IN TOURS A dozen times between Paris and Tours the Little Colonel turned from the car window to smile at her mother, and say with a wriggle of impatience, "Oh, I can't _wait_ to get there! Won't Betty and Eugenia be surprised to see us two whole days earlier than they expected!" "But you mustn't count too much on seeing them at the hotel the minute we arrive," her mother cautioned her.

"You know Cousin Carl wrote that they were making excursions every day to the old chateaux near there, and I think it quite probable they will be away.

So don't set your heart on seeing them before to-morrow night.

Some of those trips take two days." Lloyd turned to the window again and tried to busy herself with the scenes flying past: the peasant women with handkerchiefs over their heads, and the men in blue cotton blouses and wooden shoes at work in the fields; the lime-trees and the vineyards, the milk-carts that dogs helped to draw.

It was all as Joyce had described it to her, and she pinched herself to make sure that she was awake, and actually in France, speeding along toward the Gate of the Giant Scissors, and all the delightful foreign experience that Joyce had talked about.