JANET stood at her window thoughtfully tapping her lips with her forefinger. The window looked out upon the bay, but Janet was not observant of the white sails melting into the horizon, nor of the line of misty shore opposite. She was not unperceptive; in fact she rather prided herself upon her love of the beautiful, but just now she was absorbed in a problem which was one of the many that had confronted her during the past few weeks. The day before, she had successfully settled the question of a portiere and a couch cover by suddenly remembering the two home-made spreads woven by her great-grandmother, which, in their unfaded glory of blue and red, lay for years packed away in a chest in the attic. Janet would never in the world have considered them if she had not sat behind Martha Summers the last time she went up to the city. Martha was never chary of her information, and had discoursed at length, in such tones as must be overheard, upon the beauties of an apartment just furnished by a newly-married friend of undoubted position and wealth.

"The sweetest thing you ever saw, my dear, so artistic and so unique. The dearest cozy corner, and the loveliest little library, and what do you suppose she has put up as a portiere? The quaintest old spread of her grandmother's, one of those worsted things, you know, all red and blue. She has two of them as heirlooms. Yes, really. One can't buy an heirloom, you see, and she has one between her sitting room and bedroom and another on a divan. I declare they look too sweet for anything. I am wild for some."

Having listened to all this, Janet could triumphantly drag forth the heavy spreads, and, after airing them, could have them packed away with the other belongings which were to go with her to her rooms at college.

"Even if I should rip open every pillow in the house, and take a handful of feathers out of each, it wouldn't be enough," she told herself. "Dear me, I never foresaw so many expenses." She opened a letter which she held, and scanned its contents.

"We'll simply have to have a lot of pillows for our divan, and some sort of cover, and we must have a portiere to hang between the two rooms. You can furnish those, Janet, and I will promise a chafing-dish and a samovar, a lamp, and a lot of pictures and ornaments," so the letter ran. Janet folded it with an air of finality.

"There is no use," she said. "I will simply have to do it when Ted takes all those expensive things, though, for that matter, feathers are expensive. Dear me, I'll have to bother mother again, and I told myself I wouldn't. She has all she can do to get my clothes ready. I will just put the case before her and see what she says. She is such a dear, and was so pleased about those spreads, though they were hers and not mine."

She ran from the room and went singing along the hall. "What is home without a mother?" she carolled in her clear young voice as she opened the door of the room where her mother and a seamstress were hard at work.

"Momsey, dear," she began, "there is one more thing, just one more I promise you. Ted says we've got to have sofa pillows. I suppose we could have a few made of excelsior, but it would be too cheap and common to have them all stuffed with that, but I don't know where in the world we are to get feathers unless we have goose for dinner every day till it's time for me to go."

"And what good would that do?" asked her mother. "As if you could use green feathers."

"Oh, dear, I never thought of that; they would have to be cured first, wouldn't they?" Janet sat down on a low chair and gazed absently at the pile of gingham breadths upon the floor beside her.

The seamstress, a thin flat-faced person with wisps of dun-colored hair sticking out from the careless twist at the back of her head, stopped to bite off her basting thread before she said: "The sleeves are all ready for the machine, Miss Janet. Will you take them?"

"Oh, I suppose so, Miss Rosy, though pillows are on my mind at present, and I may not stitch these evenly. If any one were to ask me just now which weighed the most, a pound of feathers or a pound of lead, I should say feathers; they weigh me down heavily enough."

Miss Roxy paused in her swift movements, needle in mid-air. "Your Aunt Minerva Gilpin has two or three feather beds," she said.

"But I don't want feather beds, you see," said Janet, turning half-way around and stopping the busy wheel of the machine. "It is pillows I want."

"There'd be enough in one of her beds to make all the pillows you'd want for a month of Sundays," returned Miss Roxy. "It's a job to be sure, but everybody except the old-fashioned folks like Miss Minerva is using up their feather beds that way. I've made over at least a dozen this last year."

"Then you could make over one for me, couldn't you? Good! I'll descend upon Aunt Minerva this very afternoon. It's the least she can do for the credit of the family to present me with a feather bed. I'll have to skirmish around for covers though. Here, Miss Roxy, take these; my interest in gingham frocks has completely vanished, and I am going to hunt through the piece bags for possible pillow covers."

She dropped the sleeves into Miss Roxy's lap and went gaily from the room to pull over the bags in the attic and to come down half an hour later with pieces bright and dull which might be converted into covers for her sofa pillows.

"There," she cried, throwing them down on the floor in a heap, "I think these will be enough. However will I get them all packed, mother?"

"The easiest way will be to put them in a barrel."

"And they'll think I am going to set up a grocery shop. Oh, me!" She clasped her knees, and looked off dreamily.

"Come, come, child," chided her mother, when five minutes had passed, "you'll never get ready if you sit there dreaming the time away. If you expect this sewing to get done you will have to lend a hand."

"Yes, and there are those pillows," put in Miss Roxy. "That will be no small job, I tell you. I got so sick of the last that I made up my mind I'd do no more for anybody, and I wouldn't do it for another soul, for it certainly does make a mess about, and you feel as if you were breathing feathers for a week afterward."

"Dear me," said Janet, jumping up and attacking the breadths of gingham, "I am afraid I am a lot of bother, but one goes to college only once in a lifetime and it is really more important than getting married, for one can marry more than once, and one doesn't go to college so often. How do these gores go, Miss Roxy? I'll be good, mother, and work hard, for it is a shame to keep you cooped up here. I hope I haven't made a mistake in taking Edna for a roommate, for it seems to me my very modest array of necessities are mounting up into a tremendous list of requirements. The sofa pillows are the last straw."

"Are you going to make them of straw?" inquired Janet's small brother, Dicky, putting his head into the room. "I know where to get some."

"Of course not, silly," said Janet. "What are you doing here, anyhow? I told you to keep out of the way and not bother mother."

"I don't have to," replied Dicky. "I've as much right to my mother as you have. Say, momsey, I've torn a hole in my trousers, and I can't go to town till they are mended unless I put on my best ones."

"Oh dear, Dicky, you are such a destructive child," Janet remarked. "It is a shame when mother is so busy to give her anything extra to do."

"Well, I'd like to know who it is that is keeping her busy. She's been sewing for you all week. If you're so particular, I'll bring them to you and you can mend them yourself."

Janet looked decidedly put out. "I'll do no such thing. When I am so up to my eyes in work I think it is very inconsiderate in you to say such things. Why you have to go to town anyhow, I don't see. Hooker can get the mail and do any errands that are necessary."

Dicky made a face at her and began to joggle the back of his mother's chair so that its occupant in self-defense said: "Oh, Janet, do let him go. I'd rather mend the trousers ten times over than have him around here bothering everybody. Go get them, Dicky, and put on your old ones till these are mended."

Dicky scrambled from the room in tumultuous boy fashion, returning in a moment with the unlucky trousers which were speedily mended and he was sent off forthwith.

"I wish I had gone, too," said Janet after watching the light wagon disappear down the lane. "I might have stopped at Aunt Minerva's and have had them pick me up on the way back. Never mind, I'll get this done and go there this afternoon."

She worked away with a will, saying little for the next hour. Her thoughts were busy with the future, for these were exciting times for Janet Ferguson. She had been prepared for college at a small boarding-school where life had not offered many sensations. One of her fellow students, who had been graduated at the same time as herself, was to enter college with her and would be her roommate. Edna Waite's circle of friends included a number who were college girls and these she had considered her authority in all matters. In consequence, every few days she dashed off a letter to Janet with some new item of information, and with some necessity added to the list which at first had seemed a sufficiently long one.

So now Janet was beginning to feel that the burden of her preparations would soon threaten to swallow up not only her every moment, but every penny which the resources of the family could furnish. Janet was also beginning to have misgivings. If difficulties arose thus early in her career what would happen later when all sorts of unexpected expenses might drain her pocketbook to the last penny of her allowance, for Edna discoursed at length upon the various directions in which, as college girls, they would be expected to make a showing.

She looked so serious, as she pulled out the basting threads from the hem of one of her frocks, that her mother said, in the absence of Miss Roxy in the kitchen: "Not homesick already, Janet?"

The girl smiled. "No, momsey, not that; I was only wondering if I should find it hard to get through on my allowance."

"You thought it ample when your father suggested it."

"Yes, I know, but Edna keeps adding some new expense to the list till I get fairly swamped in trying to figure it all out."

"Well, my dear, perhaps you will find that you will do better to establish your own standard rather than to accept Edna's. You will not have to do as any special girl prefers to do, but as you find all the girls must do. If you find there is really no need of every expenditure which Edna thinks necessary, simply lop that off, and go without it."

Janet did not reply, for experience at boarding-school had taught her that this was an easier proceeding in theory than in practice. However, her spirits were of an elastic quality, and she did not allow forebodings to trouble her long, and when she came back that afternoon from her Aunt Minerva's, a feather bed stuffed in behind her in the buggy, she was in such a state of hilarity that she could hardly manage her new possession.

"Dicky," she called. "Dick, come help me. This is the most elusive thing I ever got hold of. It is so yielding that when I pull it in one direction it heaves up in a great billow in the other. It is the most resistless thing for anything so seemingly responsive that I ever saw."

Seeing fun ahead, Dicky answered her call, and while she pushed, he pulled, till finally the feather bed rolled out and buried Dick under its unwieldy bulk.

The boy emerged laughing. "Whew!" he cried. "I didn't know feather beds were so heavy."

"It is over forty pounds' weight, Aunt Minerva was careful to tell me, and if I hadn't interrupted her, I think she would have informed me that feathers were—I don't know how much—a pound. But I was so voluble in my thanks, and so appreciative that she couldn't get a word in edgewise. Dicky, do you suppose we shall ever be able to get this into the house? Did you ever see anything act so? Just as if it were trying on purpose to get away from us. There, that's it—"

As Dicky gave a mighty tug and moved the bed a few feet, but the next minute, he lost his purchase and fell sprawling into its midst, amid shouts of laughter.

"We'll have to leave it," said Janet, with a long drawn sigh, plumping herself down by Dicky. "We'll wait till Stuart comes home and he will help us. Let's leave it, Dicky. I'm quite worn out with tugging. You can drive Dolly around to the stable and this can stay right here. Let us hope that no strangers will call this afternoon to see the family feather bed airing on the front porch. There are some advantages in living a distance from town; one can be independent."

She watched Dicky drive away with the buggy, but retained her seat in the middle of the feathers, till suddenly remembering that time was short, she sprang up and ran to the room where her mother and Miss Roxy still sat.

"I've got it," she exclaimed.

"Got what?" asked her mother.

"The feather bed. A great big fat one. It's down on the front porch. Where do you want it, Miss Roxy?"

"If it doesn't rain, it may as well stay where it is. I can begin on the pillows in the morning. I hope you remembered to get some new ticking."

"Yes, I did; a whole lot. I left it under the seat of the buggy, but I'll get it. How are you going to trim that waist, Miss Roxy?"

"With this lace." The seamstress laid strips of the trimming on the material and noted the effect with appreciative eye.

"Feather beds are very much like some people," said Janet, watching Miss Roxy's deft fingers.

"How do you make that out?" asked the needlewoman.

"Oh, they are lumpy and heavy and soft, and you think you can manage them till you try, and then you find they are so obstinate that you can't budge them, and if you insist on having them do your way, the first thing you know you are completely overwhelmed."

Miss Roxy laughed. "I reckon you are thinking of your Aunt Minerva. Was she hard to move?"

"No, she really wasn't to-day. You read my simile at once, didn't you, Miss Roxy? She is feather-beddy at times, but to-day she happened to be very amiable. I think my practical use of her feather bed appealed to her, though she didn't see how I could want such a raft of pillows," she said. "You are ready to have me try that on?"

She stood up while the seamstress, with her mouth bristling with pins, snipped here and pinched in there, till Janet sighed from the enforced position of standing still.

"Just the skirt measure now," said Miss Roxy. "Forty-two, no, I think we'd better say forty-three, Mrs. Ferguson." Miss Roxy looked up from her kneeling posture. "She's grown an inch, I do believe." She measured Janet's slim form, running her fingers along the tape measure. "Now you may go. I'm through with you for to-day. Suppose you get that ticking and measure off the pillows the size you want them, and stitch them up, so I can get to work at them first thing in the morning."

Janet obeyed and was soon clacking away at the machine, her cheek glowing and her soft hair curling around the nape of her neck as she grew warm from the exercise. "These are strenuous times," she remarked as she tossed the last square of ticking on a chair. "I will leave the covers till to-morrow. In a week—a week, momsey, I shall be ready to go. Please stop now. You've been driving ahead all day. I should think you would be thankful to see the last of me, for it means a little more rest for you. Now Stuart doesn't need half this fussing over. He gets his clothes at his tailor's, you see that his stockings have no holes in them, and there he is, while I am an eternal nuisance. Here, put that away. You'll go till you drop, and you won't drop till I go—that's a queer sort of sentence—anyhow, I'd rather go without that shirtwaist than have you make another buttonhole this day. Come, I want to talk to you."

She drew her mother from her chair and led her down to the porch where the feather bed still lay. "Let's turn our backs on fussinesses and go out to see if there are any peaches ripe on that tree by the hen-house. You know we always liked those better than any. Oh, dear momsey, it's going to be a long pull, isn't it? Four years of it before I can come home to stay. There'll be the holidays, though, and maybe I shall not be so very homesick between whiles. It will be fine to have Stuart within a couple of hours' ride of me. That counts for a great deal, doesn't it? I don't believe I could stand being so many miles away from everybody. It was very different at Oak Hill, where I could come home every Friday, for no matter how badly things went, there were always the Friday afternoons to think of, and by training oneself, it could be made to seem near even on Mondays."

She kept her arm around her mother's waist as she led her down the garden walk and through a little gate to the hen-house. There she released her hold and climbed on top of the building, feeling among the leaves for a ripe peach. "The best ones are always on top," she remarked. "Here are two beauties. Take them, mother." She crouched on the roof and held out the downy fruit, then clambered easily to the ground demanding her share of the spoils.

"It's a wonder Dicky didn't get them," she said, "but they were a little beyond his reach. Now come, let us go somewhere by ourselves and enjoy them like two nice complacent greedy-gluts. Don't you love to be that once in a while? One gets so tired of virtuously sharing all the good things, and I think it is really a necessary part of our development to indulge our appetites sometimes to the exclusion of our friends."

"That is a very Epicurean philosophy," returned her mother.

"Perhaps, but one should test all philosophies before settling down on any special one. Now, I know if you had your way, you'd save both of these peaches and give one to—let's see—Miss Roxy, and the other to father. I am just reveling in your not doing it. We will gorge ourselves and be wicked and selfish for once."

"On one peach apiece?" laughed her mother.

"Never mind, it is the principle of the thing which I am encouraging. If you do this to-day, maybe in time you will be shutting yourself up in the pantry and gobbling down all those delicious conserves you are so choice with. I'd love to think of your doing that while I am at college."

"Janet, you ridiculous child, what utter nonsense you do talk," said her mother. "One would suppose I lived the life of an anchorite and never allowed myself any luxuries."

"I know that it isn't exactly that way, but you are so exactly like the person who said somebody had to eat the drumsticks. You like white meat but you always refuse it, if you think any one else would like it. Dear oh me, I wonder if I shall ever develop such a self-sacrificing spirit. It doesn't look like it now, does it?"

"Appearances are sometimes deceitful," returned her mother with a smile.

"So cautious? Well, I don't deserve much encouragement yet, I admit. Finished your peach? Then I suppose we shall have to go in."

Another week saw Janet departing, her pillows stowed into a barrel and her trunks stuffed to overflowing with the paraphernalia which she had decided to take with her for her first year at college. Everything appeared very smart and sufficient, and she drove away complacently, feeling that there were no wants unfilled. She was also not ill pleased with herself, and felt the importance which is generally a part of a student's equipment when he or she first enters college. There came a rush of emotion when she bade her mother good-bye, but there were too many novel experiences facing her for her to remain long in a depressed or regretful mood, and she arrived in a tremor of excitement, a little shy, a little happy, wholly expectant.

CHAPTER II

POOR FRESH

JANET and her roommate viewed their room with much satisfaction after they had completed the arranging of their furnishings. Especially did Janet congratulate herself upon the lordly array of pillows which were disposed not only upon the divan but upon the floor. She felt in this direction that she had exceeded Edna's expectations, and the glow of conscious pride warmed her so that she could graciously credit Edna with having provided generously in the matter of ornament.

She stood with her head to one side viewing the "drapes" upon Edna's Morris chair, when some one banged on the door and, scarcely waiting for the "Come in" which followed the knock, entered with half a dozen girls attending.

"Oh, Janet!" cried the leader of the troop. "We've come to warn you to look out to-night; the sophs are after us. They are coming to-night for sure. Charity Shepherd overheard two of them saying something which gave her an inkling, so every one of us must lock her door early, and be on her guard. They caught Grace Breitner, and she won't tell what they did to her. She only laughs when we ask her."

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Edna Waite, "can't we keep them away, Cordelia?"

Cordelia Lodge, a bright-looking girl, with a way of squinting up her eyes when she laughed, smiled as she turned to the girl behind her. "Do you hear that, Lee? Can we keep them away?"

"We can try," replied Lee coming forward, "but the sophs are as inflexible as fate once they determine on a thing, and it's mighty hard to evade them."

"Well," remarked Janet, "we can do one thing; we can make it hot for them. I know what I shall do."

"What, Janet? Do tell!" said a chorus of voices.

But Janet shook her head. "No, I think it is up to each one of us to work out her own escape. We may look our doors, but if they are determined to get in, they may find a way of doing it, so the best thing for us to do is to prepare for their reception."

The girls looked at each other. "We'll prepare," they exclaimed.

"Come on, girls," cried Cordelia, "each to her lair, and a murrain on whoever backs out in her preparations."

"What do you intend to do?" asked Edna as the troop left, and Janet grabbed her hat pinning it upon her dark locks.

"I'm going to the drug store."

"What for?"

"I'll tell you when I come back." She was half-way down the corridor before Edna could ask another question.

And when she returned, she bore a roll of something and several small packages.

"What have you there?" asked Edna, all curiosity.

"This," said Janet unrolling her long package, "is fly-paper—tanglefoot, I believe it is called—warranted to catch the unwary. It is usually placed in infested places for the purpose of trapping intruders. A piece of this upon the window-sill over there, another on the floor in front of the door, wouldn't come amiss."

"But we are not troubled with flies, Janet. They surely are not a pest at this time of year. Gracious! I didn't know you were so particular."

Janet gave her a pitying glance. "Edna Waite, where is your perspicuity? I am not preparing for the common house-fly, the musca domestica, but for that variety known as the soph."

"Oh!" Edna's laugh showed that she understood. "What a scheme!"

"Before we go to bed," said Janet, "we shall complete our arrangements. In this small tin box is mustard. Did it ever occur to you that an adhesive mustard plaster would be a good thing? When one must have a mustard plaster, it might be well to manufacture a kind that cannot come off. I may get out a patent for this. Hand me the mucilage, please, and the scissors. This muslin is for the plasters, so is the mucilage, so is the mustard. You cut them this size; you spread them first with mucilage, and then you sprinkle them with mustard. I had thought of red pepper, but my humanity forbade my using that. There, these placed at judicious distances may be of use in case of an onslaught. Beware, Teddy, that you don't get up in the night and stumble into the pit we have digged for others."

"Dear me, I certainly will be careful. Oh, Janet, I almost hope they will come; it would be such fun to see them caught."

"I almost wish it myself," she replied, and when they had retired for the night, it was with much satisfaction that Janet thought of her traps.

About midnight, she awoke with a start. There was a noise outside her door. "What's that?" she exclaimed in a startled whisper. Then she realized what it probably was, and she called softly, "Teddy, Teddy."

"What?" came sleepily from the next room.

"Get up. No, don't. They are coming. Keep perfectly still and don't let yourself be seen unless I call you."

Edna, awaking to a realizing sense of the situation, did as she was bid, and kept as still as possible. Janet lay quietly and listened. Presently there was a scrambling at the transom, then by means of the electric light outside Janet saw a head and shoulders appear. She chuckled to herself as some one dropped lightly to the floor. There was a little suppressed squeal and a sound of some one groping about.

"What's the matter?" came a voice from the outside.

"Nothing," was the answer. "I'll open the door directly, if I can find the key."

Janet hid her laughing face in her pillow. It was a nice precaution not to leave the key in the door, for there would be further difficulties before it would be possible to find it. She made no sound, but waited further developments.

There was a further sound of stealthy footsteps in the room, and after a time an exclamation of "Gracious!"

Still Janet gave no sign of being awake. At last, however, the intruder reached the gas, and struck a light. Janet peeped at her from between nearly closed lids, saw her tear a sticky mass from one hand, and others from each foot, then, picking her way across the room, avoiding the bits of fly-paper laid in her way, she reached the bed, gave a spring and alighted fairly upon Janet.

"Here," she cried, "wake up. You must be one of the Seven Sleepers. Where is the key to the door?"

Janet opened her eyes drowsily, stretched her arms, and said, "Get off my chest, nightmare. I ate no mince-pie last night."

The girl snickered, but immediately assumed a severe manner. "Get up and get me that key," she said.

"What for?" asked Janet.

"So I can get out."

"I don't care whether you get out or not," returned Janet, "so long as you get off—my chest."

The girl perched there sat looking about the room. She was a tiny thing, with fluffy light hair about her elfish little face. "What's the sticky stuff all about here for?" she asked.

"Oh," replied Janet, "it's to catch flies—and things."

The girl drew down her mouth. "I'll not have you alluding to me as a thing, you Miss Fresh. Get up and get me that key, or I'll find a way to make you."

"Find it then!" returned Janet.

There came a tap at the door. "What's the matter, Fay?" asked a voice. "Why don't you come?"

"I'm coming," responded Fay. "Don't get impatient."

She looked at Janet, who grinned in response.

"I'm not going to be outdone by any poor fresh," said Fay. "You're entirely too smart. I am going to have that key."

She suddenly sprang from the bed, and before Janet could be aware of her intention, she had darted to the window-sill and returning, with one of Janet's own plasters, slapped it viciously upon her forehead. "There," she exclaimed, "you tell me where that key is."

In vain, Janet tried to free her hands to get at the plaster; she was at a disadvantage, for she was lying down with some one holding her and pressing her arms tightly to her sides. She bore herself bravely for a few minutes; then the mustard began to burn, and she called for help.

"Teddy, Teddy," she cried, "come take this thing off. A nightmare has possession of me."

Teddy came running to the rescue, but once, on the way, imprudently stepped on a bit of the fly-paper. She tore it off, and reached the bed where Janet, now really suffering from the mustard, was trying to struggle from her captor's grasp.

"Take it off, Teddy, quick," she cried; "the mustard is burning horribly."

Edna managed to remove the plaster which had stuck exceedingly fast and was not easy to get off, and then she threw herself upon the uninvited visitor who now met her Waterloo, for Janet, thus reinforced, was able to free herself and together she and Edna bound the hapless Fay and laid her upon her back on the bed.

Those outside were becoming more anxious. "Aren't you ever coming, Fay?" they asked.

"No, she isn't," replied Janet triumphantly. "We are going to keep her for company. She is so cunning, we are perfectly fascinated with her. She reminds us of our baby dolls. Go away like good girls, for you can't get in and she can't get out."

"Oh, won't I pay you back for this," said Fay, indignant that a sophomore should be thus worsted by her natural prey.

"Will you?" asked Janet pleasantly. "Now why should you want to pay us back for not allowing our room to be broken into? What do they call such a performance? I know it is some sort of crime. We will not prosecute you though, and you can tell those girls outside that you'll not go home till morning, till daylight doth appear. There is no use for them to wait."

Fay reluctantly notified her friends of her failure to carry out their plan, and they went off. It had been rather a trying experience for Fay, for in nearly every room, she had found some sort of trap set. Being the smallest and lightest in her class, as well as the cleverest in gymnastic feats, she had been chosen to defy locked doors and to climb over the transoms; then, before the occupants could be aware of her presence, to unlock the door from the inside and admit the waiting sophomores.

In one room, she had dropped directly into a tub of cold water when she let herself down from above; in another a pitfall in the shape of a long cord stretched from side to side of the room caused her to trip and fall; in a third there was such a barricade of chairs, tables and other furniture, that there was no getting behind the defense, and she was obliged to retreat. But only in the rooms occupied by Janet and Edna did she find the key gone from the door, and so she was lost. On the outside, she had been boosted up by her friends, and in this last instance, if she had been wise, she would have retreated by means of such help as a chair would furnish, and could have made her escape; but she was a little too venturesome, and was detained, in spite of all her prayers, till morning.

When Janet appeared the next day with a crimson blotch across her forehead, the only answer she made to the solicitous questions put to her was "Nightmare," but there was a general understanding that the freshmen had worsted the sophomores in this first attack.

The sophomores did not forget, however. They bided their time, and, like Brer Rabbit, they "lay low" till suspicions should be allayed, and then one triumphant night, they descended upon their sleeping victims. Fay having cleverly stolen the key of the room Janet occupied, was able to rush in with no fear of being unable to get out again. Behind her came a body of victorious sophs guarding half a dozen freshmen whom they had dragged from their beds.

"Shut the door, Fay," said the leader, Juliet Fuller; "we'll settle the business where you tell me the most rebellious of the class hold forth. You'll have to get up, Miss Ferguson; we can't allow you to entertain us in bed. You haven't a mustard plaster handy, have you, and what became of the fly-paper?"

"Oh, I suppose Fay Wingate carried it all off on her feet," returned Janet with an air of innocence.

Juliet frowned. "No base insinuations, if you please. What's in that jar? Candied ginger, as I live. Much better than mustard. Bring it here, Fay."

And Janet had the mortification of seeing her treasured ginger gobbled up before her eyes.

"Having refreshed ourselves through your generosity," remarked Juliet, "we will provide a little entertainment for the assembled company. First on the programme is Miss Charity Shepherd, who will give us an example of Yankee dialect. Miss Shepherd is remarkably clever in having preserved the exact intonation, and pronunciation, as you will presently hear. Step out, Miss Shepherd, and don't be afraid."

As Charity's accent was unmistakable, every one tittered.

Juliet selected a slip from several she held in her hand. "You are requested to give this selection, Miss Shepherd," she said, handing the paper to Charity. "Stand up if you please, and speak out clearly."

Deciding that discretion would be the better part of valor, Charity amiably complied, and read as follows, exactly as Juliet had foreseen that she would: "Take your caad and go to the caa where you will find the staatah whom you will know by the staa he wears. He will tell you the way to Haavahd. If there is doo on the grass, do not go that way, but consider it your dooty to take the other path to the institootion."

"Lovely," exclaimed Juliet as a titter ran around the room. "You may sit down, Miss Shepherd, and we will next hear from the lady from Philadelphia." She looked toward another of the girls who bit her lip, but did not respond. "You are from Philadelphia, aren't you, Miss Cox?" asked Juliet suavely.

"Yes," was the answer.

"And you live somewhere near North Broad Street, don't you?"

Adelaide Cox nodded.

"And your name is—?"

"Auddie Cox."

"To be sure. It would have to be Auddie, young ladies. Well, Miss Cox, you will not refuse to help us out in our little entertainment. With such men as John Wanamaker and George W. Childs as examples of public benefactors, you cannot refuse to help the cause of humanity. Will you not read these few lines as they do it in Philadelphia?" She handed her a paper, typewritten, which Addie took, blushed, but made no attempt to read.

"You must, you know," said Juliet mildly.

"You'd better," whispered Janet, who sat near the victim.

And Addie read: "One doy in Moy, I went daown taown, and while I was trying to open a hayumper, I cut me hayund with a hayutchet. I heard some one soy it wasn't the woy to do it."

"Delicious!" exclaimed Juliet. "I couldn't do that if I tried all night. Now, Cordelia, dear, we are going to let you off with a mere snatch, but we must make this as complete as we can that the effect may be more striking. This, Cordelia, dear."

Cordelia, laughing and squinting up her eyes, took the paper with a good grace. "I am perfectly willing," she said, and glibly rattled off:

"Puryulls may do for some, but give me diamonds, thutty or more puryfect ones, for I am the guryull from New York."

"It is the most interesting study in dialect, that we have ever had at this college," remarked Juliet. "We shall all be immensely benefited by it, for I want you to understand, young ladies, that these are living examples of how they do it in the various localities represented, and the examples have been imported at a great expenditure of time and strength. I think you will all agree that in the last one, we have reached the climax. Miss Lee Penrose, of Virginia, will now give us an example of true Virginny dialect."

Lee had no bashfulness, and was too proud of her native State to consider anything relating to it a matter of criticism, so she gaily took her paper, and told how she "opened the do' into the co't, and beyond it, saw a gyarden where were a lot of pretty gyurls who said we are sho' 'nough F. F. V.'s."

There was a lot more to it which Lee did not hesitate to give.

"Perfectly delightful," Juliet cried. "Now, Miss Penrose, that was so dead easy that you will have to supplement it by something else in character. What shall it be?"

"A break down? A double shuffle? I can do those," said Lee, quite ready for anything.

"Yes, yes," came from every part of the room.

"The amiable Miss Penrose in her unparalleled character dances," announced Juliet.

And Lee stepped out, fairly delighting them all by her agility and the intricacy of her steps, winding up with a cake walk which convulsed them all.

"You are a dear," cried Juliet. "You are worth the whole bunch. I just love you for being so ready to please us."

And Lee, having scored a hit, sat down breathless from her exertions.

"Janet Ferguson, you haven't done any stunt," said Juliet suddenly. "Come out here, you and your roommate. What is her name? Oh, thank you, Teddy Waite. We are not going to let you off too easy in spite of your crimsoned brow. Oh, yes, we did eat all their ginger, didn't we? Well, if they are good, and mind what we say, we won't be very hard on them. Let me see—What? Oh, thank you, Fay. Miss Ferguson, you will have to go out into the hall, and climb over your own door by way of the transom. This is what is called a reflective act, for it is to give you an appreciation of the difficulties we have had to endure, and will also give you some thing to reflect upon."

Now Janet was not very athletic. She had but just begun her work in the gymnasium, yet she could climb, thanks to her country training, and though she was awkward enough in crawling through the transom, she managed to scramble down without mishap. Edna was then requested to go through the same feat, and the sophomores then took their leave, expressing themselves as having been greatly entertained.

When they had gone, Janet threw herself into a chair and sighed with relief.

"It wasn't so bad as I was afraid it might be," she said. "Thank heaven, that's over; and I don't suppose there'll be any more of it." And there was not.

CHAPTER III

FRATERNITY GIRLS

SCARCELY had Janet become accustomed to her new surroundings, before she found herself the object of special attention from certain girls in the college, and she quite plumed herself upon being so popular with these students in the upper classes. She took pains, however, to hide her elation, for she had wit enough to discover that most of the freshmen were very well satisfied with themselves, and that it was the aim of the sophs to take them down, a wholesome discipline, to be sure, for the majority of them. Indeed, it was in talking to Rosalie Trent, a junior who had selected Janet for special attention, that she learned what was expected of the freshmen, and how far many of them failed in meeting the expectation.

"They know it all," exclaimed Rosalie. "I don't mean you, Janet dear, for even if you think yourself a star of the first magnitude you have sense enough to keep your opinions to yourself. But the consequential airs of some of the new girls actually put me in a temper. I met one of these important individuals waiting for the elevator awhile ago; Nell Deford was there, too; you know how we all regard Nell, and even if she were not a senior, we'd show her deference. Well, what does this little whipper-snapper do, but push herself into the elevator ahead of Nell."

"What did you do?" asked Janet, appalled at such an impertinence on the part of a freshman.

"I swept her back and said, 'Miss Deford first, if you please.' Then I stepped in after Nell, and let Miss Fresh enter last. I must say that she had the grace to look abashed. You see why we have to sit on such creatures once in awhile, or they would simply run the whole place. You are going to the tea with me, aren't you, Janet? Becky Burdett is a girl worth knowing."

"And she is a senior? I think it is lovely of her to want me to come, and I shall surely go."

"You will meet some of our nicest girls there, and Becky has a very pleasant home."

"I think it just dear of you to take me," said Janet gratefully. She was a little bewildered by Rosalie's evident desire to please her, and wondered why she should have so attracted her. It was after Rosalie left the room and Cordelia came in that she found out.

"I see Rosalie Trent is rushing you," she said.

"Why, what makes you think so?" asked Janet.

"Wasn't she just here, and haven't you been walking with her and meeting her after class to walk home with her?"

"Why, yes, I have sometimes."

"They say that it is a great compliment to be asked to join the fraternity that Nell Deford and Becky Burdett belong to, and you ought to feel flattered."

"Fraternity? Rosalie has never mentioned the word to me."

"Of course not. It would be the greatest breach of etiquette to think of doing that, and Rosalie would rather die than mention it to you; all the same she is rushing you, it is very plain to be seen. You didn't suppose she was showering her attentions upon you simply because she loved you for yourself alone, did you?"

"I didn't know. Some of the others have done the same."

"They are frat girls, too, and nothing is too much for a rushee."

"Well I think it is very nice to be a rushee. I like all this attention whether they want me in their fraternity or not. Any way you put it, it is a compliment, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course, for they are supposed to be very particular whom they ask. Shall you join that one, Janet, or any at all?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought much about it. Shall you?"

"No, I think not. I rather think I shall be a non-frat. It takes up such a lot of time and there are expenses for one thing and another, and I would rather spend my money some other way."

"But there are advantages," said Janet. "You meet a lot of nice girls, and you may make acquaintances that will be a pleasure and a benefit to you all your life."

"That is true, but I can get along without that, I think. Is Ted going to join?"

"I don't know. We haven't discussed it."

"What do you talk about, pray?"

"Oh, a thousand things. Heaven knows there is enough to talk about, isn't there?"

"Well, yes, if one wants to merely say words. It doesn't appear to me that there are many girls here worth holding a real conversation with."

"Another argument for a frat," said Janet. "You might meet a kindred soul, if you joined one," she continued, searching in her bureau drawer for a pair of light gloves. "There's Ted now! If you want to talk frats to her, you can do it, and I will ask to be excused while I complete my toilet, for I am going with Rosalie to the halls of the rich and the great."

Teddy and Cordelia soon left her, and she started off with Rosalie for the tea, which proved to be an occasion for a perfect ovation. Every girl present seemed to want to make herself as agreeable as she knew how, and lavished compliments upon Janet till she might well have become vain.

"I have wanted so much to meet you," said Becky Burdett. "Rosalie has been talking of Janet Ferguson till we all feel that not to know you is to have lost something. Nell Deford has been asking about you. Will you let me bring her over to talk to you?"

Would she let her? Janet was overwhelmed, for of all persons whom she desired to meet, the stately Miss Deford was the one; and when she found herself listening to pretty speeches from this paragon, she was in the seventh heaven of delight. That she, Janet Ferguson, a country girl, a freshman, with nothing special to recommend her, should be receiving friendly advances from the star of the senior class, who had written clever stories, who had an enviable record for brilliant work in more than one course, who was editor-in-chief of the college magazine, and who, altogether, was a person of importance—this was a privilege that Janet never expected to come her way.

She went home in a transport of delight. "I've had the loveliest time," she exclaimed as she drew off her gloves. "I wish you could have gone, Teddy. Just think, I met Nell Deford and Becky Burdett, and some of the loveliest girls, and they were so sweet to me. I think it is perfectly delicious to be rushed."

"One of the seniors invited me to go to a lecture with her," said Edna.

"Which one of the girls was it?"

"I forget her name, but she wears a hat trimmed with a centrepiece and a feather duster."

Janet laughed. "Oh, that's Theresa McGarvey. She is great fun. She had that hat on this afternoon, and she certainly looks like a guy, but she is so droll and so full of life, nobody cares how she looks. I hope you are going to accept her invitation, for if we join any frat it should be that one; the very nicest and brightest of the girls belong to it. How did you happen to meet Miss McGarvey?"

"She came up and spoke to me after Latin this morning. She asked if the nice fresh-looking girl with dark hair whom she saw so often with Rosalie Trent were not my roommate. I replied that she was. Then she asked your name and I told her. Then she asked if I had many friends here, and I said, yes, that I had numbers, that I believed I had as many as six; then she invited me to go to the lecture with her."

"Oh, I do hope she means to rush you, Ted. You don't know what fun it is. I must confess, however, that it plays havoc with one's outside plans, but Cordelia says they don't keep it up very long. I wish you could go to Miss Burdett's; she has such a lovely home. I noticed that she had several awfully good casts in her room. I mean to get some, a Barrye lion, I think, and one of those fascinating heads like hers."

"Has she a fascinating head? It didn't strike me so when you pointed her out to me in chapel."

"Goose, I mean her cast of a head, of course. Say, Teddy, don't forget that it is as much as your life's worth to mention the word frat to any of these girls. One of the freshmen didn't know she oughtn't to, and she asked one of the rushers when pledge day would be; they dropped her instantly, and she couldn't imagine why. We must never give them a suspicion of a hint that we know why they are nice to us. Cordelia told me all that. I don't know what we should do without Cordelia; she is so well posted, you know, because her sister was graduated here last year."

A knock at the door interrupted their talk, and Janet admitted a stylishly dressed girl who asked, "Isn't this Miss Ferguson?"

"Yes, I am Janet Ferguson," was the reply.

"My friend, Effie Chandler, told me to be sure to look you up," said the stranger as Janet ushered her into the room.

"Oh, then you must be Hester Reeves," said Janet. "Effie told me I should see you here. Do let me call Teddy. This is Effie's friend, Miss Reeves, Ted. It is nice to meet friends of your friends when you are away from home, isn't it?" she said turning to the visitor.

Hester smiled. "It is for me in this case. What lovely rooms you have. Aren't those portières the quaintest things. I always envy the girls who can have a sitting room and a bedroom, too."

"We like it so, though I do sleep in the sitting room," said Janet. "We thought it would be better to do that way, and then if one must sit up late studying, the other, who may not have to, can go to bed early and need not be disturbed. Are you in one of the dormitories, Miss Reeves?"

"No," was the answer, "I board outside. I tried Hopper Hall for two years and got tired of it, so this year I concluded to go to one of the boarding houses. It gives me a little more freedom, I find."

"Then if you have been here two years, you are a junior, aren't you?" said Edna. "Dear me, it seems a long time before we shall be in your shoes."

Hester laughed. "It always seems long at the start, but when I think that next year will be my last I cannot realize it, and begin to feel very regretful that the time is so short."

Then followed a lot of personal talk, and at length Hester invited both the girls to go to a matinée with her the next Saturday, and shortly took her leave.

"Well," said Janet, when the door had closed after their guest, "there is one girl who has no axe to grind, and who is going to be nice to us, Teddy. Do you like her?"

"Yes," returned she, "but I should say she was a person fond of her own way."

"Who isn't fond of it?" laughed Janet. "I'm sure I am."

For the next two weeks, Hester saw a great deal of the two girls and was constantly asking them out to dinner, to drive, to walk, and showered so many attentions on them, that they were convinced that she was really very fond of them. Then came pledge day, and both girls, who had decided to join the fraternity to which Becky Burdett, Nell Deford, and Rosalie Trent belonged, donned their pledge pins and came out ardent frat girls.

It was the same day that Janet came in to the room where Edna was hard at work over her daily theme.

"Weren't we to go somewhere this afternoon?" asked Janet.

"We were, but we are not," replied Edna without looking up. "There's a note there on the table from Hester Reeves asking us to excuse her from going to Mrs. Talbot's tea."

"That's funny," returned Janet. "I met Hester in the library just now and she barely spoke to me. What have we done, Ted?"

"I'm sure I don't know," responded Edna, looking puzzled. "I am quite sure I haven't made fun of any of her relations, and I did not monopolize her best young man at the reception the other night."

"I cannot plead guilty to either of those crimes, nor to having been anything but most amiable. It's sort of awkward, isn't it, Ted, to be treated as if you were guilty when you are in a state of conscious innocence? What are these?" She took up two notes lying on the table.

"Oh those? I suppose yours is the same as mine. I am glad we have settled on our fraternity."

Janet glanced at her note. "Ted," she exclaimed, "I do believe this accounts for it. Hester Reeves has been rushing us after all, and we silly-billies didn't see through it. We thought it was all for our own sweet sakes, or for the sake of Effie Chandler." She sat down and began to laugh.

"I wonder if that is it," said Edna after a moment's thought.

"I certainly believe it is."

"Well, I said she looked like a person who was bound to have her own way. I'll bet she is furious."

"Dear me, then let her be," said Janet. "We can't help it. I'd rather it were that, than something else, though I can't help laughing to think how we have been fooled, and how she has been, too, for that matter. I like the girls in our frat so much the best of any, and even if we hadn't pledged, I wouldn't change, would you?"

"Indeed, I would not," replied Edna. "We must not breathe a word of this to any of the other girls, though," she said, as she went back to her theme.

Their conjectures proved to be quite true, for from that time, Hester dropped them, and not only she but several others, who had been particularly agreeable to Janet and Edna in the interest of their fraternity, after this had no more attentions for them.

However, with their new friends, the girls were content, and felt that their fraternity privileges were very great, since it gave them an intimacy with those of the seniors whom it would have been difficult in any other way to meet.

It was to Becky Burdett's pretty home that the girls liked specially to go, for Becky was a city girl and could eschew boarding houses, dormitories and regulations, and was much sought after because of this, and because she was a thoroughly generous-hearted, loyal and lovable girl. She was friendly, too, with a number of the faculty, and visited Professor Newcomb's wife and Professor Satterthwaite's daughters, so that she seemed to the innocent little freshmen a person living within a charmed circle.

"Could you ever, ever imagine yourself on jocose terms with your professor of mathematics?" said Janet as the two girls settled down one afternoon for hard work. "I nearly have nervous prostration if I happen to come face to face with him on the street, and to sit at his right hand at table would finish me completely."

"Well, since you don't have to sit at his right hand," said Edna, "why these remarks?"

"I was thinking of something Becky Burdett told me; of a joke Mr. Satterthwaite told her, and I couldn't imagine his condescending to anything so light."

"My dear, he is but a man, and probably his wife finds him very human," returned Edna sagely. "I am not half so much afraid of him as of Miss Drake. She is so terribly dignified and stately that she freezes me to an icicle. Imagine kissing her, or having little quips with her. Gracious! I'd as soon try to tickle an iceberg or a polar bear."

"Who's a polar bear?" asked some one putting her head in at the door. "I knocked, but you didn't hear. I came to borrow some alcohol."

"Goodness, Lee, we haven't a drop," Janet told her. "What do you want with it?"

"Gwine mek a cup o' tea fo' Miss Meadows an' de gals," returned Lee; "by Miss Meadows meaning Miss Drake."

"Not Miss Drake, the instructor in Latin? We were just talking about her."

"It was not she whom you were calling a polar bear, was it?"

"Oh, but we said first an iceberg; she's so very dignified, you know."

Lee laughed. "Come in and have a cup of tea with us. Ted said you were going to Mrs. Talbot's tea or I would have asked you before."

"With Miss Drake there?" ejaculated both the girls.

"Why not?"

"She isn't really in your room, is she?"

"Of course she is. I've known her all my life."

"And you're not scared to death of her?"

"Of Tilly Drake, as mamma calls her? I see myself. You won't be either, though perhaps it is wise to allow you to retain a little wholesome fear. Let me tell you something: Tilly's dignity is all assumed. I'm letting you into a secret, mind. I believe in my heart of hearts that she is as much scared of the girls as they are of her, and so she takes refuge in the heavy dignity. You'd better come and see her. I know Charity Shepherd has some alcohol. It would be against her New England thrift to allow herself to be out of it, so I'll go there. If I tell her it is for Miss Drake, she will give it to me. Ordinarily one has to bind and gag her in order to get it, for she will not succumb to fair means. She'll let me have it for Miss Drake though."

The girls looked at each other as Lee danced out. "Shall we go?" said Janet. "I'm willing."

"I'll go if you will keep me in countenance," returned Edna. "If you see me frozen with fright, just chip in and keep the ball of conversation rolling. Fortunately it's just the next room, so if we make any dreadful breaks, we can run and look the door before Miss Drake can catch us."

Janet laughed. The idea of the dignified Miss Drake phasing them home was too absurd.

"My teeth are fairly chattering," said Edna in a whisper, as they reached Lee's door, "and just feel my hands, Janet."

"They're like ice. You poor thing, I believe you actually are rattled," Janet returned, and just then the door opened to admit them. "Here are two frightened doves, Miss Drake," said Lee. "Come up and meet the ogress, girls."

Miss Drake laughed. She looked very handsome and quite approachable as she sat there in her plumed hat, wearing a very feminine cloth skirt, and a white silk waist on which was pinned a bunch of violets. In the class-room, she dressed severely in a plain black gown with no ornaments at all, and the effect of the becoming hat and the soft lace at throat and wrists was to alter her appearance decidedly. She held out a welcoming hand to the girls. "I'm glad to meet you in this informal way," she said. "Do I really scare you?"

Edna sat down uneasily on the edge of a chair, but Janet was more confident. "I think I don't usually come from your class quite as stiff with fright as Ted does," she answered. "It usually takes me quite an hour to get her limbered up. Professor Satterthwaite is my Gorgon. When he turns those penetrating eyes of his upon me, I feel the blood slowly congealing in my veins, and can't for the life of me tell a theorem from a broomstick. I think I shall give up mathematics, if I live through this semester."

"I used to feel just that way about Professor Satterthwaite when I was a freshman," said Miss Drake, "so you have my warmest sympathies."

Edna settled herself a little more comfortably on her chair. "Dear me," she said, "was he ever your professor, Miss Drake?"

Miss Drake smiled. "Why yes, my dear. Back in the dark ages, some ten or twelve years ago he was."

Edna opened her eyes, yet it certainly was easier to imagine this Miss Drake as a college student less time ago than that, though the instructor who sternly conducted the Latin class—in which the freshman sat, might well have been a fellow student with Professor Satterthwaite, Edna reflected. She thawed out enough to say:

"It must be pleasant to come back and teach in the college where you were once a student."

"Yes, it is," returned Miss Drake with a twinkle in her eye, "except when my girls think me an iceberg."

Edna turned scarlet, and Janet turned indignantly on Lee. "I think that was horrid of you, Lee Penrose."

"What was horrid?" asked Lee innocently turning from her occupation of making tea.

"To tell Miss Drake that we called her an iceberg."

"Oh, but I didn't, did I, Miss Drake?" said Lee.

"No, really she did not. That was merely a haphazard hit. When the girls are scared, they always call me that, and so I guessed that you did," explained Miss Drake. "Come here, Miss Waite, and see how comfortable this divan is with three pillows at one's back."

Edna rather timidly came and sat by her, and felt her hand clasped in the soft warm one of the "iceberg" who smiled down at her and said, "Do I freeze you?"

"Not a bit," replied Edna taking courage.

"Here, Ted, give her a cup of tea," said Lee, and Edna, only too willing, jumped up to wait on the woman with whom she was now fast falling desperately in love. Her conquest was complete when, before she departed, Miss Drake divided her bunch of violets with her.

"She is simply adorable," said Teddy ecstatically when she and Janet had returned to their own room. "Oh, Janet, if she should ever kiss me, I should die of joy."

CHAPTER IV

THE INITIATION

"WHAT do you suppose they will do to us?" said Janet on the day when she and Edna expected to be initiated into their fraternity.

"I'm sure I don't know," returned Edna plaintively. "I hope it won't be very awful. Fay Wingate scared me nearly to death with her vague little hints and insinuations. I never know when to believe her."

Janet laughed. "What hundreds of other girls have stood, I think we can stand. None of the others seem to have been fatally injured by the process. What time did Rosalie and Fay tell us to be ready?"

"Before four," answered Edna nervously looking at her watch. "It is ten minutes before four now. I wish the bothersome thing was over, or I wish I had never promised to join. I suppose it is too late to back out now."

"For pity's sake, Ted, don't be such a baby," said Janet disgustedly. "Do brace up and act as if you weren't scared, even if you are. I wouldn't have any one suspect I was afraid for anything. Here they come. Do pull up your features and smile."

And by the time Edna could make some attempt at carrying a less lugubrious countenance, there was a knock at the door.

"Smile, girl, smile," said Janet fiercely, "though the Philistines be upon thee."

Edna gave a ghastly grin as Janet opened the door to admit Rosalie and Fay.

"Shall we blindfold them here?" asked Fay.

"I don't think there is any need to do that," returned Rosalie. "Are you ready, girls?"

"Yes," said Janet firmly.

"Yes," echoed Edna weakly.

"Come on, then," said Rosalie. She led the way to the street, where stood the Burdetts' carriage with the footman holding open the door.

Before leading the way down the steps, Rosalie paused, and whipped out a couple of silk handkerchiefs, with which she bound the eyes of both Janet and Edna. "You are not to speak to each other nor to any one else until you are spoken to, and then only in answer to direct questions," she charged them. "When you arrive at your destination, the footman will see that you are safely conducted indoors. There you are to wait till some one comes to speak to you and tell you what to do next."

Half laughing, half scared, the girls gropingly made their way into the carriage.

"You know where to go, James," said Fay to the coachman.

"Yes, miss," replied the man, touching his hat. Then the door slammed and they were driven away to the unknown.

After what seemed rather a long drive, the carriage stopped, and the door of it was opened by the footman, who said, "I will help you out, ladies."

He carefully guided first Janet then Edna up a long flight of steps, rang the bell and stood waiting for it to be answered.

"It's all right," they heard him say as some one opened to them. Then they were conducted across a tiled floor to a soft carpet and were made conscious of the odor of roses and the hush of a warm curtained room.

It was all very mysterious, but they imagined they must be in some private house. They heard the carriage roll away, and each clutched the other who sat beside her on a sofa. It was some comfort to feel the presence of a companion in misery.

Presently they heard the murmur of voices in what seemed a room beyond, then some one came forward.

"Well, young ladies," a voice addressed them, "was it Mrs. or Miss Austin you wished to see?"

"I—we—don't know," replied Janet helplessly.

"Humph!" There was a silence following the ejaculation. Evidently their interlocutor was puzzled. "I think, perhaps," he said hesitatingly, "you have made a mistake. No doubt you were going to Dr. Armitage for treatment. He lives on this same street a block further down."

No answer.

"A most remarkable state of things," said the gentleman. And they heard him move briskly away. His heavy tread indicated that he was stout, his voice that he was elderly. He must have been rather perturbed, for he called hastily: "Solomon, Solomon, go call Mr. Van. Tell him to come at once."

"INSANE, EVIDENTLY INSANE," SAID THE ELDERLY MAN.

It certainly was a strange situation, and the girls began to wonder what the outcome would be. They sat there in the still perfumed room, waiting the next development, which came presently.

"Most remarkable," they heard the old gentleman repeating as he went out to meet some one whose heels clicked upon the marble tiling of the hall. "Do come in, Van, and see what you make of it," they could hear him say.

Janet felt like giggling, but instead she squeezed Edna's arm. She felt almost certain that they were being regarded by a pair of strange men.

"Would you mind telling us," said a well-modulated and manly voice, "just whom you wish to see?"

"We'd like to, but I'm afraid we can't," answered Janet.

"Then can you tell me why you are here?"

"That's something that we are dying to find out," returned Janet. "We hoped you could tell us."

"Insane, evidently insane," said the throaty voice of the elderly man. "Van, you'd better call in an officer or a doctor or some one."

"Wait a minute," said the younger man. "They are apparently willing to answer questions and are very quiet. We'll risk it a little further."

"You probably know that you are in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Austin, don't you?" said the old gentleman.

"We don't know where we are," Edna told them.

"How did you get here?"

"In a carriage," Janet replied.

"Whose?" asked the young man.

"Miss Becky Burdett's."

"Ah-h?" There was satisfaction in the tones. "We all know Miss Becky, and—why yes, I begin to see daylight. Are you residents of the city?"

"No."

"Are you visiting Miss Becky?"

"No."

"Then perhaps she sent her carriage to take you to the oculist's. Are you from the Blind Asylum?"

Edna tittered and Janet laughed outright.

"No, we are not from there," replied the latter.

The young man regarded them with a puzzled look on his face which it would have amused them to see. There was some great mystery here, and his curiosity was aroused to such a pitch that he was determined to find out why these two well-dressed, nice looking girls should be in such an awkward position. He meditated upon the subject, then he suddenly remembered that Becky was a college girl, and his next leading question was, "Are you attending college?"

"Yes," the answer came promptly.

"And do you happen to be fraternity girls?" the question followed quickly.

Janet laughed. "Not quite yet," she answered.

The young man laughed too. "Just trot back to your paper, dad," he said. "It's all right, I'll bet a sixpence. I can manage this. My mother and sister have not come in yet," he addressed himself again to the girls, "or I am sure they would be delighted to receive any of Miss Becky's friends. As it is, I am inclined to think that there has been some mistake. Now, if you will allow me, I will call a carriage and conduct you to No. 136 East. This is No. 136 West, and I think it is very likely that the coachman made the mistake. If we find that you are not expected at this number East, I will see you safely to your home. Does the plan meet with your approval?"

"Entirely," said Janet. She wished that she might thank him, but she was pledged to answer only a direct question.

"You couldn't take off those bandages," said the young man. No reply.

"Could you be persuaded to take off those bandages?" he repeated, quick to understand the situation.

"No, we mustn't," Edna told him.

"Very well, I will not insist. Be perfectly easy, young ladies; I'll call the carriage at once, and will stop to explain your predicament to my father who is much concerned. I see he is watching us instead of reading his paper, and if you knew him, you would understand what that means."

Janet and Edna were burning to speak to each other, but kept strictly to the letter of their instructions, and would only giggle and squeeze each other's hands. The situation had proved more exciting than they had expected, and whatever the next act might be, this first certainly possessed the elements of an adventure. They waited tranquilly till the young man returned with the information that the carriage was in waiting, and if they were ready, he would be glad to escort them to their possible destination.

"If we are ready!" said Janet to herself, shaking with laughter. Her mirth was of the contagious kind, and the young man who established himself on the opposite seat of the carriage joined in.

"There's nothing like seeing the humorous side of a situation," he said. "I think this is a great lark. You see, I am a college man myself, and can appreciate these irregularities and complications. I shall have some fun with Miss Becky about this."

Janet immediately became grave. They had in no way violated the confidence reposed in them, but if this were to become commonly known; if the college boys were to get hold of it, Becky and her friends might blame the innocent causes of it.

The young man understood her embarrassment for he said gently: "Perhaps you would rather I didn't say anything about it. Would you rather I didn't?"

"Oh, yes, we would," returned Janet eagerly.

It was but a few minutes' drive to No. 136 East. At the window of the house stood the anxious Rosalie Trent who dashed to the door as soon as the carriage stopped. She met Mr. Austin coming up the steps, and stopped short in her surprise. "Mr. Austin," she exclaimed, "I—I thought—"

"You thought I was some one else? Are you looking for two wandering innocents, blindfolded and ignorant of where they were expected to go? If you are, I can assure you they are quite safe."

"Oh, where did you find them?" cried Rosalie. "They should have been here an hour ago, and we have been worried to death about them. Are they there?" She peered out at the carriage.

"They are there. Shall I bring them in? I can vouch for their being the most heroically non-committal young persons I ever had the fortune to meet. By the way, Miss Trent, who is the taller one with the dark hair?"

"I shall not tell you," said Rosalie, running down the steps.

"Don't you think I deserve to know?" said the young man following her.

"Sometime, maybe, but you wouldn't have the dear thing mortified by your knowledge at present, would you? Please don't talk of this, Mr. Austin."

"I promised the girl with the raven locks that I wouldn't," he said, "so you can trust me."

"Did she ask you not to?" said Rosalie.

"Not she. It was only by plying her with direct questions that we could get a word out of her. The old gentleman thought they were crazy, and was all for sending them to a lunatic asylum."

"Poor dears," murmured Rosalie, going swiftly to the carriage and opening the door. "I am so glad you've come, girls," she said, losing all attempt at being mysterious in her delight at seeing them safe. "We didn't know what had happened. Becky was just telephoning to inquire if the carriage had gone home and what the coachman had to report."

"Oh, may we speak to some one, just once?" asked Janet in eager, hurried tones.

"Why yes, under the circumstances you may," returned Rosalie. "I am sure it will be allowable. What did you want to say?"

"We must thank Mr. Austin," said Janet. "It would be dreadful not to when he has been so kind."

"Surely you must. I will answer for that," said Rosalie.

Then the three girls expressed their thanks as cordially as they could, and were assisted up the steps by their escort, the door closed behind them, and he drove away leaving them to face the mysteries of initiation.

When they emerged from their stay of three hours behind closed doors they were full-fledged frats. They were also something else, for they were able to pose as the heroines of an adventure. Not a girl in this inner circle but clamored for an account of their experiences while under the Austins' roof.

"What did you think of it?" asked Becky Burdett.

"We were surprised, of course," Janet acknowledged, "but then we expected to be surprised. We started out to meet surprises on the way, and we didn't know at first but that it was one of them. We thought it was all pre-arranged, and when Mr. Austin came in, we thought he belonged to the performers."

"Then when did you begin to suspect?"

"When he brought in his son and began to talk of sending us to a lunatic asylum."

The girls screamed with delight.

"But we calmed down when his son took the matter in hand. Oh, girls, but when he asked us if we were from the Blind Asylum, it was too much."

The girls broke out into a second roar of laughter.

"It is so funny," cried Fay rocking back and forth in glee. "Go on, Janet. What did you think we were up to?"

"We hadn't an idea. We couldn't believe you had enlisted your fathers and brothers in the cause, and we were puzzled to know why you sent us to a place where we were not expected, till Mr. Austin, (Van, his father called him), suggested that we had been left at the wrong house. He really was a second Sherlock Holmes in the way he ferreted out the truth."

"He is a college man himself, and knows the ways that are dark," Becky told them.

"Anyhow he is a gentleman," said Janet stoutly, "for he promised not to tell when I didn't even ask him not to."

"Couldn't he be a college man and a gentleman?" queried Fay.

"He might be," returned Janet doubtfully, to tease Fay who doted on the students of the neighboring university. "Oh, girls," she went on, "but we were good; we didn't ask a single question, neither did we speak to each other. That and one other thing were the hardest I ever had to do in all my life."

"What was the other thing?" asked Rosalie.

"Not to lift the bandage from my eyes to see what Mr. Van Austin looks like. I am paid up for all the untoward curiosity I ever showed in all my life, and for thousands of other things. To think of meeting a fascinating young man, and not being able to tell what he looks like, while he could only observe the tip of my nose and my mouth! It is tragic, absolutely tragic. You couldn't get up another situation like it if you were to try for a thousand years."

"We builded better than we knew," said Nell Deford. "Never mind, Janet, there are compensations. You and Teddy can assure yourselves that no other girls were ever initiated under just such circumstances."

"A poor consolation," sighed Janet. "For the rest of my life I shall be seeking a voice."

"Why must you do that?" said Fay. "When Becky and Rosalie both know him; nothing in the world would be easier than to bring about a meeting."

"Never!" cried Janet. "I hope he will never find out anything more about us, and all I want is merely to see him from a distance so I can wear his image in my heart."

"Indeed, then, I shall do better than that," spoke up Edna.

"What shall you do?" asked Janet, turning upon her. "If you get the better of me, Teddy Waite, I'll never forgive you. What are you going to do?"

"I'll tell you when I've done it," returned Teddy.

"If you don't, I'll drag it from you by slow torture," declared Janet. "Come along. I must get you to myself. The rest are ready to go. Yes, we'll be sure to come to the next frat meeting, Rosalie. Meantime, if Teddy does any dark and doubtful deed, you needn't expect to see her."

But at the end of three weeks, Edna confessed to her roommate that her best laid scheme had gone aglee, for though she had devised a plan by which she hoped to be able to catch a sight of the unknown Van Austin the plan had come to naught.

"For three mortal Sundays," she said plaintively, "I have started out early. The first I walked up and down that street till church time."

"Why, Teddy Waite."

"Yes, I did. I haunted the square where the Austins live; I really did."

"Well, what came of it?"

"The first Sunday, two ladies came out and went to church together."

"Why didn't you follow them to see where they went?"

"I did."

"And you found out?"

"Yes, they went to St. Stephen's."

"Well?"

"So the second Sunday, I went there."

"That was a bright move to make. Well, after that?"

"There were three persons in the pew: an elderly man—yes, I saw him," as Janet looked questioningly. "He looks exactly as we thought he did. Then there were his wife, a tall, fine-looking woman, and the daughter, about twenty-six or seven, I should think, nice looking and handsomely dressed; but I didn't go to that church to see them."

"Still it was some satisfaction," declared Janet. "I think I'll go there next Sunday. What about the third time?"

"Not a sign of any young man. I don't believe he goes to church."

"I'd hate to think that," said Janet. "Our hero would go, you know."

"Of course, but heroes don't always act as you would have them. I am going to give it up and trust to fate."

"If Becky thought we really wanted to see him, she would make a way."

"Yes, but we have said we didn't want her to."

"I know that, and I won't appear anxious now. No, we must leave it all to fate. It's much the best way," declared Janet. "Then there will be no responsibility about it, and it will be so much more romantic. I think however, we might go to St. Stephen's to church next Sunday."

CHAPTER V

THE FINALS

As the days went on, neither Janet nor Edna chanced to meet the unseen Mr. Van Austin. The other girls, partly to tease them and partly because the two declared they really wanted to keep up the mystery, would tell them nothing about their hero, and as the time drew near for the finals, they were too absorbed in making up for lost hours to think of anything but geometry and German, Greek and Latin, and other subjects more or less akin.

"I know I shall flunk in geometry; I just know it," wailed Janet who was huddled in one corner of the room one day with a pile of books beside her.

"Oh, Janet, don't talk that way," begged Edna. "It's bad enough for me to get rattled, but when you do, I am simply left without a leg to stand on. It isn't geometry that I am so worried over; it is Latin. If I flunk in that, I shall never hold up my head again."

"Well, Teddy Waite, if Miss Drake hasn't some commiseration for you after all the violets you have been lavishing upon her, I have my opinion of Miss Drake."

"Oh, Janet, don't talk so. She couldn't make an exception of me if she wanted to; and it is just because she is so adorable that I am so miserable about not doing well. Don't you understand?"

"If that's the case," said Janet, "I ought to pass a brilliant examination, for I don't adore Professor Satterthwaite. I'll pluck up courage, Ted, if the rule works that way. Use your mind as Charity Shepherd says. I believe Charity's half inclination toward Christian Science is what she is depending upon, for she is very cheerful."

"If we had studied as hard as Charity has, we might have the same reason for being cheerful," remarked Edna. "I think I will get her to go over this with me."

She whirled her books together and carried them out of the room, leaving Janet plodding over her geometry. She sat on the floor with her feet stretched out and her eyes fixed on the book before her. Once in a while, she would strike the page with her clenched fist, then she would seize a paper and pencil and scribble away for some minutes.

After a while some one tapped at the door, and Rosalie Trent entered, at first seeing no one. "Janet Ferguson," she cried, "where are you?"

"Here," answered Janet from her corner, giving a deep sigh and lifting her head.

"What are you doing over there?"

"Cramming for the finals. Geometry comes to-morrow, and I am in a blue funk over it. I truly am, Rosalie."

Her friend came and sat down near her, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. "Why, aren't you pretty good in math?" she asked.

"No,—oh, I don't know. I'm not good in anything. I'm 'a po' ign'ant creetur', as my old mammy used to say. My head whirls so that I don't know an equilateral triangle from a buzz-saw."

Rosalie looked at her with compassion. "I'll venture to say you haven't poked your nose out of doors this week, such beautiful weather as it is, too. How long have you been working this way?"

"Oh, I don't know," responded Janet wearily. "Since I was born, it seems to me. I can't remember ever having done anything else. Once in a former existence I have a dim consciousness of baying been free and happy, but that was eons ago."

"Well, if you don't stop this minute, and go out for a walk, you will be in the infirmary within twenty-four hours. What you need is fresh air and a relief from this steady strain," said Rosalie.

"Yes, doctor."

"And you'd better go right away without any delay."

"Yes, ma'am, I would go if I could. None would do it more gladly; but with the sword of Damocles banging over my head, how could I enjoy it or derive any benefit from it even if I could take the time, I should like to know."

"Oh, you could, and go you must. It's time we juniors were looking after our sister class in the direction of health, I think. You must take your exams, as a matter of course, but they are not a question of life and death. Just keep a pleasant thought in your mind, as they say when you go to have your photograph taken, and say to yourself: This time next week it will all be over, and this time two weeks I shall be at home."

"And then nothing matters much, does it?" said Janet. Then suddenly she realized all that going home meant, and the old familiar scenes arose before her: the long low house with its portico in front, the orchard, the tall trees bordering the lane, the flashing blue water of the bay, the familiar forms moving about the house and grounds, Dicky whistling, old Hooker singing a camp-meeting hymn, Eliza in the kitchen, Ginny in the house. Up-stairs watching, waiting, longing for her, her mother, her face full of joy at the thought of her home coming. She sprang suddenly to her feet.

"I will go to walk," she cried. "Nothing makes the slightest difference once one is at home. Come quick, Rosalie, before I am seized again by the giant math." She snatched up her hat and the two sallied forth.

"You've saved my life," Janet said, taking a long breath as she stepped out into the sunshine. "Isn't it a blessing to have a home? Two weeks and all this will be a dream. We can shake off all the terrors and horrors of flunks and funks and thunks and go scot free till next fall."

"Yes, it is a comfort," returned Rosalie with a little sigh, "yet I shall be sorry to have my college days over when the day comes for me to say good-bye to my alma mater."

"I suppose I shall feel that way too, at the end of four years," said Janet. "Gracious, Rosalie, there comes Professor Satterthwaite. Oh, dear, why did he have to come this way just when I was trying to forget him? I will have to run, or I am lost."

"You'll do no such thing," said Rosalie, grasping her firmly. "Miss Drake is with him, and she saw us. She will think we are trying to avoid her."

"But you can explain. Say anything, that I have a sudden nose-bleed, or that I—oh, anything. Do let me go, Rosalie."

"I'll do no such thing," declared Rosalie continuing to hold her in a tight grasp, though Janet struggled to get away, till confused and not in a very good humor, she was compelled to stand still and face the approaching pair.

Miss Drake greeted her cordially, but the professor fixed his keen eyes upon her as he shook hands with her.

"You're looking pale, Miss Ferguson," said Miss Drake. "Have you been ill?" Indeed, the dark circles around Janet's eyes and the pallor of her usually blooming cheeks, gave reason for the question.

"No," Rosalie answered for her, "she isn't really ill, but she soon will be, if she doesn't stop working herself to death. It is simply an attack of midnight oil, Miss Drake. I found her in the throes of a cram, and so I dragged her out, much against her will. She has been hard at it without cessation for days, and she will collapse utterly, if she doesn't take any fresh air."

Professor Satterthwaite shook his head. "That's wrong, Miss Ferguson. It doesn't do to burn the candle at both ends. What are you working at so specially hard?"

Rosalie laughed. "I wouldn't question her too closely, Mr. Satterthwaite; it might strike too near home."

Janet bit her lip to keep it from trembling, and the tears were very near her eyes as she looked down afraid to meet the professor's gaze.

"Why, my child," he said in such kindly tones as went to Janet's heart, "your work is not bad. I am sure there is no need of such desperate measures. I don't see any reason why you should not make a creditable examination."

Janet raised her eyes gratefully to meet a very gentle expression in the face which had always appeared so stern to her.

"There, there, my dear," he said, patting her shoulder kindly, "don't let yourself lose your courage. It is not going to be so difficult, I promise you. Keep her out in this fine air as long as you can, Miss Trent. There's nothing like fresh air and sunshine for flagging spirits." And he passed on with an encouraging smile.

"Oh!" Janet drew a long breath. "I wouldn't have missed that for a kingdom. To think that he smiled and called me 'my dear'! He is human after all."

"He is a perfect old dear when you once arouse his interest," said Rosalie. "That's why I was bound you shouldn't run away. I wanted him to get up a little interest in you. Now that you have seen his best side, I am sure it will come easier to you to-morrow."

"Of course it will. I shall not be afraid of the-man-with-the-stone-face any more. Thank you, Rosalie, for insisting upon my standing my ground. I find that college is much like the Pilgrim's Progress, for when you come face to face with the lions, they are no longer to be feared."

"It took me to the end of my freshman year to discover that, too," Rosalie told her. "Many of the things you mind very much this year will seem mere bagatelles next."

Therefore Janet went home comforted, and retailed her experience to Edna whom she persuaded to take some exercise in the open air. And though both girls sat up half the night, it was less of a tax upon their strength than it would have been if they had not bestirred themselves to take the dose of fresh air insisted upon by Dr. Rosalie Trent.

Nevertheless, it was a wan and trembling pair who gathered themselves together preparatory to the examinations. How Janet got through her ordeal in mathematics she never knew, but she declared it was because Professor Satterthwaite had told her she would, and because she kept saying to herself: "Two weeks from to-day I shall be at home, and then none of all this will matter at all."

"I think," she said to Edna as they walked home across the campus, "that I would like to go to bed and stay there forever."

But, with other examinations crowding close, and equally important matters looming up in the chain of days immediately ahead, anything like a halt was not to be thought of; and Janet, with the rest of the girls, found herself caught in a whirl of events which bore her along to Class Day, with Commencement Day just ahead. It gave her a great thrill to think of the latter. She would be a sophomore after that, no longer a freshman with perked up opinions and bewildered ideas.

She would come back another year with an exact knowledge of what college life was, and there would be other freshmen who would have to learn, as she had learned, things not taught in books, who would be bewildered, and would fight hard for their opinions. Nell Deford and Becky Burdett would have passed out "into the wide, wide world" with the other "grand old seniors," but Rosalie would be there still, herself a senior.

She was disturbed in her meditations by the rush of feet along the corridor, and the entering the room of a crowd of girls.

"Where are you, Janet?" cried Lee Penrose. "Gracious, girl, don't you know what time it is? You mustn't be mooning here. Have you forgotten that this is Class Day?"

Janet turned and looked over the group of faces grown familiar to her these past months. "I'm coming," she said. "I had finished college when you came in, but I suppose I must do it all over again." She perched her college cap upon her head and arranged the tassel carefully. "Doesn't it strike you all as pathetic?" she said, when she had adjusted it.

"Does what strike us as pathetic?" asked Lee. "What's the matter with you this morning, Janet?"

"Nothing, except that any change makes me pensive."

"Even small change?" asked Lee laughing at her own nonsense.

Janet was too serious to notice her. "Even the small change of altering the position of a tassel that you have worn in one way for nearly a year. After Commencement Day, I'll never be a freshman any more."

"I'll never see my Annie any more," chanted Lee. "Do stop all this sentimentality, Janet. I shall keep all my regrets and bewailings till I leave college for good. We can't wait while you gather all your tears in a bottle, and if you are going to stand there all day and apostrophize that old tassel, we will not wait for you."

Janet came back to solid facts, and they all crowded out into the corridor and down the stairs, chattering, laughing, whispering, singing, out into the summer sunshine and across the campus, their class flag floating before them. At the chapel door they gathered in a body to give their class yell, and then they filed in.

It made Janet feel cold "all down her spine," she told Teddy afterward, when she saw the sophomores ranged each side the entrance, lifting their caps and forming an arch under which the seniors walked. It was like some triumphal procession of which she was part and parcel. She belonged to Class Day. All those exercises, of which she had so often read, were being carried out because she and others like her made up a grand whole without which there could be no college. She looked around at the sea of faces, and for the first time in her life felt the seriousness of the thought that each individual is responsible for its class, whether it be at college or elsewhere. Then came the opening prayer, and she entered, heart and soul, into the day's proceedings.

Commencement Day was less impressive to her, for her one great interest lay in the act of changing the place of the college cap so that its position would mean that the wearer had taken a step upward, and that henceforth Janet Ferguson would no longer be known as a freshman.

The next excitement was the packing, and the departure for home. Becky Burdett she would see again at frat meetings and elsewhere, but Nell Deford would step out into the past and become a memory. Janet's lips trembled as she kissed Nell good-bye, and more than one girl wept over her. Then came other partings, gay ones, and those full of the promise of meeting in a few months. Edna was to spend part of her summer at Janet's home, and Rosalie exacted a few days from them both before they should settle down in their rooms in the fall.

Of the rest, some traveled southward part of the way with Janet, and others stood upon the platform to see them off, their college yell being the last sound that was drowned by the shriek of the locomotive. So Janet traveled on; and as the scenes grew more and more familiar, her thoughts and desires were all flying ahead of her, to meet her as facts on the threshold of the home she had left nearly nine months before.

CHAPTER VI

IN THE GYM

MOST of the sophomore class had gathered in the gymnasium one afternoon not long after Janet had returned to college. Nearly all of the former students had come back, the only ones who had dropped out being Addie Cox and Kathie Steele.

Janet was squirming through a series of square openings, Edna was exercising upon the horizontal bar, while Lee Penrose was lightly vaulting over the "horse." The enthusiasm of the girls was always noticeable when the year was new, for not only did they enjoy revisiting their old haunts, but most of them found it not unpleasant, in their early pride of being sophomores, to display to the freshmen their familiarity with the various institutions of the college.

Janet had squirmed through her fourth hole when looking below she saw two girls in street attire enter. They stood near the door for a moment looking at the feats of the girls who were exercising. Presently Cordelia caught sight of them.

"What are those freshmen doing here?" she said. "Why have they the audacity to come without their gym suits? Come down, Janet; we've got to discipline those young women."

Janet, who was swinging her feet from the square frame in which she sat, climbed down and ran to where Cordelia, Edna, and Lee were whispering together. "Who are they?" she asked.

"Blest if I know," returned Cordelia. "Some audacious freshes, of course, who must be taught their place. Come, let us go show them their duty."

The four girls advanced to where the two visitors stood. "Young ladies," said Cordelia, addressing them in mild but firm tones, "it is against our rules for you to appear here in your street costumes. We can't have it. Get yourselves undressed as quickly as possible, and put on your gym suits."

The taller of the two girls laughed, and responded: "We haven't any suits with us."

"Very well, that need not worry you," said Cordelia. "Ted, get a couple of suits from somewhere. Lil Forsyth isn't here to-day, neither is Mary Alston; get theirs."

Teddy sought out the suits and brought them over, while Janet, Cordelia, and Lee stood over the girls and saw that they laid aside their clothing, the rest of the class crowding around and enjoying the situation.

"Get into these quick," said Cordelia; "we can't have any loitering." The girls struggled into the suits in a half amused, half embarrassed way.

"Now," said Cordelia, "you must exercise till we think you have done the amount that is good for you. First lie down flat on your backs, then sit up without bending your knees. Keep your arms flat to your sides, or fold them across your chests. Here, I'll show you how. Try again."

The two girls made the effort with no very good success.

"You'd better be taken separately," said Cordelia. "Here, Janet, you see that the little one goes through her stunts, and we will see to the other."

Nothing loath, Janet took her victim in hand, but passed her along to whoever chose to suggest a special form of exercise. One made her jump about the floor like a frog; another ordered her to swing from the horizontal bar; while a third set her to climbing up a rope hand over hand. Cordelia, meanwhile, with a posse of assistants, directed the movements of the taller of the two girls.

Half an hour passed when Janet's charge began to show signs of rebellion. "I can't squirm through these holes," she declared, "and I'm not going to try."

"Oh, yes, you are; you'll have to," said Janet pleasantly. "You don't suppose, my little dear, that freshmen can do exactly as they choose in this college. Don't you know that we are the sophomore class?"

"I don't know anything about it," returned the girl sulkily. "I'm not a freshman, so why should I care what you are."

"Tell that to the marines," said Janet. "We are up to all your tricks, my young lady, and that doesn't go at all. What would you be but a freshman? Don't you suppose we know the members of our own class? And I know you are not a junior. Perhaps you will insist that you are a senior. That would be what one might expect, I suppose."

"No, I don't insist upon that," said the girl.

"You don't really? May I ask your name?"

The girl was silent.

"Oh well, any name will do to call you by," Janet went on. "Suppose we say that you are Miss Mute, Miss Silence Mute. Now, Miss Mute, you'll have to go through this exercise. Up with you."

The girl struggled as Janet charged upon her, but was forced to the side of the room to which she objected to go.

"Boost her up, Ted," cried Janet. "What will become of you, Miss Mute, if you defy authority in this way at the very beginning of your college career? There you go. Hand over hand is the way. Now then, into the first square."

The girl managed to get this far, and sat mutinously swinging her feet, but refusing to go through any further performance. "I am no college girl," she declared, looking down from her perch. "I live in town, and just came here for fun."

"Don't believe a word of it," said Janet. "We will not have any hashed up excuse like that. You've got to go through all those holes before you come down."

With a row of determined girls below her, the victim saw no means of escape. She must either do as she was commanded, or stay where she was in rather an uncomfortable position.

"It's a shame to treat us so," she cried. "I think it is barbarous."

"Now don't get excited, my child," said Janet suavely. "It isn't becoming."

In vain, did Miss Mute protest that they had no right to detain her; the row of girls below simply jeered at her. In vain, she appealed to their humanity; they charged her with obstinacy, and at last, in desperation, she awkwardly and angrily obeyed their order, all the time insisting that it was an outrage.

Cordelia's pupil did a little better, and was willing to keep up the spirit of the thing longer; expressed herself as entirely ready to swing from a bar, to vault over a rope, and to do most of the things insisted upon, but even she at last pleaded fatigue. She had come only to see what it looked like anyhow, and it was not right to keep her there against her will. She wanted to go home.

"She wants to go home," said Edna in a mocking voice. "And where is home, little girl? Did you get lost, and do the naughty sophomores tease you so you want to run tell mamma? Poor little fresh, I am afraid you can't go to mamma just yet. She is too far-away, baby. Now, be a good child, and do as you are bidden. It's not pretty to stand there and look sullen. By the way, you haven't told us your name. Your little playmate appears to rejoice under the name of Miss Mute, though her name ill fits her after her tirade from her lofty perch. We will try to give you a more fitting cognomen, if you do not care to divulge your identity."

"I'm not afraid to tell my name," said the girl with a little fling of her head. "I am Marian Austin, and if you want to know any more about me you can ask my uncle, Mr. Courtney Austin, 136 East River Street."

"Gracious!" Edna looked around at Janet. "Come here, Janet," she said. "Listen to what this young person says. She tells me that she is a niece of Mr. Courtney Austin, of River Street. What do you think of that?"

Janet looked dumbfounded. "Is she guying us, do you suppose?" she asked.

"No, I am not," replied the girl. "This has gone far enough. It was funny at first, and we were perfectly willing to carry on the joke, but it has ceased to be funny, and we'll thank you to let us go. I am a stranger in the city—"

"As a matter of fact," murmured Janet, "we are all strangers. I am afraid that isn't any argument."

The girl paid no attention to the interruption. "I am visiting at my uncle's," she said, "and this afternoon one of my friends and I went out for a walk, and we thought it would be fun to look in here and see what was going on; then when you proposed that we should do some of those things we thought it would be a good joke, but we are tired out now, and you've no right to keep us here any longer."

"The question of whether we have the right is still an open one," said Cordelia.

"You know you haven't the slightest right. It's all very well for you sophomores to haze your freshmen, and make them do as you choose, but you have no claim on us. It is an outrage, and if you don't let us go this minute, I shall tell my uncle, and he will be furious. He will report you to the faculty, and we shall see if something can't be done to put a stop to such doings."

"Whew!" cried Cordelia. "Little girl's getting mad. Shall we let them go, girls? We'll put it to vote. All in favor say, Aye." There was a chorus of ayes.

"All not in favor, No."

There followed an equally decided chorus of noes.

"We can never tell that way," said Cordelia; "we'll have to have you hold up your hands. Hands up, ayes. One, two, three," she counted the uplifted hands of those voting aye; then by making her count of the noes found that there was a tie. "Somebody will have to reconsider," she said. "How about you, Janet Ferguson?"

"They are tired, and I think they ought to be allowed to go," said Janet. "I can't take back my aye."

"And you, Teddy Waite?"

"I agree with Janet."

"So loyal? What have you to say, Lee Penrose? Will you change your vote?"

"Not I. I'm not to be corrupted. 'No,' I said, and 'no' I shall continue to say."

"Charity Shepherd? Oh, I know your Puritan conscience would not let you commit yourself. You didn't vote at all. Then I suppose I shall have to be umpire. I say we make them do one more stunt and then let them go."

"Yes, yes," went up a shout.

"Then, Miss Marian Austin—a pretty name by the way; I don't wonder that you selected it—we'll let you two off when you hang by your toes from that bar."

"Oh no, that's too hard," objected Janet. "They might fall and hurt themselves badly, Cordelia. I don't see why you want to insist upon their staying."

"Thank you," said Miss Austin. "I am glad we have one friend at court in our extremity, Miss Ferguson. Oh you needn't look surprised. I remember your names, and if I should have to complain to my uncle—"

"Dear me," interrupted Teddy hastily, "don't make them stay, Cordelia."

"I have said." Cordelia made the statement grandly. "We are not going to retreat from the stand we have taken; whatever 1904 is, she is not cowardly."

"Hear, hear," arose accompanied by a soft clapping of hands from the class.

"But," continued Cordelia, "I am willing to compromise by giving them something dead easy. Don't you believe you could skin the cat, Miss Austin?"

"No, that is too hard," protested Janet. "I don't call that dead easy."

After some parley, it was agreed that if each of the two girls would turn a somersault she might be excused. They did it with not very good grace, and then donned their street clothes.

"I don't like you college girls one bit," said Marian Austin just as she reached the door, "and I hope I'll never see one of you again. There are only two of you who have any sort of claim to being anything but wild hoodlums, and they are Janet Ferguson and Teddy What's-her-name. Come, Trix."

And they whirled out with magnificent disdain.

"My!" cried Cordelia. "Wasn't she in a temper? I wonder if they really were telling the truth when they said they were city girls. If they are, we made great big geese of ourselves, and I don't wonder they are mad, even if they did come in where they had no business. But I still hae me doots as to their not being freshmen. We'll have to find out."

"If that girl was pretending, when she said her name was Marian Austin, she's a very good actress, that's all I've got to say," remarked Janet.

"I don't see how we'll ever find out if she did give a wrong name," said Lee. "We can't make it a business of personally interviewing every girl in the freshman class, and of finding out what each of them looks like."

Janet and Teddy looked at each other. They thought they knew a way of discovering if Marian Austin were really a myth or not.

To the next frat meeting, Janet went early. It happened to be at Becky Burdett's, and Janet saw her chance.

"Have you seen anything of your friends, the Austins?" she asked almost immediately.

Becky began to laugh. "I saw Van a few evenings ago. What have you girls been up to?"

"Then there is a Marian Austin," said Janet eagerly.

"There certainly is, and a pretty dance you led her. Van told me the whole story, and wanted to know if I thought the two blind girls, as he always calls you and Ted, were in the crowd. I didn't give him any satisfaction, for I couldn't, though I suspected that you were among the leaders. He said his cousin and Trix Venable were furious, and that they told his father, who was for starting right off to lay the matter before the dean, whom he knows very well; but Van interfered and told him it wouldn't be worth while, that you girls were only in fun and didn't really hurt anybody, and that Marian and Trix were to blame for going where they had no business to go. So the old gentleman calmed down, and Van talked his cousin over into persuading Mr. Austin to let the matter drop. Marian said there were two girls she'd hate to see suffer for it, and Van told her if any suffered all would have to, so that won her consent to keep it quiet."

"Did she say who the two girls were?" asked Janet thoughtfully.

"I don't know," said Becky. "He didn't remember the names, if she did. Do you know who they were, Janet?"

"The two blind girls, I am disposed to think." Becky laughed.

"What wouldn't Van give to know that."

"You won't tell him," said Janet in alarm.

"Not I." She began smiling, however, till her smile grew into a laugh.

"You're going to do some sly trick, Becky Burdett," exclaimed Janet.

"No, really, I am not," she replied. "I shall simply let matters take their course. There come some of the girls: I will talk to you later."

But later there was no opportunity, and Janet returned from the meeting with only the information that she had hoped to gain, and with no new facts about her now half-forgotten hero.

She hastened to Cordelia's room, which was the meeting place of half a dozen kindred spirits who gathered there under any pretext. Cordelia was deep in the mysteries of panuche, but looked up with a welcoming smile.

"Come right in," she said. "It's most done, and you shall have some. Doesn't it seem thick enough to you, Lee?"

Lee regarded the bubbling mass critically. "Just a wee, wee bit more cooking, I think," she pronounced her opinion. "What's the news, Janet? Where have you been?"

"To a fraternity meeting," returned Janet, tossing aside her hat and making herself comfortable in a big chair. "Girls, there is a Marian Austin."

"Ouch!" cried Cordelia. "Janet, you shouldn't make such startling announcements at critical moments. I nearly burnt myself."

"Have you seen her? How did you find out? What did she say?" came from different parts of the room.

"I didn't see her, but Becky Burdett knows the Austins well, and she told me. It was a narrow escape, I tell you, for she gave the whole thing away to her uncle just as she said she would, and he was furious."

"He hasn't reported us! Oh, Janet!"

"No, she persuaded him not to, though he was on the point of it."

"If ever I meet that girl, I shall be the meekest thing you ever saw," said Cordelia, putting the extinguisher over the wick of her alcohol lamp.

"I shall not," said Janet. "I shall be nice and polite, and shall act as if it were a mutual understanding that we considered it all a huge joke."

"Oh, yes, you, for she was quite decent about you, though you were as bad as any of us. It was just the saving clause of your not voting to have them stay when they wanted to go."

"I didn't see the need of carrying the war into Africa," replied Janet. "They had had enough, and really were tired out."

"Suppose they were, don't we get all tired out; and yet we have to go and go and go, and grind and grind and grind," said Lee in an aggrieved tone. "They are not worthy of any more consideration than we, and see how we are treated by the faculty."

Janet laughed. "The faculty indeed. You mean see how we treat ourselves. I am inclined to think that if we concentrated our minds upon our studies, we wouldn't have such a terrible amount of grinding to do. It is the frivolity of the outside world that tires us."

"Oh, me, what a virtuous remark from Janet Ferguson," cried Lee. "Do they make you have seasons of self-examination at fraternity meetings? A silent hour, for example, when you are supposed to be thinking of your sins and your frailties, and instead you spend the time in thinking how you will have your new hat made?"

Janet smiled. "What nonsense, Lee. I am not such an idiot as to begin posing for a saint. I was only defending the absent. My, but that smells good, Cordelia. Is it hard enough yet to eat?"

Cordelia tested her plate of candy by slipping a paper knife under the edge. "No, not quite," she replied. "I'll set it outside, and it will be cold in a minute. I've been thinking we might send a formal vote of thanks to Miss Austin for her consideration to the class of nineteen hundred and four."

"Do," exclaimed Lee. "I think that would be great. Come over here, Grace Breitner, and help us with the resolution. The president of the class proposes that we send a vote of thanks to Miss Marian Austin. Won't that be a lark? I'll bet she'll take it all right, all right. Don't you think so, Janet?"

"I believe she will," said Janet. "Let's draw up the resolution and get the class to approve it to-morrow."

They set themselves to work, and after a short time produced the following:

"Resolved, That the class of nineteen hundred and four extend a vote of thanks to Miss Marian Austin and to Miss Trix Venable for their consideration in accepting in a proper spirit the attentions of the above class upon a recent occasion which need not be mentioned, and furthermore for their kind offices in turning aside the wrath of an irate uncle."

[Signed.] "CORDELIA LODGE
"LEE PENROSE
"JANET FERGUSON
"EDNA WAITE
"GRACE BREITNER."

"We'll get the signatures of all those who were present," said Lee, "and we'll send it as sure as anything. I believe she is the kind of girl who will appreciate it."

The others agreed with her, and then they all dispersed to their different rooms.

CHAPTER VII

THE THANKSGIVING BOX

THAT Marian Austin appreciated the vote of thanks tendered her by the sophomores was evidenced by the arrival of a box of roses, corresponding in number to the list of names signed. A card requested that they be distributed to "the hazers" accompanied it.

The box was addressed to the president of the class, and when Cordelia opened it in her sanctum, an interested group standing by to watch her, she exclaimed, "Well, if this isn't heaping coals of fire on our heads, I don't know the meaning of the expression; red coals, too," she added, separating one crimson rose from the rest. "I'd like to meet that girl on an equal footing and tell her that she is—"

"Chief among ten thousand and altogether lovely," put in Lee. "I'm going to wear my rose."

"I know what Ted will do with hers," said Janet, accepting the rose which Cordelia held out to her. "You will see it when you go to Latin."

And that she was not wrong in her suspicion was apparent when the girls saw Edna's rose gracing a tall glass on Miss Drake's table.

Another suspicion to which she did not give voice arose in her mind. She wondered if the sending of the roses was entirely Miss Austin's idea, or if the "hero" had not something to do with it. He had begun to resume his place in her imagination since her recent talk with Becky Burdett, though Edna had long since ceased to adore at a distance, being now absorbed in collecting photographs of a certain tenor whom she had lately heard and who, she declared, was her ideal of all that was fascinating.

Not long after the episode of the roses, Janet came in one day to find a card of invitation from Becky Burdett.

"Going, Ted?" she asked, as she threw the card down on the table.

"No, I am afraid I can't," said Edna regretfully. "I've promised to spend the day with Kathie Steele. She asked me ever so long ago for the Thanksgiving holidays, but I had that engagement for the game and wanted to be home on Saturday, so I told her I would come on Friday and stay all night. Poor Kathie, she did so want to come back to college, and is dying to hear all about everybody and everything, so it would be inhuman not to go. She was so disappointed when the doctors told her that she must not think of returning this year."

"It is something of a trip for one day."

"Yes, but I shall start early and get back by noon Saturday. I certainly do hate to miss Becky's tea. I suppose you will see all the frats there."

"Yes, and a lot of other girls."

"Well, good luck go with you. By the way, Janet, Mike says there is a box for you, and he'll bring it up."

"Good!" cried Janet. "It's from home. Dear momsey, I know she has put a store of good things in it. Suppose there should be a roast turkey, Ted. I am going to see about it right away. I can't wait."

She skurried off, returning a few minutes later with the janitor who bore a large wooden box.

"Will I open it for yez, miss?" he asked.

"Indeed you will, Mike. Have you a hammer or something of that kind with you?"

"Have I?" Mike chuckled. "I'll not be thravelin' widout it these days whin the boxes do be cumin' in so stiddy."

Janet and Edna crouched down to watch the operation of opening the box, and when the last nail had been eased out, and the lid was lifted, they gave a sigh of satisfaction.

"I just want to gloat one minute before we unpack it," said Janet. "Doesn't it look moreish? Thank you, Mike. If there's a turkey, you shall have a drumstick."

Mike gathered himself together, slipped his hammer in his pocket and went out smiling. He was much interested in these boxes.

"I do hope nothing is broken," said Janet, carefully lifting the cloth which was neatly tucked around the sides. "Ah, mother has filled in the chinks with nuts and apples. These are my favorite apples. I know just the tree on which they grew. I can see Dicky down there gathering them. What's next? Oh, a lovely, a perfectly lovely chocolate cake. But Ted, the cloth around it is a little damp. I am afraid something has spilled. Yes, there is a bottle broken, a bottle of olives. Goodness, I hope the brine hasn't oozed over everything. Fortunately the cake was on top and the box can't have been tipped much from the looks of things."

"There is a turkey!" cried Teddy. "I see its legs sticking out."

"So there is, and it's a beauty. My, doesn't it look good? My mouth waters so that I can hardly wait to taste it. A lot of the little cakes, Ted, are soaked with the brine; that's too bad. Here is a glass of jelly, and what's this? Oh, my dear, it's some of mother's lovely conserves that she is so chary of. Here is a big tin can. Mother certainly does know how to pack, if the olive jar did get broken, for there is scarcely anything hurt. This, Ted, is a can of my dear Maryland biscuits, and a roll of home-made butter. There, I think that was a fine box. What a feast we will have with that turkey. I could eat some this blessed minute. Here, give me my penknife, the big blade, please. I am going to cut off some. Which will you have, a wing or a log?"

"I don't care."

"Then, if you don't care, I'll take the drumstick; it isn't considered so delicate, but there is more on it. We'll stow the rest of the things away, and the turkey we can put out on the window-sill to keep cool. Ted, to-morrow night we'll get the girls in and have a regular spread. Who isn't to be away?"

"Lee Penrose will be here, and Grace Breitner. Cordelia may or she may not. She is divided between her desire to see the game and her desire to see her family. Charity wouldn't forego her mother's pumpkin pie for all the games in Christendom, so she won't be here, and Fay Wingate is going, too."

"I hope Cordelia will stay; she always has the faculty of keeping away the blues on a holiday. Let's gather up the stuff, Ted, and get it out of sight. It's a shame about the little cakes. I hate to lose a morsel from that box, though I am thankful there is nothing else spoiled."

They tucked away the provisions, rolled the turkey in a paper and put it outside, and then went off together to Rosalie Trent's where they were invited to dinner.

The next day being a holiday, the pair concluded to sleep late, and take a bit of breakfast in their rooms. "A slice of cold turkey, a cup of coffee, and some home-made biscuits and butter will be all I could ask," said Janet with satisfaction as she slipped into her kimono. "I am going to air this room, Ted, for a few minutes, and come in there with you. I'll set the water boiling first, so we won't have to wait for our coffee."

She went to the window to raise it, and stood still in consternation. Then she laughed. "That's a pretty good joke, Ted," she said; "but it's up to you to produce that turkey before we have our breakfast."

"What are you talking about?" said Edna, putting her head in at the door of the room where Janet was. "What do I know about the turkey?"

"Oh, nothing, of course. I suppose you'll say Fay Wingate climbed in over the transom and stole it away for a joke."

"You don't mean to say it isn't here?"

"I mean to say just that."

"Janet Ferguson, I don't believe you. You are just trying to fool me."

"I am not, Teddy Waite. Please don't keep me in suspense. Don't you really know anything about it?"

Teddy came all the way into the room and looked around as if she expected to see the turkey suddenly appear from some out of the way place. "It beats me," she exclaimed. "We put it on the window-sill, didn't we? I didn't dream it, did I?"

"Dream it, nonsense. We put it there in our sober senses. We wrapped it up in paper and put it just there. If you really don't know anything about it, either it has fallen out or some one up-stairs has hooked it by letting down a line. They have done such things to the other girls."

"I don't believe any one could get it that way. In the first place the turkey was too heavy to be drawn up by any of the slight hooks and lines the girls sometimes use for that kind of trick, and then the window-sill is too broad; besides it was wrapped up. No, it wouldn't be easy to get hold of it from above. I think it has fallen out."

Both girls craned their necks over the sill and scanned the ground below. Not a vestige of the turkey was to be seen.

"Well, it's gone," said Janet. "That is all there is about it. No spread to-night."

"Oh, we don't have to give up the spread," said Edna. "What makes me mad is to think that some of those wretched freshmen are probably enjoying our turkey. You know it was rather windy last night, and anything as roly-poly as a turkey with a leg and wing gone, could easily roll off the sill. I am positive that is how it disappeared."

They drew in their heads, and were obliged to content themselves with a more frugal breakfast than they had planned, while the freshmen below gloried in their find and picked the turkey bones with a zest.

Becky's tea was quite an affair, and as it was one of the few social events to which Janet had been able to go during her sojourn in the town, she looked forward to it with some excitement. There had been numerous minor diversions—drives, luncheons, fraternity teas, and such like functions, but a big reception, at which would be gathered the fashionable set, was something as yet outside the experience of this college girl. She found Becky surrounded by her friends.

Rosalie Trent's was the only other familiar face to Janet. After a few words with Becky, she retired to the background and looked around the room. She was smiling to herself when Rosalie came over to her.

"What is the special funny thing?" she asked. "You can't hide that look of amusement, Janet, and you shall not keep it to yourself."

"I was just thinking," said Janet, "how it reminds me of a chorus of katydids, or some of those other insects we hear in summer time. Listen a minute. I don't believe we are a bit more intelligible to a higher race of invisible beings than the katydids are to us. Is there any sense to be detached from such incessant chatter?"

Rosalie laughed. "We are a part of it, and what we say to each other seems fairly intelligent. Perhaps the katydids' talk would be, too, if we could but understand it. There is some one here Becky wants you to meet. Just wait here and I'll see if I can bring her over."

She turned away, and presently piloted through the crowd a girl whose face Janet did not see till she heard Becky's voice saying: "Miss Marian Austin, Janet. I believe you two have met before."

Then with a nod, Becky stepped back to speak to some lately arrived guests, and Janet looked up to see Marian's laughing face.

"Come fill the cup, and in the fire of spring
Your winter garment of repentance fling,—"

She said gaily. "Each morn a thousand roses brings, you say."

"Yes, but where lives the rose of yesterday?" answered Janet quickly.

"Bright girl," said Marian. "You know your Rubaiyat, I see. What I meant was that we want you to go to the dining room with us and have a cup of something."

"I'll take my garment of repentance with me," said Janet. "Those roses of yesterday were very sweet, Miss Austin. It certainly was a very lovely way of paying us back."

"Don't thank me entirely for that idea," said Marian. "It was Cousin Van's. And you don't need any garment of repentance, for you really did stand up for me."

"Oh, but I was horrid at first."

"That was when you thought we were freshmen, and there was some excuse for that. Cousin Van said there was."

"What does Cousin Van know about it?" said Rosalie, who had heard the story.

"He knows all about it, of course," said Marian. "I've wanted to know you ever since that day," she said, turning again to Janet, "and when Miss Burdett invited me to this tea, I asked her if there would be a chance of meeting you. She thought there would be, and told me to come early so I would not miss you."

"Did you come alone?" asked Rosalie.

"Yes, for auntie couldn't come, and Cousin Minnie is away, you know. That is why I am staying on."

"Isn't your Cousin Van home for Thanksgiving?"

"No, indeed! He wouldn't miss the big football game for anything, so he has gone on to Philadelphia. We really don't see him very often, though he is so near. Auntie says she used to think when he went to college that he would come home for over Sunday at least twice a month, but if he comes once he does well. However, this is his last year, and then he'll have no excuse."

Janet listened interestedly. So this was the reason why "the hero" had not appeared at church. His college was not the university nearest, but one further away. She wondered which one, but she would not ask.

Marian continued the subject. "The next thing will be the glee club concerts, so I suppose we shall not see the young man for the next two or three weeks anyhow. I wish you girls would come over to see me. With neither Cousin Minnie nor Van at home, it is rather lonely sometimes. Of course, I enjoy uncle and auntie, but they have interests that are not mine. Trix Venable is about the only girl of my own age that I know very well in town, and she has gone South for the winter. Won't you come?" she asked wistfully, turning to Janet.

"I shall be delighted to," she said, thinking what an odd turn of affairs this was.

"I've been here an unconscionable time," said Marian setting down her chocolate cup, "but you see I have gained my object: I have met you, Miss Ferguson."

"I feel my garment of repentance weighing very heavily," returned Janet.

"Don't, please don't. It is all over, and really it wasn't a thing for us to have made such a fuss about. We were in the wrong, so let us say no more about it. Come soon, both of you. I suppose Friday is the best day for you. Shall we say next Friday afternoon?"

The two girls agreed, and she left them. Soon after this, Janet and Rosalie took their departure, but not before Becky had been able to ask, "Do you like Marian? Isn't she a dear, so sincere and unspoiled."

"She is lovely," returned Janet enthusiastically.

"Do you remember that you charged me with the intention of playing a trick on you?" said Becky.

"Yes, I do," said Janet.

"Well, this is the trick," returned Becky.

Janet felt rather lonely after she had entered her room and had laid away her wraps. Edna would not be home till the next day, and there was the long evening before her. A fine chance for work, she thought, but it was a holiday, and she had already given her morning hours to hard study.

"I'll hunt up somebody," she said to herself. "Maybe Cordelia has come in."

She tapped at Cordelia's door, and found that young person with her satellite, Lee Penrose.

"I hope I haven't interrupted any confidences," said Janet.

"No, indeed," Cordelia told her. "Come right in. We have been hoping that some of you others would turn up. Been out, Janet?"

"Yes, to a tea. Becky Burdett's, you know, and girls, who do you suppose was there?"

"Can't imagine. Any celebrity?"

"No, no one like that. Marian Austin, if you please, and she is just too dear for anything. I promised to go call on her next Friday."

"You did? Well, of all things," exclaimed Cordelia. "What did she say about the gym affair?"

"Oh, nothing. She wouldn't let me talk about it."

"Nice girl. Well, Janet, we have some news, too. Professor Gaines is going to Europe for his health, and in his place we are to have a new instructor, a young man, if you please, unmarried, rejoicing in the name of Mark Evans. What do you think of that?"

"I think that is startling. Have you seen him? What is he like? Where is he from?"

"I haven't seen him and I don't know where he is from; Boston, probably, or Maine; they turn out a great many from their factories there. I hope he is good-looking and not too shy."

"He is sure to be shy and not good-looking," declared Janet. "They wouldn't select any other kind. And he'll be hard as nails, because he'll be afraid we will try to take advantage of his youth and inexperience. I pity him, poor soul."

"Oh, you do? I pity us. That's just like you, Janet. You are always ready to pity anything from a mangy cat or a spider to an erudite professor. You'll find the one to be pitied is your precious self."

"Allee samee, I don't believe he'll find it an easy berth," persisted Janet.

"Well, I am sorry enough to give up Professor Gaines. He is such a well-meaning old soul, and one doesn't have to fight for every inch of the way in his class. I never heard him say a sarcastic thing in my life."

"I never heard Professor Satterthwaite say a sarcastic thing, but—" Janet paused tellingly.

"You may well say 'but.' He doesn't have to say, when he can look. He emphasizes the saying, 'actions speak louder than words.'"

"I have no doubt the new man will try to be sarcastic. They almost always do when they are young like that. We may be able to steel ourselves against weapons of that kind, but the ones who will be hurt are the ones who will begin by glorifying him, not we."

"Oh, no, not we," chimed in Lee. "We are so superior. We can always rise above any weakness. Don't be so dead sure, Janet Ferguson. You are just the one who will want to crawl under the chair some day in sheer mortification."

"You foolish child," replied Janet. "I'm not such a milksop as to care whether a man, especially a young man, makes sarcastic speeches or not. I'd rather he would. I think I'd enjoy them. I hate the meachin' kind. Come into my room, girls, and I will regale you upon olives and chocolate cake."

"Rare combination," said Lee.

"Stay here," said Cordelia, "and we'll make a rarebit."

And Janet stayed.

CHAPTER VIII

OFF THE TRACK

THERE was much curiosity on the part of all the girls to see what manner of man the new instructor would prove to be. That he was quiet and shy, a little awkward, not good-looking but with a fine intellectual face, they discovered at their first interview. Later on, Cordelia remarked that she had tested his powers of sarcasm and had not found them wanting. Janet announced that he was positively brilliant when he warmed up to a subject in which he was interested, and Lee declared that he had a voice that she would go out of her way to listen to.

"He certainly has the faculty of making one scare up an appearance of interest in all those dreadful chemical things in the laboratory," said Janet, "and I find myself possessed with a keenness in searching out possible results of ill-smelling experiments which I never supposed I could develop. I may make a brilliant record in chemistry yet, and astonish you all by the time I have concluded the course."

The others laughed. "You'll have to begin at once then," said Cordelia. "We have not been impressed by your brilliancy thus far."

As Janet was notoriously negligent in this special study, the remark was not without point.

"Just wait and see," returned Janet. "I'd begin now if I had not promised to go out to the golf club with Rosalie."

"What's going on? It's too cold to play golf."

"Nothing is going on, but Rosalie thought it would be rather nice and cozy to get a cup of tea there, and some of those good little cakes they serve. We can sit before that big open fire and swop stories, if we can't do anything else. Rosalie has not seen the new instructor, for example, for you know she wasn't here to-day. I can tell her all about him. I shall make him out such a piece of perfection that she'll be sorry she cut classes."

"Mark, the perfect man," said Lee with the absent expression her face always wore when she tried to be funny.

"That's good, Lee," said Cordelia. "Let us hope that it can also be said, 'the end of that man is peace.' I'm afraid it's not likely to be if he continues to instruct in this college."

"Why, how well you know your Bible," said Lee. "There's some excuse for my quotations when I am a clergyman's daughter, but I didn't expect it of you, Cordelia."

"I have a grandmother," said Cordelia concisely.

"Well," said Janet, gathering up her books, "I must go. If I happen to come across the perfect man, I'll tell him all the nice things you have been saying about him."

"Yes, we know how much you will," jeered Lee, returning to her books.

Janet sauntered through the corridor stopping, before she entered her room, to speak to one or two of the girls she knew, and tossed her books on the divan.

"I am going to take an afternoon off, Ted," she said. "I promised Rosalie I'd go out to Hilltop with her this afternoon. Marian Austin is going, too. Don't say anything about it."

"And why not?" asked Teddy, looking up from her work.

"Because they will canvas the thing and talk it threadbare, so I thought I wouldn't give them the chance. Rosalie and I are going to call on Marian first, and invite her to go to the club with us."

"Suppose you should encounter 'the hero.'"

"Oh, but I shall not, because he is off somewhere. I took good care to learn that fact before I promised to go. Anyhow, he wouldn't know me for he saw only the lower part of my face, and probably has forgotten how that looked by this time. However, I don't think I should have had the courage to go to that house again but for one thing."

"And what's that?"

"I couldn't resist the temptation of seeing how that room looks, after sitting there for nearly an hour."

"I must say that is a temptation," said Teddy appreciatively.

Janet settled her hat and went out. An hour later she was sitting placidly upon the sofa where, as a blindfolded freshman, she had sat with Teddy nearly a year before.

"It all sounds very familiar," she confided to Rosalie, "but I miss the roses. They have carnations to-day instead."

Then Marian appeared, and the call resolved itself into a commonplace incident.

Marian enthusiastically accepted the invitation to visit Hilltop. "I have been dying to go there," she said, "but something has always prevented."

"It's the dearest place," Janet told her. "It is right on top of a hill, with such a lovely view of the surrounding country from the windows. I hope you don't mind a little walk, for it is beyond the terminus of the car line."

"I love to walk," said Marian, nothing daunted.

"We can have a cup of tea and a little chat before it gets dark," said Rosalie, "but we must start at once."

They went forth, and within the hour were trudging across the fields and up the hill toward the club house, a picturesque low building surrounded by porches, and facing west.

"It is later than I thought," said Rosalie with a glance at the gray sky. "It is cloudy, and the afternoons are short enough on a bright day."

There were but few in the big low-celled room where a great fire was burning in the huge fireplace, and the three girls seated themselves where they could watch the dancing flames, sip their tea, and eat their cakes. A big collie dog made friends with them and, while they enjoyed their tea, sat on his haunches with his nose in Janet's lap and his soft eyes fixed upon her face.

"That's just the way with Janet," said Rosalie; "all the dumb creatures immediately know by instinct when she is around and come shying up to her. They know who is fond of them. She stops to pet every dissipated old cat she sees on the streets, and every stray dog in the neighborhood follows her home and sits howling after her on the steps of Hopper Hall till the janitor drives him away."

Janet laughed. "It isn't quite so bad as that, though I do like beasties, don't I, doggie?" She patted the collie's silky head, and he responded by laying his paw in her lap.

They lingered till nearly every one had gone, and then started forth to find it darker than they supposed, and the way rather difficult with bunkers and wires in the path. But they reached the terminus in time to see the light of an approaching car bearing down toward them.

"Just in time," said Rosalie cheerfully. "We shall get back in comfortable time for dinner."

The car came on with a rush, down grade, but with such force as to cause it to go scudding off the track some yards beyond.

"There!" exclaimed the conductor, "we're in for it."

"Why, what's the matter?" inquired the girls, crowding up.

"Broken the switch. Have to send back for a wrecking car."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Rosalie. "How long will it take?"

"Oh an hour or two before we get it all right again," said the man, watching the form of the motorman who was putting off down the road as fast as he could travel.

The girls looked at each other; and, in spite of the dimness, each could read consternation on the faces of the others.

"We might walk," suggested Marian.

"It is too dark and too far," returned Rosalie. She turned to the conductor again. "Is there any one around who could go up to the club and telephone for us?"

"I would," said the man, "but I can't leave this here car."

Rosalie looked back over the way they had just come; it seemed very dark, and a long distance to the lights twinkling from the club house.

"There's a young man inside," said the conductor; "maybe he'd go to accommodate you."

Rosalie gathered up her skirts and entered the car. By the glow of the little stove that heated it, she saw the figure of a young man seated by the fire.

"Would you take a telephone message to Hilltop Club for me?" she asked. "I will give you twenty-five cents if you will." She had made a quick survey of the man, and had decided that his rather rough attire gave her an excuse for believing that he would not refuse the money. "You can say that you want to use the telephone for Miss Trent," she went on. "I would like you to call up Buckley's stables, and ask them to send us a carriage right away. We must get back to town, and this car may not go for an hour yet. There is only one other on this route, and they wait till this gets back before it starts. They run so few in winter time, you see."

The young man had arisen when she came in. "I shall be very glad to go for you, miss," he said.

Rosalie opened her purse and handed him a silver quarter.

He gently waved it back. "I am very glad to go," he said. "It is nothing. I would much rather be walking than be sitting still waiting."

"Oh, but you must take it," insisted Rosalie. "I shall not feel satisfied unless you do. I should not be willing to have any stranger do an errand like that for nothing."

In the darkness, she could not see the smile with which the young man accepted the silver piece which she pressed upon him.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and immediately left the car.

Rosalie followed him. "You understand," she said, "that I want the carriage from Buckley's to come to the end of the line as soon as possible?"

He lifted his hat saying, "Very well, miss," and walked away.

"You'd better come inside, girls," said Rosalie. "It is warm in the car and as cold as charity outside, and I do believe it is beginning to snow. You mustn't stay out there another minute! I've sent for a carriage."

"You have? How did you send?" asked Janet.

"I found a young man who was willing to go to the club and telephone to the stable for me. I hope he'll not decide to pocket my twenty-five cents and then not go near the club."

The three girls entered and warmed themselves by the fire. They seemed to be the only passengers for this late trip, unless the young man should return.

"We may have a long wait," said Rosalie, "so we may as well make ourselves comfortable. What an unlucky thing to happen. I am afraid, Miss Austin, that you will have an uncomfortable memory of your first visit to Hilltop."

"Oh, I don't mind in the least," said Marian. "It is quite an adventure, and I do love anything out of the common, don't you? So long as we keep warm, it is all right. We're not hungry after the cakes and tea, so we can stand this for hours yet."

"I'd like it better if it were not dark," said Janet. "Hark, I hear wheels."

"And I see a light," said Marian.

"It can't be the carriage so soon," declared Rosalie.

"It isn't the carriage, but it is a carriage," said Janet peering out of the window, "and it is coming the other way. There, it has stopped."

Presently a big man, in a heavy overcoat powdered with snow, came stamping in. He was followed by a little old woman bundled up in a blanket shawl. "How soon does this car start?" asked the man of the conductor, who likewise had taken a seat inside.

"Ask me something easy," was the answer. "We've got to wait for the wrecking car. Sometimes it's an hour; sometimes it's two. Ye never can tell."

"Humph! We'll have to make the best of it, Lyddy," said the big man turning to his wife. "Joe's in a hurry to get back, and we'll jest have to wait to get home." He let himself down on the seat with a great grunt, and the little woman slipped into a place beside him.

The girls talked in undertones while the big man questioned the conductor and made remarks not flattering to the motor man.

After a time the car door opened again, and a meek looking countryman entered carrying a lantern. "Jest as well wait inside," he remarked apologetically, setting down his lantern, and brushing the snow from his coat sleeves. "Got to meet my two gals, comin' up on the six-thirty car."

"Dear me, it must be getting very late," said Rosalie. "I am getting uneasy. If that young man went right to the club, the carriage ought to be here by this time. Do you know anything about that young man I sent?" she asked the conductor.

"No, miss. He got on just a piece down the road, and said he was going back to town. I don't know as I ever saw him before, but he looked respectable."

"You didn't give him no money, did you?" asked the big man listening interestedly to the conversation, and glad to have a new topic developed.

"Why, yes," said Rosalie hesitatingly. "I gave him twenty-five cents."

"You did? Well, you ain't likely to see him nor your money again. There's a good bit of sharpers ready to make what they can offen any one," said the big man with a chuckle, hitching himself further along. "I'll bet you don't see him again. What do you bet, Lyddy?" he said turning to his wife.

"Why, I don't know, Cyrus," she replied timidly.

"Oh, well, just bet to make it lively," he said. "We've got to do something to keep up our spirits. I say he didn't go and that he won't come back."

"Then I'll say he did," returned his wife with an air of having done a rather rash thing.

"What do you say?" asked the big man of the conductor.

"I say he did go. He looked honest," said the conductor.

"You bet with me, don't you?" The big man nodded to Rosalie, who laughed and replied: "Yes, I say he didn't go."

"And the other young ladies?"

"I say he did," Janet told him.

"And I believe he didn't," Marian decided.

"What do you say?" The big man addressed the countryman who sat where his lantern cast a glow upon his sharp narrow face.

The countryman was cautious, from the battered hat upon his head to his thick hide boots. He was not one to commit himself. His caution was ingrained, and even in such a question as this, he refused to become involved. He didn't know; he couldn't say. He guessed he wouldn't vote either way.

"Then it's a tie," decided the big man, hitching himself still nearer the fire. "I guess you young ladies will find you have got to make your trip back to town on this car, for I guess you ain't going to see no carriage this night."

Rosalie sighed, but Janet whispered, "I believe the carriage will come yet. What did your messenger look like?"

"I couldn't see his face very well," Rosalie told her. "His clothes were rather rough, but his voice was pleasant, the voice of a gentleman. I might have thought him one, if he hadn't said 'yes, miss,' and 'no, miss.'"

Janet laughed. "That's no sign. I've heard lots of men say that. Virginians almost always do, and some of the Maryland men, especially those from the lower counties, and you hear it from men of the other Southern States."

"Oh, dear, suppose he should be a gentleman. Now, I think of it, he talked like a Southerner."

"If he was, he took your message and will come back and report."

Just then the door opened, and the light of the countryman's lantern fell upon the figure of a young man with face glowing from the sharp air, and with clothing snow-sprinkled. He looked around the car from one to another, then he addressed Rosalie. "Your carriage will be here soon, I hope. They promised to send one as soon as possible, but they were all out when I gave the order."

"Oh, thank you," said Rosalie struggling between a desire to laugh and a feeling of self-reproach.

Janet clutched her spasmodically, and Rosalie turned to see, by the dim light, confusion and surprise upon her face.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, as the young man took a seat at the further end of the car.

Janet moved up to the other extreme end and Rosalie followed her.

"What is it?" she repeated.

"Don't you know?" said Janet. "Don't you know? It is Mark, the perfect man."

Rosalie turned her head quickly and as quickly looked away. "Oh, dear, what have I done?" she said in distress. "I'll have to drop chemistry, that is clear."

Janet began to laugh. "I am going over to speak to him."

"I think you are heartless," said Rosalie. "Perhaps he will forget the name I gave him, and if he never has to encounter me in the lecture room of the laboratory, he may never know. For pity's sake don't do anything to make him remember, Janet."

"Oh, but he will, anyhow, and I think it is much better to make a joke of it, and then invite him to ride home with us."

"Janet Ferguson!"

"Yes, certainly. I think that would be a piece of diplomacy. It would show our gracious appreciation of his services and give you a chance to explain."

And before Rosalie could say another word, Janet had crossed the car and had seated herself by the side of Mr. Evans.

"I don't suppose I could expect you to remember one sophomore among so many, even in broad daylight, Mr. Evans," she began, "but as I happen to sit in Bains II two or three times a week, and as I remember you only too well, I thought I would speak to a companion in misery."

The young man smiled. "It is rather a dubious compliment to be remembered in the way your words suggest," he said a little awkwardly. "I do remember your face, but not your name."

"I am Janet Ferguson. I am glad you remember me by my face and not by my work. My friend, Miss Trent, is covered with confusion because in the dark, she offered you a reward, so I want you to reassure her or she will have to drop out of chemistry, from sheer mortification. We all want you to give us your protecting presence back to town, so won't you accept a seat in the carriage you were so good as to order?"

"I shall be most happy," returned Mr. Evans.

"There it is now," cried Janet. "I see two lights bobbing along toward us; they must be carriage lamps."

"I will go and hail it," said Mr. Evans, hastily beating a retreat.

Janet made her way to the other end of the car. "The carriage has come, girls," she said, "and Mr. Evans is going to see us safely home in it."

The big man grinned as Rosalie passed him. "We lost our bet, didn't we?" he said.

Rosalie rushed on without saying a word, and was glad that the darkness prevented any one's observing her hot cheeks.

Mr. Evans gravely handed the trio into the carriage, and then Janet presented him to her friends. Rosalie faltered out some sort of apology, and Mr. Evans, now less shy with three girls than with a single one or with a whole class, laughed.

"I knew you thought me a country bumpkin, and so I am," he said.

"But it was so dark," returned Rosalie.

"Quite a sufficient excuse for any sort of mistake," agreed the young man. "For all that, there have been times in my life when I might have been glad enough to take your quarter, though now—"

"No quarter?" cried Janet. "Has it got to come to sword's points, Mr. Evans? I thought you had forgiven Miss Trent."

They all laughed, and Rosalie said: "Please give it back to me."

"On the whole," returned the young man, "I think that I shall keep it, if you don't mind."

"No," murmured Rosalie, "I don't mind, but I should like to feel that you don't mind either."

"Oh, dear, no," returned Mr. Evans. "It has given me a chance of meeting you young ladies in this very informal way, and I should like a souvenir of my first adventure in this college town. I appreciate all that comes to me in that way, I can assure you. I also appreciate your kindness in offering me a place in your carriage, for I should have had either a long cold walk, or a very stupid wait, and, to tell you the truth, I am desperately hungry and want my dinner. I started out for a walk and thought I would ride back on the hapless car. It is an ill wind, you know."

"That's a very nice way to put it," said Janet. "I am rather glad of the adventure myself. One needs them at college, and I have had one or two."

"Yes, so say we all of us," remarked Rosalie. "What was your college, Mr. Evans?"

"The old University of Virginia first, then the Johns Hopkins. I took a post-graduate course at the latter place."

"Then are you from Maryland or Virginia?"

"From neither. I am from North Carolina."

"Oh," said Janet in a satisfied tone, "I said you must be from one of the Southern States."

"You knew my accent?"

"It wasn't that altogether."

"What then?"

"It was because no one but a Southern man would say 'yes, miss,' and 'no, miss,' as you do."

"I am afraid that is a provincialism that one seldom hears in the cities."

"But I like it," protested Janet. "I think that courtesy and chivalry are on the decrease. I think it is a great pity that no one seems to have time or to care to keep up the beautiful old politeness of our grandfathers."

"And our grandmothers," put in Mr. Evans.

"Now, you make my conscience smart again, Mr. Evans," said Rosalie.

"There is no occasion for any one's conscience to smart because she has been both polite and generous," said Mr. Evans gallantly. "Do you stop here? Then our pleasant drive is over. I shall feel hereafter that I have at least three friends in this stranger town, and that two of my students are not unknown to me."

"And now that it is a friend to whom we must account for our work, we shall struggle doubly hard with all those H O's and things," said Janet.

They parted in gay good humor, and it was a laughing, blushing, chattering trio that threw aside their hats in Rosalie's room, while no girls could have been more pleased with an adventure.

CHAPTER IX

CARAMELS AND A CAT

WHEN Janet reached her room the night of her adventure in the car, she astonished Teddy by the account of her experiences. Both agreed to keep the whole thing a secret for the sake of Rosalie.

"Although," said Janet, nursing her knees before the heater, "it is almost too good to keep, and if it were any one else than Rosalie, I would simply have to tell it. How Cordelia and Lee would enjoy it! I know I shall laugh when I see Mr. Evans on Tuesday. I shall have to take a seat very far back in the lecture room, if I don't want to disgrace myself."

In spite of this declaration, Janet managed to preserve her dignity, for Mr. Evans's demeanor was such as to win her respect, and she did not care to bring any special attention upon herself. He had a bow and a smile for her when she encountered him in going through the corridors in any of the recitation halls, or when they met upon the street. She liked him, and became more interested in her work under him, astounding her intimates by her newly acquired zeal.

"I couldn't have believed it of you," said Lee Penrose. "You really meant it when you said you would surprise us. I notice that Mr. Evans gives a kindly eye to you when he has cause to address you. Have you met him anywhere outside the lecture room?"

"Why, yes," said Janet frankly. "I was in the car with some friends one day when he got in and I met him then."

"You are a sly boots, Janet Ferguson."

Janet laughed. "I learned in my freshman year that the only way to get over your fear of lions is to walk fearlessly up to them. I used to dread the days when we had to go to Professor Satterthwaite, and now I think he is a dear. I could even tell him so. I find that a little temerity goes a great ways. It is more to be desired than honey in the honeycomb, at times, when one is at college. Look at Lallie Patton; how utterly sweet she is, and yet it all goes for naught. If she would savor her sweetness with a little rashness, she would have far, far better marks."

"True, oh queen. Lallie is as inane as soft boiled rice and white sugar," said Lee. "You couldn't expect any one to be even aware of her existence; she is so absolutely colorless. I doubt if there is a professor in the college who knows her by name though he may have met her in a street car a dozen times, while you—"

"While I, or me—what about me?"

"You have individuality enough for half a dozen. Your likes and dislikes are certainly decided enough."

"Even when it comes to cats," said Janet with a little smile. "I dare maintain that I like them. I'm going to the study, Lee. Come along; we'll find Cordelia and Teddy there."

"Some of those freshmen on the floor above need looking after," remarked Cordelia as they entered the study.

"What have they been doing now?" asked Janet depositing her books on a chair.

"They've been having hilarious times after dark. Their morals need attention," said Cordelia with a shake of the head.

"What special girls are they who have so wrought upon waking hours?" asked Janet sitting down and putting her head in Cordelia's lap.

"Marcia Bodine and Jessie Turner, notoriously, though there are others."

"Hm! They have the rooms directly above ours, haven't they, Teddy?"

Teddy nodded without taking her eyes from her book.

"Good," exclaimed Cordelia; "that makes it easy!"

"Why good, and why easy?"

"Lee and I will pay you a visit this evening and then you will find out. The way some young persons carry on is scan'lous, as Lee says."

"We never carried on in our freshman days, oh no," said Janet sarcastically.

"We never did in just this way. We confined our frivoling strictly to foolishness among ourselves. We were merely playful kittens. We never did this way."

"What way?"

"We never hung out the windows at night and sent notes down, by a string, to boys below, nor did we allow youths to send boxes of candy up to us by the same covert means," said Cordelia, "you know we didn't."

"And I know why."

"Then why?"

"Because we didn't get the chance. Do you suppose you, Cordelia Lodge, or Lee or Fay, or any of us would be above getting hold of a box of candy in any way that she could?"

"Well, we wouldn't encourage any one to send it to us, you know right well; but if it came our way without our seeking it, that would be another thing," said Cordelia; "and that is why," she continued, "I am glad those reprehensible freshmen have a room directly over yours. We will put a stop to their receiving candy while we must go without. We will not go without. Turn down the lights in your room, Janet, and we'll be along about eight o'clock. Keep a strict watch by the window and don't let anything pass by."

Lee and Teddy laughed at Cordelia's solemn and impressive manner. Then the girls turned their attention to grammars and dictionaries to the exclusion of trivialities.

At eight o'clock that evening, Cordelia tapped at Janet's door and entered to find the lights out, Teddy and Janet wrapped in golf capes, and the window open.

"Sh!" warned Janet. "You're just in time. They have sent a note down. We let it go."

"Of course you would have to do that," Cordelia told her. "You couldn't intercept a note, much as you might discountenance the sending of it, but one can waylay supplies. How many youths are down there, Janet?"

"Three, I believe."

"I looked out of our window before I came in," said Lee, "and there were heads out all along, above and below. I hope that there is no one under this room who has it borne in upon her to discipline the erring freshmen."

"No, there is no one there," Cordelia told her. "I took care to see to that. Irene Thayer and Madge Kittredge have that room, and I gave them tickets to an organ recital to-night. They were so pleased by my little attention, and said they doted on organ recitals, so they would be sure to go. Peep out, Janet, and tell us what you see."

Janet obeyed, but drew in her head almost immediately. "They are gathered together in a group and seem to be discussing something. I think they are tying something on the string, but I can't be sure."

"Be ready for it," said Cordelia. "Be sure you don't miss it, whatever it is."

Janet stood in readiness and presently saw the string begin to move. The girls above were drawing up their prize slowly. In a moment, a square white package appeared. Janet grabbed it and drew it in.

"Ah-h," came in disgusted tones from above, but a laugh went up from below.

Unfastening the string, Janet flung it out again and saw it hurriedly drawn up. She opened the box and tested its contents.

"Caramels, girls, and very good ones. Help yourselves." She passed the box around.

"I think," said Cordelia, "that we may as well watch the sequence of events. The youths may not be discouraged. Let us wait for further developments. Two boxes of candy are better than one, if one should prove to be only yellow-jack. They will probably think that we are not astute enough to believe they will send up a second box, but I think they will not want to disappoint those abandoned little freshmen. Remember we are acting in behalf of the powers that be. It is against all rules to hold clandestine correspondence with the gilded youth of the city."

"Why gilded youth, in this instance, Cordelia?" asked Janet.

"Because only gilded youth could afford to buy enough candy to satisfy the appetite of a freshman. Let's shut the window, and regale ourselves while we wait to see what is coming next."

They fell to and were not long in making way with the box of caramels, as what four girls cannot do in a short space of time?

"The moving finger writes," whispered Janet. "I see a little white messenger floating down upon the end of the string."

"Let it go on its mission," said Cordelia. "I really don't care for any more candy, but the rules of the college must be regarded, and we must do all that we can to prevent those misguided young women from placing themselves under the ban of the faculty's displeasure. If they only knew how we are sacrificing ourselves in their interest, they would surely show proper gratitude. I suppose every one of us will waken with a headache and a metallic taste in her mouth after those caramels."

"Answer for yourself, Cordelia," said Lee. "It takes more than one box of caramels to give me a headache, and I have eaten no more than quarter of that amount this evening."

After what seemed a very long time, the string began to move again; this time very slowly as if something weighty were fastened to it. Janet cautiously opened the window and in a few minutes, a box three times the size of the first one, appeared. It took but an instant to secure it. There was a mocking laugh from above and subdued cheers and cat-calls from below.

"It doesn't feel solid like candy," said Janet. "It has a queer feeling."

"Don't open it in the dark then," said Edna. "You don't know what trick they may be playing us."

"Suppose you don't open it at all," suggested Lee.

"Not open it at all? I never in the world could let it go again. What would you suggest my doing with it, if I don't open it?"

"Oh, just tie it on the string again and let it down."

"No, don't, Janet," interposed Cordelia. "That would be holding direct communication with the forbidden sex. Our object is to prevent that very thing. Let us see what it is. We want to know the joke, whatever it is."

Janet turned up the light and went over to the divan where she cautiously began to open the box. It was securely tied. "There's something moving inside," she cried excitedly. "I can't stop to untie it. Get me a knife or a pair of scissors, somebody, quick."

"No, no," cried Edna; "it might be a snake."

"Or a mouse," said Lee.

"Or a rat," suggested Cordelia.

"Then get out of the way," said Janet calmly, beginning to snip the cords. Lee and Edna skurried into the next room, but Cordelia stood her ground. Janet lifted off the cover of the box to disclose a blinking, winking little kitten that had been quite content to curl up in the shelter of the box, but that thus suddenly disturbed, looked up into Janet's face, opened its little pink mouth, and gave utterance to a very small but plaintive mew.

"You darling!" cried Janet, picking up the small creature and snuggling it in her neck. "I'd like to keep you, baby kitty. Oh, for a smitchin of milk."

"I know who has some," said Lee, who, with Edna, had returned as soon as it was discovered that no terrifying creature was contained in the box. "Grace Breitner gets a jar of milk every day. She drinks it at night. The doctor said she must. She will spare a little, I know."

"Do ask her if she will," said Janet. "There's a good child, Lee."

And Lee sped away, returning with the desired milk and with Grace.

"There, kitten," said Lee, "see what the good lady has brought you. It's right cold, Janet. I'll warm it a little."

"Isn't it a dear," said Janet, stroking the soft gray fur of the little cat, and watching it admiringly as it delicately lapped the warm milk and then in a mature way began to wash its face. "Let's adopt it into the class, girls, for a mascot. Mike will take care of it if we pay him a little. He can take some milk for it, and he is so kindhearted that he will be sure to treat it well. We can borrow it then, whenever any one of us gets homesick and wants something cozy and homelike to comfort her."

"I SHOULD LIKE TO KEEP YOU, BABY KITTY."

"That's just what we can do," cried the other girls. "Brilliant thought, Janet."

"Come here, Mascot," said Lee. "Let me look into your innocent blue eyes. I shall borrow you whenever I feel myself weakening in my work, and I shall trust to you to bring me good luck. What are you going to do with it to-night, Janet?"

"Oh, I'll keep it right here, and let it sleep on the foot of my bed. I'll take it to Mike in the morning, and I know it will be all right."

The next morning as she was carrying the kitten to Mike's quarters she met Jessie Turner in the corridor.

"Where did you get your kitten?" asked Jessie with an air of innocence.

"It came in on the night express," said Janet. "Isn't it a darling? I just adore kittens," she added enthusiastically.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Take it down to Mike to keep for the sophomore class. We are going to make it our mascot. It will be a real joy to have a kitten to borrow once in a while. I am so much obliged to whoever sent it, for it was a lovely surprise, you know. By the way, I wish you would thank your friends for the excellent caramels they sent us; we enjoyed them so very much."

Jessie gave rather a sickly smile. "I know one thing," she said. "Next year we shall be more careful in selecting our room."

"So I would be," returned Janet suavely. "One has such a lot to learn about everything the first year. One very important thing is to correct wrong impressions about rules. It is an awful thing to be brought up before the faculty for misdemeanors, I have heard. I'd advise you to remember that."

With which parting piece of advice, she nodded to Jessie and continued her way to the lower floor, leaving the freshman scared and abashed.

Mike readily consented to take charge of the kitten, and scarcely a day passed but it was borrowed by one sophomore or another, so that its lines fell in pleasant places.

It was a long time, however, before Janet heard the last of the joke, for the freshmen, for weeks, made it a point of waylaying her in the halls and saying: "Miss Ferguson, I hear you have a kitten. How did you come by it?"

But Janet was finally a match for them, for she would forestall them by saying: "I hear you freshmen are very fond of caramels; why don't you get some of your friends to send you some?"

And so at last, the subject of cats and caramels was dropped. In some way the "gilded youth" were warned not to trust their offerings to so uncertain a means of transport as a string let down from a window, for not only did wily sophs lie in wait for them, but there was an added danger of discovery by persons less ready to keep their counsel than these same sophs.

However, Janet concluded, after this experience, that life would be a little more independent if she could give up dormitory life another year. And one day late in the semester, as she sat with Mascot curled up in her lap, she remarked to Edna: "Next year I mean to give up Hopper Hall, and go to a private house. Will you join me, Ted?"

"Why, of course, if you like; or rather, if papa and mamma agree. They think I am better off here than anywhere else."

"I think it is the best place, too, for the first two years, but see how the freshmen crowd in, and next year there will be fewer of our friends than are here now. I think when we become juniors we might venture out into a lodging or a boarding house. I think we ought to have all the experiences that are coming to us. Now, suppose instead of these two rooms, we could each have a bedroom and a common sitting room with an open fireplace; think how fascinating it would be."

"We'd miss Cordelia and Lee, and all the junketings that go on here," returned Edna doubtfully.

"We would, in a measure, but there are only Cordelia and Lee, and two or three more whom we would care for specially. Maybe we could get into a house where there would be room for our special crowd, and then there would be no end of good times. I mean to keep my eyes open for such a place, and I'll sound the other girls on the subject. Some of the seniors have lovely rooms outside, and they will be giving them up another year. I feel that I need an open fireplace more than anything in life; it is so conducive to thoughtfulness."

"Life isn't entirely made up of open fireplaces," said Edna, bending forward to tickle Mascot's ear.

"We could take Mascot with us," said Janet. "Think how he would enjoy an open fire."

"That settles it," said Edna, rising to open the door to a caller.

CHAPTER X

THE HERO

JANET had just received her morning's mail and sat absorbed in her letters on the steps of the gymnasium. Edna, near her, was looking over a newspaper from home, when she heard an exclamation from her roommate which made her put down her paper and look up.

"Oh, Ted, Ted," cried Janet, "what do you suppose will happen next? If I didn't want so awfully to be at home this summer, I'd accept the first invitation that would take me away."

"Why, what on earth?" exclaimed Edna.

"You never in the world will guess," replied Janet. "This letter, if you please, is from Stuart. He says he realizes that his brotherly attentions have not been overwhelming, and that he hasn't been near me this year, but he has been awfully busy, athletics and things besides the regular grinds, but he means to come up for Class Day. Do you realize, Ted, that it is less than a month off?"

"I'm beginning to, when I think of exams," said Teddy, with a wry face. "But go on. I am simply dying to hear what the trouble is to make you feel so desperate. Surely it isn't because your brother Stuart is coming."

"Heavens, no. Prepare yourself, Ted. He is going to stay at the Austins'."

Janet leaned forward and emphasized her words with a tap on the steps with a folded paper.

"For pity's sake, Janet!"

"You may well say, for pity's sake. Isn't it dreadful? It seems that he met Mr. Van Austin a few months ago, and they have become quite intimate. Stuart says, furthermore, that Mr. Austin has heard of me from his Cousin Marian, and is very anxious to meet me. Oh, is he? Maybe he is, but how about me? Stuart says a lot of the boys are coming up, but that he and another man are going to stay at the Austins' and for me to make no engagements, for he expects that we shall all have a royal time. He wanted to know about you, and said he hoped you would not have so many engagements that he should not be able to see you. I am glad there is the third man for Marian."

Edna looked a little conscious, for her visit to Janet the year before had developed a mild summer flirtation, which, though it had not been followed up, was of the nature to break out again as opportunity afforded.

"To think," Janet went on, "that after all this time, fate has ordained that we three are to meet, and that we shall see 'the hero' at last. Isn't it too funny? As you value your life, Teddy, don't ever, ever let him find out that we have met before. Oh, me, how surprised Becky and Rosalie will be to see us parading around with him. Don't let us tell them anything about Stuart's coming, not till we can suddenly spring the surprise upon them."

Edna agreed, and gathering up their belongings, they walked across the campus to Hopper Hall.

The days sped by rapidly till they brought the last week of the college year. Examinations over, Class Day's importance became subservient, in Janet's estimation, to the fact of the meeting with "the hero" and the popularity which attached itself to a girl with an agreeable brother.

The boys had promised to arrive the evening before Class Day, and Marian had brought an invitation to dinner from her aunt, so that both Edna and Janet were in an unusual state of excitement when the evening came.

"Dear me," said Edna, twisting herself around to look at the back of her gown, "I feel all in a flurry. Am I all right, Janet? I don't see why I should get rattled over a little thing like this. How shall you feel when you meet old Mr. Austin?"

"Like laughing. We must avoid the sofa; it may suggest the relation between ourselves and a certain former occasion," said Janet, pinning a fluffy bit of tulle to her collar. "I believe I won't wear this after all," she continued, throwing down the knot. "Don't you think I look better in white, Ted?"

Edna laughed. "I'm not the only nervous one, it seems. Yes, by all means wear white; that gown with the little round neck, I like you in that. See how free I am from jealousy when I advise you to wear your most becoming costume."

"It is a good thing we began to dress in time or we should be in a perfect rush," said Janet, slipping out of the frock she had first put on. "I want to get there before the boys, though. Have I changed much in a year and a half, Ted?"

"I should never recognize you for the same person," returned Edna laughing. "How about me?"

Janet laughed in turn. "Your own parents would not recognize you, so great is the change in you. We'll trust to the difference in dress and time to keep our secret."

"But why," said Teddy, after a thoughtful pause, "why are we so bent upon its being such a dead secret?"

"I don't know," replied Janet, putting the last touches to her toilet, "I suppose because we began that way, and we can't get out of the habit."

"There is nothing disgraceful to account for. It was what might have happened to any one. We didn't do anything very dreadful, and what we did, we had to do. Suppose they did find out, what of it?"

"Why, nothing, come to think of it. Nothing at all." Janet laughed. "Aren't we geese to keep up such a mystery and such an excitement over a matter the importance of which, and the mystery of which, exists simply in our imaginations? All the same, I cannot get rid of a sort of surreptitious feeling whenever I go to that house, and I am conscious this minute of a real necessity of being very secretive. It is foolish, but it has grown with my growth and strengthened with my strength. There, I am ready at last."

"Come, sally forth then."

"Isn't it funny," said Janet, when they had arrived, and were waiting Marian's appearance, "that we haven't the least idea what that young man looks like, whether he is tall or short, good-looking or ugly. There will be two of them, Ted; you decide at first glance which you think is 'the hero' and I will do the same, then we will tell afterward which one we thought him to be."

They had not long to wait, for presently Marian came in, then Mrs. Austin. Later Mr. Austin, senior, arrived and was presented. At the sound of his throaty voice, Janet gave Teddy a sly look.

"Those boys ought to be here," said the gentleman, fidgeting around. "That clock is three minutes slow. They are due now; in fact they should have been here ten minutes ago."

"And here they come," said Marian, who had drawn aside the curtain and was looking down the street. "They are crossing over. I'd know your brother at a glance," she said, turning to Janet. "Isn't it funny how it has all turned out? I met you, and your brother met my cousin all within a few months, and now we all meet together here. I wonder we didn't know about the common acquaintance before this."

"Stuart is such a wretched correspondent," Janet told her. "He never tells you any of the things he ought to."

She had hardly concluded her sentence when Mr. Austin, who had trotted to the door, welcomed the young men. "Here you are, boys. Fourteen minutes late, Van."

"Lucky it wasn't fifteen." Janet and Edna recognized the hero's voice. "The train was a little late, dad. All well?"

"All well, and expecting you. Glad to meet you again, Mr. McBride. Mr. Ferguson, I don't need an introduction to you. Come right in, boys. The ladies are here." Mr. Austin ushered the young men into the room. Janet gave a quick glance at all three before she sprang to meet her brother.

"Hello, sis," he cried, hugging her up to him. "Ah, Miss Teddy, glad to see you." Then Janet found herself confronting a young man of medium height, not strictly handsome, but with a pleasant face. She decided that this must be 'the hero,' and was confused when her brother said: "My friend, Mr. McBride, Janet. My sister, Don."

In her confusion, Janet sought the nearest seat, which happened to be the fateful sofa. The next moment, Marian approached.

"Cousin Van says no one has had the consideration to present him to you, Janet. Mr. Van Austin, Miss Ferguson."

Janet glanced up quickly to see a rather tall young man, with expressive eyes, a humorous mouth, and a nondescript nose. He was looking down at her with intense amusement on his face.

"May I sit here?" he asked, dropping into a place by her side. "Do you know, it seems quite as if I ought to find you sitting here where I first saw you. How many months ago is it? Over a year, I declare."

The color flew up into Janet's face. "You saw me here?" she stammered.

"Why, yes. If I hadn't been certain the moment I saw you, I should have been when I heard you laugh. The remarkable thing to me is that we haven't met before, and that I didn't discover your identity long ago when I know your brother so well."

The secret was out, and Janet began to laugh.

"Then there isn't any use for me to try to deny anything, I suppose. I confess to being one of the blind girls. The other one is over there talking to my brother, who has never heard that charming little incident of our mock initiation and its result."

"I might not have recognized Miss Waite," Mr. Austin confessed, "for she looks quite different from my recollection of her. You are coming down to our Class Day, are you not? We have come up to yours, and it will be only fair."

"I am not sure whether I can come," said Janet doubtfully. "You see, though yours is a little later than ours, there is always so much going on here, that it is hard to get away, but I may come to the Commencement."

"Be sure that you do, for that is the day when I say farewell to my Alma Mater, and I shall have need of all the support I can receive from my friends."

"I am sure you ought to have it from me, for I remember that you gave me very substantial support on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion of which we were just speaking."

"I think I must have enjoyed that more than you did. Why could I never got Becky Burdett to tell me anything about you?"

"Because I didn't want her to tell."

"And why? There was no reason why you should have been so very cautious, was there?"

"No, only it seemed, so—so flabby."

Van laughed. "I've heard Stuart use that word just so, and I like it. But it wasn't—flabby; it was only funny. I have tried in every way to corner Becky, but she was too wary. I hope it was not a very great trial for you to come here this evening."

"No-o, for, when Stuart wrote that he knew you, I knew that there was no use trying concealment any longer, and so I resigned myself to the inevitable. If this is your last year at college, you are a senior, aren't you? Stuart ought to have been, but he was ill, you know, and had to drop out of college for a whole year. Mr. McBride is what?"

"A senior, and a very bright fellow. We will show you a good time, if you come down, Miss Janet."

"Then, as I usually go where I am sure of having a good time, I will promise to come, and then Stuart and I can go home together. I can pick him up on the way, you see."

"You'll have to take McBride and myself too, then."

"Why, are you going our way?"

"Hasn't Stuart told you that he has promised us all sorts of a good time down on the bay, and so we shall have the pleasure of going home with you."

"Lovely," cried Janet, "for I am going to take two girls home with me. What fun we can have. There is no place like our dear old bay shore."

"In spite of mosquitoes, and days when the whole earth seems to breathe heat?"

"Ah, you are prejudiced. The mosquitoes aren't half as bad as they are made out to be; in some places, there are very few; not half as many as at some resorts to which people flock in summer time. And, unless one goes to the Maine coast, it is warm anywhere. I remember one of the hottest, most luridly sultry days I ever spent in my life was at Cambridge. We simply seethed, stewed, boiled there the day we went out to Harvard. It is never any hotter at home than that, as you must know, and the mosquitoes are not so bad."

"Yes, I confess you are right."

"We about live on the water," Janet told him, "and that is one of the pleasures I miss here."

"And can you sail a boat?"

"Can I? Wait till I get you out in our darling duck of a 'Delight,' and I will show you."

"I can scarcely wait. Don't you think you could take me this evening?"

"I can if you have a riotous imagination that lets you see the little inlets and bays, the tall graceful spars, and the dearest little boat in the world, sitting on the blue water with the summer sky overhead and—"

"A skipper whom I don't have to imagine. That is a part of it which it is no effort to keep in mind, and where the dream cannot exceed the reality."

"What a very nice speech," said Janet lightly. "It is evident that you have done other things at college besides study—books."

Then the elder Mr. Austin trotted up to remind them that dinner would be ready in exactly thirty-four minutes, so Van bore his guests off to their rooms, and Janet turned her attention to the stout gentleman who made himself very agreeable.

It was at dinner that this individual, after looking at Janet with a puzzled expression said: "Miss Ferguson reminds me of some one I have seen. Can you tell me who it is, my dear?" He addressed his wife.

Van smiled, and gave Janet a quizzical glance. "It is Miss Ferguson herself, father. You have met her before."

"Really?" The old gentleman adjusted his glasses. "I beg your pardon, my dear young lady, for not recollecting the fact. I suppose my memory cannot be as good as it once was, or I could not forget such a pleasure, as the meeting of a charming person like Miss Janet Ferguson."

"Such a gallant speech deserves that I should elucidate," said his son. "Don't you think I should tell him, Miss Ferguson?" And without waiting for a reply he said: "In Miss Ferguson and Miss Waite you see the blind girls whom you were ready to send to the insane asylum."

"Dear me, dear me," the old gentleman began protesting, "that is too bad, too bad of you, Van."

"What's all this?" asked Stuart. "I haven't heard any tale of this kind. What have you been up to, Janet?"

Then the whole story came out, and there was much laughter and many teasing remarks, and afterward all were upon a more familiar footing.

"We are going to have a giddy-gaddy time," Janet told her brother when she had the opportunity of a few moments' talk with him.

"When and where?"

"This summer. I've asked Rosalie and Edna for part of the summer, and Cordelia and Lee for the other part. Mamma said I might."

"Well, I can match you, for I am going to have Van and McBride down for a few weeks. I've promised them all the fishing and sailing they want, and if I add the society of some pretty girls, I don't see what more they can want. What larks we can have. How about the fair maid Marian, why don't you ask her?"

"I have asked her, but she can't come because she is going abroad to join Miss Minnie Austin. I'd like to have Becky Burdett, but nothing will persuade her to give up the Maine coast. I want you to meet Becky, Stuart. She is great."

"Here, here," said the elder Mr. Austin coming up; "this will never do. We can't allow brothers and sisters to pair off in this way. You can see enough of your brother at home, Miss Ferguson; we want him to let us have you this evening."

Janet wondered as she walked back to Hopper Hall if she would ever forget that June night. Her hero had fulfilled her expectation. He was a fact, a tangible reality, by whose side she was walking, to whose voice she was listening.

The summer stretched out into an indefinite number of beautiful days, and nights like this, when they could float out into the dimness in a white-winged boat; days when youthful fun and jollity would hasten the moments along. Her little heart beat fast, and it was well that none could see the strange new softness which showed in her brown eyes. She wanted to get off by herself and dream it all over.

She was so quiet, and gave such monosyllabic answers to Teddy's remarks that the latter wondered, and asked: "What is the matter, Janet? Did Stuart have any bad news for you?"

"No," answered Janet. "I think I am only tired."

"But we had a perfectly lovely time, didn't we?" said Teddy.

"Lovely," returned Janet.

"Did you guess the right one? Honor bright, now."

"No, I didn't."

"I did," said Teddy triumphantly.

Janet made no reply. She was already in her own room, and was eager for the silence and the darkness when she might dream her girlish dreams undisturbed.

CHAPTER XI

PRETTY POLLY PERKINS

"AND the summer is over. Now back again to hard work," sighed Janet as she sat down wearily after having established her belongings in their accustomed places. "After all, Ted, I am glad to be back in Hopper Hall. I verily believe I should be homesick in a new place. I actually have an affection for these familiar rooms."

"Minus the fireplace?" asked Edna.

"Yes, I even forego the fireplace for the sake of the hominess of it all. Next year, though, we certainly must try another place, for we shall not care so much, knowing that we can go home at the end of it. We can get Juliet Fuller's rooms then, if we want them. With Cordelia and Lee here, and so many well-known faces about us, I should have felt like a renegade to have deserted."

"That is exactly the way I felt," returned Edna. "I would have gone wherever you did, of course, Janet; but I am really better satisfied here. I like to be acquainted with the hooks in my closet, and to know just which side of the second drawer of my bureau to jerk when I open it. We had a good summer, didn't we?"

Janet leaned her arms on the table and looked thoughtfully out of the window. "Great," she responded. "I don't suppose there will ever be just such another."

"I don't see why not," returned Edna. "We all promised to meet again in the same place next year, and we can do the same things over again."

"I have noticed," said Janet, "that there never is any second time. Things never are exactly the same twice. Something prevents; one cannot tell precisely what, but even with the same people and the same place, something creeps in to change it all. There never is any going back. One can't repeat experiences. There must be something different."

"Oh, most potent, grave, and reverend junior, I don't see why that is an inevitable rule."

"You will see some day," said Janet. "I prophesy that there will never be another summer in our experience, just like the one we have just left behind us."

Edna helped herself delicately from a box of candy which stood open on the table. "Goodness, Janet, you give me the blues. Do try to chirk up. If you begin this way, what will you be before the year is out? I'll go hunt up Mascot; a visit from him will be in order about now." She popped another chocolate into her mouth and left the room, soon returning with a sleek and glossy cat in her arms. "Here, take him," she said, depositing her burden in Janet's lap. "Did you ever see anything grow as he has done? He may be a catling, but he is no more a kitten."

"But isn't he a beauty? So lithe and satiny, and what beautiful amber eyes he has! Ah, Mascot, old fellow, I surely am glad to see you again, though you probably have no recollection of me. It would have been a shame to take him away from the class if we had gone into lodgings, wouldn't it, Ted?"

"It certainly would. I thought of that. The girls simply howled their protests last summer when I mentioned the possibility. What shall we do with him next year, when we leave, Janet?"

"Bequeath him to the incoming freshmen. He can descend down in that way as long as he is able to stand the strain of his office of comforter."

"Speaking of comforter," said Edna, "have you happened to meet a freshman named Mary Perkins? She is an acquaintance of a distant cousin of mine who asked me if I wouldn't give her a nod or a beck or a wreathed smile once in a while. She has a scholarship, this Miss Perkins, but is as poor as poverty, and is trying to work her way through college; that is, she wants to make her expenses over and above her scholarship."

"We must hunt her up," said Janet. "A girl who works her way through college deserves all the moral support she can get from upper classmen, for she will have to endure many snubs, and will have none too easy a time. Give me a chocolate, Ted, one of those nutty ones. Mascot is so comfortable, I don't want to disturb him."

"For Sybarites, commend me to cats," said Edna, passing the box of candy to Janet. "Who's there?" she asked, as a knock was heard.

"Fay, Fay Wingate."

"Come in, my fairy Fay. The idea of any one's ever calling you a grand old senior, you ridiculous mite," said Janet. "You haven't grown an inch."

"You didn't expect me to, did you? I didn't promise that I would."

"No, I know you didn't. Have some candy. It's Ted's, but no matter; my brother bought it for her, so it's all in the family. What's the news, Fay? Anything exciting going on? What have you been doing?"

"Guying the freshmen."

"Bad child; that was not right. They are our freshmen, I'll have you to know, and they shall not be abused. What special form did your guying take? Confess, right now."

"I wasn't hurting the babies."

"Only scaring them to death? I know your methods. Go on, and tell us."

"I only said they must all wear white silk frocks to the junior reception or they wouldn't be admitted."

"That was horrid of you. You know very well that not one in half a dozen will have a silk frock, for evening, much less a white silk. You'll make some of those poor dears rush into frightful extravagances."

"They'll find out it isn't so," said Fay, nonchalantly.

"Maybe, but not before the mischief is done. Go home this minute. You shall not have another chocolate. We've got to undo your wickedness. We know of one girl in that class who is trying to work her way through college, an innocent country maid; probably she is crying her eyes out now because she thinks she will have to stay at home from our magnificent function. Go to your room, wicked, malevolent creature, and meditate upon your sins."

Setting Mascot down, Janet rushed upon Fay, and with Edna's help, carried her, laughing and struggling, to her room, where they tossed her upon her bed.

"Such disrespect to a senior," said Fay, too weak with laughter to rise. "Think if any of those freshmen had seen me, what would they have thought?"

"I hope they did," returned Janet. "It would be good enough for you. You are too little to be a senior anyway. I've a mind to spank you." She stood over her victim looking so determined that Fay began to beg.

"Now, Janet, please. I'll be good, really. I won't do so any more, I promise."

"See that you don't, then," said Janet pouncing down and beginning to tickle her.

"Don't, Janet, don't," pleaded Fay, hysterically. "I'll promise anything. Indeed, I will be good."

And Janet desisted. "Come, Ted," she said; "she has promised not to do so any more."

"Till the next time," cried Fay, as she quickly sprang up and turned the key upon the two as they reached the corridor.

"I move we go and hunt up Miss Perkins," said Edna. "Really, Fay's nonsense may be a serious matter to the poor child. Will you go with me to find her?"

Janet agreed, and they went to the office together to inquire the abiding place of Miss Perkins.

"She is at No. 43 Main Street," the registrar told them.

"That's not a long walk," said Edna. "She has a room on the top floor, Cousin Maria told me; one of those sk-attics, as Lee calls them. I'll venture to say it is as bare as your hand."

They were not long in finding the house, and were directed to the small room.

In answer to their knock, some one said: "Come in."

"I am Edna Waite," said Teddy, as the girl she addressed looked up from her work, "and this is my friend, Miss Janet Ferguson."

The girl pushed her books to one side and came forward. She had wide innocent blue eyes which were red from crying. Her complexion was like a rose leaf, and her soft brown hair curled around her forehead and ears, and was gathered into a heavy coil at the back of her head in a style that was the least becoming to her. She was dressed plainly and in poor taste, her clothes being home-made and ill cut.

"Cousin Maria Purviance told me you were here," said Edna, "and I wanted to meet you."

"Oh, yes, you are Miss Maria's cousin. I am so glad to see you." The girl spoke timidly, and glanced around her little room for an unoccupied chair. There were but two in the room, and one stood behind the table which she had just left.

"I'll sit on the bed or on your trunk," said Janet easily. "They never do give one enough chairs, do they? Half the time some of us have to sit on the floor when we go visiting. It's nice and quiet up here, isn't it? And what a fine view you have. I love to face the western sky." She spoke cheerfully, leaning forward to look out of the one window.

"Yes," said Miss Perkins, taking her chair again after seeing her visitors seated, "it is quiet, almost too quiet sometimes," she added with a wistful little smile.

"Aren't there other students in the house?"

"Yes, but they are almost all upper classmen or specials."

"I wish you were in our dormitory," said Janet warmly; "we can't complain of loneliness there, can we, Ted? It is almost too lively."

"It certainly is," agreed Edna. "You would have thought so a while ago, Miss Perkins, if you could have seen us disciplining one of the seniors."

"Oh, did you dare?" said Miss Perkins innocently.

Edna laughed. "Of course we dared. She is a mite of a thing, and a dreadful tease; as full of mischief as possible. What do you suppose she confessed to us that she had been doing?"

"I'm sure I don't know," returned Miss Perkins, through whose mind ran all sorts of remarkable possibilities that might be allowed any one so tremendously important as a senior.

"She had been telling our poor dear freshmen that they couldn't come to our party unless they were provided with white silk frocks. Such an absurd notion. I hope they all knew better than to believe her."

"I didn't," returned Miss Perkins with an air of relief.

"Then I'm glad we can disabuse your mind of any such idea. The girls can wear anything they choose from a calico frock to a sequin robe," Edna told her.

"I shall not wear a sequin robe," said Miss Perkins with a dry little smile. "I am much more likely to wear a calico frock."

"Why not all wear calico frocks," suggested Janet. "Why don't we make a calico party of it, Ted? I think that would be a scheme. We could have a spelling bee, and an apple paring, and such old-time sports."

"Let's do it," cried Teddy. "We are on the committee, you see, Miss Perkins. Janet is chairman, and what she says is likely to go. Don't you think it would be fun? It certainly would make us all more free and easy."

"I certainly think it would be a lovely plan," agreed Miss Perkins, her face beaming.

"You'd look dear in lilac or pink," said Janet, in a friendly tone, with her head one side, viewing the girl critically. "Do you happen to have a gown of either of those colors?"

"I have a purple and white percale," said Miss Perkins doubtfully, "but it isn't new."

"It will do perfectly well," said Janet reassuringly, "with lilac ribbons and a lilac sunbonnet."

The girl's face fell. "I haven't the ribbons, and—"

"Oh, never mind, I have," said Teddy easily. "On such occasions, we always borrow from each other anything that comes handy. You must learn that the first thing. Why, I don't believe I possess a single article, from a hat-pin to an evening cloak, that some one hasn't wanted to borrow in the two years I have been here. We'll make the sunbonnet. Come over to our rooms on Saturday, can't you? I know some one who has a dear pattern for the cunningest trick of a bonnet; we'll cut it out and have a sewing-bee. We'll get the stuff for it, for we know where to go, and you don't."

"But I can't have you do that," protested Miss Perkins.

"Oh, yes, you can."

"Not unless you let me pay for it."

"No, you shall not; for I am going to make the bonnet for myself, and I will lend it to you for the party."

"I think you are perfectly lovely to me," said Miss Perkins, the tears coming to her eyes. "You know, perhaps—Miss Maria may have told you that I am trying to make my expenses, so you can imagine that every penny means something to me."

"Of course, it does," put in Janet sympathetically. "You don't know how we admire you for being so brave as to do this way. I'd never in the world have such courage. I think it is heroic, and I am a regular hero-worshiper."

Teddy gave her a look, and laughed meaningly, while Janet blushed scarlet.

"I mean—I—I do admire strength of character," she stammered. "I adore ambitious people, so I expect you will find me very curious and a great bore before I get through, but you must know it is because I am so tremendously interested. Would you mind telling us just what you are doing, or want to do,—to—to—make your way?"

"Anything," said Miss Perkins, "from sewing on skirt braids, to teaching German. I do know German," she went on; "it is the one language I am perfectly familiar with, for in our little village there is an old German who tinkers watches and clocks. He is really very well educated, and is quite an odd character. He has talked German with me, and has given me lessons, and lent me his German books ever since I was eight years old, so I think I could teach the language."

"Good!" cried Janet. "Perhaps you can get some coaching to do. Ted, who was it we heard of yesterday that was so dreadfully weak in her German, and was in despair? Some one of the new girls, I know. O, I remember, it was Lee Penrose's cousin, Page Carter. I'll see Lee about it this very day."

"Are you very busy? Are we keeping you?" Edna asked as she noticed Miss Perkins nervously turning over the papers on her table.

"Oh, no, no," was the reply. "I was just wondering how I could thank you. I was so lonely and dispirited when you two came in, and now I feel as if I could accomplish anything. I haven't words to thank you for coming."

"Never mind the words," said Janet, going over and laying her hand caressingly on the girl's lovely head. "We are under obligation to you. Anything as interesting as you are is a perfect boom to a jaded junior. We really must go, though, for we do not eat the bread of idleness, and are not exactly lilies of the field."

"You won't forget to come Saturday afternoon," Edna reminded her. "Come early, and we can have a cup of tea before you must leave; then you can meet some of our friends."

And they left the lonely girl, their warm spontaneous sympathy showing itself in the kiss each gave her at parting.

"Isn't she the dearest thing you ever saw?" said Janet when they had gained the street. "Pretty Polly Perkins; that is just the name for her. How I should love to take her and dress her up as I pleased. She'd make a sensation. Did you ever see such a complexion and such blue, blue violet eyes, and that mop of magnificent hair that she screws up tight in the most unbecoming way she can. I've got to get my hands on that girl and teach her to make something of her looks. She was so perfectly unaffected and frank, too, about her poverty. I am going to hunt up Lee at once, and ask her to persuade her cousin to have Polly coach her. I declare, Ted, after all it is good to get back. There are larger opportunities here than at home."

"We mustn't forget to call a meeting and propose the calico party."

"We must surely do that. It will be one on Fay Wingate, and if for no other reason, I'd like to put it through on that account."

"I've thought of another thing," said Teddy, after a moment's silence.

"What is that?"

"Why, don't you remember the day Becky Burdett took us to Miss Thurston's studio, and how she said she had such a time getting the proper models for her illustrations, and asked if we couldn't find some one among the students who would be willing to pose for her once in a while? That was last year, but I don't doubt the need still exists."

"The very thing," said Janet. "We will tell Becky about Pretty Polly Perkins. It will do the dear little violet-by-a-mossy-stone good in more ways than one, for Miss Thurston will know just how to costume her, and when the child sees how lovely she can be made to look, she will never screw back her hair in that way, and wear that hideous green and black waist. Oh, Ted, you certainly have thought of the very best thing."

"But where will she get the clothes to pose in? Miss Thurston wants modern girls in their proper dress."

"Sure enough; I hadn't thought of that."

"We'll simply have to carry a lot of our things, hats and waists and such, down there, and explain how it is to Miss Thurston."

"I think we'd better tell Becky. She will find a way. Becky has a very fertile invention, and she'll know how to manage it. I'm afraid if Polly thinks the things are ours, it will hurt her blessed little feelings. I think the clothes would better belong to some one else, and she can believe them to be Miss Thurston's studio properties."

"That will be the best plan," agreed Edna.

They were not long in seeking out Lee, who, fired by their enthusiasm, fetched her cousin, and the arrangements were completed then and there, Janet and Edna promising to notify Miss Perkins of the matter.

"It will be so much better than sewing on skirt braids," said Janet. "Imagine having to do that, Teddy, for the sake of an education. Hand me my biology. I shall sit up till midnight to-night, and astonish every one this semester by my studious habits. By the way, I saw Mr. Evans this afternoon. He is to be here permanently, he told me. There is another example of perseverance and devotion to duty. I certainly have a deep respect for that young man."

"Yes he is not the hero," returned Teddy.

Janet simply raised her eyes, and gave Teddy a reproachful look, and then fell to work.

CHAPTER XII

A STUDIO TEA

THE calico party was a great success.

Anything sweeter than Pretty Polly Perkins, as every one now called her, could not be imagined, and when she came in, wearing her lilac sunbonnet, a little silk work-bag hanging on her arm, and her frock turned in at the neck to display her beautiful throat, she was, as Edna said, the loveliest thing in sight. A soft mull fichu hid the defects of bad fitting, which had at first made Janet despair of any possibilities of the costume. A knot of lilac ribbon fastening the fichu, matched the color of the fascinating little sunbonnet which half concealed, half emphasized the beauty of the girl's face. Janet, too, had loosened the soft hair, and had piled it up becomingly on Polly's shapely little head, so that Polly herself was surprised at the effect. She had been perfectly willing to place herself in the hands of these juniors who knew so much and were so good to her, but the result astonished the unsophisticated little lass.

"She is a raving, tearing beauty," said Cordelia, looking at Polly in astonishment. "Where did you unearth her, Janet?"

"Oh, she is a friend of one of Edna's cousins, and we were asked to be nice to her."

"Nice to that? To that exquisite bit of humanity? How could any one help being nice, if she is half as lovely as she looks?"

"She is just as lovable as she appears," Janet told her. "She is an orphan, and is the pluckiest little thing, in spite of her delicate little face and her innocent eyes. She has a stepmother, who isn't so bad, but she is poor, and can't do very much for Polly."

Then she went on to tell of Polly's ambitions, and of how she wanted to make her way in the world by her own efforts, so Cordelia's sympathies were enlisted, and before the evening was over, half the junior class looked upon Polly as a heroine and were prepared to adore her.

The next triumph for the girl was when Becky sent word that she had seen Miss Thurston and that she would be delighted if the girls could bring Polly to her, the sooner the better. She needed just such a model for a set of illustrations she was about to begin. So Janet raced off to the little bare attic to tell its occupant of this new opportunity.

"Polly, my dear," she said, as she burst into the room, "there are new fields for you to work in." Then she unfolded her plan.

"Oh, Miss Ferguson," Polly began.

"Janet, please. If I Polly you, you must Janet me."

"Dear Janet, then," said Polly kissing her cheek, "I never heard of such luck. Will I do? Do you think I look the kind of girl she wants to suggest? Can I do what she wants? You know I know so little about anything, and I am so green and awkward."

"Can you sit still for twenty minutes at a time? Can you stand for as long?"

"What a question. Of course I can do that."

"That is all there is to it. You don't have to stand a tiptoe like a flying Mercury, nor twist yourself into contortions like a Laocoon. You simply have to be an ordinary girl under ordinary circumstances doing ordinary things. I know you have those casts in the Museum in mind, but you are not an antique, my dear, and are not expected to be for many years to come. Miss Thurston will probably dress you up in costumes to suit her subjects, but you won't mind that; it is part of the requirements of a model, you know; and there will be nothing objectionable in the whole performance; in fact I should think you might get considerable fun out of it."

"Oh, I understand all that; and I am willing to wear anything, from a Greek dress to the most elaborate costume of a modern belle."

"Then you are all right. Good-bye, Pretty Polly Perkins. You'll be 'as beautiful as a butterfly and as proud as a queen,' like the other Polly Perkins of Abington Green. Ted and I are going with you, so you won't be scared at the lay figure and the skull in Miss Thurston's studio. Friday afternoon, sweetness."

And Janet hastened back to the theme she had left uncompleted in order to make this visit.

Friday afternoon brought Polly, who appeared promptly in her dowdy little cloth jacket, ugly plaid skirt and shabby hat.

"Oh, me," said Teddy as she saw her coming, "if we only dared to furbish her up a bit. Miss Thurston will never see her possibilities in those clothes. Do you suppose she would object to my lending her a hat?"

"I'm afraid she would," said Janet. "You know how she was about the sunbonnet, and it was all I could do to get her to wear that fichu of mine. If we hadn't made an obvious point of borrowing all sorts of things from one another, she'd never have let us lend her all we did for the calico party."

"I'll try, anyhow," said Teddy; "she can do no more than refuse." So when Polly entered, she said coaxingly: "Don't you know, Polly dear, that is a very unbecoming hat? Please don't be offended at my mentioning it; Janet and I always tell each other when either wears anything unbecoming. Won't you let me lend you one of my hats just for to-day, so Miss Thurston will see you at your best? Janet and I often exchange in that way. If you will lend me yours, I will lend you mine."

But Polly, who knew that her rusty out-of-date black felt was no match for the stylish plumed affair that Teddy poised on her hand, said a little stiffly: "Thank you very much, Teddy, but I prefer to wear my own hat." Then the red came to her cheeks. "Please don't think I—I am unappreciative of your kindness. I realize that it is really heroic for you to offer to appear in my hat, but I am used to it, and I don't mind, while you couldn't help feeling awkward and queer in it. I should be unhappy if I allowed you to wear it." Then whimsically: "Besides, I can't see it when it is on my own head, and if I had it before me on yours, I'd realize more than ever what a horror it is, and I'd never be able to put it on again with any tolerance of it. So don't try to make me any more dissatisfied with it than I am."

"That settles it," said Janet. "You are a dear philosophical thing, Polly. Come along and never mind your hat."

It is true that Miss Thurston looked a little disappointed when Polly was presented to her, but when Janet had tweaked off the girl's hat and Polly had removed her ill-fitting jacket, she smiled appreciatively.

"Do you think I will do?" asked Polly, an anxious expression in her lovely eyes, for she had been quick to note that first glance of disapproval.

"Do, my dear? Why, of course," replied Miss Thurston. "If you can hold your pose well, I shall be more than satisfied. I have a lot of costumes here and I am sure I can adapt them to your figure. Let me see." She brought out a hat whose elegance announced that it was the creation of no ordinary milliner.

Janet recognized it at once as being one of Becky's favorite pieces of head-gear, and when Miss Thurston set it upon Polly's head both Janet and Edna exclaimed: "Isn't she too lovely for anything in that?"

Miss Thurston stood off to note the effect. "That is charming," she declared. "Now, Miss Perkins, just try this on," and she held out a handsome coat trimmed with bands of fur.

The girls fairly screamed their admiration. "I knew she would look like a dream in that," said Teddy. "Just look at yourself, Polly. Aren't you as beautiful as a butterfly?" She pulled Polly toward the long mirror at the end of the room, and Polly laughed unaffectedly.

"I'm like a peacock," she said. "I'm all right as long as I don't look below my magnificence. When I look at my dingy old skirt, I feel like a barn-yard fowl dressed up in peacock's feathers."

Miss Thurston laughed. "Then slip this on," she suggested, handing her a long cloth skirt, and when Polly had donned it the transformation was complete. "You'll do beautifully," said the artist in a pleased tone. "Could you sit for me this afternoon?"

"Why, certainly," replied Polly ingenuously; "I came for that, you know."

"Then we'll leave her to your tender mercies, Miss Thurston," said Teddy.

"I'll promise not to tire her out the first hour," said Miss Thurston. "I will make some rapid sketches first; they will not require a fixed pose for very long. By the way, couldn't you two stay for a few minutes, and let me get a group or two? It would help me so much in finding the proper relation. Have you time?"

"Why, yes," returned the two, looking at each other. "It is Friday, you know, and there isn't any pressing need for us to hang over our books all afternoon."

So Polly was soon properly attired, and the three girls spent an hour in taking various positions, and after this Miss Thurston insisted upon giving them a cup of tea, so they had quite a jolly time of it.

"I shall give a studio tea soon, and I wish you girls would come and help me, all three of you," Miss Thurston said in the midst of their talk. "Becky Burdett is coming, and I thought it would make it interesting if we all were to wear some sort of costume. What do you think of that plan?"

"Lovely," cried the girls.

"I have a lot here, you know," said Miss Thurston. "There is a Dutch dress."

"I'll take that," cried Edna.

"And an Italian peasant costume."

"That will just do for me," said Janet

"It will just about fit you," Miss Thurston told her, as she scanned her critically. "Then there is a pretty empire gown that will exactly suit Miss Perkins, and I can take a certain Japanese costume which is the most comfortable of all and fitted to my more mature years." She laughed as she spoke, for, in spite of her gray hair and the fact that she was not young, she seemed in her enthusiasms as eager as a girl.

"What have you for Becky?" asked Janet.

"Oh, Becky can wear a French marquise dress which is gorgeous, and will be the very thing for her."

"Do hurry up and have it," said Teddy. "I'm just longing to see myself in one of those queer caps with a pair of bed-springs standing out over my ears."

"Then hold yourself in readiness for the third Friday of next month," said Miss Thurston. "Must you go, girls? I am greatly indebted to you for bringing Miss Perkins, and for your goodness in posing for me. When can you come again, Miss Perkins? Now that I have you, I want to hold on to you."

"Any afternoon, but Thursday."

"Then I shall be glad for awhile if you will come every afternoon but Thursday. I can forge ahead famously with these illustrations if you come as often as that. When these are done, I shall want you for something else, if you have the time to give me. Good-bye. Tell Becky, if you see her, that I have a thousand things to say to her."

The girls took their departure down a steep stairway and groped their way out. The elevator was not running. They discovered through later experience that it seldom was.

"Well, Polly," said Teddy when they had reached the street. "What do you think of your job?"

"I think it is wonderful," Polly answered. "I was so interested in all those curious things, and Miss Thurston is so nice that I feel as if I were in a dream. I did want to go around and examine all those strange objects she has scattered around in such careless profusion."

"Not so careless as you may suppose," said Janet. "They will become familiar enough to you before you get through."

"It will be a liberal education to me," said Polly, whose eyes were bright with excitement. "I never expected to come into contact with a real artist and to be going every day to a studio. It is perfectly wonderful to me to suddenly step into such a world." She gave a long sigh. "How different, how very different from the humdrum life at home. You girls have opened up a new avenue of pleasure to me. What can I ever do for you?"

"Just love us a little," replied Janet affectionately slipping her arm into Polly's. "Isn't it fine about the studio tea? And wasn't it dear of Miss Thurston to ask us to help her? I shall love to dress up in that costume and pass around tea and cakes."

"I think," said Polly slowly, "that Miss Thurston must have a beautiful nature. She couldn't have included me, if she hadn't thought of the costumes, and so she did it that I might be on an equal footing with you all in the matter of dress. I know that."

"Why, Polly, what makes you think so?" asked Janet.

"I saw her expression when she first saw me, and after that I noticed that she seemed to be thinking of something very intently; while we were drinking tea, it was. I am sure she planned it all out then."

"Well, if she did," said Janet lightly, "it will be ever so much more fun. Don't feel sensitive about it, Polly, but take the good the gods send without asking why it was sent."

"Oh, I do that," said Polly happily, "and if I looked for motives, I should find that all those that inspired my friends were such as I can only wonder at and be thankful for."

After that, Polly went regularly to Miss Thurston, and one day came to the girls with glowing cheeks and beaming eyes. She had discovered another revenue. Mrs. Thurston expected to go abroad and was deficient in German. When she heard of Polly's familiarity with the language, she begged that she would combine the work of model with that of teacher, and so Polly would earn more than double. "I am the luckiest girl that ever lived," she said.

"And the sweetest," said Janet, kissing her. Janet, it may be said, was fairly in love with the little country maid, and often said she wished she could employ her to sit for her. "I'd like nothing better than to gaze at her by the hour," she told Teddy. "I think I'll turn artist and have her for a perpetual model."

"As if one could turn artist who has no talent for it," said the literal Teddy.

But in spite of Polly's luck the girl did not make more than enough for her expenses, and found it hard to cover those, modest as she tried to make them. The old black hat and the frayed-at-edges jacket were still in evidence. Only on the afternoons when she went to Miss Thurston was Polly a grand lady, in gorgeous street attire, in dainty silken house gowns, or ravishing evening costume. Once or twice Janet had beheld her thus transfigured and had come home with a cry against fate for so allowing Polly's charms to be hidden from the world.

"In proper clothes, the child could make her fortune," she said. "When I think of creatures like that awful Pauline Robinson with a complexion like a stable sponge, eyes like boiled onions and a figure like a round-shouldered beanpole, with all her elegant clothes hung on her, I can't help railing at fate."

"But consider the awfulness of the spectacle presented by Pauline in Polly's clothes," said Teddy.

"I can't consider that," said Janet, "it is too terrible to contemplate."

"Perhaps," said Teddy consolingly, "if Polly were rich, she would be disagreeable, and vain, and struck up. It's partly her poverty, maybe, that makes her so lovable. Maybe the discipline is good for her."

"She has been disciplined quite long enough," said Janet discontentedly. "I think it is time there was some let up to it. Her character is formed and what's the good of any further privations for her?"

"At all events," returned Teddy, "she'll look like an angel at Miss Thurston's tea." And Polly certainly was a bewitching beauty in her short-waisted empire gown, her lovely fluffy hair piled up on her shapely head, her round arms and her exquisite throat displayed to view. Janet, while looking quite in character, did not find her costume particularly becoming, though Becky was a magnificent marquise, and Teddy the most rosy-faced plump little Dutch girl possible.

It was when busy, passing around tea and cakes, that Janet saw Van Austin and his mother come in. At that moment she realized to its full extent the beauty of Polly, for as soon as Van's eyes fell on the girl, he stopped short in what he was saying and exclaimed, "What a dream of beauty that girl is. Who is she, Miss Janet?"

Janet's hand shook a little as she lifted the sugar-tongs to drop a lump in Van's cup.

"You mean Miss Perkins, don't you?" she said quite evenly. "The girl in the blue empire gown?"

"Yes, that is the one. Who is she? Where did she come from?"

For a little minute, Janet paused before answering, then she said bravely: "She is a dear friend of Ted's and mine, one of the loveliest girls in college. This is her freshman year. She is very young and has lived in the country all her life, even when she was going to the high school, for she traveled back and forth from the town to the village. Shall I present you? I can promise that you will find her as charming as she looks."

Leading the way to where Polly stood, she said in her most winning tones: "Polly, dear, I want you to meet my friend Mr. Austin. Tell him about your funny German teacher, and here, give me those salted almonds, Mrs. Austin looks as if she would like some."

She left the two together, and for the rest of the afternoon Van had eyes and ears for no one but Polly. He even begged Miss Thurston to say that he ought to stay till all the others had left, and excused himself from going home with his mother by telling her that Miss Thurston needed him, and it was only when he was fairly driven out that he went.

After this, he followed up the meeting by offering every attention he could to Polly. He called at her shabby little boarding house. He sent her huge bunches of violets; he dropped into the studio the afternoons that he knew she would be there, and though Miss Thurston invariably sent him away before it was time for Polly to return home, he came again and again. Polly, happy and dazzled, confided all this to Janet and received such intense and sympathetic attention to her confession that she declared Janet was the dearest friend and sweetest confidante a girl could have.

"Mr. Austin has asked me to go to a concert with him," she told Janet one day, "and Miss Thurston says she will chaperon us. But oh, Janet, what have I to wear? I simply cannot let him see me in those shabby clothes of mine. You know I never have allowed him to go anywhere with me and he has never seen me in ordinary street dress, for he almost always meets me at the studio before I have had time to change the costume in which I have been posing. Then when he has called to see me, where I live, I have that gray gown that you helped me to make respectable for house wear and I always can put that on."

"If you would only let me lend you something," said Janet.

"Oh, no, no," protested Polly, "I simply couldn't appear under false pretenses. You are a dear to offer, but I can't do that; I'd rather stay at home."

"When is the concert?" asked Janet.

"Next Friday night."

"Well," said Janet, "what have you told him?"

"I said I didn't know whether I could go or not. I felt as if I must let myself have a little hope, though I knew it was foolish to suppose I could get up a proper dress by that time. He said I needn't tell him till the last minute, and that he would drop in on Friday afternoon at the studio and find out."

"Then there is nearly a week before us. We will try to evolve some sort of scheme in that time. Don't worry over it, dear child. Run along now and let me grapple with the problem."

Polly had no sooner left than Teddy entered, her arms full of books.

"Why so sober, Janet?" she asked, plunging the books on a chair.

"I've a weighty problem to solve," Janet told her. "It is this: How can Polly Perkins provide herself with proper attire for a concert next Friday when she has not a cent to bless herself with? I am wondering how fairy godmothers manage such affairs. Not being possessed of a pumpkin large enough, nor a magic wand, nor six mice and six rats, I can't seem to settle the question satisfactorily. Do you suppose I could count on Mascot to furnish the mice and rats? I might get the pumpkin from home, though, alas, where will I find the magic wand?"

"Who is she going with?" asked Teddy with a little tartness in her tone.

"Mr. Vansant Austin and Miss Thurston."

"Janet, you are the queerest girl I ever saw," exclaimed Teddy. "I believe you would delight in haircloth and hempen ropes around your waist, and crosses with stickers all over them to jam against your chest."

"Do you?" said Janet calmly. "No, Ted, I am not of the stuff martyrs are made of, but I hope I am a self-respecting, decent, kindly American woman; that's all."

And then she returned to the German grammar she had flung down when Polly came in.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT POLLY WORE

BEFORE the next Friday came around, Janet had solved the problem of Polly's attire.

"How much do you know about sewing?" she asked Polly abruptly one morning as she entered the girl's little attic and sat down on the foot of the bed.

"Why, I don't know," replied Polly doubtfully. "I can sew rather neatly by hand, and I can run a machine, but I don't know much about cutting and fitting."

Janet smiled; the latter fact was made so very obvious by the appearance of Polly's clothes.

"If you can put things together after they are cut out, and can run a machine, and do all that, I think I see our way clear to get some new togs for you, if you don't mind their not being bran-new."

Polly sprang to her feet. "What do you mean?"

"Why, just this: Louise Baker has just lost her brother, and is going into mourning. She isn't at all well off, but she has some pretty things, for her brother fitted her out for college, and she has made it known that she would be glad to dispose of some of her clothes. Ted and I were in there to see her this morning; we each relieved her of some of her white elephants, and she has more that she would be glad if some one would take off her hands. She was saying that she couldn't afford to pay for dressmaking, and wished she could get hold of some one who would help her with her sewing and take the pay in trade. She wants a black frock and a couple of shirt-waists right away. She has a pretty hat and a little tan jacket as good as new, besides a pale blue silk waist, and one or two other things. So, if you have any time to give her, now is your chance."

"Oh, Janet, of course I'll do it. I'll make time. If I could manage to get those things, all I would need would be a skirt and a pair of gloves."

"Perhaps there will be a way to get those, too. What number gloves do you wear?"

Polly stretched out her pretty little hand. "I prefer a six, though I can wear a five and three-quarters, on a pinch."

"Then I can do something for you. I have an unruly pair of light gloves that seem too small for me. I usually wear a six, but these are very crampy, and I cannot button them, so if you will take them off my hands, I shall be delighted. I offered them to Ted, but she has quite as large a fist as mine, so neither of us can struggle into them. I shall have to give them to some one else if you don't take them."

"Oh, Janet, I will take them and be thankful. It is so good of you to be always looking out for my interests. I will sew on any amount of skirt braids in exchange for the gloves."

"My dearest Polly, don't always be so eager to pay off scores. I don't think it is friendly of you never to let me make you the smallest present. Just this once let it go. You never do allow me the pleasure of giving. I think you might take a pair of misfit gloves without insisting upon paying for them." Janet spoke in quite an injured tone and Polly gave in.

"I will then, if you feel that way. I suppose I am a little stiff about accepting favors, but when I can't return them, it makes me feel uncomfortable to be under any great obligations."

"You are usually exactly right about it, but in this case I think you needn't fear you will lose your self-respect. Come along and let us go to the clothes sale. Of course only a few of the girls know what Louise is doing, and they are the loyal ones who will not let it leak out. Get ready and I will wait for you."

Janet arose and went over to Polly's modest little book-shelf. "Why Polly Perkins," she exclaimed, "what are you doing with two sets of Browning when I haven't even one? You extravagant wretch, no wonder you haven't a cent for giddy clothes."

"You don't suppose I am such a reckless creature as all that," returned Polly. "It isn't my fault, I assure you. I have an absent-minded, as well as an absent-bodied, old uncle who usually sends me books at Christmas. He never remembers my existence at any other time or in any other way. Last year he sent me a set of Browning, and this year he duplicated it. It was funny but very provoking when there are so many books I should have been delighted to have."

Janet took down one of the little volumes and looked over the pages. "Just the edition I want," she said.

"Then please take it," said Polly eagerly. "I should love to give it to you, for you see it is no use to me."

"I'll give you six dollars for it," said Janet. "I will not take it for nothing. I can be proud, too, Mary Singleton Perkins."

"Oh, Janet, you are just saying that."

"Just saying it? Of course I am. Don't you suppose I know a bargain when I see it? I'd have to pay more than that for a new set, and I have been simply dying for one. Will you take me up?"

"Won't you please take it as a gift?"

"No, I will not. I will go down street this very afternoon and waste my substance upon a set just like this for which I shall have to pay at least two dollars more. Then the next time you come to my room you will be reproached by seeing how I have had to spend my money."

"Janet, you are the most wheedling person I ever saw when you want to accomplish a thing. Of course if that is the way you look at it, I shall be only too glad to let you have the set."

"I ought really to give you full value," said Janet, "for these books are perfectly new."

"No, no. Please let me have that grain of satisfaction. I think you ought to allow me such crumbs of comfort as I can pick up after all you have done for me."

"All right then. Six dollars, going, going, gone to Janet Ferguson." And Janet drew the box from the shelves and took it under her arm. "Oh, how proud I feel," she said. "Stuart gave me the money to get a set for my birthday and I recklessly spent the money. He'd rake me over the coals if he happened to come up and should find I hadn't it. So now I can face him with a clear conscience, and am two dollars to the better, the two dollars that you ought to have."

"Janet!"

"Well, it is so. You might have put up a notice on the bulletin-board and some one might have given you eight dollars."

"Please, please, don't say any more about it, as you love me. I really believe I can afford the skirt now. Could I get any sort of one for five or six dollars?"

"This time of year I think you could, with all the bargain sales going on. Shall we go to town together and see what we can do? I am a magnificent bargain hunter, as witness my latest transaction."

"I'd be so relieved if you would go with me. I don't know a thing about the city shops, not having occasion to visit them very often." She stopped to gather up a large bunch of violets which stood in a glass on the table. "Won't you let me give you these?" she said wistfully.

Janet shrank back and held her box of books in both hands. "No, oh, no, thank you," she said nervously. "I wouldn't rob you. I couldn't carry them, you see."

"I can carry them for you. Please take them. I'd love to give them to you."

"Oh, no, no," Janet protested, backing toward the door. "I shall not be at home to enjoy them. I am going to Becky's to dinner."

"But you could wear them."

"No, no. They wouldn't look well with my dress. I am going to wear red."

She bolted out the door and ran down the stairs leaving Polly to follow. The latter restored the violets to the glass and went down after Janet, a disappointed look on her face.

Janet chattered excitedly all the way to Hopper Hall, deposited her purchase upon her shelves and then proposed that they should go at once to Louise Baker's room. They found Louise at home and Janet at once unfolded her plan.

"I announce myself as agent," she began. "Polly here, sighs for a hat and jacket, only something exactly like those lying on the bed will do, and you, Louise, sigh for nimble fingers to help you with your sewing. Now, proceed to swop—My part in the matter is done."

"I'd be delighted," said Louise. "What a girl you are, Janet. I never dreamed you would be so quick in carrying out that plan. I don't know any one else so fertile in devising ways and means. I believe you would make a wonderful general."

"Then on general principles, let us proceed to clinch the bargain."

Polly groaned. "That is unworthy of you, Janet. Such a dreadful pun as that. Miss Baker, do you really want some one to help you?"

"Indeed I do, most decidedly. It seems a perfect mountain to me. Are you willing to exchange time for attire?"

"Just at this time nothing would please me more."

"That brown velvet hat," suggested Janet, "and the tan coat, Louise. I think they would be just the things for Polly. The coat isn't tightfitting and the hat is all right. You know they were the things you said nobody seemed to want because every one was supplied. And what about the blue silk waist? Is that still in the market?"

"It is still on my hands," Louise told her, producing the articles, which Polly tried on to her own and the others' satisfaction.

"Take them right along," said Louise generously. "All my customers are buying on time. I want the room these take up and I want the girls to have the good of the things before the season is over."

This matter settled, Polly agreed to give her Saturdays, and any other spare time she might have, to Louise till a certain amount of work should be done, and they parted in mutual content. Then Janet bore Polly off to hunt up a proper skirt and returned home, tired out, but well satisfied with what had been accomplished.

She sought out Teddy and with great pride told of her success in providing Polly with proper raiment.

But Teddy answered savagely, "I wish you had never seen Polly Perkins."

"Why Teddy Waite," exclaimed Janet. But her color heightened and she bit her lip.

"Yes, I do," declared Teddy, "and how you can do everything in your power to make her attractive to Van Austin passes my comprehension. After all his devotion to you last summer; all those moonlight sails, those walks and drives, all those glances and low tones and followings of you around, I don't see how you can endure Polly."

Janet sat gravely gazing off into vacancy. She knew it was very true that there had been cause for her to believe that Van Austin's devotion meant more than a summer flirtation.

"To think you are so loyal and noble a friend to that girl, and she repays you by stealing—"

"Stop," Janet raised her hand. "Don't get into heroics, Ted. In the first place, Polly hasn't an idea of all that, and in the second place, I am not noble. I came as near as anything to allowing the opportunity to pass. It flashed across my mind as soon as I heard that Louise wanted to dispose of those things, and I said to myself, 'This is Polly's chance,' but I didn't mean to tell her. I thought I would let her find it out, if there was any way for her to, and if not, I would let it go. Then I thought of that line of Emerson's: 'What does not come to us is not ours.' If that did not come to me—naturally come to me, it wasn't mine. If I should allow myself to struggle for it, and should appear to have secured it, still it would not be mine. It has come to Polly. She has made no effort to secure it. It is hers. I have no right to it."

"Janet Ferguson, that is all nonsense. If you had not made it possible for Polly, it would not have come to her. Of course if one doesn't make the slightest effort to keep a thing, it is likely to slip from her. You simply stepped aside and let Polly have a clean sweep."

"It wasn't quite as you imagine it," said Janet. "When you discover that a hero is simply an every-day, ordinary man, who can be vacillating and inconstant, he loses his starry crown and you find that instead of worshiping something that actually exists you have been worshiping an ideal, and the hero is merely a creation of your own imagination, not flesh and blood but an accumulation of dreams and illusions. When you learn that an echo is merely the rebounding of the sound of your own voice why—" She shrugged her shoulders expressively and was silent.

Teddy sat looking at her gravely. She wondered how much of this was a real philosophy and how much was meant only to cover real feeling.

"Besides," Janet went on, "if it were all so, if I really did care, what sort of woman would I be to deprive that lovely child of the things which she has a right to? She has endured poverty and privation; I have always had comforts and luxuries. Her life has been a struggle; she has had to pinch and screw and contrive, and I have never had to think of real economies. What would I be worth if when this good thing came her way, I should stand in the path and prevent her from having it?"

"But suppose," said the practical Teddy, "suppose Van Austin should be no truer to her than to you?"

Janet compressed her lips and her eyes flashed. "Then he is so far removed from a hero that I could wish to see him dashed down to the nethermost regions of misery. But seriously, Ted, I don't believe that of him. I think he only thought he was in love with me, but that this is the real thing, and I shall do all I can to further her interests and his, and you must, too, if you love me."

The tears sprang to Teddy's eyes. She Was not demonstrative, but she laid her cheek against Janet's dark hair.

"Janet, dear," she said, "I have known you for over five years, but I never before discovered what is really in you. I couldn't be as unselfish as you. I would be like most other girls and would want to spite both of those two. I couldn't forget myself."

"But I am not forgetting myself," said Janet. "I am remembering myself all the time; that's just it. Don't make a saint of me, Ted."

An hour later, when Teddy had finished her work and was about to go to bed, she stole to Janet's door to see if she were still up. She beheld her sitting at her writing table, her head resting on her arms, her whole attitude one of weariness and dejection. Teddy stole back to her room very softly and shook her fist at some invisible person.

"Oh, you fiend," she whispered, "I could flay you alive."

It was a day or two after this that Cordelia, commenting upon Polly, brought troubled thoughts to Janet.

"How is pretty Polly Perkins going to get through her mid-year's creditably," said Cordelia, "if she spends so much of her time on outside things? It is as much as any of us can do to pull through without dancing off to studios every afternoon and spending all our Saturdays in sewing for other people."

"Polly has to do it; you know that, Cordelia," protested Janet. "She couldn't make expenses, you well know, if she didn't do such things. She makes the greater part of her money by going to Miss Thurston's studio."

"I know that, and Miss Thurston is all right, but why these Saturday sewing bees?"

"To pay for the things she got from Louise Baker, if you must know."

"I wonder if you are not spoiling Polly," said Cordelia thoughtfully. "I saw her at the concert Friday night with that Mr. Austin who used to come here sometimes on Friday evenings to see you. She certainly looked like a dream, but she is thinner than she was and her eyes are getting too big for her face. She is doing too much, and is working too hard for the things that she didn't care for when she first came. Aren't you afraid you will arouse an ambition which will make her restless and unhappy when she goes home and can have none of the things she is growing to depend upon? If she has to struggle through college, and doesn't have you for the last years of it, to think up ways and means for her, what will she amount to? And if she makes clothes the great desideratum, how is she to make her studying tell?"

"To hear you talk, Cordelia Lodge," said Janet, with some asperity, "one would suppose that poor little Polly had suddenly developed an inordinate love of dress and that she was wasting her time and her substance on the most expensive and gorgeous attire, when all the poor little child wants is to appear as respectably clad as her classmates. I think it is a shame to grudge her that. You would consider the costume she wore the other night as too plain to wear on such an occasion; a second-hand hat and coat, and a cheap skirt. I don't see what makes you talk so."

"Oh, don't get huffy," said Cordelia, still dissatisfied. "I can't help it. She was twice as interesting in her old clothes, I think. Now that she is like everybody else, one ceases to consider her a heroine, and she'll not receive half the consideration that she did from most of the girls."

"Well, she may be less interesting to you," returned Janet, "but she is certainly more interesting to some one else, and that is the great point."

"You mean Mr. Austin?"

Janet nodded an affirmative.

"Oh well, if it is college versus a man, I have nothing more to say. If that is a matter of the first importance, good-bye honors and a good college record. Why can't she wait till she is through college before she thinks of such things? She is young enough, goodness knows. Besides, Van Austin is the kind to have any number of affairs, and what if she wastes all her year over him and comes back to find he has another affair on hand? It will probably make her so miserable that she can't do herself justice in her classes and then where is the benefit of college to her?"

"I don't think Polly's college record will suffer," said Janet stiffly.

Nevertheless, she began to feel anxious about her little protégé, and the next time she saw her, she declared that Louise's sewing was completed and the bargain closed. She did not say that she had borne off the unfinished garments and had herself sewed upon them late at night, long after Teddy was in bed and asleep. Nor did Louise know that it was Janet and not Polly who put the finishing touches to the work. Even Teddy did not find it out, for Janet meant that she should not.

"You must get the roses back into your cheeks," she said to Polly. "You are too pale for a country girl. Are you working very hard, Polly? Don't do it, dear."

The blue eyes which met Janet's, had shadowy circles around them, but the girl's face wore a happy expression. "I don't believe the hard work hurts me," she said in her slow, sweet voice, "for I have so much play; more good times than I ever had in my life. I think when things balance that way, it is all right, don't you?"

"Perhaps," said Janet thoughtfully. "I don't want you to break-down, Polly, neither do I want you to fall behind in your college work."

Polly put her arms around her friend and laid her head on her shoulder. "I'd do anything to please you, dear princess," she said. "You haven't been to the studio for ages. I am going to tote you there some day and dress you up in some of those gorgeous costumes that will show you off. I'd like Mr. Austin to see you look as beautiful as I know you can look."

Janet's arm, which had enfolded Polly, fell to her side.

"Nonsense!" she said sharply. "The days are past when I would do such a foolish thing. I liked to parade around in my mother's gowns and shawls when I was a youngster, but I hope I am beyond dressing up for the mere looks of the thing."

"But I do it."

"Not simply to show off, but as a duty. There is a vast difference between tweedledum and tweedledee. I am not thinking of looks these days, but of books."

Polly looked thoughtful. "I never used to think of looks at all," she said. "I was brought up to think it wrong, but I am afraid I do think about them since I have been going to the studio. It isn't right, is it, Janet? One ought not to make trade of one's looks, nor consider them above more lasting things."

"No," replied Janet uncompromisingly. "Character first; that is lasting, the other is only superficial. I don't want you to grow vain, Polly. I should feel that I had lost you, if you were to disappoint me in that way."

"And this after I have encouraged the child to look her best!" said Janet to herself as she walked home. "I, who have told her that it was every woman's duty to make herself attractive; I, who have given her to eat of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, to bewilder her by these contradictory speeches. What will she think of me?"

But the next morning, Polly appeared with her hair screwed back in the old fashion, and in her most unbecoming of shabby gowns. At sight of her, Janet smiled sadly.

"The dear child," she said to herself, "she did it because she thought it would please me. I will not interfere. If she presents herself to Van Austin in that gear and he loves her in spite of it, I will believe he is in earnest."

The very next day she mot Polly and Van on the main thoroughfare, going to the studio. Van had his arms full of parcels and Polly wore her old hat and jacket, but both were laughing and talking happily, and as Janet came up, Van gave her a beaming smile, and a nod.

"I can't take off my hat," he said, "or I'll drop some of these precious things. We're going to have tea in the studio."

"You'd better come and join us," said Polly.

Janet pleaded an engagement and hurried on. Van had been put to the test; he had not flinched and Janet was satisfied.

CHAPTER XIV

DRAMATICS

THE mid-year examinations over, there was less strain upon the girls in all the classes, and the juniors began to think of the dramatics which they had planned to give the freshmen. Janet was cast for a prominent part requiring gorgeous costuming, and Polly was delighted. Lee Penrose as a saucy soubrette and Cordelia as leading lady were immensely interested. Girls, with suggestive-looking papers in their hands, were seen at odd times, pacing corridors or haunting corners, their lips moving silently and a far-away look in their eyes.

The sophomores had expressed their determination of being present and the juniors were equally determined that they should not get in.

"I am equal to charging upon them with a truncheon, whatever that is," said Lee. "Imagine looking up at a telling moment and seeing Jessie Turner grinning at you. No, girls, we must move heaven and earth to keep them out."

"Fancy trying to keep your mind on the variety of manly attitudes you must assume and battle with sophomores at the same time," said Grace Breitner who was cast for the part of the heroine's lover. "I'll never be able to make love to you properly, Cordelia, if I must fill my head with a dread of sophs. It's all I can do to stride and frown and cry, 'Hold sirrah,' as I should."

"Well, we won't call upon you, Grace," Lee assured her. "We, of the gentler sex, will protect ourselves. They'll not get in by the stage door, that's one thing certain."

"They'll not get in at all," declared Cordelia emphatically. "Where's Alphonso's doublet, Lee? I put it in this window box and it isn't here."

"Oh, I took it out," Lee told her. "I wanted to put in the fairy's dress, and the doublet crushed it, so I hung it up in my closet with the cap and the old monk's costume."

"You will call him a monk," protested Cordelia. "He is a minstrel."

"Well, he looks like a monk, or rather she looks like a monkess in that cloak."

"More like a monkey," put in Pen Robbins to whose lot it fell to play the part of minstrel. "I know I shall forget to sing the half of those lines extolling Alphonso's doughty deeds, as it is, and if I catch a sight of a single soph, I know I shall be a goner."

"Oh, you masculines make me tired," said Lee. "You haven't any of you the spirit of a canary bird, from the king down to the page who says, 'the knight is without.'"

"I always thought that was a silly speech," said Janet. "At eight o'clock, of course the night is without, and within, too, for that matter. I should say: 'Sir Belidor is without.'"

"I've learned it the other way," complained Nettie Slingluff, "and I'll have to say it so. I'd be sure to forget at the last minute if you mix me up."

"Nettie has three whole speeches to make," said Lee chidingly. "You forget that, Janet, and the shortest of them is not less than three words in length. I am surprised that you should want to burden her over-taxed brain with any alterations at this late moment."

Nettie pouted, but maintained that it was all very well for those girls who were to wear costumes familiar to them, but if they had on clothes which made them feel that they were not acquainted with themselves, perhaps they would not be so ready to make fun. "If I had to be a girl, I shouldn't be afraid," she declared.

"Well, take my part, I'm willing," said Lee.

But Nettie said it was too late, and every one laughed, for only Lee could do justice to the character which had been especially created for her.

Janet, as the beautiful princess, looked regal, Teddy declared, when she donned her trailing robes and appeared at Cordelia's door to display herself. "Is this ermine all right?" she asked. "I had to dab on those black splashes in such a hurry, that I'm afraid they are not very even."

"Oh, they'll do," said Cordelia, looking her over critically. "It looks very erminish, Janet; no one would suspect it to be canton-flannel and black paint. That train is stunning. You extravagant creature to buy all that velvet stuff!"

"It is only velveteen," said Janet. "I bought it 'on a bargain,' as Dicky says, and I can use it next winter for a gown if I want to; that is why I chose blue. Wasn't Miss Thurston dear to lend me this gorgeous brocade skirt and the bodice and all these jewelly things? Polly told her what I lacked and she offered these."

"It was good of her, and you are dazzling," said Lee. "I declare, Janet, you will outshine us all. But then you ought, being a princess. The king will have reason to be proud of his daughter. He has a beautiful canton-flannel robe made from his red portières, and he spent half the night in gilding his crown and sceptre. By the way, Janet, send over your fur rug in the morning; we shall want all the rugs we can get for the dais and the throne. Cordelia has thought of some fine local hits. She evolved them in bed this morning, and the minstrel is going to get them off. I wish you could see his lute. Isn't it fine to have some one in the class who can sing as well as Pen does?"

"I do hope it will all turn out well," said Janet. "I am getting a trifle anxious about my part."

"Oh, you needn't worry," Lee assured her; "you are all right, and I don't believe I shall have stage fright, but if Grace gets to laughing and forgets her stride, or if Nettie should happen to get her words hind part before, it would be fatal. I really think we should have given Nettie something easier," Lee added teasingly. "It would simply stop the whole performance if she were to announce 'without is the knight,' instead of 'the knight is without,' or if she should say: 'Your Majesty, a minstrel begs admittance, instead of a minstrel craves entrance, Your Majesty.' It actually makes my heart stand still when I think of such a catastrophe as that."

"Oh, do stop your teasing, Lee," said Cordelia. "I have my doubts about the wearing quality of this stuff; it is so thin it looks to me as if it might give out at a critical moment."

"Stay it with something strong around the armholes," suggested Janet, "that will make it all right. Gracious, there comes Mrs. Satterthwaite and Rosalie; I shall have to run." And gathering up her long train, she flew from the room.

A few days later, all was ready for the performance. It was to take place in the central hall of the main college building. This hall was open to the roof with galleries around the second and third floors overlooking the hall below. Upon the third floor were the studios for the use of the art classes, and on the second were various lecture rooms. The studios were usually vacated after two o'clock, but were open in case a student might elect to work there upon any special drawing.

On the afternoon of the day when the dramatics were to take place, a sophomore entered the building casually, and sauntered up to the studios by way of the stairway outside the large hall. In a little while, a second sophomore appeared and wended her way up-stairs. She carried a canvas in her hand and no one thought it anything unusual to see her there. Later on, the dress rehearsal took place, and the big hall was the scene of "confusion and creature complaint" as Lee said.

When all had assembled, Cordelia locked the outside door, and laid the key confidently upon the dais where the king was already enthroned.

"There," she exclaimed. "I'd like to see any one get in now."

The rehearsal went on till nearly dark. Then the girls filed out, Cordelia remaining till the last. When the door closed after the entire company, she called the janitor.

"Whiting," she said, "here are the keys. There is not a soul in this building but ourselves. Be sure that you lock the door after me. It is not to be opened again till it is time to admit the audience. We will come in by the basement, so be on hand to let us in by half-past six. No one is to be admitted at the front door till half-past seven, and then only those who have tickets. Remember this. The performers will all come in a body, so you will know that any one pretending to have a right here after we come, has to be sent away. Not another soul is to come in by the basement, mind."

Whiting grinned and promised to have a sharp eye for intruders.

Meantime the studios were occupied by a body of whispering, giggling girls, who, one by one, had quietly stolen up-stairs, unnoticed, each one bearing an innocent-looking color-box or roll of drawing paper. At six o'clock, each drew forth from one of these receptacles a substantial lunch which was eaten with a relish, and with the satisfied feeling which always follows a deed well done. There was absolute silence in the hall below, and save for the footsteps of Whiting as he went around lighting up, there appeared to be no sound in the building until the fifteen girls trooped up the basement stairs and with bustling excitement crossed over to the green-room.

Cordelia was triumphant. They had outwitted the sophs, she declared, and by their vigilance, the juniors had prevented the threatened intrusion.

At eight o'clock all was ready. Nettie Slingluff was declaring that she had a nervous chill. The king was expostulating with Alphonso because the latter insisted upon turning the royal robes upon their wrong side. Janet was jingling her chains and jeweled girdles as she swept up and down the room. The minstrel was wildly searching for his lute, and Lee was dancing a break-down in one corner in her joy at having circumvented the sophs.

"Almost everybody must have come," said Janet, looking through a peep-hole in the curtain. "There are quantities of the freshmen in their seats and almost all the seniors are there. Shall we ring up?"

"Ring up," returned Cordelia laconically.

Up went the curtain, and the play began. It so happened that the entire company appeared at once, just after the beginning of the first act. As the last one made her entrance, from the upper gallery came a blast of horns. The performers stopped short, aghast at the interruption. Every eye was directed toward the gallery where in smiling array appeared the whole sophomore class, each girl innocently sucking at a lemon stick imbedded in a lemon.

A perfect shout of laughter went up from the audience, and the disconcerted juniors were, for a moment, too confounded to go on. But Janet was the first to gather her self-possession. She whispered something to the minstrel who went forward and began a plaintive ballad which quieted the audience and gave the players a chance to recover themselves, then the performance went on successfully to the end. Yet though there was rage in the hearts of the players, they went through their parts with more spirit because of it, and evoked much applause especially from the uninvited guests who added to the general clapping of hands, many blasts upon their horns. They attempted no other disturbance, and behaved with the utmost propriety throughout.

"How did they get in? How did they?" cried Cordelia when the curtain had fallen on the last act, and the performers, warm and tired, sank into various attitudes about the green-room. "Could they have bribed Whiting?" she asked.

"Oh, no, they never would do that," said Janet; "they wouldn't dare, and he wouldn't take a bribe, for he might know it was as much as his place was worth. I have been puzzling over it the whole evening, and I believe I have solved the mystery. I saw a girl coming over here with her color-box just as I came in this afternoon. If one why not two or three, or a dozen, or the whole class? Did any one think to look in the studios before we began the rehearsal?"

"No, of course not," groaned Cordelia. "Idiots that we were! We should have examined every nook and corner of this edifice before we left it. All our precautions were taken to prevent their getting in at the time of the performance, whereas they had sense enough to get in before."

At the door, the departing players encountered a body of sophs drawn up in line, who blew a mighty blast upon their horns, gave their class yell and then dispersed, leaving the disgusted juniors to admit that they had been fairly worsted.

Polly was waiting outside for Janet, to precipitate herself upon her friend and congratulate her with much effusiveness. "You were the loveliest of them all," she declared, "a perfect princess of princesses. Every one of the girls said you were fine. Did you get my violets? I told Mr. Austin when he gave them to me, that I should send them to you, and he said they were mine to do with as I chose. Who sent you the lovely red roses, and oh, Janet, those dear little snowdrops, where did they come from?"

Janet with her arms full of her trophies, gave the roses into Polly's keeping. "Ted sent me those," she said, "but the curious thing is that I haven't an idea who sent the snowdrops. It would almost seem as if there must be some association connected with them, but I have racked my brain and cannot imagine who would select an unusual flower for the sake of a sentiment. There was no card with them."

"Some admirer who adores at a distance," said Polly. "It is a modest little bunch but very suggestive."

"Of what? Of snow, or innocence or springtime?"

"Let me think. Of all three, maybe. He or she saw you in a snow-storm. You are innocent of any knowledge of the passion you have aroused, and he or she hopes to meet you in the spring, yet as that is fairly here, perhaps spring merely suggests hope."

Janet laughed. "Very ingenious, Miss Polly Perkins. I haven't thanked you for your violets; they are very sweet and you are very sweet to give them up to me. Will you help me carry home these valuables? They must be returned to Miss Thurston to-morrow."

Polly willingly helped to transport the costumes and ornaments which Janet wished to keep under her own care, and left her friend at the door of Hopper Hall, returning to her own home with a party of other freshmen who were going that way.

Janet deposited her burdens on the bed, stuck the roses in a pitcher, the violets in a tumbler, but the snowdrops were given a place of honor in a fine Satsuma vase. Janet was standing before them with a contemplative look upon her face when Teddy came in.

"What are you adoring, princess?" she said.

"I'm not adoring, I am only wondering. Your roses were gorgeous, Ted. It was lovely of you to send them. Polly sent me violets, and some unknown has sent these snowdrops. Have you any idea who it could be?"

"Not the slightest," said Teddy. "No doubt some dear sentimental freshmen who has probably fallen in love with you, and worships at a distance as the manner of freshmen is."

"That is the most reasonable solution," said Janet, but she kept to herself the fact that it was not altogether a satisfactory one to her, and was better pleased to believe it was from some other than a freshman.

CHAPTER XV

ONE SUNDAY MORNING

"I'M going to cut church this morning, Ted," said Janet one day toward the middle of May. "I simply cannot stay indoors with a proper spirit of devotion. If I were at home, it would be another thing, for I could ride to our dear little church over the smooth shell road, with the bay sparkling bluely—"

"Bluely?"

"Why not bluely as well as blackly or redly? There, you have snipped the thread of my rhapsody. I have been saving my extra cuts for just such a time as this, and I am going to use them clean up. I shall take a book, Emerson will be in order, and go up the road to that tree where we sat the day we went sketching with Miss Thurston."

"We went sketching?"

"How critical you are this morning. I didn't say we sketched, I said we went. What's the matter, Ted? I believe you are envious of my reserved cuts, and would fain be with me instead of sitting in church waving a fan and feeling limp as to collar and stiff as to clothes. It is warm for the season, and one hates to be cooped up. Come, go along anyhow. What will it matter a hundred years hence if you do happen to over-cut once?"

"Charity Shepherd would say it might matter a great deal; she believes so implicitly in fire and brimstone."

"Poor dear Charity, she suffers long and is kind, though she certainly does seek her own. She runs with the most obviously pious crowd on Sundays, I don't mean religious, I mean the kind that were not only born pious, but achieved it and had it thrust upon them, so they exhale an atmosphere which suggests the Shorter Catechism, Fox's Book of Martyrs, and Old Hundred. Now, I consider myself religious—"

"You do?" Teddy smiled incredulously.

"You needn't smile that way," said Janet, "I really am. I am not pious; I don't enjoy prayer-meetings, and fast-days. I don't like to mortify the flesh as Charity does, and as it is evident that her colleagues do. The unspeakable dreadfulness of their clothes declares that. Why must women almost invariably look like guys when they have a hobby?"

"They don't always," said Teddy.

"No, not all, but the majority do, those I sometimes see in a fine frenzy of zeal rushing along with Charity. There she goes now across the street. She has all sorts of things in her hands, and she is late so she is struggling with her gloves and trying not to drop her belongings. You won't go with me this morning, Ted?"

"If you will wait till this afternoon, I will go."

"Sorry I can't. The mood is upon me now. I feel in an out-of-door worshipful humor and I might slump before noon if I stayed here, especially if I were to wait till after a hearty dinner. No, I'll go now and come back so spiritualized you will envy me." She picked up her book and an umbrella and started forth.

A quarter of an hour later she was passing a little mission church from which came trooping a number of children, the little girls pleasantly conscious of Sunday attire and little boys unpleasantly so. As Janet reached a point just opposite the door, she came face to face with Charity Shepherd.

"Oh, it's you, isn't it?" exclaimed Janet taken by surprise.

Charity looked at her disapprovingly. "Yes," she said, "it is I." Then severely, "You are surely not going to cut church, Janet?"

"Why, yes," replied Janet, balancing her Emerson on her hand. "I thought of doing it. The groves were God's first temples, you know, and so I thought of doing my devotions by myself."

"But the example."

"To whom? To you?"

Charity frowned. "I hope I have decision of character enough not to be influenced, and in the performance of duty I could not be turned aside by—"

"A poor worm of the dust like me."

"We are all poor worms of the dust," said Charity solemnly. "I should think you would realize that, Janet, and that you would remember how transitory this life is. Sunday is given us as a privilege, and should not be spent in idle trifling any more than in work. We should use it for our own good."

"That's just what I thought," returned Janet with satisfaction. "We find our good in different ways, Charity. It would be very, very wrong for you to spend the morning as I shall do, because your conscience would smite you all the time, while I haven't a smite. What are you doing up here, by the way? I thought your place of worship was further down."

"So it is. I have a class in this mission school and go to church after."

"Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you were unusually teachery this morning. I won't detain you if you are going to church. I hope you will enjoy your morning as much as I expect to enjoy mine."

"I am not going for enjoyment but for profit," said Charity as a parting shot.

Janet pursued her way and presently turned aside and took a winding path that led to a large tree in an open field. At a little distance was a small stream bordered by pollard willows and beyond was a little truck-farm which still withstood the inroads of the town streets. Janet sat down under the tree with a sigh of relief, and gazed dreamily off across the open country. Presently a smile played around her lips, and diving down into the little chatelaine bag which hung by her side, she drew forth a pencil and began to scribble on the fly-leaf of her book.

As a moving shadow fell across her page, she looked up and saw Mark Evans.

"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't you know that you are a worm of the dust, and that a profitless trifling away of the Sabbath hours is very wicked?"

He smiled and threw himself down on the grass near her.

"Then why are you doing anything so wicked?" he asked.

"I am not. I am spending my time profitably. I am reading Emerson's 'Spiritual Laws,' to keep me in countenance."

"You were not reading when I came up. You were writing, a theme, was it?"

"Oh, never on Sunday. I draw the line at doing any of my week-day tasks then. I may not be as upright a person as Charity Shepherd, but I am a Sabbath keeper in my own way."

"What is the way?"

"I make it a day of rest, and I don't do themes and college work. I try to get hold of something uplifting to read. Church doesn't always appear to elevate my thoughts, so I didn't go this morning."

"Then you follow the Orientals in their rules of negative goodness. 'Do not unto others as you would not have them do unto you,' I believe, is the way the followers of Confucius put it. We Christians have a more active idea of carrying out the Golden Rule. We do unto others."

"I hadn't thought of that. Do you mean that in order to fulfil the real meaning of Sunday one should try to elevate others as well as himself?"

"I meant something like that. It seems as if that might be a step higher, doesn't it?"

"Yes." Janet nodded thoughtfully. Then with a smile, "Why aren't you doing it? There is no excuse for you because you have thought out the question, whereas it has been presented to me for the first time in this light."

"I didn't feel that I would specially do good to my neighbor by going to church this morning. I was tired and there was something I wanted to do this afternoon which would require my best energies. I am saving my good works till then."

"And what will you do?"

"Go to a little reading room at the other end of town where a lot of us are trying to make Sunday afternoon pleasant for the youngsters of the neighborhood. We don't teach them much, but we try to entertain them and keep them out of the streets. Don't fancy that I am a saint," seeing Janet's look. "I happened to go in there with a friend one Sunday and became interested, that is all."

He picked up Janet's book which she had laid on the grass. "What a dear old optimist Emerson was," he said. Then, as he opened the book, his eyes fell on the leaf upon which Janet had scribbled:

"It is the holy Sabbath day;
I must not work, I must not play;
I'm but a little wriggling worm,
Whose only duty 'tis to squirm."

Janet flushed up. "That wasn't meant for the public to see," she said.

"I beg your pardon," said the young man between confusion and amusement. "I should have asked your consent. What inspired the effusion?" He laughed and Janet saw that he appreciated her mood.

"THAT WASN'T MEANT FOR THE PUBLIC TO SEE," SHE SAID.

"It wasn't a what; it was a who," she answered. "Do you happen to know Charity Shepherd? She is the most painfully conscientious person I ever saw. I believe she will die of doing her 'dooty.' I met her on my way here, and she gave me a lecture upon the woefulness of wasting one's Sabbath privileges, and upon the uncertainty of human existence, so I wrote that charming bit of verse you have just read. I think of dedicating it to Charity."

"I cannot say that I remember Miss Charity, but I know her type."

"Do you find it interesting?" Janet smiled mischievously.

"I cannot say that I do."

"It is a pity that the very good should sometimes be so very uninteresting, isn't it? Charity is so painfully correct. We all respect and admire her, but every one of us loves Lee better, and Lee is such a sinner, bless her heart. Are you sorry the year is almost over, Mr. Evans? Shall you come back in the fall?"

"I hope to. I rather like the work, and find it a good developer. Yes, I think you will see me here next year."

"I think you have altered since I first met you," said Janet reflectively. "I wonder if I ought to have said that," she added. "Am I presumptuous for a student?"

"No, indeed. Please consider this neutral ground. Not once since that memorable ride have we met outside college influences. We have always been obliged to consider our relations as teacher and student, and it is refreshing to feel that we are upon a more familiar basis. I had hoped that we might become friends."

"Haven't we?"

"In the real sense of the word, no; we are merely acquaintances."

"I am flattered that you want to be my friend, Mr. Evans," said Janet. "I am a very trifling creature, as you may not need to be told. I am afraid any one as erudite as you are would be disappointed in me if you knew me better."

"Why? There it is again. Because I happen to be your instructor, you believe that I live upon an entirely different plain from other young men. Can't you separate the man from his office?"

"I don't believe I ever tried to very much, in this case," said Janet frankly. "We don't have such a deal of time and opportunity for making acquaintances, you know. We are pretty busy, and are rather thoroughly hedged in by rules and regulations at Hopper Hall. Next year, I shall board outside, I think. When I am here at college, I don't dissipate my interests by analyzing character, though during the summer, I must confess that I give a great many moments to the proper study of mankind; with some good result. It will soon be time to begin again, and then I promise to consider your case. Where do you go for the summer, Mr. Evans?"

"Generally to my own North Carolina mountains, but I am beginning to believe that it will be better for me to broaden my outlook, so I shall go to New England this year."

"Where you can study Charity's type? It is well worth studying I assure you. Frankly, I think it really is. I have been brought up short in my triflings more than once by Charity's uncompromising rectitude. In spite of my worm's eye view of things, I really want to imitate some of her qualities. I should like to be as direct and as truthful to myself. It is hard to be perfectly honest to one's self, don't you think? Isn't one always inclined to be self-flattering? To martyrize one's self in matters which are strictly one's own fault, and all that? Hence I have been dragging forth Charity's motes and displaying them to you, and haven't hinted that I have a beam. Let us return to that question of active duty. I suppose if I did what was right, I'd hunt up some forlornities to give my time to this very day."

"You wouldn't have to hunt for them. They are ready and waiting. I'd be delighted to have you go with me to the reading room. We want all the workers we can get," he said eagerly. Then more quietly, "But perhaps you were only joking."

"I don't know whether I was or not," returned Janet. "I don't believe I could teach, for I shouldn't know how to answer the questions they would be sure to put to me, but maybe I could amuse the little children. I don't know whether or not I could do even that."

"Won't you try for once? If you fail, you need not repeat the experiment."

"But fancy the humiliation of failing."

"I'll promise you that you will not fail. Think about it, won't you?"

"Oh, I'll think, if that will do any good."

"Decide then and I will call for you this afternoon."

"I am going to Becky Burdett's for dinner. I almost always dine there on Sundays."

"I will call for you there, if you will allow me. We don't have to go till three."

"Well," said Janet doubtfully, "I will try this once."

"Thank you. It is a bargain." Mr. Evans held out his hand.

"There are lots of violets over there, I see them," said Janet irrelevantly as she drew her hand from the young man's firm clasp. "Let us go get some."

"Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May morn,
Blue ran the flash across;
Violets were born!"

Quoted Mr. Evans.

Janet looked at him with a little surprise. "Isn't a man who gets enthusiastic over chemistry and who likes poetry something of an anomaly?" she said. "How came you to like Browning?"

"How came you?"

"Naturally, I think."

"By the same token I came by my liking for his writings."

"I have just become the proud possessor of an entire set," Janet told him. "I bought it from a friend, the most interesting girl in college, I think, and the most beautiful. You must have seen Mary Perkins, Polly Perkins, as we call her."

"I have seen her. She is very lovely, but from what I hear, she will not finish her college course."

"Why? Don't you believe she is strong enough?" asked Janet in alarm. "She is really much stronger than she looks, though she works very hard, the dear thing has to, for she is dependent entirely upon her own efforts."

"Yes, I heard that, too, and I have a fellow feeling for her. I did not mean that she would have to leave on account of ill health but because she would enter a different sphere; that she would marry."

"Oh." Janet was provoked that her cheeks should grow hot. "Yes," she said after a pause, "I hope she will marry. I know Mr. Austin quite well, but not well enough to be sure that he is worthy of her."

"He is said to be a good fellow, but I am told his family do not share your enthusiasm for Miss Perkins."

Janet's eyes flashed. "I'd like to know why. They may be thankful if he wins so dear and noble a girl as Polly. Imagine their objecting."

Mr. Evans looked at her with some amusement not unmixed with admiration. "You are a loyal friend, Miss Ferguson."

"Of course. I wouldn't profess to be a friend if I could not be a loyal one. Who told you all this, Mr. Evans?"

"I have heard it from several sources, but I think Miss Drake was my last informant; I see her once in a while, you remember."

"Then she should know, for she visits the Austins. I must go now, Mr. Evans, for I am in no trim for a Sunday dinner in a conventional household. What a nice lot of violets. Thank you. I will wear them. No, I won't; I'll put them in water so that I can keep them awhile to remind me of—"

"Of what?" Mr. Evans spoke eagerly.

"Of several things. Of ethics, and Browning and Sabbath duties," said Janet demurely.

"You will be ready when I call for you at—what is the number?"

"No. 216 Highland Avenue. Yes, I will be ready. Auf wiedersehen. I am going to turn off here."

She did not wait for a reply, but leaving the young man at the end of the path, she turned down the street toward Hopper Hall.

She entered the room as Teddy was putting away her hat.

"Well," said this young person, "I hope you had a profitable morning."

"I did," returned Janet, "one of the most profitable I ever remember to have spent. I heard two sermons; one upon my duty to my neighbor and the other upon the keeping of the holy Sabbath day."

Teddy laughed. "Who delivered the sermons?"

"Charity Shepherd, one; Mark, the perfect man, the other. The latter was so effective a speaker, that I have promised to visit a mission school or something of that kind, with him this afternoon."

"Janet Ferguson, I don't believe it."

"Fact. It is way at the other end of town, and I am going to try the experiment of reading things or telling them to dirty little hoodlums. What shall I wear, Ted? They must be impressed, you know, by my appearance. Looks count for a good deal in matters of this kind."

"You are the biggest fraud, Janet. What is the use of pretending? You know your wanting to look your best is not upon the ragamuffins' account."

"On what then?"

"Mr. Evans's."

"Teddy Waite, it isn't so. Now you'll make me put on that horrid lilac hat that I bought from Louise Baker and that always makes me look as black as an Indian. I was going to wear the blue one."

"I wasn't aware that my opinion had such weight," said Teddy. "By all means wear the blue if you want to impress—the children."

And Janet meekly remarked that she believed she would.

Teddy looked at her quizzically when she came back. "Well," she said, "was the blue hat sufficiently effective?"

Janet flushed ever so slightly. "Oh yes," she returned lightly, "I think the hoodlums were quite overpowered by my magnificence."

"And are you going to keep up the visitation for the rest of time?"

"There will be only two or three Sundays more before I go home," said Janet apologetically. "I might as well go till then. After that, I shall be beyond your jibes, Miss Waite. Home will seem like heaven for there the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."

CHAPTER XVI

CRUSHED ILLUSIONS

JANET sat on the floor disconsolately gazing at a broken plaster cast which she had just unearthed from a box of her belongings sent from Hopper Hall to her new rooms some squares away. This senior year, she and Teddy had determined should give them more freedom.

Cordelia and Lee had followed their example, and all four were established in one of the many houses offering apartments to students. Charity Shepherd and Grace Breitner still clung to the familiar dormitory. Fay Wingate and Juliet Fuller with the rest of the last year's seniors had "passed out into the wide, wide world." Rosalie, who had spent her college days with an aunt in the town, was now at home in a distant city.

"What a lugubrious countenance," said Teddy, turning to look at Janet. "One would suppose that not only was a trumpery cast broken, but your heart as well."

"Oh, it isn't the cast altogether," said Janet; "it is what it typifies: shattered hopes, crushed illusions, friendships broken."

"Shattered nonsense," said Teddy scornfully. "What a way for a senior to talk. You're homesick, that's what's the matter with you. You are sighing for old Hopper Hall; you want the bureau drawers that would stick, and the closet door that wouldn't shut. You want giggling freshmen to look down upon and haughty seniors to look up to. You haven't yet become adapted to your new conditions."

"No, that isn't it, though I do miss Fay and Grace and, most of all, little Polly. I shall miss my dear child more than any one; that's what I mean by crushed illusions, Ted."

"Why, what is the matter with her? Isn't she here? I thought you said she expected to come back."

Janet began fitting a wing upon her broken figure of the Victory and answered: "No, she isn't."

"Why what has happened? Why didn't you tell me before, Janet?"

"I knew it only just now." She laid down the wing and drew from her blouse waist a letter. "It is very romantic and very like a book," she said, "but I didn't expect it, I expected to be making plans for her, and helping her by my advice and sympathy all through the year and now—"

"Othello's occupation is gone? Well, you can give me the sympathy."

"It's wasted upon you. I never met a person who needed it less. As to advice, you spurn that persistently, and I feel bereft of the use of my highest powers."

"Suppose you don't go mooning on in this strain till after you have told me what has happened to Polly. I have some interest in her welfare though I can steel my heart against her fascinations with more success than you can."

"For one thing," began Janet unfolding her letter and spreading it out on her lap, "she is going abroad with Miss Thurston next month."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Teddy. "What next, pray? I should think that was enough. Is Miss Thurston inviting her?'

"No, and that is where the romantic part comes in. You remember the absent-minded uncle who gave Polly a set of Browning two years running?"

"Yes, I remember the absent-minded beggar. Well?"

"He has turned up from somewhere; Salt Lake City, or Seattle or some one of those far distant spots. He came to Abington to revisit the scenes of his youth. He is Polly's great-uncle, Judge Somebody-or-other, she doesn't tell his name but calls him uncle. He saw her and took a great fancy to her, as who would not? He also saw Van Austin who was there at the time. Oh, yes," as Teddy looked at her sharply, "I told you it was the real thing with Van and it is. It seems that Papa Austin and Uncle Judge were classmates at college in their youth, and when Uncle Judge found that Polly's young man was a son of his old chum, he was so pleased that he offered to send Polly abroad if she could find any one who would be a suitable companion and if she would give up college. He has some old-fashioned prejudice against the higher education for women, and when Van told him that he wanted to marry Polly in a year—yes," at a second look from Teddy, "that is true—he said there was no use for her to go back to college and that a year abroad would be of much more benefit to her. So he piles down here to town, hunts up Papa Austin, splurges around with a gold-headed cane—"

"Did Polly tell you all that?" asked the literal Teddy.

"No, not all. I am simply making him the conventional rich uncle. He's got to be effective or my story will lose its artistic quality. So then, when he discloses his identity to his old chum, he exclaimed, 'Behold in me the long lost comrade of boyhood's days!' And papa hauls out his handkerchief and trumpets a blast, being overcome with emotion, and quavers out: 'Does my hearing deceive me or are those the tones of my old playmate, Peter—we'll call him Peter—Perkins?' Then they fall on one another's neck and get red in the face. Then Polly trips in hand in hand with Van. She wears a fetching hat and a ravishing costume purchased by the wealthy uncle, and Papa Austin says: 'Shiver my timbers!'"

"Oh, Janet, now you are getting silly."

"So I am. I am losing the unity of my scheme. He says: 'Bless my soul, whom have we here?' Then nunky trots her forward and says: 'My niece and heiress,' while Polly hangs her head and drops a pretty curtsey. Then nunky and papa join hands and say: 'Bless you, my children,' and they ring down the curtain."

"Janet, how much of that is true and how much is foolishness? I never heard any one gabble on in such a strain as you can."

"The main facts are true, though I have embellished it a little to make it more picturesque. It is perfectly true that the judge is an old friend of the Austins; likewise is it true that Polly is going abroad with Miss Thurston next month, and that she and Van expect to be married in about a year."

"And what do the Austins say?"

"I don't see why they should say anything. Now that the judge has appeared on the scene they appear to be reconciled to the match. Van isn't so wonderfully well off. He has a pretty good position and fair prospects, so I think they will get along, even if papa and mamma don't come forward with munificent gifts in the shape of house and lands."

"And how do you feel about it?" asked Teddy bluntly.

"I? Oh, I am delighted." She smiled a reminiscent little smile. "I'm a thousand times more unhappy at losing Polly, whom I hoped to have with us this year, than I am at the loss of 'the hero.' Be sure of that, Ted. I recovered from that attack long ago."

"He isn't one of the crushed illusions then?"

"No, indeed. 'When half-gods go the gods arrive.'"

Teddy climbed down from the step-ladder upon the top of which she had been sitting, and crouching on the floor close to Janet, peered interestedly up into her face. "Just what do you mean by that enigmatical speech?" she asked.

"As if I could expound Emerson to you. Seek your own solution, my dear." After which remark, Janet began to hum a popular air and returned to the unpacking of her box.

Teddy went back to the hanging of her pictures saying: "At least you are more cheerful than you were when you opened the box."

"My dear," said Janet, "even you would be aghast if you were suddenly to discover that what you thought a complete victory had turned out to be an apology for one, a defeat, as it were."

"Is that another enigma?" asked Teddy speaking with difficulty because of the projection of several nails from her mouth.

"Why, no," was the reply; "nothing could be more obvious than the fact I wish to convey to you; look at this." She held up the detached wing.

"There's some one at the other door; just see who it is, Janet," said Teddy. "I've climbed up and down this ladder so many times that I am getting cramps in my knees."

"It is only some of the freshmen, let them knock," said Janet, calmly sorting over the contents of the box.

"Freshmen? Are you still at Hopper Hall, goose?"

"Oh, I forgot; really I did. I'll go."

She went to the door of the next room and opened it to admit Lee Penrose.

"I came to borrow some alcohol," began Lee.

"Say that over again," said Janet, "and then again, Lee; it sounds so good and natural. Of course that's what you came for. I believe you've become so used to that formula that when you confront St. Peter at the gate of heaven you'll murmur: 'I came to borrow some alcohol.' Come in. How are you getting on up-stairs?"

"Oh, pretty well. It takes a good while to settle in a strange place, much longer than when you know where to sling everything. I can't stay. We are so tired that we are going to have some tea and stuff in our rooms. Both Cordelia and I brought stores from home. Did you say you had any alcohol?"

Janet returned to her task. "Look in those bottles on the floor behind the door," she directed.

Lee began rattling among the bottles. "Here's one marked alcohol," she said.

"Well, if it's marked alcohol, there ought to be alcohol in it," said Janet.

Lee gave the bottle a gentle shake. "It seems about half full," she said. "Shall I take it?"

"Oh, certainly. You are quite welcome to it," returned Janet, hiding a smile.

And Lee went off triumphant.

Janet had risen from the unpacking of her box and was burrowing in the depths of her trunk when a second sharp tap was heard at the door.

"Come in," said Janet, from under the trunk lid.

"Janet Ferguson, you are a fraud," said Lee's indignant voice. "We filled the lamp full of that stuff; it must have been nothing but water for the wick sputtered and sizzled and went out."

"Beggars shouldn't be choosers," said Janet, letting her trunk lid fall with a thump. "I didn't say it was alcohol."

"Why, you did."

"No, I didn't. You said the bottle was marked alcohol, and I said if it was so marked, alcohol it ought to be; that's all."

From her lofty perch Teddy looked down and chuckled.

"Well," Lee began, then she laughed. "I might have known you would play some trick, Janet Ferguson. Now we've got to eat a cold lunch, unless—"

"Unless what?"

"You'll lend us your chafing-dish or samovar or something, for it will take hours for that wick to dry."

"Then you deceived me," said Janet, "pretending that you had no alcohol."

"Why, we haven't any."

"Then where's the good of a chafing-dish or a samovar, I'd like to know?"

"But haven't you any alcohol?" asked Lee, innocently.

"Not a drop. This is not Hopper Hall, my sweeting. You will find that if you want a thing here, you will have to provide it your own self. Ted and I don't intend to keep alcohol on tap."

"What are you going to do without it?"

"We're going to use the gas or Mrs. Weed's kitchen stove."

"Why didn't we think of that?"

"I'm sure I don't know. Lack of the proper ingenuity, I suppose. By the way, have you happened to have any protracted conversation with Mrs. Weed?"

"No," replied Lee, "I've had no occasion for it. I've made some passing remark when I met her on the stairs or in the entry but that is all."

"You will find her a mine of material. She would be worth thousands to a Dickens. I was down in the kitchen this very morning pressing out a rumpled waist that I had to have in a hurry, and our conversation went something like this: 'You must be very fond of the college, Mrs. Weed, you have lived near it for so long,' I began.

"'Yes, my dear, and I want the college to have my home after I have done with it, if my children wish to sell it. I love my home. I've lived here since my husband died. He was a beautiful man. I shed a great many tears when he was taken.'

"'Yes, it must have been very hard,' I answered, rather at sea for proper condolences and anxious to change the subject. 'I believe you said you were from Vermont, Mrs. Weed. Do you ever go there now?'

"'No, my dear,' she said, 'I don't care to. It makes me think of my dear mother, and of how many nice things she used to make. It always makes me shed tears to think of all that.'

"'But you have such a pleasant home here, Mrs. Weed. You are almost within the college grounds.' I made an effort to send the ball back to my end of the field.

"'I know, and I enjoy the college grounds. I have seen a great many changes, though. There used to be such a handsome rose-bush, just by the entrance, but they took it up. I don't know why they did it. I sat down and cried when it was gone; I missed it so.'

"'Of course you missed it, I can see that you would, but there are new fashions in roses as well as in most things. You must have mothered a great many students in all the years you have been here.' I sent the ball off at another angle.

"'Yes, I have,' with a deep sigh, 'all kinds and sorts. There was one I often think of. She went home to die. I shed a great many tears over that young lady.'

"'It was very sad,' I murmured, feeling that I should soon be drowned in these floods of tears. 'I have finished with the irons, Mrs. Weed,' I said, 'I won't bother you again soon.'

"'Don't say that,' she said, 'for it makes me feel as if you were afraid of me and that makes me feel like crying.'

"Whereupon I fled."

Lee and Teddy laughed. "I'll tackle her," said the former, "and perhaps I can get permission to make a cup of tea."

"If you don't do it too often, she will be perfectly delighted to accommodate you," said Janet, "but to-day you and Cordelia had better come and lunch with us and I'll make the tea."

The invitation was readily accepted and Lee flew up-stairs to notify Cordelia. Both appeared a few minutes later.

"We'll have to hang together," said Janet, "until we get used to things, or we will all get in the dumps. It isn't a bit like old times, is it, Cordelia?"

"No, I think it is better. When we get used to it, we shall be very comfortable," she said. "I am already beginning to enjoy the possibilities ahead of me. I've nothing against dear old Hopper Hall, but I think its days of usefulness are past, so far as we are concerned. There is such a raft of younger girls in there this year. We upper classmen will enjoy the sweets of seclusion, I think. By the way, I saw Mark, the perfect man, this summer. He was up at Gloucester. How came you to know him so well?"

"How came I?" said Janet, slowly. "Do I know him well?"

"I thought so from the way he spoke of you. He quoted you and referred to sundry walks in the country and such. He knew the Sunday rhyme you made about the worm, too."

"Did he?" said Janet, indifferently. "I wonder who told him. Your vivid imagination has enlarged the importance of the situation. I met him out here at Ramsay's farm one never-to-be-forgotten Sunday last May when I ran away from everybody. We had rather a nice off-to-ourselves morning, I remember. After that I went, I think it was three times to that little reading room at the other end of town. I told you about that, I am sure."

"Is that all?" asked Cordelia, incredulously.

"I shall not go away off there this year," remarked Janet; "it is too far, and I didn't fancy the experience as a steady thing. Do have some of these preserves. They are home-made, you know. Mother packed me a box of them, and I know they are good because the fruit came from our own place and I helped to gather it."

Cordelia accepted the proffered sweets and did not notice that Janet had deftly changed the subject.

"Does any one know who has our old rooms?" asked Teddy.

"Some little up-start freshmen," Lee told her. "It made me mad when I was over there, to see them switching in and out our doors."

Cordelia laughed. "But why, Lee? We could have had them again if we had wanted. Our coming here was our own choice. You didn't expect they would seal up those rooms because of the sanctity lent them by our presence."

"No, not that, of course; but it is on the same principle that I always hate to see our housemaids wear my cast-off clothes."

"What would those freshmen say if they heard you making such a comparison?" said Teddy. "What shall I do with the tea-leaves, Janet?"

"Teddy's practical mind is already devoting itself to the domestic side of life," said Janet. "Chuck them in the fireplace, Ted. We'll have a fire there some day, and burn up all the trash. An open fireplace covers a multitude of sins. By the way, girls, that is another perfectly lovely way of spending our time. When it gets colder, we can cook all sorts of things over the open fire. I wish we had a crane like those our forbears used. Yes, I foresee great satisfaction from this fireplace."

"Janet has her heart's desire now," said Edna. "She has been yearning for a hearthstone ever since we first came to college. I think life ought to seem complete to her now."

Janet vouchsafed no reply but began to gather up the cups and saucers preparatory to washing them, while Cordelia and Lee declared they must get back to their rooms.

CHAPTER XVII

SNOWDRIFTS

This year a secret ambition of Janet's was fulfilled. She was chosen president of her class, and the honor influenced her more than she realized. While she had never been a "grind," she had kept up a fairly good record, which had improved from year to year as she grew more seriously interested in her work and as her character developed. As she, with Cordelia, Lee, and Teddy had been the leaders in fun-making during their freshman year, now Janet aspired to be leader in more solid things, and she turned zealously to her work. Cordelia followed her, a close second, Lee advanced uncertainly, while Teddy plodded along showing never as brilliant work as Lee's at her best, nor as weak as Lallie Patton's. Charity worked industriously, but as Lee said, her results were wooden. They lacked fire and originality while Lee's were sometimes startling in the latter quality.

As the cool days came on, there were many of the girls who were glad to seek the cozy rooms occupied by Janet and Teddy, and scarcely a day passed but some one appeared, glad to sit before the open fire to discuss college matters or problems of life, or to engage in nonsensical talk. There were evenings, too, when bubbling messes seethed over the coals and sent up an agreeable odor. Sometimes it was panuche or fudge, again the plainer molasses candy, while on occasions there would be a grand feast, when oysters were roasted, chops broiled, or chickens cooked by suspending them by a string in front of the fire.

Several times frat meetings were held in the rooms, and so fascinating did Teddy and Janet make their accounts of these, that finally Cordelia and Lee who had held out through the mid-year's at last entered the fraternity, and added to the jollity of the meetings.

It was one evening when the days were at their shortest, that there came a tap at the door of the room where Janet sat luxuriously toasting her feet before the blaze. She wore a crimson dressing-gown, and a pair of red Turkish slippers. Her little head with its crown of dark hair showed effectively against the olive green cushions of her Morris chair. She was so entirely comfortable and content that she hesitated to reply to the rap, feeling that any interruption of her quiet would be unwelcome.

At a second tap, however, she gave a reluctant: "Come in," and the door opened.

A little figure stood there for a moment and then darted forward, crying: "Janet, Janet, I'm so glad to find you at home and alone."

"Polly! Why Polly!" Janet held out both hands, and the two rushed to meet each other. "Come right over here by the fire," said Janet. "Take off your things. Sit down here and get warm. You're going to stay and we'll have tea. When did you get here, Polly?"

"Just now. At least, we got in the day before yesterday, but only reached here this morning, and as soon as I could get away, I said I must come over here."

"Got away from whom? Miss Thurston? Are you staying with her?"

"No, I am staying at the Austins'. I left Miss Thurston over in Germany and came back with Minnie and Marion Austin and their aunt, Mrs. Fletcher, and I am making Minnie Austin a visit. Marian is there, too. She wants dreadfully to see you, but I wanted you all to myself this first time." She took Janet's hand and laid her cheek against it.

"You dear child, it is good to see you," said Janet tenderly. "Tell me all about everything. How in the world did you happen to come back with the Austin girls?"

"We met them in Italy a few weeks before we came away. You know Miss Thurston knows them and we were all together until Miss Thurston left us for Germany. Miss Thurston and Mrs. Fletcher were good comrades, so I was thrown with the girls and we became excellent friends."

"Did they know—"

"About Van?" Polly blushed prettily. "No, not at first, but after awhile they did. Once, when Minnie was ill, and I was alone with her a good deal of the time, we became very confidential, and Janet, she was lovely about it. She has smoothed away all the difficulties and has been the dearest thing you ever saw."

Janet sat down on the arm of the chair and laid her arm across Polly's shoulders. "I know just what a dear little nurse you made," she said. "I can imagine your soothing ways when one is ill, and I'll venture to say you gave up all sorts of excursions and sight-seeings for the sake of keeping Miss Austin company at some stupid hotel while the others went off skylarking. Of course she recognized your unselfish spirit. I know just as well how it happened as if I had been there, Polly Perkins."

Polly looked down and shook her head protestingly. "You always overrate me, Janet. It was something like that, but really it wasn't any sacrifice for I was tired and was getting mental indigestion from seeing so much, so I was glad of a few days' rest from picture galleries and historical wonders."

"Oh, of course. Well, then having won Minnie, what did the others do?"

"Oh, they were all right. Marian knew I was a great friend of yours, and she was ready to make friends in the beginning. Mrs. Fletcher was lovely because I was traveling with Miss Thurston whom she admires very much, so we settled it all comfortably, and when at the last minute Miss Thurston decided to go to Germany, Mrs. Fletcher was ready to take me under her wing and we all came home together. Before we had started, Minnie asked me to make her a visit and when we landed, there was a note from Mrs. Austin telling her to be sure to bring me home with her, so I accepted and am going to stay till after Christmas."

"So you had a fine trip?"

"It was beyond anything I ever dreamed of. Miss Thurston knew so well how to manage that, instead of staying only six months as I at first intended, I was able to stay eight, and I had a little surplus, enough to buy some new gowns and things. See my Paris hat, Janet, and my English tailor gown. Am I not a howling swell?"

"You surely are. What a discovery that rich uncle was. I never was so glad of anything in all my life. Is he still in the east?"

"No, he has gone back, but he told me not to worry about my wedding clothes, that he would see that I had a proper outfit, and will you believe it? He sent me an extra hundred dollars to spend on such things as I might need. Minnie was perfectly dear in helping me to choose wisely, and Miss Thurston was always finding out queer little shops where one could get beautiful things for a mere song. So, though I took scarcely anything away, I have come back with quite a wardrobe. It was the most fascinating time I ever had in all my life, yet I am glad to get back."

"Of course you are, and the reason is not very far-away," said Janet.

"One of the reasons is right here," returned Polly patting Janet's arm. "Now tell me all about everything and everybody. I suppose there are scores of new girls."

"Yes, the freshmen pervade all space, I sometimes think. Of course Fay and Juliet are not here, but Cordelia and Lee have the rooms just over these, and very few of our class have dropped out. We all have our noses to the grindstone and are working away like good fellows, being overpowered by the fact that this is our senior year."

"And you are president of the class. I'm so glad."

"Who told you that valuable piece of news?"

"I met Louise Baker on the way here, and she gave me several bits of news."

"Poor Louise, she is not having an easy time this year. She misses her brother's helping hand. I am glad she has almost finished her course."

Polly looked grave. "I wonder if there is anything I could do for her. I remember how you and she helped me out last year. What changes there have been for me, Janet, since the time I came here from Abington, a green little freshman, so ignorant of the world, and so shabby and scared."

"And so dear and lovable," added Janet. "You are neither ignorant, shabby nor scared now, are you, Polly?"

"No indeed; I have escaped from my chrysalis, but Janet, dear, I hope I haven't become vain and selfish and disappointing. I want to keep your love. So many times I have thought of what you said: 'Character first; that is lasting; the other is superficial.' I wouldn't disappoint you for the world, Janet. Please pull me back with a firm hand if you think I am taking the wrong path. You once said that prosperity spoils more persons than it helps. Don't let it spoil me."

"I don't think the amount of prosperity that has come to you is in any danger of spoiling you," said Janet indulgently. "I'll tell you when I see you in danger."

"If I could always have you near me," sighed Polly, her hand creeping into Janet's. "I can't realize that your place is not always to be here, and after this year, the college will know you no more. I wish you were only a freshman instead of a senior."

"I don't," replied Janet. "I shall be sorry enough when my college days are over, yet I do not like the idea of repeating them."

"You will come and make me long visits, won't you?"

"Oh, yes, of course," said Janet, lightly. "Now tell me what your plans are. Where shall you go when you leave the Austins'?"

"I shall go back to Abington and stay with my stepmother. I can be of some use there. I think I shall be married early in the fall. Then, oh, then, Janet, we shall have a dear little home of our own. I don't want to live in a boarding house; I want to make a home. Do you think I am too young to marry?"

"You are younger than I shall ever be," said Janet, smiling, "but in your case, Polly, I think it is a wise step. I believe in a woman's gaining all the knowledge that she can if she has the opportunity, but if the knowledge must come through such struggle and privation as you endured last year, I think it is much better to know a little less and be happier. Homemaking is the end to which all good women are best fitted, and it is the best of ambitions. That is my opinion from my long experience. I speak as a senior, my dear, not as I shall probably speak next year, when I have discovered that I don't know anything and that nobody listens to my opinions. I shall want a good long visit from you this summer, and we'll talk it all out. Don't go yet. Ted will be in directly, and we will have some tea. I always wait for her because she delights to make it. Can't you stay?"

"I'm afraid not. I promised to be back by five o'clock; and you know Mr. Austin's ideas upon the subject of punctuality. If I am three-fifths of a minute late, I shall never hear the last of it. Come and see me soon, Janet. I want you to meet Minnie."

Janet promised, and let her go, feeling that though in most ways she was the same old Polly, she had stepped into a world which was not familiar to her, and that the shabby, shy little freshman would soon blossom into a beautiful, self-possessed woman.

"But she will always keep her dear, loyal, true heart," murmured Janet.

She saw Polly less often than she expected. Their interests were no longer the same. The Austins absorbed their guest and, with Minnie and Marian, Polly was constantly flying hither and thither. Van had insisted upon announcing the engagement, so, many attentions were showered upon his lovely fiancée.

Janet who found her little world in the college, seldom met her friend outside. Becky gave a luncheon to which Janet was invited. The Austins gave a tea where Polly, radiant in a soft pink gown, was one of the receiving party, but these occasions were not satisfactory and except for occasional flying visits, the two seldom had an opportunity of meeting.

However, there were many things outside of hard work to occupy Janet. Proms and dances, dramatics and banquets given by the different classes Janet felt that she must attend in her capacity as president of her class. She enjoyed them, too, and had no desire to hunt up excuses for staying away.

"I shall never have another chance of taking them all in, or of being one of the favored circle," she said to Teddy one evening, "so I shall go whenever it is possible."

"Then this cold night doesn't stagger you?"

"No, not a bit. I can get a carriage to take me there, if I can't get there in any other way."

"Extravagance!"

"That depends upon how you look at it. If I walk, I should probably take cold, and a carriage will cost less than a doctor. Aren't you going, Ted? I'll give you a seat in my carriage."

"I'll take this red nose and this cold to no dance," said Teddy. "I shall hug the fire and shall not envy you one bit. Why don't you get Cordelia or Lee to go with you?"

"They thought we were to go together, and they have some crazy scheme of their own. They are going up to Stella Urber's with a lot of the other girls and all will start from there."

"Why didn't you go?"

"Wasn't asked. Think of the solitary grandeur in which I shall pursue my way. I hope some one will be on hand to be properly impressed when I arrive in state."

She went to her room and began to lay out the paraphernalia necessary for the occasion.

"Are you going to wear that?" asked Teddy as Janet took out a pale green evening gown from her trunk.

"Yes, might as well get the good of it. I find that if one doesn't use things when there is a chance, Fate decrees that they shall never be worn. I'll go down and telephone for a carriage before I begin to dress, then I can't change my mind."

An hour later, a very lovely Janet stood waiting for the cloak Teddy held ready to throw around her.

"I never saw you look better," said that individual. "That green is extremely becoming and brings out all your flesh tints and makes your hair look so dark and glossy. You are quite a stunning-looking girl, Janet, at your best."

"Thanks. And at my worst?"

"I'll not spoil my compliment by any supplement," laughed Teddy.

Janet gathered up her billowy skirts and ran down-stairs leaving her chum to the enjoyment of a quiet evening.

Snow had lately fallen and lay piled up in drifts along the streets and roads. Janet, leaning back in the somewhat cumbersome carriage which had been sent for her, congratulated herself that she was not compelled to march through the soft white heaps. She noticed that the mild weather succeeding the storm, would cause what was snow then to be slush to-morrow, and that even now the drifts were less compact than they had been.

The dance was given by Florence Worthington, one of the fraternity girls, and an alumna, and promised to be a very pleasant affair. Miss Worthington lived on the outskirts of the town in a fine old mansion which afforded abundant room for such an entertainment.

As the lights grew fewer along the way, Janet realized that she was approaching her destination, but when the twinkling gleams from the Worthington house were still some distance ahead came a sudden dip and a lurch of the carriage and the horses stopped short.

Presently the driver came to the door and opened it. "Sorry, lady, but we've broke down. I ain't very well acquainted with this road at night, and there's a big hole just here that I didn't bargain for."

"What are you going to do?" asked Janet in consternation.

"I guess I'll have to leave the carriage here and take the horses back to town. It's a bed break and it'll have to go to the shop."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Janet. "Have I got to stay here all alone till you get back?"

"I guess if you set in the carriage, there won't nobody bother you," said the man. "I won't be no longer than I can help, but I can't get back under an hour."

"Dear me, and I am late as it is," said Janet. A pretty situation for a lone damsel to be left in, she thought. "Why didn't you go around the other way?" she asked.

"You said you was late, and I thought I'd take this short cut. I've done it a good many times in the daytime, but at night and the snow and all makes considerable difference."

Janet considered the state of affairs for some moments, but presently her mental review was interrupted by some one's shouting: "What's the matter there?"

Janet poked her head out of the carriage door and saw a man muffled up in an overcoat, striding toward them. He stood talking to the driver who had gone a few steps to meet him.

Janet drew in her head as the traveler came up to the carriage and said: "I beg your pardon, madam, but you seem to be in a predicament. If you will accept my escort to Mr. Worthington's, I shall be happy to walk there with you. I am on my way to the dance."

"Oh, Mr. Evans," cried the relieved girl, "what a godsend you are."

"Miss Janet," exclaimed the young man. "I certainly am glad I happened to come along at this moment. Are you wearing thin shoes? Ought you to walk in this snow?"

"Of course I'll walk," said Janet, as, gathering up her robes about her, she stepped out.

"The walking is pretty bad," Mr. Evans told her. "I came this way because it is shorter, but if I had known how it was under foot, I would have gone around. Perhaps you would better permit me to stay here with you till another carriage can be sent out."

"Oh no, that will take too long. With the house just in sight we surely should be able to walk. I may get my feet wet but I can change my shoes. Florence will lend me a pair, and even if I am deprived of the dancing, I can have a good time. How lucky that you happened to be going. I didn't know you knew the Worthingtons. You needn't come back, driver. We will walk."

She started off with Mr. Evans, leaving the broken-down vehicle by the wayside. The way was surely not a pleasant one, for the soft snow penetrated her thin shoes, and as they plunged along, Janet felt her ankles getting wetter and wetter. Her petticoats she held high and it was not muddy if it was wet.

"You always appear in the guise of a ministering angel, Mr. Evans," said the girl. "I shall never forget our first encounter; it was not unlike this predicament. Have you Rosalie's quarter still?"

"Yes, it is my good luck piece. There was snow then, I remember. I have always associated you with snowflakes."

"And snowdrops?" asked Janet.

He laughed a little confusedly. "Well yes, I must acknowledge it."

"Then I have you to thank for those that came to me last spring at the dramatics. All this time I have wondered who could have sent them and never once suspected. Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because you never asked me."

Janet gave a mirthful little laugh at this confession. "It is well that this is my last year at college," she said, "or I don't know into what difficulties I might lead you."

"I don't think it is at all well," said Mr. Evans.

"Why?"

"Because it isn't my last. I am likely to become a full professor, Miss Janet. It is doubtful if Professor Gaines's health will permit him to return and in case he resigns, I am informed that the chair will be mine."

"Good! I am delighted." Janet spoke heartily. "Dear me, I half envy you the prospect of living for the rest of your life in this old place."

"It is rather a concentrative life, broadening in some respects; very narrow in others. One finds his world in the college and its interests must be his."

"Yes, I know that, but they are such pleasant interests, I think. I believe I am becoming more and more fond of the intellectual life; too fond, I expect my mother will think, when I get home. Ours is a happy, pleasure-loving community. We live near enough to our small town to be included in all its festivities, and as papa is a physician, he is known far and wide, so we are always expected to keep open house and to entertain anybody who comes along. Since old Dr. Farley's death, papa's practice is mainly in the town and he contemplates removing his office there, but I hope we shall not have to go, though I don't see how it can be prevented."

"You would not care to leave your neighborhood then? You do not love your alma mater well enough to prefer her environment?"

"I'm not likely to be permitted to have a preference, for home is many miles away. Of course I love my alma mater, and if I should choose some other spot than our dear old Warwick, I'd take this very place."

"That is encouraging."

"In what way?"

"I'll tell you on Commencement day, not before. Will you save me half an hour then? I hope to know my fate by that time, and shall need either your congratulations or your condolences."

"I'll save you the half hour, if I am allowed. The world and his grandmother will be on hand to see me graduated and I don't know whether I shall be given a chance to take a long breath, but if I am permitted a moment's pause, I will notify you. I might issue a bulletin every hour so you could see how matters are going with me. It might run something like this: Eight to nine, breakfasts with family; nine to ten, receives calls from classmates; ten to twelve, packs; twelve to one, weeps; one to two, lunches; two to five, listens to orations and receives diploma; five to Six, receives congratulations, shakes hands and kisses some twenty-five girls; six to eight, dines with alumna; eight to eight-thirty, breathing-spell."

"I'm glad you allowed for the breathing-spell. I'll look out for the bulletin," said Mr. Evans; "you might pin it on the tree just in front of your house and I'll go look at it every hour."

"And in case the breathing-spell period is taken up, you can select some one beside the president of the seniors to offer you condolences or congratulations as the case may be. Of course you will be disappointed if the president should be so occupied that she cannot give you even five minutes, but allow me to tell you here in the seclusion of the Worthingtons' driveway; there are others much, much more sympathetic."

"Then if you cannot offer me your sympathies will you provide a substitute?"

"Willingly. Here we are, and alas for my pretty slippers; they feel like sponges and exude sloppiness at every step."

"You will take cold."

"No, I shall not. I shall use my mind, as Charity says."

The door was opened to them and Janet with her water-soaked shoes flew up-stairs, and sent for Florence who insisted upon giving her quinine, provided her with dry stockings and a pair of her slippers, which, though less fine than her own, allowed her to join the dancers and to enjoy herself as thoroughly as if there had been no snowdrifts along the road.

CHAPTER XVIII

A STOLEN FEAST

"WE'VE simply got to help the sophs get hold of that supper," said Lee emphatically one day when the four girls were gathered in Cordelia's study. "It's our last chance for any real fun and we must embrace it."

"How did you happen to hear about it?" asked Janet.

"Oh, one of the sophs came to me for advice. She said the freshmen had been boasting that they were too smart for the sophs and that they had not been able to get the better of them in anything this semester, so the sophs are wild. You are always fertile in suggestion, Janet, what would you advise?"

Janet thoughtfully tapped the table with a paper-cutter. "I should think they could appoint certain of the class to keep a watch on the freshmen so as to find out where they are going to order their supper. It will have to be from either Burton's or Fields'. Fields is cheaper, but Burton has the better ices, and the freshmen will not spare expense in matters of eating. You'd better tell the girl to get her class together and place the situation before them."

"If they only knew where they were going to give the supper and when," remarked Teddy.

"They must find out," said Cordelia.

"How?" asked Lee.

"Through the ingenuity of their wits. It will be within the next two weeks, and not a freshman will miss it," Cordelia told her.

"I know one thing we can do without compromising our dignity," said Janet. "Each senior can try to make an engagement with a freshman for one of the evenings of the two weeks. If any one of them declines an invitation, it will probably be for some good reason. She will give the reason frankly if it is not a secret, and if she doesn't, look out for that date."

"She might give a false reason to put us off the track," suggested Lee.

"True; then all reasons must be followed up."

"I shall begin by inviting Nora Tuttle to a spread in our rooms," said Lee. "That will leave eleven evenings to be filled by eleven of the class."

"Each of us will take one," Cordelia said, "and if there are any who refuse to help the sophs, two evenings will have to be taken by the zealous. We'd better devise very different, sorts of invitations, for of all things, we must keep the freshmen from suspecting."

"I know a wedding that is coming off on the evening of the third," said Teddy; "I have cards for it, and I don't believe Carrie Swift ever lost an opportunity of going to a wedding."

"We'll manage," concluded Janet, "but you must tell the sophs to keep their eyes and ears open, Lee."

The girls parted with a fixed determination to help the sophs to play their trick on the freshmen.

"If they hadn't boasted so vaingloriously," said Janet, "I wouldn't have a thing to do with it. But they certainly deserve to be taken down."

"They will be so flattered at these attentions from seniors," said Lee who was in her element.

"You don't think it is a trifle undignified," said Janet.

"Why, no. We are simply helping our sister class, and will do nothing that will bring a blush of shame to the cheek of the most proper one of us," replied Lee.

In consequence of this decision, twelve pleased freshmen found themselves selected for special attention from as many seniors, and eleven eagerly accepted the invitations proffered them.

Janet had picked out a pretty, inoffensive, little lass named Lillie Starr, who was in a fluster of excitement when Janet made a visit to her room. Lillie being fair, blue-eyed, short and plump, greatly admired Janet's dark tresses and eyes, her superior height and elegant slimness, and felt it a supreme honor when Janet asked if she would attend a garden fête with her at Florence Worthington's. The rushing season being over, Lillie felt that Janet could have no object in seeking her out beyond a desire for her company.

"Oh, I'd simply love to go," she cried. "You are too sweet for anything to ask me, Miss Ferguson. When is it to be?"

"On next Friday from five to eight," Janet told her.

The girl's face fell. "Oh, dear," she said, "how unfortunate, I have an engagement for that evening. I'm afraid I can't possibly go."

"Dear me," said Janet, "I'm so sorry. Is it very important?"

Lillie's innocent little face took on the color of a deep pink rose. "Why yes, I'm afraid so," she faltered.

"You couldn't put it off?" said Janet, sweetly. "If it is with one of the girls, perhaps she wouldn't mind. I'm sure I'd fix another date if I could, but you see I can't, and I told Miss Worthington I wanted to bring you."

"Dear me." Lillie looked troubled. An invitation to the Worthingtons' was something that seldom fell to the lot of a freshman. It was considered a very great privilege to be admitted to one of these functions. At sight of the girl's real perplexity, Janet's conscience began to smite her, yet she remembered her sophomores and went obdurately on.

"If it is with one of the girls," she repeated.

"If it were only with one of the girls, I would give it up," declared Lillie, "for I do so much want to go."

"Oh, then," Janet smiled knowingly, "it is with a young man. Of course, my dear, I couldn't expect you to break such an engagement. I hope you have been able to get a real nice chaperon who will be neither too strict nor too lenient."

"Oh, Miss Ferguson," Lillie protested, "it isn't with any young man. I'd rather go with you than with anybody I know. I really would. Just think, why you are a senior and president of your class and you are so perfectly fine."

"Am I?" Janet laughed. "I'm not all you imagine, my child, but if your engagement isn't with a girl, nor yet with a young man, it is very mysterious. Oh, no, no," as Lillie looked as if she might give too broad a hint, "don't tell me. I shall feel dreadfully if you do; as if I were guilty of a vulgar curiosity. I am exceedingly sorry that you must refuse me, but if you have this mysterious engagement there is nothing to do but to ask some one else. I hoped you would let me give you this little treat, but I haven't a doubt but you will have a fine time wherever you may be going."

Poor Lillie's distress increased. "I've a good mind to give it up," she said. "I would in a minute if I hadn't promised. It wouldn't be exactly—exactly loyal you know; the girls would—"

"Not another word," said Janet, lifting her hand. "I feel ashamed now for having urged you."

Then feeling that she had made capital of the girl's unsuspicious eagerness, her tenderheartedness made her say: "Never mind, lassie, perhaps some other nice something will come along later. If it does I'll save it for you, shall I?"

This friendliness completely won Lillie. "Oh, how dear you are, Miss Ferguson. I'm so much obliged to you. Please don't think it is because I don't want to go. If it were anything else than this certain thing, I'd tell you. You do believe me and you do understand, don't you?"

"I understand perfectly," Janet told her. "I certainly hope you will enjoy your evening."

And then she took her leave, half regretting the part she had played.

"For diplomacy commend me to Janet Ferguson," said Cordelia when Janet told her story.

"I did feel mean to deceive that poor child," said Janet with a contrite look.

"There you go with your overstrained sympathies," said Lee. "I think you were the cleverest thing to pick out that silly little creature. Why, she gave herself away without half trying. If I had been she, I would have accepted and would have sent you a piteous note at the last moment pleading illness."

"We can't all use your Machiavellian methods," said Teddy, a trifle severely. "We haven't any of us forgotten your sophomore year when you went around for a week with your face tied up after some such performance."

Lee laughed. "Yes, and what a time I had keeping that wad of paper in my cheek to make it look swollen. I think as a class we were far ahead of the present one, and I don't wonder they come to us for pointers. You certainly have shown astuteness, Janet."

"I'll make it up to that young one in some Way," Janet declared. "I can't bear to feel that her confidence is misplaced."

"Of course you'll do some Quixotic thing," Lee replied. "However, that is not our affair. Friday evening it certainly must be. Now the next thing is to find out the where, since we have found out the when. I must hie me to the sophs at once with this piece of news. How they will adore you, Janet. I've a mind not to tell them anything more than that we know it is to be Friday evening. You didn't happen to get the hour exactly?"

"I think we can approximate it, for I told my young miss that the fête would be from five to eight and she seemed to think that if she were to go early, she would not get back in time; and if she were to wait till late, she would not be able to get away soon enough, so we can presuppose that it will be about six o'clock."

"More cleverness on the part of Janet. I certainly shall not have you getting all the credit."

"There is no reason why I should. I am not particularly proud of playing the part of detective. I'd rather no one but ourselves should know."

"Your will is law, oh princess. I'll not tell." And Lee dashed out.

In about an hour, she came dashing back again.

"Such fun," she said, flinging herself upon the divan.

"Do tell us," said Teddy interestedly.

Lee punched a pillow into a more satisfactory position, and began: "Well, I went from here straight to Madge Ostrom's room. She certainly is a bright girl, and was perfectly delighted to have my information. So she and I went to Burton's."

"Then they knew it was Burton's," interrupted Cordelia.

"No, they didn't. They only suspected and Madge simply put up a bluff. She said if they denied all knowledge of it at Burton's, she would apologize for the mistake and go to Fields'."

"Wasn't she afraid they'd know she wasn't a freshman?"

"No, of course not. They can't remember all the girls in this institution."

"I should think the freshmen would have taken the precaution to warn them to take no orders from any but certain individuals," said Janet.

"Well they didn't do that, for I suppose they thought it had been kept a dead secret. Well, Madge's plan worked beautifully. Says Madge: 'I'd like to make a little inquiry into the order that was given for Friday evening, at the college you know, for the freshman class.'

"'Yes,' says Madam Burton, as pleasant as pie.

"'Will you look on your books and see if it was ordered for five or six o'clock?' says Madge.

"Madam looked and told her the order was for six. 'That was what we were afraid,' said Madge. 'We think it had better come at five or earlier to—" Then she turned to me. 'Where did we decide to have it sent?' she asked.

"'To Irving Hall, Room 12,' said madam reading from her book.

"'Of course. How stupid of me,' said Madge. 'That comes of so many having a finger in the pie. Please send it before five to that address, madam.' So she promised to send it promptly.

"Now the only fear is that the freshmen will find out that the change has been made, but Madge is going to watch her chance to go in there again Friday afternoon and see if it is all right. I don't think the freshmen have a suspicion that we have an inkling of what is going on. How I should like to be in the thick of it when the time comes, but I suppose I don't dare; that's the trouble of being a senior."

"Of course you don't dare. I think you've done quite enough as it is," said Janet reprovingly. "I'd hate to have it known that any of us were mixed up in the under classmen's squabbles."

"I think you're right," Cordelia agreed. "We've done all that could be expected of us, and now we can wash our hands of the affair. Going to the fête, Janet?"

"Yes, with Teddy and without Miss Starr."

"At any rate you can't call it an ill-starred enterprise," said Lee, who could never resist pun-making.

The girls groaned and Lee laughed gleefully.

Promptly at half-past four on Friday afternoon, two sophomores were at the rear entrance of Irving Hall. The rest of the class had gained an entrance into Room 12 and were quietly waiting there. As Burton's wagon drove up, the sentry sophs directed them to Room 12 and the various baskets, trays and freezers were borne in to where, the now triumphant, girls were ready to receive them. At this hour, most of the freshmen were busy at basketball, tennis, or were required to be at the gymnasium, so there was little danger of their appearing so early.

When the sophomores had locked the door after the departing carriers, they hastily made ready the feast and fell to with a relish, soon leaving little to suggest that a banquet had been served.

Lee was sauntering through the corridor arm in arm with Cordelia at the moment when the advance guard of freshmen arrived.

"Why, the door is locked," exclaimed one of them to the other.

"Of course; you don't suppose they would be so silly as to leave it open for the sophs," was the reply.

"I hear dishes rattling," said the first. "Some one must have come to make the preparations. I thought we were early enough."

"You didn't see any sophs on watch, did you?" said the second girl looking around anxiously.

"I haven't seen a soph this last hour," replied the first. She rattled the knob of the door gently and a voice cried: "Who is there?"

"Fan Armistead and Kate Bradley."

"Just wait a minute," came from the inside.

"It's all right," said Fan. "They are getting things ready."

Presently more freshmen strolled up and these began to grow impatient.

"They've no right to keep us out," was the complaint.

"Bang on the door, Fan." And this Fan did.

"How many are there out there?" was asked by some one in the room.

"Oh, a dozen or more."

"Well, wait a little longer. We're afraid of a rush from the other class."

Lee and Cordelia did not pause in their walk but Lee could not forbear a giggle which brought a dozen pairs of eyes upon her.

"There is something queer," said one of the freshmen in a low tone; "there are two of the seniors on the watch. We'd better be prepared for a rush, girls."

And the under classmen bunched themselves together more closely. And now the numbers increased till nearly the whole class stood without, then Fan called,—

"You can let us in, now, girls. We're about all here and no sophs about."

A pause and then the door was flung wide open to disclose to the astonished freshmen a group of sated sophomores gloating over the few sparse remains of a feast for which the freshmen had paid.

"Who says we haven't brains enough to outwit 1906?" cried Madge Ostrom.

"Where is thy feast, oh Barmecide?" cried another.

"What's the matter with 1905?" shouted a voice above the rest and the answer came: "She's all right!"

"It was their last chance of the year," said Lee to a discomfited freshman who stopped her to pour out her grievance as she left the hall. "I'd almost be willing to pay for the supper for the sake of seeing the fun." This, however, was small satisfaction to the disappointed freshman.

The result of the trick was more far-reaching to Janet than she could foresee, as after having paid her debt of contrition to Lillie Starr, that young woman attached herself so ardently to the senior as to give Janet some trouble. Yet she was too conscious of her treachery to the girl to repel her advances and finally grew to accept her innocent admiration with a patience that brought down jeers from Lee.

"How you can let that foolish little snip follow you about and hang on your neck in the way she does is more than I can see," said Lee.

"I must," Janet told her. "I don't dare to tell her that I did not select her from the whole class because of her attractions as an individual, but because of her gullible qualities, and I must pay the penalty of my indiscretion and deceit."

"Deceit, nonsense! As if any girl would be so namby-pamby as to bear a grudge in a matter of that kind. Why, it was perfectly legitimate under the circumstances, and no more than the rest of us did. The freshmen shouldn't have been so boastful if they wanted to keep the sophomores from showing their spirit."

"I can't help it; it weighs on my conscience," said Janet, "and some day in a moment of remorse, I shall tell her the whole truth and allow her to despise me all she wants to."

"She won't; I can tell you that. She will admire you for your cleverness and will comfort herself by remembering that you have encouraged her devoted attentions ever since, so she will believe you are fond of her in spite of anything you may say."

"Well, I am fond of her," Janet confessed. "She is frank and innocent and well-meaning."

"Deliver me from well-meaning innocents," said Lee. "I can't stand stupidity."

"Oh, Lillie isn't stupid," said Janet. "She is simply unsuspicious and has the saving grace of a sense of humor."

But Lee would not believe in Lillie's claims and Janet dropped the subject. Later on came an hour when she did make her confession to the younger girl.

"I can't bear to have you say such things to me," she said impatiently when Lillie had offered her a compliment upon her nobility of character. "I'm not noble and I have treated you abominably."

"Treated me?" Lillie's eyes opened wide. "You've been perfectly lovely to me. You've been kinder than any one in the college, and I am very proud of it."

"You needn't be," returned Janet, gloomily; "I have deceived you."

"Do you mean you don't really like me?" asked Lillie, anxiously.

"Oh, I like you. I am fond of you, but I first sought you out because I knew you were likely to be unsuspecting and I had promised to do my share in finding out about that class supper that the sophs stole." Then she told the whole story.

The girl was silent for some moments after Janet had concluded her confession; then the smiles began to dimple around her mouth and finally she burst out into a laugh.

"I ought to be furious," she said, "but I'm not, for it is so funny, and after all, Janet, it is a sort of relief to discover that you are like other girls."

"Heavens!" exclaimed Janet. "Did you suppose I was a creature of finer mould? I am not near so nice as other girls. I should think that I had proved that."

"Yet, you are much nicer," Lillie decided, "for I do not know another one who would have been honest enough to tell me this when there was no reason in the world why she should except that she was too true to keep it to herself."

"Then you do forgive me for making you a cat's paw?"

"Yes, on one condition: that you will go home with me to spend the Easter holidays. I have been dying to ask you, and have been afraid, so now I have a new claim on you, I am going to make the most of it."

Janet hesitated, but saw that she was in for it and in the end, she gave a reluctant consent. She announced her intention to the amused group she found in Cordelia's room that afternoon.

"Poor, poor Janet," said Teddy with mock sympathy. "What an ordeal. Have you any idea of what you are getting into?"

"No, I haven't, but I'd go if her parents were ragpickers."

"I shall be wild to hear your report," said Lee. "Promise to keep back nothing."

"I'll promise no such thing," said Janet. "It's my affair, I'll have you to know," and she refused to mention the subject to her intimates again.

The visit was made and Janet returned from it in such good spirits that the others were consumed with curiosity.

"Did you have a good time?" asked Lee at the first opportunity.

"Fine," returned Janet.

"Are they nice people?"

"Lovely."

"Did you meet any of their friends?"

"Yes."

"Did you like them? Were they nice?"

"The very best in the place."

"Oh, Janet, you are the most unsatisfactory person when you choose to be. Tell me about it." Lee was fairly put out.

"I have told you. I had a fine time. The Starrs are lovely people. Their friends are the best families in the place. What more do you want to know?"

"I want to know what you did."

"I ate and slept and drove and walked and enjoyed myself generally. In fact, I scarce ever had a more delightful holiday."

Lee looked at her with an injured expression upon her face, but seeing that she would get nothing further from so non-committal a person, she left her without another word, and Janet laughed softly to herself as she heard her departing footsteps.

CHAPTER XIX

FIELD DAY

IT was one day just at the beginning of the year's finals that Janet met Lee harrying through the corridor on her way to Phelps 7 with Mascot in her arms.

"Where in the world are you going with that cat?" she asked.

"I'm going to take him with me to exam," Lee answered.

"Lee Penrose, are you really?"

"Truly I am. He is so good-natured that he will keep perfectly still, if I hold him in my lap."

"But why such a frivolous performance at such a serious time? I thought you were worried over your biology."

"So I am. That is why I am taking this furry old dear with me. What's the use of having a mascot if you can't make use of it at critical times like this?" grumbled Lee.

"I'd like to see Professor Weatherby's face if he catches sight of him."

"Well, if you happen to be looking, you will see. You will be there, won't you?"

"Certainly I shall be there."

"I'm going to sit very far back. Come take a place by me, Janet, and keep me in countenance."

"I shall do nothing of the kind. Your sins be upon your own head. What are you going to do if Professor Weatherby brings you up standing? I should think you had been deprived of about as many privileges as your record will stand."

"Oh, if he discovers me, there will be nothing to do but tell him the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and let him say whether I have not a perfectly legitimate right to use Mascot as a means to a good end. I don't want to fail, and if there is anything that can prevent it, whether philosophical or superstitious, I'll employ the means. Mascot represents superstition to be sure, but my own stand in believing that good is in all things makes up for my philosophical attitude."

"Tell that to Professor Weatherby and see what he says."

"I think you might give the sustaining influence of your friendly presence, Janet," said Lee, wheedlingly.

"No, I shall be of no use in the carrying out of your philosophy. Mascot is for the good of the whole class and I'll profit just as much by my position at the other end of the room as if I were to sit next you."

"That is a mean advantage to take of my sacrifice for common good. I didn't think you, Janet Ferguson, would be willing to share a benefit and avoid the risks."

"Go and get Cordelia," said Janet; "she is always ready for anything in the way of an innovation."

"You know Mascot is always good with you. You have a soporific influence upon him, a sort of Mrs. Winslow's soothing syrup effect, and that is why I particularly want you to be near at hand."

But Janet was obdurate. "I would be a pretty president," she said, "if I were to do anything that would bring reproof from the faculty at this juncture. I must maintain such dignity as I have because of what is expected of me, otherwise, Lee, I wouldn't mind, I must confess."

"Oh, all right then," said Lee. "Come, Mascot, you are beginning to wriggle. I'm afraid you are going to be obstreperous. If you happen to get one of your contrary attacks, I don't know what I am to do to keep you from prancing all over the place."

"Put him in a valise or basket or something," suggested Janet. "I'd provide some bits of food to stop his mouth if he begins to cry. I'd chain him to the handle of whatever you put him in. You can leave the lid open and he will keep quiet, I think. I've seen persons travel with cats carried in that way."

"I'll do it," declared Lee. "Your suggestion is worth something if your rashness isn't." And she walked off carrying Mascot under her arm.

Janet heard a protesting meow from the cat as the two disappeared.

A half hour later all was quiet in Phelps 7. Nothing was heard but the scratching of pens and the rattling of paper as the anxious students struggled through their task. Professor Weatherby gave notably hard examinations and even the most persistent "grind" felt shaky. Presently the silence was broken by a plaintive wail from the back of the room. Every head was instantly raised. There was not a girl present who did not recognize Mascot's voice.

Professor Weatherby looked up and frowned, then rose and slowly paced down the aisle. In the back row sat Lee, her long skirts covering the valise in which crouched Mascot greedily devouring the bits of chicken which Lee had provided as a means of stopping any demonstrations on his part. Having comfortably lunched, the surfeited little beast would curl up and sleep comfortably in the straw "telescope" in which he had been conveyed to the room.

Professor Weatherby made his rounds, observed nothing and returned to his desk. Lee's red Cheeks and the twinkling smile of triumph which played around her mouth failed to betray her. For a moment, Janet was completely demoralized and the words on her paper danced before her eyes. Then she caught sight of Charity Shepherd in front of her, industriously plying her fountain pen and oblivious to all save the matter in hand, so Janet braced by this example, nerved herself against further interruption and went on with her work, completing it just as the hour was up.

Lee slipped out before any one else, and Janet saw her hurrying down the corridor lugging her basketful of cat.

"Lee," she called, "Lee Penrose, wait."

But Lee did not pause till she was safely outside the building. There Janet found her sitting on the lower step.

"Well," said Janet, "how did he behave?"

"Beautifully for a while," returned Lee; "then he got restless. When he began to howl, I thought my last hour had come, but I surreptitiously fed him chicken sandwiches till I thought he would burst. I never knew a cat with such a capacity, and the worst of it is, that I spent my last penny on the sandwiches and my meal ticket has run out. That's what one gets for sacrificing herself to the good of her fellow creatures. I don't doubt but that the entire class will pass a brilliant examination because of Mascot. In spite of having to divide my attention between Mascot and my paper, I am pretty sure that I came through all right. How about you, Janet?"

"I think I did fairly well, though when I heard that heart-rending meow, I thought nothing would save me. Only the sight of Charity Shepherd applying her conscience to her daily need gave me stamina enough to go on. Since you have so nobly thrown yourself into the breach, Lee, there is one thing I can do and that is to stand between you and starvation. Come, we'll go to Burton's and have a sumptuous lunch."

"Janet," cried Lee, "you have saved my life. Help me to tote Mascot back to his lair, and I'll show you how generously I can appreciate your invitation."

"We must certainly have Mascot in evidence on Field Day," said Janet as the two girls sat eating their ice cream. "I think that will certainly be allowable."

"Of course," returned Lee. "What's the good of having a mascot, if he can't be placed on exhibition at such times."

"It will be our last chance, too," sighed Janet.

"Yes, by all means let us have him on the field. We'll go get some ribbons for him on our way home. He must be brave in the class colors."

"You might lead him at the head of the class," suggested Lee. "He shall have a splashing bow on his collar and a long ribbon by which he can be led. Won't he look fine? We will be very impressive with our mascot."

The plan was highly approved by the rest of the class, and was carried out as far as possible. On the morning of Field Day, the seniors marched with banners waving and colors flying, Janet heading the procession with Mascot daintily stepping along and quite the envy of all the under classmen. To be sure Mascot sat down once or twice, and Janet had to coax him to make him go on. He was rather erratic, too, in his methods of procedure, but all went fairly well while he was within the bounds of his familiar haunts. Once outside he made an obstinate stand, set up a dismal howl and refused to behave with the docility expected of him. So in desperation, Janet picked him up and carried him into the gymnasium. There the limit of his endurance was reached, for just as all were seated Mascot made a wild dash for freedom. The ribbon which held him was suddenly jerked out of Janet's hand and she saw a gray streak clashing across the floor.

A cheer went up from the juniors to whose side he had fled. He was caught by Jessie Turner and held aloft in triumph. There was a buzz of: "The seniors' mascot has come to our side! Good luck for us! Three cheers for 1904!" and so on.

For a moment, the seniors and sophomores were staggered. It was so evident a desertion on the part of Mascot. "And so much depends upon the attitude of mind," said Charity Shepherd, really concerned for the success of her class.

Mascot's struggles did not allow Jessie to hold him long under control, though she kept a firm hold upon the long ribbon and it seemed for a time as if he must be fairly captured. He was not easily quieted, however, for at each approach of Jessie's or any of her classmates he turned with a fizz of "Keh-h-h!" And showed his teeth, savagely growling.

Then in spite of Jessie's efforts to hold him, he tugged at the string till she was obliged to follow him as he dashed around the gallery, frantic to escape. Jessie still retained her hold while he led her a chase up and down the gallery and finally he rushed over to the other side.

Then Janet watched her chance. Every girl was on her feet and the seniors held their breath. It would be worse than failure to allow their well-beloved Mascot to be retained as a captive, and the excitement was intense. Janet stepped out to meet the on-coming pair, the hunter and the hunted. She felt in her little chatelaine bag for a small penknife, and, as Mascot raced past, with a deft movement she caught the ribbons that held him and cut them through.

Mascot, now free, ran to the end of the gallery, leaped upon the railing and sat there. At the first symptom of an outburst from the excited students, the now thoroughly frightened creature began to look about wildly, and Janet approached him cautiously.

"Kitty, kitty, poor Mascot," she said softly stroking his bristling fur.

He looked up into her face, gave a piteous meow and allowed her to pick him up.

She gathered him into her arms and as she walked back to her place she said: "Don't cheer, please," for she saw the sophomores making ready to give their yell. She took her seat amid a soft clapping of hands, and, holding Mascot by the collar, she succeeded at last in stroking him into a serene frame of mind.

SHE CAUGHT THE RIBBONS AND CUT THEM THROUGH.

Then the players went on with their basketball. First victory for the juniors, then a steady increase in the gains of the seniors till triumphantly they retired from the field. All of Janet's friends crowded around her. She had succeeded in so quieting Mascot that he purred in her arms, and resented none of the attentions bestowed upon him by the victorious seniors. Had he not been fondled and fed by each one of them for over three years?

It was only when strangers approached, that he became restless, and considering that his nerves had received more than an ordinary shock that day, Janet concluded to take him back at the end of the first game.

"Positively his last appearance upon any stage," she announced as she held him high for a moment. "He retires from public office upon this auspicious occasion."

As she bore him away, there arose three cheers for Mascot from the enthusiastic sophomores, but Mascot was then safe within the familiar precincts of Hopper Hall, and made no demonstration beyond a sudden clutching of Janet's sleeve with his curved claws.

"You are the only girl I ever saw who had a knife sharp enough to cut anything at one fell blow," said Lee as she attended Janet to Hopper Hall. "How on earth did you come by it?"

"My brother Stuart gave it to me the last time he was here," Janet told her. "I had lost mine and he made me a parting present of this."

"It saved the day," declared Lee, "for Jessie would have held on like grim death rather than let Mascot get back to us. Poor little dear he was so scared," she softly stroked the cat's head, "but it certainly gave an added excitement to the morning. I was afraid the faculty would be wrathy, but they really behaved very well."

Janet laughed. "I'd like one of them to hear your superior tone, Professor Weatherby, for example."

"Don't mention him to me," said Lee; "it gives me cold creeps whenever I think of that last exam. No more of those forevermore. Do you dare look for any honors, Janet?"

"Not I. If I get through with a modest number of fair exams, I shall be satisfied. No fellowships nor anything of that kind for this young person. I leave brilliant records for individuals like you."

"Oh, dear," said Lee, "I don't expect to do more than squeeze through. Cordelia is the only one, then, who may look for great things."

"Cordelia probably will take honors," said Janet, "and I shouldn't wonder if Charity did, too."

"Shall we take Mascot this afternoon?" asked Lee.

"No, I think he may be spared any more excitement. We are sure of tennis; the others can't touch us, so there is no use in repeating this morning's performance."

But once more did Mascot appear in public that year, and that was on Class Day when Cordelia read the class will and bequeathed the gray cat to the sister class.

Then while Janet held him, he was divested of his big bow of pink and brown and, with much ceremony, was dressed up in the sophomore colors. Then he was handed over to Madge Ostrom, the president of the sophomores and was borne away in triumph. Yet it must be said that this relinquishing of possession caused more than one pang to the members of the senior class.

"It is the beginning of the end," sighed Lee to Janet as the latter resumed her seat. "How much we shall be giving up."

"And how much we shall be gaining," returned Janet cheerfully. "Think of the lovely feeling of having your mother always close at hand, and the comfortable knowledge that you can have whatever you want to eat, not to mention the bliss of sleeping late in the mornings, when you are sleepy, without thinking of chapel."

"There are compensations," admitted Lee.

"How lovely some of our girls look to-day," said Janet. "What could be sweeter than our lassies?"

"Molasses," returned Lee promptly.

And Janet almost laughed outright though Charity was at that moment reading a solemn composition in the form of an ode, which, as Janet said afterward, made her feel as if it were not worth while to take any view of life except the old one that they had come to call "the worm's eye view." She lapsed into quite a pensive mood and sat wondering what duties and sorrows lay in the life before her.

Lee, however, speedily recovered her spirits, and vowed that she should allow no one to dwell upon the future, so that because of her gayety no merrier seniors ever enlivened Class Day.

CHAPTER XX

PARTINGS

COMMENCEMENT Day was over and it had passed much as Janet had declared that it would when she arranged her bulletin for the benefit of Mr. Evans some months before. During the week there was a constant influx of visiting parents, friends, and relatives.

Stuart and a company of his friends were on hand to send flowers and to occupy every moment not necessarily taken up in exercises and ceremonies. Departing students came and went from the various dormitories and lodgings, making farewell calls. Groups gathered about the grounds. Few students were seen walking alone for almost every one had some friend among her classmates from whom it would be hard to part, and the melancholy countenances were beginning to outnumber the merry ones.

As Janet walked arm in arm with Teddy across the campus after the alumnae dinner, she saw Mr. Evans waiting at the gate just ahead.

"Bless me!" she ejaculated.

"What is the matter?" asked Teddy.

"Nothing except that I promised Mr. Evans long ago that I would try to afford him an opportunity to-day to receive my congratulations. I suppose I must walk a little way with him," she said apologetically. "Don't wait for me, Ted. I'll be back before long," and she turned off leaving Teddy to join Cordelia and Lee who were not far behind.

An hour later she came into the twilight quiet of the room where Teddy sat with her elbows on the window-sill gazing out into the dusky street. There were boxes and trunks standing about ready to be sent off in the morning, and overhead was a tramping back and forth. Lee, who had put off her packing till the last minute, was now giving all her attention to getting her trunks and boxes ready. Peals of laughter now and then floated in through the open window, and up the street came an excited chatter from groups of girls and young men passing by.

Janet seated herself by Teddy's side. "All by her loney, is she? Where is everybody, Ted?"

"Papa and mamma have gone to dine with the Whitelys'."

"Why didn't you go?"

"I didn't want to."

"It is too bad that we must be deprived of the boys' company this evening. Stuart said they must take the seven-thirty if they would reach the university in time for some sort of lark they were going to have. I wonder if we will be as enthusiastic alumnae as they are. The parents wanted to take in all the fun going, so they decided to go on with the laddies and leave me to follow. They actually believed I would be ready to go with them. Mamma understood, but I had hard work making father and Stuart see that I simply could not leave till to-morrow. Come, Ted, let's go up and see the girls. We know Lee is packing, but we also know that Lee would rather have the interruption than not, and maybe we can help her. If we can't be of any use, it will be fun to watch her, and we'll keep Cordelia from badgering her. I am glad there is nothing compelling this evening, and that we are left to follow the dictates of our own sweet wills. The alumnae dinner was quite as much as we could stand after the rest of the excitement."

Bright lights were burning in the rooms overhead which were strewn from end to end with Lee's possessions. "If you can find an inch not already occupied, you may have it," said Cordelia looking around at them from behind a pile of boxes.

"How will I ever get through?" said Lee pausing in her frantic rush. "I have always made it my rule never to do to-day what I can put off till to-morrow, but there are moments when I wish I were not so virtuous about it. My, but I am warm."

"We will all pitch in and help," said Janet, "and then we'll have time to cool off before bedtime."

"I am too dead tired to move," said Cordelia. "I was ambitious enough to get up early and finish my packing this morning by crack o' day. I knew if I didn't do that, I should find half of Lee's belongings in my trunks when I got home and half of mine would be in hers. I simply had to do it in self-defense, but I feel as if I had not been in bed for a week."

"And we have to start so early," complained Lee. "They will come for the trunks at six o'clock."

"All the more reason that we should get things straightened out so you won't have to be up half the night. Goodness, if my impedimenta cluttered up Teddy's room in this way, I'd hear from her."

"I can't help it," said Lee from the depths of a clothes-press. "I thought I had so little that it wouldn't take me any time to pack but I have been dragging out stuff for the last hour and there is no end to it. Where did I get it all? What do I want with it? How am I going to dispose of it? I feel as if I had nightmare."

"Lee's bump of order ought to have developed in all these years she has been pounding away at mathematics," said Teddy, "but I don't believe the bump is one bit bigger. Let me feel, Lee," and she began to tousle Lee's hair, already in a disheveled condition from frequent divings into closets and trunks.

"Don't get into a scrap, girls," said Cordelia; "it's too warm. There you go, Lee. I knew that tower of boxes would fall before you got them stowed away."

"I'll pick them up," said Teddy, pouncing upon scattered sewing materials, stocks, and ribbons. "Come, Janet, you and I will take one trunk and pack it decently so that when Lee gets home she will at least have part of her wardrobe in presentable condition. You fold and I'll pack."

"Angels of light!" exclaimed Lee gratefully. "You have saved my life."

All three worked away faithfully till finally the room began to assume a more orderly appearance, and Cordelia breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, you blessed friends in need," she exclaimed, "how I shall miss you. It is a mournful time if one dwells upon it. Even Charity Shepherd broke down this afternoon and as for Pen Robbins, she fairly swam away in her own tears. What shall you do when you get home, Ted?"

"Oh, I don't know. I shall probably be very industrious for a time, and will join clubs of an inspiring nature, and will be so didactic and superior for a year that all my friends will begin to hate me, then I'll gradually ease down till I get like ordinary mortals and it will be possible to live with me. What shall you do, Cordelia?"

"Oh, I suppose I shall teach. Lee and I have a great scheme of getting positions together, but probably she will be in Maine and I will go to Florida; it generally works that way."

"Any one who has received a fellowship as you have done, Cordelia, ought certainly to be able to find a good position nearer home, when she is ready to take it."

"Maybe. I am not planning very far ahead. What do you mean to do, Janet?"

A happy, half dreamy look came into Janet's eyes. "I am not looking ahead very far, either," she replied. "Sufficient unto the day is the joy thereof. I am going to have home and mother first of all, and I want to gloat over them. I want to soak myself in the bliss of being at home for the next month and after that comes Polly and Ted and the Lilly of the field."

"You're not going to be bothered with that Starr child, are you?" asked Lee pushing back her hair from a perspiring face. "I think it is too funny how Janet has always had a silly little freshman tagging after her ever since she became a soph."

"You can't call Polly silly," said Janet on the defensive, "and of course I shall invite Lillie to visit me when she was good enough to have me last Easter. Surely you haven't forgotten that."

Lee clashed a tray into a big trunk and sat down with a sigh of relief. "Of course I remember it," she said reproachfully, "and I think it is high time you told us about that, you provoking secretive creature."

"It is my last chance, isn't it?" said Janet putting her feet up comfortably on a low box. "Well, girls, I will satisfy your curiosity since it is positively our last evening together. The Starrs have the loveliest home imaginable; beautiful grounds and a most artistic interior. Mr. Starr is a man of fine parts, as they used to say, and Mrs. Starr is one of the most cultivated women I have met for some time. They were simply adorable and I was fêted and entertained without stint. I met several celebrities at their house. I was invited to dine with the governor and altogether I had a perfectly stunning time."

She paused and in a half embarrassed way said: "I don't suppose any of you ever knew that Mark, the perfect man, is a cousin of the Starrs and that he was their guest at the same time that I was."

"Janet Ferguson!" Lee flung down the box she was tying up. "The idea of your never telling us that before. I think that was horridly mean of you."

"Why?" asked Janet. "Are you specially interested in the information?"

"No,—yes, I mean," Lee replied. "I'd have been much nicer to him if I had known."

Janet laughed. "You little wretch. I believe you would, and yet you have always half despised Lillie."

"I haven't really," Lee told her, "but I liked to tease you because you had always been so sly and mum about that visit to her. I took the pains to inquire about her and knew she belonged to the four hundred."

"Then you deserve that I should tell you nothing. I suppose," Janet went on with a show of indifference, "that you all know that Mr. Evans is full professor, or will be next year."

"I heard it rumored, but I did not know that it was an absolute fact," said Cordelia. "I am glad they chose him, for I think he deserves it. How did you hear, Janet?"

"He told me himself this evening."

"Why, of course; you know him quite well after spending ten days in the same house with him. You certainly can't be charged with being expansive, Janet, and yet you aren't usually reticent. I should never have called you an uncommunicative person."

Janet only smiled in reply and Lee announced that as she had no more receptacles for her belongings, that what she couldn't pack, she would have to give away.

"I'll bestow them all upon the washerwoman," she said with a comprehensive sweep of the hand which included the scattered articles remaining upon bed, chairs and floor. "Let's go into the other room; it's pretty well stripped, but it is cooler than in here."

"It is still cooler in our rooms," said Janet, "for we haven't had any lights. You two had better come down there and cool off."

"I couldn't," said Lee. "Every bone in my body aches. I might get there by sliding down the balusters, but I never could get back again. No, thank you, Janet; I'll stand by the old ship till I have to be taken off by a life-line."

Teddy and Janet lingered by the door with many words of regretful parting, and then went down to their own rooms.

"Well, Ted, it's all over; we are no longer undergraduates," said Janet, striking a match and lighting the gas.

"And this is the last evening you and I will ever be here together," said Teddy, with a catch in her voice.

Janet turned and looked at her.

The tears were running down Teddy's cheeks. "Why, Ted, why, Ted," she said commiseratingly.

"Oh, I know it doesn't mean so much to you," said Teddy, reckless of disclosing her real feelings. "You never cared very much. You always loved Polly more, and even Lillie, but I loved you best, Janet. I always did. Nobody else ever came first, and now we are going to part and you will drift away from me altogether. We shall never be classmates and roommates as we have been in this old place; never again."

"Why, Ted, why, Ted," Janet spoke in an expostulatory voice, for Teddy was now sobbing broken-heartedly.

"It is all true," said Teddy. "You never loved me half as much as I have loved you."

Janet knelt down by the side of the bowed figure and put her arms around the weeping girl. "You dear Teddy," she said, "just because I am so used to you and haven't been demonstrative, do you think I don't care? Do you think that any one will ever quite take your place? Teddy, why you are a part of me, almost. I shouldn't think of making much fuss over my own right hand for example. Have you felt that way all along? Have you been hurt and indignant when I have made love to Polly? Have you, Ted? Have I hurt you?"

"Sometimes," acknowledged Teddy with tears in her voice.

"You dear old goose, don't you ever feel so again. Don't cry, Ted, you blessed old stand-by. I shall have to do without Polly and I shall be able to very well, and as for Lillie I don't care a picayune about that baby's blandishments, but Ted, I could never get along without you. Don't you believe me?" She drew Teddy closer to her and snuggled her face down against the wet cheek. "Please don't cry, Ted," she urged.

"I won't if I can help it," said Teddy sitting up and drying her eyes, "but now I have started, I don't seem to be able to stop. I know I am silly, Janet. I don't usually make such a show of myself, do I? But," the tears flowed again, "it's so hard to part from you," she sobbed.

"But you believe that I love you, and that you must always come first among all my girl friends, you do believe it?"

"Yes, I do now."

"And you are satisfied?"

"Yes, oh, yes. Kiss me, Janet; you never do, you know."

Janet put her arms around her and kissed the trembling lips again and again, the tears standing in her own eyes. "We are going to see each other again in a month, remember," she said, "and Ted, let me tell you something; I'd rather have you for my sister than any girl under the sun. I think—I hope some day you will be. Do you hope so, too, Ted?"

Teddy did not answer, but buried her face on Janet's shoulder. "Stuart never liked a girl so well as he does you," Janet went on, "and when he has finished his medical course, why then, Ted—"

"Don't say any more," pleaded Teddy in muffled tones, "or I shall cry again."

"There's something else I want to tell you," Janet continued. "Not another soul knows it. Ted, I don't think this is the last time we shall be together in this old town, for Ted—"

Teddy lifted up her head. "Janet, I believe I can guess; it is Mark, the perfect man."

Janet nodded, then said hastily: "Oh, not yet. Some day, two or three years from now, maybe. He—he told me this evening. I didn't suppose," she continued half to herself, "that was what he meant by its being encouraging."

"What encouraging?"

"I told him once that if I ever had to choose another place of residence than my own home I'd prefer this to any. Wasn't I a goose to tell him that? But I never dreamed then."

"Dreamed what?" Teddy was never very subtle.

"That he—that he would say what he did this evening. I never began to suspect till last Easter when we were both at the Starrs'."

"You never told me that he was there," said Teddy reproachfully. "You might have trusted me, Janet."

"I know I might, but I couldn't. I was half scared and half happy and I wasn't sure and I remembered 'the hero,' and so I made Lillie promise that she wouldn't say anything about it, because she was beginning to tease me and I told her it might be the means of breaking up my friendship with Mark—the perfect man, I mean. I was just in that state of mind when a little too much one way or the other would have made all the difference in the world, so I scared her into keeping quiet about it, and I wouldn't let him see me very often for the same reason. I've told you first of all, Ted, and that is why I can't cry to-night; I am too happy."

By common consent, they moved toward the dimness of the outer room, and sat together by the window, arms on sill and heads touching. The twinkling lights of Hopper Hall on the other side of the college campus began to disappear one by one. The tramping up-stairs had ceased.

From the gardens across the way came a night breeze rose-sweet. The honeysuckle climbing over the porch below the window, sent up a waft of perfume now and then from its few opened buds. A rapid footstep echoed along the pavement once in a while. Then came silence and the coolness of the night's late hours. The two girls sat without speaking for a long time, then Janet arose and laid a caressing hand on Teddy's head.

"It's all over for Cordelia, and Lee and the others, but for me it has just commenced. There will be much more of it in the years ahead of us, Teddy, for where I go you will have to come."

Presently their lights, too, were out, and only the shining stars looked down upon the sleeping town.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74012 ***