The hospitable Littells had invited their daughters’ school friends (and, to quote Bob, there was a raft of them!) to come to Fairfields for the Christmas holidays, and at the close of the first term they bade good-bye to Shadyside and Salsette and took the train for Washington.

Fairfields, which was over the river in Virginia, was one of the most delightful homes Betty Gordon had ever seen.  It was closer to Georgetown than to the nation’s capital, and that is why Betty on this brisk morning was shopping in the old-fashioned town and had come across the orange silk over-blouse in the window of the neighborhood shop.

It was really too bad that Betty did not run back to the shop to ask for directions to the soldiers’ monument square.  She would have been just in season to interrupt the scene between Ida Bellethorne and Mrs. Staples and before the latter had threatened Ida with dismissal if she told Betty about the tiny locket.  When she came to find it out, this loss of Uncle Dick’s present, was going to trouble Betty Gordon very much.

“Where in the world can that soldiers’ monument be?” murmured Betty to herself as, after hurrying on for a distance and having turned two corners, she found herself in a neighborhood that looked stranger than ever to her.

Not a soul was in sight at that moment, but presently she saw a small negro boy shuffling along, drawing a piece of chalk on the various houses and stoops as he passed.

“Boy, come here!” called Betty to the little fellow.

At once the colored boy stopped the use of his piece of chalk and stared at her with wide-open eyes.

“I ain’t done nuffin, lady, ’deed I ain’t,” he mumbled, and then began to back away.

“I only want to know where the soldiers’ monument is,” she returned.  “Do you know?”

“Soldiers’ monument am over that way,” and the boy waved his hand to one side, where there was a hilly street, and then hurried out of sight.

“Oh, dear! that’s not very definite,” sighed Betty.

But now she ran down the hilly street at a chance, turned a crooked corner and came plump upon the square and the soldiers’ monument.  There was the Littells’ big, closed car just turning into the square from another street.

“What luck!  Fancy!” gasped Betty, running swiftly to the place where the big car stopped.

“You’re better than prompt, Miss Betty,” said the driver of the car.  “I am glad I hadn’t to wait for you, for Mister Bob told me particular to get you home for luncheon.  You’ll be wanted.”

“What for?  Do tell me what for, Carter!” Betty cried.  “I thought Bob Henderson was awfully mysterious this morning at breakfast.  Do you know what is in the wind, Carter?”

“Not me, Miss Betty,” said the chauffeur, and having tucked the robes about her he shut the door and got into his own place.  But before he started the car he said through the open window:  “I have to delay a little, Miss.  Must drive around by the bank and pick up Mr. Gordon.  But I will hurry home after that.”