Toward the latter part of June the McGuire family migrated to Denniston for the summer. The beautiful country place, on the outskirts of the little town of Greenborough, was looking its prettiest as they arrived one lovely afternoon and took possession. “In some ways I’m glad to be back here,” said Betty, as they sat on the veranda after supper, “and in some ways I’m not.” “That’s the way with ’most everything,” commented Jack, philosophically; “there are always some good sides and some bad sides to whatever we do. I love Denniston, but there’s more to do in Boston.” “And more people,” said Betty. “Yes,” agreed Jack; “I’ve always noticed there _are_ more people in a large city than in a small village.” Betty threw a hammock pillow at him, and went on: “I mean more people that I like to be with. I shall miss Dorothy and Jeanette awfully down here.” “You might invite them to visit you,” suggested her mother. “I would; but it’s rather dull here. There’s nothing special for them to do, you see; they usually go to watering-places in the summer, and I doubt if they’d want to come here.” “Oh, pshaw, Betty!” said Jack. “They’d like to come, just to see you. And Denniston Hall is a lovely place. A flock of girls ought to be able to make fun for themselves here.” “That’s so,” said Betty; “anyhow, I’ll ask them, and if they don’t want to come, they can decline. I’ll ask Constance too, and perhaps Lena—that is, if you are willing, Mother.” “Do,” said her mother. “Make it a little house-party. With picnics and drives you can make it pleasant for them, I’m sure.” Just then Agnes Graham and her brother Stub came strolling up the driveway, and heartily welcomed the Denniston people back to their summer home. “You’re just in time,” said Agnes, as the young people grouped themselves in the wicker chairs on the veranda or in the swinging settee; “have you heard about the Library Benefit?” “No,” said Betty; “what is it?” “Oh, somebody’s going to give a whole lot of money for a town library, if the town will raise another whole lot of money itself. And so everybody in Greenborough is planning to do something to help. And we thought, that is, we hoped, you’d join with the Dorcas Club, and help us.” “I’d like to,” said Betty, “but tell me more about it.” “Well, the truth is, Betty, the girls of the Dorcas Club haven’t really made any definite plans, and they want you to suggest something—only they’re afraid to ask you.” “Afraid to ask me!” exclaimed Betty. “Why?” “Oh, they think you’re so haughty and stuck-up since you’ve lived in Boston that they’re afraid you won’t want to work with us.” “Agnes Graham, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Have you ever known me to act a bit haughty?” “No, I haven’t. But the other girls don’t know you as well as I do, and they say that.” “Pooh! May Fordham and Tilly Fenn know me quite as well as you do; do they say I’m haughty?” “No, May and Tilly don’t—at least, I’ve never heard them.”