“Why no, if you really don’t want me to.”

Arthur looked thoughtful.  “I wouldn’t for a while, anyway,” he said at last.

“I won’t tell until you say I may,” said Ruth with great decision.

“Well, then,—­I was sent out here to ask you to come in to dinner,” chuckled the graceless youth, picking himself up from the ground, and making off with surprising agility.

“Oh, you villain,” groaned Ruth, throwing a tennis ball at him with such unexpectedly good aim that it hit him squarely in the back.

“Good shot!  How did it happen?  Oh, but you did bite nicely that time,” and Arthur laughed again at her pretended rage.

“If you ever want to be forgiven, come back here and help me take in the racquets and balls,” called Ruth, starting toward the house.

“Sure, I will,” responded Arthur amiably.  “Give me all the racquets and you can take the balls.  I know,” he continued a moment later, “why every one is so nice to you.”

“Is this another sell?” demanded Ruth.

“No, this is truth.  You’ll find the answer in Mary’s Little Lamb if you change the words a little.  You look up the last verse and see if I’m not right.”

Ruth looked thoughtfully at him as they entered the house, and then sternly repressing the pleased smile that flitted over her face said with assumed indifference: 

“I hope that’s a compliment, but how can you expect me to remember the rhymes of my childhood?”

The days went by so fast that Ruth could hardly keep the run of the calendar.  They were full days, with hard work at school, delightful rides on Peter Pan with Arthur or his father to accompany her, and pleasant afternoons with the girls at one house or another.  Then there were important letters from her father and Uncle Jerry which necessitated lengthy replies, and frequent conferences with Miss Burton and Mrs. Hamilton.

On the night of the Candle Club party the girls met first at Dorothy’s house, and went out into the stable together.  A large room on the second floor had been given up to the boys who had furnished and decorated it to suit their taste and their opportunities.  An old piano, begged for by Frank when the Marshalls were buying a new one, stood under one of the electric lights and looked well-used.  That it had outlived its most tuneful days was not to be denied, but Arthur could still coax college songs out of it, and for miscellaneous strumming and tunes with one finger it was invaluable.  It was also a convenient place on which to leave sweaters, hats and books, and altogether the boys considered it one of the most valuable of their possessions.

The furniture of the club room could hardly be called ornamental, but it was certainly comfortable.  A couple of steamer chairs, a roomy couch covered with bright cushions, and an ancient bookcase offered an impartial welcome to the lazy and the studious, and bore mute witness to the fact that many happy hours had been passed there.  The boys had made the room gay with banners, and trophies of past victories, and red curtains and a few rugs added to the general cheerfulness.