"There were forty-eight last term. I don't know how many there'll be
this, for they say Mrs. Florence is going to give up. It's she who
makes the school so popular."

All this time the train was moving northward. With every mile the
country grew prettier. Spring had not fairly opened; but the grass
was green, and the buds on the tress gave a tender mist-like color
to the woods. The road followed the river, which here and there
turned upon itself in long links and windings. Ranges of blue hills
closed the distance. Now and then a nearer mountain rose, single and
alone, from the plain. The air was cool, and full of brilliant zest,
which the Western girls had never before tasted. Katy felt as if she
were drinking champagne. She and Clover flew from window to window,
exclaiming with such delight that Lilly was surprised.

"I can't see what there is to make such a fuss about," she remarked.
"That's only Deerfield. It's quite a small place."

"But how pretty it looks, nestled in among the hills! Hills are
lovely, Clover, aren't they?"

"These hills are nothing. You should see the White Mountains," said
the experienced Lilly. "Ma and I spent three weeks at the Profile
House last vacation. It was perfectly elegant."

In the course of the afternoon, Katy drew papa away to a distant seat,
and confided her distress about the wash-stands.

"Don't you think it is horrid, papa? Aunt Izzie always said that it
isn't lady-like not to take a sponge-bath every morning; but how can