Genevieve was to arrive in Sunbridge at three o'clock on the afternoon of the third of July. Her father was to remain in Boston until one of the evening trains. The Happy Hexagons, knowing Genevieve's plans, to give her a welcome befitting the club and the occasion. They invited Harold Day, of course, to join them.  
Harold laughed good-humoredly.
 
"Oh, I'll be there all right, at the station," he assured them. "I've got Mrs. Kennedy's permission to bring her up to the house; but I don't think I'll join in on your show. I'll let you girls do that."
 
The girls a little, but they were too excited to remain long out of humor.
 
"Don't our dresses look pretty! I know Genevieve'll be pleased," sighed Elsie Martin, as, long before the train was due that afternoon, the girls arrived at the station.
 
"Of course she'll be pleased," cried Alma Lane. "She can't help it. I can hear her laugh and clap her hands now, when she sees us—and hears us!"
 
"So can I," echoed Bertha. "And how her eyes will dance! I love to see Genevieve's eyes dance."
 
"So do I," chorused the others, .
 
Sunbridge was a quiet little town in southern New Hampshire near the state line. It had wide, tree-shaded streets, and green-shuttered white houses set far back in lawns. The station at this hour was even quieter than the town, and there were few curious eyes to question the meaning of the unusual appearance of five laughing, excited young girls, all dressed alike, and all showing flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.
 
At one minute before three o'clock, a tall, good-looking youth drove up in a smart trap, and was hailed with shouts of joy and relief.
 
"Oh, Harold, we were just sure you were going to be late," cried Cordelia.
 
"Late? Not I—to-day!" laughed the boy. Then, with genuine : "Say, that is pretty slick, girls. I'll take off my hat to the Happy Hexagons to-day all right!" he finished, with an elaborate flourish.
 
"Thank you," twittered Tilly, . "Now don't you wish you had joined us? But then—you couldn't have worn a white frock!"
 
A prolonged bell-clanging and the of an approaching train prevented Harold's reply, and sent the girls into a flutter of excitement. A moment later they stood in line, waiting, breathless with .
 
They made a wonderfully pretty picture. Each girl was in white, even to her shoes and stockings. Around each waist was a sash of a handsome shade of blue. The same color showed at the throat and on the hair.
 
Quietly they watched the train roll into the station, and still quietly they stood until a tall, slender girl with merry brown eyes and soft brown hair appeared at a car door and tripped lightly down the steps to the platform. They waited only till she ran toward them; then in gleeful chorus they chanted:
 
"Texas, Texas, Tex—Tex—Texas!
Texas, Texas, Rah! Rah! Rah!
GENEVIEVE!"
What happened next was a surprise. Genevieve did not laugh, nor cry out, nor clap her hands. Her eyes did not dance. She stopped and with the fastening of her suit-case. The next minute the train drew out of the station, and the girls were left alone in their corner. Genevieve looked up, at that, and came swiftly toward them.
 
They saw then: the brown eyes were full of tears.
 
The girls had intended to repeat their Texas yell; but with one accord now they cried out in dismay:
 
 
"Genevieve! Why, Genevieve, you're—crying!"
 
"I know I am, and I could shake myself," choked Genevieve, hugging each girl in turn spasmodically.
 
"But, Genevieve, what is the matter?" appealed Cordelia.
 
"I don't know, I don't know—and that's what's the trouble," Genevieve. "I don't know why I'm crying when I'm so g-glad to see you. But I reckon 'twas that—'Texas'!"
 
"But we thought you'd like that," argued Elsie.
 
"I did—I do," Genevieve, incoherently; "and it made me cry to think I did—I mean, to think I do—so much!"
 
"Well, we're glad you did, or do, anyhow," laughed Harold Day, holding out his hand. "And we're glad you're back again. I've got Jerry here and the cart. This your bag?"
 
"Yes, right here; and thank you, Harold," she smiled a little . "And girls, you're lovely—just lovely; and I don't know why I'm crying. But you're to come over—straight over to the house this very afternoon. I want to hear that 'T-Texas' again. I want to hear it six times running!" she finished, as she sprang lightly into the cart.
 
On the way with Harold, she grew more calm.
 
"You see, once, last fall, I said I hated Sunbridge, and that I wouldn't stay," she explained a little shame-facedly.
 
"You said you hated it!" cried Harold. "You never told me that. Why, I thought you liked it here."
 
"I do, now, and I did—very soon, after I'd met some one I could talk Texas to all I wanted to—you, you know! I reckon I never told you, but you were a regular safety valve for me in those days."
 
"Was I?" laughed the lad.
 
"Yes, even from that first day," nodded Genevieve, with a half-wistful smile. "Did I ever tell you the reason, the real reason, why Aunt Julia called you into the yard that afternoon?"
 
"Why, no—not that I know of." Harold's face showed a puzzled frown.
 
"Well, 'twas this. I'd been here a week, and I was so homesick and lonesome for father and the and all. I was threatening to go back. I declared I'd walk back, if there was no other way. Poor Aunt Julia! She tried everything. Specially she tried to have me meet some nice girls, but I just wouldn't. I said I didn't want any girls that weren't Texas girls. I didn't want anything that wasn't Texas. That's what I'd been saying that very day out under the trees there, when Aunt Julia looked toward the street, saw you, and called you into the yard."
 
"Is that why she introduced me as the boy who was born in Texas?" laughed Harold.