CHAPTER VII.
THE RETURN OF EMMA DEAN "'A horse, a horse, my kingdom for a horse!'" chanted a voice in Grace Harlowe's ear.
Grace whirled about, almost dropping the suit case and golf bag she carried.
"Why, Emma, _Emma Dean_!" she exclaimed, her voice rising high in astonishment.
[Illustration: "Why, Emma Dean!" Exclaimed Grace.] "Yes, it's Emma, _Emma Dean_," returned Emma humorously.

"It is I, me, myself and all the other personally personal pronouns that stand for your old friend, Emily Elizabeth Dean." "Wherever did you come from and--oh, Emma"-- as the tall thin young woman pointed significantly to two heavy suit cases and a small leather bag huddled together on the station platform--"you aren't really--are you--" "I am," interrupted Emma cheerfully.

"I couldn't stay away.

I knew you'd need a comforter this year, so I applied for the position and you can see for yourself how successful I was.

Professor Morton was so grateful to me for applying that he said with tears in his eyes, 'Emma, I can't tell you how happy it makes me--'" "Emma Dean, stop talking nonsense and tell me how you really happened to be here.