JANET AND PHYLLIS LOOKED AT HER WITH DANGEROUSLY CALM EYES

THE TWINS IN THE SOUTH

By

DOROTHY WHITEHILL

PUBLISHERS

BARSE & HOPKINS

NEW YORK, N. Y., NEWARK, N. J.

Copyright, 1920

by

Barse & Hopkins

MADE IN U.S.A.

Table of Contents

The Twins in the South

[CHAPTER I—Welcome to Hilltop]

“I always believe in separating sisters,” Miss Hull made this astonishing announcement with a gentle smile.

Janet and Phyllis looked at each other, consternation written large on their faces.

“But Miss Hull——” Janet began.

It was Phyllis who spoke with grown-up assurance.

“We couldn’t think of being separated, Miss Hull,” she said, with one of her winning smiles. “You see, we found each other only a little over a year ago, and we’ve such a lot of time to make up.”

“But if you were separated you’d get to know the girls so much better,” Miss Hull’s soft Southern drawl protested. “I’ve planned for each of you to room with an old girl. I’m sure it’s the better way.”

Miss Hull was an imperious woman, statuesque in figure, a smooth level brow, flashing dark eyes and a mass of wavy gray hair, piled high on her head. When she said a thing she expected instant submission. She was surprised when Phyllis, still with her charming smile, but with a note of firmness in her voice, replied:

“But you see, Miss Hull, we should both be very unhappy. We’re twins, you know, and that makes a difference.”

Miss Hull could not deny the note of decision in her voice, and like all broad-minded and imperious people, she admired anyone who had those same qualities in common with her.

She did not speak down to Phyllis, but rather as to an equal, when she replied:

“Very well, you will room together. I suppose being twins does make a difference,” she added laughingly.

Phyllis thanked her, and with a maid to guide them, they went upstairs to a big room, with long French windows, one of which opened onto a tiny balcony. They sat down in comfortable wicker chairs and stared at each other.

“Oh, Phyl, you are magnificent!” Janet exclaimed. “I never was so petrified in my life. Miss Hull is such a masterful sort of person that she silenced me with a glance.”

Phyllis tossed her head.

“The person never lived that could silence me,” she said vaingloriously. “But I don’t think it was very nice of her to wait until Auntie Mogs left and then try to separate us.”

“We should have let Auntie Mogs stay at the hotel for a day or two as she wanted to,” Janet remarked thoughtfully.

“No; that would have been a kiddish thing to do; and after all, Jan., Miss Hull was really doing what she thought was right. As soon as I explained to her she was very nice about it. I like her tremendously,” she said.

“Well, I don’t,” Janet announced firmly. “She tried to separate us.”

“But she didn’t, dearest. It would take more than Miss Hull to do that.” Phyllis laughed into Janet’s serious eyes.

The Page twins after a summer in Arizona with their brother Tom, had come to Hilltop school. Their aunt, Miss Carter, had brought them from New York to the Virginia hills, but had returned almost at once, for they had arrived early that morning, and she had taken the afternoon train for home. It was six o’clock now, and from their window they could see the twilight creeping closer to the great old trees that grew in a thick protecting border around the school.

Hilltop was indeed well named. The white colonial building crowned the hill, and a roadway, straight as an arrow, and lined on either side with tall interlacing elms, ran down the gentle slope for a mile and a half until it joined the highway in the valley.

It had been a wonderful mansion in its day. Now a new wing had been added on, and many of the rooms had been divided and cut up into smaller ones, but the outside of the house had lost nothing of its old-world dignity and charm.

Janet and Phyllis stood in the little balcony and watched the shadows lengthen on the green below. They had each other so they were not unhappy, but the suggestion of a lump in their throats made them think a little forlornly of Auntie Mogs and the cheerful rooms of their New York house.

“I wish Sally would come,” Janet exclaimed. “I simply can’t wait to see her.”

“Neither can I,” Phyllis agreed. “Just think, we haven’t seen her since last Christmas.”

“It was a shame Daphne couldn’t come down with us, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, in a way; but we’ll be acquainted by the time she gets here, and that will be nice, too.”

“Still, it would have been fun to have her on the train with us.”

Sally Ladd and Daphne Hillis were old friends of the twins. They had known them in New York, and at Miss Harding’s school they had been known as The Quartette. Sally had come to Hiltop for the second term the year before, and it was because of her glowing accounts of boarding-school life that the other three girls had decided to come this year.

Sally had not come from New York with the twins, as they had planned, because at the last minute she had decided to visit a friend of hers in Ohio. Her train was due at eight o’clock.

A knock at the door brought the twins in from the balcony.

“Come in,” Janet called, and a tall, heavily-built girl with red hair and spectacles entered the room.

“Aren’t you the Page twins?” she inquired heartily.

“Yes, we are,” Phyllis and Janet answered.

“Well, Sally Ladd has talked so much about you that I feel as if I’d known you all my life. I’m Gwendolyn Matthews, otherwise known as Gwen.” She held out a large hand covered with golden freckles, and the twins shook it gratefully.

“Come along downstairs and be shown off. The girls are dying to see you, for of course Sally has told us the thrilling way you discovered each other last year.”

Phyllis and Janet followed her down the wide red-carpeted hall to the floor below. They could see the lights coming from a big room a little way beyond, and hear a hubbub of voices.

Janet had a sudden and overwhelming desire to run, but Phyllis hurried forward eagerly. Gwen pushed them both before her, and they found themselves in an immense room, brightly lighted by two crystal chandeliers. The ceiling was painted with white clouds against a blue sky, and fat little cupids danced or plied their art with miniature bows and arrows. It was the old ballroom untouched and still beautiful after these long years.

They had barely time to look about them before Gwen held up an impressive hand and announced in strident tones:

“The Page Twins.”

There was an instant hush of voices and the girls looked at them curiously. A dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, dressed in fluffy white, left the group she had been talking to and came towards them with outstretched hands.

“I declare, Gwen, you are just a dreadful tease.” Her delightful Southern drawl was lazily good-natured.

“How do you do? We’re mighty glad to welcome you to Hilltop,” she said cordially.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Phyllis smiled winningly.

“Thanks,” Janet mumbled.

“My name is Hillory Lee, and I’m a Senior,” she went on; but a rippling laugh interrupted her.

“A Senior, just one day old. Come now, Poppy, don’t put on airs. You’re not old enough.”

“A dear little, new little, Senior, all filled up with dignity,” another voice teased.

Poppy—Hillory Lee was always called Poppy—led the laugh that followed, and then suddenly the girls gathered around the twins, introducing themselves and talking with a fine disregard of one another.

The dinner gong silenced them, and out of the confusion a double line formed down the length of the room. Phyllis and Janet were shown their places along with the rest of the new girls.

Poppy, as the president of the senior class, stood on the top of the steps that led to a small stage at the end of the room.

“You all must come to order, and please go down very quietly to the hall,” she said a little shyly; but no one attempted to tease her. She represented Hilltop as she stood on the stage, and they one and all gave her instant obedience.

The dining hall was under the ballroom of the first floor. Deer heads decorated the wall, with other trophies of the chase. A huge fireplace ran along the side of one wall. The mantel was filled with big silver loving cups.

Janet and Phyllis were to learn their importance in the life of the school as the year progressed. Just at present they could not take in details. They were too busy trying to sort their first impressions.

There were four long tables with twenty girls and two teachers at each. The twelve seniors, with Miss Hull, sat apart in state on a dais at the end of the room. The tables were all narrow and the high-backed oak chairs gave the room the look of an old monastery.

There was lots of talking at dinner. The twins did not try to remember all of the girls’ names, but three of them stood out as special friends of Sally’s. One was Gladys Manners, a rough-and-tumble sort of girl with mischievous blue eyes, dark hair and a contagious giggle.

“Do you know Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot?” she asked at the beginning of the meal, and the twins loved her at once.

Prudence Standish—called Prue for brevity’s sake—sat beside Janet, and she was so attentive and thoughtful during the meal and so careful to explain what the girls meant by their many illusions of places and things that had happened in the past, that the twins’ gratitude ripened into a sincere liking before the meal was over.

The third girl sat just across from Phyllis. Her name was Ann Lourie. She hardly spoke through the meal, but her quiet smile and the humor that lay at the back of her hazel eyes gave the twins the impression of a personality worth cultivating.

The teachers at the table were Miss Remsted and Miss Jenks. They were both young and full of fun, and the twins contrasted them with the teachers at Miss Harding’s, to the latter’s disadvantage.

When dinner was over Miss Hull stood up.

“You have nothing to do tonight, girls, but get acquainted; and I want you to do that thoroughly. Remember, every new girl must be made to feel at home at Hilltop.”

The bell tinkled, the lines formed, and the girls marched back to the ballroom.

[CHAPTER II—School Chatter]

It was not long after they had returned to the ballroom until the twins found themselves in the center of a group of laughing girls.

“It would be a regular game,” Gladys Manners announced.

“What would?” Phyllis demanded.

“Guessing which was which,” Gladys told her.

“Oh, let’s try it,” half-a-dozen voices exclaimed.

They put the twins side by side, and then the girls took turns guessing. Between turns the twins would change places, or remain where they were.

“Oh, this is too much!” Prue exclaimed, after she had stared at them for a full minute. “I’m dizzy with looking from one to the other of you, but I’m blessed if I know which one I sat next to at dinner.”

“This is going to be too complicated. I vote that we do something about it.” Ann Lourie spoke with a Southern intonation, but it was different from Miss Hull’s speech and Poppy’s lazy drawl. She came from New Orleans, which accounted for the difference.

“What are you all doing?” Poppy, with her arm around Gwen’s broad shoulders, joined them.

“We’re playing a new game,” Gladys announced. “It’s called ‘Guessing the Twins.’”

“You’re it, Poppy,” Prue laughed. “See if you can do it.”

Poppy tried. The twins looked up at her provokingly. Their soft brown hair waved back from their forehead with almost identical curls. Their heads, exactly the same oval shape, were pressed close together. Their red lips each smiled a twisted smile, and their golden-brown eyes, so like the color of autumn leaves, danced mischievously.

“I declare to goodness there isn’t anybody on earth that can tell you two apart,” Poppy laughed.

“Oh, but there are!” Phyllis told them. “Sally never gets us mixed up.”

“Oh, that’s easy to understand,” Gwen remarked. “Sally just asks Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot which is which, and that bird, you know, can tell her anything.”

“Just the same, it’s going to be complicating,” Ann repeated, “and I suggest that we make one of them wear something to distinguish her from the other. It need only be something tiny, just big enough for our select group,” her eyes travelled from Prue to Gladys and to Poppy and Gwen.

“That’s a mighty good idea of yours, Ann, and as representatives of the senior class”—Gwen was captain of sports—“we endorse it.”

“The question is, what shall it be?” Prue inquired.

“I know.” Gladys unpinned a tiny little gold pin that she was wearing. It was the shape of the crescent moon, and was no bigger than a good sized pea.

“It’s an old class pin I had years ago when I went to day school. I don’t know what possessed me to put it on yesterday when I left home——”

“I do,” Prue interrupted. “You had a snapper off, and you thought that would show less than an ordinary pin.”

“Untidy little wretch you are,” Ann agreed.

The rest looked at Gladys’ cuff and, sure enough, there was a snapper off. Gladys, under their laughing scrutiny, was no whit embarrassed.

“Course I’m untidy,” she agreed; “that’s because I’m an artist, and it’s being done this year. You couldn’t expect me to be as neat as Prue, the immaculate.”

Prue laughed good-naturedly. “Meaning I am not an artist,” she remarked. “Well, nobody will dispute that with you, least of all Miss Remsted.”

The rest of the old girls laughed as at some well known joke and the twins smiled in sympathy.

“Prue tried to have a crush on Miss Remsted last year,” Poppy explained. “We don’t encourage them—crushes, I mean—at Hilltop, but Prue is stubborn—comes from New England, you know, where the word was coined—and she would have a crush in spite of the fact that she had been here two years and knew that we would have to take drastic steps to cure her.”

“You did and I’m cured; can’t we spare them the harrowing details?” Prue protested.

“No; it may be a lesson they’ll need, and besides, Poppy loves to point a moral,” Gwen remarked. “Go on, Poppy; let’s hear the awful end.”

“It’s coming; just you listen.” Poppy directed her story to the twins. “Prue suddenly decided, about the middle of the term, that she was a budding young artist and that all she needed was a little special instruction, so she went to Miss Hull and got permission to take special art. Then she went to Miss Remsted——.” Poppy paused to chuckle in anticipation.

“Miss Remsted told her to bring her her best sketch,” she continued. “Now, Prue had never made a sketch in her life, but she reckoned it would be easy enough.”

“Prue’s a futurist,” Gwen interrupted.

“So she about made up her mind to draw an animal. What made you choose something that was living, Prue? I never did understand.”

“Then you never will, because I’m not going to tell you,” Prue replied airily.

“Oh, but I am,” Ann smiled reminiscently. “The day before she did the sketch she came to me and asked me if a great many artists hadn’t made their start by drawing pictures of animals. I thought for a minute and then——”

“To show off the knowledge that you haven’t got”—Gladys took up the story—“you casually mentioned Rosa Bonheur, and Prue went straight to her desk and——” She turned to Poppy.

“Drew—I mean sketched—the gardener’s watch dog,” Poppy went on. “He was a nice dog, but not very sketchable. You all know how dogs will jump ’round, so you can’t blame Prue for what happened. She finished the sketch and took it to Miss Remsted.”

“I did not, I left it for her in the studio,” Prue corrected.

“Left it; excuse me, I stand corrected,” Poppy continued. “History does not repeat just what Miss Remsted said or did, but when Prue went to her desk next morning she found her dog with this little note pinned to his tail—not literally, you understand, but figuratively: ‘Prue, dear; it’s a very nice little rabbit, but it’s a pity he has the mumps.’”

The laugh that followed was led by Prue. The twins exchanged glances. They were both thinking how very differently some of the girls at Miss Harding’s would have taken such teasing.

Phyllis always liked and was liked by girls, so she gave the matter less consideration than Janet. Janet’s heart glowed; here were the kinds of girls that she had dreamed about. Their teasing stopped before it became unkind. Their laughter held no hint of derision; and, above all, she was conscious of the feeling of fellowship and understanding that existed between them. She found herself wishing that she could be the brunt of their teasing, for somehow, she felt that in that way only could she be admitted to the happy sisterhood.

“There’s a strong bond between sister classes at Hilltop,” Gladys was explaining. “That’s the reason that Gwen and Poppy prefer to talk to us, who are only Sophomores, instead of joining that group of important-looking Juniors over there.” She pointed to half-a-dozen girls a little older than the twins who were laughing and joking at the other side of the room.

“They’ll adopt the Freshmen and make them behave,” Prue exclaimed.

“While it is the Senior’s painful duty to see that our class keeps out of mischief,” Gladys laughed.

The twins smiled. They liked the way these girls finished each other’s sentences and interrupted each other without giving and taking offence.

Ann looked up at the clock—a grandfather one—which stood in the corner of the big room and chimed out the hours drowsily.

“’Most time for Sally to come,” she announced. “Let’s go and watch for her.”

[CHAPTER III—Sally Arrives]

“May we go to the senior’s retreat, Poppy?” Gladys asked. “Your balcony is such a dandy place to watch the road from.”

Once more the twins felt a little tremble of pleasure. Although the girls were the best of friends in spite of the difference in their ages, the Sophomores as a class never failed in their respect to the Seniors.

“Yes, come along; we’ll go with you,” Poppy replied.

“I’d like to get the first look at Sally myself,” Gwen added. “I hope she hasn’t forgotten to bring Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot.”

They left the ballroom and walked down the broad hall all arm-in-arm.

“Seniors all busy tonight, the lights are not lit,” Prue remarked as they entered a dark room. Gwen switched on the lights and the twins found themselves in what seemed to be a delightful chintz lined nook.

It was a small room directly over the front door. The two-story piazza, with its enormous pillars, enclosed the balcony that led from it through long French windows.

“This is the Seniors’ Sanctum Sanctorum,” Prue explained. “When the cares of school government grow too much for them they come in here to rest.”

“It is also the chamber of horrors on occasion,” Gladys added. “Just wait until you’ve done something bad, and Poppy calls you in to give you a racking over the coals.”

“Why, Gladys; what do you mean by talking like that?” Poppy protested mildly. “I just never could be severe, and I don’t expect to have to be either; especially,” she added seriously, “to any girl in my sister class.”

Prue and Gladys and Ann nodded approval.

“We’ll be good,” Ann said seriously. “We want to give you all the help possible.”

Once more the twins felt a little glow of thankfulness around their hearts.

The sound of carriage wheels took them all to the balcony.

“Sally!” Gladys exclaimed; and with one accord they rushed down the stairs and out to the front porch.

Long before the carriage reached the steps, Sally was out of it. She rumbled to the ground and ran towards them, her black bag knocking against her knees.

“Where are my twins?” she demanded breathlessly.

Janet and Phyllis almost smothered her in the warmth of their embrace.

“Oh, Sally, you old darling!” Phyllis exclaimed. “You look so wonderfully natural that I could eat you up for sheer joy.”

“We thought you’d never get here, and we missed you on the train like everything,” Janet said.

“Hello, Sally; it’s great to have you back,” Gladys shook hands heartily.

“How’s Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot?” Gwen inquired. “My, how I missed that bird this summer!”

“Well, and wiser than ever,” Sally laughed as she held out her hand to Poppy.

“It’s mighty nice to have you back, Sally,” Poppy smiled affectionately.

“We room together until your friend Daphne comes,” Prue told her.

“Good work. Hello, Ann; what are you lurking in the shadows for?” Sally demanded.

“Oh, I never rush, even to say how do you do to my best friend. I much prefer to be the last on the list. Did you have a good summer?”

“Oh, wonderful!” Sally enthused. “Alice’s family were awfully nice to me, and I had a glorious time.”

“It’s too bad Alice isn’t coming back,” Gladys exclaimed. “I’m going to miss her frightfully.”

“I know, but she really isn’t well enough. Why girls, she’s lost pounds,” Sally replied. Alice Bard was a girl Sally had been visiting. She had been to Hilltop for three years, but was unable to return on account of ill-health.

“Well, come along; let’s go in,” Prue suggested. “After all, we’re not the only ones that want to see Sally.”

They followed into the house, and Sally, after she had said “how do you do” to Miss Hull, rejoined them and they went on up to the ballroom. A shout went up from the girls as they saw her coming, and she shook hands until the silence bell sounded.

“That’s the trouble,” Sally protested. “We no sooner get talking when that old bell rings. There are loads of girls I haven’t even had a chance to speak to yet.”

The room emptied in a minute and the twins, with Sally between them, went upstairs.

“I can’t come in and talk to you, because there’s no visiting after hours, but I’ll see you bright and early in the morning,” Sally promised. “You’re not homesick, are you?”

“Homesick! I should say not,” Phyllis protested. “I’m so excited I’m ready to die, and now that you’re here it’s simply perfect.”

“I never knew there were so many nice girls in the world,” Janet exclaimed. “It’s going to be wonderful, and won’t it be fun having Daphne come?”

“Indeed it will; the old quartette together again,” Sally agreed. “But I’ve got to fly now or I’ll be caught, and that will never do on the first night back.”

They parted, Janet and Phyllis, in their own room with the door closed, stood in the middle of the floor trying to decide why they were so happy.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Phyllis began.

“It’s just like a wonderful dream,” Janet agreed.

“It’s nice to have Sally back, isn’t it?”

“You bet.”

“And I love Ann.”

“So do I, the best of all.”

They undressed slowly.

“You honestly like it, Jan?” Phyllis inquired anxiously, after the lights were out, and they were both in their single white beds.

Janet’s hand found Phyllis’s.

“I do honestly,” she replied seriously. “There’s something about their spirit, the nice way they tease,” she added.

“And that sort of understood respect they give the Seniors,” Phyllis replied. “It’s all so nice and—and—oh, I can’t think of the word I want.”

“I can; it’s happy,” Janet told her.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then Janet suddenly sat up in bed.

“But how awful it would have been if Miss Hull had separated us,” she said in the darkness.

“She couldn’t have done that. No one ever can,” Phyllis replied very positively, but very sleepily.

“Never!”

[CHAPTER IV—The Rivalry of the Wings]

“All aboard for the grand tour of inspection,” Gladys announced.

School for the day was over. All through a confusing morning the twins had been shown from one classroom to another where they had met their teachers. There had been no attempt at lessons, but the girls had been encouraged to talk and give their opinions on the different studies. As a result of this, some shifting had been necessary. In English, one of the new girls named Ethel Rivers had been dropped to the class below. Because from her hasty remarks it was easy to see that she knew very little of literature. She protested, but Miss Slocum stood firm. The twins acquitted themselves well. They sat together and none of the teachers could tell them apart, for they did not know about the tiny crescent pin that Phyllis was faithfully wearing. But unlike Miss Baxter at Miss Harding’s school, the faculty at Hilltop rather enjoyed their own confusion.

Now they were free for the day, and Sally with the able assistance of Prue and Gladys was waiting to show the twins over the school and the grounds.

“You’ve seen the classroom,” Sally began, “and you know about the assembly hall.”

“Oh, Sally, if you’re not going to do better than that I’m going to play guide,” Gladys protested. “The idea of calling a ballroom the assembly hall! It loses all its romance.”

“And besides, Miss Hull doesn’t like it,” Prue added.

“Why?” Phyllis inquired.

Sally waved her hand at Gladys as if she were introducing a speaker.

“You tell it, Glad, and then we’ll be sure to be amused.”

“I accept the nomination, and I will do my best for the people under my care,” Gladys said grandly.

“Well, do start with the explanation of the ball room,” Janet begged. “I’m so curious.”

“That means the history of Hilltop, but I’ll do my best,” Gladys replied, and began:

“Fifty years ago, Colonel Hull lived in this house. He had lots of money and he lived like a king. He was famous throughout the countryside for his wonderful hunting, but, if you just go on spending money and never do anything to make it, it doesn’t last forever, so when Colonel Hull died and Miss Hull’s father had the house, he found he didn’t have any money to run it with. So for a long time Miss Hull and her father and mother lived in the old wing and were terribly poor.

“Then her parents died and the house was Miss Hull’s, but still there wasn’t any money. All her friends wanted her to sell it, but she wouldn’t do it. There had been six generations of Hulls on this place, and she wasn’t going to let her ancestors up in heaven see her beaten by a little thing like no money.”

“Oh, Glad!” Sally and Prue protested.

“Well, she wasn’t,” Gladys persisted. “Maybe that’s not a very elegant way of putting it, but it’s exactly as it was. She wouldn’t admit she was beaten, and, of course, she wasn’t.

“She got together with some teachers that she knew and she started Hilltop. She started with ten pupils, and now I wish you’d look at us. We’re the most wonderful school in the country.”

Gladys finished as though she were closing a speech to the Senate.

“But what about the ballroom?” Janet insisted.

“I’m coming to that, if you have a little patience,” Gladys told her.

“Miss Hull remembered her grandfather, and she remembered how he liked to have the rooms called by their special name, so she goes on calling them the same and so you see, instead of having lectures in an assembly hall, like everybody else, we have them in a real ballroom, that’s the most beautiful room in the state.

“That’s why we call it the ballroom still, and why we call the dining room the hall, why Miss Hull’s room is the boudoir instead of an office, and why we have history in the library instead of a classroom. You see, it gives us an advantage over other schools, makes Hilltop original instead of an ordinary boarding school.”

Gladys paused, and looked at her listeners for appreciation.

The twins sighed. “It’s just wonderful!” Janet said.

“Why it makes you think you’re living in the time of white wigs and patches,” Phyllis whispered, looking about her as though she expected to see Colonel Hull walk through one of the heavy oak doors, ready for a day with the hounds.

Janet’s eyes held the look of dreamy speculation that had so often filled them when she was reading old-world stories in her Enchanted Kingdom.

Gladys had dropped her mocking tone as the story unfolded. The realest love in her life was Hilltop, and she loved to talk about it. She saw the look in the twins’ eyes that she had hoped to see, and she smiled contentedly.

“Now, ladies and gentlemen, step this way if you please,” she went on with a return to her laughing manner. “We will now learn something of the present history of the school. We are now in the old building and, I might add, the only building to live in, but observe this green baize door. It leads to what is commonly called the new wing.”

She pushed it open with a contemptuous push, and they found themselves in a spick-and-span corridor of white woodwork and gleaming mahogany doors. In comparison to the old and stately paneled walls of the old building it seemed new indeed.

Several girls that the twins recognized came out of one of the rooms and stopped in mock surprise.

“Why, Gladys! Why, Prue! Why, Sally!” Louise Brown, a tall and lanky girl, and one of their own classmates, exclaimed. “Is it possible that you’ve come for a breath of fresh air to our light and sunny abode, after the mouldy shadows of yours?” she asked, smiling sweetly.

Gladys sighed, but it was Sally who answered.

“No,” she said in a bored tone, “we are simply showing Janet and Phyllis what to avoid in the future.”

The other girls laughed good-naturedly.

“That’s one on you, Sally,” Louise admitted, and one of the other girls exclaimed:

“Long live the rivalry between the old and the new at Hilltop!”

“Well, anyway, now that you’re here, come on into my room, I’ve got a whale of a box of candy,” little Kitty Joyce invited.

When they were all seated in her dainty room, Phyllis said, shyly:

“I wish somebody would explain to me about this rivalry; I don’t understand.”

“I’ll explain!” Louise jumped up and stood in the middle of the floor, her hands behind her back.

“We are two distinct and separate wings,” she began, “and we represent the old and the new. For some reason that nobody will ever understand, a spirit of rivalry started between the two years ago, when we were very new. Now it is an established fact. We fight in games, in art and in lessons for the glory of our wings, and even at the risk of being rude,” she added with a little twinkle in her eye, “I’m going to state last year our house won everything.”

“Everything but archery, history, composition and dramatics,” Prue reminded her gravely.

“Oh, pouf!” Kitty laughed. “Those don’t count. We won the tennis cup, the running cup, the art prize, for sculpture and painting.”

“That was last year,” said Sally severely.

They munched the candy for a while in silence, and then Kitty said slowly:

“Funny thing the way the wings feel about each other. Why, look at you, Sally. You were awfully good friends with Alice Bard, and she was a new wing girl....”

“Well, for that matter, take us here today,” Louise put in. “We’re really the best of friends, and yet—”

“And yet there’s a difference. It’s rather like two brothers who go to different colleges. They love each other, but they love their colleges too.”

“All very well,” said Gladys, “but the truth of the matter is that both wings enjoy the spirit of competition. It gives us something to think about and work for.”

“But you’re so good-natured about it,” Janet said wonderingly.

“Of course we are,” Sally replied. “Whoever heard of two basketball teams really disliking each other, and yet they’ll fight tooth and nail for a cup.”

“A cup that they really don’t want, either, except for what it stands for,” Gladys added with a little laugh.

Kitty threw up her two little hands in mock despair.

“Mercy on us. We are getting in deep. I vote we have some more chocolates.”

The girls returned to the candy box with renewed interest and for the time being the subject of the wings was dropped, but not before the twins had grasped the exact nature of the rivalry.

[CHAPTER V—A Fresh Freshman]

“Something’s got to be done about that little Ethel Rivers.”

Sally sat down in the big tufted chair in the twins’ room, and made the announcement with a positiveness that left no room for doubt.

“What’s she been doing now?” Phyllis laughed.

“Why, Prue and I met her in the hall and she walked past us with her nose in the air. Prue stopped her and asked her where she was going, and what do you think she said?”

“Can’t imagine,” Janet shook her head. “Tell us.”

“She said she was hurrying back to the new wing for a breath of clean air.”

“Impertinent infant,” Ann drawled lazily. She was lying on the foot of Janet’s bed, almost asleep. “It wouldn’t have been nearly so bad if she said fresh, but clean is really outrageous.”

“But of course she didn’t mean it,” Phyllis said.

“That’s the funny part of it,” Prue came in from the balcony and stood in the doorway, blotting out the light. “She really did mean it. She’s taken the rivalry of the wings as a deadly serious thing.”

“Being entirely without a sense of humor, she would,” Sally said crossly. “Remember Mary Marble last year? I was only a new girl, but I saw something was going to happen.”

“It did. Our little Mary returned not this year.”

“What was the matter with Mary?” Phyllis inquired.

“Didn’t fit,” Sally replied shortly, and dismissed the subject.

There was a knock on the door and Gladys, too impatient to wait for Janet’s “Come in,” opened it. By the expression on her face, all the girls knew that something was the matter; even Ann sat up and looked surprised.

“What’s wrong, Gladys?” she demanded.

Gladys stood with her back to the door, her hand still on the knob.

“The trouble,” she said impressively, “is Ethel Rivers.”

Sally groaned. “What next?” she inquired.

“She put a sign up on the green door, requesting the occupants of our wing to be sure and keep it closed, so as not to let in any of the stale air.”

“Oh, that’s too much,” Prue said indignantly.

“Just like her,” Ann replied with a shrug. “What did you do about it, Glad?”

“Didn’t have to do anything. Poppy and Gwen came along just then and read it. Poppy said, ‘I declare, that’s no nice way to act,’ and Gwen settled the whole matter with ‘Very bad manners for one so young.’”

The girls laughed a relieved sort of a laugh. The Seniors had the affair in hand, and Hilltop looked from year to year to that little group of girls to straighten out all their difficulties.

Another knock sounded on the door. Gladys opened it, and one of the younger children handed her a note. She opened it and read:

“Dear Glad:

Find Ann and Prue and Sally, and come down to the Seniors’ Retreat. We think you are better able to deal with the affair of Ethel Rivers than we are.

If we give her impertinence special notice, it will be putting too much importance to the whole silly thing.

Yours,

—— Poppy.”

The girls jumped up quickly as Gladys finished reading the note aloud.

“Better go right away,” Prue said. “They’re waiting.”

The rest followed her out of the room.

“Meet you down on the front steps later,” Sally called back over her shoulder, and the twins were alone.

Two weeks had passed since the opening of school, but although Janet and Phyllis felt perfectly at home in their new surroundings, the life at Hilltop had never for a second become monotonous. Every day they had found some fresh interest, and they were beginning to understand that apart from lessons every girl had a big responsibility towards the school.

“What a perfectly silly way for that girl to act!” Janet exclaimed. “I’d like to box her ears.”

“So would I,” Phyllis agreed. “Come along; let’s go down and wait for Sally.”

They went downstairs arm in arm and across the broad piazza. Phyllis sat down with her back against one of the big pillars, and Janet stood on the top step.

The close-cropped green lawn fell away from the house in a gracious slope to meet a fringe of trees that deepened into a woods at all sides. The tennis courts were visible far away to the right. They were filled with girls, and in the quiet of the late afternoon their voices floated laughing on the breeze. To the left the archery target blazed in its fresh coat of bright colors.

Archery was the chief sport of Hilltop. Each year teams were chosen from both wings, and on Archery Day the big silver loving cup was engraved with the name of the girl who made the highest score; then it was replaced in the center of the mantel-piece in the hall to await the next year.

Archery Day came at the end of the term, and, although the days before and after it were filled with tennis matches, basketball, and running, it stood out in importance above them all.

The tryout for possible candidates was to take place the following week. The girls in the four upper classes shot five arrows, and the committee comprised with the Senior class and the faculty judged. Those selected worked hard and practiced, and just before the Christmas holidays the teams were chosen.

“Did you ever shoot a bow and arrow, Jan?” Phyllis inquired.

“Loads of them,” Janet replied. “Harry Waters used to make them for me. Little short ones made from the branches of trees, and arrows with a pin in the end of them. Harry was very good at it, but I was terribly clumsy.”

“I don’t believe it,” Phyllis protested; “you have a straight eye anyway. Look at the way you shot Sulky Prescott’s gun last summer.”

Janet gave a little shiver and looked long and earnestly at the target.

“Don’t talk about it,” she said. “I’ll tell you a secret Phyl. I’ll die of mortification if I don’t make some sort of a score next week.”

“That’s no secret,” Phyllis laughed affectionately. “If you could have seen your eyes when Gwen was talking about the contest; they were as big as saucers.”

Janet flushed a little. “It’s a good thing the rest of the girls don’t know me as well as you do,” she said.

“That’s because I’m your twin. Oh, Jan, if you knew how I love to say that,” Phyllis said seriously.

“I know,” Janet nodded. “I’m still afraid sometimes that I’ll wake up and find it’s all been a dream.”

“Hush,” Phyllis cautioned suddenly. “Here comes Ethel.”

[CHAPTER VI—A Squelching]

Upstairs in the Seniors’ Retreat the girls were talking seriously.

“Of course, she deserves to be called down in front of the whole school,” Helen Jenkins, a very severe type of girl with big horn-rimmed spectacles, was saying. She was the editor of the school paper, and the most studious girl in the school.

“But, as Poppy says, it’s never wise to attach too much importance to the mistakes of a new girl,” Marion West, vice-president of the class, replied.

Poppy looked at the three Sophomores before her.

“Have you all any suggestions?” she inquired.

Gladys and Sally looked at Ann.

“Perhaps a gentle little boycott might help,” she suggested quietly.

“It’s just as hard on our wing, if not worse, than it is on yours,” Stella Richardson, one of the Seniors who lived in the new wing, spoke up. “There isn’t one of us who wouldn’t gladly drown the little wretch, and the trouble is, she’s gotten some of the new girls and talked to them until they feel it’s a positive virtue to be rude every time they see one of you.”

“Oh, it’s all too nonsensical,” Gwen exploded. “Good old wings, who dares to take our happy fight and make an ugly thing out of it?”

“My thumbs are down for anyone who dares,” Ruth Hall announced. She roomed in the new wing with Stella Richardson.

Gwendolyn Matthews might have been said to have snorted with rage. She was a splendid healthy specimen of girlhood; a mind capable of small and mean thoughts was beneath her contempt. She walked out on the balcony, her back to the rest of the room.

A minute later she beckoned cautiously to the girls to follow her. They crowded out on the balcony on tip-toe and peered down as Gwen directed.