THE HONOR GIRL by Grace Livingston Hill Page A

closed, and no coats or hats were about. Even the papers were piled together under the table, and there had been a rude attempt to sweep up the dust; for she could see the marks of the broom in long dabbling sweeps, alternating with the places where the broom had not touched. Something queer and sweet leaped in her breast at the sight of that. It was a little message from the three to say that they had liked what she had done.
    A glimpse into the dining-room and kitchen showed awkward attempts to clean up and to keep things looking as she had left them. The tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as she realized this.
    Upstairs the rooms had been kept very tidy, and the beds were spread up bunglingly with brave attempts to make them smooth.
    With her heart somehow suddenly light and happy Elsie slipped into the little cotton gown and apron she had brought along, and ran downstairs. She had decided to bake more pies and make some cookies and gingerbread. These were things that would last a few days and not deteriorate. She had copied from her aunt’s cookbook several recipes for her use, and now she set about getting things in order for the day.
    She had brought with her some simple muslin curtains, which she had bought during the week. She proceeded to put them up while she waited for the things to come from the store.
    It did not take long to do it and to smooth out the wrinkles from the man-made beds; then she was ready for her baking.
    If the young man who had asked her to go in an automobile with him, and the friend who wanted her to go to the play, and the cousins who could not understand why she had chosen to stay at home, could have seen her with bright eyes and rosy cheeks flying around that kitchen for the next few hours, they would have stared in amazement. When she finally slipped out of the door at five minutes after six, not risking another car, lest she should be caught, she left behind her a row of pies, a big bowl of cookies, two tins of gingerbread, and a nicely cooked dinner; and her heart was very light and happy as she sank into her seat in the trolley. She knew she was going to meet with reproaches when she got back to Aunt Esther’s, but she didn’t care; she had done what she thought was right, and she never felt happier in her life.
    For three weeks Elsie kept up her pilgrimages, growing more and more deeply interested in the household of Morningside, finding extra little things to do for them, leaving touches of beauty and comfort behind her, and gradually obliterating the traces of desolation.
    The weeks were not filled with roses altogether, for her path was conscientiously strewn with thorns of advice and protest by her aunt and cousins; and she found it necessary to get up early and slip away before breakfast that third Saturday, lest she be prevented entirely.
    The day had gone well, and she was singing a little song as she worked. It was doughnuts she had elected to fry that afternoon, and everything was coming on finely. The dinner was well started; a big pan of biscuits was cooling in the pantry, a whole platter full of doughnuts well sprinkled with powdered sugar was on the kitchen table; and she was just cutting out another lot of them for frying when suddenly she became aware that she was not alone in the room! With that stealthy alertness we have when we become conscious of another presence Elsie looked up, and there in the pantry door stood both her brothers, their faces filled with wonder and delight, looking at her as if they could not believe she was real.
    She dropped the dough she was just lifting from the moulding-board, and clasped her hands with a little startled cry. She was surprised to find a tightening of joy around her heart. She stood for a second reading the surprise and pleasure in their faces; and then she sprang forward toward them, her arms outstretched, just as she used to do when she was a little bit of a girl.
    Startled, abashed, the two great fellows braced themselves