"Well, I don't know. I'm sure--aren't they true?" bridled Genevieve. "True!" giggled Tilly, suddenly. "Oh, yes, they're true, just as 'c-a-t spells cat' is true--and they sound just about like that, too, Genevieve Hartley, and you know it." "Humph! I like that," bridled Genevieve, again. "Oh, Tilly, she writes lovely notes--you know she does," championed Cordelia, almost tearfully. "No, I don't write lovely notes," disputed Genevieve, with unexpected frankness. "They're just like Tilly says they are, and they're horrid. I _do_ say 'c-a-t spells cat' every time--but I simply can't seem to say anything else!" "But why don't you write as you talk?" argued Tilly. "Or as you do in the Chronicles?" added Cordelia. "You write just beautifully there." "But, Cordelia, that isn't _printed_," cried Genevieve, again, as they came in sight of the school building and saw Elsie Martin coming to meet them. At the doorway of the classroom Cordelia whispered to Genevieve: "Please wait after school for me. I'll tell you then--about the missionary work, you know." And Genevieve nodded assent. Once or twice during the day, Genevieve wondered what Cordelia's missionary work could be; but for the most part study and recitation filled her thoughts and time. Mid-year examinations were approaching, and, in spite of the fact that she had been doing much better work for the last month, she felt by no means sure of herself for the dreaded ordeal. It was of this she was thinking when she met Cordelia according to agreement at the close of the short afternoon session. "Here I am, dear," she sighed; "but, really, I reckon _I'm_ the one that needs the missionary work if any one does--with those horrid exams looming up before me." "Oh, but you've been doing such splendid work--lately!" cried Cordelia. "Thank you," retorted Genevieve, wrinkling up her nose saucily at the pause before the "lately." "I perceive you still know how to tell the truth, Miss!" "Genevieve!" protested Cordelia. "Oh, then you mean it wasn't the truth," bantered her friend. "Genevieve!" groaned Cordelia, hopelessly. "There, there, never mind," laughed the other. "Come, we must be running along; then you shall tell me all about this wonderful missionary work of yours. What is it?" "Well, it--it's about another of my--my finds." "Oh, your lost people?" "Yes. It's John Sanborn, Hermit Joe's son, you know. He wants to go West and take his father." "Well, can't he? Or doesn't his father want to? Maybe you want me to go and tell Hermit Joe not to be afraid of bronchos and buffaloes," laughed Genevieve. A swift color stole into Cordelia's face. "No; Hermit Joe wants to go." "Then what is it?" Cordelia laughed shyly. "Well, it--it's a lady, Genevieve." "A lady! Why, Hermit Joe and his son haven't any--any women or cousins, have they?" "No; but--but they want one," admitted Cordelia, a little breathlessly. Genevieve stopped short.