The day spent on the train was uneventful, and, contrary to Bob’s expectations, they were on time at every station.  Betty’s heart beat faster as the hands of her little wrist watch pointed to 5:45 and the passengers began to gather up their wraps.  The porter came through and brushed them thoroughly and Betty adjusted her new hat carefully.

The long train slid into the Union Station.  With what different emotions both Bob and Betty had seen the beautiful, brilliantly lighted building on the occasion of their first trip to Washington!  Then each had been without a friend in the great city, and now they were to be welcomed by a host.

Betty’s cheeks flushed rose-red, but her lovely eyes filled with a sudden rush of tears.

“I’m so happy!” she whispered to the bewildered Bob.

“Want my handkerchief?” he asked anxiously, at which Betty tried not to laugh.

CHAPTER VII

FUN AT FAIRFIELDS

The long platform was crowded.  Betty followed Bob, who carried their bags.  She tried to peer ahead, but the moving forms blocked her view.  Just after they passed through the gate, some one caught her.

“Betty, you lamb!  I never was so glad to see any one in my life!” cried a gay voice, and Bobby Littell hugged her close in one of her rare caresses.

Bob Henderson held out his hand as soon as Bobby released Betty.  He liked this straightforward, brusque girl who so evidently adored Betty.

“Why, Bob, you’ve grown a foot!” was Bobby Littell’s greeting to him.

Bob modestly disclaimed any such record, and then Louise and Esther, who had swooped upon Betty, turned to shake hands with him.

“The rest of the crowd is out in the car,” said Bobby carelessly.

Outside the station, in the open plaza, a handsome closed car awaited them.  The gray-haired chauffeur, cap in hand, stood back as a procession of boys and girls advanced upon Bob and Betty and their escort.

“Oh, Betty, dear!” Short, plump Libbie Littell, who had relinquished her claim to the name of “Betty” in Betty Gordon’s favor some time ago, hurled herself upon her friend.  “To think we’re going to the same school!”

“Well, Frances is going, too,” said Bobby practically.  “She might like to be introduced, you know.  Betty, this is Frances Martin, a Vermont girl who is out after all the Latin prizes.”

Frances smiled a slow, sweet smile, and, behind thick glasses, her dark near-sighted eyes said that she was very glad to know Betty Gordon.

“Now the boys!” announced the irrepressible Bobby, apparently taking Bob’s introduction to Frances for granted.  “The boys will please line up and I’ll indicate them.”

The five lads obediently came forward and ranged themselves in a row.

“From left to right,” chanted Bobby, “we have the Tucker twins, Tommy and Teddy, W. M. Brown, who asks his friends to use his initials and punches those who refuse, Timothy Derby who reads poetry and Sydney Cooke who ought to—­” and Bobby completed her speech with a wicked grin, for she had managed to hit several weaknesses.