“Oh, Mother, I couldn’t talk to Miss Maxwell as—as jokingly as I talk to the other girls! Why, even her name is Evangeline!” Mrs. McGuire smiled, as she kissed Betty good night. “It is an imposing name,” she said, “but try not to be afraid of it.” Next morning, Betty did try. She took Miss Maxwell for a sleigh-ride, but they did not make much progress toward chumminess. It was after luncheon, when the girls went up to Betty’s room for a little chat, that Betty, more perplexed than ever, involuntarily blurted out her anxiety. “Are you like this at home?” she said, scarcely realizing that the question was extremely personal. “Do you never chum with people?” Miss Maxwell broke into a ringing laugh. “I’m the chummiest thing in the world,” she said; “I’d love to be chums with you, but I’m so—so afraid of you!” “Afraid of _me_!” exclaimed Betty, opening her dark eyes wide in astonishment. “Why, it’s scared to death I am of you!” Then both girls went off into peals of laughter, for Betty’s quick wit caught the real state of the case, and Evangeline, too, saw the truth. “But I thought you so grand I must be extra polite,” said Betty, as they became calm again. “And I thought because you were the owner of this big house, I must behave with great dignity! Please be chums. May I call you Betty?” “I should hope so! I’m still too much afraid to say Evangeline, though.” “Call me Van, then; lots of my friends do, and I like it.” “I love it! It makes us friends at once. I think it was the ‘Evangeline’ part of you that scared me most. Why, when I heard that, I made the boys and girls give up our baked beans dinner, and have lobster pâtés and soufflée meringue.” “A baked beans dinner! What do you mean? My! but that sounds jolly!” So Betty told Evangeline of the Puritan party that had been set aside because of the unexpected guests. “Oh, what a shame!” cried Van. “I should have _loved_ it; can’t you get it up again? I can scrabble up a frock, I’m sure! It would be so _much_ more fun than a grand dinner! oh, a thousand times more! Pumpkin-pie and cider and candle-light! Oh! Oh! _Can’t_ you get it back?” “I don’t see how I could, Van. It’s after two now, and dinner’s at seven. But let’s try. Jack! Jack!” Jack came at Betty’s call, and he was informed of the wonderful discoveries the two girls had made concerning each other. He looked a little disgusted at Betty’s lack of intuition in the matter, and said: “Whew! what queer things girls are!” but he accepted the new situation, and set his wits to work to help Betty out. “Why, I should think we could manage it somehow,” he said. “Give Pete and Ellen charge of the dinner part of it; send word to your gorgeous caterer man that the dinner is postponed; and you, Betty, hop into the cutter and fly round and tell those who haven’t any telephone, while I stay here and call up all those who have. I’ll wager they’ll all come.”