felt sure that the girls were wrong, but I wished them to find out for
themselves. How it happened, I don't know, but we are sure to hear the
story after the party is over."

While Gertrude Wells was congratulating herself on the success of her
experiment, Grace Harlowe was remarking to Miriam Nesbit that she
thought Gertrude Wells would be an ideal president from 19---- and that
she intended pointing out this fact to the freshmen of Wayne Hall.

CHAPTER XII

UPS AND DOWNS

At breakfast the next morning Grace began her campaign, and she
continued to sing Gertrude Wells's praises when she encountered a group
of her freshmen friends after the services. Then Anne, Miriam, Elfreda
and she went for a stroll down College Street and into Vinton's for
ices. Here they encountered quite a delegation of girls from Morton
House, among whom was Gertrude herself, and a great deal of mysterious
intriguing went on behind that young woman's back, who, quite
unconscious of the honor about to be thrust upon her, was telling her
chum that she thought Grace Harlowe would make a good president for
19----.

On her way home Grace exclaimed delightedly: "Look across the street,
girls! There is Mabel Ashe. Let's go over and speak to her."

Suiting the action to the word the four girls hurried across the street
to greet their favorite. Mabel smiled pleasantly, stretching forth a
welcoming hand, but the young woman with her regarded their presence as
an intrusion and glared her displeasure at the newcomers.

"How do you do, Miss Alden?" ventured Grace politely, but Miss Alden
stared over her head and with a frigid, "Really, Mabel, under the
circumstances, you'll have to excuse my leaving you," she turned and
marched off in the other direction.

"I suppose we are the circumstances," said Grace, with a faint smile.
She was furiously angry at the unlooked-for snub, but refused to show
it. Anne looked distressed, Miriam was frowning, while Elfreda glowered
savagely.

"Don't mind what she says," soothed Mabel. "She feels awfully cross this
afternoon because she has met with a disappointment. She has an
invitation to a Pi Kappa Gamma dance and she has been refused permission
to go. Result, she is in a raging, tearing humor."

"But I thought one could always go to a fraternity dance if properly
chaperoned," remarked Grace innocently.

"One can," mimicked Mabel, "if one doesn't ask permission to go too
often, and if one has no conditions to work off. Now, you see why
Mistress Beatrice is obliged to languish at home while the man who
invited her will no doubt have to invite some other girl, who is lucky
enough to have no conditions."

"Isn't it rather early in the year to be conditioned?" asked Miriam.

"Yes, but Beatrice has been cutting classes ever since she came back
this year," confided Mabel. "I am not betraying a confidence in telling
you this. She admits that she neglects her work. She says she is going
to settle down after mid-year's exams and work."

"I think she's about the most snobbish proposition I ever came across,"
announced Elfreda. "It would serve her right if she did flunk in her
examinations. I hope with all my heart she falls down with an awful
bump."

Elfreda had forgotten her former aspirations toward cultivating the true
college spirit.

"You mustn't wish even your bitterest enemy bad luck," smiled Mabel
Ashe. "Superstitious people say that the bad luck will be visited on the
head of the one who wishes it."

"I'm not superstitious," retorted Elfreda. "Of course, I believe that
pins cut friendship, and that it's bad luck to see the new moon through
the window, or to walk under a ladder. It's a sure sign of death to
break a looking glass or dream of white flowers, too, and to drop a
spoon means certain disappointment, but aside from a few little things
like that, I certainly don't believe in signs."

"Oh, no, you don't believe in signs," chorused the girls, in gleeful
sarcasm.

"Well, I don't," reiterated Elfreda. "That is, not a whole lot of
them."

"Good-bye, children, I must leave you at this corner," announced Mabel.
"Come and see me soon. I'll look you up the first evening I have free."

"I should think that Miss Alden would hate herself," remarked Elfreda
scornfully, as she marched along beside Grace. "She hates you, that's
sure enough."

"Nonsense, why should Miss Alden hate me? You are letting your
imagination run away with you, Elfreda," laughed Grace.

"Don't you believe it," declared Elfreda doggedly. "She doesn't like
you, because Mabel likes you, and she likes Mabel. Some one told me the
other day that she can't bear to have Mabel look cross-eyed at any other
girl here. She claims that it's because she loves her so much, but I
think it's because she wants to have the most popular girl at Overton
for her friend," finished the stout girl shrewdly.

"What shall we do this afternoon?" called Miriam Nesbit over her
shoulder.

"Go on boosting our candidate," laughed Anne. "Let us go for a walk
after dinner. We will call on Ruth Denton. Then we'll take her with us
to Morton House. That will be a nice way for her to meet the Morton
House girls. While we are there we can find out how the land lies. Then
we will take Ruth home with us for supper and the rest of the evening,
if she doesn't have to study."

At the dinner table that day Grace again introduced the subject of the
class election and was pleased to note that her suggestion regarding
Gertrude Wells as the best possible choice for class president had borne
fruit. The two sophomores at the table who had been through two class
elections, having just elected their president, smiled tolerantly at the
excitement exhibited by the "babies," and advised them not to elect in
haste and repent at leisure.

"Why don't you children find out something about what the rest of the
class think before you rush into electing Miss Wells, just to please two
or three girls?" asked Virginia Gaines, the sophomore who had
assiduously cultivated the acquaintance of Elfreda--then dropped her at
the first sign of trouble. "We sophomores wouldn't allow ourselves to be
influenced by cliques. We consider the good of the class of more
importance than the good of any individual member."

She smiled disagreeably at Grace, who looked at her steadily, then said,
"Was your remark intended for me and my friends, Miss Gaines?"

"Not necessarily," flung back the sophomore, "unless you feel that it
applies to you and to them."

"No, I don't believe it does," declared Grace with a quiet smile. "In
fact, I quite agree with you in saying that the good of the class should
always come first. That is why we are all anxious to nominate Miss Wells
for president of 19----."

A dull flush rose to Virginia Gaines's sallow face. She was not
quick-witted and could think of no reply. The other freshmen at the
table were taking no pains to disguise their glee at Grace's retort.
Virginia's sarcastic comment had proved a boomerang and she had gained
nothing by launching it. She hurried through with her dessert and left
the table without another word, casting a half malignant look at Grace
as she went.

    "Virginia's mad,
    And I am glad,"

sang a freshman softly as the door banged.

"Please, don't," said Grace soberly. "I'm sorry she's angry, but I
couldn't help it. I seem always fated to arouse sophomore ire."

"I wouldn't mind a little thing like that," comforted Elfreda. "I'd
rather be the enemy than the friend of some girls."

"But I don't want to be the enemy of any girl," declared Grace, looking
almost appealingly about the table.

"Of course you don't," soothed Emma Dean, a tall, near-sighted girl at
the end of the table, who had the reputation of making brilliant
recitations. "You couldn't antagonize the rest of us if you tried. That
is, unless you deliberately broke my glasses."

A shout of laughter went up from the table. Virginia Gaines, who had
lingered in the hall, heard it, and her face darkened. In spite of
Grace's declaration for peace she had made an enemy.

CHAPTER XIII

GRACE TURNS ELECTIONEER

Directly after dinner that afternoon, the four girls, looking very smart
in their new fall suits and hats, set out for Ruth's. They found her
seated at her little table eating a very humble dinner of her own
cooking. "I'm sorry I can't offer you anything to eat. I have 'licked
the platter clean,' you see. But won't you have some tea? I think I have
cups enough to go round, only I'm afraid I haven't enough saucers."

"Thank you," began Elfreda, "but--" then a warning pinch from Miriam
caused her to eye the latter reproachfully and subside.

"We'd love to have tea with you," smiled Miriam. "Wouldn't we, girls?"

Elfreda, who had divined the reason for the pinch, said "yes" with the
others, and Ruth bustled about with pink cheeks and a delicious air of
importance. She took down from the cupboard shelf a box of Nabiscos that
she had been treasuring for some such occasion as the present, placing
them on a little hand-painted plate, the only piece of china she
possessed. When the tea was made the guests emptied the little tea-pot
and ate all of the Nabiscos, to the intense satisfaction of their
hostess, to whom entertaining was a new and delightful pastime.

"Now, you must put on your wraps and go with us," commanded Grace,
setting her cup on the table. "We are going to Morton House to make our
party call. The future president of 19---- lives there. That is, we
think she is the future president and we hope to make others think so,
too."

Ruth obediently went to the closet where her plain little hat and
shabby, old-style coat hung. She looked hesitatingly from the smartly
tailored suits of her guests to her own well-worn coat, then with a
proud little lifting of her head, she took it down and began putting it
on.

During their walk to Morton House the girls met several freshmen they
knew, and these were faithfully interviewed as to their preference in
the matter of 19----'s president. To Grace's delight none of them had
made any choice in regard to candidates, so her glowing remarks as to
Gertrude Wells's ability to make a good president fell on fertile soil.
Fortune favored them, for when they reached Morton House they found Miss
Wells out and two-thirds of the girls downstairs in the living room
listening to the new songs that the curly-haired little girl at the
piano had received from New York the day before. She was in the middle
of one when the girls entered the room. Grace held up a warning finger
and pointed to the piano.

The song ended several notes short and the little girl turned her head
toward her audience, saying, "I knew some one came in."

"Won't you sing for us?" asked Anne, who loved music. The little girl's
voice reminded her of Nora O'Malley's, and Nora's singing had always
been a source of delight to Anne.

"Not now," smiled the singer. "I wish to talk, but I'll sing for you
later."

"We came over this afternoon," said Grace to the girl sitting next to
her, "to find out who Morton House wants for president. We would like to
have Miss Wells----"

Grace was interrupted by a little cry of delight. The girl sprang to her
feet and cried, "Hear! hear!" Then she took Grace by the shoulders and
laughingly commanded, "Arise, occupy the center of the room and tell the
girls what you have just told me."

Before she knew it Grace was standing in the middle of the room,
earnestly advocating Gertrude Wells's cause, while the Morton House
girls were making as much demonstration as was considered decorous on
Sunday. Grace concluded with, "I'm quite sure that every girl at Morton
House will vote for Miss Wells and every freshman at Wayne Hall, too.
Before class meeting next Friday I hope to be able to convince the
majority of 19---- that they will make no mistake in voting for Miss
Wells."

Grace sat down amid subdued applause, and every one began talking to her
neighbor about the coming election. Ruth Denton listened to the gay
chatter with shining eyes. She had forgotten all about her shabby suit.
Presently the curly-haired little girl came over and sat down beside
her, asking her if she liked college. Ruth looked admiringly at the
little girl, whose dainty gown, silk stockings and smart pumps bespoke
luxury, and answered earnestly that she liked it better every day. "You
must come and see me," said the curly-haired little girl, whose name was
Arline Thayer. "We recite Livy in the same section, so we have something
in common to grumble about. Isn't the lesson for to-morrow terrific,
though?"

"I haven't looked at it to-day," confessed Ruth happily. "I study hard
on Sunday as a rule, but to-day is the first time, you see----" Ruth
hesitated.

"I see," said Arline kindly. "Hereafter you mustn't study all day on
Sunday. You must come and take dinner with me next Sunday and stay all
afternoon. Promise, now, that you'll come."

"Oh, thank you. I'd love to come," stammered Ruth. She could scarcely
believe that this dainty little girl who wore such pretty clothes had
actually invited her to dinner at Morton House.

"Did you have a good time, Ruth?" asked Miriam, as they started for home
late that afternoon.

"Don't ask her," interposed Anne mischievously. "She forsook me and
hob-nobbed openly all afternoon with that curly-haired girl, Miss
Thayer. I am terribly jealous, and there is a deadly gleam in my eye."

"Please, don't think, Anne----" began Ruth nervously, looking
distressed.

"I am past thinking," retorted Anne melodramatically. "The time for
action has come. I shall challenge my rival to a duel the first time I
see her. We will fight with----"

"Brooms," grinned Elfreda. "I once fought a duel down in our orchard
with my cousin Dick. Brooms were the chosen weapons. We certainly did
great execution with them. They were new ones and the brushy part kept
getting in our way until we happened to think of cutting it off and
fighting with the handles. After that things went more scientifically,
until Dick hit me on the nose by mistake. I wailed and shrieked and had
the nose bleed, and Ma whipped Dick and sent him home. That was about
the only duel I ever fought," concluded the stout girl reflectively,
"but if there's the slightest possibility of either of you choosing
brooms for weapons, I'll give you the benefit of my experience by
training you for the fray."

"Shall I take her at her word, Ruth?" laughed Anne.

"No, I'm not worth all that trouble," returned Ruth half shyly.

"We won't have time to escort you home, Ruth," remarked Grace, looking
at her watch. "We must leave you at this corner. Be a good child and
don't sit up all night to study. Come over Tuesday evening to dinner,
and we'll all study together."

"Thank you, I will if I don't have too much mending on hand," replied
Ruth. "Good-bye. I can't begin to tell you how much I've enjoyed being
with you."

"Don't try," advised Elfreda laconically. "We've had just as much fun as
you have."

Miriam and Grace exchanged glances. Elfreda was making rapid strides
along the road to fellowship.

"I like that girl," she announced as Ruth disappeared around the corner.
"She has lots of pluck. When we asked her to go out with us to-day she
looked at her old coat and hat, then at us. I could see that she was
ashamed of them. But she wasn't ashamed for more than five seconds. She
straightened up and looked as proud as a princess. I could see----"

"A great deal more than we did," finished Miriam. "I believe you have
eyes in the back of your head, Elfreda."

"I don't miss much," agreed Elfreda modestly. "I saw you and Grace look
at each other when I said we'd had just as much fun as Ruth," she added
slyly. "I know what you were both thinking, too. You were thinking that
I wasn't so selfish as when I came here. You needn't color so because I
caught you. I am selfish, but I'm beginning to find out, just the same,
that there are other people in the world besides myself."

CHAPTER XIV

AN INVITATION AND A MISUNDERSTANDING

The class elections went off with a snap. Grace nominated Gertrude Wells
for president. There were two other nominations, and after the three
young women had gone through the ordeal of inspection before the class,
the votes were cast. Gertrude Wells was elected president by an
overwhelming majority, and the nomination and election of the other
class officers quickly followed. The next night Grace and Miriam gave a
dinner in honor of her election at Vinton's, to which twelve girls were
invited, and for a week the new president was feted and lionized until
she laughingly declared that a return to the simple life was her only
means of re-establishing her lost reputation for study and avoiding
impending warnings.

The class of 19---- soon became used to being a regularly organized body
and held its class meetings with as much pride as though it were the
most important organization in college. Thanksgiving plans now occupied
the foreground, and as the vacation was too short even to think about
going home, the girls began to make plans to spend their brief holiday
as advantageously as possible at or at least very near Overton.

"There's a football game over at Willston, on Thanksgiving Day,"
remarked Grace, looking up from the paper on which she was jotting down
possible amusements for vacation. Miriam had run into Grace's room for a
brief chat before dinner. "We don't know any Willston men, though. I
think football is ever so much more interesting when one knows the
players. If we were nearer the boys we might attend a fraternity dance
once in a while."

"David says in his last letter that he is waiting impatiently for the
holidays. Just think, Grace, won't that be splendid to be back in dear
old Oakdale again?"

"It seems years since I kissed Mother and Father good-bye," said Grace,
rather wistfully. "How I'd like to be at home for Thanksgiving."

"Don't think about it," advised Miriam. "I was as blue as indigo last
night. Let's keep our minds strictly on what we're going to do with our
holiday. What have you put down?"

"The football game first. Then I have tickets for a play that the Morton
House girls intend to give. We might go to Vinton's for supper on
Thanksgiving night. If we have a Thanksgiving dinner here that day it's
safe to say supper won't amount to much. I think----"

Grace did not finish with what she was saying. A quick step sounded down
the hall and an instant later Anne ran into the room waving an open
letter in her hand. "Girls, girls!" she cried, "you never can guess!"

"What is it? Tell us at once," commanded Grace, springing from her
chair. "You've received good news from some one we know."

"Yes," replied Anne happily. "My letter is from Miss Southard. She
wishes us to spend Thanksgiving with her and her brother in New York
City. Isn't that glorious, and do you think we'll be allowed to go?"

"Hurrah!" cried Grace. "Since we can't go home, it's the very nicest
sort of plan. I think we'll be allowed to go. We haven't any conditions
to work off, and I haven't planned to do any extra studying either.
Thank goodness, my allowance had an extra ten dollars attached to it
this month. Mother wrote that she thought I might need the money, and I
do. I couldn't possibly have stretched my regular allowance over this
trip."

"I have money enough, I think," said Miriam. "I am a thrifty soul. I
saved ten dollars out of my last month's allowance. It was really extra
money that I had asked Mother for. I intended to buy a sweater and then
changed my mind."

"The expenses of my trip will have to come out of my college money,"
confessed Anne, a trifle soberly, "but I'd be willing to spend twice
that much to see the Southards. Mr. Southard is playing 'Hamlet' and so
we shall have the opportunity of seeing him in what the critics consider
his greatest part."

"Remember, we haven't asked permission to go, yet," remarked Grace.

"The registrar couldn't be so cruel as to refuse us," said Miriam
cheerfully. "Let's besiege her fortress in a body."

"When shall we make our plea?"

"To-morrow morning after chapel," suggested Anne. "Then we'll have more
time to plan our trip."

The registrar's office was duly besieged the next morning, as agreed,
and the three girls hurried off to their classes with beaming faces.
When they returned to Wayne Hall after recitations that afternoon it was
to find Elfreda hanging over the railing in the upstairs hall, an
unusually solemn expression on her face.

"Are you going?" she called down anxiously. "Yes," nodded Grace. "At
three o'clock Wednesday afternoon."

Elfreda gave a smothered exclamation that sounded like, "What a shame,"
and disappeared into her room, slamming the door.

"I'm coming into your room for a while," said Miriam. "Elfreda will open
the door before long."

"Yes, do," returned Grace hospitably. "Is she angry because you are
going away over Thanksgiving?"

"No, not angry, but awfully disappointed. She almost cried last night
when I told her about it. I suspect she is crying now. She's like an
overgrown child at times."

"I'm sorry we can't take her with us," deplored Grace. "Does she know
where we are going?"

"Yes," returned Miriam. "She was practically thunderstruck when she
learned we were to visit the Southards. The queer part of it is this.
She saw Mr. Southard and Anne in 'As You Like It' last year. She thinks
Mr. Southard the greatest actor she ever saw, and she even spoke of
Anne's cleverness as Rosalind; she doesn't know it was Anne who played
the part."

"Anne doesn't wish her or any one else here to know it," cautioned
Grace. "Do you suppose any other girl here saw Anne as Rosalind?"

"Goodness knows," replied Miriam, with a shrug. "There's an old saying
that 'murder will out.' If any one here did see her, sooner or later
she'll be identified and lionized."

"That's just why I don't wish the girls here to know," protested Anne,
who had been listening to the conversation of her friends, a slight
frown puckering her smooth forehead. "I don't care to be patronized and
petted, but secretly held at arms' length because I am a professional
player. If the girls find out that I played Rosalind in Mr. Southard's
company I'll never hear the last of it." In her anxiety Anne's voice
rose above its customary low key. In fact, all three had been talking
rather loudly, and the entire conversation had been carried straight to
the ears of the girl who stood outside the almost closed door. Elfreda
had come across the hall to hear the details of the proposed visit, but
had remained outside the door transfixed at what she heard. Then she
found her voice.

"So that's your idea of true friendship, is it?" demanded an angry,
choking voice that caused the surprised young women to start and look
toward the door. Elfreda stepped into the room, her face flushed with
anger, her blue eyes fairly snapping. "You make a great fuss over me
when there's nothing going on, but none of you would invite me to go
with you to New York, when you know I'm crazy to go. And that's not
enough, you can't get along without talking about me. I heard every word
Anne said. I know now that it was she who played Rosalind in 'As You
Like It' last winter, because I saw her with my own eyes. If you girls
had been as honorable as you pretend to be you'd have told me about it
and I never would have said a word. But, no, Anne was afraid to tell,
for fear she'd 'never hear the last of it,'" sneered Elfreda, mimicking
Anne. "She's right, too. She never will. I'll not stop until I tell
every girl at Overton the whole story. When you come back," she went on,
turning to Miriam, "you'll find that I've moved. I thought you were nice
and I tried to be like you, but now I don't care to live in the same
house with you, and I don't intend ever to notice any of you again. With
that she rushed across the hall, slammed the door, and turned the key.

"Locked out," said Miriam grimly. "I hope she'll let me in before the
dinner bell rings. I'd like to change this grimy blouse for a clean one.
I'll try to reason with her, once she opens the door."

"Shall we go in, too, and try to explain matters?" asked Anne. "I didn't
say that she would tell the girls about my stage work. Surely, she
understands, too, that we are not at liberty to invite her to go with
us. I'll tell you what I will do. I'll telegraph the Southards and ask
permission to invite her. They will be perfectly willing for us to bring
her."

"That might be a good plan," reflected Grace. "Don't waste another
minute, Anne, but telegraph Miss Southard at once."

"Yes, go ahead," counseled Miriam, "and while you're gone I'll try to
pacify Elfreda."

But all Miriam's efforts to restore peace failed. When a little later
she knocked gently on the door, Elfreda unlocked it, but received her
roommate's friendly overtures in sulky silence. After dinner, for the
first time since the sophomore reception, she spent the evening in
Virginia Gaines's room and that night the two girls prepared for sleep
without exchanging a word.

Meanwhile Anne telegraphed, "May we bring friend? Will explain later.
Anne," and was anxiously awaiting a reply. It came the next morning
while they were at breakfast and read: "Your friends always welcome.
Telegraph train you will arrive. Mary Southard." Anne passed the
telegram to Grace, who sat next to her. After one quick glance at it
Grace passed it to Miriam. Elfreda, who sat directly opposite her,
watched the passing of the telegram with compressed lips. Miriam,
raising her eyes from the yellow slip, found those of her angry roommate
fixed on her in mingled curiosity and disdain. Ignoring the look she
said quietly, "I should like to see you for a moment after breakfast,
Elfreda. I have something to tell you."

The stout girl's eyes narrowed. She glanced about the table and saw
Virginia Gaines watching her with a disagreeable smile. The sophomore
raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders as though to say, "So,
you are going to allow her to order you about." Elfreda's face grew dark
with angry purpose. She leaned well forward across the table and said in
a tone of suppressed fury: "Kindly keep your remarks to yourself. I
don't care to hear them."

"Very well," replied Miriam coldly, although her eyes flashed and the
temper that had been all but uncontrollable in days gone by threatened
to burst forth in all its old fury. Several girls smiled, and Virginia
Gaines laughed aloud.

"A new declaration of independence has evidently been signed," she
jeered. "Too bad, isn't it, Miss Harlowe? You'll have to begin all over
again on some one else."

"I am not likely to trouble you, at any rate, Miss Gaines," returned
Grace pointedly.

This time the laugh was at Virginia's expense. A dull flush overspread
her plain face. Her angry eyes met Grace's steady gray ones, then fell
before the honest contempt she read there. During that brief instant she
saw herself through Grace's eyes and the sharp retort that rose to her
lips remained unuttered.

In the next instant Grace was sorry for her rude retort. It would have
been far better to remain silent, she reflected. By answering she had
shown Virginia that the latter's taunt had annoyed her.

"I wish I hadn't answered Miss Gaines," she confided to Miriam as they
were leaving the dining room. "It doesn't add to one's freshman dignity
to quarrel."

"I am glad you did," returned Miriam. "It was a well-merited snub, and
she deserved it."

CHAPTER XV

GREETING OLD FRIENDS

To spend their brief holiday with the Southards was the next best thing
to going home, in the opinion of the Oakdale girls. Mr. Southard met
them at the station with his automobile, and a twenty minutes' drive
brought them to the Southard home. Miss Southard met them at the door
with welcoming arms. She was particularly delighted to see Anne, for the
few weeks Anne had spent in their house had endeared her to the
Southards and made them wish her their "little sister" in reality rather
than by fond adoption.

"What shall we do after dinner to-night?" asked Miss Southard, as she
showed her guests to their rooms after the first affectionate greetings
had been exchanged. "Everett, as you know, is appearing as Hamlet, and
wishes you to see him in the part. However, he has engaged a box for us
for to-morrow night. To-night we will go to some other theatre if you
wish."

"To tell you the truth," replied Anne, slipping her hand into that of
the older woman, "we'd rather spend the evening quietly with you. That
is, unless you care particularly about our going out."

Miss Southard's face revealed her pleasure at this announcement. "Would
you really?" she asked. "I should like to have you girls to myself
rather than go to the theatre, but I supposed you would prefer seeing a
successful play to staying at home with me."

"Nothing could drag us from the house after that confession," laughed
Grace. "For my part I think it would be much nicer to stay at home. We
have so much to tell you."

Dinner was a merry meal. Mr. Southard, who in the meantime had come in
from the theatre, became so absorbed in the conversation of his young
guests that both he and his sister forgot the time. The entrance into
the dining room of James, his valet, with his hat and coat, and the
warning words, "Ten minutes past seven, sir," caused him to spring from
his chair, glance at his watch with a rueful smile, and hurry out to
where his car stood waiting for him.

"It's nice to be an idol of the public, but it's hard on the idol just
the same," sighed Grace, as the door closed after him. "Shall we see him
again to-night?"

"You may stay up and wait for him if you wish," returned Miss Southard,
"but it will be after midnight. 'Hamlet' is a long play."

"I saw Mr. Southard in 'Hamlet' long before I knew him," remarked Anne.
"My father and I were in New York rehearsing the play in which I
afterwards refused to work. The manager of our company was a friend of
Mr. Southard. One night he asked me if I would like to see the greatest
actor in America play 'Hamlet.' I said that Everett Southard was the
only man I ever wished to see in the role. I shall never forget how I
felt when he handed me a slip of paper. It was in Mr. Southard 's
handwriting and called for two seats at the theatre where he was
playing. He said he had asked Mr. Southard for the passes purposely for
me, because," Anne flushed slightly, "he insisted that in me lay the
making of a great artist, and that I ought to see nothing but the great
plays, enacted by great players."

"How interesting!" exclaimed Grace. "You never told us anything about
your stage days before. What did you think after you saw 'Hamlet'?"

"I went about in a dream for days afterward," confessed Anne. "Then, I
began to hate the play we were rehearsing, and finally ended by refusing
to stay in the company. Mother was with my sister in Oakdale, so I went
to them. I felt that there was no chance for me to ever become great. I
had no faith in my own ability, and I was determined not to waste my
life as a second or third rate actor. So I gave up the stage and decided
to try to get an education, then teach. You know the rest of my story.
Now comes the hardest part. After giving up all idea of the stage, the
door that I thought was barred has been opened to me. The unbelievable
has come to pass, and I have in a measure achieved what once seemed
unattainable. Do you think that I ought to bury my one talent when my
college days are over and become a teacher, or do you believe that I
should put it to good use by becoming an exponent of the highest
dramatic art?"

Anne paused, looking almost melancholy in her earnestness.

"My dear child," said Miss Southard gravely. "You are straining your
mental eyes with trying to look into the future. Wait until graduation
day comes. By that time you will know what is best for you to do. As far
as your work in the theatre is concerned, I consider that it is far more
to your credit to use the talent God has given you to help yourself
through college, than to wear yourself out doing tutoring or servants'
work. There is no stigma attached to my brother's art, why should there
be to yours?"

"Good for you, Miss Southard," cheered Grace. "I'll tell you a secret.
Anne thinks just as you do, only she won't say so."

"While you are here, Anne, Everett wishes you to meet Mr. Forest, the
manager of the stock company he wrote you about," continued Miss
Southard.

"He is a playwright, producer and manager all in one, isn't he?" asked
Miriam. "I have seen ever so many pictures of him, and read a great deal
about him. They say he is always on the lookout for material for stars."

"Yes," returned Miss Southard. "He was in Europe during Anne's
engagement here last winter. Nevertheless, he heard of her and asked
Everett a great many questions about her. I think he will offer her an
engagement for next summer with a certain stock company which he
controls."

"How can I ever repay you and Mr. Southard for all you have done for
me?" said Anne earnestly.

"By accepting the engagement," laughed Grace.

"Grace is right," agreed Miss Southard. "Everett and I are trying to
help Anne in the way we think best."

"Then I will be pleasing myself, too," confessed Anne. "For I love my
dramatic work as well as I do that of the college. Now, let us talk
about Oakdale and all our friends. We have so many things to tell you."

It was after eleven o'clock when the girls retired. They had decided not
to stay up until Mr. Southard's return. Once in their rooms they found
themselves too sleepy for conversation and five minutes after their
lights were out they were fast asleep.

They were up in good season the next morning, as it had been agreed that
they should be present at the morning service in the church the
Southards attended. Thanksgiving dinner was to be served at exactly half
past twelve o'clock, instead of at night, for Mr. Southard had a matinee
as well as an evening performance to give and never left the theatre for
dinner during this short intermission.

In church that morning as she sat listening to the beautiful service,
Grace felt that she had everything for which to be thankful. In her
heart she said an earnest little prayer for all those unfortunates to
whom life had grudged even bread. She resolved to be more kind and
helpful during the coming year, and prayed that she might see the right
clearly and have the courage always to choose it.

"I felt as though I wanted to be superlatively good all the rest of my
life," confessed Miriam on the way home. "That minister preached as
though he loved the whole world and wished it to be happy."

"He does. He is a very fine man," said Miss Southard, "and does splendid
work among the very poor people. It will perhaps surprise you to know
that he was at one time an actor of great promise in Mr. Southard's
company. Then he received the conviction that his duty lay in entering
the ministry and he left the stage, entered a theological institute and
after receiving his degree came back to New York as the pastor of a
small church on the East Side. Everett and I were among his most
faithful parishioners. Then later on he received an appointment to the
church we just left, and has been there ever since."

"That will be an interesting story to tell the girls when we go back to
college," said Grace thoughtfully. "He is a wonderful man, he made me
feel as though it paid to do one's best."

"That is the reason he has been so successful in his work, I suppose,"
remarked Anne. "He makes other people feel that it pays to be good,
too."

From the subject of the actor-minister the conversation drifted to
Overton. Miss Southard listened interestedly to Grace's vivid
description of the college, the various halls and even the faculty.

"Then you are satisfied with your choice? You never wish that you had
entered Vassar or Smith or any other college?"

"Yes, I am satisfied," declared Grace, while Miriam and Anne echoed her
reply, but Grace might have truthfully added that there were times when
even the glorious privilege of being an Overton freshman had its
drawbacks.

CHAPTER XVI

THANKSGIVING WITH THE SOUTHARDS

Thanksgiving dinner was served at exactly half-past twelve o'clock, and
eaten with much merriment and good cheer. At half-past one Mr. Southard
was obliged to leave his sister and guests, and at two o'clock they were
getting into their wraps, preparatory to accompanying Miss Southard to
another theatre to see one of the most successful plays of the season.
That night they saw the actor in "Hamlet," and his remarkable portrayal
of the ill-fated Prince of Denmark was something long to be remembered
by the three girls as well as by the rest of the enthusiastic assemblage
that witnessed it.

"I shall never forget the awful look in his poor eyes," said Grace
solemnly. Then she joined in the insistent applause that Everett
Southard's art had evoked. Presently the actor appeared and bowed his
appreciation of the tribute. Then he made his exit nor could he be
induced to appear again.

Anne sat as though turned to stone. She could not find words to express
the emotions that had thrilled her during Mr. Southard's marvelous
portrayal of the role. His own personality was completely submerged in
that of the melancholy ghost-ridden youth, who, dedicating his life to
the purpose of avenging his father's murder, welcomed death with open
arms when his purpose had been accomplished. She had seen a great play
and a great actor. The first time she saw "Hamlet" she left the theatre
heartsick and discouraged. To-night she was leaving it alert and
triumphant.

"Anne has been touched by the finger of Genius," smiled Miss Southard,
as she marshaled her charges to their automobile.

"How did you know?" asked Anne, but in spite of her smiling lips her
brown eyes were full of tears.

"My dear, living with Everett has taught me the signs," said his sister
simply.

"I should like to play Ophelia to Mr. Southard's Hamlet," said Anne
dreamily.

"Perhaps you will have the chance to do so some day. Everett thinks you
would be a more convincing Ophelia than the young woman you saw in the
part to-night," encouraged Miss Southard.

Anne looked so delighted at those words that Miriam and Grace exchanged
swift glances. It was evident that the genuine love of her profession
lay deep within the soul of their friend.

"We will go for a short drive, then come back for Everett," planned Miss
Southard. "He has promised to hurry to-night--then we will have a nice
little supper at home." Their hostess and her brother had agreed that
there should be no after-the-theatre suppers at any of the so-called
fashionable restaurants for their young guests. "I am sure their mothers
would not approve of it," Miss Southard had said, "and I feel that I am
responsible for them every moment they are here."

The party at home was an informal affair in which there were many cooks,
but no broth spoiled. To see Mr. Southard earnestly engaged in making a
Welsh rarebit, an accomplishment in which he claimed to be highly
proficient, one would never have suspected him of being able to thrill
vast audiences by his slightest word or gesture.

"I can't believe that only two hours ago you were 'Hamlet,'" laughed
Grace. "You look anything but tragic now."

"He looked every bit as tragic just a moment ago. I saw a distinct
Hamlet-like expression creep into his face," stated Miriam boldly.

"You have sharp eyes," smiled Mr. Southard. "I happened to remember that
I had forgotten what goes into this rarebit next. I could feel myself
growing cold with despair. Then the inspiration came and now it will be
ready in two minutes."

The rarebit was voted a success. After decorating the actor with a bit
of blue ribbon on which Miriam painstakingly printed "first premium"
with a lead pencil, he was escorted to the head of the table and
congratulated roundly upon being able not only to act but to cook.

The next morning every one confessed to being a trifle sleepy, but
appeared at breakfast at the usual time. After breakfast Mr. Southard
carried Anne off to met Mr. Forest, while Miss Southard, Miriam and
Grace decided to go for a drive through Central Park. It was a clear,
cold, sparkling day with just enough snow to make it seem like real
Thanksgiving weather.

"Too bad Anne can't be with us," said Grace regretfully.

"Everett will take her for a drive before bringing her home," replied
Miss Southard.

Shortly after their return to the house Mr. Southard and Anne returned
from their drive. Anne's eyes were sparkling and her cheeks rosy as she
ran up the steps.

"Anne must have heard good news!" exclaimed Grace, running from her post
at one of the drawing room windows into the hall, Miriam at her heels.

"The deed is done, girls," laughed Anne. "Behold in me the future star
of the Forest Stock Company. It doesn't sound much like Rosalind, does
it? and it means awfully hard work, but I'll earn enough money next
summer to almost finish paying my way through college."

"Hurrah!" cried Grace. "We won't allow you to become lonesome. We will
come and visit you during vacation."

"That ought to reconcile me to having to work all summer," smiled Anne.
"I shall be selfish and manage to have some of you girls with me all the
time."

"How do you like Mr. Forest?" asked Miriam.

"Ever so much," returned Anne. "Like most successful men, he is quiet
and unassuming. Mr. Southard and he did almost all the talking. I spoke
when I was spoken to and did as I was bid."

"Good little Anne," jeered Miriam. "As a reward of merit we will take
you shopping this afternoon."

"How would you like to go to the opera to-night?" asked Mr. Southard.
"'Madame Butterfly' is to be sung."

"Better than anything else, now that I've seen 'Hamlet'!" exclaimed
Grace, with shining eyes. Miriam and Anne both expressed an eager
desire to hear Puccini's exquisite opera, and Miss Southard called two
of her friends on the telephone, inviting them to join the box party.
The same evening gowns had to do duty for the opera as well as for
"Hamlet," but this did not detract one whit from their pleasant
anticipations. "The people who saw us at the theatre the other night
won't see us at the opera," argued Grace. The three girls were in
Grace's room holding a consultation on the subject of what to wear.

"That is if they saw us at all," laughed Miriam. "Elfreda says Oakdale
isn't down on the map, you know."

"That reminds me, what excuse did you make to Miss Southard about
Elfreda not coming with us, Anne?" asked Grace.

"I merely said she had changed her mind about coming."

"Did you mention that she changed it violently?" slyly put in Miriam.

"I did not," was the smiling assertion. "I don't like to think about it,
let alone mention it."

"Do you suppose she'll improve the opportunity and tell Anne's private
affairs all over college?" questioned Miriam.

"I don't know," said Grace briefly. "Let us put her out of our minds for
now. It won't do any good to worry about what she may or may not do.
When we go back to Overton we shall know."

That night the girls listened to the wonderful voice of the prima donna
whose name has become synonymous with that of "Chu Chu San," the little
Japanese maid. Anne wondered as she drank in the music whether this
beautiful young prima donna had ever had any scruples about appearing
before the public. Miriam was thinking that David would be bitterly
disappointed when he knew that Anne was going back to the stage during
vacation. While, though she would not have confessed it for worlds, the
throbbing undercurrent of heart break that ran through the music was
filling Grace with unmistakable homesickness. She wanted her mother and
she wanted her badly. What would she not give to feel her mother's dear
arms around her. When the curtain shut out the still form of the
Japanese girl and the prima donna received her usual ovation, the tears
that stood in Grace's eyes were not alone a tribute to the singer and
the tragic death of Chu Chu San.

On Saturday morning the girls went on another shopping expedition, and
in the afternoon attended a recital given by a celebrated pianist.
After the recital, instead of going home, Miss Southard surprised her
guests by taking them over to the theatre where her brother was playing.
Mr. Southard had arranged that they should be admitted to his dressing
room. It was the same theatre in which Anne had played the previous
winter and several of the stage hands recognized her and bowed
respectfully to her as she passed through to the actor's dressing room.
They found him still in costume. He never changed to street clothing on
matinee days.

"You are respectfully and cordially invited to eat dinner in my dressing
room," announced Mr. Southard the moment they were fairly inside the
door. "I have ordered dinner for six o'clock."

Eating dinner in a dressing room was an innovation as far as Grace and
Miriam were concerned, but to Anne it was nothing new. It had been in
the usual order of things during her brief engagement in "As You Like
It." As it was after five o'clock when they arrived it seemed only a
little while until a waiter appeared with table linen and silver, which
Mr. Southard ordered arranged on the table that had been brought in for
the occasion. Then the dinner was served and eaten with much gayety and
laughter. After dinner, a pleasant hour of conversation followed, and
later on the visitors were introduced to the various members of the
company. Unlike many professionals who have achieved greatness, Mr.
Southard was thoroughly democratic, and displayed none of the snobbish
tactics with his company which so often humiliate and embitter the
lesser lights of a theatrical company.

At eight o'clock they said good-bye to the actor. Through the courtesy
of Mr. Forest they were to witness a play in which a wonderful little
girl of fifteen who had taken New York by storm was to appear. After the
play they were to pick up Mr. Southard at his theatre and go home
together. That night another jolly little supper was held in the
Southards' dining room, then three sleepy young women fairly tumbled
into their beds, completely tired out by their eventful day.

As the return to Overton was to be made on the noon train, the Southard
household rose in good season on Sunday morning. Breakfast was rather a
quiet meal, for the shadow of saying good-bye hung over the little house
party.

"When shall we see you again, I wonder?" sighed Miss Southard
regretfully. "You are going home for Christmas, I suppose."

"Oh, yes," replied Grace quickly. "I wish you might spend it with us,
but I suppose it would be out of the question. You must come to Oakdale
next summer. We can't entertain you with plays and recitals, but we can
get up boating and gypsy parties. The boys will be home, then, and we
can arrange to have plenty of good times. Will you come?"

"With pleasure if all is well with us at that time," promised Mr.
Southard, and his sister.

When the last good-byes had been said and the girls were comfortably
settled for the afternoon's ride that lay before them they were forced
to admit that they were just a little tired.

"We have had a perfectly wonderful holiday," asserted Grace, "and the
Southards are the most hospitable people in the world, but it seems as
though I'd never make up my lost sleep. I shall become a rabid advocate
of the half-past ten o'clock rule for the next week at least. I wonder
how the boys spent Thanksgiving. Of course they went to the football
game. I'll warrant Hippy ate too much."

"I wish Jessica and Nora could have been with us," remarked Anne. "Miss
Southard wrote them, too, but they couldn't come. Did you see Nora's
telegram?"

"Yes," replied Grace. "It said a letter would follow. I suppose she'll
explain in that. Well, it's back to college again for us. I wonder if
Elfreda has moved."

"We shall know in due season," returned Miriam grimly. "I have visions
of the appearance of my hapless room, if she has vacated it. I expect to
see my best beloved belongings scattered to the four corners or else
piled in a heap in the middle of the floor."

"Perhaps she has thought it over and come to the conclusion that there
are worse roommates than you," suggested Anne hopefully.

The early winter darkness was falling when the three girls hurried up
the stairs at Wayne Hall as fast as the weight of their suit cases would
permit. Miriam's door was closed. She knocked on it, at first softly,
then with more force. Hearing no sound from within she turned the knob,
flung open the door and stepped inside. Striking a match, she lighted
the gas and looked about her. The room was in perfect order, but no
vestige of Elfreda's belongings met her eye. The stout girl had kept her
word.

CHAPTER XVII

CHRISTMAS PLANS

The month of December seemed interminably long to Grace Harlowe. Since
her visit to the Southards the longing to be at home remained with her.
She hung a little calendar at the head of her bed and every night marked
off one day with an air of triumph. During the three weeks that followed
their trip to New York, Overton had not been the most congenial spot in
the world for Grace or Anne. 19---- was a very large class, and
considered itself extremely democratic; nevertheless, the story of
Anne's theatrical career was bandied about among the freshmen and passed
on to the sophomores, until the truth of it was lost in the haze of
fiction that surrounded it.

A certain percentage of the class who knew Everett Southard's standing
in the theatrical world and understood that Anne must have the highest
ability to be able to play in his company treated the young girl with
the deference due an artist. Then there were a number of young women
who, though fond of attending the theatre, looked askance at the clever
men and women whose business it was to amuse them. They approved of the
theatre, but for them the foot-lights divided the two worlds, and they
wished no trespassing of the stage folks on their territory. Quite their
opposite were the girls who were desperately stage struck and cherished
secret designs on the stage. They were extremely friendly for the sake
of plying Anne with questions about her art. At first Anne's position
among her classmates was rather difficult to define. After the ball
which Elfreda had set in motion had rolled itself to a standstill for
want of more gossip to keep it going, Grace saw with secret trepidation
that despite the loyalty of a few, Anne had lost caste at Overton.

"History is repeating itself," she remarked gloomily to Miriam, as
together the two left the library one afternoon and set out for a short
walk before dinner. "Anne told me last night that the girls in her
elocution class are very distant since she came back from New York. It's
Elfreda's fault, too. How could she deliberately try to make it hard for
a girl like Anne?"

A slow flush mounted to Miriam's forehead. She gave Grace a peculiar
look.

Grace, interpreting the look, exclaimed contritely: "Forgive me, Miriam.
I wasn't thinking of you when I spoke."

"I know it," replied Miriam. "It seems as though I can never do enough
for Anne to make up for behaving so contemptibly toward her in high
school."

"Anne had forgotten all that, ages ago," comforted Grace. "Don't think
about it again."

"I'd like to find an opportunity for a serious talk with Elfreda,"
returned Miriam. "I think I could bring her to her senses. She keeps
strictly away from me. She knows that I wish to talk with her, too. I
wonder how she likes rooming with Virginia, or rather how Virginia likes
rooming with her."

"She is furious with both Anne and me," declared Grace. "She won't look
at either of us. It seems a pity, too. She can be awfully nice when she
chooses, and I had begun to feel as though she belonged with us. Here we
are on the threshold of 'Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men,' and are
at odds with at least five different girls. Miss Alden doesn't like us
because Mabel Ashe does. Miss Gaines disapproves of us on general
principles. Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton dislike me for defending
Elfreda's rights. Elfreda thinks us disloyal and deceitful. And it isn't
mid-year yet. We are not what you might call social successes, are we?"
she concluded most bitterly.

"Still we have made some staunch friends like Ruth and Mabel and
Frances. Then there are the girls at Morton House, and Constance
Fuller, and I think the freshmen at Wayne Hall are friendly."

"Perhaps they are," sighed Grace. "I hope I'm not growing pessimistic,
but I can't help feeling that the girls in our own class are not as
friendly as the upper class girls have been. I supposed it would be just
the opposite."

Miriam was on the point of saying that she wished she had been wise
enough to refuse to room with Elfreda. Then she bit her lip and remained
silent.

"I'm glad I've kept up in all my work," Grace said after they had walked
some distance in silence. "Mother will be glad and so will Father. I've
done my level best not to disappoint them, at least." She sighed, then
said abruptly, "Have you bought all your presents yet?"

"I bought some of them in New York. I shopped as long as my money held
out. Almost all the things were for the girls here. I'll have to buy my
home presents in Oakdale."

"That is just about my case," remarked Grace. "I sent Eleanor's almost
two weeks ago, and Mabel Allison's last week. And I gave Miss Southard
hers and her brother's with strict injunctions not to open them until
Christmas."

"So did I," laughed Miriam. "I forgot to mention it to you at the time.
I hope I haven't left out any one. I shall have to ask Mother for more
money, too."

The few intervening days before Christmas seemed all too short to the
students who were going home for their Christmas vacations. Interest in
study declined rapidly. Those girls who usually made brilliant
recitations distinguished themselves by just scraping through, while
those who were inclined to totter on the ragged edge unhesitatingly
confessed themselves to be unprepared. One had, of course, to decide
just what to pack, whether to take the morning or evening train and
whether it would be worth while to take one's books home on the chance
of studying a little during vacation. These were weighty problems to
solve satisfactorily, and coupled with the constant, "Have I forgotten
any one's present?" were sufficient to drive all idea of study to the
winds.

In spite of the mischief Elfreda had endeavored to make, Grace found
that she had calls enough to pay to fill in every unoccupied moment
before going home.

Late in the afternoon of the day before leaving Overton, she started out
alone to pay two calls, going first to Morton House to say good-bye to
Gertrude Wells and Arline Thayer. Gertrude was in and welcomed her with
enthusiasm, but, to her disappointment, Arline was out. She spent a
pleasant half hour with 19----'s president, then, looking out at the
rapidly gathering twilight, said with a start: "I didn't know it was so
late. I must go down to Ruth Denton's before dinner."

"Perhaps you'll meet Arline there," suggested Gertrude. "She was going
there, too. She and Ruth are great friends. She was greatly disappointed
to learn that Ruth has been invited somewhere else for Christmas. She
had set her heart on taking her home with her. Considering the fact that
Arline's father has so much money, she is an awfully nice little girl.
She isn't in the least snobbish or overbearing."

"I like her immensely," agreed Grace. "Do you know whether Ruth accepted
the invitation, Gertrude?" she asked suddenly.

"Arline said she thought Ruth wanted to go with her, but was too loyal
to the other girl to even intimate any such thing," replied Gertrude.

Five minutes later the two students had exchanged good-byes and Grace
was on her way to Ruth's with Gertrude's words ringing in her ears.
Several weeks ago she had invited Ruth to go with her to Oakdale for the
holidays. At first Ruth had demurred, then accepted with shy gratitude.
The three Oakdale girls had become greatly attached to Ruth, and Anne,
in particular, had looked forward to taking her home with them. Grace
had purposely forestalled Anne in inviting Ruth, because she had decided
in her mind that her facilities for entertaining were greater than
Anne's. She had managed so adroitly, however, that Anne had never even
dreamed of her real motive in inviting the lonely little girl. Now,
there was Arline Thayer's invitation to be considered. Grace suspected
that Ruth secretly worshipped dainty little Arline. She would have died
rather than admit to the girls who had been so good to her that she
could find it in her heart to care more for another Overton girl than
for them. "I'm sorry, of course," Grace murmured to herself as she
hurried along through the shadows, "but I'm going to make her accept
Arline's invitation. She can go home with us at some other time."

She rang the bell at the dingy old house where Ruth lived, was admitted
by the tired-faced landlady and ran upstairs two at a time. Ruth's door
stood partly open. Grace heard Arline Thayer say regretfully, "You are
sure you can't go, Ruth?"

Then she heard Ruth say, very quietly: "I am quite sure I can't. I
promised Grace first."

Without waiting to hear more, Grace walked briskly into the room,
saying decisively, "Of course she can go, Arline."

"Why, Grace Harlowe, where did you come from?" exclaimed Arline, her
blue eyes opening wide with surprise.

"From downstairs," laughed Grace. "Just in time, too, to make Ruth
change her mind. Now, Ruth, tell us the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth. Wouldn't you rather go to New York City with
Arline than to Oakdale with us?"

Ruth flushed. "That isn't a fair question," she protested. "It isn't
because I care more about going to New York than Oakdale. It is----" she
hesitated.

"Because you care more for Arline than for us," finished Grace calmly.
"I understand the situation, I think. Your friendship for Arline is
growing to be the same as mine for Anne. Naturally, you'd rather be with
her than with any one else. Now, Arline, I'll leave her in your hands.
We wouldn't have her go to Oakdale with us if she begged on her knees to
do so," concluded Grace.

"Grace Harlowe, you're a dear!" exclaimed Arline, catching Grace's hand
in both of her warm little palms. "I just love you. Next to Ruth, I
think you are the nicest girl at Overton. Thank you a thousand times for
being so nice over Ruth. Now, you simply must go," she announced,
turning to Ruth.

"I will," answered Ruth happily. "You don't blame me for saying so?" she
asked, looking pleadingly at Grace.

"Not after having just given my official consent," retorted Grace. "Your
penalty for deserting us is that you must come to see us at Wayne Hall
to-morrow. We have rich gifts for you. Now I must go. Are you going my
way home?"

"No," answered Arline. "I'm sorry, but Ruth and I are going to cook our
own supper. I've been asked to help. We are going to have a regular
feast. Won't you stay and help eat it? Ruth doesn't care who I invite,"
she added saucily.

"Please stay, Grace," begged Ruth.

Grace shook her head. "Not to-night. Invite me some evening after the
holidays. Good-bye, Arline." She extended her hand, but Arline put both
arms around Grace's neck, kissing her warmly. "I hope I can do something
for you some day," she whispered. After the usual good wishes for a
Merry Christmas had been exchanged, Grace emerged from the house, filled
with that sense of warmth and elation that comes from having made others
happy. She smiled to herself as her mother's face rose before her. It
was only a matter of hours now until she would see her. She could almost
hear her father's voice and feel his hand on her shoulder in the old
caressing way. Smiling to herself Grace walked rapidly on toward Wayne
Hall, so rapidly, in fact, that she ran squarely against a tall girl,
who, coming from the opposite direction, had apparently been traveling
at the same rate of speed. The collision occurred directly under the arc
light. The tall girl gave a smothered exclamation and would have rushed
on, but Grace put forth a detaining hand, saying: "Stop a moment,
Elfreda. I wish to say something to you."

"I don't wish to hear anything you have to say," sneered Elfreda. "Take
your hand off my arm. You can't fool me twice. I know What a hypocrite
you are."

Grace's hand dropped to her side. "I beg pardon," she said formally. "I
am sorry you have such a bad opinion of me. I was about to say that
Anne, Miriam and I join in wishing you a Merry Christmas."

"You can keep your good wishes," snapped Elfreda. "I don't want them."
With that she turned on her heel and walked angrily away from Grace and
reconciliation.

CHAPTER XVIII

BASKETBALL RUMORS

After the holidays a great interchanging of visits began at Overton that
drove away, for the time being, the terrifying shadows of the all too
rapidly approaching mid-year examinations. Almost every girl had brought
back with her some treasure that she insisted her friends must see, or
some delicious goody they must taste. It was all very delightful, but
extremely demoralizing as far as study was concerned.

Santa Claus had been particularly kind to Anne, Grace and Miriam, as
Miriam's muff and scarf of Russian sable, Grace's camera, and Anne's
diamond ring (a present from the Southards) testified. Then there were
the less expensive but equally valued remembrances in the way of
embroidered sofa pillows, center pieces, and collar and cuff sets, every
stitch of which had been taken by the patient fingers of their girl
friends.

Miriam and Grace, while at home, had been given permission to raid the
preserve closet and had brought back an assortment of jellies, preserved
fruits and pickles, tucking them in every available space their trunks
and suit cases contained, regardless of the risk of breaking glass.

The evening after their arrival they had picked out a number of the
choicest goodies in their stock and accompanied by Anne had called on
Ruth Denton. They found her wrapped in the folds of a blue eiderdown
bathrobe, Arline's Christmas present to her. There were slippers to go
with it, she declared, proudly thrusting forth a felt-incased foot for
their inspection. A most mysterious thing had happened, however. The
night before she had gone on her vacation two large boxes had been
delivered to her by a messenger. One of them contained a beautiful navy
blue cloth suit, the other a dark blue velvet hat. On a plain card were
written the words, "'Take the goods the gods provide.' I Wish you a
Merry Christmas."

"Have you the card?" Grace asked, after the first exclamations regarding
the mysterious boxes had subsided.

Ruth opened the top drawer of her bureau and took out a card. Then going
to her wardrobe she displayed the blue suit on its hanger, then took the
new hat from the shelf. "Here they are," she said.

The three girls praised the suit and hat so warmly that a flush of pure
pleasure in her clothes rose to Ruth's face. Grace, however, examined
the inside of the coat and the lining of the hat with the utmost care.
Every telltale mark had been removed. Even the boxes themselves were
plain. The giver had evidently wished his or her identity to remain a
mystery. The writing on the card was not particularly distinctive. There
was only one thing of which Grace made mental note. The s's were
unfinished and the a's were not closed at the top. This in itself
amounted to little, and Grace decided that as far as she was concerned
the mystery would have to remain unsolved. So she said nothing about
this unimportant discovery, and handed Ruth's treasures back to her
without comment.

"I thought Arline might have sent it," declared Ruth, "but she swears
solemnly she knows nothing of it, and has given me her word that she had
nothing whatever to do with it."

"You'll find out some day if you have patience," declared Miriam.
"Sooner or later good deeds like that are sure to come to light."

"I wish I knew," sighed Ruth, "but if I had known, then I couldn't have
accepted them, you see."

"Evidently the person who sent them was aware of that," reflected Anne.
"Therefore, it is some one who knows all about Ruth Denton's pride."

The flush on Ruth's face deepened. "I can't help it," she said. "I don't
like to feel dependent on any one."

On the way to Wayne Hall, the mysterious presents formed the main
subject for discussion.

"We ought to have Elfreda's opinion," laughed Miriam. "She would find a
clue. Don't you remember what she said about Ruth's pride the first time
we took her to call on Ruth?"

"Yes," replied Grace absently. Then the full force of Miriam's words
dawning on her she looked at her friend in a startled way. "I know who
sent Ruth those presents. It was Elfreda herself. I'm sure of it. She
knew Ruth to be too proud to accept clothes, so she sent them
anonymously. Now I know why those 'a's' and 's's' looked so familiar.
That's Elfreda's writing. I know she did it. She just had to be nice in
spite of herself," concluded Grace.

"But why do you think it was Elfreda?" persisted Miriam.

"It was what you said that put me on the right track," replied Grace. "I
believe she made up her mind that day to send Ruth the suit and hat."

"If she did send them, there is still hope that she will come back to
us," said Anne.

It was agreed among the three girls that not even Ruth should be told of
their suspicions, and that if any possible opportunity arose to
conciliate Elfreda it should be promptly seized.

During the short space of time that elapsed before the dreaded
examination week swooped down upon them, the three friends were too busy
preparing for the coming ordeal to give much thought to the discovery
they had made. Elfreda avoided them so persistently that there seemed
small chance of getting within speaking distance. It was a week of
painful suspense, broken only by brief outbursts of jubilation when some
particularly formidable examination, that everyone had worried over,
seemingly to the point of gray hairs, turned out better than had been
expected.

In the campus houses wholesale permission to burn midnight oil had been
granted. Lights shone until late hours and flushed faces bent earnestly
over text books as though trying to absorb their contents verbatim. On
Friday, the strain, that had been lessening imperceptibly with each
succeeding examination, snapped, and Overton began to think about many
things that had no bearing on examinations.

"I'm almost dead!" exclaimed Grace, coming into her room on Friday
afternoon and dropping into the Morris chair near the window.

"I'm tired, too," returned Anne, who had come in just ahead of her, and
was engaged in putting her freshly laundered clothing in the two drawers
of the chiffonier that belonged to her.

"Thank goodness, we have four whole days of rest between terms at any
rate," sighed Grace. "I'm going to skate and be out of doors as much as
I can. I must make a few calls, too. I'm going to give a dinner at
Vinton's, too. I'll invite Mabel, Frances, Gertrude Wells, Arline
Thayer, Ruth, of course. That makes five," counted Grace on her fingers.
"Oh, yes, Constance Fuller, six, you two girls, and myself. That makes
nine. I told Mother about it when I was at home and she gave me the
money for it. I'll have it Tuesday night. The new term begins Wednesday.
To-morrow I'll go calling and deliver my invitations in the morning.
There's a trial basketball game to-morrow afternoon."

"When will there be a real game?" asked Anne. "I haven't heard you
mention basketball for ages."

"Christmas and examinations put a damper on it, but now all the girls
are anxious to play and we have challenged the sophomores to play
against us the second Saturday afternoon in February. I am going to play
right guard, and Miriam is to play left forward. A Miss Martin is our
center, and two freshmen I don't know very well are to play the left
guard and right forward. We have a good team. Miss Martin is a wonder.
You can see us practice if you wish, Anne."

"Perhaps I will," returned Anne. "Who is on the sophomore team?"

"I don't know," answered Grace. "I don't have much to say to the
sophomores. Most of them appear to dislike me, consequently I shall
greatly enjoy vanquishing them at basketball."

At the dinner table that night a discussion concerning Saturday's
practice game arose, to which Grace and Miriam listened quietly without
taking part.

"I suppose I ought to go to this practice game, to see what the freshmen
team can do. I think we can make them look sick and sorry before we are
through with them," drawled Virginia Gaines.

Grace and Miriam exchanged lightning glances. This was the first
intimation they had received that Virginia intended to play on the
sophomore team. Miriam frowned. She was thinking of the time when she
had been Grace's enemy on the basketball field and off. The recollection
was not pleasant. It was very unfortunate that they had to oppose
Virginia. Miriam determined to look out for herself and Grace, too, on
the day of the game. Involuntarily her face hardened with resolve. She
set her lips firmly, then glancing in the direction of Virginia she saw
Elfreda, who sat next to the sophomore at the table, eyeing her
intently. There was a disagreeable smile on the stout girl's face as she
leaned toward Virginia and made a low-toned remark. Miss Gaines looked
toward Miriam, smiled maliciously, and shrugged her shoulders.

"That's a danger signal," decided Miriam. "She does mean mischief. I'll
speak to Grace about it as soon as we go upstairs." But before they left
the dining room the door bell rang. The maid admitted Gertrude Wells and
Arline Thayer, and in the pleasure of seeing them, Miriam's resolve to
warn Grace was quite forgotten.

The practice game ended in an overwhelming advantage for Grace's team.
The other team behaved good-naturedly over their defeat and challenged
the winners to play again the following Saturday. They promptly accepted
the challenge, and, when the second practice game was played, again came
off victorious.

Grace's old basketball ardor had returned threefold and every available
moment found her in the gymnasium hard at work. The other members of the
teams had imbibed considerable of her enthusiasm. Miss Martin, the
center, laughingly said Grace was a human whirlwind and simply made the
rest of the team play to keep up with her. Miriam's playing also evoked
considerable praise. The first Saturday in February marked the last game
with the Number Two team. It turned out to be quite an event and the
gallery of the gymnasium was crowded with a mixed representation of
classes. Virginia Gaines and Elfreda sat in the first row, and as the
play proceeded Virginia watched the skilful tactics of Miriam and Grace
with anything but enthusiasm. Elfreda, narrowly watching her companion,
read apprehension in Virginia's face, although she made light of the
playing of the freshmen team and predicted an easy victory for the
sophomores. Scarcely knowing why she did so, Elfreda had doggedly
insisted that if the sophomores hoped to beat that freshman team, they
would have to play exceptionally well. Whereupon an argument arose
regarding the respective merits of the two teams that lasted all the way
to Wayne Hall, and ended in the two girls not speaking to each other
again that night.

"Did you see Elfreda in the gallery this afternoon?" asked Anne, as she
and Grace left the gymnasium and set out for Wayne Hall. Anne had waited
in the dressing room until Grace finished dressing.

"I did not see any one," laughed Grace. "I was far too busy. I am
surprised to learn that she came to the game."

"She was there, in the third row balcony," replied Anne. "She sat with
Virginia Gaines, who looked ferocious enough to bite."

"I wish something would happen to make Elfreda see that we are her
friends," sighed Grace.

"She will see, some day," predicted Anne. "Sooner or later she will
realize her mistake and come back to us."

CHAPTER XIX

A GAME WORTH SEEING

The second Saturday in February dawned anything but encouragingly. The
night before a blizzard had set in, and at one o'clock Saturday
afternoon the temperature had dropped almost to zero. The wind howled
and shrieked dismally, and to venture out meant to nurse frozen ears as
a result of facing the blast. But neither wind nor weather frightened
the enthusiastic basketball fans. With knitted and fur caps pulled down
over their ears they gallantly braved the storm. Even the majority of
the faculty were in the front seats that had been reserved for them and
by two o'clock every available inch of space in the gallery was filled.

The sophomore colors of blue and gold mingled with the red and white of
the freshmen colors in the decorations that were displayed lavishly
about the gymnasium. The faculty, too, wore the colors of their
respective favorites, while the president of the college held two
immense bouquets, one of red, the other of yellow roses, showing that he
at least was impartial. On each side of the gallery a group of girls
stood ready to lead their respective classes in the basketball choruses
that are sung solely With the object of urging the teams on to deeds of
glory. These choruses had been written hurriedly by loyal fans who had
more enthusiasm than ability as verse writers, and fitted to popular
airs. The fact that they possessed neither rhythm nor style troubled no
one. The main idea was to make a great deal of noise in singing them,
and nothing else counted.

The freshmen and sophomore substitutes were the first to emerge from
their dressing rooms on either side of the gymnasium, dressed in their
respective gymnasium suits of black and blue, the sleeves and sailor
collars of which were ornamented with their colors. They were greeted
with a gratifying burst of song from both sides which lasted until they
took their places, eager and alert, ready to make good if the
opportunity presented itself. After a brief interval the dressing room
doors opened again and the real teams appeared. This time the burst of
song became so jubilantly noisy that the president of the college half
rose in his seat as though to signal for order, then, apparently
changing his mind, settled himself in his chair, smiling broadly.
Immediately the song ended the referee's whistle blew and the great game
began.

From the moment the ball was put in play it was plain to the spectators
that this was to be a game worth seeing. The sophomores, with Virginia
Gaines as center, adopted whirlwind tactics from the start and the
freshmen did little more than defend themselves during the first half,
which came to an end without either side scoring. That the freshmen
could hold their own was evident, and when the whistle blew for the
second half the freshmen in the gallery applauded their team with
renewed vigor.

During the brief intermission Grace and Miriam had clasped hands and
vowed to outplay the sophomores in the second half or perish in the
attempt. The three other members had thereupon insisted on being
included in the vow, and when the five girls trotted to their respective
positions at the sound of the referee's whistle, it was with a
determination to stoutly contest every inch of the ground. Luck seemed
against them, however, for the sophomores scored through the clever
playing of Virginia Gaines. The freshmen then set their teeth and
resolved to die rather than allow the enemy to score again. Then Miriam
secured the ball and dodging and ducking this way and that she passed
the ball to another player who made the basket and the score was tied.
This put the sophomores not only on the anxious seat, but also on their
mettle, and try as they might the freshmen found themselves unable to
pile up their score.

The end of the second half crept nearer and the score still remained
tied. Grace, who was becoming more and more apprehensive as the minutes
passed, stood anxiously watching the ball, which was being played
perilously near their opponents' goal. Catching the eyes of Miriam, who
stood nearest it, Grace made a desperate little upward motion. Miriam
understood and redoubled her efforts to secure the ball, which she
finally did by springing straight up into the air and intercepting it on
its way to the basket. A shout went up from the freshmen which grew to a
roar. Miriam had thrown the ball unerringly to Grace, who caught it, and
facing quickly toward the freshman goal, balanced herself on her toes
preparatory to tossing her prize into the basket.

"She'll never make it," groaned a freshman. But her remark was lost in
the clamor.

With one quick, comprehensive glance, Grace measured the distance, then
with a long, swift overhand toss she sent the ball curving through the
air. It dropped squarely into the basket, bounded up in the air, then
dropped gently into place.

[Illustration: Grace Measured the Distance.]

For the next few minutes pandemonium reigned in the gymnasium. The happy
freshmen burst into song and drummed on the floor in expression of their
glee. The freshmen team had outplayed that of the sophomores. Only once
before in the history of the college had such a thing occurred. To Grace
Harlowe and Miriam Nesbit was given the principal credit for this latest
victory. Grace's goal toss had been a record-breaker. Never had a
freshman been known to make such a toss.

Now that the excitement was over, Grace felt suddenly weak in the knees.
She started for a seat at the side of the gymnasium, but before she
reached it there was a rush from the freshman class. Her classmates
lifted her to their shoulders and began parading about the gymnasium
floor, singing:

    "Nineteen---- is looking sad,
      Tra la la, Tra la la,
    I wonder what has made her mad,
      Tra la la, Tra la la,
    Her coaching was in vain,
    The freshman team has won again,
    Little sophomores, run away,
    Come again some other day."

Then there followed a song that brought a shout of laughter from
hundreds of throats, and one in which the sophomores did not join:

    Backward, turn backward, O ball in your flight,
    Why did you drop in the basket so tight?
    Sadly the sophomores are rueing the day
    They asked the freshmen in their yard to play,
    Sophomore banners are hung at half mast,
    Sophomore tears they are falling so fast,
    Sophomore faces are turned toward the wall,
    Sophomore pride has had a hard fall.

Grace had been seized and carried around and around the gymnasium on the
shoulders of her exulting classmates, who sang lustily as they marched,
then gently deposited her in the dressing room. Miriam also had received
that honor. When the two girls left the dressing room twenty minutes
later, they were taken charge of by a delegation of admiring freshmen
and informed that there would be a dinner given that night at Vinton's
in honor of them.

An air of deep gloom pervaded the sophomore dressing room, however.
Virginia Gaines dressed in gloomy silence. One or two of her team
ventured to speak to her. She answered so shortly that they did not
trouble her further, but went out talking among themselves as soon as
they had changed their gymnasium suits for street clothing. Outside
Elfreda waited impatiently. "I thought you were never coming," grumbled
the stout girl. Then the unpleasant side of her disposition, which she
had tried to eliminate during her brief friendship with the Oakdale
girls, came to the surface and she said maliciously: "I thought you said
they couldn't play, Virginia. Funny, wasn't it, that you had such a poor
idea of their playing? It was the best game I ever saw, but all the star
playing was on the freshman side."

Virginia's face grew dark. "Stop trying to be sarcastic," she stormed.
"I won't stand it. Do you hear me?"

"Yes, I hear you. I'm not deaf," returned Elfreda dryly. "As for
standing it, you don't have to. Good-bye." Turning sharply about she set
off in the opposite direction, her hands in her pockets, a look of
intense disgust on her round face. "That's the end of that," she
muttered. "I'll move to-morrow. This time it will have to be out of
Wayne Hall, unless----." Then she shook her head almost sadly: "Not
there," she added. "She wouldn't have me for a roommate."

CHAPTER XX

GRACE OVERHEARS SOMETHING INTERESTING

After the famous basketball game a marked change was noticeable in the
attitude of the freshman class toward the Oakdale girls. Grace and
Miriam received numerous invitations to dinners and spreads, in which
Anne was frequently included. Then the girls at Wayne Hall gave a play
in which Anne enacted the role of heroine, stage manager, prompter, and
producer, besides doing all the coaching. After that her star was also
in the ascendant and the little slights and coolnesses that had been
noticeable after Elfreda's ill-timed gossip had done its work, died a
natural death.

The stout girl had lost no time in leaving Virginia. The evening after
her quarrel with the sophomore she had moved her belongings into the
hall the moment she reached her room, then gone downstairs and demanded
another room. As it happened, a freshman whose cousin lived at Morton
House had invited her to share her room. She had departed that very
afternoon and Mrs. Elwood offered Elfreda the now vacant half of her
room. Emma Dean, the tall, near-sighted freshman, occupied the other
half. There was a single room in the house of Mrs. Elwood's sister, but
Elfreda had refused to consider it. Despite the fact that there were now
four young women at Wayne Hall with whom she was not on speaking terms,
she could not bring herself to leave the house. In her inmost heart she
knew that it was because she did not wish to leave the three girls she
had repudiated, but not for worlds would she have acknowledged this to
be the case.

Several times she had been on the point of throwing her pride to the
winds and apologizing to Grace, Miriam and Anne for her childish
behavior. Then she would scoff at her own weakness and go doggedly on.
Her new roommate, Emma Dean, was a cheery sort of girl who lived every
day as it came and refused to borrow trouble. She never criticized other
girls, nor did she gossip, and she was extremely thoughtful of the
comfort of her roommate. After several days of dubious speculation the
stout girl decided she liked Emma, and Emma decided that Elfreda was
rather an agreeable disappointment.

There were two young women, however, who had suddenly appeared to take a
great interest in Elfreda. Alberta Wicks and Mary Hampton had met
Elfreda in Vinton's late one afternoon, and had made distinctly
friendly overtures to her. At any other time she would have passed them
by in disdain, but on that particular occasion, feeling gloomy and
downcast, she decided to forget her grievance against them. Then, too,
she did not know them to be the girls who had sent her the anonymous
letter. Grace had never told her the truth of the affair, so she played
unsuspectingly into their hands. They had invited her to have ice cream
with them, and she had insisted that they be her guests at dinner. After
that they had invited her to Stuart Hall to dinner and she had
entertained them at Wayne Hall one evening, greatly to the surprise of
Grace, who suddenly remembered that, after all, Elfreda was not so much
to blame as she did not know the truth. But why should these two girls
accept the hospitality of the very girl they had tried to drive away
from Overton? It was a puzzle that Grace could not solve. She discussed
it with Anne and Miriam but they could throw no light on the mystery.

The coming of the Easter vacation gave the three girls more pleasant
matters of which to think. This time Ruth Denton accompanied them to
Oakdale as Grace's guest, while Miriam invited Arline Thayer also, as a
surprise to Ruth. When Arline serenely joined them at the station the
morning of their departure, Ruth could hardly believe the evidence of
her own eyes.

The two weeks in Oakdale flew by on wings. With the boys and the other
members of the Phi Sigma Tau at home, too, there were more things to do
and places to go than could possibly be squeezed into that brief space
of time. Arline Thayer, who was a joyous, irrepressible spirit,
announced with conviction that Oakdale was even nicer than New York. She
and Nora became sworn friends and the joint guardians of Hippy, who
declared that he never would have believed there were two such
relentless tyrants in the world, if he had not seen them face to face.

Mrs. Gray, who had been in Florida during the Christmas holidays, had
returned in time to welcome her adopted children home. She was
especially delighted to see Anne and would scarcely allow the quiet
little girl out of her sight. She had been greatly disappointed because
Anne had refused to accept from her the money for her college education,
but secretly exulted in Anne's independence and smiled to herself when
she thought of a certain clause in her will that had amply provided for
her adopted daughter's future welfare.

Altogether it was a vacation long to be remembered, and the four
originals separated with the glad thought that the next time they met
it would be months instead of weeks before their little company would
again set their faces in opposite directions.

The night after their return to Overton, Grace, after having made a
conscientious effort to study, threw down her history in despair. "I
know a great deal more about the history of Oakdale than I do about the
history of Rome," she sighed.

"I wish I had never heard of trigonometry," returned Anne, shutting her
book with a snap. "I can't think of anything except the good time we've
had. Home has completely upset my student mind." She rose, laid down her
book and walked listlessly toward the window. It had been an unusually
warm day for early spring and the night air had that suspicion of
dampness in it that betokens rain. "It will rain before morning," she
declared. "There isn't a star in sight and the moon has gone behind a
cloud."

Grace joined Anne at the window. The two girls stood peering out into
the darkness of the spring night. "I feel as though I'd like to go out
and walk miles and miles to-night," declared Grace.

"So do I," agreed Anne. Then glancing back at the clock, she remarked,
"It's twenty minutes past ten. Too late for us to go now. We can go
to-morrow night, can't we?"

Grace nodded. "We'll get our work done early, or, better still, we can
go walking early in the evening and study when we come back. I wish
you'd remind me that I must call on Mabel Ashe this week. In fact, all
three of us ought to go over to Holland House."

The next day, however, Anne remembered regretfully that she had promised
to help a troubled freshman through the mazes of an especially trying
trigonometry lesson, while Miriam had a theme to write which she had
neglected until the last minute, and had to rush through on record time.

"You're a set of irresponsible young things who don't know your own mind
from one minute to the next," laughed Grace. "As I can't very well go
walking alone, I'll make my call on Mabel."

Directly after dinner she set out for Holland House and Mabel's
delighted: "I'm so glad you came, Grace. Where have you been keeping
yourself?" sounded very sweet to Grace, who adored Mabel and outside of
her own particular chums liked her better than any other girl she knew
at home or in college. The two young women were deep in conversation
when a rap sounded at the door. Mabel opened it, looked inquiringly at
the girl who stood outside and exclaimed contritely: "Oh, Helen, I'm so
sorry I forgot all about you. I'll get ready this minute. Come in. Miss
Harlowe, this is Miss Burton. Grace, I wonder if you will mind making a
call to-night. I promised Helen I'd take her down to Wellington House
and introduce her to a junior friend of mine who plays golf. Helen is a
golf fiend."

"So am I," laughed Grace. "I brought my golf bag to Overton, but didn't
play much in the fall. I'm going to try it, though, as soon as the
ground is in shape."

"How nice!" exclaimed Helen Burton, with a friendly smile that lighted
up her rather plain face and brought the dimples to her cheeks. "We can
have some nice times together. You had better come with us now."

"Thank you, I shall be pleased to go," replied Grace politely. "I have
never been in Wellington House. It is an upper class house, isn't it?"

"Yes," replied Mabel. "It is given up entirely to juniors and seniors.
It is the oldest house on the campus, and very difficult to get into.
Personally, I like Holland House better. I had an opportunity to get
into Wellington House last fall, but refused it." Grace noted that Mabel
frowned slightly and set her lips as though determined to shut out an
unpleasant memory.

To reach Wellington House was merely a matter of crossing one end of the
campus. Grace looked about her curiously as they were ushered into the
long, old-fashioned hall that extended almost to the back of the house.
They entered the parlor at one side of the hall and sat down while Mabel
excused herself and ran upstairs after Leona Rowe, the junior she had
come to see. She had hardly disappeared before a flaxen head was poked
in the door and a surprised voice said: "For goodness sake, Helen
Burton, when did you rain down? You are just the one I want to see. What
do you think of to-morrow's German? I can't translate it. It's
frightfully hard. Come up and help me, dearest."

The ingratiating emphasis she placed on the word "dearest" caused both
Grace and Helen to laugh.

"All right, I will for just two minutes. Want to come upstairs, Miss
Harlowe?"

Grace smilingly shook her head. "I'll stay here in case Mabel comes
back."

"Thank you," returned Helen. "Miss Harlowe, this is Miss Redmond."

The two girls exchanged friendly nods. Then the flaxen-haired girl led
the way, followed by Helen Burton, and Grace settled herself in the
depths of a big chair to await their return. As she sat idly wondering
what the subject of her next theme should be, the sound of voices
reached her ears, proceeding from the back parlor that adjoined the room
in which Grace sat. Two girls had entered the other room, but the heavy
portieres which hung in the dividing arch, hid them from view. The
voices, however, Grace recognized with a start as belonging to Beatrice
Alden, the disagreeable junior, and Alberta Wicks of the sophomore
class.

"I'll be glad when my sophomore year is over," grumbled Alberta Wicks.
"Mary and I have asked for a room here. I hope we get it. If we do we
will be able, at least, to eat our meals without the eternal
accompaniment of Miss Harlowe's and Miss Nesbit's doings. Ever since
that basketball game, Stuart Hall has talked of nothing else."

"Are there many freshmen at Stuart Hall?" asked Beatrice Alden.

"Too many to suit me," was the emphatic answer.

"If you are so down on freshmen in general, how in the world do you
manage to endure that dreadful Miss Briggs?"

"J. Elfreda is a joke," replied Alberta. "Nevertheless, she is a very
useful joke. In the first place, she has plenty of money to spend, and
we see to it that she spends a good share of it on us. Then, too, we
can borrow money of her. She is a great convenience. The funny part of
it is she doesn't know about that letter we wrote. For once that
priggish Miss Harlowe did manage to hold her tongue to some purpose."

"Suppose she does find out?"

"She can't prove that we wrote the note," was the quick retort. "When
Miss Harlowe tried to pin us to it that day at Stuart Hall I merely said
that a number of sophomores felt justified in sending the note. Of
course, she drew her own conclusions, but conclusions are far from
proof, you know. She would hardly dare circulate any reports concerning
it. We aren't going to bother with J. Elfreda much longer at any rate.
It's getting too near warm weather to risk being bored to death. Mary
expects a check from home soon, and I've written Mother for some extra
money, so we won't need hers. Besides, I don't wish to let our
acquaintance lap over into my junior year. She's frightfully ill bred,
and I'm going to begin to be more careful about my associates next
year."

"What a frightful snob you are, Bert," said Beatrice rather disgustedly.

"Well, you are my first cousin, you know," retorted Alberta
significantly. "I never considered you particularly democratic."

"I'm not deceitful, at any rate," reminded Beatrice. "If I dislike a
girl I take no pains to conceal it, and I am certainly not a grafter."

"Neither am I, Beatrice Alden, and the fact of your being my cousin
doesn't give you the right to insult me. I intended to tell you about a
stunt we had planned for Friday night, but since you seem to be so
conscientious about Miss Briggs, I shan't tell you anything."

Then a silence fell that was broken the next instant by the violent slam
of the front door. Grace rose to her feet, took a step forward, paused
irresolutely, then pushing apart the heavy curtains walked into the
other room. Beatrice Alden stood unconcernedly running through the
leaves of a magazine she had picked up from the table.

"Miss Alden!"

The senior turned quickly, looking inquiringly, then sternly, at Grace.
"How long have you been here?" she said abruptly.

"I heard part of the conversation," replied Grace coldly. "When you
began talking I recognized your voices, then I heard my name mentioned,
and true to the old adage about listeners I heard no good of myself.
When I heard Miss Briggs's name spoken I decided that under the
circumstances I was justified in listening further, as I intended at any
rate to announce my presence and just what I heard as soon as you two
had finished speaking. Miss Wicks's sudden departure prevented me from
carrying out my intention as far as she was concerned. I shall, however,
notify her at the earliest opportunity." Grace paused, looking squarely
at the older girl.

Beatrice Alden's expression of intense displeasure gave way to one of
reluctant admiration with dislike struggling in the background. "You are
extremely frank in your statements, Miss Harlowe," she said
sarcastically.

"There is no reason why I should not be," returned Grace composedly.
"Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton, for reasons best known to themselves,
chose to make Miss Briggs the victim of an unwomanly practical joke on
the very day of her arrival at Overton. I think you are in possession of
the story. Miss Briggs's method of retaliation was unwise, I will admit,
but Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton had no right to try to drive her from
Overton on account of it. In her distress over a certain anonymous
letter she received, Miss Briggs came to me, and I, suspecting the
source from which the letter came, tried as best I could to straighten
out the tangle, without allowing Miss Briggs to know who was at fault.

"Since then, unfortunately, a misunderstanding has arisen between us. I
have now no influence whatever with Miss Briggs, and she has played
directly into the hands of the only two enemies she has in college. All
along I have been certain that Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton meant
mischief. What I have heard to-day confirms it. Miss Alden, you are Miss
Wicks's cousin. I heard her say so. As a true Overton girl, will you not
use your influence with her in persuading her to abandon whatever plan
she and Miss Hampton have made to annoy Miss Briggs?"

Beatrice Alden eyed Grace reflectively but said nothing.

Grace looked pleadingly at the irresponsive junior. For a moment tense
silence reigned. Then Beatrice Alden shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Miss Harlowe," she said soberly. All trace of hauteur had
disappeared. "But you know how angry Alberta was when she left here. She
wouldn't listen to me. I doubt if she speaks to me again this year. She
has a frightful temper and holds the slightest grudge for ages. She will
carry out her plan now, merely to show me how utterly she disregards my
disapproval."

"I'm sorry, too," smiled Grace ruefully. "I shall try to see Miss
Briggs, but she is utterly unapproachable."

The two girls looked into each other's eyes. Then they both laughed.
Beatrice Alden stretched out her hand impulsively. "We're both in an
evil case, aren't we?" she laughed.

Grace met the hand half way. "But we are of the same mind, aren't we?"
she asked.

"Yes," replied Beatrice simply. She hesitated, looked rather confused,
then added: "I used to think I disliked you, Miss Harlowe, but I find my
feelings toward you are quite the opposite. I hope we shall some day be
friends."

"I hope so, too," agreed Grace earnestly. "We have a mutual friend, you
know, in Mabel Ashe, although yours and Mabel's friendship began long
before I came to Overton." A shadow crossed Beatrice's face. Grace noted
it and interpreted it correctly. "You are very fond of Mabel, are you
not, Miss Alden?" she asked.

"Very," was the short answer.

"Anne Pierson is the dearest girl friend I have in the world," declared
wily Grace. "Then two Oakdale girls who are studying in an eastern
conservatory of music come next, and after that Miriam Nesbit. There are
also three other girls, members of a high school sorority to which I
belong, and a girl in Denver, who have very strong claims on my
affection. I have a number of dearest friends, you see. Some time I
should like to tell you more of them."

Beatrice had brightened visibly as Grace talked. She now felt assured
that this attractive freshman with her clear grey eyes and
straightforward manner would never attempt to monopolize Mabel's entire
attention.

At this moment Mabel's voice was heard at the head of the stairs. She
descended, followed by Leona Rowe and Helen Burton.

"Why, hello, Bee!" cried Mabel. "I asked for you upstairs, but was told
you were out."

"So I was," smiled Beatrice, "but I'm here now. What is your pleasure?"

"Come over to Holland House and have tea and cakes and candy, if there's
any left in the box of Huyler's that came last night. Every girl in the
house sampled it. You know what that means."

"I'll go for my hat and coat," returned Beatrice brightly. "See you in a
minute." She ran lightly up the stairs, smiling to herself. Helen and
Leona rushed out in the hall to interview a girl who had just come in.
Finding themselves alone for the moment Mabel turned to Grace with a
solemnly inquiring air, "How did you do it?" she asked in a low tone.

"I'll tell you some other time," replied Grace. "It was a surprise to
me, but the chance just happened to come and I took advantage of it."

The return of the three young women cut off further opportunity for
explanation, but as Grace walked back to Holland House, one arm linked
in that of Mabel Ashe, while Beatrice Alden, heretofore frigid and
unapproachable, walked at the other side of the popular junior, she
could not help wishing a certain other tangle might be as easily
straightened.

CHAPTER XXI

AN UNHEEDED WARNING

The next day found Grace rather at a loss how to proceed in the case of
Elfreda. From what she had overheard it was evident that Alberta Wicks
and Mary Hampton had decided to make Elfreda the victim of some
well-laid plot of their own. What the nature of it was Grace had not the
remotest idea. To approach Elfreda was embarrassing to say the least. To
warn her against the two mischievous sophomores without being able to
state anything more definite than what she had overheard at Wellington
House was infinitely more embarrassing.

"What time had I best try to see her?" Grace asked herself. She had come
from Overton Hall with Anne and Miriam late that afternoon and the three
girls had lingered on the steps of Wayne Hall, reluctant to go indoors.
Spring was getting ready to fulfill all sorts of tender promises she had
made to her children. The buds on the trees were bursting into tiny new
green leaves. The crocuses were in bloom in the yards along College
Street, and the grass on the campus was growing greener every hour. The
roads, too, were obligingly drying, so that adventurous walkers might
visit their favorite haunts in the country surrounding Overton without
running the risk of wading in the mud.

There was Guest House, the famous colonial tea shop that had been built
and used as an inn during the Revolution. In this quaint historic place
ample refreshment was to be found. There one could satisfy one's
appetite with dainty little sandwiches, muffins and jam, tea cakes and
tea, fresh milk or buttermilk.

There was also Hunter's Rock that overhung the river, and whose smooth,
flat surface made an ideal spot for picnickers. It was five miles from
Overton, but extremely popular with all four classes, and from early
spring until late fall, it was occupied on Saturday by various gay gipsy
parties from the college. Then there were canoes for the venturesome,
and staid old rowboats for the cautious, to be hired at a nominal sum,
while girlish figures dotted the golf course and the tennis courts.
Girls strolled about the campus in the early evenings, or gathered in
groups on the steps of the campus houses. It was the time of year when
spring creeps into one's blood, making one forget everything except the
blueness of the sky, the softness of the air and the lure of green
things growing.

"I must go into the house," sighed Miriam Nesbit. "I have that
appalling trigonometry lesson for to-morrow to prepare from beginning to
end. I haven't looked at it yet."

"I peeped at it yesterday," said Anne. "It's the worst one we've had, so
far."

"The end is not yet," reminded Grace.

"Well it will be in sight before long. Our freshman year is almost over,
didn't you know it, children!" queried Miriam laughingly.

"It has seemed long in some respects and short in others," reflected
Grace. "I think--" Grace paused. A tall, rather stout girl came
hurriedly up the walk. She stalked up the steps and into the house
without looking to the right or left. Even in that fleeting moment Grace
noted that she seemed rather excited and that she carried in her hand an
open letter. "I wonder if now would be a good time to tackle her,"
speculated Grace. Then deciding that, after all, there was nothing to be
gained without making a venture, Grace walked resolutely to the door.
"I'll see you later, girls," was her only remark as she passed inside.

Once outside Elfreda's door, Grace did not feel quite so confident.
Summoning all her courage, however, she knocked. An impatient voice
called, "Come in," and Grace accepted the rather ungracious invitation
to enter. J. Elfreda sat facing the window intent upon the letter Grace
had seen in her hand. She turned sharply as the door closed, then
catching sight of Grace, sprang to her feet, her face clouded with
anger. "How dare you come in here?" she stormed.

"You said 'Come in,' Elfreda," returned Grace quietly.

"Yes, but not to you," raged Elfreda. "Never to you. Leave my room
instantly and don't come back again."

"I won't trouble you long," returned Grace. "I came to put you on your
guard against two young women who are about to make mischief for you. I
am very sorry I did not tell you long ago that Miss Wicks and Miss
Hampton were the originators of the anonymous letter which caused you so
much unhappiness. I suspected as much at the time, and accused them of
writing it. They neither affirmed nor denied their part in the affair,
although they admitted that certain members of the sophomore class wrote
the letter. I threatened to take up the matter with the sophomore class
if the two young women persisted in making you unhappy, and this threat
evidently influenced them to drop their crusade against you.

"To a certain extent I feel responsible for what has followed, for if I
had told you this before you would hardly have afterward become
friendly with them. However, I can do this much. From a conversation I
overheard the other day I am convinced that Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton
intend to play a practical joke on you on Friday night. I am afraid that
it will not be of the tame variety either, and may cause you trouble.
These two girls do not like you, Elfreda, and they have not forgiven you
nor never will."

"You are awfully anxious to make me think that no one but you and your
friends ever liked me, aren't you?" sneered Elfreda. "Well, just let me
tell you something. Those girls may have their faults, but they aren't
stingy and selfish, at all events. This letter here is an invitation
to----, well, I shan't tell you what it is, but it's far from being a
practical joke, I can assure you."

Grace looked doubtfully at Elfreda, who stood very erect, her head held
high with offended dignity. Perhaps, after all, she had been too hasty.
Perhaps the two sophomores really intended playing some harmless trick.
Then the words, "We are not going to bother with J. Elfreda much
longer," returned with a force that left Grace no longer in uncertainty.

"Elfreda," she said earnestly, "I wish you would listen to me for once.
Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton are not your friends. If you accept their
invitation for Friday night you will be sorry. Take my advice, and steer
clear of them."

"Please mind your own business and get out of my room," commanded
Elfreda fiercely.

Casting one steady, reproachful look at the angry girl, Grace left the
room in silence. Once outside her own door she clenched her hands and
fought back her rising emotion. Tears of humiliation stood in her gray
eyes, then winking them back bravely, she drew a long breath and opened
her door. Anne, who in the meantime had come upstairs, turned
expectantly. "What luck?" she questioned.

"None," returned Grace shortly. "She ordered me out of her room."

At this juncture Miriam Nesbit joined them. "What's the latest on the
bulletin board?" she inquired, smiling mischievously.

"Don't laugh, Miriam," rebuked Grace. "Things are serious. Elfreda has
some sort of engagement for Friday night with those two girls. She
almost told me what it was, then changed her mind and invited me to mind
my own business and leave her room. I'm going to try to find out
something about Friday night and see that she gets fair play. After that
I shall never trouble myself about her," concluded Grace, her voice
trembling slightly.

"Don't feel so hurt at Elfreda's rudeness, Grace," soothed Miriam. "She
doesn't mean half she says. She'll be sorry some day."

"I wish 'some day' was before Friday," replied Grace mournfully. "I
wonder who else is to take part in this affair?"

"Watch Miss Wicks and Miss Hampton," advised Anne quietly.

"That's sound advice," agreed Grace. "I appoint you and Miriam as secret
service agents. You must unearth the enemy's plans for Friday night."

"What will you do if we should happen to stumble upon them?" asked
Miriam curiously.

"I don't know, yet," said Grace slowly. "It will depend entirely on what
they are. Since we can't prevent Elfreda from going to her fate, we may
be obliged to go along with her. If I were to ask you girls to drop
everything and follow me on Friday night, would you do it?"

Anne and Miriam nodded.

"Then that's settled," was her relieved comment. "I am going to take two
other girls into our confidence. I shall tell Mabel Ashe and Frances
Marlton. They will come to the rescue if I need them. Besides they are
juniors, and if I am not mistaken, upper class support may be very
desirable before we are through with this affair."

"And all this anxiety over J. Elfreda," smiled Miriam. "But to tell you
the truth, girls, I shall be only too glad to fare forth in the cause of
Elfreda. I thought her a terrible cross when she first came, but now I
am positively lonesome without her, and I don't care how soon she comes
back."

CHAPTER XXII

TURNING THE TABLES

For the next two days the three girls bent their efforts toward
discovering the plot on foot against Elfreda, but to little purpose. So
far, Grace had refrained from imparting her vague knowledge of what
impended to Mabel and Frances. Her naturally self-reliant nature would
not allow her to depend on others. She preferred to solve her own
problems and fight her own battles if necessary. Whatever the two
sophomores had planned was a secret indeed. By neither word nor sign did
they betray themselves, and by Thursday evening Grace was beginning to
show signs of anxiety.

"I haven't been able to find out a thing," she declared dispiritedly to
Anne. "I suspect one other girl, but I'm not sure about her. Anne, do
you think Virginia Gaines is in this affair, too?"

"Hardly," replied Anne. "She and Elfreda are not friendly, and Elfreda
could not be coaxed to go where she is likely to see Miss Gaines."

"But suppose Virginia Gaines kept strictly in the background, yet
helped to play the trick," persisted Grace.

"Of course she could easily do that," admitted Anne. "But what makes you
think she would?"

"Just this," replied Grace. "I saw her in conversation to-day with Mary
Hampton. They were standing outside Science Hall. They didn't see me
until I was within a few feet of them. Then they said good-bye in a
hurry, and rushed off in opposite directions. Now, what would you
naturally infer from that?"

"It does look suspicious," agreed Anne.

"That is what causes me to believe Virginia Gaines to be one of the
prime movers in this affair," was the quiet answer. "They are all very
clever. Too clever, by far, for me."

A knock at the door caused Grace to start slightly. "Come in!" she
called, then exclaimed in surprise as the door opened: "Why, Miriam,
where did you go? You disappeared the moment dinner was over."

"I had to go to the library," replied Miriam quickly. "Do you know
whether the girls on both sides of us are out?"

Grace nodded. "What's the matter, Miriam?" she asked curiously. "What
has happened? You look as mysterious as the Three Fates themselves."

"I've made a discovery," announced Miriam, taking a book from under her
arm and opening it. "I found something in this book that you ought to
see. I was in one of the alcoves to-night looking for a book that I have
been trying to lay hands on for a week. It has been out every time.
To-night I found it and inside the leaves I found this." She handed
Grace a folded paper.

Grace unfolded it wonderingly and began to read aloud:

"Dear Virginia:

"We decided that the haunted house plan would be quite likely to subdue
a certain obstreperous individual. We have already invited her to a
moonlight party at Hunter's Rock, as you know. Once she is there we will
see to the rest. Sorry you can't be with us, but that would give the
whole plan away. A little meditation in spookland will do our friend
good, and this time if she is wise she will keep her troubles to
herself. Of course, if any one should see her going home in the wee
small hours of the morning it might be unpleasant for her, but then, we
can't trouble ourselves over that.

"Yours, hastily,

"Bert."

Grace stared first at Anne, then Miriam, in incredulous, shocked
surprise.

"What a cruel girl!" she exclaimed. "Poor Elfreda!"

"Of course, the writer meant Elfreda," agreed Miriam. "'Bert,' I
suppose, stands for Alberta. In the first place, what haunted house does
she mean?"

"I don't know," answered Grace, knitting her brows. "Wait a minute! I'll
go down and ask Mrs. Elwood."

Within five minutes she had returned, bristling with information. "I
found out the whole story," she declared. "It is an old white house not
far from Hunter's Rock. Two brothers once lived there, and one
disappeared. It was rumored that he had been killed by his older
brother, and that the spirit of the murdered man haunted the place so
persistently that the other brother left there and never came back. They
say a white figure, carrying a lighted candle, walks moaning through the
rooms."

"How dreadful!" shivered Anne. "It is bad enough to think of those girls
coaxing Elfreda to go there. I believe they intend to persuade her to go
there, then leave her, too."

"We might show Elfreda this note," reflected Miriam. "No; on second
thought I should say we'd better make up a crowd and follow the others
to Hunter's Rock. Of course, we won't stay there. Those girls are
breaking rules by going there at night. We shall be breaking rules, too,
but in a good cause."

A long conversation ensued that would have aroused consternation in the
breast of a number of sophomores, had they been privileged to hear it.
When the last detail had been arranged, Grace leaned back in her chair
and smiled. "I think everything will go beautifully," she said, "and
several people are going to be surprised. Miriam, will you see Mabel
Ashe, Constance Fuller and Frances Marlton in the morning? Anne, will
you look out for Arline Thayer and Ruth? That will leave Leona Rowe and
Helen Burton for me, and, oh, yes, I'll have a talk with Emma Dean."

To all appearances, Friday dawned as prosaically as had all the other
days of that week, but in the breasts of a number of the students of
Overton stirred an excitement that deepened as the day wore on. As is
frequently the case, the object of it all went calmly on her way, taking
a smug satisfaction in the thought that she was the only freshman
invited to the select gathering of sophomores who were to brave the
censure of the dean, and picnic by moonlight at Hunter's Rock. For
almost the first time since her arrival at college Elfreda felt her own
popularity. Despite her native shrewdness, she was particularly
susceptible to flattery. To be the idol of the college had been one of
her most secret and hitherto hopeless desires. Now, in the sophomore
class she had found girls who really appreciated her, and who were ready
to say pleasant things to her rather than lecture her. She was glad,
now, that she had dropped Grace and her friends in time, and resolved
next year that she would put the width of the campus between herself and
Wayne Hall.

As she slipped on her long blue serge coat that night--the air was
chilly, though the day had been warm--a flush of triumph mounted to her
cheeks. Then glancing at the clock she hurriedly adjusted her hat. Her
appointment was for half-past seven. Alberta said the party was to be in
honor of her and she must not keep her friends waiting. She looked
sharply about her to see who was in sight. She had been pledged to
secrecy. Alberta had said they would return before half-past ten, so
there would be no need of asking Mrs. Elwood to leave the door unlocked
for her. Then she walked briskly down the steps and up the street.

Fifteen minutes before she left the house, three dark figures had
marched out single file down the street. Two blocks from the house they
had been met by a delegation of dark figures, and without a word being
spoken, the little party had taken a side street that led to Overton
Drive, a public highway that wound straight through the town out into
the country. The company had proceeded in absolute silence, and finally
leaving the road had turned into the fields and plodded steadily on. It
was the new of the moon and the landscape was shrouded in heavy shadows.
On and still on the silent procession had traveled, and when their eyes,
now accustomed to the darkness, had espied the outlines of a
tumble-down, one-story house that stood out against the blackness of the
night a halt had been made and each dark figure had taken from under her
arm a bundle. Then the faint rustle of paper accompanied by an
occasional giggle or a smothered exclamation had been heard, and last
but most remarkable, the dark figures had given place to a company of
sheeted ghosts who had glided over the fields with true ghost-like mien
and disappeared in a little grove just off the highway.

In the meantime, Elfreda had been received with acclamation by the
treacherous sophomores, who vied with each other as to who should be her
escort. There were nine girls, and each of them also bore a bundle,
which contained not sheets, but the eatables for the picnic. This
procession also set out in silence, which was broken as soon as the
town was left behind. Alberta, who walked with her arm linked in
Elfreda's, began to relate the story of the haunted house.

"Do you suppose for one minute that that house is really haunted?" said
Elfreda sceptically.

"No one knows," was the disquieting reply. "People have seen strange
sights there."

"What sights?" demanded Elfreda.

"They say the murdered brother walks through the house and moans,"
replied Alberta, shuddering slightly.

"That's nonsense," said Elfreda bravely. Nevertheless, the idea was not
pleasant to contemplate. "I don't believe in ghosts," she added.

"I dare you to go into the room where the man was murdered," laughed
Mary Hampton.

"I'm not afraid," persisted Elfreda.

"Prove it, then," taunted Mary.

"All right, I will," retorted Elfreda defiantly. "Show me the room when
we get there and I'll go into it."

"I don't think we ought to go near that old house at night," protested a
sophomore. "We'd get into all sorts of trouble as it is, if the faculty
knew we were out."

"Now, don't begin preaching," snapped Alberta Wicks. "If you are
dissatisfied, go home."

"I wish I'd stayed at home," growled the other sophomore wrathfully.

While this conversation was being carried on, the party was rapidly
nearing the haunted house. They halted directly in front of it, and Mary
Hampton said, "Now, Miss Briggs, make good your promise."

Elfreda walked boldly up to the house, although she felt her courage
oozing rapidly.

"I'll go inside with you, and show you the room. It's that little room
off the hall," volunteered Alberta.

The outside door stood wide open. Elfreda peered fearfully down the
little hall, then stepped resolutely into the little room at one side of
it. A door slammed. There was the sound of a key turning in a lock, a
rush of scurrying feet; then silence. Across the field fled the dark
figures, nor did they stop until they had crossed the highway and
entered the little grove that led to Hunter's Rock.

Suddenly a piercing scream rang out. It was followed by a succession of
wild cries, and with one accord the terror-stricken conspirators made
for the highway. But at every step a white figure rose in the path
filling the air with weird, mournful wails. Fright lent speed to
sophomore feet, and without daring to look behind, eight badly scared
girls ran steadily along the road to Overton, intent only on putting
distance between themselves and the terrifying apparitions that had
sprung up before them. If they had stopped to deliberate for even five
seconds they would, in all probability, have stood their ground, but the
silent, ghostly figures that had bobbed up as by magic, coupled with the
tale of the haunted house which Alberta had related, was a little too
much for even vaunted sophomore courage.

A death-like stillness followed the ignominious flight of the plotters.
Then from behind a tree stepped a white figure and a cautious voice
called softly: "Come on, girls. They have gone. We must hurry and let
Elfreda out of that awful house." At this command a ripple of subdued
laughter rose from all sides and the ghosts began to appear from their
nearby hiding places.

"Wasn't it funny?" laughed a tall ghost with the voice of Frances
Marlton.

"I know several sophomores who will walk softly for the rest of this
year at least," predicted another ghost, ending with the giggle that
endeared Mabel Ashe to all her friends.

"These masks are frightfully warm," complained a diminutive spectre. A
quick movement of her hand and the mask was removed, showing the rosy
face of Arline Thayer.

"Keep your mask on, Arline," warned Gertrude. "Even in this secluded
spot some one may be watching you."

The party proceeded with as little noise as possible to the haunted
house. Pausing at the front door a brief council was held. Then removing
their masks and the sheets that enveloped them, Grace and Miriam
resolutely entered the hall and went straight to the locked door, behind
which Elfreda was a prisoner. The key had been left in the lock. It
turned with a grating sound. Slipping her hand in the pocket of her
sweater, Grace produced a tiny electric flashlight which she turned on
the room. In one corner, seated on the floor, her back against the wall
and her feet straight in front of her, sat Elfreda. She eyed the
flashing light defiantly, then saw who was behind it and said grimly: "I
might have known it. If I had taken your advice I wouldn't be here now."

"Oh, Elfreda!" exclaimed Grace. "I'm so glad you are not frightened. It
was a cruel trick, but, thank goodness, we found out about it in time."

Elfreda rose and walked deliberately up to Grace and Miriam. "I'm sorry
for everything," she said huskily. "I've been a ridiculous simpleton,
and I don't deserve to have friends. Will you forgive me, girls? I'd
like to start all over again."

"Of course we will. That was a direct, manly speech, Elfreda," laughed
Miriam, but there were tears in her own eyes which no one saw in the
darkness. She realized that in spite of her childish behavior she was
fond of the stout girl and was glad that peace had been declared.

"Let us forget all about it, shake hands and go home," proposed Grace,
"or we may find ourselves locked out."

The two girls shook hands with Elfreda, and all around again for good
luck, then linking an arm in each of hers they conducted the rescued
prisoner to where the rest of the party awaited them. During their
absence the ghosts had doffed their spectral garments and the instant
the three joined them the order to march was given. Once fairly in
Overton, conversation was permitted, and on the same corner where they
had met, the rescuers parted, after much talk and laughter.

"Come into my room and have tea to-night, Elfreda," invited Miriam, as
they entered the house. "I have a pound of your favorite cakes."

"I'd like to come to stay," said Elfreda wistfully. "But I've been too
hateful for you ever to want me for a roommate again."

"It's rather late for you to move now," replied Miriam slowly. "But I'd
love to have you with me next year."

"Would you, honestly?" asked Elfreda, opening her eyes in astonishment.

"Honestly," repeated Miriam, smiling.

"I'll think about it," returned Elfreda, flushing deeply.

"But there is nothing to think about," protested Miriam. "I wouldn't ask
you if I did not care for you."

"That isn't it," said Elfreda in a low tone. "It isn't you. It's I.
Don't you understand? You are letting me off too easily. I don't deserve
to have you be so nice to me."

"We wish you to forget about what has happened, Elfreda," said Grace
earnestly. "Everyone is likely to make mistakes. We are not here to
judge, we are here to help one another. That is one of the ways of
cultivating true college spirit."

"I'll tell you one thing," returned Elfreda, her eyes shining, "whether
I cultivate college spirit or not, I'm going to try to cultivate common
sense. Then, at least, I'll know enough to treat my best friends
civilly."

CHAPTER XXIII

VIRGINIA CHANGES HER MIND

What the vanquished sophomores thought of the trick that had been played
on them was a matter for speculation. Once back in Overton, the truth of
the situation had dawned upon them. Their common sense told them that
real ghosts, if there were any, never congregated in companies the size
of the one that had risen to haunt them the previous night. Obviously
some one had overheard their plan to picnic at Hunter's Rock and treated
them to an unwelcome surprise. It did not occur to any one of them until
they had returned to their respective houses that they had left J.
Elfreda locked in the haunted abode of the two brothers. Then
consternation reigned in each sophomore breast.

Directly after chapel the next morning, eight young women were to be
seen in an anxious group just outside the chapel. Several freshmen and
two or three juniors glanced appraisingly at them, then passed on.

"Did you notice the way that Miss Wells looked at me this morning?"
muttered Mary Hampton to her satellites.

"Never mind a little thing like that," snapped Alberta Wicks. "The
question is, where is J. Elfreda? If she is still shut up in that house
we might as well go home now instead of waiting to be sent there."

"Nonsense, Bert," scoffed one of the sophomores. "You are nervous. We
may not be found out."

"Found out! J. Elfreda will be raging. She'll go straight to the dean,
the minute she is free. Oh, why didn't we think to run back and let her
out in spite of those ridiculous white figures?"

"What made you lock her in there, then, if you were afraid she'd tell?"
asked one of the others rather sarcastically.

"Yes, that's what I say!" exclaimed a second. "This affair has been very
silly from start to finish. I'm ashamed of myself for having been drawn
into it, and in future you may count me out of any more such stunts."

"You girls don't understand," declared Alberta Wicks angrily. "We only
meant to even an old score with the Briggs person. We were going to call
for her on the way home, and tell her that we had evened our score. She
wouldn't have breathed it to a soul. She knew that we'd make life
miserable for her next year if she did. She wouldn't tell a little thing
like that, but to leave her there all night. That really was dreadful.
Mary and I are in for it. That's certain."

"If I'm not mistaken, there goes Miss Briggs now!" exclaimed a girl who
had been idly watching the students as they passed out of the chapel.

"Where? Where?" questioned Mary and Alberta together.

The sophomore pointed.

"Yes; it is J. Elfreda," almost wailed Alberta Wicks. "I'm going
straight back to Stuart Hall and pack my trunk. Come on, Mary."

"Better wait a little," dryly advised the sophomore who had announced
her disapproval of the night's escapade. "You may be sorry if you
don't."

"Good-bye, girls," said Alberta abruptly. "If I hear anything, I'll
report to you at once. Now that J. Elfreda is among us, we'd better
steer clear of one another for a while at least."

She hurried away, followed by Mary Hampton.

"That was my first, and if I get safely out of this, will be my last
offense," said another sophomore firmly. "All those who agree with me
say 'aye.'" Five "ayes" were spoken simultaneously.

In the meantime, Grace was trying vainly to make up her mind what to do.
Should she go directly to the two mischievous sophomores, revealing the
identity of the ghosts, or should she leave them in a quandary as to the
outcome of their unwomanly trick? One thing had been decided upon
definitely by Grace and her friends. They would tell no tales. Grace
could not help thinking that a little anxiety would be the just due of
the plotters, and with this idea in mind determined to do nothing for a
time, at least, toward putting them at their ease.

But there was one person who had not been asked to remain silent
concerning the ghost party, and that person was Elfreda. Grace had
forgotten to tell her that the night's happenings were to be kept a
secret and when late that afternoon she espied Alberta Wicks and Mary
Hampton walking in the direction of Stuart Hall she pursued them with
the air of an avenger. Before they realized her presence she had begun a
furious arraignment of their treachery. "You ought to be sent home for
it," she concluded savagely, "and if Grace Harlowe wasn't----"

"Grace Harlowe!" exclaimed Alberta, turning pale. "Do you mean to tell
me that it was she who planned that ghost party?"

"I shall tell you nothing," retorted Elfreda. "I'm sorry I said even
that much. I want you to understand, though, that if you ever try to
play a trick on me again, I'll see that you are punished for it if I
have to go down on my knees to the whole faculty to get them to give you