"Who could it have been?" cried the others. Katy had one moment's awful misgiving; but a glance at Rose's face, calm and innocent as a baby's, reassured her. It was impossible that she could have done this mischievous thing. Katy, you see, was not privy to that entry in Rose's journal, "Pay Miss Jane off," nor aware that Rose had just written underneath, "Did it. Feb. 14, 1869." Nobody ever found out the author of this audacious valentine. Rose kept her own counsel, and Miss Jane probably concluded that "the better part of valor was discretion," for the threatened inquiries were never made. And now it lacked but six weeks to the end of the term. The girls counted the days, and practised various devices to make them pass more quickly. Esther Dearborn, who had a turn for arithmetic, set herself to a careful calculation of how many hours, minutes, and seconds must pass before the happy time should come. Annie Silsbie strung forty-two tiny squares of card-board on a thread and each night slipped one off and burned it up in the candle. Others made diagrams of the time, with a division for each day, and every night blotted one out with a sense of triumph. None of these devices made the time hasten. It never moved more slowly than now, when life seemed to consist of a universal waiting. But though Katy's heart bounded at the thought of home till she could hardly bear the gladness, she owned to Clover,--"Do you know, much as I long to get away, I am half sorry to go! It is parting with something which we shall never have any more. Home is lovely, and I would rather be there than anywhere else; but, if you and I live to be a hundred, we shall never be girls at boarding-school again." CHAPTER XIII. PARADISE REGAINED. "Only seven days more to cross off," said Clover, drawing her pencil through one of the squares on the diagram pinned beside her looking- glass, "seven more, and then--oh, joy!--papa will be here, and we shall start for home." She was interrupted by the entrance of Katy, holding a letter and looking pale and aggrieved. "Oh, Clover," she cried, "just listen to this! Papa can't come for us. Isn't it too bad?" And she read:-- "Burnet, March 20.