This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

"Mollie Thurston, we are lost " cried Barbara dramatically. The two sisters were in the depth of a New Jersey woods one afternoon in early September. "Well, what if we are " laughed Mollie, leaning over to add a cluster of wild asters to her great bunch of golden rod. "We have two hours ahead of us. Surely such clever woodsmen as we are can find our way out of woods which are but a few miles from home. Suppose we should explore a real forest some day. Wouldn't it be too heavenly Come on, lazy Barbara We shall reach a clearing in a few moments."

"Pink hair ribbons " Barbara Thurston's brown, bright face seemed to twinkle all over, as she clinked a yellow coin on the marble top of the little sewing table. "Silk stockings " chorused Mollie Thurston gleefully. "Wasn't it the luckiest thing that the hotel people wanted so many berries this year " And she, too, sent a gold piece spinning over the smooth surface. "But, perhaps, we won't be invited after all," she sighed.

"I think I'd make a pretty good housemaid," said Barbara, on her knees, energetically polishing the floor of the cottage parlor. "Only housemaids don't wear gloves and all-over aprons and mobcaps," replied Mollie. "And they don't protect their skins from dust with cold cream," added Barbara, teasingly. "Do they, Molliekins?"

"Wha-a-at is it?" she muttered, then opened her eyes wide. In the darkness of the Pullman berth she could see nothing at all save a faint perpendicular line of light at the edges of the curtains that enclosed the section. "I-I wonder what made me wake up so suddenly?" Barbara put out a groping hand. The hand came in contact with Mollie Thurston's face. Mollie brushed it away, muttering irritably in her sleep. Then all at once Barbara discovered what had awakened her. Close at hand she heard the voices of two men. They were conversing in low, cautious tones.

"I don't believe anything could be more lovely than this," exclaimed Mollie Thurston, leaning back in a wicker chair on the piazza of one of the largest hotels at Palm Beach. "Right you are " replied her friend, Ruth Stuart, as she gazed across the still blue waters of Lake Worth dotted with pleasure boats. "I can't decide whether I should like to ride in the automobile, or sail, or just sit in the cocoanut grove and listen to the music. Life seems so easy under a blue sky like this, and there are so many things to do that it is hard to make a choice."

Barbara Thurston stood at the window of a large old-fashioned house, looking out into Connecticut Avenue. It was almost dark. An occasional light twinkled outside in the street, but the room in which Barbara was stationed was still shrouded in twilight. Suddenly she heard a curtain at the farther end of the drawing-room rustle faintly.