’cause I couldn’t help it. Mellicent is the youngest and looks like an angel, and Lisa is the oldest and looks like a queen, and I’m just the middle sizedest and don’t look like anything.”

“Never mind, my child,” replied grandma, now quite softened, “you can always look like a lady.” And this Persis never forgot, although the acting like a lady was something she did not always remember. In secret she mourned over her dusky black hair and wished it were curly like Lisa’s or golden like Mellicent’s. Her mouth, she was wont to say, was like a buttonhole, and as for gray eyes, she hated them; the curling black lashes she did not consider worth a moment’s consideration, nor did she take into account the fact that the despised black hair grew in the “five artist points” upon a smooth, low, broad forehead. “I might as well have a lump of dough for a nose,” she complained. “Oh, mamma, why didn’t I inherit your nose! It is so beautifully straight, and Lisa’s is just like it.”

“Your nose does very well,” said grandma, who overheard the remark. “Fortunately mere outline of feature is not everything; expression is much more.” And Persis was somewhat comforted, although she admired with the intenseness which was a distinctive characteristic of hers the beauty of her sisters. Nevertheless, her own simplicity and lack of consciousness gave her a charm which neither of the others possessed, and which won her more affection than she realized. She maintained, however, that Lisa was her mother’s pride, and that Mellicent was her father’s pet. There might have been some little truth in this; but it was quite as true that Grandma Estabrook and Persis thoroughly understood each other, and confidences passed between them of which the rest did not know. So, doubtless, it was a balance, so far as affections went.

“Now, my pretty maids,” said Mrs. Holmes, when Mellicent had laid aside her hat and books, “I have a piece of news to tell you. Sit there all in a row, so I can note the effect it will have upon you. Your father’s wards, Basil and Porter Phillips, arrived this morning very unexpectedly, and are to be with us all winter.” Then Mrs. Holmes laughed softly as she glanced from one to the other.

The girls caught sight of her merry face. “How did we look, mamma? Tell us. You took us so by surprise that we didn’t have a chance to put on politeness if we didn’t feel it,” said Persis. “How did we look?”

“Lisa, complacent; you, slightly vexed; Mellicent, resigned.”

“Then there is no use in our pretending to any other feelings. So please tell us how it all happened,” said Mellicent.

“Your father had a telegram just as he was leaving the house, and the boys came an hour later. Mrs. Phillips was called upon suddenly to go to California with her invalid sister, and there had been, as you know, some talk of the boys preparing for the university, so it was decided that they should enter the Latin school at once, and they packed up and came. They are rather young to go alone into a boarding-house; moreover, your father feels responsible for them and thinks he should have them under his eye.”

“I think it’s rather a cool proceeding, myself,” ventured Persis, “without so much as saying by your leave, to come swooping down on us in this fashion. Oh, dear!”

“How old are they, mamma?” asked Lisa, whose interest had caused her to alter her recumbent position on the lounge to one of alert attention.

“Basil is in his seventeenth year and Porter in his fourteenth.”

“There! I knew it. The middle-sized one always gets left. Porter will tag after Mell’s golden curls, and Basil will do honor to Lady Dignity. A girl of fourteen never has a chance if there is a baby on one side and a sweet sixteener on the other,” declared Persis.

“Why, Persis!” reproved her mother. “Don’t say such things. I do not want you to have such notions about these boys. You are to be sisters and brothers together, friends by selection. Now, don’t let me hear any such talk again. Go along, all of you; I have letters to write.” And the girls proceeded to gather up their books.

“I do wish people wouldn’t get ill, so that mothers must send their boys where they’re not wanted,” grumbled Persis to Lisa, when they had reached the seclusion of their own room.

“Oh, but you know it isn’t as if they had done that. You know papa himself suggested to Mrs. Phillips last summer that if the boys were to go to college it would be a good thing to send them to the Latin school this year. They talked it all over. Mamma told me so.”

“Well, it amounts to the same thing. We don’t want them; at least I don’t, whatever the rest of you may like.”

“But you know their board will be an item.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Well, I suppose we are not such bloated bondholders but what a little windfall like that counts nowadays when times are hard. All the same, I wish they didn’t have to be here.”

“Oh, I don’t believe they will be in the way,” said Lisa. “They’ll be rather handy to send on errands and to go with us to parties and things.”

“Parties and things! How many do we attend, pray? You know mamma never allows us to go to night affairs except on the rarest occasions. Boys are such teases. They are always playing tricks on you and making personal remarks about your looks and catching up your words. I know how Margie Bancroft’s brothers do. I shall feel uncomfortable the whole winter long. They’ll be strewing the house from one end to the other with old balls and scrubby-looking caps and such things. Why, Margie told me the other day that she found the bath-tub half-full of water-snakes and turtles and the goodness knows what.”

“Oh, Persis!” exclaimed Lisa, now quite alarmed. “Do you really mean it? I should have been terrified to death.”

“Well, it’s what you may expect,” returned Persis. And she left her sister in quite a perturbed condition. Nevertheless, it must be confessed that Lisa made an unusually careful toilet that evening, and Mellicent assumed her most languishing air, hoping that she looked pale and interesting. Persis appeared at the table quite as usual, having almost forgotten the presence of these prospective disturbers of her peace. It was an awkward moment for the five young people, and, although Mrs. Holmes’s tact and sweetness helped them through the worst of it, all felt a sense of relief when the dinner-hour was over.

Basil Phillips was a quiet, shy boy, who felt very ill at ease when Persis fixed her earnest gaze upon him. Mellicent drooped her lids over her blue eyes, only lifting them once or twice as she saw Porter looking at her admiringly. This latter boy was quite the least confused of the young people, being a lad afraid of absolutely nothing, not even a girl, and his bright, wide-awake manner and keen appreciation of fun made all three of the girls feel more at home with him than with his brother.

After all, it was Persis who paved the way to a more easy footing, for, as they left the dining-room, she tossed an apple in Porter’s direction, and he dexterously caught it, sending it back to her, so that they were soon engaged in a merry game in which Basil presently joined, and they were all on good terms in a little while.

“Say, have you a wheel?” asked Porter.

“No,” replied Persis, regretfully. “I am just wild for one; but grandma thinks they are entirely too boyish for me, and mamma will not consent to my having one while grandma objects. I think maybe—just maybe—I’ll have one at Christmas.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Porter: “you can learn on mine. We have new ones—beauties. Mamma gave them to us as a parting gift. I’ll teach you.”

Persis shook her head. “I couldn’t do that unless I knew mamma and papa consented, and I should hate to hurt grandma’s feelings. I’d rather wait till she comes around. You know girls are only beginning to ride in this town, and grandma isn’t quite used to the idea.”

Porter opened his eyes. “My!” he said; “you must think a heap of your grandmother.”

“We do,” replied Persis. “She has always made her home with us ever since mamma and papa were married, and she does such lovely things for us that I should be ashamed to make her unhappy.”

“She’s awfully old-fashioned, I suppose,” rejoined Porter.

“Well, ye-es, rather so; but she tells us jolly stories about old times. You don’t know what exciting things she knows about our Revolutionary ancestors.”

“I’d like to hear about them,” replied Porter. “I just love fighting and adventures. Basil is so different; he fights if he has to like a regular corker, but he never is ready to pitch in at any time as I am.”

Persis laughed. “I shall have to look out for you then.”

“Ho! You don’t suppose I’d fight a girl, do you? What do you do with yourselves in the evening?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. To-night—why, to-night is Hallowe’en. We must do something wild and bold and giddy. I wish I knew some more boys, but I don’t,—that is, not any that I like,—so we’ll just have to do the best we can among ourselves. We’ll play tricks or something.”

Porter’s eyes sparkled. “I know a lot of tricks,” he replied. “I say, Baz, Persis is bang-up.”

Basil smiled and Persis blushed at the slangy compliment.

Then followed a whispered consultation, and the three, with suppressed mirth, stole quietly up-stairs with all the speed possible.

CHAPTER II.
ALL-HALLOWE’EN.

“Where are those children?” Mrs. Holmes was saying when, in answer to a ring at the door, Prue announced two ladies to see “Mr. and Mrs. Holmes and the young ladies.”

On going to the drawing-room the host and hostess were greeted by a tall, spare person in deep mourning, who remarked, in sepulchral tones, “We have come to see you on a matter of great importance.” There was a little sound from the second visitor. Was it a laugh or a cough? This shorter individual wore a long cloak, while a black veil was tied closely over the face.

While Mr. Holmes was bowing politely and Mrs. Holmes was waiting expectantly for further remark, suddenly every light went out, and when the gas was relighted not a sign of the guests could be seen, but a chorus of unearthly groans and shrieks proceeded from no one knew where, to the terror of Mellicent, who cried, “Oh, mamma, what is it?”

Again the gas went out, and the groans and wails seemed directly in their ears. Then in the darkness three white figures glimmered ghostly, but a second relighting showed no one there.

“This is really uncanny!” ejaculated Lisa.

“My dear,” said grandma, who was smoothing Mellicent’s golden head and calming the little girl’s fears, “don’t you know it is only those witchy children?”

“I’ll warrant Persis is at the bottom of it,” cried Lisa. “She was so down on the boys coming, and here she is the very first one to get them into mischief.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” said a voice, plaintively. “You’re always blaming me for everything.” And Lisa turned, astonished to see Persis curled up in an arm-chair by the bay-window, as if she had been taking a nap there.

“Why, where did you come from?” And Lisa gave utterance to her question in tones of astonishment. “I know you haven’t been there all this time.”

“How do you know? Can you take your oath on it?”

“I don’t take oaths; but I haven’t the least recollection of seeing you since dinner, when you were playing with the boys in the hall.”

“Well, your memory is not to be relied upon,” observed Persis, jauntily. “If I should tell you how long I have been here you wouldn’t believe it.”

“I am going to light the lamp,” Lisa remarked. “I don’t want any more Stygian darkness. Why, where is it? I thought it was on the table. Prue must have forgotten to bring it back when she took it out to fill it.” But, as she was in the act of leaving the room, again all was dark.

“I’ll catch those tricksters,” said Mr. Holmes. “This is getting too much of a joke,” and he secreted himself behind the door as the three white-sheeted forms appeared. The first two were too quick for him, but the last one was grabbed, and as Lisa brought in the lighted lamp Basil was discovered.

The poor boy was covered with confusion at being found the culprit, and Persis came to the rescue by saying, “Papa, it was not his fault; we coaxed him into it, Porter and I, and it was I who blew down the gas-pipes to put the lights out. It is All-Hallowe’en, you know.”

A grim smile passed over Mr. Holmes’s face. “Then I suppose you expect me to let you off,” he replied.

“Oh, yes, papa, please. It is the boys’ first evening here, and I don’t want them to think just yet that you are an ogre.”

This was too much for Mr. Holmes, and he laughed. “How much did that remark imply, I wonder, you sauce-box?” he said.

“Why? Oh, why, papa?” And Persis covered her face with both hands. “I believe I did insinuate that you were really ogrish at all times, and you aren’t a bit ever. He isn’t, boys; he is usually a dear; but once in a while, when we are very bad, he can be terrible. I warn you that when papa is seriously offended he is not savage exactly, but so ’way, ’way up—so stately and solemn—that he can scare you out of your wits.”

“Thank you for the reputation,” returned Mr. Holmes. “I am glad you are ready to back me up in maintaining proper discipline. Now, no more tricks to-night.”

“Not even apple-bobbing or meal balls?” said Mellicent, dolefully.

“Meal balls are silly,” sniffed Persis. “Who wants to waste time on stupid names rolled up in a ball of chicken food? I’d rather run around the block with my mouth full of water.”

“What’s that for?” queried Porter.

“Oh, you hear your future husband’s name called, they say. I like the fun of it. It is so hard to run and keep the water in your mouth at the same time. Then salt-cake is fun, too, only I always laugh and nearly always say something when I oughtn’t to speak.”

“I think apple-bobbing will do for to-night,” said Mrs. Holmes. “You can go in the kitchen if you like.”

“Oh! And mayn’t we make some taffy, too, mamma?” pleaded Mellicent. “Grandma will help us; won’t you grandma?”

“To be sure,” was the ready response.

And so it was settled, while the tricksters congratulated themselves that they were let off so easily and that such a pleasant prospect was theirs.

Grandmamma Estabrook was a famous maker of taffy. “She always knows just when it is done,” Persis informed Porter. “And it never gets burnt, and never is the least bit too soft. I am always in such a hurry that I am very apt to take it up before it is done, and it gets, oh, so sticky. This will be fine, I know. We will bob for apples while it is boiling.”

So, although Prue at first looked askance at seeing her kitchen invaded, she was soon ready to lend her services to the furnishing of amusement for “Holly Eve,” and brought in a big tub, which the children filled half-full of water, and the merry game began. After much sputtering and splashing, Porter managed to grasp an apple with his teeth, and Mellicent followed suit.

“They are the slipperiest things I ever saw,” declared Basil, lifting a dripping face from the tub. “Just as I think I have one sure over it rolls and I am cheated. I think I’ll be more of a success at taffy-pulling. My, that looks good!” for Mrs. Estabrook was pouring the seething mass into pans, and the children carried them to the summer-kitchen to cool.

While the others were laughing and talking over their sticks of taffy, Basil was turning over in his mind the advisability of trying to win Mrs. Estabrook’s approval of bicycle riding for girls. This amusement was at that time in the early stage of its popularity, and was looked upon with discredit by many persons. Basil’s attentive, thoughtful ways evidently produced a good impression upon grandma, and she talked cheerily to him of his coming work, of his life at home, and such topics as she thought might interest him.

“I hope you are not going to be homesick,” she said.

“I don’t believe we shall be,” answered Basil, cordially. “You’re all so awfully jolly,—I mean so nice and homelike,—and you know Port and I never had sisters, so we’ll learn a lot about girls, I expect.”

Grandma smiled at the naïve speech. “Have you no girl cousins?” she asked.

“Yes, we have one who lives near us. She’s awfully nice, too; and when we go out on our bikes very often she goes along.”

“Oh, she rides a bicycle!” And Basil saw disapproval of this “nice” cousin written on Mrs. Estabrook’s face.

“She’s such a real good girl. She’s the rector’s daughter, you know,” he hastened to say.

“What! Dr. Allison’s daughter? He is your rector, I have heard your mother say.”

“So he is, and he’s one of the finest fellows you ever saw.”

“Yes, that is what I have always been told,” assented Mrs. Estabrook, “and therefore I can hardly reconcile my idea of his good judgment to the fact of his daughter’s riding a bicycle.”

“Why, don’t you think it’s good for girls? I wish you could see the difference it has made in Mabel Allison. She used to be so delicate. She had dyspepsia and all sorts of things, and now she looks like another girl. Say, Mrs. Estabrook, don’t you think it would be nice for Persis?”

“I don’t think Persis needs it.”

“But it would be fun for her. You would not mind our teaching her, would you? It wouldn’t do any harm for her to know how.”

“No, I suppose not. I know she is very anxious to learn; but I should dislike very much to see her in public mounted on a wheel.”

“Oh, well, we won’t let any one see her. We’ll go into the side street, and you can watch us from your window.”

Mrs. Estabrook did not reply, and Basil, taking silence for consent, went over to Persis and told her with great satisfaction that she was to learn to ride as soon as the boys’ wheels should come.

The part of the city where the Holmes family lived was quite suburban, although only fifteen minutes’ ride by trolley to the heart of the city and within a short distance of the university where Mr. Holmes held a professorship. Theirs was a corner house, and the quiet street which ran along the side of the garden was at times in the day almost deserted, and it was here that the boys intended to initiate Persis into the mysteries of bicycle riding.

A more excited girl than Persis was over the prospect could scarcely be found. “When once grandma sees how I can ride she’ll not say a word against it,” she confided to Lisa. “Then you’ll learn, and we’ll all go out together. Won’t it be fine? I’m so glad Basil and Porter have come.”

“You sang another song this morning,” returned Lisa.

This was after the taffy had been pulled till it was a delicate straw-color, and the young people, having eaten all they could manage, had said their good-nights with much complacency, feeling that the evening had furnished them with all the amusement they could have expected.

“Grandma, you’re a dear, sweet darling. I love you to pieces,” Persis said. “I’m so happy to think you don’t mind my learning to ride.”

“Who said I didn’t mind?”

“Why, Basil. Didn’t you mean it?” And for a moment Persis’s hopes fell. Grandma was too tender-hearted to declare she had never said anything of the kind, and so she only kissed the eager face and said, “Well, my child, I am old-fashioned, I suppose, but you will not go off the side street, will you? I can’t quite stand the thought of seeing you in a more public place.” And Persis’s hopes rose again.

“I think it has been a perfectly lovely Hallowe’en,” she avowed to Lisa, as she vigorously brushed her hair.

“Yes, it has been great fun for you. After all your talk about those boys coming, I notice you are the first one to be hand and glove with them. That’s just like you, always at one extreme or the other,” Lisa retorted. She could not entirely forgive Persis for having been the first to win the boys’ good graces.

“Well, I’d like to know if you didn’t have the same chance for a good time that I did. You should have made the most of your opportunities. That’s just like you, Lisa. You’re always complaining that I have good times, when you have exactly the same chances that I have. The only difference is, that I go and meet the chances, and you sit and wait for them to come to you, because you’re so terribly afraid that somehow you’ll be called upon to step down from your pedestal. If you didn’t cling so close to that pedestal of yours you’d have a better time. I don’t sit still all the time looking for homage. I’d have a pretty stupid time if I did.”

“And precious little you’d get if you looked for it,” asserted Lisa, now more ruffled than before. “I am the eldest, and of course certain things are due me.”

“Oh, dear!” thought Persis. “I wish Lisa were not so terribly tenacious of her prerogatives. They are always getting in my way, and I get snubbed because I don’t regard them. I wonder if I would be so top-lofty and sniffy if I were the eldest. Maybe I would be.” And she suppressed a smile as Lisa threw her a haughty glance from under half-closed lids,—a glance which was meant to convey a sense of superiority.

“Lisa, you would surely have been a Pharisee if you had lived in Bible times,” remarked the irrepressible Persis.

“Then I suppose you would have been a publican and sinner. You don’t have to go back to those times to be the latter.”

Persis laughed, but she was inwardly annoyed, and, jumping up, she opened the door which led into Mellicent’s little room, leaving her elder sister alone.

“Mell, I’m going to sleep with you,” she announced. “Lisa is on her high horse to-night, and there’s not room for her to canter around while I am there.”

Mellicent sleepily moved over to give Persis room. She was used to these little disturbances between her two sisters; and, although it was always Persis who left Lisa in possession, it was sometimes one and sometimes the other who received Mellicent’s sympathies. She was easily influenced, and any little appeal to her vanity, or a properly phrased remark as to the state of her health, generally won her favor. Therefore when Persis said, “I hope that taffy didn’t give you a headache,” she replied, “I had one this morning; but I’m quite used to them, you know.” This with a martyr-like air.

“So it’s a question of headache with or without taffy, isn’t it?” returned Persis, comfortably. “I’ll take mine with this time. Did you know, Mell, that I am going to ride a wheel? And if ever I get one of my own you shall share it with me for letting me share your bed, and Miss Lisa can whistle for a ride.”

“Audrey is going to get a wheel,” Mellicent informed her sister.

“Is she? Then of course you’ll want to ride with her. Well, I’ll teach you, and you shall use mine—when I get it. Oh, don’t you hope we can have one?”

“I didn’t care till Audrey made up her mind about it,” returned Mellicent.

“What a loyal little subject you are! What makes you like Audrey so much?”

“Why, Persis, she is so lovely, and you know she thinks she is descended from the same family of Vanes as that to which Sir Harry Vane belonged. Don’t you know, that dear Sir Harry whose statue we saw in the Boston Public Library last summer? It is so dreadful to think of his having been beheaded.”

“Yes, so it is, but I don’t see that it adds anything special to Audrey’s attractions. I think I must hunt up a headless ancestor. I wonder if we haven’t one hanging somewhere on our family tree.”

“Oh, Persis! how could he hang on a tree without a head?”

“Sure enough, he couldn’t, could he? He’d have to perch there with his head under his arm like—who was it?—oh, yes, St. Denis, who carried his head in his hands after he was beheaded. I don’t believe I’d care, myself, for an ancestor who had to hang. I’ll tell you, Mell, who I think is a nice girl.”

“Who?”

“Annis Brown.”

“What! that quiet little thing? She hasn’t a bit of style; she’s as plain as a pipe-stem.”

“I know it, but I like her.”

“Audrey says she is a parvenu.”

“Humph! Just because her mother keeps boarders. That sounds like Audrey.”

“Now, Persis, I won’t have you run down Audrey.”

“I won’t, then. I’m not going to get into any more squabbles to-night. Audrey is an awfully nice girl, only she does brag a little too much.”

“She has something to brag about.”

“Well, I’m going to find out if some other people haven’t just as much. Never mind, Mell, Audrey’s all right, and so are you. Here we are talking ourselves wide-awake, and it will be morning before we’re ready for it. Let’s turn over and go to sleep,” which they proceeded to do.

CHAPTER III.
WHAT WON A BICYCLE.

Despite bruises and sprains, skinned ankles and scraped knees, Persis overcame the difficulties of riding a bicycle in a comparatively short space of time, and really met with fewer mishaps than usually fall to the lot of the learner. This was largely due to the efforts of Porter and Basil, who were indefatigable teachers, and as Persis had no fear, and was a persistent young woman, it was not long before she could be seen skimming up and down the block with all the confidence in the world.

“Look here,” said Porter, “I don’t see why you don’t coax your father to give you a bicycle. I shouldn’t mind what your grandmother thinks. The idea of it! Old people like her are always fussing about new fashions.”

Persis opened her eyes. “Why! but I couldn’t enjoy having one if grandma felt bad about it. She has always been so good to us. She is the dearest grandma in the world.”

“Well, I shouldn’t let anybody’s old out-of-date notions keep me from having a good time,” was Porter’s reply, as he walked away.

Persis stood looking after him with a dawning sense of his being rather a selfish nature. “I suppose he’d be furious if he knew what I thought of him,” she reflected. “I’ll let him know some day,” she inwardly continued, her wrath rising.

A tapping on the window called her into the house. It was Lisa who summoned.

“Mamma wants you, Persis,” she said. “We are going to have a small family conclave.” And Lisa’s eyes danced.

“What is it now? This family has a way of springing surprises on a body which is confusing, to say the least,” returned Persis, as she took her way down-stairs.

She and Lisa had long ago “made up.” Indeed, their little squabbles were of almost daily occurrence and did not prevent them from being really devoted to each other. Persis was the more generous of the two, although possessed of more real strength of character. Lisa yielded her opinions easily; her pleasures she grasped more closely. With Persis it was directly the opposite, she could give up a prospective treat, but her convictions were her own, and these she could not forego, unless convinced, under pressure, of their error, and even then it was difficult for her to confess it, although tacitly she generally did so.

“Now, mamma, what is it this time?” inquired Persis, as she dropped on a hassock near the window.

“It is just this. Papa must be in Washington for a few days on business, and wants me to go with him. He is also willing to take one of you girls, and the question is, Which shall it be?”

“‘Which shall it be? Which shall it be?

I looked at John, John looked at me,’”

quoted Persis. “Oh, mamma, that is a terrible strain upon unselfishness.” And she looked from one sister to the other.

“I’ve never been to Washington,” began Mellicent, “and I believe it would do me the most good.”

“I am the eldest, and I think it is my place,” came from Lisa.

“And I. I have a friend there. You know Patty Peters is there this winter, mamma.” And Persis turned an eager face to her mother.

“Such reasonable claims,” laughed Mrs. Holmes. “I am afraid you must draw lots for it.”

“So we will. That will be the fairest way,” maintained Mellicent.

“Now, mamma, we won’t even tell you which we decide it is to be, the longest or the shortest, so you cannot exert an undue influence,” Lisa said.

Therefore, after a short conference in the corner, the girls gathered around to scan the slips of paper which Mrs. Holmes held in her hand.

“Lisa first, then Perse, then I, according to our ages,” decided Mellicent, and with breathless interest the lots were drawn.

“The longest! The longest, we decided. Who has it?” exclaimed Lisa, holding up her slip.

“I! I! It is mine,” Persis announced, joyfully. “Now I can go to see Patty Peters.” And she executed a wild dance about the room.

“Patty Peters!” Lisa repeated, disdainfully. “It always sounds so ridiculous, as if you were trying to say Peter Piper.”

The joy faded out of Persis’s face, and she stood curling the slip of paper around her finger, looking from Lisa to her mother. It may have been fancy, for Persis was keenly sensitive, but she thought she saw a shade of regret on her mother’s face. “Of course mamma would most enjoy having Lisa,” she said to herself. “She is so handsome, and mamma could show her off so finely to her Washington friends.” Persis swallowed a lump in her throat, then went over to Lisa and said, with eyes shining, “I’ll change with you.”

“Oh, Perse, you don’t mean it; you’re joking!” responded Lisa.

Persis shook her head. “No. I happen to remember that you have a new coat this winter, and the most becoming hat you ever wore, so it seems a wicked waste of material for you not to go. So I’ll stay at home and ride the boys’ bikes.”

“I believe you’d rather do it,” returned Lisa, to ease her conscience.

“I think I ought not to consent to the exchange,” began Mrs. Holmes; but Persis was firm, and, having her determination fixed, almost persuaded herself that the staying at home was the more desirable.

Mellicent felt herself out of the question, and went to grandma for sympathy, while one appreciative look from her father made Persis very happy over her sacrifice.

It was, therefore, in high spirits that the party took leave. “Everything will go on much better than if I had been left at home,” said Lisa, graciously. “You are such a fine manager, Perse, and I do hate marketing. Good-bye. I’ll write as soon as I get there.” And with a nod and a smile Lisa disappeared from view.

Matters went on smoothly for the first day or two. Persis was too busy with her lessons and her housewifely duties to think of much else. The housemaid had been with the family for several years and understood the routine of work, while the girls could not remember the time when old black Prue had not presided over the kitchen. Besides, there was grandma to decide upon important matters; so the responsibility upon Persis’s shoulders was not very heavy.

The boys had been the chief source of anxiety; but they had proved themselves to be comparatively obedient, and, having been put upon their honor, were disposed to conduct themselves becomingly, especially as Mr. Holmes had told them they were expected to be the protectors of the household.

Therefore the absence of three important members of the family did not make such a material difference in the daily life as might be supposed, and everything went along smoothly for several days. But one afternoon when Prue was out, Lyddy the housemaid gone on an errand, and the boys were off at the base-ball grounds something occurred to ruffle the serene flow of events.

“Now we have the place all to ourselves, let’s make some gingerbread, Mell,” suggested Persis. “We’ll begin it before Lyddy comes back, and it will be done before dark. We’ll give grandma a surprise; she does enjoy warm gingerbread. Come on and let’s see if there is a good fire.”

Mellicent heartily complied, and the two girls went down into the neat, quiet kitchen to begin operations. The fire was in rather a dubious state for baking, it was discovered. “We’ll get a little wood and start it up,” said Persis. “Suppose you go after the wood, Mellicent, while I get the other things together.” And Mellicent started for the cellar, while Persis went to the pantry. The latter was energetically sifting flour, when a clattering sound, a heavy fall, and a pitiful cry reached her ears.

Running to the head of the stairs leading to the cellar, she peered down into the dimness, calling, “Mell, Mellicent, where are you?” A moan was the only reply. “Oh, Mell!” reiterated Persis in alarm, as she hastily took her way down the steep steps. “What is the matter?”

At the foot of the steps Mellicent lay in a confused heap. “Oh, you dear child! Oh, Melly! Are you hurt?” And Persis tried to lift her sister.

“I feel queer,” replied Mellicent. “I believe I have done something to my arm, I can’t raise it.”

Persis helped the little girl to her feet, and then, half carrying her, she managed to get her up the stairway. Mellicent’s white face showed that something serious had really happened.

“Tell grandma,” she said, and then she fainted.

Afraid to leave her, and yet hardly knowing what to do, Persis ran to the foot of the stairs and called, loudly, “Grandma! Grandma! come quick!”

To see the baby of the family lying on the kitchen floor, with closed eyes and looking so pale, terrified Mrs. Estabrook, and she cried, “Oh, my child! what is it? Run for the doctor.” And Persis flew out, forgetting that she still wore her floury apron.

The doctor who lived a block away was not at home, and back again ran Persis, out of breath.

By this time Mellicent’s consciousness was restored, and she was sitting in her grandmother’s lap. “I am afraid she has broken her arm,” announced Mrs. Estabrook, in distress. “The doctor ought to see her at once.”

“Dr. Wheeler isn’t at home,” informed Persis, distressedly. “Oh, dear! what shall we do?”

“We must have some doctor right away,” declared Mrs. Estabrook, and Persis darted out again. She could not think for a moment where she would find another physician, but she did remember that their family doctor lived about ten blocks off. It seemed a long way in her present state of perturbation. She could walk there as quickly as she could go by a roundabout car-route, she reflected. But here her eye caught sight of Porter’s bicycle leaning against the side of the porch. In another moment she had mounted and was flying like the wind along the street, being back again in less time than she could have dreamed, breathless from her effort. “The doctor will be here right off,” she made haste to notify. “I went to Dr. Armstrong’s.”

Mrs. Estabrook looked amazed. “In this time?” she said.

“Oh, grandma! I didn’t know any other way, and I went on Porter’s wheel.”

Grandma’s only reply was, “I am thankful that you found him so quickly. We cannot tell what injury our little girl may have sustained.”

The doctor, however, pronounced a simple fracture of the arm to be the only damage done, and when the broken member was skilfully set, and Mellicent was put to bed, Persis sat down and cried from sheer relief.

There was no gingerbread made that day, for Persis sat by the little sufferer all the evening, until grandma advised her to go to her lessons, saying that Mellicent did not need two nurses.

“Oh, dear!” said Persis, tearfully; “if I had only gone down-cellar myself, it would never have happened. I can never forgive myself.”

“My dear child, you must not feel that way about it. We should not blame ourselves for accidents which are not the result of thoughtlessness nor wrong intention. Your intentions were all right, and no one was to blame. You were not giving Mellicent work to do beyond her strength. She was as likely to fall in going down for an apple, or to see the new kittens; so don’t blame yourself.” Thus grandma comforted.

Persis was much cheered by this; but she devoted every spare moment to entertaining the invalid.

It was thought best not to spoil the pleasure of the absent ones by telling them of this misfortune, since there was no real danger attending it, and after a few days Mellicent rather enjoyed being the object of commiseration, and thought she must look very interesting with her arm in a sling made of a large silk handkerchief. She was particular that the handkerchief should be a delicate blue, which contrasted becomingly with her golden curls and fair skin. She was, however, a patient little girl, and only by a pathetic expression showed when she suffered.

The boys were most gallant, and did all manner of things to amuse her, so that probably she did not really regret the accident any more than Persis did.

The travellers returned in due time, and of course there was a great chatter to be heard when the three sisters met together. Lisa had enjoyed every minute of her visit,—so she expressed herself,—and she told wonderful tales of the social delights Washington had to offer.

It was the day after the return of the travellers that Mellicent, who was still housed, stood anxiously awaiting the appearance of Persis after school, and she greeted her sister with, “I know an awfully nice something, but I can’t tell it. Oh, Persis, you’ll be the gladdest girl. There! I’ll let it out if I don’t stop. I heard grandma talking to papa, and she said you had been so good and thoughtful and self-sacrificing.” Persis was blushing furiously. “Yes, she did,” continued Mellicent; “and then she told me a secret. No, I won’t tell; that would spoil it all.”

But a clattering up the steps and an excited summons from Porter took both the girls down-stairs. Porter was hopping around on one foot in a high state of glee, while Basil was critically examining the different parts of a shining new wheel which stood in the hall.

“Look! Look!” cried Porter. “It’s yours, Perse. See the tag, ‘Miss Persis Holmes.’ Hurrah for you!”

“What! What!” cried Persis. “For me?”

“Yes,” certified Millicent. “And that is the secret. You can’t guess who gave it to you—grandma.”

“Grandma!” echoed Persis.

“Yes; when she found you went for the doctor, and got him here in such a jiffy, she gave in, I heard her say to papa; and she said you had given up your visit so generously, and were such a comfort while they were all away, that she wanted you to have a wheel. Isn’t it a beauty?”

“Oh, you dear, beautiful thing!” And Persis, in the exuberance of her joy, knelt on the floor, giving the wheel a rapturous hug. “And to think that grandma, of all people, should give it to me. Where is she? I must thank her for it right away.” And the happy girl sped up-stairs to where, at her sunny window filled with flowering plants, grandma sat.

Persis could hardly wait for the “come in” which answered her knock before she burst into the room. “Oh, grandma,” she cried, “I am the happiest girl in town! How did you come to be so dear? You don’t know how I thank you. I never dreamed of such a thing from you.”

Grandma smiled. “Well, my child,” she confessed, “I remind myself of my old grandfather, Judge Herrick, who used to insist that a horse and carriage were rapid enough for him, until it came to the matter of getting important testimony for a law-suit, and then the fastest express train couldn’t put on too much steam for him. I hope I have lived long enough to accept innovations gracefully when I am convinced of their value. Not to alter an opinion often indicates obstinacy rather than strength of character, and your grandma doesn’t want to be called an obstinate old woman.” And grandma laughed. But Persis felt that there was a little hint to herself hidden in the last remark, and it had its effect in a more persuasive way than could have resulted from any didactic lecture.

“And you don’t care if I do go off the block?” said the girl, her speaking eyes full of happiness.

“No, dear; so long as you don’t go into the crowded streets I shall not veto your riding anywhere that is safe. I leave that part of it to your own good judgment. Grandma appreciates your consideration of her too much to hamper you; for I am convinced that your father would have given you a wheel long ago if you had been willing to set aside my feeling in the matter.” And grandma drew the grateful girl close to her with a gentle smile on the dear old face.

CHAPTER IV.
THE CLUB.

It was Audrey Vane who first broached the plan of forming a special society among the girls at school. Knowing her own claims to distinguished ancestry, and being anxious to emphasize the fact, she proposed to a select few that they should follow the example of their elders and start a patriotic club. Audrey was almost the age of Persis; nevertheless, she and Mellicent were close friends, and to the latter she first unfolded her scheme. Mellicent admired Audrey exceedingly and was always ready to follow her lead. Audrey had many good traits, but she allowed herself to be influenced more by position and family than by character; in consequence she was called “stuck up” by many of the girls and was not the general favorite that Persis was.

After a talk with Mellicent upon the subject nearest her heart Audrey won her ready help in writing a number of little notes which were found one morning upon the desks of the special girls selected for favor, and when recess was called quite a flock of curious maidens congregated in one corner of the school-room. Audrey was full of enthusiasm, and was armed with arguments.

“You see, girls,” she began, “we ought to try to guard all the history of the early days of our country. Mamma says so; and I think if we form a society that will make us take more interest in our studies, at the same time we are hunting up stories and dates about our ancestors, that it will be a great benefit to us. I think if we have a nice select number,—about a dozen to begin with——”

“How about the girls we don’t admit?” interrupted Persis between bites of a big apple. “It seems sort of mean not to give them the benefit of our researching.”

“Oh, but we can’t,” replied Audrey, in dismay; “that would destroy the whole intention; besides, they would feel very much cut up if they didn’t have any ancestors.”

“I have heard some awfully good monkey stories,” returned Persis, mischievously. “We might gain a great deal of useful information by the study of natural history.”

“Now, Perse, you’re always chaffing,” rejoined Audrey, “and you’re just the one to help us out if you only take hold in the right way. Your family is all right, and you needn’t pretend to be so democratic.”

“Oh, I’ll take hold fast enough,” continued Persis, “as soon as I know all the ins and outs, but I hate an ostentatious exclusiveness.”

“Whew! what big words!” laughed Nellie Hall. “Go on, Audrey; we want to know more of this. What do you propose to call your club?”

“How would ‘Young Colonial Dames’ do?”

“Imagine our being dames,” criticised Nellie.

“Well, Ladies, then.”

“Sounds like a seminary,” objected Persis. “Colonial Youngsters is more concise.”

“How absurd! There’s no dignity about that.”

“Who wants to be dignified?” queried Persis, flippantly.

“You need to be,” put in Lisa.

“Well, just let’s leave the name for the present. Call a meeting for Saturday, Audrey, and in the mean time we can talk it over with our mothers, and see what we can do,” proposed Nellie.

This was agreed upon, and the girls went home full of the scheme.

“Don’t you think it’s a fine plan, mamma?” asked Lisa, who had worked herself up to quite a pitch of enthusiasm. “I never can remember dates and such things, and Audrey says her mother told her that the researching she has done has strengthened her memory wonderfully. Don’t you approve?”

“I do, with qualifications. I think you should not set yourselves apart from those of your school-mates who cannot lay claim to distinguished ancestry, although I do believe in preserving the records of those families whose forefathers helped to make our country. It depends much upon the spirit of the thing. If it is simply to form an exclusive coterie, I object seriously. If it is to emphasize your studies, and if you make good character your first consideration, I approve heartily.”

The three sisters looked at each other. There was an uneasy feeling that Audrey’s purpose was the forming of an exclusive set, although she had not declared it.

“I think it would be a good plan to join, and then if we find it doesn’t turn out as it ought, we can withdraw,” said Lisa, slowly.

“Perhaps that will do,” agreed Mrs. Holmes. “I have no objection to that.”

“Good!” cried Persis. “Come, girls, let’s go and get grandma to help us dig up our forefathers.”

“What a ghastly way to put it,” laughed Lisa. “You know there is the judge, Persis, and the mandamus councillor.”

“And the governor. Don’t forget the governor,” put in Mellicent. “He is the most important of all.”

“Oh, yes,” returned Lisa; “but then he is so far back I nearly always forget him.”

“And the colonel,” interposed Persis.

“He wasn’t colonial; he was Revolutionary,” corrected Lisa.

“Sure enough. Well, grandma will straighten it all out.”

Therefore, armed with records and bristling with information, the girls set forth to attend the meeting on Saturday afternoon. They found a small though strictly select party gathered at Audrey’s home.

“We have concluded to adopt the same standard of eligibility which is required by the real Colonial Dames,” informed Audrey. “I will read off the list, and any of those who know they can join can put their names down to-day, and we’ll choose a committee to decide upon them.”

There followed much mirthful laughter and many exclamations of, “Oh, I can’t remember! I’ll have to look that up.” But the few who had taken care to provide themselves with statistics were solemnly admitted. Among these were the Holmes girls, whose governor was highly approved.

“I don’t believe I can find any one but a miserable old member of assembly,” announced Kitty Carew. “I ought to have some one else. You Holmes girls have such a magnificent array that I feel so paltry. However, I haven’t half my forebears hunted up; so there is no knowing what superior sort of person I may unearth. I think I’ll wait till I have a better showing.”

“Now,” said Audrey, “when we have a club of ten we shall begin to admit others on the endorsement of the original members; but we must be very particular.”

“Oh, I want to hurry up and get some history out of it,” Persis contended. “Don’t let us waste all our time over the business part.”

“But we must at first,” responded Audrey. “I think we have made a very good beginning,—you three Holmes girls, Nellie Hall, Margaret Greene, and myself. We shall expect you, Kitty, and the others to be all ready with your records and papers next time.”

“Oh, and about the name,” said Lisa. “Grandma suggests Colonial Maids.”

“I think that is fine,” acquiesced Nellie Hall. “Don’t you like it, Audrey?”

“Yes; it is the best yet. I move that we adopt it,” said Audrey.

“Seconded,” cried Nellie.

“Now, girls,” Audrey continued, “we must not forget to have some interesting facts for next time. Each must bring some bit of incident to tell.”

“And what about the time and place of meeting?” questioned Margaret Greene.

“I think it would be nice if we could meet on Friday afternoons in the school-room, if Miss Adams will let us.”

“Then I propose that a committee of two be appointed to ask her,—you, Audrey, and Lisa Holmes.” And Margaret looked around for some one to approve.

“Second the motion,” cried Persis. And the meeting broke up with congratulations upon its success from one to the other.

But, pleasant as the little club promised to be, what heart-burnings followed. Almost immediately there were bickerings and troubles. The Colonial Maids were looked upon as exclusive and disagreeable by those who were not members of the club, while these outsiders were regarded as open enemies by the “Maids.”

There were, of course, some girls who wisely showed no partisan spirit and were friendly to all; but these were few, not more than ten girls out of sixty pupils being of this class. The club soon increased to twenty members, and great were the boastings and lofty was the bearing of most of these.

“It just suits Lisa,” Persis confided to her mother. “She holds her chin in the air higher than ever, and Mellicent thinks just as Audrey does; so I get terribly sat upon if I say there are as nice girls out of the club as in it. But I have a scheme, and I’m going to carry it through.”

“Now, don’t do anything disagreeable, Persis,” warned her mother.

“I’m not going to. I really am not, mamma, only I do think they ought to be taken down a peg or two. Miss Adams says, although she approves heartily of our having a club, and does not object to our using the school-room, she is very sorry to see this warlike element. And when one of the outsiders was asked to contribute to Miss Adams’s Christmas-gift she refused because she said it was taxation without representation. I think that was a good joke.”

Mrs. Holmes laughed. “It was rather hard on Miss Adams.”

“Yes, I know; but the outside girls think she favors the club because she allows us the use of the school-room, and not more than ten of them have given anything toward the Christmas gift. Oh, I tell you we’re in hot water.”