CHAPTER XV
ONE SUNDAY MORNING
"I'M going to cut church this morning, Ted," said Janet one day toward the middle of May. "I simply cannot stay indoors with a proper spirit of devotion. If I were at home, it would be another thing, for I could ride to our dear little church over the smooth shell road, with the bay sparkling bluely—"
"Bluely?"
"Why not bluely as well as blackly or redly? There, you have snipped the thread of my rhapsody. I have been saving my extra cuts for just such a time as this, and I am going to use them clean up. I shall take a book, Emerson will be in order, and go up the road to that tree where we sat the day we went sketching with Miss Thurston."
"We went sketching?"
"How critical you are this morning. I didn't say we sketched, I said we went. What's the matter, Ted? I believe you are envious of my reserved cuts, and would fain be with me instead of sitting in church waving a fan and feeling limp as to collar and stiff as to clothes. It is warm for the season, and one hates to be cooped up. Come, go along anyhow. What will it matter a hundred years hence if you do happen to over-cut once?"
"Charity Shepherd would say it might matter a great deal; she believes so implicitly in fire and brimstone."
"Poor dear Charity, she suffers long and is kind, though she certainly does seek her own. She runs with the most obviously pious crowd on Sundays, I don't mean religious, I mean the kind that were not only born pious, but achieved it and had it thrust upon them, so they exhale an atmosphere which suggests the Shorter Catechism, Fox's Book of Martyrs, and Old Hundred. Now, I consider myself religious—"
"You do?" Teddy smiled incredulously.
"You needn't smile that way," said Janet, "I really am. I am not pious; I don't enjoy prayer-meetings, and fast-days. I don't like to mortify the flesh as Charity does, and as it is evident that her colleagues do. The unspeakable dreadfulness of their clothes declares that. Why must women almost invariably look like guys when they have a hobby?"
"They don't always," said Teddy.
"No, not all, but the majority do, those I sometimes see in a fine frenzy of zeal rushing along with Charity. There she goes now across the street. She has all sorts of things in her hands, and she is late so she is struggling with her gloves and trying not to drop her belongings. You won't go with me this morning, Ted?"
"If you will wait till this afternoon, I will go."
"Sorry I can't. The mood is upon me now. I feel in an out-of-door worshipful humor and I might slump before noon if I stayed here, especially if I were to wait till after a hearty dinner. No, I'll go now and come back so spiritualized you will envy me." She picked up her book and an umbrella and started forth.
A quarter of an hour later she was passing a little mission church from which came trooping a number of children, the little girls pleasantly conscious of Sunday attire and little boys unpleasantly so. As Janet reached a point just opposite the door, she came face to face with Charity Shepherd.
"Oh, it's you, isn't it?" exclaimed Janet taken by surprise.
Charity looked at her disapprovingly. "Yes," she said, "it is I." Then severely, "You are surely not going to cut church, Janet?"
"Why, yes," replied Janet, balancing her Emerson on her hand. "I thought of doing it. The groves were God's first temples, you know, and so I thought of doing my devotions by myself."
"But the example."
"To whom? To you?"
Charity frowned. "I hope I have decision of character enough not to be influenced, and in the performance of duty I could not be turned aside by—"
"A poor worm of the dust like me."
"We are all poor worms of the dust," said Charity solemnly. "I should think you would realize that, Janet, and that you would remember how transitory this life is. Sunday is given us as a privilege, and should not be spent in idle trifling any more than in work. We should use it for our own good."
"That's just what I thought," returned Janet with satisfaction. "We find our good in different ways, Charity. It would be very, very wrong for you to spend the morning as I shall do, because your conscience would smite you all the time, while I haven't a smite. What are you doing up here, by the way? I thought your place of worship was further down."
"So it is. I have a class in this mission school and go to church after."
"Oh, that's it, is it? I thought you were unusually teachery this morning. I won't detain you if you are going to church. I hope you will enjoy your morning as much as I expect to enjoy mine."
"I am not going for enjoyment but for profit," said Charity as a parting shot.
Janet pursued her way and presently turned aside and took a winding path that led to a large tree in an open field. At a little distance was a small stream bordered by pollard willows and beyond was a little truck-farm which still withstood the inroads of the town streets. Janet sat down under the tree with a sigh of relief, and gazed dreamily off across the open country. Presently a smile played around her lips, and diving down into the little chatelaine bag which hung by her side, she drew forth a pencil and began to scribble on the fly-leaf of her book.
As a moving shadow fell across her page, she looked up and saw Mark Evans.
"Why, what in the world are you doing here?" she asked. "Don't you know that you are a worm of the dust, and that a profitless trifling away of the Sabbath hours is very wicked?"
He smiled and threw himself down on the grass near her.
"Then why are you doing anything so wicked?" he asked.
"I am not. I am spending my time profitably. I am reading Emerson's 'Spiritual Laws,' to keep me in countenance."
"You were not reading when I came up. You were writing, a theme, was it?"
"Oh, never on Sunday. I draw the line at doing any of my week-day tasks then. I may not be as upright a person as Charity Shepherd, but I am a Sabbath keeper in my own way."
"What is the way?"
"I make it a day of rest, and I don't do themes and college work. I try to get hold of something uplifting to read. Church doesn't always appear to elevate my thoughts, so I didn't go this morning."
"Then you follow the Orientals in their rules of negative goodness. 'Do not unto others as you would not have them do unto you,' I believe, is the way the followers of Confucius put it. We Christians have a more active idea of carrying out the Golden Rule. We do unto others."
"I hadn't thought of that. Do you mean that in order to fulfil the real meaning of Sunday one should try to elevate others as well as himself?"
"I meant something like that. It seems as if that might be a step higher, doesn't it?"
"Yes." Janet nodded thoughtfully. Then with a smile, "Why aren't you doing it? There is no excuse for you because you have thought out the question, whereas it has been presented to me for the first time in this light."
"I didn't feel that I would specially do good to my neighbor by going to church this morning. I was tired and there was something I wanted to do this afternoon which would require my best energies. I am saving my good works till then."
"And what will you do?"
"Go to a little reading room at the other end of town where a lot of us are trying to make Sunday afternoon pleasant for the youngsters of the neighborhood. We don't teach them much, but we try to entertain them and keep them out of the streets. Don't fancy that I am a saint," seeing Janet's look. "I happened to go in there with a friend one Sunday and became interested, that is all."
He picked up Janet's book which she had laid on the grass. "What a dear old optimist Emerson was," he said. Then, as he opened the book, his eyes fell on the leaf upon which Janet had scribbled:
"It is the holy Sabbath day;
I must not work, I must not play;
I'm but a little wriggling worm,
Whose only duty 'tis to squirm."
Janet flushed up. "That wasn't meant for the public to see," she said.
"I beg your pardon," said the young man between confusion and amusement. "I should have asked your consent. What inspired the effusion?" He laughed and Janet saw that he appreciated her mood.
"THAT WASN'T MEANT FOR THE PUBLIC TO SEE," SHE SAID.
"It wasn't a what; it was a who," she answered. "Do you happen to know Charity Shepherd? She is the most painfully conscientious person I ever saw. I believe she will die of doing her 'dooty.' I met her on my way here, and she gave me a lecture upon the woefulness of wasting one's Sabbath privileges, and upon the uncertainty of human existence, so I wrote that charming bit of verse you have just read. I think of dedicating it to Charity."
"I cannot say that I remember Miss Charity, but I know her type."
"Do you find it interesting?" Janet smiled mischievously.
"I cannot say that I do."
"It is a pity that the very good should sometimes be so very uninteresting, isn't it? Charity is so painfully correct. We all respect and admire her, but every one of us loves Lee better, and Lee is such a sinner, bless her heart. Are you sorry the year is almost over, Mr. Evans? Shall you come back in the fall?"
"I hope to. I rather like the work, and find it a good developer. Yes, I think you will see me here next year."
"I think you have altered since I first met you," said Janet reflectively. "I wonder if I ought to have said that," she added. "Am I presumptuous for a student?"
"No, indeed. Please consider this neutral ground. Not once since that memorable ride have we met outside college influences. We have always been obliged to consider our relations as teacher and student, and it is refreshing to feel that we are upon a more familiar basis. I had hoped that we might become friends."
"Haven't we?"
"In the real sense of the word, no; we are merely acquaintances."
"I am flattered that you want to be my friend, Mr. Evans," said Janet. "I am a very trifling creature, as you may not need to be told. I am afraid any one as erudite as you are would be disappointed in me if you knew me better."
"Why? There it is again. Because I happen to be your instructor, you believe that I live upon an entirely different plain from other young men. Can't you separate the man from his office?"
"I don't believe I ever tried to very much, in this case," said Janet frankly. "We don't have such a deal of time and opportunity for making acquaintances, you know. We are pretty busy, and are rather thoroughly hedged in by rules and regulations at Hopper Hall. Next year, I shall board outside, I think. When I am here at college, I don't dissipate my interests by analyzing character, though during the summer, I must confess that I give a great many moments to the proper study of mankind; with some good result. It will soon be time to begin again, and then I promise to consider your case. Where do you go for the summer, Mr. Evans?"
"Generally to my own North Carolina mountains, but I am beginning to believe that it will be better for me to broaden my outlook, so I shall go to New England this year."
"Where you can study Charity's type? It is well worth studying I assure you. Frankly, I think it really is. I have been brought up short in my triflings more than once by Charity's uncompromising rectitude. In spite of my worm's eye view of things, I really want to imitate some of her qualities. I should like to be as direct and as truthful to myself. It is hard to be perfectly honest to one's self, don't you think? Isn't one always inclined to be self-flattering? To martyrize one's self in matters which are strictly one's own fault, and all that? Hence I have been dragging forth Charity's motes and displaying them to you, and haven't hinted that I have a beam. Let us return to that question of active duty. I suppose if I did what was right, I'd hunt up some forlornities to give my time to this very day."
"You wouldn't have to hunt for them. They are ready and waiting. I'd be delighted to have you go with me to the reading room. We want all the workers we can get," he said eagerly. Then more quietly, "But perhaps you were only joking."
"I don't know whether I was or not," returned Janet. "I don't believe I could teach, for I shouldn't know how to answer the questions they would be sure to put to me, but maybe I could amuse the little children. I don't know whether or not I could do even that."
"Won't you try for once? If you fail, you need not repeat the experiment."
"But fancy the humiliation of failing."
"I'll promise you that you will not fail. Think about it, won't you?"
"Oh, I'll think, if that will do any good."
"Decide then and I will call for you this afternoon."
"I am going to Becky Burdett's for dinner. I almost always dine there on Sundays."
"I will call for you there, if you will allow me. We don't have to go till three."
"Well," said Janet doubtfully, "I will try this once."
"Thank you. It is a bargain." Mr. Evans held out his hand.
"There are lots of violets over there, I see them," said Janet irrelevantly as she drew her hand from the young man's firm clasp. "Let us go get some."
"Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May morn,
Blue ran the flash across;
Violets were born!"
Quoted Mr. Evans.
Janet looked at him with a little surprise. "Isn't a man who gets enthusiastic over chemistry and who likes poetry something of an anomaly?" she said. "How came you to like Browning?"
"How came you?"
"Naturally, I think."
"By the same token I came by my liking for his writings."
"I have just become the proud possessor of an entire set," Janet told him. "I bought it from a friend, the most interesting girl in college, I think, and the most beautiful. You must have seen Mary Perkins, Polly Perkins, as we call her."
"I have seen her. She is very lovely, but from what I hear, she will not finish her college course."
"Why? Don't you believe she is strong enough?" asked Janet in alarm. "She is really much stronger than she looks, though she works very hard, the dear thing has to, for she is dependent entirely upon her own efforts."
"Yes, I heard that, too, and I have a fellow feeling for her. I did not mean that she would have to leave on account of ill health but because she would enter a different sphere; that she would marry."
"Oh." Janet was provoked that her cheeks should grow hot. "Yes," she said after a pause, "I hope she will marry. I know Mr. Austin quite well, but not well enough to be sure that he is worthy of her."
"He is said to be a good fellow, but I am told his family do not share your enthusiasm for Miss Perkins."
Janet's eyes flashed. "I'd like to know why. They may be thankful if he wins so dear and noble a girl as Polly. Imagine their objecting."
Mr. Evans looked at her with some amusement not unmixed with admiration. "You are a loyal friend, Miss Ferguson."
"Of course. I wouldn't profess to be a friend if I could not be a loyal one. Who told you all this, Mr. Evans?"
"I have heard it from several sources, but I think Miss Drake was my last informant; I see her once in a while, you remember."
"Then she should know, for she visits the Austins. I must go now, Mr. Evans, for I am in no trim for a Sunday dinner in a conventional household. What a nice lot of violets. Thank you. I will wear them. No, I won't; I'll put them in water so that I can keep them awhile to remind me of—"
"Of what?" Mr. Evans spoke eagerly.
"Of several things. Of ethics, and Browning and Sabbath duties," said Janet demurely.
"You will be ready when I call for you at—what is the number?"
"No. 216 Highland Avenue. Yes, I will be ready. Auf wiedersehen. I am going to turn off here."
She did not wait for a reply, but leaving the young man at the end of the path, she turned down the street toward Hopper Hall.
She entered the room as Teddy was putting away her hat.
"Well," said this young person, "I hope you had a profitable morning."
"I did," returned Janet, "one of the most profitable I ever remember to have spent. I heard two sermons; one upon my duty to my neighbor and the other upon the keeping of the holy Sabbath day."
Teddy laughed. "Who delivered the sermons?"
"Charity Shepherd, one; Mark, the perfect man, the other. The latter was so effective a speaker, that I have promised to visit a mission school or something of that kind, with him this afternoon."
"Janet Ferguson, I don't believe it."
"Fact. It is way at the other end of town, and I am going to try the experiment of reading things or telling them to dirty little hoodlums. What shall I wear, Ted? They must be impressed, you know, by my appearance. Looks count for a good deal in matters of this kind."
"You are the biggest fraud, Janet. What is the use of pretending? You know your wanting to look your best is not upon the ragamuffins' account."
"On what then?"
"Mr. Evans's."
"Teddy Waite, it isn't so. Now you'll make me put on that horrid lilac hat that I bought from Louise Baker and that always makes me look as black as an Indian. I was going to wear the blue one."
"I wasn't aware that my opinion had such weight," said Teddy. "By all means wear the blue if you want to impress—the children."
And Janet meekly remarked that she believed she would.
Teddy looked at her quizzically when she came back. "Well," she said, "was the blue hat sufficiently effective?"
Janet flushed ever so slightly. "Oh yes," she returned lightly, "I think the hoodlums were quite overpowered by my magnificence."
"And are you going to keep up the visitation for the rest of time?"
"There will be only two or three Sundays more before I go home," said Janet apologetically. "I might as well go till then. After that, I shall be beyond your jibes, Miss Waite. Home will seem like heaven for there the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."
CHAPTER XVI
CRUSHED ILLUSIONS
JANET sat on the floor disconsolately gazing at a broken plaster cast which she had just unearthed from a box of her belongings sent from Hopper Hall to her new rooms some squares away. This senior year, she and Teddy had determined should give them more freedom.
Cordelia and Lee had followed their example, and all four were established in one of the many houses offering apartments to students. Charity Shepherd and Grace Breitner still clung to the familiar dormitory. Fay Wingate and Juliet Fuller with the rest of the last year's seniors had "passed out into the wide, wide world." Rosalie, who had spent her college days with an aunt in the town, was now at home in a distant city.
"What a lugubrious countenance," said Teddy, turning to look at Janet. "One would suppose that not only was a trumpery cast broken, but your heart as well."
"Oh, it isn't the cast altogether," said Janet; "it is what it typifies: shattered hopes, crushed illusions, friendships broken."
"Shattered nonsense," said Teddy scornfully. "What a way for a senior to talk. You're homesick, that's what's the matter with you. You are sighing for old Hopper Hall; you want the bureau drawers that would stick, and the closet door that wouldn't shut. You want giggling freshmen to look down upon and haughty seniors to look up to. You haven't yet become adapted to your new conditions."
"No, that isn't it, though I do miss Fay and Grace and, most of all, little Polly. I shall miss my dear child more than any one; that's what I mean by crushed illusions, Ted."
"Why, what is the matter with her? Isn't she here? I thought you said she expected to come back."
Janet began fitting a wing upon her broken figure of the Victory and answered: "No, she isn't."
"Why what has happened? Why didn't you tell me before, Janet?"
"I knew it only just now." She laid down the wing and drew from her blouse waist a letter. "It is very romantic and very like a book," she said, "but I didn't expect it, I expected to be making plans for her, and helping her by my advice and sympathy all through the year and now—"
"Othello's occupation is gone? Well, you can give me the sympathy."
"It's wasted upon you. I never met a person who needed it less. As to advice, you spurn that persistently, and I feel bereft of the use of my highest powers."
"Suppose you don't go mooning on in this strain till after you have told me what has happened to Polly. I have some interest in her welfare though I can steel my heart against her fascinations with more success than you can."
"For one thing," began Janet unfolding her letter and spreading it out on her lap, "she is going abroad with Miss Thurston next month."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Teddy. "What next, pray? I should think that was enough. Is Miss Thurston inviting her?'
"No, and that is where the romantic part comes in. You remember the absent-minded uncle who gave Polly a set of Browning two years running?"
"Yes, I remember the absent-minded beggar. Well?"
"He has turned up from somewhere; Salt Lake City, or Seattle or some one of those far distant spots. He came to Abington to revisit the scenes of his youth. He is Polly's great-uncle, Judge Somebody-or-other, she doesn't tell his name but calls him uncle. He saw her and took a great fancy to her, as who would not? He also saw Van Austin who was there at the time. Oh, yes," as Teddy looked at her sharply, "I told you it was the real thing with Van and it is. It seems that Papa Austin and Uncle Judge were classmates at college in their youth, and when Uncle Judge found that Polly's young man was a son of his old chum, he was so pleased that he offered to send Polly abroad if she could find any one who would be a suitable companion and if she would give up college. He has some old-fashioned prejudice against the higher education for women, and when Van told him that he wanted to marry Polly in a year—yes," at a second look from Teddy, "that is true—he said there was no use for her to go back to college and that a year abroad would be of much more benefit to her. So he piles down here to town, hunts up Papa Austin, splurges around with a gold-headed cane—"
"Did Polly tell you all that?" asked the literal Teddy.
"No, not all. I am simply making him the conventional rich uncle. He's got to be effective or my story will lose its artistic quality. So then, when he discloses his identity to his old chum, he exclaimed, 'Behold in me the long lost comrade of boyhood's days!' And papa hauls out his handkerchief and trumpets a blast, being overcome with emotion, and quavers out: 'Does my hearing deceive me or are those the tones of my old playmate, Peter—we'll call him Peter—Perkins?' Then they fall on one another's neck and get red in the face. Then Polly trips in hand in hand with Van. She wears a fetching hat and a ravishing costume purchased by the wealthy uncle, and Papa Austin says: 'Shiver my timbers!'"
"Oh, Janet, now you are getting silly."
"So I am. I am losing the unity of my scheme. He says: 'Bless my soul, whom have we here?' Then nunky trots her forward and says: 'My niece and heiress,' while Polly hangs her head and drops a pretty curtsey. Then nunky and papa join hands and say: 'Bless you, my children,' and they ring down the curtain."
"Janet, how much of that is true and how much is foolishness? I never heard any one gabble on in such a strain as you can."
"The main facts are true, though I have embellished it a little to make it more picturesque. It is perfectly true that the judge is an old friend of the Austins; likewise is it true that Polly is going abroad with Miss Thurston next month, and that she and Van expect to be married in about a year."
"And what do the Austins say?"
"I don't see why they should say anything. Now that the judge has appeared on the scene they appear to be reconciled to the match. Van isn't so wonderfully well off. He has a pretty good position and fair prospects, so I think they will get along, even if papa and mamma don't come forward with munificent gifts in the shape of house and lands."
"And how do you feel about it?" asked Teddy bluntly.
"I? Oh, I am delighted." She smiled a reminiscent little smile. "I'm a thousand times more unhappy at losing Polly, whom I hoped to have with us this year, than I am at the loss of 'the hero.' Be sure of that, Ted. I recovered from that attack long ago."
"He isn't one of the crushed illusions then?"
"No, indeed. 'When half-gods go the gods arrive.'"
Teddy climbed down from the step-ladder upon the top of which she had been sitting, and crouching on the floor close to Janet, peered interestedly up into her face. "Just what do you mean by that enigmatical speech?" she asked.
"As if I could expound Emerson to you. Seek your own solution, my dear." After which remark, Janet began to hum a popular air and returned to the unpacking of her box.
Teddy went back to the hanging of her pictures saying: "At least you are more cheerful than you were when you opened the box."
"My dear," said Janet, "even you would be aghast if you were suddenly to discover that what you thought a complete victory had turned out to be an apology for one, a defeat, as it were."
"Is that another enigma?" asked Teddy speaking with difficulty because of the projection of several nails from her mouth.
"Why, no," was the reply; "nothing could be more obvious than the fact I wish to convey to you; look at this." She held up the detached wing.
"There's some one at the other door; just see who it is, Janet," said Teddy. "I've climbed up and down this ladder so many times that I am getting cramps in my knees."
"It is only some of the freshmen, let them knock," said Janet, calmly sorting over the contents of the box.
"Freshmen? Are you still at Hopper Hall, goose?"
"Oh, I forgot; really I did. I'll go."
She went to the door of the next room and opened it to admit Lee Penrose.
"I came to borrow some alcohol," began Lee.
"Say that over again," said Janet, "and then again, Lee; it sounds so good and natural. Of course that's what you came for. I believe you've become so used to that formula that when you confront St. Peter at the gate of heaven you'll murmur: 'I came to borrow some alcohol.' Come in. How are you getting on up-stairs?"
"Oh, pretty well. It takes a good while to settle in a strange place, much longer than when you know where to sling everything. I can't stay. We are so tired that we are going to have some tea and stuff in our rooms. Both Cordelia and I brought stores from home. Did you say you had any alcohol?"
Janet returned to her task. "Look in those bottles on the floor behind the door," she directed.
Lee began rattling among the bottles. "Here's one marked alcohol," she said.
"Well, if it's marked alcohol, there ought to be alcohol in it," said Janet.
Lee gave the bottle a gentle shake. "It seems about half full," she said. "Shall I take it?"
"Oh, certainly. You are quite welcome to it," returned Janet, hiding a smile.
And Lee went off triumphant.
Janet had risen from the unpacking of her box and was burrowing in the depths of her trunk when a second sharp tap was heard at the door.
"Come in," said Janet, from under the trunk lid.
"Janet Ferguson, you are a fraud," said Lee's indignant voice. "We filled the lamp full of that stuff; it must have been nothing but water for the wick sputtered and sizzled and went out."
"Beggars shouldn't be choosers," said Janet, letting her trunk lid fall with a thump. "I didn't say it was alcohol."
"Why, you did."
"No, I didn't. You said the bottle was marked alcohol, and I said if it was so marked, alcohol it ought to be; that's all."
From her lofty perch Teddy looked down and chuckled.
"Well," Lee began, then she laughed. "I might have known you would play some trick, Janet Ferguson. Now we've got to eat a cold lunch, unless—"
"Unless what?"
"You'll lend us your chafing-dish or samovar or something, for it will take hours for that wick to dry."
"Then you deceived me," said Janet, "pretending that you had no alcohol."
"Why, we haven't any."
"Then where's the good of a chafing-dish or a samovar, I'd like to know?"
"But haven't you any alcohol?" asked Lee, innocently.
"Not a drop. This is not Hopper Hall, my sweeting. You will find that if you want a thing here, you will have to provide it your own self. Ted and I don't intend to keep alcohol on tap."
"What are you going to do without it?"
"We're going to use the gas or Mrs. Weed's kitchen stove."
"Why didn't we think of that?"
"I'm sure I don't know. Lack of the proper ingenuity, I suppose. By the way, have you happened to have any protracted conversation with Mrs. Weed?"
"No," replied Lee, "I've had no occasion for it. I've made some passing remark when I met her on the stairs or in the entry but that is all."
"You will find her a mine of material. She would be worth thousands to a Dickens. I was down in the kitchen this very morning pressing out a rumpled waist that I had to have in a hurry, and our conversation went something like this: 'You must be very fond of the college, Mrs. Weed, you have lived near it for so long,' I began.
"'Yes, my dear, and I want the college to have my home after I have done with it, if my children wish to sell it. I love my home. I've lived here since my husband died. He was a beautiful man. I shed a great many tears when he was taken.'
"'Yes, it must have been very hard,' I answered, rather at sea for proper condolences and anxious to change the subject. 'I believe you said you were from Vermont, Mrs. Weed. Do you ever go there now?'
"'No, my dear,' she said, 'I don't care to. It makes me think of my dear mother, and of how many nice things she used to make. It always makes me shed tears to think of all that.'
"'But you have such a pleasant home here, Mrs. Weed. You are almost within the college grounds.' I made an effort to send the ball back to my end of the field.
"'I know, and I enjoy the college grounds. I have seen a great many changes, though. There used to be such a handsome rose-bush, just by the entrance, but they took it up. I don't know why they did it. I sat down and cried when it was gone; I missed it so.'
"'Of course you missed it, I can see that you would, but there are new fashions in roses as well as in most things. You must have mothered a great many students in all the years you have been here.' I sent the ball off at another angle.
"'Yes, I have,' with a deep sigh, 'all kinds and sorts. There was one I often think of. She went home to die. I shed a great many tears over that young lady.'
"'It was very sad,' I murmured, feeling that I should soon be drowned in these floods of tears. 'I have finished with the irons, Mrs. Weed,' I said, 'I won't bother you again soon.'
"'Don't say that,' she said, 'for it makes me feel as if you were afraid of me and that makes me feel like crying.'
"Whereupon I fled."
Lee and Teddy laughed. "I'll tackle her," said the former, "and perhaps I can get permission to make a cup of tea."
"If you don't do it too often, she will be perfectly delighted to accommodate you," said Janet, "but to-day you and Cordelia had better come and lunch with us and I'll make the tea."
The invitation was readily accepted and Lee flew up-stairs to notify Cordelia. Both appeared a few minutes later.
"We'll have to hang together," said Janet, "until we get used to things, or we will all get in the dumps. It isn't a bit like old times, is it, Cordelia?"
"No, I think it is better. When we get used to it, we shall be very comfortable," she said. "I am already beginning to enjoy the possibilities ahead of me. I've nothing against dear old Hopper Hall, but I think its days of usefulness are past, so far as we are concerned. There is such a raft of younger girls in there this year. We upper classmen will enjoy the sweets of seclusion, I think. By the way, I saw Mark, the perfect man, this summer. He was up at Gloucester. How came you to know him so well?"
"How came I?" said Janet, slowly. "Do I know him well?"
"I thought so from the way he spoke of you. He quoted you and referred to sundry walks in the country and such. He knew the Sunday rhyme you made about the worm, too."
"Did he?" said Janet, indifferently. "I wonder who told him. Your vivid imagination has enlarged the importance of the situation. I met him out here at Ramsay's farm one never-to-be-forgotten Sunday last May when I ran away from everybody. We had rather a nice off-to-ourselves morning, I remember. After that I went, I think it was three times to that little reading room at the other end of town. I told you about that, I am sure."
"Is that all?" asked Cordelia, incredulously.
"I shall not go away off there this year," remarked Janet; "it is too far, and I didn't fancy the experience as a steady thing. Do have some of these preserves. They are home-made, you know. Mother packed me a box of them, and I know they are good because the fruit came from our own place and I helped to gather it."
Cordelia accepted the proffered sweets and did not notice that Janet had deftly changed the subject.
"Does any one know who has our old rooms?" asked Teddy.
"Some little up-start freshmen," Lee told her. "It made me mad when I was over there, to see them switching in and out our doors."
Cordelia laughed. "But why, Lee? We could have had them again if we had wanted. Our coming here was our own choice. You didn't expect they would seal up those rooms because of the sanctity lent them by our presence."
"No, not that, of course; but it is on the same principle that I always hate to see our housemaids wear my cast-off clothes."
"What would those freshmen say if they heard you making such a comparison?" said Teddy. "What shall I do with the tea-leaves, Janet?"
"Teddy's practical mind is already devoting itself to the domestic side of life," said Janet. "Chuck them in the fireplace, Ted. We'll have a fire there some day, and burn up all the trash. An open fireplace covers a multitude of sins. By the way, girls, that is another perfectly lovely way of spending our time. When it gets colder, we can cook all sorts of things over the open fire. I wish we had a crane like those our forbears used. Yes, I foresee great satisfaction from this fireplace."
"Janet has her heart's desire now," said Edna. "She has been yearning for a hearthstone ever since we first came to college. I think life ought to seem complete to her now."
Janet vouchsafed no reply but began to gather up the cups and saucers preparatory to washing them, while Cordelia and Lee declared they must get back to their rooms.
CHAPTER XVII
SNOWDRIFTS
This year a secret ambition of Janet's was fulfilled. She was chosen president of her class, and the honor influenced her more than she realized. While she had never been a "grind," she had kept up a fairly good record, which had improved from year to year as she grew more seriously interested in her work and as her character developed. As she, with Cordelia, Lee, and Teddy had been the leaders in fun-making during their freshman year, now Janet aspired to be leader in more solid things, and she turned zealously to her work. Cordelia followed her, a close second, Lee advanced uncertainly, while Teddy plodded along showing never as brilliant work as Lee's at her best, nor as weak as Lallie Patton's. Charity worked industriously, but as Lee said, her results were wooden. They lacked fire and originality while Lee's were sometimes startling in the latter quality.
As the cool days came on, there were many of the girls who were glad to seek the cozy rooms occupied by Janet and Teddy, and scarcely a day passed but some one appeared, glad to sit before the open fire to discuss college matters or problems of life, or to engage in nonsensical talk. There were evenings, too, when bubbling messes seethed over the coals and sent up an agreeable odor. Sometimes it was panuche or fudge, again the plainer molasses candy, while on occasions there would be a grand feast, when oysters were roasted, chops broiled, or chickens cooked by suspending them by a string in front of the fire.
Several times frat meetings were held in the rooms, and so fascinating did Teddy and Janet make their accounts of these, that finally Cordelia and Lee who had held out through the mid-year's at last entered the fraternity, and added to the jollity of the meetings.
It was one evening when the days were at their shortest, that there came a tap at the door of the room where Janet sat luxuriously toasting her feet before the blaze. She wore a crimson dressing-gown, and a pair of red Turkish slippers. Her little head with its crown of dark hair showed effectively against the olive green cushions of her Morris chair. She was so entirely comfortable and content that she hesitated to reply to the rap, feeling that any interruption of her quiet would be unwelcome.
At a second tap, however, she gave a reluctant: "Come in," and the door opened.
A little figure stood there for a moment and then darted forward, crying: "Janet, Janet, I'm so glad to find you at home and alone."
"Polly! Why Polly!" Janet held out both hands, and the two rushed to meet each other. "Come right over here by the fire," said Janet. "Take off your things. Sit down here and get warm. You're going to stay and we'll have tea. When did you get here, Polly?"
"Just now. At least, we got in the day before yesterday, but only reached here this morning, and as soon as I could get away, I said I must come over here."
"Got away from whom? Miss Thurston? Are you staying with her?"
"No, I am staying at the Austins'. I left Miss Thurston over in Germany and came back with Minnie and Marion Austin and their aunt, Mrs. Fletcher, and I am making Minnie Austin a visit. Marian is there, too. She wants dreadfully to see you, but I wanted you all to myself this first time." She took Janet's hand and laid her cheek against it.
"You dear child, it is good to see you," said Janet tenderly. "Tell me all about everything. How in the world did you happen to come back with the Austin girls?"
"We met them in Italy a few weeks before we came away. You know Miss Thurston knows them and we were all together until Miss Thurston left us for Germany. Miss Thurston and Mrs. Fletcher were good comrades, so I was thrown with the girls and we became excellent friends."
"Did they know—"
"About Van?" Polly blushed prettily. "No, not at first, but after awhile they did. Once, when Minnie was ill, and I was alone with her a good deal of the time, we became very confidential, and Janet, she was lovely about it. She has smoothed away all the difficulties and has been the dearest thing you ever saw."
Janet sat down on the arm of the chair and laid her arm across Polly's shoulders. "I know just what a dear little nurse you made," she said. "I can imagine your soothing ways when one is ill, and I'll venture to say you gave up all sorts of excursions and sight-seeings for the sake of keeping Miss Austin company at some stupid hotel while the others went off skylarking. Of course she recognized your unselfish spirit. I know just as well how it happened as if I had been there, Polly Perkins."
Polly looked down and shook her head protestingly. "You always overrate me, Janet. It was something like that, but really it wasn't any sacrifice for I was tired and was getting mental indigestion from seeing so much, so I was glad of a few days' rest from picture galleries and historical wonders."
"Oh, of course. Well, then having won Minnie, what did the others do?"
"Oh, they were all right. Marian knew I was a great friend of yours, and she was ready to make friends in the beginning. Mrs. Fletcher was lovely because I was traveling with Miss Thurston whom she admires very much, so we settled it all comfortably, and when at the last minute Miss Thurston decided to go to Germany, Mrs. Fletcher was ready to take me under her wing and we all came home together. Before we had started, Minnie asked me to make her a visit and when we landed, there was a note from Mrs. Austin telling her to be sure to bring me home with her, so I accepted and am going to stay till after Christmas."
"So you had a fine trip?"
"It was beyond anything I ever dreamed of. Miss Thurston knew so well how to manage that, instead of staying only six months as I at first intended, I was able to stay eight, and I had a little surplus, enough to buy some new gowns and things. See my Paris hat, Janet, and my English tailor gown. Am I not a howling swell?"
"You surely are. What a discovery that rich uncle was. I never was so glad of anything in all my life. Is he still in the east?"
"No, he has gone back, but he told me not to worry about my wedding clothes, that he would see that I had a proper outfit, and will you believe it? He sent me an extra hundred dollars to spend on such things as I might need. Minnie was perfectly dear in helping me to choose wisely, and Miss Thurston was always finding out queer little shops where one could get beautiful things for a mere song. So, though I took scarcely anything away, I have come back with quite a wardrobe. It was the most fascinating time I ever had in all my life, yet I am glad to get back."
"Of course you are, and the reason is not very far-away," said Janet.
"One of the reasons is right here," returned Polly patting Janet's arm. "Now tell me all about everything and everybody. I suppose there are scores of new girls."
"Yes, the freshmen pervade all space, I sometimes think. Of course Fay and Juliet are not here, but Cordelia and Lee have the rooms just over these, and very few of our class have dropped out. We all have our noses to the grindstone and are working away like good fellows, being overpowered by the fact that this is our senior year."
"And you are president of the class. I'm so glad."
"Who told you that valuable piece of news?"
"I met Louise Baker on the way here, and she gave me several bits of news."
"Poor Louise, she is not having an easy time this year. She misses her brother's helping hand. I am glad she has almost finished her course."
Polly looked grave. "I wonder if there is anything I could do for her. I remember how you and she helped me out last year. What changes there have been for me, Janet, since the time I came here from Abington, a green little freshman, so ignorant of the world, and so shabby and scared."
"And so dear and lovable," added Janet. "You are neither ignorant, shabby nor scared now, are you, Polly?"
"No indeed; I have escaped from my chrysalis, but Janet, dear, I hope I haven't become vain and selfish and disappointing. I want to keep your love. So many times I have thought of what you said: 'Character first; that is lasting; the other is superficial.' I wouldn't disappoint you for the world, Janet. Please pull me back with a firm hand if you think I am taking the wrong path. You once said that prosperity spoils more persons than it helps. Don't let it spoil me."
"I don't think the amount of prosperity that has come to you is in any danger of spoiling you," said Janet indulgently. "I'll tell you when I see you in danger."
"If I could always have you near me," sighed Polly, her hand creeping into Janet's. "I can't realize that your place is not always to be here, and after this year, the college will know you no more. I wish you were only a freshman instead of a senior."
"I don't," replied Janet. "I shall be sorry enough when my college days are over, yet I do not like the idea of repeating them."
"You will come and make me long visits, won't you?"
"Oh, yes, of course," said Janet, lightly. "Now tell me what your plans are. Where shall you go when you leave the Austins'?"
"I shall go back to Abington and stay with my stepmother. I can be of some use there. I think I shall be married early in the fall. Then, oh, then, Janet, we shall have a dear little home of our own. I don't want to live in a boarding house; I want to make a home. Do you think I am too young to marry?"
"You are younger than I shall ever be," said Janet, smiling, "but in your case, Polly, I think it is a wise step. I believe in a woman's gaining all the knowledge that she can if she has the opportunity, but if the knowledge must come through such struggle and privation as you endured last year, I think it is much better to know a little less and be happier. Homemaking is the end to which all good women are best fitted, and it is the best of ambitions. That is my opinion from my long experience. I speak as a senior, my dear, not as I shall probably speak next year, when I have discovered that I don't know anything and that nobody listens to my opinions. I shall want a good long visit from you this summer, and we'll talk it all out. Don't go yet. Ted will be in directly, and we will have some tea. I always wait for her because she delights to make it. Can't you stay?"
"I'm afraid not. I promised to be back by five o'clock; and you know Mr. Austin's ideas upon the subject of punctuality. If I am three-fifths of a minute late, I shall never hear the last of it. Come and see me soon, Janet. I want you to meet Minnie."
Janet promised, and let her go, feeling that though in most ways she was the same old Polly, she had stepped into a world which was not familiar to her, and that the shabby, shy little freshman would soon blossom into a beautiful, self-possessed woman.
"But she will always keep her dear, loyal, true heart," murmured Janet.
She saw Polly less often than she expected. Their interests were no longer the same. The Austins absorbed their guest and, with Minnie and Marian, Polly was constantly flying hither and thither. Van had insisted upon announcing the engagement, so, many attentions were showered upon his lovely fiancée.
Janet who found her little world in the college, seldom met her friend outside. Becky gave a luncheon to which Janet was invited. The Austins gave a tea where Polly, radiant in a soft pink gown, was one of the receiving party, but these occasions were not satisfactory and except for occasional flying visits, the two seldom had an opportunity of meeting.
However, there were many things outside of hard work to occupy Janet. Proms and dances, dramatics and banquets given by the different classes Janet felt that she must attend in her capacity as president of her class. She enjoyed them, too, and had no desire to hunt up excuses for staying away.
"I shall never have another chance of taking them all in, or of being one of the favored circle," she said to Teddy one evening, "so I shall go whenever it is possible."
"Then this cold night doesn't stagger you?"
"No, not a bit. I can get a carriage to take me there, if I can't get there in any other way."
"Extravagance!"
"That depends upon how you look at it. If I walk, I should probably take cold, and a carriage will cost less than a doctor. Aren't you going, Ted? I'll give you a seat in my carriage."
"I'll take this red nose and this cold to no dance," said Teddy. "I shall hug the fire and shall not envy you one bit. Why don't you get Cordelia or Lee to go with you?"
"They thought we were to go together, and they have some crazy scheme of their own. They are going up to Stella Urber's with a lot of the other girls and all will start from there."
"Why didn't you go?"
"Wasn't asked. Think of the solitary grandeur in which I shall pursue my way. I hope some one will be on hand to be properly impressed when I arrive in state."
She went to her room and began to lay out the paraphernalia necessary for the occasion.
"Are you going to wear that?" asked Teddy as Janet took out a pale green evening gown from her trunk.
"Yes, might as well get the good of it. I find that if one doesn't use things when there is a chance, Fate decrees that they shall never be worn. I'll go down and telephone for a carriage before I begin to dress, then I can't change my mind."
An hour later, a very lovely Janet stood waiting for the cloak Teddy held ready to throw around her.
"I never saw you look better," said that individual. "That green is extremely becoming and brings out all your flesh tints and makes your hair look so dark and glossy. You are quite a stunning-looking girl, Janet, at your best."
"Thanks. And at my worst?"
"I'll not spoil my compliment by any supplement," laughed Teddy.
Janet gathered up her billowy skirts and ran down-stairs leaving her chum to the enjoyment of a quiet evening.
Snow had lately fallen and lay piled up in drifts along the streets and roads. Janet, leaning back in the somewhat cumbersome carriage which had been sent for her, congratulated herself that she was not compelled to march through the soft white heaps. She noticed that the mild weather succeeding the storm, would cause what was snow then to be slush to-morrow, and that even now the drifts were less compact than they had been.
The dance was given by Florence Worthington, one of the fraternity girls, and an alumna, and promised to be a very pleasant affair. Miss Worthington lived on the outskirts of the town in a fine old mansion which afforded abundant room for such an entertainment.
As the lights grew fewer along the way, Janet realized that she was approaching her destination, but when the twinkling gleams from the Worthington house were still some distance ahead came a sudden dip and a lurch of the carriage and the horses stopped short.
Presently the driver came to the door and opened it. "Sorry, lady, but we've broke down. I ain't very well acquainted with this road at night, and there's a big hole just here that I didn't bargain for."
"What are you going to do?" asked Janet in consternation.
"I guess I'll have to leave the carriage here and take the horses back to town. It's a bed break and it'll have to go to the shop."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Janet. "Have I got to stay here all alone till you get back?"
"I guess if you set in the carriage, there won't nobody bother you," said the man. "I won't be no longer than I can help, but I can't get back under an hour."
"Dear me, and I am late as it is," said Janet. A pretty situation for a lone damsel to be left in, she thought. "Why didn't you go around the other way?" she asked.
"You said you was late, and I thought I'd take this short cut. I've done it a good many times in the daytime, but at night and the snow and all makes considerable difference."
Janet considered the state of affairs for some moments, but presently her mental review was interrupted by some one's shouting: "What's the matter there?"
Janet poked her head out of the carriage door and saw a man muffled up in an overcoat, striding toward them. He stood talking to the driver who had gone a few steps to meet him.
Janet drew in her head as the traveler came up to the carriage and said: "I beg your pardon, madam, but you seem to be in a predicament. If you will accept my escort to Mr. Worthington's, I shall be happy to walk there with you. I am on my way to the dance."
"Oh, Mr. Evans," cried the relieved girl, "what a godsend you are."
"Miss Janet," exclaimed the young man. "I certainly am glad I happened to come along at this moment. Are you wearing thin shoes? Ought you to walk in this snow?"
"Of course I'll walk," said Janet, as, gathering up her robes about her, she stepped out.
"The walking is pretty bad," Mr. Evans told her. "I came this way because it is shorter, but if I had known how it was under foot, I would have gone around. Perhaps you would better permit me to stay here with you till another carriage can be sent out."
"Oh no, that will take too long. With the house just in sight we surely should be able to walk. I may get my feet wet but I can change my shoes. Florence will lend me a pair, and even if I am deprived of the dancing, I can have a good time. How lucky that you happened to be going. I didn't know you knew the Worthingtons. You needn't come back, driver. We will walk."
She started off with Mr. Evans, leaving the broken-down vehicle by the wayside. The way was surely not a pleasant one, for the soft snow penetrated her thin shoes, and as they plunged along, Janet felt her ankles getting wetter and wetter. Her petticoats she held high and it was not muddy if it was wet.
"You always appear in the guise of a ministering angel, Mr. Evans," said the girl. "I shall never forget our first encounter; it was not unlike this predicament. Have you Rosalie's quarter still?"
"Yes, it is my good luck piece. There was snow then, I remember. I have always associated you with snowflakes."
"And snowdrops?" asked Janet.
He laughed a little confusedly. "Well yes, I must acknowledge it."
"Then I have you to thank for those that came to me last spring at the dramatics. All this time I have wondered who could have sent them and never once suspected. Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because you never asked me."
Janet gave a mirthful little laugh at this confession. "It is well that this is my last year at college," she said, "or I don't know into what difficulties I might lead you."
"I don't think it is at all well," said Mr. Evans.
"Why?"
"Because it isn't my last. I am likely to become a full professor, Miss Janet. It is doubtful if Professor Gaines's health will permit him to return and in case he resigns, I am informed that the chair will be mine."
"Good! I am delighted." Janet spoke heartily. "Dear me, I half envy you the prospect of living for the rest of your life in this old place."
"It is rather a concentrative life, broadening in some respects; very narrow in others. One finds his world in the college and its interests must be his."
"Yes, I know that, but they are such pleasant interests, I think. I believe I am becoming more and more fond of the intellectual life; too fond, I expect my mother will think, when I get home. Ours is a happy, pleasure-loving community. We live near enough to our small town to be included in all its festivities, and as papa is a physician, he is known far and wide, so we are always expected to keep open house and to entertain anybody who comes along. Since old Dr. Farley's death, papa's practice is mainly in the town and he contemplates removing his office there, but I hope we shall not have to go, though I don't see how it can be prevented."
"You would not care to leave your neighborhood then? You do not love your alma mater well enough to prefer her environment?"
"I'm not likely to be permitted to have a preference, for home is many miles away. Of course I love my alma mater, and if I should choose some other spot than our dear old Warwick, I'd take this very place."
"That is encouraging."
"In what way?"
"I'll tell you on Commencement day, not before. Will you save me half an hour then? I hope to know my fate by that time, and shall need either your congratulations or your condolences."
"I'll save you the half hour, if I am allowed. The world and his grandmother will be on hand to see me graduated and I don't know whether I shall be given a chance to take a long breath, but if I am permitted a moment's pause, I will notify you. I might issue a bulletin every hour so you could see how matters are going with me. It might run something like this: Eight to nine, breakfasts with family; nine to ten, receives calls from classmates; ten to twelve, packs; twelve to one, weeps; one to two, lunches; two to five, listens to orations and receives diploma; five to Six, receives congratulations, shakes hands and kisses some twenty-five girls; six to eight, dines with alumna; eight to eight-thirty, breathing-spell."
"I'm glad you allowed for the breathing-spell. I'll look out for the bulletin," said Mr. Evans; "you might pin it on the tree just in front of your house and I'll go look at it every hour."
"And in case the breathing-spell period is taken up, you can select some one beside the president of the seniors to offer you condolences or congratulations as the case may be. Of course you will be disappointed if the president should be so occupied that she cannot give you even five minutes, but allow me to tell you here in the seclusion of the Worthingtons' driveway; there are others much, much more sympathetic."
"Then if you cannot offer me your sympathies will you provide a substitute?"
"Willingly. Here we are, and alas for my pretty slippers; they feel like sponges and exude sloppiness at every step."
"You will take cold."
"No, I shall not. I shall use my mind, as Charity says."
The door was opened to them and Janet with her water-soaked shoes flew up-stairs, and sent for Florence who insisted upon giving her quinine, provided her with dry stockings and a pair of her slippers, which, though less fine than her own, allowed her to join the dancers and to enjoy herself as thoroughly as if there had been no snowdrifts along the road.
CHAPTER XVIII
A STOLEN FEAST
"WE'VE simply got to help the sophs get hold of that supper," said Lee emphatically one day when the four girls were gathered in Cordelia's study. "It's our last chance for any real fun and we must embrace it."
"How did you happen to hear about it?" asked Janet.
"Oh, one of the sophs came to me for advice. She said the freshmen had been boasting that they were too smart for the sophs and that they had not been able to get the better of them in anything this semester, so the sophs are wild. You are always fertile in suggestion, Janet, what would you advise?"
Janet thoughtfully tapped the table with a paper-cutter. "I should think they could appoint certain of the class to keep a watch on the freshmen so as to find out where they are going to order their supper. It will have to be from either Burton's or Fields'. Fields is cheaper, but Burton has the better ices, and the freshmen will not spare expense in matters of eating. You'd better tell the girl to get her class together and place the situation before them."
"If they only knew where they were going to give the supper and when," remarked Teddy.
"They must find out," said Cordelia.
"How?" asked Lee.
"Through the ingenuity of their wits. It will be within the next two weeks, and not a freshman will miss it," Cordelia told her.
"I know one thing we can do without compromising our dignity," said Janet. "Each senior can try to make an engagement with a freshman for one of the evenings of the two weeks. If any one of them declines an invitation, it will probably be for some good reason. She will give the reason frankly if it is not a secret, and if she doesn't, look out for that date."
"She might give a false reason to put us off the track," suggested Lee.
"True; then all reasons must be followed up."
"I shall begin by inviting Nora Tuttle to a spread in our rooms," said Lee. "That will leave eleven evenings to be filled by eleven of the class."
"Each of us will take one," Cordelia said, "and if there are any who refuse to help the sophs, two evenings will have to be taken by the zealous. We'd better devise very different, sorts of invitations, for of all things, we must keep the freshmen from suspecting."
"I know a wedding that is coming off on the evening of the third," said Teddy; "I have cards for it, and I don't believe Carrie Swift ever lost an opportunity of going to a wedding."
"We'll manage," concluded Janet, "but you must tell the sophs to keep their eyes and ears open, Lee."
The girls parted with a fixed determination to help the sophs to play their trick on the freshmen.
"If they hadn't boasted so vaingloriously," said Janet, "I wouldn't have a thing to do with it. But they certainly deserve to be taken down."
"They will be so flattered at these attentions from seniors," said Lee who was in her element.
"You don't think it is a trifle undignified," said Janet.
"Why, no. We are simply helping our sister class, and will do nothing that will bring a blush of shame to the cheek of the most proper one of us," replied Lee.
In consequence of this decision, twelve pleased freshmen found themselves selected for special attention from as many seniors, and eleven eagerly accepted the invitations proffered them.
Janet had picked out a pretty, inoffensive, little lass named Lillie Starr, who was in a fluster of excitement when Janet made a visit to her room. Lillie being fair, blue-eyed, short and plump, greatly admired Janet's dark tresses and eyes, her superior height and elegant slimness, and felt it a supreme honor when Janet asked if she would attend a garden fête with her at Florence Worthington's. The rushing season being over, Lillie felt that Janet could have no object in seeking her out beyond a desire for her company.
"Oh, I'd simply love to go," she cried. "You are too sweet for anything to ask me, Miss Ferguson. When is it to be?"
"On next Friday from five to eight," Janet told her.
The girl's face fell. "Oh, dear," she said, "how unfortunate, I have an engagement for that evening. I'm afraid I can't possibly go."
"Dear me," said Janet, "I'm so sorry. Is it very important?"
Lillie's innocent little face took on the color of a deep pink rose. "Why yes, I'm afraid so," she faltered.
"You couldn't put it off?" said Janet, sweetly. "If it is with one of the girls, perhaps she wouldn't mind. I'm sure I'd fix another date if I could, but you see I can't, and I told Miss Worthington I wanted to bring you."
"Dear me." Lillie looked troubled. An invitation to the Worthingtons' was something that seldom fell to the lot of a freshman. It was considered a very great privilege to be admitted to one of these functions. At sight of the girl's real perplexity, Janet's conscience began to smite her, yet she remembered her sophomores and went obdurately on.
"If it is with one of the girls," she repeated.
"If it were only with one of the girls, I would give it up," declared Lillie, "for I do so much want to go."
"Oh, then," Janet smiled knowingly, "it is with a young man. Of course, my dear, I couldn't expect you to break such an engagement. I hope you have been able to get a real nice chaperon who will be neither too strict nor too lenient."
"Oh, Miss Ferguson," Lillie protested, "it isn't with any young man. I'd rather go with you than with anybody I know. I really would. Just think, why you are a senior and president of your class and you are so perfectly fine."
"Am I?" Janet laughed. "I'm not all you imagine, my child, but if your engagement isn't with a girl, nor yet with a young man, it is very mysterious. Oh, no, no," as Lillie looked as if she might give too broad a hint, "don't tell me. I shall feel dreadfully if you do; as if I were guilty of a vulgar curiosity. I am exceedingly sorry that you must refuse me, but if you have this mysterious engagement there is nothing to do but to ask some one else. I hoped you would let me give you this little treat, but I haven't a doubt but you will have a fine time wherever you may be going."
Poor Lillie's distress increased. "I've a good mind to give it up," she said. "I would in a minute if I hadn't promised. It wouldn't be exactly—exactly loyal you know; the girls would—"
"Not another word," said Janet, lifting her hand. "I feel ashamed now for having urged you."
Then feeling that she had made capital of the girl's unsuspicious eagerness, her tenderheartedness made her say: "Never mind, lassie, perhaps some other nice something will come along later. If it does I'll save it for you, shall I?"
This friendliness completely won Lillie. "Oh, how dear you are, Miss Ferguson. I'm so much obliged to you. Please don't think it is because I don't want to go. If it were anything else than this certain thing, I'd tell you. You do believe me and you do understand, don't you?"
"I understand perfectly," Janet told her. "I certainly hope you will enjoy your evening."
And then she took her leave, half regretting the part she had played.
"For diplomacy commend me to Janet Ferguson," said Cordelia when Janet told her story.
"I did feel mean to deceive that poor child," said Janet with a contrite look.
"There you go with your overstrained sympathies," said Lee. "I think you were the cleverest thing to pick out that silly little creature. Why, she gave herself away without half trying. If I had been she, I would have accepted and would have sent you a piteous note at the last moment pleading illness."
"We can't all use your Machiavellian methods," said Teddy, a trifle severely. "We haven't any of us forgotten your sophomore year when you went around for a week with your face tied up after some such performance."