to give her the centre of the stage; they had admired and
congratulated, had helped her in all hearty generosity. They had
listened to her praises of Martin and his of her, and had given
her more than her share of the household treasures of silver
spoons and yellowed old lace.

And now that she was gone they enjoyed their own lives again, and
cast over hers the glamour that novelty and distance never fail to
give. Cherry, married and keeping house and managing affairs, was
an object of romantic interest. The girls surmised that Cherry
must be making friends; that everyone must admire her; that Martin
would be rich some day, without doubt. When her letters came,
there was always animated chatter about the fire.

Cherry wrote regularly, now and then assuring them that she was
the same old Cherry. She described her tiny house right at the
mine, looking down at the rough scaffoldings that covered the
mouth of the tunnels, and the long sheds of the plant, and the
bare big building that was the men's boarding-house. Martin's
associates brought her trout and ducks, she wrote; she and Martin
had driven three hundred miles in the superintendent's car; she
was preparing for a card party.

"Think of little old Cherry going off on week-end trips with three
men!" Alix would say proudly. "Think of Cherry giving a card
party!" Anne perhaps would make no comment, but she often felt a
pang of envy. Cherry seemed to have everything.

Alix was working hard with her music this winter, aided and
abetted by Peter, who was tireless in bringing her songs and