“Oh, the same old things:  school and music lessons, and good times in the evenin’ with mothah and papa Jack and grandfathah.”

As they jogged along, side by side, the Little Colonel chatting gaily of all that had happened since their last meeting, Rob kept casting curious glances at her.  “What have you been doing to yourself, Lloyd Sherman?” he demanded, finally.  “You look so—­so different!” There was such a puzzled expression in his sharp gray eyes that the Little Colonel laughed.  Then her hand flew up to her head.

“Don’t you see?  I’ve had my hair cut.  I had to beg and beg befo’ mothah and papa Jack would let me have it done; but it was so long,—­away below my waist,—­and such a bothah.  It had to be brushed and plaited a dozen times a day.”

“I don’t like it that way.  It isn’t a bit becoming,” said Rob, with the frankness of old comradeship.  “You look like a boy.  Why, it is as short as mine.”

“I don’t care,” answered Lloyd, her eyes flashing dangerously.  “It’s comfortable this way, and grandfathah likes it.  He says he’s got his Little Colonel back again now, and he sent to town for this Napoleon hat like the ones I used to weah when I was a little thing.”

“When you were a little thing!” laughed Rob, teasingly.  “What do you think you are now, missy?  You’re head and shoulders shorter than I am.”

“I’m eleven yeahs old, anyway, I’d have you to undahstand, Bobby Moore,” answered the Little Colonel, with such dignity that Rob wished he hadn’t spoken.  “I was eleven last week.  That was one of my birthday presents, havin’ my own way about cuttin’ my hair, and anothah was the house pahty.  Oh, you don’t know anything about the house pahty I’m to have in June, do you!” she cried, every trace of displeasure vanishing at the thought.  “Grandfathah and papa Jack are goin’ away fo’ a month to some mineral springs in Va’ginia, and I’m to have my house pahty in June to keep mothah and me from bein’ lonesome.  It will not be a very big one, only three girls to spend June with me, but mothah says we can have picnics every day if we want to, and invite all the boys and girls in the Valley, and we can have the house full from mawnin’ till night.  I’ll invite you right now for every day that you want to come.  We’ll expect you at all the pahties and picnics and candy-pullin’s that we have.  I want you to help me give the girls a good time, Bobby.”

Rob whirled his cap around his head with a “Whe-ew!  Jolly for you!” before he answered more politely, “Thank you, Lloyd, you can count on me for my part.  I’ll be on hand every time you turn around, if you want me.  Who all’s coming?”

For answer Lloyd held up the three letters she was carrying, and let him see the first address, written in Mrs. Sherman’s flowing hand.

Miss Eugenia Forbes,
The Waldorf-Astoria,
New York City.

“Well, who is she?” he asked, reading it aloud.