which was of Ethel putting on her hat, and I will say that it was like her. In my portrait she looked desperately in earnest and absorbed, and she always does look this way over the angle of her hat. Mother laughed, Daddy looked up, smiled, and asked to see it, and I took it to him. When he looked at it, he frowned.

"Marcia," he said to Mother, "Eleanor ought to have some instruction. She deserves it the thing 's real all right. You have it in you, child

I thanked him, although I don't like his calling me child. I am two months past sixteen and in no time at all will be seventeen, but one's family never realize that one is grown up. It is one of the things which you must suffer, that absolute opaqueness in grown-ups as to your growing up.

However, to get on, Mother said, "Well, you 're set on being an illustrator, are n't you, dear?" I said I was. Then the doorbell rang, and Ethel went to answer it, because she knew it was Henry Lynch, her fiancé. After she was gone, Father folded his paper so that it crackled and creaked, and then spoke in an undertone. "If it were n't for that affair," he said to Mother,he meant Ethel's wedding and the trousseau and the expense they made,-"if it were n't for that affair, I think I could manage to send Eleanor to an art school next year; but what with business in such bad shape-" then his voice faded, and I felt so sorry for him-so very sorry for him that I asked him please not to worry and told him I could wait.

And

"I will manage it," he promised, "by the time you 're twenty-three or four."

I thanked him just as hard as I could, but I must confess that that made a lump in my throat, for I wanted to conquer the world while I was still young, and before I was a dried-up old maid with no ambition for anything but warm rooms, hot tea, and purring pussy-cats. And again I must confess that my drawing blurred before my eyes, for that was so far ahead and I wanted so much to begin my career.

I think Mother understood how I felt, although I did not let her see, for I hate her being worried or hurt.

"We 'll see," she said, and very lovingly, "whether we can't do something before that!" And I felt better. Then Mary began to talk about the winter picnic we'd planned to have at our little bungalow on Saturday, which was then "day after to-morrow." And just

as she was saying, "Won't those Wienerwursts taste good?" the telephone rang, and she and I were invited to a dance for Saturday night.

We were both very much pleased, because there had n't been a dance for three months to which we, the younger set, were invited.

"It seems to me that that makes quite a day for you-" said Father.

"Afraid you'll be pretty tired," put in Mother; but I knew we would n't be. Nothing like that ever exhausts me. Study alone leaves me tired. I was very happy over the party, because I had a new dress. It was made over from one of Ethel's, but it was really beautiful. It was white chiffon draped over pink, and it had little pink ribbon roses on it, and quite a low neck. It, of course, made me crazy to go somewhere where I could wear it. I went to sleep imagining myself in it at the party-if I had dreamed then that I could not go, I 'd have considered it the very worst of misfortunes! But I did not go, and my missing it was not a misfortune, but, instead, the rainbow which promises clear weather, and in this case a wishing rainbow which granted my dearest hope.

SATURDAY dawned clear and crisp, with just a little silver snow on the ground and lots of snap in the air. It was an ideal day for our winter picnic! And it seemed as if everything would be very pleasant and happy. Ethel was to go with us, and we were to cook our own lunch in our little bungalow by the creek, to slide and skate, and, when we got cold, come in and dance. At the last moment the mother of the oldest girl in our set telephoned that she had mumps (not the mother, the girl), and that left thirteen for our party. But I did n't believe in its being bad luck at that time, and so it did n't worry

me.

We all met at our house, took the suburban car to Pleasant View, which is the nearest stop to our little place, and from there walked. And we did have the best time! The boys pulled us on sleds for some of the way, we coasted down two long hills, and we sang and larked and it could n't have been nicer.

When we reached the bungalow we started a roaring fire right away,—rather we started two of them, one in the big grate and one in the stove, and in no time at all it was comfortable and cheery and snug. Then Charley Slocum found an ice-cream freezer and made some snow ice-cream. He worked awfully

hard over it, and it might have been good if he had n't flavored it with some hair tonic that Ethel had left in the bungalow last summer. She'd put it in a bottle marked "Vanilla," so it really wasn't Charley's fault. We had heaps of fun over that, for he took a big spoonful before he knew what was wrong, and every one kept inspecting his tongue all day, for we insisted it would look like Ethel's muff before the day was over!

After we'd skated a while and made a wonderful slide down to the creek, the boys poured water on it and it froze right away,Ethel called us and we went in to lunch.

And was it good?

Never in my life have I eaten so much or had it taste so good!

We had hot rolls, with Wienerwursts between them; bacon, sizzling and crisp; baked potatoes, watermelon pickle,-I am especially fond of that, dill pickles, because Marjory Lampton eats them all the time and can hardly get through a meal without them; hot mince-pie, chocolate cake, cocoa, and a big box of fudge that Gladys Smith brought. And we made toast and joked and everything was just as jolly as it can be on a picnic.

After we'd eaten, Willy Russell played his uke and we danced. He can't play well; in fact, can only render half of one selection, which is "My Mammy," but we had just as much fun as if it had been the best sort of music imaginable.

Every one said it was the nicest picnic they 'd ever been to, and much nicer than summer ones, although Terry Williams said he missed the ants and the caterpillars!

Before we knew it, it was four, and Ethel said we must go. Of course we objected, but she was firm, and at last would n't grant us the "just ten minutes more!" and we started out.

And here comes in The Event.

At the foot of our hill we found a pretty, gray-haired woman sitting on the step of a very smart gray limousine; there was blood on the snow by her feet,-it looked so red on the silvery white, and her chauffeur was bending over her. When Ethel saw her she went right up, and this is what had happened. The woman, whose name was Miss Louise Huntington, had seen some bittersweet by the roadside and wanted to get it. She said it had grown near the spot where she 'd lived as a girl, and that it held associations for her; so, from sentiment, she wanted to pick it herself. She spoke to her chauffeur, told him to stop, and then went up on the hillside. And

there she stepped into a trap. I think it had been put there by boys, for no hunter would leave one so near a roadside and it was too large for rabbits, which were the only things around. Jackson, her chauffeur, thought it was a bear trap; but in any event, it had n't caught a bear this time, but had trapped her, badly sprained her ankle and broken the skin. "Is there a place near here that I could go," she asked of Ethel, we had all drawn near, so we heard her, "while my man goes to the nearest town for a doctor?"

Ethel said our bungalow would do, and then she said: "I wish I could stay with you— it seems all wrong to leave you alone! You must be in a good deal of pain."

"It does hurt rather fiendishly," admitted Miss Huntington, and she smiled; which made me like her lots, for she was so pale that you knew she was suffering dreadfully.

"I have these chicks to get to town," explained Ethel (sometimes she acts as if she were Mrs. Methuselah-it is simply silly!). "If I had n't, I would stay-but I don't see how I can. I'm responsible for getting them home-"

"I could n't think of imposing myself on you, in any case," answered Miss Huntington, "but the nearest farm?"

She set her teeth on her lip at that point, and I could see how badly her ankle was hurting.

"The Brown farm is two miles away," I put in, "but there's our bungalow, Ethel; and if the lady would let me, I'd love to stay with her that is, if she would take me back to town so that I could go to the dance-"

Then she said, "No, my dear, I could n't bother you!" and I said I'd really like being bothered, if the arrangement suited her.

Well, to make a long story short, it was finally arranged that I should stay with Miss Huntington, and we all turned back to the bungalow. The boys started fires again and carried in what I considered more wood than we could possibly use (but it was luck that they did), and then Miss Huntington's chauffeur motored our picnic party to the trolley-car, and then went on to the town to get the doctor Ethel recommended. Then things began.

I had noticed that the sky was dark, and that the air was less sharp, but I had n't thought much about it, for things had been happening too quickly to permit much reflection. Now, all in a second, it seemed, the world was cut away from us by swirling flakes. I never saw the snow fall so hard, or so

Then I put more wood on the fire, found a blanket and wrapped her up in it, made some tea to have with the tiny bit of our picnic lunch that had been left, and we began to be much more comfortable. I felt lots better, although my heart felt weighted; and if you can believe it, it was the weight of that pinkywhite dress that bowed it low. I knew I would n't get to that dance! It seemed queer, the thing Miss Huntington said then -quite as if she could feel my thoughts.

"I hope," she said, "that you were n't planning to go anywhere this evening?" She had evidently forgotten my mention of the dance and I did n't remind her. Instead I said, "Oh, I'm not going anywhere!" so cheerfully that I was sure she would n't notice. I had n't exactly answered her question, for she was miserable enough without being uncomfortable about cutting into my social engagements.

As I moved around getting the tea and heating up the one Wienerwurst that was left, I told her about my family, she had asked, —and about how I wanted to be an artist, but about how Ethel had to be married properly, and how my little sister had to go away to school first. And she was very nice and interested.

Then

Then she asked me which of my studies I liked best, and I said French. And I told her how funny that had been, because I had been so sure I did n't want to learn it. she said something to me in French and I answered, and we talked for some minutes. It was interesting and I enjoyed it-then suddenly something clattered somewhere. She jumped and said, “It is dark, is n't it?"

And I said, just as carelessly as I could, "Oh, a little; but you must n't worry. I think it's rather fun!"

And then I heard steps on the porch, and I knew it was too soon to expect the doctor! Well, I swallowed about forty-seven thousand times, and it did seem to me I could n't get to the window to look out. I said a prayer, and very hard, as I went across the room; and after a deep breath, I pulled aside the curtain and looked.

What I saw was the back of a rockingchair we had forgotten to bring in, knocking against the house every time it tilted from a gust of wind. The chair had evidently worked itself across the porch in the gale, until it got to the spot where it could go no farther.

I laughed and told Miss Huntington about who was walking across our porch and she laughed and we were suddenly friends.

Then I sat down and we talked and waited. And it grew darker and darker and no one came. And I kept thinking of my pink dress and hoping I could get back in time for the last part of the party, anyway; and then I changed that, and only hoped I'd get in for one dance; and then I gave it up entirely, and that hurt! It did seem to me that I had never wanted to go to a party quite so much as I wanted to go to that one. You see, the dress was made for a Christmas party, and then I got tonsilitis and could n't go, and it had been hanging in a cupboard, and I did want it to hang on me! As I said before, it is a beautiful dress!

"It 's half past nine," said Miss Huntington, "what do you suppose has happened? The wind 's died down, has n't it?"

I said it had.

"Are you cold, child?" she asked, and I said, "N-n-no," but my teeth chattered and we both laughed. Then I heated some more water, and we made the last teaspoonful of tea into two weak cups, sipped those, and then waited some more.

It was two o'clock when we got to town, and I made Miss Huntington come home with me. The chauffeur, who had had tire trouble after he left Ethel and the rest at the trolley-car, they were too large a crowd for the motor and Ethel did n't want them to separate, had got lost in the storm, which overtook him right in the middle of his fixing the tire; he did n't get into town until ten, and of course not back to us for a considerable time after that.

And were we glad to see him? Well, almost as glad as my family were to see me, and I have never before been so fussed over. It took us over an hour to settle down, and after I was in bed Mother came in and sat down by me. She held my hands and stroked them, and kept asking me whether I'd been much frightened, and I had to say I had been.

"However," I confessed, "I most hated missing the dance, but-I suppose there 'll be another some day-"

She said she knew there would be and then she kissed me and left and I went to sleep. And of course, I dreamed of a dance and of steps on a hollow-floored porch and of being left alone in the woods in a blizzard-dreamed of these things so hard that it was a surprise to wake up in my own room, which was flooded with morning sun.

After I blinked twice, I saw Ethel at the door, with my breakfast on a tray.

"Wake up, invalid," she said, "I have some cocoa and orange marmalade and hot