Eurie was the most light-hearted and indifferent of this free-and-easy family, who always had roast turkey when it was to be had, and who could laugh and chat merrily over warmed-up meat and johnny-cake, or even no meat at all, when such days came.  How she ever came to think that she could go to Chautauqua was a matter of surprise to herself; but it happened to have been a sickly summer among the wealthy people, and large bills had come in—­the next thing was to spend them.  Chautauqua was a silly place to do it in, to be sure; that was Dr. Mitchell’s idea, and the family laughed together over Eurie’s last wild notion; but for all that they good-naturedly prepared to let her carry it out.  Just how full of fun and mischief and actual wildness Eurie was, a two-weeks sojourn at Chautauqua will be likely to develop; for before that conversation at Marion’s was concluded they decided that they were really going.  Why Marion went, puzzled the girls very much, puzzled herself somewhat.  She was her own mistress, had neither father to direct nor sister to consult.  She had an uncle and aunt who lived where she called “home,” and with whom she spent her vacations, but they were the poorest of hard-working country people, who stood in awe of Marion and her education, and by no means ventured to interfere with her plans.  Marion was as independent in her way as Ruth was in hers, but they were very different ways.  Ruth, for instance, indulged her independence in the matter of dress, by spending a small fortune in looking elegantly unlike everybody else, and straightway created a frantic desire in her set to look as nearly like her as possible.  But no one cared to look like Marion, in her severely plain black or brown suits, with almost and sometimes quite no trimmings at all on them.  It was agreed that she looked remarkably well, but so unlike any one else they didn’t see how she could bring herself to dressing so.  She laughed when this was hinted to her, and got what comfort she could out of the fact that she was considered “odd.”  In a certain way she ruled them all, Ruth Erskine included, though that young lady never suspected it.  The queerest one of this company was little Flossy Shipley—­queer to be found in just such company, I mean.  She was the petted darling of a wealthy home, a younger daughter, a baby in their eyes, to be loved and cherished, and allowed to have her own sweet and precious way even when it included such a strange proceeding as a two weeks in the woods, all because that strange girl in the ward school that Flossy had taken such an unaccountable fancy for was going.  This family were First Church people, too, and capable of buying a seat very near the centre, in fact but a few removes from the Erskine pew, which was, of course, the wealthy one of the church.  The Shipley pew was rarely honored by all the members of the family, and indeed the pastor had no special cause for alarm if several Sundays went by without an appearance from one of them.  A variety of trifles might happen to cause such a state of things, from which you will infer that they were not a church-going family.  Another strange representative for Chautauqua!