But here Mrs. Everleigh came up. “Time to go, Mabel,” she said. “Didn’t you girls want any tea? I saw you two talking away for dear life, as if you were old and tried friends.” “Well, we are in a measure,” replied Mabel. “Ellen knows some intimate acquaintances of mine.” The two girls exchanged glances and laughed. “What’s the joke?” inquired Mrs. Everleigh curiously. “Just a little private one. You’ll take me to the Austins’ studio, won’t you, Auntie?” “Yes, if you’ll come along now. We must be getting home.” They made their farewells to Ellen and moved away, Mabel losing no time in making inquiries about this new acquaintance, but saying no word about the box. Ellen, too, was prompt in hunting up Mrs. Austin and learning what she might about Mabel. “I found out about your purple girl,” said Mrs. Austin, “though, from the way you two jabbered away like magpies, I don’t suppose there is much you haven’t learned.” “I didn’t learn so very much,” declared Ellen, “but we found out that we have many things in common. Tell me about her, please.” “She is a very wealthy girl, lives in Baltimore with her grandmother. Her mother died when she was but a small child, and her father a few years ago. Mrs. Everleigh is her aunt. I believe the girl is considered rather peculiar, doesn’t care for society, a grave fault in the grandmother’s eyes, who, like many Baltimoreans, prefers the social whirl and the good things of life rather than the intellectual ones. Mrs. Everleigh says her niece lives in a world of her own to which but few are admitted. You liked her, Ellen?” “Very much, and she wants to come to see me.” However, the girls were not destined to meet again at this time, for upon Ellen’s arrival at the studio there was a telegram for her which meant an early start for home the next morning. The telegram read: “Have had an accident. Come at once. Orinda Crump.” It was an unhappy beginning of the new year. The lonely, wearisome railway journey full of apprehension, the regrets for the good times that the day was to have afforded, the fears for what might be looked for in the future, all these brought a nervous, overwrought girl to Marshville. As she stepped from the train she looked around for some one to give her news of Miss Rindy, and, to her relief, saw Dr. Rowe, who came up at once. “Well, Ellen,” was his greeting, “I was watching for you. Come right with me; my car is waiting.” “Cousin Rindy, tell me, Doctor, what has happened to her?” “Nothing that she won’t recover from, although it makes it pretty bad for the present She fell and broke her hip yesterday morning.” “She is at home of course. Who is with her?” “It seemed best that she should go to the hospital, in fact she insisted upon it,—said she couldn’t afford trained nurses and all that. I took her myself.” “But hospitals cost a lot.”