"Yes, Mother. I was just showing the girls the new hairpins. We are
going to the station directly."

Cora's voice floated out of the low French windows, which opened from
the library to the porch, and they were swung wide, for the fall tang
in the air had vanished with the rising of the orb of day, and it was
now warm and balmy.

"It will be even warmer than this when we go to the West Indies,"
murmured Bess. "Oh, Cora, I do wish you were going!"

"So do I, dear! But I don't see how I can."

"Hark!" said Belle, softly.

A murmur of voices came from the porch through the low, opened
windows.

"It's one of those Armenian lace peddlers,"' said Cora, stooping down
to look as she finished making the twist at the back of her head.
"There's been a perfect swarm of them around lately. Mother is
talking to her, though she seldom cares for lace--such as they sell."

"There is some beautiful lace work to be had on some of the West
Indian islands, so mamma says," spoke Belle. "I am just crazy to get
there!"

"Are you going to spend all your time on Porto Rico?" asked Cora, as
she finished her hair.