Breakfast was somewhat hurried. Beaconhite was distant over a hundred miles, but its inaccessibility counted for more hours’ travelling than the miles. To reach it Cis must go to New York; cross there to another railway station, and start again for her destination, therefore she was to take an early train to New York. Tom and Nan were going to see her off. Mrs. Dowling put up a delicious lunch for Cis, and gave it to her with the utmost kindness, and much excellent advice as to conditions and conduct of which young Cicely, accustomed to the world and to make her way in it from her childhood, knew ten times as much as the older woman, and had practically and instinctively formulated her own rules. “And, my dear,” Mrs. Dowling ended, “I wish you’d at once go and call on some fine priest, get him interested in you. You’re a girl that needs it, though all do who are alone like you. And where’ll you stay to-night, till you find a nice room, in a decent house? And how’ll you know what any house’s like in a new place, unless you call on the priest and he sends you to the right one? You can’t be too careful, Cicely; you heed what one who is old enough to be your mother tells you.” “I wouldn’t know what to say to the priest if I called on him, Mrs. Dowling,” laughed Cis. “I’ll stay at a hotel, pick out a good one. I’ve made up my mind to take a week off, not present my letter to that other Mr. Lucas for a bit. I’ll get a hotel for five dollars a day, I’m sure, and I’ve decided to spend thirty-five dollars on myself laying off, sizing up Beaconhite for a week. Then I’ll roll up my sleeves and pitch in. I may get acquainted with some decent young fellow of my own age. You take a risk when you pick up a girl, but with a boy you don’t. Then a boy never misunderstands you; you can be honest and friendly with a boy, and he’ll always see it if you’re straight, and play right up to you, good chum-fashion, not looking for trouble, nor for anything behind your jolly good times. I’ll try to find a nice boy, first, in Beaconhite and he can steer me to his sister, or his cousins, and other girls. Isn’t that all so, Tom?” “Right you are, Cis!” cried Tom. “Fellows know what girls mean--worse luck! It wouldn’t be half-bad if a chap couldn’t always dope you out so easy.” “Cicely Adair, I wish you had a mother!” cried Mrs. Dowling. “Don’t you suppose I do?” Cis exclaimed. “The right sort; but we always think our mother would have been the right sort, if we’d had her, of course! You’ve been kind, Mrs. Dowling; indeed I thank you for it. Don’t worry about me. I don’t believe I’ll take a plunge; I sort of believe in my luck. I’m going to keep in mind that I’ve got to be the old maid godmother to Nan’s children, and that she’ll expect a perfect lady for the part! Isn’t it time we were getting off, children? If you make me lose that train you can stop down in town and order crepe for your mother to put on!”