field, she cried out to the pink glow in the city sky, was diving, and one-stepping, and folk-dancing for "old maids" her age? And in such a place, where congenial groups never met together to exchange opinions in friendly conversation, how soon the little interest aroused in her by her courses in drama, and art, and current events, would starve for lack of nourishment!
"Oh, how I hate Ridgefield!" she murmured fiercely to herself. "How I hate Ridgefield!" Until that moment she didn't know she could detest innocent, inanimate things so heartily, such as streets, and houses, and buildings. The town-hall and the Methodist church on Main Street flashed before her vision. They were horrible buildings, depressing buildings, bilious-looking buildings painted yellowish brown. The vision, too, of the front of 89 Chestnut Street flashed before her. Its ponderous overhanging roof, ponderous cornice, ponderous windows with heavy frowning caps, and heavy sills and heavy brackets, loomed large before her. She saw the green shades in those windows pulled down tight as usual. She saw the ground-glass oval-topped panels in the double front door exclaiming "O" at her as usual, every time she turned in the driveway. She heard her mother's querulous voice, complaining as usual; her father, grumbling over expense as usual; she saw herself sitting in her prim little room as usual—growing old—growing old as usual! Oh, what would Cousin Pattie do in her place? What roundabout way of escape would Cousin Pattie discover?
Her father and Aunt Augusta had intended that Reba should return with them the following day, but
