Georgia Ames was blue about something. As the spring term wore on toward June she grew absent and pensive to a marked degree. It wasn’t that she was a senior; Georgia Ames wasn’t the sort to mope because college was almost over for her. Besides, she and Lucile Merrifield and the Dutton twins were going to Lucile’s camp in the Maine woods for a long, blissful summer. That certainly wasn’t a prospect to make you dread the plunge into the wide, wide world. It was only the girls who didn’t know what was coming next, or who knew and didn’t like it, who moped through their last spring term.

The Duttons were pathetically worried about Georgia’s low spirits. Straight suggested a doctor; Fluffy adroitly sounded Georgia on the subject of conditions, and discussed the ethics of “flunking out” seniors exhaustively, until Georgia suggested mildly that the subject wasn’t of any great interest to her.

“I’m thankful to say I’ve never had to worry about flunking,” she said, “and none of our crowd has either—oh, I forgot Eugenia Ford when she was a freshman. But that was pure silliness.”

So the matter of conditions was definitely eliminated.

“Maybe she’s in love,” suggested Montana Marie, who was present one day when the subject was discussed. “Being in love makes you feel—well, queer. And if it’s not returned——”

“What a little goose you are, Marie, on the subject of men,” Timmy Wentworth told her shortly. “No sensible girl like G. Ames goes around wearing her heart on her sleeve. Besides, Georgia doesn’t care for men at all. She often says that she came to college in the first place because there wouldn’t be any men around.”

“She did!” sighed Montana Marie. “What a queer reason! I——”

“Oh, yes, do tell us why you came,” Straight Dutton broke in, as Marie hesitated.

“Why I came?” repeated Marie gaily. “Oh, yes, I’ll tell you that with pleasure. I came to complete my education, of course.” When Straight gave a disappointed little shrug, Marie giggled riotously. “Sorry you don’t like my reason,” she concluded, drawing down the corners of her pretty mouth in an absurd imitation of extreme grief.

It was little Binks Ames, with her queer talent for making strange discoveries, who finally found out what was worrying Georgia. And she took the matter to the most wonderful person about troubles that she knew: namely, Miss Betty Wales.

“You see,” said Binks solemnly, “Constance Ames is the pretty, society kind of girl. But she’s awfully bright, too. She’s five years younger than Georgia; so she’ll be a year younger in entering college. That is, if she will come, when she’s ready, in the fall. But she won’t. She has an idea that college is awfully solemn and serious and studious, and she says she’d rather go to boarding-school, where the girls are lively, even if there are a lot of rules. And Georgia feels dreadfully. She’s always thought it would be such fun having Constance here after she’s graduated.”

“You’ll be here, anyway,” laughed Betty.

“Oh, but I don’t count,” little Binks explained quite seriously. “At least not like a younger sister that you can come up with in September, and send boxes to, and introduce to your friends, and talk it all over with in vacations. Besides, I’m—I’m queer. So I don’t really count at all.”

“I see.” Betty was as serious as Binks. “Why doesn’t Georgia have her little sister up here for a visit? She’d be sure to have a splendid time, and then she’d want to enter college. Has she put in her application for the campus?”

Binks nodded. “Georgia did it for her the minute she saw how nice Harding is. The reason Georgia doesn’t have her up is because she’s afraid to. You see, Constance belongs to a crowd of boys and girls who have a lot going on all the time, and Georgia is afraid—well, to tell the truth, Constance is man-crazy. She doesn’t think you can have a good time with just girls. And of course when you don’t expect a good time and act offish and disagreeable, why, you don’t have a good time,” ended Binks acutely.

Betty nodded. “And Georgia is afraid Constance would feel and act that way if she came for the visit. She might, of course. I don’t quite see what I can do about it, but I’ll think. I certainly ought to come to Georgia’s rescue once, when she’s always coming to mine.”

“She was just awfully proud of being elected Georgia-to-the-Rescue,” confided Binks. “She said she was as proud of that as of being taken into Dramatic Club.”

“Really?” Betty flushed with pleasure. “What a foolish, sweet way to feel about just helping me! Well, I’ll think hard about the man-struck Constance. We’ll both think hard, and perhaps we can think of a way to rescue Georgia.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” said Binks with touching confidence. “The thing to do is to make Constance expect a good time, isn’t it, Miss Wales? Because then she couldn’t help liking Harding, especially in spring term.”

Yes, that was clearly the thing to do, Betty agreed, and Binks, remembering suddenly that Miss Wales was very busy and quite capable of making her own deductions about what to do in regard to Constance, took a blushing departure.

That same afternoon the B. C. A.’s gathered informally in the top story of the Peter Pan annex; and when the matter of Georgia’s blues came up, Betty told them in confidence what Binks had discovered.

“Whatever is done will have to be done right away,” she added, “because campus rooms are assigned early in June, and when Constance gets hers I suppose she will give it up. If she should change her mind later about coming to college, she couldn’t get back her chance at the room. She would have to apply all over again, and that means that she wouldn’t be on the campus before her senior year, if she was then.”

“Foolish young Constance!” said Mary scornfully. “The idea of thinking that Harding girls are less fun than boarding-school chits.”

“The idea of thinking that there isn’t time enough later on for men,” sniffed Babbie, playing with her engagement ring.

“The idea of thinking that she won’t change her mind about men and most other things, while she’s here,” added little Helen Adams, with a comical air of vast experience.

“Georgia ought to be game and take the risk of having foolish young Constance up for a week,” declared Christy Mason. “We’d get her so properly excited that she’d forget the name of her best particular suitor.”

Madeline listened to these comments with an air of polite detachment. Finally she rose from her place and crawled over Betty to the Peter Pan staircase. “Talk about something else until I get back,” she ordered. “I’m going down to the Tally-ho desk to write a letter for Georgia to send to Constance.”

It was fully twenty minutes before Madeline reappeared, waving the letter in her hand.

“Want to hear it?” she asked. “It’s nothing much, but I’m pretty sure it will get young Constance. Listen now, and don’t ask questions, because I won’t answer.

Madeline folded the letter carefully and tucked it up her sleeve for safe-keeping. “Rather nice on the whole, isn’t it?” she said. “It does just what Binks astutely pointed out must be done. It brings young Constance to Harding in an expectant and receptive frame of mind.”

“She may be angry when she finds she’s been fooled,” suggested Christy.

Madeline stared at her blankly. “You don’t really mean,” she began at last, “that you doubt the combined ability of the B. C. A.’s, Timmy Wentworth, Dickie Drake, Billy Barstow, the Dutton twins, and the best frat. in Winsted to give foolish young Constance the time of her gay young life? If she is any kind of a girl she will think we’re the very best jokers she ever heard of. The Duttons are down in the Tally-ho waiting to carry the letter to Georgia, and if she likes the idea they’re going to take charge of the program—select entertainers, assign stunts and hours, and all that. Eugenia Ford is going to attend to the Winsted end. There’s no fooling about that dance, Christy. It’s the most gorgeous affair of the Winsted season, Eugenia says, and she is sure she can get an invitation for Constance. Any more objections?”

There were no more objections. As the full beauty of Madeline’s plan dawned upon the other B. C. A.’s, there were shrieks of delight, offers of assistance, and suggestions for novel stunts likely to appeal particularly to the temperament of foolish young Constance. Presently the Duttons trilled from below, and the letter was ceremoniously lowered in the Peter Pan basket, amid great excitement.

“We forgot Bob Blake,” Straight called up. “She’ll be splendid to help.”

“All right, but don’t alter the letter. We can mention her at the station,” Madeline called down; and the twins and Eugenia hurried off to the Belden to find Georgia.

It was on the loveliest of May afternoons, a week later, that Constance Ames alighted with much youthful dignity from the Boston train, to find herself fairly surrounded by a noisy bevy of girls,—girls quite as pretty and quite as stylish as young Constance, girls whose flattering speeches of welcome made her blush, whose jokes made her laugh, and whose breezy energy packed her and her bag, together with six or seven of themselves, into a trim runabout and rushed her off to the Tally-ho for refreshment, before she had had time to explain that she was hot and dusty and would rather go straight to her room,—before she met any more girls or any men.

The Tally-ho was so fascinating and the food so good that Constance decided not to say anything about leaving in a hurry. And then all at once the Dutton twins, whom chemistry lab. had prevented from meeting Constance at the station, burst upon the scene.

“Eugenia Ford has a car up for the rest of the term—a big snorting red one, with a rumbly horn and a funny French chauffeur. She wants any ten of us to go riding in it, in honor of Georgia’s sister.”

“How do you do, Georgia’s sister?” added Straight gravely. “Awfully nice to have you here to give parties for. Eugenia has an extra veil in the car for you. She says for everybody to leave their hats here, to save room.”

“We’ll have eats at Mossy Glen.”

“Who’s seen to the food?”

“Over the Notch by moonlight and home through Winsted, to let John Ford see his little cousin splurge. She’s telephoned him to be on the watch for us.”

“Timmy Wentworth can’t get away this evening to go canoeing, so Eugenia’s party just fits in.”

“Wouldn’t Miss Constance Ames like a wash and a brush in Betty’s private dressing room? She looks extra-specially spick and span, but traveling in the heat always makes a person feel messy.”

Constance went off with Betty and Madeline, and Georgia went out to break the news to Eugenia that Constance generally took hours and hours to prink up. To her amazement and relief Constance appeared within five minutes.

During the ride there were frequent, though vague, references to Timmy and Dick and Billy. Everybody in the party seemed to know and like them, and they seemed to have planned all sorts of delightful entertainment for Constance. Timmy, Fluffy Dutton declared solemnly, would be simply heart-broken at having to postpone the canoeing trip on Paradise, which had been planned for the first evening of Constance’s visit.

“I’m having a beautiful time, all the same,” Constance assured Fluffy eagerly. “I just love motoring. And I’m very anxious to see Winsted.”

But a bad puncture, necessitating a long delay, put the détour to Winsted out of the evening’s program. How much Madeline’s firm determination that Winsted should be kept for the dessert of Constance’s visit, as it were, had to do with the French chauffeur’s deliberation in repairing the puncture, is a matter for idle speculation.

Next morning Constance was awakened with a start by a huge bunch of wild forget-me-nots, which hurtled in at her window, and plopped down beside her on the bed.

“How lovely!” murmured Constance, burying her face in the big blue bouquet. “And a note hidden in them! What fun! Just like a story.”

The note was from Timmy Wentworth. “Your sister is busy all this morning. She says you are to take breakfast at nine at Cuyler’s with the Misses Dutton. They will call for you. At ten won’t you meet me at the boat-house for our paddle? It will give me such pleasure. Timmy Wentworth.”

Constance dressed with eager haste. The Duttons were in their liveliest mood. Cuyler’s waffles fairly melted in your mouth. And at ten she was going canoeing with Timmy Wentworth!

The Duttons escorted her as far as the top of Observatory Hill, and having pointed out the boat-house, departed unceremoniously for a ten o’clock quiz. Constance consulted a tiny mirror that hung from her silver chain, smoothed her hair, straightened her coat collar, and walked leisurely down, through the campus gardens and past the famous frog pond, to Paradise. At the top of the boat-house stairs she paused and looked to see if Timmy was waiting. It was too dark inside the boat-house to see any one, but on the railing perched a tall, merry-faced girl in a blue and white jumper, who waved friendly greetings. She must have been one of the crowd at the station, Constance reflected, and she waved back cordially as she hurried down the stairs.

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” The tall girl’s firm hand-shake made Constance wince. “And the woods are full of flowers. Fluffy and I were out before breakfast getting a boatful for the Belden House senior tea. We stole out a bunch for you. Shall we be off?”

“Ye-es,” stammered Constance. “That is, I was expecting——”

“How stupid!” broke in the tall girl eagerly. “I forgot to say that I’m Felicia Wentworth, commonly known as Timmy for no reason under the sun. Now shall we be off?”

“Oh, yes,” said Constance hastily, too proud to show either astonishment or disappointment. It was an entertaining trip, too, in spite of everything. Timmy was not at all Constance’s idea of a college grind. She had just come back from a Dartmouth prom. She was going home next Saturday to see about her junior usher dress, and incidentally to star in an amateur vaudeville performance at the Country Club her family belonged to. It appeared that amateur vaudeville shows, tennis, canoeing, and going to “stunty” house-parties—she was going to “a duck of a one” in June—were Timmy’s chief diversions. Yet she confided to Constance that she was hoping hard to make the Phi Kappa honor list next year, and that she had spent the previous afternoon in “digging fiercely” on a philosophy paper, because “if you had a good head for books what was the use of muddling along?”

“The fun here is in pulling off the work and still getting in the fun,” she assured Constance, paddling up a tiny bay, whose banks were blue with forget-me-nots. Timmy dropped her paddle, brushed the hair out of her eyes, and smiled engagingly at young Constance. “You understand what I mean, of course,” she flattered adroitly. “I can see that you’re not the muddling kind. Anyway Georgia says you are very clever. Well, all I say is, look at me and don’t worry about the good times we have. Now shall we get the Belden a little more forget-me-not for its sentimental senior party?”

Constance spoke enthusiastically to Georgia of Paradise and Miss Wentworth. She dropped not a hint of surprises or disappointments. That afternoon Billy Barstow, a petite, pretty sophomore, with a distinctly frivolous air, took Constance for a stroll round the campus. It was hot, and they spent most of the time in the gym. basement, watching the divers in the swimming-tank and exchanging confidences about many things. Billy was secretly bored, but she concealed it so well that Constance decided Billy should be her first crush. Billy had put this idea into her head by explaining how Georgia had been her first crush. Dickie Drake appeared a day or two later. She wasn’t pretty, but she was very distinguished-looking, Constance decided. She was also engaged, and willing to talk about Tom to anybody who would listen,—even to Georgia’s sub-freshman sister.

“She’ll get her self-consciousness knocked out of her in short order up here,” Dick assured the cousin whom she had come to visit. “And then she’ll be a very nice child. Remember what a detestable little prig I was when I came up—a snob and man-crazy and insufferably lazy. And they turned me out a rather decent sort—not half good enough for Tom, but much improved.”

Everybody agreed that young Constance showed the proper spirit in ignoring the base deception that had been practiced upon her, and in appearing to enjoy every minute of her week in Harding. Even the stony-hearted Madeline admitted that she had richly earned her Winsted dessert. And so the most select frat. in Winsted found its end-of-the-season dance mysteriously turned into an ovation for a pretty sub-freshman friend of Eugenia Ford’s. As the sub-freshman was undeniably a “winner,” the frat. forgave John Ford for making such a fuss about her, and promptly added her name to the next year’s guest-list. Which meant that foolish young Constance would not pine away for lack of masculine society, if she decided to enter Harding in the fall.

“It’s queer about nicknames,” said Straight Dutton, waving her handkerchief after Constance’s Boston-bound train. “It’s queer how many nicest girls get tagged with boys’ names. Young Constance has confided to Georgia that she’ll have a try at Harding. Now what got her was that Timmy and Dickie and Bill and Bob Blake are all the finest ever. If they hadn’t been, everything would have gone to smash. It’s certainly queer how many nicest girls get nicknamed Bob and Bill and Dickie.”

“The reason,” said Madeline wisely, “is that the very nicest girls are all-around nice—not sissy nice, or young-lady nice, or clever nice, but nice every way,—and just as good fun to play about with as any man in the world. And the rest of us notice that, without stopping to analyze it, and call them Bob or Billy.”

“Um—maybe you’re right,” said Straight slowly. “I presume you are. All I know for sure is that we’ve scored. Hurray for Billy and Bob and Dickie and Timmy! Hurrah for we, us, and company that planned it all! Hurray for Harding!”