And, indeed, when at last the day came to start, Martha, in her trim, neat traveling-suit, looked almost as well dressed as the other two. They were to travel in charge of Mr. Halstead, Dorothy’s uncle, who was returning to his country home after a short business trip to Boston. He was a genial, affable sort of man, but after a little kindly conversation he left the girls to entertain themselves, and became absorbed in his paper. Martha was as happy as a bird. The prospect of the good time coming seemed to transform her, and she was so gay and merry that Dorothy concluded she had misjudged her, and that Betty was right about her. When they at last reached Halstead House, Irene was on the veranda to greet them. She kissed her cousin Dorothy and greeted her warmly, and then welcomed the other two as Dorothy introduced them. Neither Betty nor Martha had ever met Irene before, but Mrs. Halstead had written for Dorothy to bring two friends with her, and so the girls were at once made welcome. Two other girls were visiting Irene, so the house-party numbered six young people, and a gay flock they were. Maude Miller and Ethel Caswell were from New York, and proved to be pleasant and kindly, so Martha was not shy or embarrassed, and soon the half-dozen were chatting away like old friends. Halstead House was a large colonial mansion with innumerable rooms and wide porches and gardens. Irene was the eldest child, and there were also a small boy and a baby girl of three. The little Daisy reminded Betty of Baby Polly, and she made friends with her at once. Friday was Irene’s birthday, and in honor of it there was to be a May party, with a May-queen, May-pole, and all the traditional features. Of course this was the principal event of their visit, but the six girls managed to have a lot of fun besides. There was a lake on which to row, a pony-cart to drive, tennis-courts, croquet-grounds, and everything that could make country life pleasant. On Thursday afternoon the girls decided to walk down to the village. It was a pleasant walk along shady roads, and in a short time they found themselves in the tiny hamlet, with its little post-office and two or three small shops. Martha had been in especially gay spirits all the way. She had laughed and joked until Dorothy began to feel she had reason to be proud of her merry friend instead of ashamed of her. But Betty looked at Martha curiously. She couldn’t quite understand her to-day. Several times Martha had started to say something to Betty, and then stopped, as if afraid the others would hear. “What is it, Martha?” asked Betty, at last, dropping a little behind the others. “What are you trying to say?” “Oh, nothing,” said Martha, turning red and looking embarrassed. Then, as if with a sudden determined effort, she turned to the whole group and said: “Will you—won’t you—all come in and have ice-cream with me?”