"ToMiss Grace Harlowe, "Wayne Hall, "Overton."My Dear Miss Harlowe:"I am enclosing a check made payable to you, which I should like you to accept in behalf of the Semper Fidelis Club. I am greatly interested in your association and wish to say that at this time each year as long as the club exists I pledge myself to contribute the same amount of money. Trusting that the club will continue to thrive and prosper,"Yours very truly,"Thomas Redfield."
"ToMiss Grace Harlowe, "Wayne Hall, "Overton.
"My Dear Miss Harlowe:
"I am enclosing a check made payable to you, which I should like you to accept in behalf of the Semper Fidelis Club. I am greatly interested in your association and wish to say that at this time each year as long as the club exists I pledge myself to contribute the same amount of money. Trusting that the club will continue to thrive and prosper,
"Yours very truly,
"Thomas Redfield."
Grace lay down the letter and stared at the check with incredulous eyes. It was for one thousand dollars.
It took but an instant to dart down the hall to Miriam's room, where Anne had just gone to borrow Miriam's Thesaurus.
"Look, look!" cried Grace, holding the check before Anne's astonished eyes.
Miriam rose from her chair and peered over Anne's shoulder. "Three cheers for Mr. Redfield!" she exclaimed. Three cheers for the fairy godfather of Semper Fidelis!
After the Easter vacation there seemed very little left of the college year. Spring overtook the Overton girls unawares, and golf, tennis, Saturday afternoon picnics and walking tours crowded even basketball off their schedule. It was delightful just to stroll about the fast-greening campus arm in arm with one's best friend under the smiling blue of an April sky. It was ideal weather for planning for the future, but it was anything but conducive to study.
"It's a good thing we work like mad in the winter," grumbled Elfreda Briggs, giving her Horace a vindictive little shove that sent it sliding to the floor. "I can't remember anything now, except that the grass is green, the sky is blue—"
"Sugar is sweet, and so are you," supplemented Miriam Nesbit slyly.
"That wasn't what I was going to say at all," retorted Elfreda reprovingly.
"Then I beg your pardon," returned Miriam, with mock contrition. "What were you going to say?"
"Nothing much," grinned Elfreda, "except that I was weighed to-day and I've lost five pounds. I am down to one hundred and forty-five pounds now. If I can lose five pounds more this summer I shall be in fine condition for basketball next fall."
"You did splendid work on the sub team this year," replied Miriam warmly. "I am sure that you will make the regular team next fall."
"The upper class girls say they have very little time for basketball," mused Elfreda. "All kinds of other stunts crowd it out. I'm not going to be like that, though. I love to play and I shall manage to find time for it."
"Where is Grace to-night?" asked Elfreda. "I didn't see her at dinner."
"She had a dinner engagement with Mabel Ashe."
"Vinton's?" asked Elfreda.
Miriam nodded.
"Grace is lucky," sighed Elfreda. "She is always being invited to something or other. Her dinner partners always materialize, too," she added ruefully.
"Which is more than can be said of some of yours," laughed Miriam. "Strange you never found out about that, isn't it?"
It was Elfreda's turn to nod. "I have often thought I would go to Miss Atkins and ask her why she left me to languish dinnerless in my room after inviting me to eat, drink and be merry," mused Elfreda. "I hate to go home with the mystery unsolved. I believe I will go ask her now," she declared, with sudden energy. "I know she's alone, for the Enigma isn't there to-night." Elfreda had recently bestowed this title upon Mildred Taylor on account of her inexplicable attitude toward Grace.
"I have been disappointed in little Miss Taylor," remarked Miriam slowly. "I was so sure that she would prove another Arline Thayer. She had the same fascinating little ways and at first she seemed so genuinely frank and straightforward."
"I wonder what made her change so suddenly," said Elfreda, walking to the door, "and toward Grace, especially. She doesn't speak to Grace when she meets her. She is an Enigma and no mistake. Now for our friend the Anarchist. If I don't come back within a reasonable length of time you will know that I have been annihilated."
Ten minutes went by, then ten more. At the end of half an hour Miriam wondered slightly at her roommate's continued absence. Just before time for the dinner bell to ring, Elfreda burst into the room with: "Miriam, will you help me to dress? I am invited to dinner and this time I am going. The An—Miss Atkins has forgiven me, peace has been restored and we are going out to dine, arm in arm." Elfreda pranced jubilantly about the room, then flinging open the door of the wardrobe brought forth two large boxes that had come by express the day before, one of them containing her new spring hat, the other a smart suit of natural pongee.
"Stop hurrying for a minute and give me a true and faithful account of this miracle," demanded Miriam. "I had begun to think the worst had happened. What did you say first, and what did she say?"
"The door of her room stood partly open and I knocked on it, then marched in without an invitation," replied Elfreda. "She was so surprised she forgot to be angry, and before she had time to remember that she didn't like me I surprised her still further by asking her to tell me why she had refused to speak to me for so long. Before she knew it she had stammered something about Grace and I calling her names and making fun of her behind her back when she had asked me in all good faith to have dinner with her at Vinton's. She declared she had heard us.
"The instant she said that I remembered that I had mimicked her that night while dressing and that Grace had laughed, but had said in the same breath, that it wasn't fair. So I asked her point blank if that was what she meant, and she said 'yes,' only she hadn't waited long enough to hear what Grace had said about unfairness. She had come to the door just in time to hear me mimic her, and had rushed back to her room angry and hurt. Then I explained to her that I had a bad trick of imitating even my friends, and that I had offended more than one person by my thoughtlessness. I was really dreadfully sorry and asked her to forgive me. She had half a mind not to do it, then she relented, smiled a little and actually offered me her hand. Of course, after that I stayed a few minutes to talk things over with her and she proposed going to dinner. She is changed. In just what way I can't explain, except that she is more gentle and not quite so prim. Will you look in the top drawer of the chiffonier and see if I put my gold beads in that green box? You know the one I mean."
Miriam obediently opened the drawer and taking the beads from the box deftly fastened them about Elfreda's neck. "Grace will be glad to hear of this," she remarked. "May I tell her and Anne?"
"Yes," returned Elfreda, "but please don't tell any one else." Pinning on her new hat she hurried off to keep her long-delayed engagement with the now thoroughly pacified Anarchist.
When the dinner bell rang, Miriam suddenly remembered that of the four friends she was the only stay-at-home that night. Anne had gone to take supper and spend the evening with Ruth Denton. As she took her seat at the table she noted that Emma Dean's and Mildred Taylor's places were also vacant.
"Where is everyone to-night?" asked Irene Evans, who sat opposite Miriam.
"Grace, Anne and Elfreda were all invited out this evening," answered Miriam. "I don't know anything about Miss Dean and Miss Taylor."
"Emma is spending the evening with her cousin, that other Miss Dean of Ralston House," replied Irene. "Miss Taylor," she shrugged her shoulders slightly, "is with Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton, I suppose."
"I don't think I shall overstudy to-night," announced Miriam, a little later, as she rose from the table. "I'm going for a walk. Want to go with me?"
"I'm sorry," replied Irene regretfully, "but I've a frightfully hard chemistry lesson ahead of me to-night."
It had been an unusually balmy April and now that the moon was at the full, the Overton girls took advantage of the fine nights to walk up and down College Street or the campus. Sure of finding some one she knew, Miriam slipped on her sweater, and, disdaining a hat, strolled down the street toward the campus. Exchanging numerous greetings with students, she wandered aimlessly across the campus toward a seat built against a tree where she and Grace had had more than one quiet session.
As she neared the seat, which was somewhat in the shadow, she gave a little startled exclamation. A girl was crouching at the darkest end of the seat, her face hidden in her hands. Turning away, Miriam was about to recross the campus when the utter despondency of the girl's attitude caused her to go back. Stopping directly in front of the bowed figure, she said gently, "Can I help you?"
The girl rose, and without answering was about to hurry away, when Miriam, after one swift glance at her face, ran after her, exclaiming, "Wait a moment, Miss Taylor!"
Mildred Taylor stopped and eyed Miriam defiantly. Despite her expression of bravado, she looked as though she had been crying. "What do you want?" she asked in a low voice.
"To talk with you," said Miriam boldly, stepping forward and slipping her arm through Mildred's. "Shall we sit down here and begin? All my friends have deserted me to-night. There were ever so many vacant places at the dinner table. I noticed you were away, too."
"I—I—have—haven't had any dinner," faltered Mildred. Then, staring disconsolately at her companion for an instant, she dropped her head on her arm and gave way to violent sobbing. "I am so miserable," she wailed.
Miriam sat silent, touched by Mildred's distress, yet undecided what to do. Things were evidently going badly with the "cute" little girl. "She has done something she is sorry for," was Miriam's reflection. After a slight deliberation she said gently, "Is there anything you wish to tell me, Miss Taylor?"
Mildred raised her head, regarding Miriam with troubled, hopeless eyes. Miriam took one of the little girl's hands in hers. "Do not be afraid to tell me," she said earnestly. "I am your friend."
"You wouldn't be if you knew what a miserable, contemptible coward I am," muttered Mildred. "I can't tell you anything. Please go away." Her head dropped to her arm again.
Miriam, still holding her other hand, patted it comfortingly. "No one is infallible, Miss Taylor. I once felt just as you do to-night. Only I am quite sure that my fault was much graver than yours can possibly be."
Mildred raised her head with a jerk. She looked at Miriam incredulously. "I don't thinkyouever did anything very contemptible," she said sceptically.
"Let me tell you about it," replied Miriam soberly. "Then you can judge for yourself. The person whom I wronged has long since forgiven me, but I can never quite forgive myself or forget. It was during my first year in high school that I began behaving very badly toward a new girl in the freshman class, of whom I was jealous. I was the star pupil of the class until she came, then she proved herself my equal if not my superior in class standing, and I tried in every way to discredit her in the eyes of her teachers and her friends. At the end of the freshman year, a sum of money was offered as a prize to the freshman who averaged highest in her final examinations. Feeling sure that this other girl would win it, I managed, with the help of some one as dishonest as myself, to gain possession of the examination questions, but before I had finished with them, I was obliged to drop them in a hurry, to escape discovery by the principal. By the merest chance the girl I disliked happened along just in time to be suspected of tampering with the papers. But she had friends who fought loyally for her and cleared her of the suspicion.
"She won the prize. Nothing was ever said to me about it, but I knew that the principal and at least four girls in school knew what I had done. When I entered the sophomore class in the fall I felt a positive hatred for this girl and for her friends. I did all sorts of cruel, despicable things that year, and succeeded in dividing my class into two factions who opposed each other at every point.
"Toward the last of the year I grew tired of being so disagreeable. My conscience began to trouble me seriously. Then, one day, the two girls I despised did me a great service, and my enmity toward them died out forever.
"I can't begin to tell you how differently I felt after I had acknowledged my fault and been forgiven. Those girls are my dearest friends now. You know them, too."
"You—you don't mean Miss Harlowe and Miss Pierson?" asked Mildred in a low tone, her eyes fixed upon Miriam.
Miriam nodded. "Grace and Anne are the most charitable girls I ever knew," she said softly, "If they were not they would never have forgiven me. Anne was the girl who won the prize. Grace was one of the friends who stood by her. If you feel that you have done some one an injustice, you will not be happy until you have righted matters. If the person refuses to forgive you, you at least will have done your part."
"I can't go to the—the—person and tell her," faltered Mildred. "I should die of humiliation."
"But you don't wish to go away from Overton carrying this burden with you," persisted Miriam. "It will weigh heavily upon you when you come back next fall—"
"I'm not coming back next fall," mumbled Mildred. "I shall never again be happy at Overton."
"Brace up, and square things with the other girl, and you'll feel differently," retorted Miriam.
"If it were any one else besides Miss Harlowe," began Mildred.
"Oh, I am so sorry you told me her name!" exclaimed Miriam regretfully. "Now that I know it is Grace, however, I shall redouble my advice about going to her. You need have no fear that she will not forgive you. Grace never holds grudges."
"I can't do it," declared Mildred tremulously, "I am afraid."
Miriam looked at her companion rather doubtfully. "I think Grace is the person with whom to talk this matter over," she declared. "Suppose we go over to Wayne Hall now? She went to dinner at Vinton's with Mabel Ashe, but she must be at the hall by this time."
"Oh, I can't," gasped Mildred nervously, "Yes, yes, I will if you will come with me while I tell her."
"I think it would be better for you to go to her by yourself," said Miriam dubiously.
"I can't do it," protested Mildred miserably. "Please, please come with me."
"Then, let us go now," returned Miriam decisively. "We may catch Grace at home and alone."
During the walk across the campus the two girls exchanged no words. Mildred was trying to summon all her courage in order to make the dreaded confession.
Miriam was thinking of the day that belonged to the long ago when she had confessed her fault, and, joining hands with Anne Pierson and Grace Harlowe, had sworn eternal friendship. She felt only the deepest sympathy for the unhappy little girl at her side, for having been through a similar experience she understood clearly the struggle that was going on in Mildred's mind.
Twice the little freshman stopped short, declaring she could not and would not go on, and each time, with infinite patience, Miriam buoyed and restored to firmness her shaking resolution.
"You do not know Grace Harlowe," Miriam said as they neared Wayne Hall, "or you would not be afraid to go to her and tell her what you have just told me. She is neither revengeful nor unforgiving, and I am sure that she will be only too glad to help you begin all over again."
"But not here at Overton," quavered Mildred.
"You can decide that later," Miriam said kindly, as they entered the house. But she smiled to herself, for she felt reasonably sure that Mildred would come back to Overton for her sophomore year.
Grace came home from Vinton's with the firm intention of putting in a full evening of study. "It is only half-past eight," she exulted. "I'll have plenty of time for everything. I suppose Anne won't be home until the last minute's grace."
As she passed through the hall to the stairs she poked her head inquisitively into the living room. Three or four girls sat at the library table industriously engaged in writing. Grace turned away without disturbing them, and went quietly up the stairs. As she walked down the hall to her own room she noticed that Miriam's room was dark.
"I wonder where the girls are!" Grace exclaimed. "I didn't know they were to be away to-night, too. Perhaps they have gone for a walk." Grace lighted the gas in her own room and, hanging up her hat, sat down in the Morris chair, beside the table on which lay her books piled ready for work. "If no one bothers me for the next hour and the girls obligingly stay away, the rest will be easy," she smiled to herself as she worked at her French.
At five minutes of ten she closed her text book on chemistry with a triumphant bang. "Nothing left to do now but my theme and that can wait until to-morrow night. I think I'll read until the girls come in." Grace reached for her book, which lay on the table conveniently near her, opened it at the place she had marked and began to read. She had not read more than two or three pages when, through the half opened door, came the sound of voices.
Grace's gray eyes opened in surprise as Miriam Nesbit walked into the room followed by Mildred Taylor.
"I thought you would be here," greeted Miriam.
Grace rose and walked toward Mildred. Without the slightest show of hesitation she held out her hand. "I am glad to see you, Mildred. Why haven't you come in before?" she asked frankly.
Mildred looked from Miriam to Grace. "I can't tell you why!" she exclaimed in a choked, frightened voice. "I thought I could, but I can't." She began to cry softly.
Grace sprang to her side, and, placing her arm about the little girl's waist, said soothingly, "Don't cry, and don't tell us anything you don't wish to tell. I am so glad you came at all. The early part of the year I thought we were going to be friends. I am sorry I hurt your feelings on the night of the sophomore reception. I told you so then, but I am afraid you thought I didn't mean what I said."
"It wasn't that," quavered Mildred, wiping her eyes. "It was—it was—I had no business to take it. It was stealing!"
Miriam looked sharply at Mildred's distressed face, as though trying to gain some inkling of what was to come. Grace's expression was one of anxious concern. Neither girl spoke.
"I might as well tell you, Grace," went on Mildred in a low, shamed voice. "I am the person who stole your theme. I found it at the foot of the stairs. I did not look at the name written on it until I was in my own room. I ought to have given it to you at once, but I stopped to read it. It was so clever I wished I had written it. Themes are my weak point, and Miss Duncan had criticised my work so severely that I was feeling blue and discouraged. Then came the temptation to take your theme, copy it, and hand it in as my own. You had lost it, so you would never know what became of it. You could write another theme as easily as you had written that. It did occur to me that you might be able to rewrite that particular theme from memory. So I changed the title of your theme, copied it that night and changed the ending a little and took particular pains to hand it in early the next morning, so that if any suspicion were aroused it would not fall on me, but on you. It was thoroughly contemptible in me, and after I handed in the theme I felt like a criminal. When Miss Duncan sent for me, I grew frightened and instead of owning to what I had done I told more lies and tried to make it appear that you were the real offender. At first she believed me, but afterward she didn't, and made me admit that I had lied. When she told me about promising you that she would give me another chance and that you neither knew nor cared to know my name, I could hardly believe it. Since that time I've never dared to speak to you. I have been so dreadfully ashamed." Her voice broke.
"Don't think about it ever again," comforted Grace. "Everyone is likely to make mistakes. I think you have suffered enough for yours. I am sure you would never do any such thing again."
Mildred shook her head vigorously. "Never," she declared sadly.
Miriam, who had listened to the little girl's confession, an inscrutable expression on her dark face, said practically, "Was there anything besides what you have told us that made you unhappy to-night?"
"Why—why," stammered Mildred. "Yes, there was. How did you know?"
"I didn't know," declared Miriam dryly. "I just wondered."
"It was something that made me unhappy, yet glad, too," said Mildred, her face flushing. "I thought I hated Grace and said horrid things about her to two other girls I know, who are not her friends. To-night I was with them at Martell's, and I quarreled with them about you girls. Ever since I heard Savelli play at your entertainment I have felt differently about everything. His music brought me to my real self and made me realize how small and mean and contemptible I was. I discovered that it was not you but myself I hated, and when these girls began to say things about you, all of a sudden I found myself standing up for you as staunchly as ever I could. Then we quarreled and I got up from the table and almost ran out of Martell's.
"I walked and walked until I was all tired out. Then I sat down on that seat by the tree where Miriam found me. In defending you, Grace, I found myself. I saw clearly that my college life was all wrong. The mean things I had done stared me in the face. The theme was the worst of all. No wonder I cried. Now that I've told you everything I am happier than I have been since last fall. Next year I am going to start all over again in some other college where no one knows me."
"Besides yourself, there are only three who know, Miriam, Miss Duncan and I," said Grace slowly. "When Miss Duncan sent for me about the theme I told myself then that, although I had no desire to know the name of the other girl, if ever I should learn her identity I would try to be the best friend she ever had. I am ready to keep my word, Mildred, if you are ready to come back to Overton next year and help me keep it."
Mildred glanced timidly from Grace to Miriam. "I'd love to come back," she faltered, "only I'm afraid you girls would never believe in me again."
"My friends did," reminded Miriam softly, extending her hand to Mildred. "I believe in you now."
"Of course we will believe in you," declared Grace cheerfully. "Come back next fall and give us a chance to show you that we trust you."
"I will," answered Mildred with solemn resolution, "but you shall give me the chance to show you that your trust is not misplaced. Good night," she put out her hand again rather uncertainly. Grace's hand went quickly out to meet it, holding it in a warm, friendly clasp, and Mildred went to her room a changed girl.
"How did you happen to be her confessor, Miriam?" asked Grace wonderingly, after the freshman had gone.
Miriam related the evening's happenings.
"I never even suspected her," said Grace. "I believed her to be angry with me for overlooking her at the reception. I always tried not to think of any particular girl as being guilty of taking my theme. It has turned out beautifully, hasn't it?"
"Yes," nodded Miriam. "As a matter of fact everything generally does turn out well in the end if one has the patience to wait."
"Two more days, then good-bye to Overton," mourned Elfreda Briggs sadly.
The stout girl was seated on the floor, the contents of her trunk spread broadcast about her.
"Elfreda would like to stay here and study all summer," remarked Miriam slyly to Anne, who was watching Elfreda's movements with amused eyes.
"Oh, no, I wouldn't," retorted Elfreda good-naturedly. "I am as anxious to go home as the rest of you, but I'm sorry to leave here, too. What's the use in explaining?" she grumbled, catching sight of her friends' laughing faces. "You girls know what I mean, only you will tease me."
"Never mind, we won't tease It any more," said Miriam soothingly.
"There is only one thing you can do to convince me that you are in earnest," stipulated Elfreda.
"Name it," laughed Anne.
"Invite me to a banquet, and have cakes and lemonade," was the calm request.
"I thought you were strongly opposed to sweet things," commented Anne.
"Not at the sad, sorrowful end of the sophomore year," returned Elfreda, impressively. "Besides, lemonade isn't fattening."
"And it will be such splendid exercise for you to make it," added Miriam mischievously.
Elfreda looked disapprovingly at Miriam, then a broad smile illuminated her round face. "So nice of you to think about the exercise," she beamed affectedly. "Lead me to the lemons."
Miriam rose, took Elfreda by the arm, and leading her to the closet, pointed upward to the shelf. Elfreda grasped the paper bag with a giggle. Then Miriam led her calmly out again, just in time to encounter Grace, Mabel Ashe and Frances Marlton, who, in passing down the hall, had heard voices, and could not resist stopping for a moment.
"What is going on here?" asked Mabel curiously. "Why is J. Elfreda in leading strings?"
"She is taking exercise," replied Miriam gravely. "J. Elfreda, explain to the lady."
"This exercise is compulsory," grinned Elfreda. "No exercise, no lemonade. Of course, you will stay and have some."
"Of course," agreed Mabel. "I may not have a chance for a very long time to drink lemonade again with the Wayne Hallites."
"You mustn't say that," remonstrated Grace. "Remember, you are going to visit me at Oakdale. Elfreda is going to visit Miriam. Can't you can arrange to come, too, Frances?"
"I'm sorry," declared Frances, shaking her head, "but we are going to sail for Europe within a week after I reach home. I shall have to say good-bye in earnest on Thursday. But I'll write you, and make you a visit some time."
"How comfortingly definite. I'll see you again during the next hundred years," jeered Mabel.
"You know I don't mean that," reproached Frances.
"I do intend before the end,This happy couple shall meet again,"
"I do intend before the end,This happy couple shall meet again,"
chanted Elfreda as she peered into the lemonade pitcher.
"Precisely," laughed Frances. "Did you play 'Needle's eye' when you were a little girl, Elfreda?"
"Yes, and 'London Bridge' and 'King William was King James's son,' too. I always loved to play, but was hardly ever chosen because I was so fat and ungainly. I remember once, though, when I went to a children's party in a pale blue silk dress that made me look like a young mountain. I thought myself superlatively beautiful, however, and the rest of the little girls were so impressed that I was a great social triumph, and made up for the times when I had been passed by," concluded Elfreda humorously.
"Your adventures are worthy of recording and publishing," said Anne lightly. "Write a book and call it 'The Astonishing Adventures of Elfreda'."
The stout girl eyed Anne reflectively, the lemon squeezer poised in one hand. "That's a good idea," she said coolly. "I'll do it when I come back next fall. Now I'm not going to say another word until I finish this lemonade, so don't speak to me." When she left the room for ice water, Mabel Ashe observed warmly, "She is a credit to 19—, isn't she?"
"Yes," returned Grace. "They are beginning to find it out, too."
"Your sophomore days have been peaceful, compared with last year," remarked Frances Marlton. "Certain girls have kept strictly in the background."
"We have not been obliged to resort to ghost parties this year," reminded Mabel Ashe. "It requires ghosts to lay ghosts, you know."
Grace could have remarked with truth that certain ghosts had not been laid as effectually as she desired, but wisely keeping her own counsel she was about to essay a change of subject when the return of Elfreda with the lemonade served her purpose.
"'How can I bear to leave thee?'" quoted Mabel sentimentally, as she and Frances reluctantly rose to go half an hour later. "I hope you feel properly flattered. Graduates' attentions are at a premium this week. They ought to be, too, when one stops to think that it takes four years to reach that dizzy height of popularity. Four long years of slavish toil, my children. Observe my careworn air, my rapidly graying locks, my deeply-lined countenance."
"Yes, observe them," grinned Elfreda. "You look younger than Anne, and she looks like a mere chee—ild. Don't forget that you are going to send us pictures of you in your cap and gown, will you?" she added, looking affectionately at the two pretty seniors, whose help and kindly interest had meant much to her individually.
"We will see you to the door," laughed Grace, slipping her arm through Mabel's.
"Did you ever find the girl?" asked Mabel in a low tone. "You know the one I mean. I have often wondered about her."
"Yes," replied Grace in the same guarded tones. "I can't tell even you her name, but everything has been explained."
Mabel pressed Grace's arm in silent understanding. "Good-bye," she said, "we shall see you again before we leave Overton."
"You had better come into our room and finish the lemonade," declared Miriam, as they watched their guests go down the walk.
"But I haven't begun my packing yet, and I have so many things to do and so many girls to see that I ought not waste a minute."
"Time spent with us is never wasted," reminded Elfreda significantly.
"Quite true," responded Grace gaily. "I am sorry I had to be reminded. To prove my sorrow I will help you with your packing, when I ought to be doing my own."
"Come on, then," challenged Elfreda. She ran lightly up the stairs, her three friends at her heels.
"I'll pour the lemonade while you and Grace pack," volunteered Miriam.
"I choose to do nothing," said Anne lazily. "I am going to work all summer. I need a little rest now."
"You won't know where you are to be for the summer until Mr. Forest writes, will you?" asked Miriam.
"The Originals will be lonesome without you, Anne," mourned Grace. "You must be sure to visit me. That is, unless you are too far west."
"I am going to have a visitor of my own," announced Elfreda proudly. "You can never guess who it is."
"I know," laughed Anne, after a moment's reflection. "It is the Anar—Miss Atkins, I mean."
"Who told you?" demanded Elfreda. "It is true, though. She is coming to Fairview the last two weeks in July, and I am going to give her the time of her life. Just think, girls, she has never had any girl friends until she came here. Her mother died when she was a baby, and a prim old aunt kept house for them. Her father is Professor Archibald Atkins, that Natural Scientist who went to Africa and was held captive by a tribe of savages for two years.
"Living with the heathen didn't improve him, for when he came home he behaved so queerly that people thought him crazy. Then the aunt, who was the professor's sister, died, and poor Laura had to live alone with her father in a great big country house. Finally, she grew so tired of it she asked him to send her to college. She had always had a tutor, so she was ready for the entrance examinations, but she had never associated with other girls and didn't know much about them. I can't feel sorry enough for calling her names and imitating her. We had a long talk at Martell's the other night and I am going to be her knight errant from now on."
"You found the rainbow side of your sophomore year in helping some one else, didn't you, Elfreda?"
"I don't know what you are talking about," rejoined Elfreda bluntly.
"I know you don't," laughed Grace. "It was nothing much. Last year at this time Anne and I were lamenting because we couldn't be freshmen all over again, and Anne said that being a sophomore was sure to have its rainbow side."
"It has been the nicest year of my life," said Elfreda earnestly. "If being a junior is any nicer than being a sophomore—well—you will have to show me. There, I've ended by using slang. But I've found my rainbow side in another way, too."
"Name it," challenged Miriam mischievously.
"By losing twenty pounds," announced Elfreda, with proud triumph. "I weigh one hundred and forty pounds now, and next fall you will see me on the team, or it won't be my fault."
"I hope I shall have time for basketball," said Grace. "There will be so many other things. Remember, girls, if during vacation you think of any good plan for the Semper Fidelis Club to make money, make a note of it. Just because we have money in our treasury, we mustn't become lazy. We will find plenty of uses for every cent we can earn. There are dozens of girls struggling through Overton who need help."
"You never told us to what girls you and Arline played Santa Claus last winter, Grace," said Elfreda reproachfully.
"And I never will," laughed Grace, "and Arline won't tell, either."
"I know something, too," declared Elfreda, "but I'm not as stingy as Grace. I know who poked that envelope with the ten dollars in it under Grace's door."
"Who?" came simultaneously from the three girls.
"Mildred Taylor," replied Elfreda. "I saw her do it. I was just coming down the hall that night as she slipped it under the door and ran away. I never told any one, because I could see she didn't want any one to know she did it."
"Elfreda always sees more than appears on the surface," commented Miriam mischievously.
"Elfreda's energy has inspired me to go to my room and begin my own packing," declared Anne, rising.
"I'll go with you," volunteered Grace. "I think Elfreda can be trusted to finish her packing by herself."
"I think I'll accomplish more, at any rate," declared Elfreda pointedly.
"It is half over, Anne, dear," said Grace, almost wistfully, as they strolled down the hall, school girl fashion, their arms about each other's waists.
"Our life at Overton, you mean?" asked Anne.
Grace nodded. "I was sure I should never like college as well as high school, but I've found it even nicer."
"And we are going to like being juniors best of all," predicted Anne.
How completely the truth of Anne's prediction was proven will be found in "Grace Harlowe's Third Year at Overton College."
The End.