"Well, the Leavitts are a very old family and they are a New England family, too, although I was born in California," interrupted Anne with a dignity that would have gladdened the great-aunt's heart. Nancy was again provoked to merriment. "Dad always said that the only other Leavitt _he_ knew was a cow-puncher! He could lick anyone on the plains." Anne ignored this. She was frowning in deep thought. "The tiresome part is that--if I _don't_ go--if I tell her about going to Russia--she may write to my guardian!" All three were struck dumb at the thought. Anne had not consulted her guardian before she had impulsively enlisted her services in Madame Breshkovsky's cause. Because she was three months past twenty-one, legally he could not interfere, but being so newly of age she had not had the courage to meet his protest. So she had simply written that she was planning a long trip with friends and would tell him of the details when they had been completed. A letter lay now in her desk which she intended to mail the day before she sailed. It would be too late, then, for him to interfere. If her conscience troubled her a little about this plan, she told herself that the cause justified her action. And now this Aunt Sa-something might upset everything! "I wish I could remember more about those relatives up there--father and mother used to laugh whenever they mentioned the old place. I always imagined they were dreadfully poor! She must be a terrible old lady--you can sort of tell by the tone of her letter. Oh, dear!" "What will you do?" echoed Claire, still thinking it a much more attractive adventure than Russia. "I have it!" cried Anne. "_You_ shall go in my place, Nancy!" "_I_! I should say not! Are you stark crazy, Anne Leavitt?" Anne seized her excitedly by the shoulder. "You could do it as easy as anything in the world, Nancy. She's never laid eyes on me and I know my father never wrote to her. You'll only have to go there for three or four weeks----" "And pose as a real Leavitt when I'm a Leavitt that just belongs to Dad! Well, I won't do it!" replied Nancy, stubbornly. "Nan-cy, please listen! You wouldn't have to do or say a thing--she'd just take it for granted. And you could always make some excuse to go away if----" "If it looked as though I was going to be found out! Why, it'd be like living on a volcano. And I'd be sure to always say the wrong thing!" "But you could _try_ it," implored Anne. "It would make everything simple and you'd be doing _your_ bit, then, for Madame Breshkovsky! Think of all she told us of the suffering in Russia. Surely you could do a little thing now to help! And if Aunt _did_ like you and left me her money, it would _really_ be you and we'd give it to the cause!" "It'd be acting a lie," broke in Nancy.