“It isn’t that at all,” sobbed Mabel, “but something just terrible has happened. I forgot to label them and I kuk—kuk—can’t remember which lock of hair is Maude’s and which is Cora’s—and I just loved them both.”
“Well,” soothed Marjory, “both girls are far from bald—you can easily write for more hair.”
“Cheer up,” comforted Jean, “I did label mine and I can identify anybody’s hair. And—and we all hate to part with those girls; but we must look respectable when we get to the station; and when Mr. Black meets us in Chicago—”
“We’ll be mighty glad to see him,” said Mabel, smiling bravely through her tears, “and this time I’ll try not to get lost.”
“Climb out, everybody,” said Charles, stopping his car. “Here’s the station, right in the same old place. And there’s your train, right on time. And I hope I don’t see another girl or another trunk for the next four months. So long and good luck.”
THE END