



Produced by Al Haines.





                               *GREENACRE
                                 GIRLS*


                                   BY

                           IZOLA L. FORRESTER



                   THE WORLD SYNDICATE PUBLISHING CO.
                      CLEVELAND, O. NEW YORK, N.Y.




                          _Copyright, 1915, by
                       George W. Jacobs & Company
                          All rights reserved_



               _Printed in the United States of America_




                               *CONTENTS*

CHAPTER

I  The Finger of Providence
II  The Motherbird and Her Robins
III  Breakers Ahead
IV  The Queen's Privy Council
V  Kit Rebels
VI  White Hyacinths
VII  The Land o' Rest
VIII  Spying the Promised Land
IX  The Lady Managers Choose a Name
X  Settling the Nest
XI  Ma Parmelee's Chicks
XII  Gilead's Girl Neighbors
XIII  Cousin Roxy to the Rescue
XIV  The Lawn Fete
XV  Kit Pulls Anchor
XVI  Guests and Ghosts
XVII  Billie Meets Trespassers
XVIII  Harvesting Hopes
XIX  Ralph and Honey Take the Long Trail
XX  Roxana's Romance




                           *GREENACRE GIRLS*



                              *CHAPTER I*

                       *THE FINGER OF PROVIDENCE*


"It does seem to me, folkses," said Kit warmly, "that when anyone is
trying to write, you might be a little quiet."

The three at the end of the room heeded not the admonition.  Doris was
so interested that she had almost succeeded in reclining like a Roman
maiden on the library table, trying to see over Helen's shoulder.  Jean
was drawing up the plan for action.  The list of names lay before her,
and she tapped her pencil on her nose meditatively as she eyed it.

"Now, listen, Jean," Helen proposed.  "This would really be a novelty.
Let's have a Cupid for postman and not give out our valentines until
after the games.  And just when we've got them all seated for supper
have the bell ring, and a real postman's whistle blow, and enter Cupid!"

"It's too cold for wings," Doris interposed mildly.

"Oh, Dorrie, you goose.  He'd be all dressed up beautifully.  Buster
Phelps is going to be Cupid, only we were going to have him sit in front
of a Valentine box and just hand them out. We'll put a little white suit
on him with red hearts dangling all over him, and curl his hair
angelically."

"You'd better have red heart favors too, Helen," Jean added; "something
that opens and shuts, with something else inside for a surprise. And
we'll put red crepe shades on all the electric bulbs.  Could we get
those, do you think, girls?"

"We can get anything if Dad and Mother are home by that time," answered
Helen.  The rest were silent.  Kit, sitting at her mother's desk beside
the wide bay window, looked up and frowned at the stuffed golden
pheasant on top of the nearest bookcase.  Outside snow was falling
lightly.  The view of the Sound was obscured. A pearly grayness seemed
to be settling around the big house as if it were being cut off from the
rest of the world by some magic spell.

"Hope Dad's feeling all right by now," Kit said suddenly, pushing back
her thick, dark curls restlessly.  "They sail from Sanibel Island the
8th.  Wasn't it the 8th, Jean?"

"Oh, they'll be home in plenty of time," Jean exclaimed.  "Here we all
sit, having the silent mullygrumps when he's better.  Mother said
positively in her last letter that he had improved wonderfully the
previous week."

Helen stared at the long leather couch on one side of the open
fireplace.  It was over four weeks since her father had lain on it.
Throughout the winter there had been day after day of unremitting
weakness following his breakdown, and somehow she could not help
wondering whether the future held the same.  She rose quickly, shaking
her head with defiance at the thought.

"Let's not worry, girls.  If we all are blue when he comes, he'll have a
relapse."

Then Jean spoke, anxiously, tenderly,--her big dark eyes questioning
Kit.

"What about Mother?"

"We're all worried about Mother, Jean.  It isn't just you at all," Kit
spluttered.  "But you can be just boiling inside with love and
helpfulness, and still not go around with