The neighbors and the children gave the cheer heartily if somewhat awkwardly, and when Keefe called “Three cheers for your teachers, Miss Carson and Miss McBirney,” they became rather lustier; and when he came to, “Three cheers for Miss Pace,” remembering the dainties she had provided, they were aroused to a hoarse enthusiasm. They wanted to be polite; to shake hands; to say thank you; but the storm was muttering. Azalea waved them all away laughingly. “Why say good-bye?” she cried. “We’ll never forget you and you’ll never forget us, but we mustn’t stop to talk about it. The storm’s coming. Run—or stay.” The thunder drowned her voice. “Come, Azalea,” cried Keefe; “don’t stop to lock up. Some of the people will be wanting to stay in the schoolhouse, probably. Here, put on my coat and run.” “But you mustn’t run, Keefe,” warned Azalea. “Your heart—mustn’t you be careful of that?” The boy laughed lightly and held out his hand, and Azalea, taking it, felt herself flying along through the darkening paths of the woods. Safe in the Oriole’s Nest, the Carsons, the Rowantrees, the Paces and Keefe and Azalea, made many plans that evening of wild summer rain. It had been arranged that they were all to be accommodated for the night between the McEvoys’ and the cottage, so since none was leaving, there was no need for haste. Not a person there was of the sort who feels that nightfall bids him to bed. They did as they pleased with their day and their night, and this night they wished to talk. The little Rowantrees, Gerald and the weary Constance, Moira and Michael, the twins, were nested in the hammocks and on the couches, and in the lightning-pierced gloom, with the storm crashing and thundering about them, the others sat long, talking over each other’s affairs with a frankness which might not have been easy under other circumstances. Keefe made it known that he was going to New York, taking his summer’s product of pictures with him, to “try himself out.” He had something to work for now; there was some zest to life; he wanted to make a success of himself for the sake of Mary Cecily and the children. Annie Laurie was to attend to her dairy, and being now ready to take up advanced studies, was to study the University Extension Course by herself. “Miss Parkhurst, your governess,” said Mrs. Carson to Carin, “is not coming back, my dear. She is to live nearer her mother and sister and teach school. That means that our plans for you must be changed. We shall send you to the Roanoke Academy for Young Ladies. After you have had two years there you may take up your study of painting, if you wish to do so, in some art school. In the meantime, you will have art instruction at the school.” “But, mamma,” cried Carin, “that means—why, that means that Azalea and Annie Laurie and I will not study together any more. Why, it means breaking up the Triple Alliance!”