The little company of young people realized, to a person, that for them life was taking on a strange and earnest meaning, while Mrs.Gray, in spite of this garland of youth with which she delighted to beautify her latter days, felt very, very old.
Suddenly the silence was rudely broken.

Hippy, who was more embarrassed than he cared to indicate, leaned too far back and lost his balance.
There was a horrified gasp, a pair of stout legs waved in the air, and Theophilus Hippopotamus Wingate, as he invariably styled himself, fulfilled Miriam's prediction to the letter, and crashed ignominiously into the prickly arms of the big rose bush.
"There is no use in trying to be retrospective while Hippy is with us," declared Mrs.Gray when their mirth had subsided and Hippy had clambered to his feet.

A long scratch ornamented one fat cheek and his hands showed the result of his fall among thorns.

But his smile was as wide as ever.
"Poor Hippy," sympathized Miriam.

"I'm so sorry." "Then stop laughing," retorted Hippy.
"Yes, I'm sorry--for the rosebush," jeered Reddy.
Those who have learned to look upon Grace Harlowe and her companions as friends of old standing will meet her again in the near future.