Nina Borst was as irresponsible as she was good-hearted. The fact probably was that not once since the exciting invitation to spend three months in California had reached her had she thought of Edna Miller and the snow-shoeing party. If she had, she had apparently dismissed it with the conclusion that Edna would not consider joining the snow-shoers without her. It was way back in October that she had asked Ollie Bartlett, official chaperon and manager of the party, to write and ask Edna Miller—"a little kid friend of mine I want to bring along in my pocket," she had explained.
"And so, naturally, I did as I was told," announced Ollie Bartlett, remonstrating with the other half-dozen Amazonian creatures gathered in her room, two or three hours after Edna Miller had made her first appearance in light gray chiffon cloth, "and here she is—pearls, rhinestones and all."
The others laughed.
"Nina hasn't got any more sense than to do a thing like that," announced one of the brawniest of the young oxen. "Did you see the expression on Bord Mathewson's face after dinner, before the fire there, when Miss Miller was explaining to us how she adored snow-shoeing, and how much of it she had been doing this winter in the
