swaying in wider arcs.

Amy Stonington, who had not joined in the talk since the somewhat
hurried arrival of Betty, strolled over to the hammock and began
peering about in it-- that is, in as much of it as the fluffy skirts
of the two occupants would allow to be seen.

"I don't see it," she said in gentle tones-- everything Amy did was
gentle, and her disposition was always spoken of as "sweet" by her
chums, though why such an inapt word is generally selected to describe
what might better be designated as "natural" is beyond comprehension.
"I don't see it," murmured Amy.

"What?" asked Grace, quickly.

"I guess she means that box of chocolates," murmured Mollie. "It's no
use, Amy, for Grace finished the last of them long before Betty blew
in on us-- or should I say drifted? Really, it's too warm to do more
than drift to-day."

"You finished the last of the candy yourself!" exclaimed Grace, with
spirit. If Grace had one failing, or a weakness, it was for
chocolates.

"I did not!" snapped Mollie. Her own failing was an occasional burst
of temper. She had French blood in her veins-- and not of French lilac
shade, either, as Betty used to say. It was of no uncertain color--
was Mollie's temper-- at times.

"Yes, you did!" insisted Grace. "Don't you remember? It was one with a