is by crawling."

"Oh! Oh! Listen to the Irish bull!" cried Helen.

"Oh, is it?" exclaimed Jennie. "Maybe there is a bit of Irish in the
McStones, or O'Stones. I don't know."

She certainly was the life of the party. Helen and Ruth had too recently
bidden Tom Cameron good-bye to feel like joining with Jennie in
repartee. Though it might have been that even the fat girl's repartee
was more a matter of repertoire. She was expected to be funny, and so
forced herself to make good her reputation.

This trip by automobile in fact was a forced attempt to cheer each other
up on the part of the chums. At the Outlook, the Cameron's handsome
country home, matters had become quite too awful to contemplate with
calm, now that Tom had gone back to France. At least, so Helen stated.
At the Red Mill Ruth had been (she admitted it) ready to "fly to
pieces." For naturally poor Aunt Alvirah and Jabez Potter, the miller,
were pot cheerful companions. And the two chums had Jennie Stone as
their guest, for she had returned from New York with them, where they
had all gone to bid Tom and Henri Marchand farewell.

The three college friends had picked Mercy Curtis up (she had been with
them at boarding-school "years and years before," to quote Jennie) and
started on this trip from Cheslow to Longhaven. On the outskirts of
Longhaven a Wild West Show was advertised as having pitched its tents.

"And, of course, if there is anything about the Wild West close at hand
our movie writer must see it," said Jennie. "Give you local color, Ruth,