couldn't have a prettier site."

The three women followed Mr. Symes up the steps, then, as if by common
consent, turned and looked out over the green expanse of closely-clipped
lawn, sprinkled with sentinel-like old trees. They had stood guard year
after year and silently watched the comings and goings of the hundreds of
girls who proudly acknowledged Overton as their Alma Mater.

"What's the use of gazing and mooning?" asked Elfreda, with sudden
brusqueness. "Please open that door, Mr. Symes. I shall certainly weep and
wail disconsolately out of pure sentiment if you don't distract my
attention with something else. Show me the furniture, or the boxes it came
in, or anything else that won't call forth tender reminiscences."

Grace's laugh sounded a trifle shaky, but it was a laugh nevertheless.
Something in Elfreda's brusque tones acted as an antidote to her
retrospection. She had been more or less ghost-ridden ever since her
return to Overton. She now resolved to shake off that pleasantly
melancholy sensation and "be up and doing with a heart for any fate."

The caretaker admitted them to a hall crowded with huge packing boxes. In
fact, the whole of the first floor was occupied by the large shipments of
furniture recently delivered into the care of Mr. Symes.

"It's worse than the cottage," announced Elfreda; "a regular howling
wilderness. I'd like to know how we can possibly guess what's what and
why. These boxes all look alike. If we have our minds set upon seeing the
parlor suite, we'll be sure to unpack the kitchen furniture instead."

"We'll let the men wrestle with the unpacking, girls," decided Mrs. Gray.