"Oh, I don't see why it is!" she cried suddenly, laying her head down on the trunk's sharp edge, and breaking into a passionate sobbing, all the stronger for having been long denied. "I surely try, but, they are unkind; they are, I know." And then the thick sobs broke vehemently forth, and echoed out into the quiet hall; but Olive was alone upstairs, and she knew it; besides, I doubt if she could have controlled herself now, even had the whole of the amazed family confronted her. Poor, sensitive, unfortunate Olive; was it her fault wholly, that her sisters seemed able to be happy, quite regardless of her, and that she seemed to fill no place in home except as "that queer, homely Olive," as she had once heard herself called? This afternoon, the girls had all dressed gayly, and gone for a ride behind "Prince" with Mr. Phillips. He had said, "all the girls," when asking for them, but Olive so seldom joined in any of their little gayeties outside of home, that it really seemed strange and out of place for her to go with them; so she waited, when the time came to dress, wondering, and half hoping that one of them would express a little desire that she should go. Such a thought, however, occurred to no one; for so many times had she flatly refused to go, that they had all gradually ceased asking, supposing that she would do as she pleased. Once, to be sure, Bea did run up to the arbor, seeing her there, with the question on her lips, but Olive saw her coming, and fearing that the new desire and expectation would show in her face, bent her eyes to her book, quite unconscious of the heavy scowl on her brow; so, after one glance, Bea withdrew in a hurry, remembering frequent complaints for disturbance. At the hasty disappearance, Olive looked up with a bitter little smile, that would have instantly disclosed to an observer, how she was construing the act, and how she was hurt in spite of herself. "There! she was afraid she'd have to ask me something about it, if she came in, so she got out in a hurry. But they needn't worry; I'll not force myself in; I'm queer, and ugly, and had better stay by myself;" and with that, Olive shut her lips fiercely tight, and did not once lift her eyes, when, a little while later, they all went laughing down the walk, never heeding her or once regretting her absence. It often happened so now, and Olive missed the coaxings with which they had once tried to draw her out, never once dreaming that she had done away with them herself, by shortly, tersely, and repeatedly asking, to "be let alone." No, this never occurred to her, as she sat there crying bitterly, but her broken words revealed the track of her thoughts.