his niece was in Washington, giving her address and asking what he wished her to do.
"I'll write him a letter to-night," promised Mrs. Littell when this was accomplished. "Then he'll know that you are in safe hands. You must write to him, too, dear, Flame City may consist of one shack and a hundred oil wells and be twenty miles from a post-office, you know."
Carter reported that the trunks were already on their way to Fairfields, and now the car was turned toward the gleaming Monument that seemed to be visible from every part of the city. Betty, her mind relieved by the sending of the telegram, abandoned herself to the joys of sightseeing. Here she was, young, well and strong, in a luxurious car, surrounded by friends, and driving through one of the most beautiful cities in the United States. Any girl who, under those circumstances, could remain a prey to doubts and gloom, would indeed be a confirmed misanthrope.
The car was stopped at one of the concrete walks leading to the base of the Monument, and with final instructions as to the time and place they were to meet her, Mrs. Littell drove away.
"Why, there's a crowd there!" cried Libbie in wonder.
"Waiting to be taken up," explained Louise. "Come on, we'll have to stand in line."
The line of waiting people extended half way
