little once more.

There were all sorts of children there; little country girls with checked
gingham aprons and sunbonnets, demure little Puritan maids with cork-
screw curls and pantalets, sturdy little girls in sailor suits, sweet
little girls in ruffled muslins, tall little girls, all arms and ankles.
There was even a Topsy, gay in yellow calico, and an almond-eyed Japanese
whose long kimono and high-piled hair prevented her taking part in the
active American games of her mates. The taller girls were necessarily
absurd. Some of the smaller ones were surprisingly realistic. And all,
big and little, danced and laughed and squabbled, tripped over their
skipping ropes, pursued their hoops or played with their dolls under the
apple-trees in true "little girl" fashion and with the utmost zest and
abandon.

Miss Ferris's room at the Hilton House overlooked the apple orchard, and
presently she and Miss Raymond strolled out together to see the fun. They
were greeted with a shout of joyous welcome from a noisy group in the
farthest corner of the lawn, who immediately joined hands and came in a
long, wavering line, "hippity-hopping" to meet them.

"Oh, Miss Ferris," called Dorothy King from one end of the line, "we want
you and Miss Raymond to be judge. Which of us looks the youngest?"

"We've been disputing about it all the afternoon," added Mary Brooks
breathlessly from the middle of the line. "You see we're all dressed
alike in white muslin and blue sashes. Now Miss Raymond, don't I look
lots younger than Dottie?"

"Stand in a row," commanded Miss Ferris laughingly, and the chattering