There was one source of consolation, however, which during the first days at home she had quite overlooked, and that source was none other than Anna May and Elizabeth Angerell. The two little girls had by no means overlooked the fact that their Miss Harlowe was "the very nicest person in the whole world except papa and mamma," and proceeded to monopolize her whenever the opportunity offered itself. Grace went for long walks with them. She helped them dress their dolls, and ran races and played games with them in their big sunny garden. She initiated them into the mysteries of making fudge and penuchi, while they obligingly taught her the ten different ways they knew of skipping the rope, and how to make raffia baskets. They followed her about like two adoring, persistent little shadows, until imbued with their carefree spirit of childhood, Grace, in a measure, forgot her woes and joined in their innocent fun with hearty good will. "Really, Grace, I hardly know which is older, you or Anna May," smiled her mother one afternoon as Grace came bounding into the living room with, "Mother, do you know where my blue sweater is? Anna May and Elizabeth and I are going for a walk as far as the old Omnibus House." "It is hanging in that closet off the sewing room," returned her mother. "Thank you." Dropping a hasty kiss on her mother's cheek, Grace was off. Mrs. Harlowe watched her go down the walk, holding a hand of each little girl, with wistful eyes. Grace had not been at home three days before her mother divined that all was not well with her beloved daughter. Yet to ask questions was not her way. Whatever Grace's cross might be, she knew that, in time, Grace would confide in her. On the way to the Omnibus House Grace was as gay and buoyant as her two little friends. It was not until they had reached there and Anna May and Elizabeth had run off to the nearest tree to watch a pair of birds which were building a nest and keeping up a great chirping meanwhile, that a frightful feeling of loneliness swept over Grace. She sat down on the worn stone steps sadly thinking of Tom Gray and the good times the Eight Originals had had at this favorite haunt. But why did the memory of Tom Gray continue to haunt her? Grace gave her shoulders an impatient twitch. How foolish she was to allow herself to grow retrospective over Tom. She had deliberately sent him away because she did not, nor never could, love him. Still she wished that the memory of him would not intrude upon her thoughts so constantly. "It's only because he's associated with the good times the Eight Originals have had," she tried to tell herself, but deep in her heart was born a strange fear that she fought against naming or recognizing.