The house, completely furnished, had been rented from some friends of Mrs. McGuire’s who were traveling abroad, but Betty had had some of her favorite belongings sent up from Denniston. Good-natured Pete had taken Betty’s list and had carefully packed and forwarded every item on it, and then, after securely locking up the house, had followed the family to Boston, and was installed there as general utility-man, and a very valuable one at that. Grandma Jean and little Polly were also there, and Jack, who had entered the Institute of Technology, was delighted with his new opportunities for progress in his studies. Mrs. McGuire had wisely concluded not to make very desperate efforts to improve Betty’s “manners,” but to trust to the general influences of a well-ordered school and well-bred companions. And so Betty was happy in her new school life, and was rapidly making firm friends among the pupils there. Indeed, given a fair start, she could not fail to be a general favorite, for her warm-hearted unselfishness and her cheerful good nature were unfailing, and she was always ready to do a favor or to enter into a plan with enthusiasm. Though friendly with the others, Betty liked Jeanette Porter and Dorothy Bates best of all the girls, and this trio were often together, both in and out of school hours. Jeanette was a slender, rather delicate, girl, with a sweet countenance and large, serious eyes. Dorothy was a gay, roly-poly sort of a being, who was always smiling, and irrepressibly inclined to mischief. But they both loved Betty, and she was fond of them, and never a cross word marred the happiness of their intimacy. Sometimes, if Jeanette seemed too sober-faced, the other two would tease her a bit or play a merry joke on her, but always in a spirit of harmless fun, and when their victim could no longer keep from smiling at their foolery, they declared themselves satisfied. But one day, as they walked home from school together, Jeanette was really troubled about something, and though she tried to conceal it, she was on the very verge of tears. “What’s the matter, Jeanie?” said Betty, tucking her arm through her friend’s, while Dorothy walked on her other side. “Nothing, Betty,” said Jeanette, not crossly, but decidedly. “Please don’t ask me about it.” “Indeed we will ask you about it!” declared Dorothy. “You just must tell us what’s up, because we’re your trusties and trues—aren’t we, Betty?” “Of course we are! What’s up, Jeanette? Anybody been scolding you?” “No, it isn’t that. Oh, girls, I don’t want to tell you!” “Well, I like that!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Now, you just out with it, Miss Secret-Keeper, and pretty quick, too!” “Oh, well, it’s nothing, anyhow,” said Jeanette, with a heightened color; “it’s only that I can’t go to the reception.” “Not go to the reception!” cried Betty and Dorothy together. “Why not?” “Well, because—because I can’t have a new dress.” “Oh, is that all?” said Betty. “Why, I’ll give you a new dress.”