that Mr. Lloyd was coming over to-morrow at ten o'clock, and
Peter, too--

"Peter won't be much good!" Alix commented. Cherry looked at her
reproachfully.

"You're awfully mean to Peter, lately!" she protested. Her father
gave her a shrewd look, with his good-night kiss, and immediately
afterward both the younger girls dragged their way up to bed.

Alix and Cherry shared a bare, woody-smelling room tucked away
under brown eaves. The walls were of raw pine, the latticed
windows, in bungalow fashion, opened into the fragrant darkness of
the night. The beds were really bunks, and above her bunk each
girl had an extra berth, for occasional guests. There was scant
prettiness in the room, and yet it was full of purity and charm.
The girls sat upon their beds while they were undressing, and
plunged upon their knees on the bare pine floor and rested their
elbows upon the faded patchwork quilts while they said their
prayers. Mill Valley was so healthful a little mountain village
that among her two thousand residents there was only one doctor,
the old man who sat by the fire downstairs, and he had formally
retired from general practice. The girls, like all their
neighbours, were hardy, bred to cold baths, long walks, simple
hours, and simple food. In the soft Western climate they left
their bedroom windows open the year round; they liked to wake to
winter damp and fog, and go downstairs with blue finger-tips and
chattering teeth, to warm themselves with breakfast and the fire.

So Alix said nothing when Cherry went to the window to-night, and