Jolly round fleecy clouds tumbled over their playmates in the great, broad playfield of endless blue; baby cloudlets climbed to tops, only to slide down the other side, while haughty, majestic, dignified leaders paraded straight to the prairie line, taking on tones more sombre with each lap of earth left below. A shower should be marshalled, it had been promised the wheat fields, but those young sky rowdies never wanted to work, always romping and skylarking, allowing the silliest little breezes to blow them off their course.

The girl on the grass gazed up; in her gray eyes the steely glints quivered into sharp, silver blade-like flashes, reflected from the arrow of some little god just peeking from behind the cloud mountain. He warned her of the shower, he knew the parade would soon be formed into battle line, yet the girl saw only the sunshine still braving the cloud's attack.

"Just like one's fortune," she mused, "clouds and sunshine, pleasant here and a storm somewhere else. I wonder why we take things so seriously? I believe the greatest philosophy of life is moderation: and I am going to be very moderate with my little worries. The sunshine is only behind the cloud, and the reaction is always crowding the perplexities. I am not going to worry about going away this year."

The girl was retrospective. Vacation was almost over, and Jane Allen would soon leave the hills of El Capitan, her ranch home, to take up her Junior year at Wellington college. Fortified with the resolution against loneliness Jane would try to cover the thought of leaving her dear dad, and her Aunt Mary, with the anticipation of so much joy at the homecoming when the school term would end. A drop of rain fell into her eye with the precision of an eye dropper. She blinked, then jumped to her feet.

"Jan, Janie also Jeanie," she roused herself. "Do you want some woozy gnome to turn you into an old maid? Why the ruminating? In the words of Judy Stearns, why the Willies? Don't you want to go back to Wellington?" she asked herself.

A light sprinkle answered her. That shower would come in spite of the sun still showing blades of defiance. A rumble of thunder chased the flash from her eyes and the playful sky god ducked behind the black mountain. Jane stretched her arms unconsciously into gym rhythm, did a one, two, three and a couple of doubles, then straightened her lithe form, squared her shoulders, and made a quarter of a mile dash to the house. She tumbled into the cushions at Aunt Mary's feet just as the drops assumed the magnitude of splatter and splash.

"Auntie Mary," she panted, "did you notice it is raining?"

"Notice it? I behold it, Janie dear. I am glad you got back in time. These late summer showers often turn into good sizable storms. Where have you been?"

"Under my particular tree. I was telling my fortune in the sky when I espied a whole flock of clouds, that wanted to play with an earth maiden. They flirted outrageously, but I knew you would never consent to my taking up with sky-gods without being properly introduced. So I shook my head, and wig-wagged that they should send their cards to the astronomy class. Auntie, hast any mail?"

"Yes, dear. And one from Wellington."

"Oh, goody-good! It will tell us who won the scholarship. But look at that rain. I wonder if Firefly got to his shed? I must see."

"Janie, don't run in that downpour, Janie!" But the girl was off down the bridle path, waving her arms backward to signify how splendid the sheets of rain felt, tossing up her bronze head, determined to accept the full charge of the unequaled beauty bath in her joyous face. Oh! it was wonderful to be alive and at El Capitan!

"The dear," murmured her aunt, "and some folks think her willful. I have always noticed that her self will ran in the right direction. She didn't care to leave home for school, of course, but now she loves college life. Well, I do wonder if there is anything more beautiful in life than a glorious young girl."

Was Aunt Mary a little regretful? She had been a young girl once. She had been glorious too. Jane had inherited her own swirl of bronze hair from this self-same Aunt Mary, while the mother, a woman of rare beauty had given the daughter those metallic gray eyes. Their glints could be as soft as silver, or as flashy as steel, so, beautiful eyes, that were velvet in meekness were really metallic in their moody changes. Presently a gale of laughter announced Jane's return.

"Auntie," called the girl who was thus being eulogized, "I am bringing you a guest. Here is Uncle Todd, got caught in the storm, purposes to give you a jolly chat. Come on, Uncle. Aunt Mary wants to hear all about the auction over Lincoln way. They even sold the big tree, Aunt Mary."

On the arm of the young girl there came trudging along the tanbark path Uncle Todd; old, gray, tottering, his cane so much a part of himself as to seem a third member, his uncertain smile ever making its way to Jane's happy face, while she urged and assisted him to the porch. Plainly he loved Jane, and he enjoyed the prospect of a chat with Aunt Mary, for Uncle Todd was a ranch character, serving, by contrast, to picture more clearly the types so varied and so completely different from that which he presented. Uncle Todd was a conservative in a group of rebels. He kept with him the mannerisms of old New York State and was a Yankee of the strongest and deepest dye. Even the twang of voice, and tworl of words, had not been rounded out into the drawl of the hills around El Capitan.

"Good afternoon, or is it still mornin'?" wheezed the old man. "Glad I met Janie or that there shower might have blown me clean into the hereafter. Sich a blow," and he adjusted the confidential cane. "Jest like the one that came one afternoon last summer, when that there city fellar tried to sell me the trick umbrel." He clambered the low steps unsteadily. "And I mind, Janie girl, you happened along that day too. Seems like as if you know just when to happen," chuckling, he put his arm more firmly into that of the girl who urged him along.

"Now, Uncle Todd, you know very well you were perfectly all right when I found you just now. I do believe you were going to sit plumb down and defy the storm. Just to see what it would do at its worst. But you are a little wet," feeling the green coat that covered the bent shoulders. "I wonder, Aunt Mary, if we can't fit Uncle Todd out in some of daddy's regimentals."

"No need, no need," he objected. "This here co't don't leak a mite. Finest yarn--no more of this kind. I fetched it clear from Syracuse," he announced almost reverently.

"But you had better come inside," warned Aunt Mary, "the rain gets in here when the wind turns."

"Just as you say, Miss Allen. Fact is, I never say no to a sit in the parlor. I say to the boys, boys I say; if you want a real good comfortable chin, in a chair that's big enough for you, make it over at Henry Allen's place."

Graciously acknowledging the compliment, Aunt Mary and Jane led the old man into the living room he was wont to call the parlor.

"You are always welcome, Uncle Todd," said the lady.

"How about the boys, Auntie?" teased Jane. "Especially the one who plays the uke. I think he is wonderful. You should see him performing in the corral the other night. My, but he did swing that lasso!"

"You mean the fellar with the long, lanky build? He looks like he's been stretched out when he was wet!" put in Uncle Todd. "Yes, I heard him with that there fiddle box. 'Tain't more'n a mite of a box, with a couple of strings, but it kin keep a fellar awake, I tell you. There's a tree near my hut with a regular rickin' chair, made right in it, and them there boys like that place for their evenin's. Well, Uncle Todd goes to bed earlier than the young fellars and--well, the chap with the fiddle sure does love to tune up," and the usual chuckle ended his quaint statement.

"But I really want to know about the auction, Uncle Todd," interrupted Miss Allen. "I am so sorry Welche's folks had to give the old place up at last. Did they sell everything?"

"Couple times over. Never see such shouting and jumpin'. Why the Deeny girls, them old maids as never twisted their stiff necks to bow to man or beast in these parts, them was the wurst. They just seemed to want to buy every thin' and carry it away in their old barouche." The old man pounded his cane on the buffalo rug in sheer contempt. "Like as if they was goin' to set up a first class boardin' house hotel."

"Oh, you know, Uncle," enlightened Aunt Mary. "They are related to the Welches."

"Eggzactly. I recall. More reason why they should act decent like. There was Mother Welch, out back in the barn, her apron most pokin' her eyes out at every yell from old Sheriff Nailor."

"Now, I am just going to leave you two and the auction," spoke up Jane, "while I devour the delectable news in my letter. Did you ever have a letter too good to read, Uncle Todd?"

"Yes, girl, I know that feelin'. Like you hate to have it over because you want to have it on. Well, go to it, Janie, and don't swallow too much of that yellar paper. Looks poison like to me."

Jane crushed the yellow envelope to her breast, in sheer delight. Then she snapped up a knitting needle to open the cherished missive.

"You know, Auntie," she whispered, "this will tell us who won dadykin's scholarship." Then raising her voice to Uncle Todd's inquiring eyes, "Daddy gave a scholarship to my college, Unk," she told him. "Do you suppose some very nice, prim, prudy, who took the home correspondence course between making sister Julia pinafores and Jacob's jumpers, has won it? Of course, I respect home cooking girls, and particularly admire the devotees of domestic science, but Grade B from the Branchville would be all out of luck in the Wellington routine. Bye-bye now, and be good. Uncle Todd, don't make Aunt Mary envious with your report of auction bargains. She is always and ever objecting to catalogue prices."

With a gay wave of the letter, in which delight was momentarily suppressed, Jane flitted from the room to the porch, where now the last drops of the afternoon shower were reluctantly counting their totals. She dropped into the big wicker chair near the wisteria arch, and curled up like a kitten, in the way girls have of "fairly eating" a letter.

While she is thus perusing this perfectly private communication let us present Jane Allen formally to our readers.

In the first volume, "Jane Allen of the Sub-Team," we met her as a girl Solitaire. She had been reared on a ranch, without girl companions, and had never realized that tolerance which is necessary in the big world of boys and girls. But once at the Eastern college we like her best in her brave battles against the limits of conventions she finds there, and we cannot but admire the spirit with which she holds out, just long enough, and gives in just in time, to save situations. Perhaps the true deep affection, so soon shown for Jane by her classmates of the freshmen, is the best testimonial to her glory as Jane Allen Sub. Jane had for a time ignored the tame basketball sport, delighting in her stolen rides on Firefly (for her indulgent father had sent the saddle horse to school too with Jane as he expressed it), but finally acknowledging there was something worth while in the game Jane fought for a place on the team, and she won it triumphantly. The opposition tried many turns both fair and foul to defeat her, but Jane won out; with an interesting flourish.

Not less attractive was she as Jane Allen, Right Guard, in the second volume of the series. Girls can be very small sometimes, even behind the sheltering walls of important colleges, and in this story we were introduced to a set of "peculiars" commonly called "snobs," who spent a lot of perfectly good time trying to spoil Jane's ever-growing popularity at Wellington. Just how flatly they failed makes a rather thrilling tale. Haven't you read it? You will love the way Jane rescues Norma, the girl working her way through college, putting down scheme after scheme, concocted just to embarrass the poorer girl. Jane found a legitimate outlet for her talent as a joy maker, and a gloom crusher. Even taking it moderately, one is enthralled with her genius in making and keeping the best of friends, and Judith Stearns her "best," runs a close second with Jane in the popularity contest of the second volume.

[CHAPTER II--TELLTALE TIDINGS]

The letter which Jane had so counted on, had just now shed its delightful news, and at last she knew who had won the scholarship. Winding herself tighter still in the big wicker chair, so that she seemed a veritable circle of pink organdie, she snuggled the yellow pages closer in her prettily browned hands, read a few lines over for the n'th time and finally, with a spring and a sprint, made her way back to the living room.

Uncle Todd was evidently well pleased with his story of the Welch auction, for the palpitating cane was throbbing up and down in his sinewy hand, and Aunt Mary had completely laid aside her knitting, and sat with hands folded at attention.

"I would call it a shame," she commented as Jane entered.

"And you'd give it the right name," replied Uncle Todd.

At the threshold Jane hesitated. Even to her youthful eyes there was something restful in the picture.

"Good old pals," she said under her breath. "Aunt Mary knows how to entertain reclining years." Then picking up Bonnie, her ebony kitten, she coughed respectfully.

"Good news?" asked Aunt Mary.

"The best ever. Where is dad? I hate to give it to him second handed."

"Your father will not be back till dinner time, dear. He is over Lincoln way."

"Then we will have to enjoy it in trio. You know what it is about, Uncle Todd?"

"But, Janie girl, I've got to be a-goin'. Some chores and some cookin' to do, and if I don't get at it in good time I'm apt to slip it by. Good afternoon, ladies," he finished quite grandly. "Can't tell when I had sech a fine time."

"But you can't go now, Uncle Todd," objected Jane. "I am going to drive you over."

"No sich thing. If I don't keep a-walkin' my jints will gum up: I am goin' to walk."

"Oh, if you must," said Jane with the foolish social intonation. "So awfully sorry."

"Don't you jibe me, girlie," and he pinched her elbow. "You know as well as I do what it is worth to walk a mile a day."

"All right, Uncle Todd, but some day I am going to tell you all my good news. There comes Pedro. If you get tired just hail him, and he'll give you a lift."

Then, left alone with her aunt, Jane proceeded with the news from Wellington.

"Just see and listen," she commanded. "What a prospect of oodles of fun and frolic. Dad's scholarship has been won by a Polish artist. Think of it! A girl who plays the violin divinely, and who is--well, let's read it again."

She ran her finger over the introduction of the letter and traced out the lines which told of the Polish girl and the scholarship.

"Mrs. Weatherbee says," she announced, "that the girl is wonderfully interesting, and she is sure we shall be delighted. We are. Then she says the little artist comes from a girls' seminary, where she had been left uncalled for and that there is some mysterious story connected with her presence in America, but of course, (now listen in Auntie) of course, Mrs. Weatherbee knows I will not be carried off by any such sensational reports, but I will take the little Polish girl on her merits. Of course I shall, I shall even take her on trial, but you can picture the other girls, and the Polish artist? Auntie, that Marion Seaton will get in touch with the Bolshevik or something, to dig up trouble for my little friend, see if she doesn't. She will go into the archives of the fall of Poland, and the battle of Warsaw, to find out that my little artist's grandfather once dropped his musket in front of the king's palace. Oh my, Auntie mine," and she loosed some of her pent-up energy in a great "grizzly hug." "Why can't you and dad come along to school with me to see the fun?" For a moment her gray eyes took on the lingering look her friends called "the dove stare," then recovering her mirthful mood she pranced around, played first with Bonnie, then with Fliver the new puppy, all the while gathering and spending the joy of young girlhood.

"Don't bother too much about my clothes, Auntie dear," she warned with a new thought. "I think I shall ask dad if I may go to the city early, and help fit up my little artist. Then I may find a lot of things I shall like, all ready to wear."

"I had been thinking of proposing that, Janie dear," confessed the aunt, to whom the clothes problem had been an increasing worry with the addition of Jane's years. "I have read all the catalogues and sent for more, but I don't find exactly what I think you would fancy."

"No, and you won't, for I fancy a blouse and a skirt, just a little one, and perhaps a veil for evening wear." She held Fliver out at arm's length to enjoy the joke. "Of course, I would wear a so-called gown with the veil, but I love the veil, it is so shimmery." A scarf snatched from the end of the mahogany table served to illustrate the "shimmer" as Jane floated it triumphantly over her and Fliver's heads. The inevitable interpretative dance followed, and Fliver looked very frightened, evidently envying Bonnie her safety aisle on the rug.

"I am going to get your trunk out to-morrow," announced Aunt Mary, as an interlude. "I want to put some cedar chips in it, and Squaw Watah brought over a wonderful bunch of fragrant herbs, spice bush, savory and rosemary. I wonder where she raised them? She must have obtained some government seeds."

"Watah is a real farmerette," agreed Jane, coming to a standstill against the oaken post. "I would recommend her for a position in the Department of Agriculture. Ta, ta, Auntie, I'm off to get dad. I think he will be over the Copper Turn Hill about now, and I'll ride Firefly to be back with him. I am just dying to tell him the news."

"Janie, do be careful going down that steep hill. The boys who came collecting tin cans the other day told me the rocks fall in a torrent there now."

"Oh, I know. I'll be 'keer-ful.'" The voice came from the second stair landing. Jane Allen was on her way.

She reached her own horse and it took but a few gallops to bring her up to Mr. Allen.

"Do you suppose she will have light wavy hair, and very big blue eyes, Daddy? The aristocratic Poles are always light," was among the first questions.

"But I wouldn't classify them by eyes and hair exactly," replied the man on Victor, the big gray horse. "I've known a really fine Pole who was quite red headed."

"Now Daddy, don't tease. You know a girl must be--well, a little bit pretty at least, to be popular, and I am bound to have my artist wonderfully popular--after we win the battle, of course."

"I can well imagine the battle," and Henry Allen laughed so heartily Victor darted forward with a prance. "If your erstwhile friends, who made up the opposition last year, line up against your protege as vigorously as they attacked your other little friend, I am afraid you will take more time to train your guns on endurance, than on your favorite basketball, daughter."

"Indeed, Judy Stearns and I, and maybe Dorothy Martin, are very well able to hold our own against the Marian Seaton crowd," answered Jane, bringing Firefly's head up higher in punctuation. "I rather think they will not be quite so vigorous with their campaign of hate this year. I should think even envious girls would learn their lesson some time."

"I have often thought the same of the boys I have to deal with out here, but it is curious how envy sticks."

Pencils of sunset were now etching their path through the trees, and the well tramped road bore slight evidence of the afternoon's shower. "Daughter, I hate to have you go," continued Mr. Allen, "but your spirit makes me proud. Uncle Todd was telling the men out Lincoln way the other day, that Henry Allen's girl was almost as good as a boy."

"Oh, he is a character!" Jane exclaimed. "I had him over during the shower, and he and Aunt Mary had a great time gossiping. Dad, may I go to New York a little early? That is, quite early," she qualified cautiously.

"Of course, daughter. But why the haste?"

"Well, you see, about this new girl--she will have to be fitted out. Mrs. Weatherbee hinted she would get some friends interested in her who might help, but it seems to me I could make my allowance do for both of us."

"You just get what you want, little girl. Don't worry about the bill. Old dad has still some credit, you know."

Even Firefly tried to edge closer to respond gratefully. Jane tipped her little whip under her father's chin, thereby endangering the tilt of his cap. "You are always so generous, Dad. Couldn't I gather tin cans to sieve the copper through, or do something to make up?" she asked playfully. "Really, if I am almost as good as a boy, don't you think I might sometime act the part?"

"You are a heap better, little girl, and I have no wish to see you act otherwise than just as my Janie," replied the smiling father. "But those boys you have just noticed gathering the tins are wasting their time. No more copper comes this way in the mine water. All their rusty tins will be wasted, for Montana copper is being too well worked these days," declared Mr. Allen, referring to the tin-can trick of collecting copper through the cyanide method.

"Oh, how disappointed they will be! Should we tell them?" suggested Jane, observing at that moment the group of boys trudging along with their cart of old tins.

"Well, they may get some farther on, but not around here," amended Mr. Allen. "By the way, Janie, when do you want to start with this new plan of shopping and college trip?"

Jane looked under her long lashes to discover, if possible, how her father felt about her leaving earlier than they had planned. But he was flicking Victor with the willow whip, and she obtained no clue to his feelings from his expression.

Jane hated to be so abrupt--of course he would be lonely.

"Oh, I thought I might leave about ten days earlier," she ventured. "That will give me time to locate the Polish girl, get acquainted, and help with her outfit. Besides, Aunt Mary suggested that I buy some of my things ready-to-wear, as it is so difficult here to shop by mail from St. Paul."

"That would be about when?" persisted the father.

"About next Wednesday."

"Very well, girlie. Just so long as I know how many signed checks to get ready, and how many men to assign to the baggage."

Jane looked relieved. Her father plainly had come to the same conclusion she had managed to confine her reasoning to, namely: since she couldn't bring the Eastern college to El Capitan, she would have to go to the college, and that protesting against the details of separation from her beloved ranch home, simply threw a shadow over the prospect of a joyful year at school.

"We are getting educated, Janie," Mr. Allen said, as they pulled up to the waiting groom. "Old dad takes the school term as a matter of course now. Not that I don't miss my little girl as much as ever, but because I have taken the home course in economics--the grade that gives us all the discipline and the self control," he laughed at this attempt to qualify his change of mental attitude. He was a wonderful father, a perfectly adorable pal, and withal a business man whose name spelled power and prosperity.

"Dad, all the same I'm a weakling," admitted Jane. "Because I just hate to leave you--and----"

"There's a special messenger boy all the way from Copper Hill Turn," interrupted the father. "Now what do you suppose he is bringing us in the way of good news?"

The Mexican boy slipped off his burro and with an indescribable salute (something between a military motion and an acrobatic finish to some remarkable star act) he handed the message to Mr. Allen.

"Yours, daughter. Whoever is writing you from over the hills and what can be so very important as to fetch Santos?" asked Mr. Allen.

"All our wonders seem to come by post," commented Jane. She was scanning the few words on the telegram sent in from the nearest railway station. Suddenly she gave a jump, and seemed too overcome with emotion to express herself in words.

"Daddy!" she exclaimed, finally. "Judy is on her way back from the coast and is looking for us. She is at the Hill Turn. Oh, can you imagine Judy Stearns getting way out here, and being with me on the trip to college!"

"Rare luck indeed, daughter. At the station did you say? Well, let us get to her at once. Can't take a chance on her getting into that famous stage coach of Curly Bill's. You run in and tell Aunt Mary the glad news, and I'll get the tandem hitched. Don't you think it will be nice to show her our best style?"

"Oh, lovely, Daddy. But I am so excited. I never could have dreamed of such luck. To have dear old Judy visit me here until I go back, and then to have her travel with me! Yes, get the tandem. Pedro!" she called to the man just losing himself in the trees towards the big stable. "Come over here! Daddy, don't you slick up a single bit. I want Judy to see you as a ranch chief. And I think I'll get into my Bronco Billie outfit just to show off. No, that wouldn't go with tandem, would it? Yes, it would too," she changed her mind and decided again, too excited to act rationally.

"Now, I'll dress and be ready in five minutes," announced the girl. "Oh, I forgot I haven't told you the message," she had it crumbled in her brown hand. "'Am at the Hill Turn Station. Tell me how to reach you.' There, we will show her how we reach her," and she skipped off leaving her father to arrange about the tandem and the high red-wheel cart.

[CHAPTER III--OVER THE HILLS AND FAR AWAY]

With that efficiency so marked in large establishments (for El Capitan was large and really an establishment) the new arrangements of driving over the hills for Judith Stearns, Jane's college room-mate, and the preparations Aunt Mary was wont to add to the already splendidly planned guest entertainment, were all perfected and carried out without so much as exciting Pedro to complain of his delayed supper, and its consequent effect on "the game" that was to follow.

"I am so glad," Aunt Mary murmured. "Now I shall have a chance to see Jane's most intimate companion, and it will afford me such an opportunity of studying the dear girls, and thus being better able to understand them. I have always wished that Jane might have had some playmate of her own kind, and she is so very fond of Judith, I shall be delighted to know her also."

It seemed to the busy little woman that Jane and her father were scarcely gone when a shrill blast of the trumpet announced their return.

With a flourish the coaching party drew up to the porch. The delight of the girls was so evident Mr. Allen and his sister hurried through the formalities of welcome to leave the chums alone together.

"Now, we will just leave you all to yourselves," he concluded, when Aunt Mary had directed the man to carry in the bags, and ordered the maid to announce dinner in twenty minutes, that length of time being demanded by Jane as necessary for Judith's freshening up. Arms twined around shoulders, eyes reflecting each other's very thoughts, chatting and laughing over happenings absolutely foreign to those outside the charmed circle of college interests, the chums entered upon their period of pre-school and post-vacation days.

"And to think I might have missed all this if I had not thought of you and the copper mines," Judith was saying as Jane fastened the snaps on her light silk "freshen up" gown. "You know, Janie, I am just as forgetful as ever, only I have a new system: I don't forget the things I love best."

"I will agree you may indulge that habit to the limit, Judy, if you stick to your professed plan. Then I know I shall never get in the jumble of mixups with things you don't love," Jane affectionately assured her.

"I don't wonder you hated to leave home for school, Jane," said the visitor, surveying the rustic beauty of the rambling house, built unlike a California bungalow, and unlike an Eastern mansion, but exactly like what should be the home of Jane Allen. "This is absolutely charming."

"What?" asked Jane teasing. "Our Jap boy cook, or our Mexican boy valet? We have a queer household. Quite cosmopolitan, to put it mildly. Sometimes, when they get excited, I fancy the Tower of Babel has fallen anew. Come on, that means dinner," as the big Indian gong pealed softly its muffled announcement.

The tall girl with the blue eyes and glossy brown hair, Judith Stearns, possessed a certain dignity Jane had not yet acquired. Perhaps that was the result of her Eastern home life and its culturing influence. As Henry Allen critically, if surreptitiously, noted Jane was different, but he liked Jane first rate. She might be a little bit of a tom-boy around the ranch, but she was a great pal to build up a home with. The two girls took their places side by side at the long polished table, Aunt Mary gracing the head and Mr. Allen sitting at the opposite end, from where he not only dispensed the plentiful fare, but irradiated the charm of the gracious and well seasoned host that he was.

"Janie, your favorite troubador has a little gift for you," he interposed. "I could not guess what all his apologies and con grazias presaged the other day, but finally he admitted he had made for the senorita a small music box. It is from the best grade cigar case, and has the finest antelope string. He drew his fingers across it to assure me, and it really made very sweet music."

"Oh, a home made ukelele! How splendid!" exclaimed Jane. "I shall take it to Wellington, and maybe my little Polish artist can sing to its accompaniment! I am just wild about those little ukes. Daddy, when will Fedario deliver it?"

"It was not quite finished," replied Mr. Allen. "I fancy he is going to decorate it with perforations to sieve the tones very, very fine. He went into the ranch store with me yesterday, and bought a little scroll saw. Fedario is very musical. The boys complain he sings to the horses, and that the animals expect it from the less accomplished, who are more apt to growl than warble. At any rate, I notice he gets along with the wildest broncos. But his talent for music is marked. He goes off in the trees, and is better satisfied with his guitar than another might be with a whole flock of companions and their unfailing energy at cards."

"Oh, yes," Jane remembered, "he must be the boy Uncle Todd said kept him awake nights, singing in the chair tree at his hut. But Judy, can you imagine my uke sounding weird strains, under windows and behind closet doors? We will surely be able now to capture Calliope for stunt nights, with my Mexican ukelele."

"Yes. And I just know you will play wonderful ditties on it. I heard them in Frisco--the girls from Hawaii gave a concert at a carnival, and they brought out some splendid music from the little fiddles. Personally, I feel I should have to use a can opener, but you know how popular the uke is now, Janie. I can just see you carrying it around like Fido, and sleeping with it at the foot of your bed, on your baby-blue silk quilt."

This vision brought a ripple of mirth from the diners. That the uke should become as popular as the lap dog was admitted by all who had observed the average young girl's growing love for the miniature music box.

"I have to tell you so much more of my new plans, Judy," digressed Jane, as Aunt Mary signalled to the Jap dinner was finished. "I have only just begun on my new prospectus. I haven't even named my little artist."

"I am sure we will have the best year ever," replied the guest. "We have had Adrienne, the French girl, and a couple of other high-class Europeans last year, but we have never before entertained a Polish girl. I know perfectly well how the Marian Seaton crowd will regard her. With horns, you can be sure."

"Oh, I have counted on that," Jane admitted. "All the more room for fun. If our new friend is not too sensitive," and the gray eyes expressed just the least glint of suppressed anxiety.

"Indeed, we are equal to the opposition now, no matter what attack they take. It is a wonder to me they don't promptly capitulate."

"Too much steam in the wrong valve," informed Jane. "It has to be drawn off in the trouble pipe."

"Or might result in an explosion," helped out Mr. Allen. "Janie, I suppose you often get your mining efficiency mixed with your psychology." He turned to Judith hospitably. "Miss Stearns, I cannot tell you how pleased we are that you have been able to make this visit. Janie and I were just about at the end of our rope on the trail of a good time, when we got your wire. Now we have an incentive, for we both love to show off, don't we, Janie?"

"I'll match you, Dad," she challenged. "I believe I can show off more high spots around El Capitan than you can. I even know how to catch copper in tin cans."

At this all laughed. Janie had made a reputation early in her ranch life following the boys who staked claims and attempted to work the mines with purloined tin cans.

"I thought perhaps we would arrange a little party to go into Union Centre for to-morrow if you care to, girls," Aunt Mary injected. "The Indians are in, and we may find some trinkets suitable for souvenirs."

"Splendiforous, Auntie. I want a couple of baskets so much, and some bead bags to take back. I think I'll give the faculty all pretty bead bags, as vacation gifts."

"Peace offerings," suggested Judith. "I think that a fine idea. Wonder if I couldn't find a bag with an apology beaded on it? I owe one to my Latin teacher."

"Well, the evening is slipping, or climbing, whichever you choose, young ladies, and I am going to run around the corral to do a little inspecting to-night. Would you care to go?" asked Mr. Allen.

"Oh, I should love to!" exclaimed Judith with enthusiasm. "I have always longed to see a ranch outside the movies. Jane, I had no idea you owned all Montana."

"We really do not quite own the entire state," replied Jane, echoing the facetious tone of her chum. "But dad has quite a corner of it. Yes, we will go with you, Dadykins, and maybe Judy will have an opportunity of judging Fedario's talent. He is sure to be in the chair-tree with his guitar. Dad, why don't you organize a glee club?"

"No need to organize, daughter, the boys have one in splendid working order. Perhaps we will be able to have a concert from them before you leave."

"Oh, how jolly! Jane, how do you think we will ever be able to tear ourselves away from all this? Couldn't we start a home-study course, or something outside?" pouted Judith.

Donning their brilliant sweaters, the girls were soon ready, and taking their places in the buck-board set out to assist in the inspection. Within the corrals the shouting of the cowboys, and the antics of broncos and ponies, presented a scene quite like the Wild West of the screen world. Jane and Judith were in their glory. Jane with the joy of exhibiting the "High Spots of Ranch Life," she had promised, and Judith with the exhilarating delight of observing such wonders for the first time.

"And to think I might have missed it all," she reflected in Jane's ear, when a dash of the ponies brought them up to the end of the fenced-in patches of dust, noise and horses. "I had not planned to stop off until--Can you guess what made me think you lived somewhere near the Montana trail?"

"Oh, of course. Butte, pronounced 'beaut'?" ventured Jane, and even Henry Allen considered the guess worthy of a prize. And he said so.

This particular evening, the prelude of a series that followed, there was carried out a program of such enjoyment, that one would easily agree with Judith, it would be hard indeed for the girls to tear themselves away from the ranch life to take up the circumspect duties of college. The excitement of actually bargaining with the Indians and obtaining the souvenir beaded bags (although none with an abject apology worked in its intricacies was to be found for Judith), then the dear moccasins, about which Mr. Allen coaxed the squaws to tell such quaint fables, not to speak of the mysteriously woven baskets, made big enough and small enough for any imaginable dressing or sewing use, when all garnered and gathered made up a precious burden for the depot cart in which the El Capitan party rode home that wonderful summer afternoon.

"Couldn't we stop at Squaw Squatty's, Daddy? I would love to have the old Indian tell Judy's fortune," Jane suggested.

"Oh, yes, do," pleaded Judy. "I want so much to know about a big secret I have planned for the first half," she volunteered. "Jane, I'll tell you about it, maybe. But I should like to know how it will all pan out, and I'm sure a squaw would be able to foretell," she ventured, with a sly grimace at Aunt Mary.

[CHAPTER IV--WOO NAH AND THE FORTUNES]

"Can we make it, Daddy?" asked Jane. "Doesn't that look like a little cyclone cloud?" indicating the cloud with a "tail" that seemed to be gathering color and speed as the buckboard traveled on.

"Old Squatty's cabin would be as good a place as any in a blow," her father replied. "If we get one, we could put the horses in shelter around there, and maybe the lightning might give the old lady a real glimpse into the beyond. Shall we try it, sister?" to Miss Allen who was, as a rule, rather timid of the storms that sprung up so suddenly on the plains.

"I am perfectly willing," acquiesced the lady. "As you say, brother, the cabin would be a comparatively safe place to seek shelter in."

With that velocity peculiar to storms of the prairie the anticipated baby cyclone gathered force, and with one great gust and almost without warning broke over their heads.

Jane opened the curtains of the cart to allow the gale a way out, without incurring the possibility of upsetting them. Judith was simply fascinated with the sweep everything was taking, but Aunt Mary gathered herself as far as possible into her bonnet and wrap, scarcely venturing to speak while Mr. Allen held his horses in with a firm rein.

"Just a few paces," he shouted reassuringly. "Hold tight!"

"All right," called back Jane, and so deafening was the swirl that only a clear, loud voice such as she exercised could have made its way to the driver just in front.

Two big shaggy dogs intercepted the dash of the buckboard into the squaw's lane. The old woman was still outside, hunched up in the queerest sort of a hammock, made of a halfed barrel, strung up to two young oak trees. With something like a howl she called the dogs off, and waved a stick to the travelers to come in, seemingly sensing the possibility of profit in their visit. Mr. Allen discovered where to find shelter for his team, and as the storm was tearing and scattering limbs of trees, and everything it could wrench from stability, he did not stop until he had entered the queer stable with the cart and its occupants.

"Now we are in for it," he admitted, assisting Aunt Mary to alight. "I'm glad we are here and not on Steeple Hill."

"Thrills!" exclaimed Judith. "More thrills. I have seen nothing but wonders since I came to Montana. I really think, Janie, I have had more real experiences while here than in all my coast touring."

"Lovely of you to say so, Judy. But just wait till you see old Mrs. Teekawata. She is the wife of the one great medicine man, or rather his widow. Don't mention fortune telling, that would offend her. She is a 'scientist.' She will mix up stuffs, and get clues from the smoke! That is if she is in a communicative mood."

"Or in need of white bread," amended Mr. Allen, who had overheard the girls. "Teekawata is a business woman with talents wasted. She should have been a copper queen."

The storm was scattering almost as quickly as it had gathered. The old squaw had tumbled out of her half barrel, and leaning on her stick, awaited the party's approach from the shack. Aunt Mary edged close to her brother. She had no love for these old Indians, and rather feared for her belongings when in their company.

"Greeting!" called Mr. Allen to the old woman. "Thunder Cloud sent you his good word. Did you see how he followed us in here?"

"Si si," answered the woman, who was of the Mexican type. "Approach!" and she indicated an old bench under the mendicant vines that straggled around the hut. So heavy had they grown the rain of the shower had not penetrated their depths, and like a canopy, they arched over the poles, propped at ends for their support. She stared at the girls without any pretext of apology. Judith with her dark hair seemed particularly attractive to the squaw's flagrant scrutiny. Aunt Mary remained outside.

"The young ladies wonder," ventured Mr. Allen, "if you have heard from Teekawata lately, Woo Nah. Perhaps he has sent a message for their good health?"

"Health!" she repeated in good English. "The medicine man forgets not the health of good white brothers. The sunset gives light to their cheeks, and the stars sleep in their eyes," she rhapsodied.

Jane nudged Judith to make note of the compliment.

"When Woo Nah was at the government school," continued the Indian, "she has seen many young girl. They come to give English. Some with hair and eyes like the morning, others with the midnight hair and coals from the fire eyes. But they all like Woo Nah," she insisted.

"Of course," chimed in Jane. "We like her also. Will you tell us what you know from your great husband, the Medicine Man of Broken Hill?"

"Teekawata, would not that I should foretell. But I give a dream--a dream of happiness," and she arose from the patched chair to lead the party within the cabin.

"I shall wait here," concluded Aunt Mary, who had no curiosity about the fortune telling or the interior of the ramshackle hut. In fact she was holding unnecessarily tight to her small hand-bag.

"Woozy," whispered Judith, whose eyes were sparkling like the coals or the quartz gems Woo Nah had described.

Within the cabin an assortment of snake skins and some very large ears of dried corn formed a queer decoration on the log walls. A few skins, perhaps those of the prairie rat, were also in evidence, while the glossy red corn with its artistic husk hung gracefully over a strange picture, that Jane told Judith was a portrait of the famous medicine man Teekawata. Chairs were relics of civilization which must have touched the spot at some time in a period of miners transition. The table was nailed to the wall and on it the litter of stuff spoiled an otherwise rustic effect. An American stove in the corner was evidently of the same vintage as the chairs, and there were other bits of furniture and dishes--perhaps accepted in payment for the services of the medicine man, who for years had given some sort of service to the settlers and their families.

"Not sisters?" asked and answered the old woman, to Judith and Jane.

"No, but very good friends," Mr. Allen replied with a ring in his voice that Jane and her chum fully appreciated.

The old woman now took her place on a queer high stool. On a three-legged table just beneath this stool was a big Mexican earthen bowl. Carefully she took a cover off the rather pretty jar, and then opened what looked like a snuff box. This she squinted into with a show of importance and concern.

"For the ladies' good health I will ask Teekawata to make promise," she began. Then she lifted the snuff box above her head and muttered some unintelligible wail.

Judith had grasped Jane's hand. The scene was getting weird and a return of the storm, a sort of backfire, made the whole thing seem uncanny.

"Experience," whispered Jane. "Gives us material for school work."

"Yes, but it is creepy," answered back Judith. "I wish the storm would blow over."

The old woman continued to mumble and make cabalistic passes with the snuff box. Finally she took a match and dropped some powder from the box into the bowl, struck the match on the side of her stool and put the flame to the powder. Soon a slim string of smoke climbed out from the edge of the jar.

Mr. Allen's face wore so broad a smile that, if the girls had thought of attaching any significance to the performance, this would have dissipated it.

"Teekawata, come!" called the Indian.

"Midnight hair and starlight eyes," began the squaw, "Teekawata sends greeting and health. In gold you will make the fortune of much. Much yet will you find in the great heart of friends. From the Bear come strong." At this moment she brought her arms out in a gesture indicating strength, but Judith dodged. She liked the soothsaying as an entertainment, but objected to personal demonstrations. The old woman scowled. Jane was bowing her head in abject attention to make amends for her friend's distraction.

"The Bear star will give our girl power," suggested Mr. Allen to keep the squaw on the right track through the clouds.

"Hush!" exclaimed the woman. "Teekawata knows no white spirit."

"Beg pardon," Mr. Allen could not help whispering for it was too funny to interrupt a ghost like that.

The squaw wasted another pinch of her spirit power from the snuff box. She also shook her head apprehensively, to show that Teekawata would not stand for nonsense. It required a few moments for the "spirits" to get going again.

"Brave and strong and happy," she finally conceded further to Judith's future, and both girls secretly wondered if that would apply to Judith's famous faculty of absent mindedness. An exchange glance between them was thus perfectly understood.

"A very safe fortune," commented Mr. Allen with a degree of irony happily lost on the Indian. Never had information as to the possible future seemed so completely veiled, as that the old woman pretended to give out. To say nothing of generalities it was simply insipid.

Turning to Jane the Indian changed her tactics.

"The young lady make wish?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, certainly," responded Jane. She covered her twitching face with her hands. Then she looked up and nodded. "I have wished."

The Indian mixed more powder until the girls could no longer suppress a coughing fit. Mr. Allen looked vaguely at a window that was only a part of the scenery evidently, for vines were growing all over the ledge. He sighed and choked. Jane put up a detaining hand. She did not want her fortune interrupted.

"Much gold, much happiness, all the good luck," began Woo Nah diplomatically. "On the horse it is to be 'look out.' No run over hill in dark. Woo Nah see big hole much dark--no too much run wild." This advice was given in a tone of real warning.

Judith was delighted. Jane was being scolded for being too wild. She should not run away in the dark with Firefly. What a good joke on Jane!

Then, as if fearing an ill effect on her audience, Woo Nah quickly turned her cards, by stirring up the smoky powder again.

"In the big city there is too much go," she now spoke with authority. "All go, go, not take rest for stars, or for great good in pale moon. Fiery head blaze to joy like paper with match, but no ashes keep for to-morrow. All blow away like Teekawata smoke," and she pointed her sharp finger at the smoke Mr. Allen was vainly trying to ward off.

"Riches always and good health. No sorrow but from home," she mumbled. "Friends come like the flowers, too thick to count, too thin for hold, but some stay so fast winter will not take. Girl with midnight cloud true for always; the one with the dried corn ropes," (she twisted her hands over her head to illustrate where the corn silk rested on the head of some one to be suspected) "of that one beware. She is for evil, for enemy for the--sneak." This last she fairly hissed, and in spite of themselves the girls' minds reverted to Marian Seaton, who had made so much trouble for Jane. She had the hair of changeable corn silk, sometimes brown, on good days quite yellow, and between times a discouraged tawn.

"And my wish?" ventured Jane.

The old woman looked up and almost smiled. Perhaps she could see a good joke herself.

"It will--come--" she hesitated. The smoke was getting thin and its clouds were evidently difficult to translate. Finally she actually opened her mouth and swallowed what she could inhale of the vapor. Judith laughed outright, but Jane kept her eyes on the Indian in abject and wrapt attention. If she failed to "foretell" it would not be Jane's fault.

"Firehead shall have her wish," she exclaimed triumphantly, and Mr. Allen jumped to his feet to put the period on the "Kibosh." He had had enough of the Indian rubbish, and felt the girls had about all they could enjoy.

It may seem bromidic to say the Indian rubbed her palms as Mr. Allen thrust his in his pockets, she may even have suffered some irritation from the smoke she had been gathering, at any rate when Mr. Allen handed her over a good clean green dollar, she all but kissed it, the girls would have testified.

"From New York?" asked Woo Nah as they prepared to leave.

"Yes," replied Judith crisply.

"Woo Nah has friend New York. He make beauty," she patted her cheek to illustrate how her friend made beauty in New York.

"Oh, a beauty doctor," interrupted Jane.

"Yes, he send to Woo Nah and Woo Nah give the beauty medicine." She hobbled over to a box and raising the cover displayed a lot of dried herbs or possibly weeds.

"Young lady like?" she asked.

"Why, yes. If it will give us beauty," replied Jane with a quizzical smile at Judith, who was whispering to Mr. Allen.

"Make tea and wash hair with this," and Woo Nah picked up a handful of the dried leaves. "I put the sunset water in bottle," she took a small vial, into which she poured, from the big brown bottle, a very carefully measured out quantity of the colorless fluid. "This is for the face, and in the morning the beauty shines," she declared. Jane accepted the little bottle with a show of gratitude. Judith was still the doubter, and made queer eyes during all the presentation speech.

"We have had a lovely time," she did take the trouble to express. "Woo Nah, when you come to New York to see your friend the beauty doctor, you must look for us. Ask for Wellington College," she finished, and, as if both girls could imagine that old Indian paying them a social call at the aristocratic Wellington, Jane and Judith bolted for the cabin door, and breathed more freely when out again in the refreshing air and struggling sunshine. It had cleared now and the sun was coming out.

"Oh, Aunt Mary!" exclaimed Jane contritely gathering up the bag and book. "Did we keep you too long?"

"I have my book," answered Miss Allen, who had been out of doors during all the seance. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh, yes, it was--funny," Jane said quietly. "Let's hurry. Dad will be too late for his telephoning. I feel guilty to have detained him for all that nonsense. Aunt Mary, I am to be beautiful. I have a lotion guaranteed to make me so," and she indicated the little bottle she held rather gingerly. Mr. Allen hurried to the old shack for the buckboard, and only the chatter of the two happy young girls marked the mileage of the home-going journey through the afternoon shadows of the Montana hills.

[CHAPTER V--ON THEIR WAY]

"But I am sort of perplexed," Jane admitted to Judith. "It was lovely, of course, for the boys to serenade us, and I think Fedario quite a sport to give us the ukelele, but how can we return the--compliment? I feel we ought to thank them, somehow."

"Couldn't we give them a straw ride?"

Jane burst out laughing. "Oh, Judy, you poor pale-face! Can you fancy giving cowboys a straw ride?"

"Now, Jane Allen, I did not mean to pack them all into one hay-rick or anything as grotesque as that," answered Judith in pique. "But couldn't we give them the picnic that goes at the end of the ride, and eliminate the ride?"

Another gale of laughter followed this suggestion. Judith plainly knew very little of the joys of ranch life.

"I really think," said Jane, "if we want to give them a good time we would have to make it a good game of poker, and that is altogether out of the question. Most of the ranch men think joy and gambling synonymous, and dad has all he can do to keep the sporting tendency within bounds. No, I guess we will just have to let them know somehow, how much we appreciated their concert. Then we must start seriously to prepare for our journey."

Judith's face darkened. She had had a wonderful time at El Capitan, and the thought of leaving was not a signal of joy.

"I shall hate to go," she sighed. "It has been divine, Janie."

"And glorious for me to have you, Judy." Jane twined her arm around the good friend. "I am not going to forget Woo Nah's prophecy. My good friend for always has the midnight hair." She touched Judith's dark tresses softly.

"Now, wasn't it the skylight eyes?" teased Judith.

"At any rate, I lined up Marian Seaton with the corn-silk hair," recalled Jane.

"And we are to be beautiful if we make a tea of the wild cinnamon and wash in it! Don't forget that."

"Oh, no," Jane corrected. "We wash in the silver solution. Old lady Woo Nah must know a little about chemistry, for that liquid is a solution of silver, and it certainly would bleach. I have tried it on Fliver and his nice brown coat has now a whitish patch. Fancy trying that on the skin of natural girls!"

It was one of the "last days" at El Capitan. Jane and Judith were exchanging opinions on so many topics, that they called the occasion their mental cleaning period. True, the matter of the cowboys' serenade, a musical event of importance in the ranch season, had not been satisfactorily disposed of, for the boys had really furnished a very creditable program with their ukes, banjoes, mouth organs, clippers and Dingo Joe's concertina. Fedario acted as leader, and Judith declared New York could furnish no greater thrill, even on a roof garden, than that which she experienced when the cyclone of sound broke loose under her window. Then, when she and Jane (chaperoned by Aunt Mary) appeared on the rose-vined balcony in their silken robes, the only regret expressed was that the moonlight would not give enough glare for focussing a picture on Jane's camera.

It was midnight when the Jap "cleany yupped" after the spread furnished the serenaders, but no dance at its best, could have been more novel or enjoyable. The girls remained on their second floor balcony, while Mr. Allen descended to entertain in the big, roomy kitchen, but even from that distance Jane and Judith heard the "pieces spoke" and joined in the laughter following some of the ludicrous attempts at histrionic feats.

"After all," philosophized Mr. Allen, "living near to Nature makes children of us all, and our boys are mere kindergartners when it comes to home sports."

"I always feel like a leader in a Sunday school," commented Aunt Mary, "when we entertain them. It is surely a good work, and they are so appreciative."

"And I always feel like--well, as if I belonged to the idle rich, when the boys pay us a visit. It is so narrow to have to make class distinction, and feed them in the kitchen," Jane objected with a note of scorn in her voice.

"Now, Janie," insisted Judith, "didn't Woo Nah say something about Bolshevism and the Girl? Your sentiments sound rather extreme. Can you imagine Dingo Joe among forks?"

"Boy all samee too much grub," objected Willie Wing the cook. "Likee big cow."

The above is an excerpt from the conversation that sifted through the Allen home on the morning following the "doin's" catalogued as the Cowboys' Serenade. Jane and Judith both made copious notes of the occasion in their diaries, but in spite of these records the real story was not to be told in mere words. It required the language of the boys themselves to give the affair its actual color. This was, however, plentifully supplied all over the ranch for at least a day after, and the consensus of opinion seemed to be, "that Miss Allen was a peach," and her friend "some girl." Also "that Chief Allen ought to be president of the United States, and the little sister woman would be all right for the first lady of the land."

The boys had rehearsed for their concert for more than a week, and consequently what was not given in perfection was supplied in enthusiasm, and the memory of that performance, for actors and audience, would not soon be obliterated by the everyday work of life and its prosaic demands.

So it was that the last day at home for Jane Allen had arrived.

The presence of her friend, Judith, softened the usual sadness of the hour of parting. Mr. Allen was both father and companion to his high-strung, brave little daughter, and the separation was necessarily momentous. Judith, alert to the situation, bubbled around, blowing in and out, on all the little love scenes, managing adroitly to curtail Jane's meditation before the reverenced picture of "Dearest," Jane's departed mother.

"I can imagine what will happen when we take up our New York quarters," she prophesied as Jane was all velvet-eyed and unnaturally quiet after a "word" with Aunt Mary. "I am so glad I can go with you, and not be required to report home first. Our folks will be resting until Kingdom Come after that Coast tour. We had so many delays and mixups."

"Oh, I could never go to housekeeping without you, Judy," Jane replied brightening. "I dream of the shopping tours and the hunting trips, and I match colors with my Polish girl's eyes, and take samples of her hair to bed with me. I have not really decided on her hair, although I rather incline to blonde."

"Oh, of course. I never saw a Polish girl other than a blonde," declared Judith. "But, Janie, I cannot help wondering how your daddy trusts you with so much--money. This will be very expensive."

"You forget, Judy dear, that I am his confidential clerk. I could run this entire ranch if daddy were incapacitated. He misses Dearest so much I feel I must be more than just plain daughter to him," and her soft gray eyes became suspiciously misty again.

"Well, I'm packed. Thank goodness my trunks went on from the coast! Do you remember how I packed someone's dress in my bag at Wellington? It may be funny to one's friends, to do absurd things through absent mindedness, but it simply terrifies me to think of what I may do with others' money and such trifles. Aren't you afraid, Janie dear, I will run off with some of your family plate?"

"Not the leastest bit," and Jane swung around to give her chum a punctuating hug. "Judy, haven't you promised to keep your failing for your enemies, and never to work it off on your friends?" she reminded the girl, who was fairly dancing around the spacious room, as if wanting to cover every inch of it before bidding good bye to El Capitan.

"Yes, I know, Janie. But I have a horror of certain things," and she glanced quizzically at the wonderful silver set on Jane's mahogany dresser. "Then, too, I might walk in my sleep and--go right down stairs and talk sweetly to Fedario on one of his serenade sprees. But, Janie, I shall never forget--to--love--you."

The journey East began next morning.

"It must be the quiet of the country that gives you such a wonderful set of nerves," Judith ruminated when they had reached their compartment. "I always feel I must explode, even when there is no chance of combustion. Here we are, without a hair lost, and I felt ten minutes ago we would never make this train."

"Perhaps it is sort of self reliance," Jane ventured. "We ranchers never miss a train--wouldn't dare to, we would have to wait too long for the next; but neither would we feel justified in getting all ruffled up in excitement. That is bad for--georgette crepe," she finished, smoothing the texture mentioned, in her dainty little blouse, that had brushed up the least bit in the final good byes.

"Now we can think of Wellington," proposed Judith, settling back comfortably.

"I just can't bear to see Montana running away from me, so I refuse to look," and she wheeled her chair around, back to window.

"As you like," agreed Jane. "But I am so fond of all the high spots of Yellowstone I want a very 'lastest' look. But let's to Wellington. I do wonder how many of the old set will be back? The war has changed so many homes, we may have to take over an entirely new contingent."

"Best luck," commented Judith. "We may thus eliminate the undesirables."

"And get a lot very much worse," feared Jane.

"How could we, with Marian Seaton?"

"But we had Adrienne, and Norma and Dorothy--they more than outbalanced the rebels."

"Well, I claim," and Judith produced the inevitable box of chocolates from her Indian beaded bag, "I claim that a girl who does not love--me or you, is not normal, for it is perfectly evident and obvious, and other synonyms, that we are simply--charming." When Judith "went in the movies" even so far as to act a scene in the drawing room car, she never failed to "register" strong emotion.

[CHAPTER VI--JOURNEY DE LUXE]

"Judith," said Jane with the solemnity of a senior, "I really feel we are facing a momentous year. Sports must be revived with vigor----"

"Oh, you will take care of that, Janie dear," interrupted Judith. "Even when I want to sleep a bit late o' morning, and have been reading a little after hours the night before, I recall you have a knack of getting me out to practice. Now remember, girl, I positively refuse to hike a la empty. I must have my porridge first."

"But as I was saying about sports," returned Jane, "I am ambitious for this year. We ought to make it the banner year for basketball."

"And we shall," declared her chum. "With the skill you developed last season, and the wonderful team work we marshalled, I don't see why we shouldn't be able to go out, and simply eat up the other colleges. I've been playing bean bag with the Jap cook in Los Angeles to keep in trim."

"Thought beans were too costly to toss around," joked Jane. "Judy, look at that dear little old lady over there," indicating a chair near the rear of the car. "Just see the sampler she is working."

"Yes," and Judith swung a bit towards the aisle. "I have been watching her. She is working a family tree. Wonder for whose hope chest."

"I was surprised to know that mothers are now making samplers for their sons," Jane followed. "Seems rather queer for boys to encroach on the girls' fancies. I know a mother who has two boys, and she has a family sampler made for each. Also, she has a wonderfully stocked hope chest for them. Seems to me she must have had some difficulty in choosing the hopefuls."

"Suppose she made it all face cloths, and socks and neckties. But really, I don't see what she could collect that would keep in style. A hope chest for boys! Ridiculous!" sneered Judith.

"Some boys are very sentimental, you know," Jane reminded her.

"But mothers should not encourage such weakness," protested Judith.

"Well, I hope your boy has a chest full of--chocolates," and Jane helped herself to the disappearing confection.

"I haven't had a chance to show you my new vanity case," Judith broke in. "Don't you think it pretty?" and she produced what looked like a little medicine emergency kit. It was of black stiff leather and made square, absolutely contrary in effect to the soft velvet pouches so long in vogue.

"Oh, isn't it lovely!" enthused Jane. "And such a mirror!"

"Yes, I can almost see how my skirt hangs with it. I found it at a fair in Frisco. It was a prize sample. And, Jane dear, I have one for you, in a brown that matches your hair, but I was so disappointed that the initials were not on it, and I had to send it back. It will be ready, though, by the time we get to New York once again."

"Oh, how--wonderful!" and Jane squeezed the hand that still brushed the candy box. "Judy, I have held off from a 'vanity' because I have been too vain to invest in one. Do you know, I think, honestly, that when we deliberately ignore conventions we usually do it through pride? Too proud to depend on a traveling boudoir."

"Oh, no, dearie, not at all," contradicted Judith. "Only, you can depend on your looks staying--regular Yale. There, that's a joke. Jane Allen has Yale locks of copper and--iron. Warranted not to yield, nor break, nor open without the registered key. But I know, Janie, you will like your bag. I was no end disappointed not to bring it along with me."

"But it is rather nice to have one surprise saved," Jane insisted. "We have been using up a lot of joys lately, don't you think?"

"Yes, we have been joying extravagantly," agreed Judith. "But Wellington has a reserve stock, you know. Just think of our little Helka. Did we decide she had blue or gray eyes?"

"Oh, they must be blue, we have too many grays," Jane replied. "But what concerns me most of all is the adorable task of fitting her out in school togs. Wasn't it lovely dad's scholarship went to a real little--primitive? That is, I suppose she is unspoiled, although how do we know? She may not deign to look at us," and Jane smiled at the incongruity.

"Wouldn't it be a joke," soliloquized Judith. "What if she is a pre-war aristo'? And suppose she only touches Wellington at the extreme corners? Might even be a little nobility snob, for all we know."

"The more fun in store at the discoveries," Jane said. "But I feel she will be just as I picture her. A little blonde, with blue eyes and a name no one can pronounce."

"What does Helka mean?"

"Oh, that is Helen in Polish. As she is a 'Helen' I think she will be pretty. They mostly are," Jane reflected.

"But Helen Bender is a bit cross-eyed," Judith had to recall, whereat they both laughed, for Helen had a trick of blaming her eyes for every school mistake. Her uncertain eyes had stood her in good stead at difficult tests, etc.

"Soon night will be upon us," Judith prophesied, noting the shadows that fell in ripples over the revolving rills. "Just see the sunset. How different from the red blaze we used to have on the Lake."

"And the smoke of the approaching city," Jane reminded. "Shall we get off for a little rest at St. Paul? We can, if you wish."

"When do we get to the great city?"

"To-morrow afternoon. But between here and there we will glimpse the Middle West. Very different from the scenery on the other end of the trip."

"Yes, indeed, but it is all America, so of course we love it," Judith orated. "But, Janie dear, we might lose ourselves in St. Paul. I have heard such horrible tales of the girls at railway stations being picked up by bandits and carried off for ransom," and she doubled up at the joyous thought of such an escapade.

"Well, if you feel that way about it we had best keep to our bunks," Jane decided. "I am acquainted with the station and the big park with the sun dial----"

"And the big dry goods store where you bought my silkies," recalled Judith. "But, Jane dear, perhaps we had better keep to the rail. You know what the Indian woman told us? She might be out there on hand just to work out the fortune."

"Moved and carried that we omit the stop over," Jane answered. "Now, Judy, let us brush up a little. I have a premonition we are going to meet someone very interesting in the dining car. I saw that yellow-haired woman smuggle a little poodle in her hand bag. It will surely be interesting if she carries him into the diner. It always is. The porters know a dog by the bends in the bag. And they go through a regular screen play in getting the lady, the bag, and the poodle out of the car. Dogs must eat in the baggage car. They have a co-operative refectory there."

"Oh, yes, and the yellow-haired lady has some paper plates. I saw her drop a brace of them, and one rolled way down to the young man with the specks. It was too funny to see him jerk up and look. Guess he thought he was having a fit of eye stigmatis," and Judith bit her red lips with the afore-mentioned pearly teeth. "See, the dear boy is reading something like a dictionary. Wonder if he is a new prof going East to try his luck in some co-ed college? Thank goodness we can't get anything like that. The dear old ladies are bad enough, but can you picture Percy handling Mazie?"

"In math for instance," assisted Jane. "I wonder if she will know any more about cubes this year?"

"More likely she has become proficient in cubes for the complexion," Judith put in. "But honestly, Jane, I am so anxious to see them all, good, bad and indifferent, that I would just like to fall asleep and wake up at Wellington. Wouldn't you?"

"Well, I am anxious to get back. But between here and there I hope to pick up a good time or two. Now let's to the primping room. No line there yet. Wait until we get around Chicago. Then we will have to take our turn. I wonder what daddy is doing just now? I always feel a tiny bit lonesome first night----"

"Oh, no, you don't, dearie, as the chorus girls say. It is my special privilege to have the glumps," and Judith's smile, filtering through the alleged gloom made comedy of her words. "There, I had to leave El Capitan just when I passed my first test in serenades, and when I was becoming expert in cowboy phraseology. Fedario admitted I 'sabied' beautifully, and Pedro declared the horses knew my yodel. Then I had to tear myself away for hard work at Wellington!"

"I'll be good," begged off Jane, who realized the effort at regrets was being made to offset her "glumps." Judith would not have Jane other than smiling. "First at the big mirror," as they made for the dressing room. "See the little old lady with the sampler! Let us greet her in passing," whispered the youthful junior.

But the best laid plans of school girls may be upset by the exigencies of rail travel, for in passing the little old lady, both young ladies were all but precipitated into her black silk lap. The apologies that followed served as fitting introduction, with the result of both girls falling victims to the charm of her complaisant culture, rounded out with satisfying years. The little lady was a thoroughbred, an old school new method graduate. And the girls, keen of perception and generous with appreciation, became acquainted at once with a promise of developing interest along the route.

"I am going to be like that when I grow old," predicted Judith. "And I am going to make samplers for--well, maybe for the cowboys of El Capitan! Just now they fill my vision and my vocabulary."

"Judy, do be careful, dear," admonished Jane, "you almost knocked off the--'prof's' glasses," and Jane could not suppress a titter as her chum just escaped the student, her hand bag swinging with an unexpected lurch of the car. It was fun to roll through the aisle, for every step gave the sensation of a sea voyage on land. Only the big velour chairs stood between the travellers and damage to their fellow passengers.

"What a roomy room!" commented Judith, entering the ladies' dressing compartment. "And all to ourselves. I feel almost like dressing for dinner. Do you suppose, Janie, we will meet any interesting--persons at table? I have kept my rainbow georgette waist within call. Shall I don it?"

"As to interesting persons, I expect to spend my time interviewing the specked professor," Jane surprised Judith by declaring. "I feel he can impart information that may be very useful when I tackle my new year stuff. He looks wise enough to possess tabloid codes, and trots, that might put us through the most difficult forensics," said Jane with characteristic deliberation. Of course the threat to take up with the queer looking young student (he was surely a student) was made to tease Judith, who wanted fun and frolic even aboard the Limited.

"As you like," replied Judith, surveying her tall form in its close-fitting blue velveteen. "But I think I shall find the little blonde lady quite talkable. I shall offer to exchange recipes for her shade of hair. I should love to try hers on Marian's."

All of which was pure nonsense really, as neither girl had any idea of speaking to the strangers mentioned.

"I am so glad we wore these gowns," Jane remarked critically. "Most tourists seem to select the very dingiest, drabest, hatefullest old travelling togs, when it is bad enough to look well at the very best, under railroad conditions."

"Yes, that was your happy thought, ma chère. I should have worn the aforesaid hateful thing in tan, if I had not espied your lovely brown velveteen waiting to be donned. That led me to my one best, the blue."

They were all primped and freshened, and now inspecting the result in the long mirror, while the train rumbled and rolled over the hills and valleys leading into the Middle West. Their personally expressed satisfaction at the picture reflected was pardonable, for the two girls, the one light enough to all but blaze, the other dark enough to all but glitter, arms entwined and heads close together, filled the mirror frame with as pretty a study as any artist might wish to paint.

Eventually, out in the car, as the tourists were making their way to the diner, many critical eyes, all of them surely approving, followed the two Wellington girls, Jane and her chum, Judith.

[CHAPTER VII--LOST--A GIRL]

"What a wonderful sleep!" Jane was just stretching out in her bunk. "I suppose Judy is up and dressed, and interviewing the crew." She pulled the little window curtain back cautiously, and sent her half-opened eyes after the fleeting landscape. "And a lovely day. I am glad of that, for even in a train one enjoys fresh, clean weather." She slipped into the dark blue travelling kimono, and slippers to match, in which Jane might make her way to the dressing room without attracting undue attention. Thus attired she put her hand up to give the curtain of the upper, Judy's berth, a signal yank.

"Judith," she called lightly. "Are you up, Judith?"

No answer. Her chum was, she presumed, dressed and out for exercise. With the convenient little dressing bag Jane hurried off to make her day's toilette, being assured she would meet Judith either on the way to, or in the ladies' room.

But Judith was not in sight, neither along the way nor in the dressing-room. Jane made her toilette in haste, and thus refreshed from the "wonderful sleep" polished off with accessories of the best travelling comforts, she stepped from the compartment.

"Where can Judy be?" she asked herself in some anxiety. Then the entire length of the coach was covered, to make sure the girl had not buried herself deep in a seat beside some new-found acquaintance. But no Judy was to be sighted.

Jane returned to her berth and signalled the porter he might "make it up." At an opportune moment she asked him had he seen her friend.

"No, Miss, that is, not since quite early. She went out to the observation, but I saw her come back. No one out there now," replied the white-linened porter.

The thought of the observation car, with its open-end vestibule gave Jane a little shiver. Of course Judith was accustomed to travel. Nothing could happen to her. Still, where was she?

"I'll take another look in the observation," she remarked. "I fancy she might like to see early morning developing." And Jane left the porter with his tasks.

It seemed everyone was passing into their breakfast with that avidity so marked in hotels and "en routes," when people have so little to think of except eating, drinking and sleeping. Jane felt the call of an appetite herself, but had no thought of going to breakfast without Judith. Where could the girl be? Each probable rendezvous uncovered negatively, added to Jane's momentarily increasing anxiety.

"Strange!" she commented. "Judy is always ready to exchange notes in the morning. She would hardly undertake anything so absorbing as to keep her away all this time. Besides, what could she find engrossing on this Limited?"

Finally realizing she could not find her chum, she sought out her faithful porter. Not delaying to ring the bell, Jane looked about and soon found Alfred (this was his name she overheard) arranging cushions on the rear sofa, for a baby to rest there.

"I can't locate my friend," she began. "Have you seen her?"

"Say, Alf," interrupted another member of the working force coming up from the next car. "I got a--what do you call a sonomballist? The sort that plays baseball in a sound sleep," the black-faced man grinned. "I got a strange lady in a strange place, and she belongs in your car. You got to extract her."

"What--what you--all mean, Ferd?" asked Alf, while Jane waited apprehensively.

"You come along wiff me and I'll demonstrate," proposed Ferd, otherwise Ferdinand. "I'se been argufying wiff de lady, didn't like to shake her zactly. But she don't pear to want to come back to you, Alf. She has took a notion to me." He grinned and chuckled in the good nature characteristic of the well-trained Pullman porter.

Jane listened with increasing anxiety. It might really be Judith, but where was she?

"What you asked for, please?" Alfred inquired of Jane. "Ferdinand has no 'cuse to interrupt," he apologized.

"Oh, that was all right," Jane quickly assured him. "I wonder if he may have found my--friend?"

"Not likely a young lady," said Alfred with a strong emphasis on young. As if an old lady might be suspected of anything queer, but that a young miss would assuredly hardly be so careless.

"But my friend is very absent minded." Jane prepared him. "She does queer things through forgetfulness."

"Can you come right now?" insisted the waiting Ferd to Jane's porter. "I'se got to get rid of this--lady somehow."

"I'll go too, if I may?" timidly inquired Jane. "I have lost a friend" (this to Ferd). "She is very absent minded."

"Laikly she is my--discovery," ventured the colored man striving to be polite and finding it difficult to treat the situation seriously. "Come right along."

At the other end of the car Jane stood stock still, as she read the sign "Gentlemen Smoking." But Ferd promptly assured her.

"Not a soul in here but the lady. Not a man could get in, and there was some kicking. All right for ladies to smoke. Lots of 'em do, but they has to have their own private quarters." He was opening the door of the smoking room with that caution usually displayed if a cat is expected to jump. Jane followed, and once within the room she sprang to the curled up figure, sleeping peacefully, in the big cushioned chair. It was Judith!

"Judith!" Jane called. "Judy, wake up! Come!"

The unconscious girl slowly--too slowly, came back to the realm of directed thought. She was awake at last.

"Why--Jane--" she drawled. "What's the fuss? I was dreaming about wonderful cigars."

Both porters stepped back respectfully--or to laugh safely. Dreaming of cigars appealed to their sense of humor.

"Judith--this is the gentlemen's smoking room," Jane breathed, trying hard to drag the still drowsy girl to her feet. "How ever did you get in here?"

By this time Judith realized something was wrong. She gathered the folds of her Burgundy robe tight around her, and tried to inflict a severe look on the giggling porters.

"You sure did hol' de fort, Miss," Ferd insisted on saying. "The gent-men had to go without their smoke this morning."

Too embarrassed for further conversation the girls stole out of the usurped room. Just at the little turn in the aisle, the very narrow place where a crowd is always trying to squeeze by at once, they encountered a group of would-be smokers ready to defend their rights. They were talking none too meekly, and seeing the girl still in negligee one had the poor taste to remark: "There she is. Some sleeper!"

Judith blushed to the roots of her dark hair, but Jane glanced at the bounder defiantly. Didn't he have manners enough to respect a girl who was just absent minded?

"A good thing they had to--fast a little," Jane whispered in Judith's ear. "It won't hurt them any. They smoke enough now to fumigate the car with the fumes they carry out of that room. Pretty room, isn't it?" She smiled to give back Judith's assurance.

"Oh, I am so embarrassed," murmured Judith. "And have I actually been sleeping there, and keeping that raft of men outside?"

"Oh, yes, dear, but that is nothing to worry about," the kind-hearted Jane protested. "In war times they had to go without smoking or should have. Now they can't seem to live a moment on the train, without the company of their cigars. Do let us hurry in to breakfast!"

But even the reliable good nature and love of humor, characteristic of Judith was some time in returning to the very much embarrassed girl.

[CHAPTER VIII--NEW YORK AT LAST]

"If there is one thing I like more than all the other things about a long railway journey," said Judith, as they alighted at the great Metropolis terminal, "it is the end. I love to get off."

"I rather agree with you," Jane almost sighed, for the trip from Montana, while pleasantly varied with incidents of interest, was really all tuned and keyed up to the actual pleasure of reaching New York.

"How good it is to be back, after all," pursued Judith. "I hope we will have no trouble in finding Mrs. Weatherbee. She is so eminently systematic, as our train was on time, she ought to be in sight now."

"Oh, I am sure she will be here," Jane added, as they edged along with the throng, threading their way out into the open space under the great glass canopy of the New York Central. The magnitude of the building seemed to dwarf the lines and group of persons, filing in and out, and coming and going--as the old man said, like people without any homes.

"There she is!" exclaimed Jane as she caught sight of the dignified Mrs. Weatherbee, director of Wellington. "And she has a young girl with her."

"Our Helka!" exclaimed Judith, jamming into a haughty woman with the perpetual poodle under her arm. "Oh, I am sure that is our little artist," as the slight young girl, in very dark costume advanced with Mrs. Weatherbee.

There was no time for a reply from Jane, for the smiling Wellington lady and her companion now caught sight of the girls, and were advancing quickly.

"Just in time," Mrs. Weatherbee exclaimed with more precision than originality. "How splendidly you both look!"

Then the usual hand shaking, and exchange of courtesies included the introduction to Miss Helka Podonsky.

So the girls at last beheld the object of their long outstanding guesses and conjectures!

Yes, Helka was pretty--she was different, and she was surely attractive. Her hair tangled around her ears and made the most adorable little puffs. Its shade was dark, not black, but more dark than brown. All of these details were easily observed, and the girls absorbed them, but the color of her eyes--Jane thought they blue, Judith thought them brown, and neither knew how to classify the flashes and "volts" the little stranger shot out from under the long curly lashes. But that she was lovely each silently agreed.

"This is our friend who is coming with us to Wellington," Mrs. Weatherbee explained, in that formal way "the faculty" always take to say unnecessary things. "She is delighted with the prospect," another superfluous banality.

"Oh, yes, it will be very--nice," spoke Helka, and her accent betrayed the slightest foreign tinge. Her words seemed carefully chosen, but she did not hiss her "s" nor choke her "e." Jane was glad the voice and accent would not excite undue prejudice.

"I am sure it will be perfectly jolly," Judith hurried to add, and in her effort to speak clearly she chose the very word a stranger might not understand. "Jolly" was not included in the usual English phrases given in foreign school text books.

"Yes?" Helka ventured to answer, and her rising inflection might easily span a sea of doubt.

"Oh, it will be--delightful," Jane took great pains to qualify. She had no intention of confusing Helka, and wished above all things to impress her with a sense of companionship.

Yet there was a certain strain apparent. Helka did not "fall on her knees, or neck" after the manner of the proteges in children's books, neither did "her eyes fill with tears of silent appreciation." Nevertheless the three girls, with their college director, were going through that process of self consciousness bordering on embarrassment.

"Can't we go to the rest room for a few moments?" asked Jane. "I think we will have a better chance to get acquainted sitting down," she declared.

Quick to catch the possible humor of this remark Helka smiled broadly, and the set of teeth she exposed caused the girls again to exchange knowing glances. Now, Judith had wonderful teeth. In fact, she might claim championship in the tooth beauty contest, did Wellington carry such a sport, but Helka's! They were so small, so even and so white, matched pearls indeed. Thoughts of the pure grain foods of Poland filtered through Jane's mind, while Judith wondered about Polish dentifrice.

All this time it never occurred to either of the Wellington girls, that the stranger might be having an equally interesting time analyzing and cataloging them, and their characteristics. Egotism has various methods of taking care of her own.

In the big, leathered rest room, a comfortable corner was available, and here our quartette soon ensconced themselves. Mrs. Weatherbee really looked quite human, Judith was deciding, her Oxford tailored suit being sufficiently de luxe to be spelled "tailleur." It was nobby, to take up a word from the English allies, and not give all the credit to the French.

"Now, my dears," spoke the model, "I have a plan to unfold to you. Helka wishes to stay in some private place, that is, she does not wish to get into any very public place."

She stopped, for Helka was silently inferring so much that her attitude demanded attention. She was sort of shaking her head and biting her red lips and flashing her unclassified eyes.

"Not a lovely hotel?" asked Jane in surprise. She had really counted on showing this little stranger life in a big New York hotel.

"Oh, no, please not. No hotel. I would not like that. There are so many--men and women." Helka was almost shuddering, and Judith instantly sensed the mystery promised about the Polish girl's antecedents. Jane, acting in the capacity of hostess, immediately agreed to shun all hotels.

"I wanted to tell you," said Mrs. Weatherbee, "that for the present I have arranged with a former member of the staff of Wellington, a retired chaperon, to take you young ladies in her charge in New York. As Miss Allen had informed me she wished to stay in the city for some days, I thought it my duty to see that you were all safely--chaperoned." She smiled humanly, Judith admitted, but visions of a retired chaperon did not exactly forecast a very jolly good time. Even a working "nurse maid," as the attendants were sometimes facetiously styled, would be better than one who was old enough to be retired. Jane was struggling with similar fears.

"She has quite an apartment," went on the matron. "In fact, she has been entertaining some social service students who take care of themselves in her apartment, and I thought that would be just the thing for you three little girls."

"I am sure it will be!" Jane exclaimed, now seeing light through the clouds. "I have always longed to try housekeeping as the college settlement girls do, and it may give us valuable experience."

"Oh, glorious!" exclaimed Judith. "I vote to be--parlor maid."

"It would be very nice," ventured Helka, "if we could have a very small house and our own--piano."

"Oh, of course, Helka, dear," Mrs. Weatherbee hurried to inject. "You must have access to a piano. You cannot be deprived of your music."

The luminous eyes flashed their appreciation at this, and Jane felt as if even a rest room was quite inadequately furnished, with no piano, at that moment, in sight. This little artist should have some sort of pocket edition to carry around with her. She was different and artistic and her moods should be humored. Of a certainty they would go at once to the apartment with the home cured piano, as Judith called any instrument not installed in a school room.

"Miss Jordan expects us," said Mrs. Weatherbee, "I was sure a good cup of real tea would refresh you both after your journey." She picked up the flat brief case Judith always carried in lieu of a suit case. Jane adjusted her own club bag, preparatory for the start. Helka insisted on taking the brace of umbrellas. So the little party wended their way to the surface car, Jane naturally falling in step with Helka and Judith trotting along with Mrs. Weatherbee.

"Adorable!" Judith at last had a chance to exclaim.

"I knew you would like her," smiled Mrs. Weatherbee. "She is a wonderful girl. And she has such an interesting history."

Just as it had all been planned!

"Jane's luck," commented Judith. "Mrs. Weatherbee, we are going to make Jane Allen, Center, this year. And we are going to make our team known all over the college circuit. Basketball is an American sport, and we are back from the war now with reconstruction energy."

"I believe you," assented the matron, and her tone implied satisfaction.

Jane was meanwhile becoming agreeably acquainted with Helka.

[CHAPTER IX--GIRLS' LIFE A LA MODE]

Housekeeping, however irksome when a positive duty, is always a delight when "tried on" in miniature.

So it was when the Wellington girls installed themselves in Miss Jordan's apartment, they had no idea of the novelty in store for them. The house was one of the old mansions now falling into the shadow of the Village. The Village, we recall, is that part of New York City where artists of various sorts congregate, and live the life they term Bohemian. Incidentally, there are many within the village who will never have any claim to the title artist--other than to have possessed the ambition to be so classified, but like half the aspirants for honors, they may aspire, but not conspire, as they do not work honestly to achieve the place they pretend to appropriate. But our girls did not go within the village limits; they were just at its "gates" and so had an opportunity of observing the interesting types of girls and young women passing in and out, affecting the Bohemian.

Long-haired men and short-haired women. Velvet-jacketed men and cloth-upholstered women--such persistent contradictions lending a peculiar picturesqueness to the otherwise prosaic Metropolis.

A kitchenette and two sleeping rooms had been assigned to the Wellingtons by Miss Jordan, the larger dining room being shared by two groups. Miss Jordan explained she had found the individual kitchen indispensable, for all girls had their own ideas about kitchen work, while a dining room might be made communal, many persons having similar table habits, obviously. The living room was delightful. A long, high ceiled drawing room originally. Miss Jordan had preserved the splendor of the crystal chandelier, and the glory of the hand carved marble mantel. Here all the girls were wont to congregate in their evenings, and those of them who had the opportunity came together around the square piano or curled themselves up with books in the bay window's cushions in the late afternoons.

The clientele was sufficiently varied to be interesting, at the same time Miss Jordan personally vouched for the general standing of each of her paying guests. In fact, the rendezvous for young girls who might be in New York temporarily, and without personal chaperons, was a real innovation, and it did fill a perfectly legitimate long-felt want.

"Home was never like this," declared Judith, passing the chocolates to a little dark-haired art student, who had just come in from a morning's work in a co-operative studio. The art student called herself Anaa Kole, and just why she insisted on the second "a" to her otherwise plain Ana had not yet been discovered by Judith. It looked to her like a waste of type, that could not be vocally made use of.

"Miss Jordan is so motherly," admitted Anaa. "I sometimes wonder what I should have done if I had not found her apartment. I came here because my college directed me to."

"That is just what happened to me," Judith declared. "I came here because Wellington actually toted me to the doorstep. Have some more chocolates, do!"

"Oh, thank you, I do like sweets when I am tired. What are you studying?"

"Here? Nothing especially. We are just getting ready for our junior year. All but Miss Podonsky. She is just beginning."

"Isn't she dear? But why does she run every time the bell rings?"

"Does she? I hadn't noticed," prevaricated Judith. "She is a little shy, being a stranger, I suppose."

"And she never practices when anyone is around. I have so wished to hear her play her violin. I am sure she is a wonder at it. But every time I do have the good luck to come in while she is playing she stops instantly as I enter."

"Don't you think most geniuses are peculiar?" parried Judith. "Helen will not play for us unless--well, unless Miss Allen especially requests it. She adores Jane."

"I don't blame her," admitted Anaa. "I am charmed with her myself. She is one of the girls with rare character who is not forever advertising it. When I came in with wet feet the other night she did not insist on me draining her chocolate pot. Most girls do, and I abhor hot drinks for wet feet."

Judith laughed. Anaa was naive, if a trifle conspicuous with her bobbed hair. Of course bobbed hair was so comfy, and so becoming, too bad it was not the general style, mused Judith, patting her own heavy coil, that would slip down her neck every time she attempted to relax outside of bed quilts.

"I shall almost hate to leave for school," Judith supplied. "It has been so jolly here."

"I do not find New York exactly a playground," Miss Kole followed, "but, then, I am studying."

"Of course that's different. We are shopping, shopping and after meals shopping again. I wonder if there are any bargains left? I adore buying pretty underlies, but I am not so keen on the practicals. But my friend Jane has set up enough stuff to make a hope chest for all Wellington."

"She is from the West, you said?"

"Yes, from Montana. But that does not mean that she has never seen pretty things before and is overdoing it," Judith hurried to qualify in justice to Jane.

"Oh, of course not. I did not mean to infer that," Miss Kole apologized. "But I do think Westerners, as a rule, are so much more generous, and so much more enthusiastic than the cold Easterners. I am from New England, and all I can remember of holidays around home is that the rag rugs were taken off the carpets, and the powdered sugar sprinkled over the doughnuts. Life in my home was always a question of rivalry in economy. When I came here I set out for days to buy every imaginable sort of food I had been reading labels of all my life. Of course at college I had all I wanted, but even there it was not on my own initiative. I longed to find out how it felt to be free to buy without a pencil, and paper and premium list."

"Oh, don't call your home town such hard names," Judith put in kindly. "I am quite sure it has made you very dependable. I wouldn't wonder if a term there would fit me for life with much better qualifications than I can now boast of. But here come Jane and Helen." (They had Americanized the Helka.) "And now more bundles."

"Oh, the darlingest tams," announced Jane, dropping down on the big sofa. "I just had to carry them home to show you. Couldn't wait for delivery. See Anaa," to Miss Kole, "aren't they perfectly dear?"

"Oh, this year's tams are really classic," contributed the art student.

Judith already had the hunter's green, soft velvet tam on her frowsy head. "Jane, which is mine?"

"Well, I did not know what you would like best with your riding habit. It would have been too uncertain to guess at the green, and the brown was rather dark, so I thought perhaps this burgundy would go."

"Stunning, perfectly so!" exclaimed Judith. "I have always wanted wine color and been afraid to try it. Isn't it wonderful?" And the lovely soft little cap was coaxed to a proper angle on the dark head.

"And this is Helen's," Jane shook from its wrappers another cap of a deep violet hue. Helen blushed prettily as Judith insisted on trying it on her curly head.

"Oh, look, girls!" Judith suddenly exclaimed, grasping Helen and swinging her around unceremoniously. "Now I know the color of her eyes! They are pure violet."

The unexpected exclamation, and the energy of Judith's swing gave Helen a perceptible start. For a moment she seemed about to dash off. She changed color from flush to pallor and was surely trembling. Then realizing it was all a joke, she quickly regained her composure, but not before the girls had noted her curious attitude and alarm. Even Jane, slow to criticise, could not but admit Helen was frightened, and at such a trifle!

Why was she always so fearful? What was there for her to be so markedly nervous about?

That she had asked, and even insisted that the Polish name of Helka Podonsky be changed to the American substitute, Helen Powderly, had seemed reasonable enough to the girls, when just after their arrival in New York Helen explained that name meant "power" and while the "sky" stood for distinction in Poland, it would mean nothing but possible ridicule in her school life. To this Jane and Judith had assented. Perhaps it would be best, they agreed, not to antagonize the less broadminded girls with the foreign title. Also, Helen had so earnestly wished it. All this flashed before their minds now, when a simple girlish exclamation caused a panic of fear. It must be nerves, of course. Perhaps Helen had studied too hard in qualifying for the scholarship!

Girls are often jumpy, but not often quite so easily overcome, Jane thought.

"But what shall we do with so many hats?" asked Helen naïvely recovering herself. "We shall be at school always."

"Oh, not half of always," replied Jane. "You see, Helen, we must ride, I haven't told you about your horse (the violet eyes widened with pleasure) and then," continued Jane, "we are going on all sorts of hikes and hunts and outside jaunts. We are going to beg you in as a junior. Sometimes the juniors, that's Judith and me, are allowed to have what we call pupils. It isn't really catalogued but we occasionally get a younger girl to go with us, so that we may try out our knowledge on her."

"Yes, and my particular stunt is," Judith acclaimed, trying her tam at another angle, "to get a girl who knows more than I do, and let her try out her knowledge on me. Last year I found a perfect wizard in Meta Noon. She knew more about bi-ology than I shall ever have a chance to learn, and in the woods--what Meta didn't tell me about queer bugs, and buzzards and beetles and bombus and--well, I was buzzing for a week after one hike."

"After all," sighed Anaa, "school days have a charm. But we never realize it until it is gone."

"Then of what value is the charm?" asked Jane.

"Exactly like cutting a tooth--only good after all the cutting is done," decided Judith.

"We take no note of time but from its loss, you know the poet says," followed Jane, "and I often think of the concise truth of that statement. We do not even know it is the hour until the hour is past. Oh, la-la! but we are getting philosophical. Personally, I am more interested in the kitchenette at this moment. Judith, it is your turn to do the K. P."

"What ever branch of the A. E. F. instituted the Kitchen Police should have been tried by court martial," blurted Judith. "The K. P. is a duty for the enemy, not for the home guard," and she dove for the divan and the chocolate crumbs.

"Oh, do let me get the dinner again," begged Helen. "You know I love to. The little place is like a--baby play house."

"Oh, yes, Helen, do run along and play," promptly agreed Judith. "As it is my turn, I give you full permission----"

"Judy Stearns," called Jane in mock severity. "You are an awful fraud. Helen is too good to you. I shall make you do guard duty this evening when we are out in the park. Besides, I am not going to give you your surprise."

She got no further. The tall girl bounced over the room after Jane, who was ducking nimbly only to be finally enmeshed in cushions and portieres.

"Will you give it to me?" commanded Judith. "Or shall I wrest it from you! And what is it and where is it? Maybe a telegram, summoning me to my jolly cowboys' wedding or funeral. Oh, shall I ever be able to forget my jolly cowboys?"

"Easy, girls, easy," cautioned Anaa, "Miss Jordan is putty in our hands, until we attempt football with her cushions. Then she turns alabaster. Don't, Judith, it is a lot better to 'don't' than to 'did.' Take the advice of a good friend."

At this the chase was halted. Jane was panting from the shaking and choking Judith had administered, while Judith was looking for the ever fractious hairpins, the same being the last of a precious set of shell pins imported from the Western coast. Judith and hairpins were always at painful odds.

"Judy," said Jane seriously, "do you realize our days are flying and we will be due at Wellington very soon?"

"Oh, Jane Allen! You horrid girl! Can't I have a day's peace here in this wonderful New York without having Wellington poked at me?" and Judith facetiously jabbed at her eyes. "I have a very good mind to play hookey."

Anaa had slipped out of the room, leaving Jane and Judith together.

"Jane," whispered Judith, "whatever do you suppose makes Helen so nervous about strangers? She is positively timid in crowds. And when a man with queer whiskers, the Russian kind, brushed by us to-day on the avenue I could feel her shiver. Now, Janie, you do not suppose we are harboring a runaway, or anything like that?"

"Why, Judy, how foolish. You know Mrs. Weatherbee would not have agreed that father's scholarship be given Helen if she had not first carefully examined all her credentials. You know Mrs. Weatherbee and care. A regular text book. But I will admit, the child is afraid in public places. Much as I like it here, I should have been glad of a week in a big hotel just for the experience, if we could have induced her to go with us. It is a little queer, still Helen is lovely, don't you think so?"

"Too sweet for classification. Look at her now doing my chores," and Judith laughed. "Oh, Janie, dear, it is fun to be here, and to have your purse at the back of it. I never had so much spot cash in all my life as I have seen you flourish since we located at the Jordan apartment. It perfectly scares me."

[CHAPTER X--FEARS AND FANCIES]

"Madam, dinner is served," announced Helen at the door, with the funny little jerked courtesy and her finger to her lips a la Molly in the movies. Helen was an apt American scholar, and her short stay in the country had already sufficed for picking up an attractive list of typical mannerisms. Especially did she show her aptitude in mimicing stage girls.

"Now, where did you learn that, Helen?" demanded Judith. "You never have seen me bite my index nail with that sort of charm."

"But you know I went to some plays in Warsaw, and we had American talent there," explained Helen. "I have not yet been to a theatre in America."

"Then you shall----"

"Oh, no, really, I do not wish----"

"Simpleton," kindly whispered Jane, pressing Helen's hand confidently, "we shall all go to a beautiful play, and you shall sit where no one can see you, if that is what you mean by declining all our theatre invitations. Since you really do not want to be seen in public, and perhaps you have a perfectly good reason for that choice, I must fix it so you shall see the public in private. It can be done, you know."

"Of coursey," chuckled Judith. "Trust Jane for that. She would call out the secret service, and we might all go in a regular presidential retinue, with the good-looking slim detectives at our heels."

"Monkey," Jane administered, "don't go putting such nonsense into Helen's curly head. No such thing, Helen. We may go to a theatre quite as privately as we went to the florists. Wait until you see how nicely I shall arrange it."

Helen evidently considered it would be rude for her to object, nevertheless it was clear to both girls she would have felt better to be allowed to decline Jane's ardent invitation. The fact that theatre parties had been taboo, on account of Helen's reticence, had given the Wellington lassies some annoyance. Jane and Judith both wanted to see good plays.

"Was the surprise something to eat, Janie?" asked Judith as they entered the dimly lighted dining room. One end of the long table had been taken over by one trio, while down the board in groups of twos, students and transients, were either partaking of or arranging their "individual" meals. Each girl did her own cooking and serving, unless she shared the task with a friend on the "co-op," this being short for co-operative plan.

"Well, we did fetch some choice tid-bits," Jane acknowledged, "and my paper bag broke, spilling the loveliest gooy-goo eclairs. Tim, the elevator boy, looked at me first fiercely, then as he scented the mix-up he smiled and----"

"Since then he has licked it up," contributed the irrepressible Judith. "I don't blame him. Yum--yum, Jane, you are a born housekeeper. You may have my next shift."

"Judith Stearns, if you attempt to duck your household responsibility once more we shall expel you. See if we don't. I have a mind right now to curtail your rations, and make you eat your pie without cheese."

"Spare me," pleaded Judith, "I might manage meat without spuds, but pie without cheese----"

Helen was enjoying the persiflage and serving her savory dishes at the same time. A well-balanced menu was the pride of Jane and her housekeeping. She had taken one course in domestic science, and the knowledge thus acquired she was trying on, as Judith put it.

"Think of home-made baked potatoes!" Jane exclaimed, as Helen untied the dainty little linen cover that hid the important vitamine dish.

"Oh, yes, and I will eat all the skin, Jane, so don't trouble to admonish me. I know the salts are in the skin, and I need the vitamines."

"What you need more than vits, Judy, are calories. You plainly need energy. As I recall the lesson, it says, an average person requires from two thousand three hundred, to three thousand five hundred calories daily. The lesser amount is given to desk workers, and the greater to the manuals, but as you are neither I should say you might need five thousand daily, then we might reasonably expect you to do your own K. P., all of which sounds like a Liberty Loan speech, doesn't it?"

"Janie Allen, since you are so expert, maybe you know that you require absolutely no carbohydrates. You are too sweet for anything in that stunning flannel check. I have always known that gray and pink make a perfectly wonderful picture, when done on a background of a good sized check. Now your gray eyes, and your pink cheeks----"

"Fen, fen, no fair," begged Jane. "You are mixing your standards. This is a domestic science lesson. You may thank Helen for these goodies." Helen was proudly "serving" from a particularly savory casserole.

"Oh, indeed not. Jane chose the menu," Helen amended. "And our caterer knows us so well now, he always gives us the best."

"That's just the way, blessings brighten as they banish, and we are on our way to Wellington. But, Helen, I want to learn a few more Polish words. I am going to count them in on my foreign language list. I flunked in French, that is, I lost two points. Now what do you call meat in Polish?"

"Just meat is 'mieso,' but there are kinds of meat----"

"Oh, one kind will do me. And what is butter?"

"Butter is 'malso.'"

"And bread? I should have to have bread."

"Bread is 'chleb.'"

"Then here is my order in a foreign tongue--with personal service of course. That's the kind you get where they make the pancakes in windows," and Judith took her share of the casserole supply.

"I shall order this way: Donnez-moi sil vous plait, une morceau de chleb, une hunk of mieso, and one ball of malso. There, does not that embrace three perfectly good languages?" asked Judith.

Helen laughed merrily at Judith's absurd mixture. "It would be very funny if they served you that way. The flavors would be very mixed," she said archly.

"Yes, Judy, you would get an allied menu. Better, I think, to win each battle separately, and eat in each country as you go along. Personally, I have a weakness for 'grub and chow.' After that selection I make it civilized to the extent of three courses but never five. You see, we have three, Judy. You may have your dessert this time also."

Helen seemed preoccupied, and in spite of the chatter she stopped often and looked intently at Jane. Finally Judith, vanquishing the very last of her eclair, asked teasingly:

"What's on your mind, Helen dear? Met any more big men with long whiskers?"

Too late Jane's tug at Judith's skirt. Helen dropped knife and fork, and blinked to keep back tears.

"Now, Helen dear, I did not mean to make you feel badly. You know, I really like big, foreign-looking men, and I had no idea of ridiculing them," Judith sobered up instantly.

"Oh, it is not that, my friends, but I want to tell you so much. Sometimes I think, what do you think of me? Then again I say, I must try to make plain----"

"No, you must not, indeed," Jane assured her. "Don't worry your head about what we think, when you know it must be something very nice. We like you and you like us, so why should we go digging up old matters? When you want to tell us more about yourself we shall be very interested, but until you feel like it, we are perfectly content."

Helen's eyes still seemed about to overflow. Never had she looked so small and helpless, and she now displayed that attitude of diffidence, peculiar to foreigners. Years of oppression leave their indent upon such impressionable characters, and Helka Podonsky, at that moment harked back, body and soul, to her untold life somewhere in Poland.

"Oh, thank you. I know how kind you are," she murmured. "But it must seem very strange. You know I love my people, and I love my country. It is not that--but----"

"Oh, we know, Helen dear," Judith tried to pacify. "And you must not think that because we are Americans, and have been born in these United States, we do not know of the hardships of other countries. And even here, Helen, we girls have plenty of troubles of our own, don't we, Janie?"

"Indeed we do. Last year was not so bad at school, but when I came to Wellington first I was treated exactly like an outcast, except for Judith's wonderful protection and influence. That is why you must trust us. We are determined you shall not suffer, as even a Western girl was made to. Why, if I had been a real cowboy, with all the trappings, they could not have been more hateful to me at first."

Tactful Jane had hit upon this line of conversation to relieve the more personal trend. But Helen did not quite understand. Was Jane warning her?

[CHAPTER XI--A STRANGE PREDICAMENT]

"Our last expedition, girls. Shall we all make it?"

"Oh, don't tell us this is the wind-up of our glorious honeymoon! I feel exactly like a deserted bride. How can we leave it all for old Wellington, Jane?"

"Judy, dear, you forget the old saw about the fish that have not yet been caught. And I always thought you such a good sport."

"Janie, I know all that junk about fish. But just look at dear old New York! And see our applied science in exact housekeeping! I----"

"You were never exact, Judy. And I couldn't call that clump of wearables really scientific looking. In fact, I am worried about the expressmen coming in and grabbing up your train togs. Then you would have to go off in the flimsey you wore to the play last night. I fancy it would rather be outre en route."

"Now, Janie, don't flash anything like that on me, at the moment, I love French in a nice rich translation like Hugo, but the naked truth in French rather frightens me. Make it English. You mean to say it would be outrageous for me to wear a theatre gown while travelling. There, I guessed it first shot. Give me one point."

"Seriously, Judith, the expressmen will be here this morning. You must realize they cannot carry things over their arms."

"Yes, I know. I have always thought it would be lots nicer if they did. It musses things up so to have to pack them. But since my innovation is not yet current, I suppose I shall have to spoil everything by cramming them in their awful little boxes. Jane, did you ever hear of a current innovation?"

"Can't recall that I have, dear. But I know what you mean. Helen, are you going with us on our very last shopping tour?"

Helen was folding up the precious garments so lately acquired. The fondness with which she smoothed them betrayed her delight in their acquisition. Helen had vehemently protested she did not need so many pretty things, but Jane would have her fitted out as well, and perhaps a little better than most "freshies." Helen looked up with the eyes truly labeled violet, and like that wonderful flower, the depths of their color was softened to velvet by the least glint of dew.

"If you would not mind, Jane dear," she risked. "I feel I should like to have everything packed. And what more can we possibly buy?"

"All right, girlie. You may stay home and sigh, and kiss things up. I know you just hate to give up housekeeping, and I don't blame you in the least. We have had a lovely time," and Jane stopped to wind her arm around the curly head bent over the boxes on the floor. "You stay home if you wish, Helen, but don't scold me if I bring you one more--little handkerchief, or something like that?"

"Jane, I have wanted to tell you. I feel so over--over----"

"Helen, you mean overwhelmed, don't you?" suggested Judith.

"Yes, Judith, that is the big word I want. I feel--that way about everything. I had many pretty things once, but since I came to America I have been glad to be here, and not think of all I once loved."

Jane and Judith paused in their rushing about and listened attentively. Jane had been rather dreading this little speech from Helen.

"Yes, I have been so happy since I met you, and it seems we have been friends for always," went on the Polish girl. "But I want you to know I do not expect to be ever like this--a--guest. Some day I shall be able to repay."

"Now don't spoil everything by getting sad and gloomy," Jane admonished. "You know we just need you as much as you need us. Can't you see that?"

"I am very glad," and she brushed away something that blurred her big eyes. "I would like to do a great favor if ever I am the artist. I then will give--and give, and perhaps it will be a little, but never as much as this."

"You are engaged to play my wedding march, Helen," Jane declared, "and I shall expect you to do that for the sake of these old times." Jane was trying to make light of the threatening tragedy. "And besides that, you will surely have to play for Judith when she has her cowboy reunion. I believe she intends to engage the Hippodrome for that event."

"No place smaller, nor less substantial would answer my purpose," Judith agreed, annexing Jane's humor. "I am going to show this New York some day, what the boys of El Capitan can do in the way of entertaining. Just you wait, Helen, until next vacation. We will take you out to Montana, and show you all the wonders I have enjoyed. I have forever blotted from my childish memory the thought of any other battleground, as a vacation scene. What I enjoyed on Jane's ranch is indelible."

"Come along, you chatter-box," urged Jane. "We must be back at least for the train. Good bye, Helen dear. Keep your door locked."

In spite of their years, with decorum annexed, the two girls were always strongly tempted to slide down those adorable banisters in Miss Jordan's big old-fashioned hall, and now, as they were going out for almost the last time, both girls eyed each other suspiciously.

"We don't dare, but it's a shame," spoke Jane. "That comes of getting old."

"Like a bald spot, it's the emptiness that hurts. Don't you feel a vagueness for a slide?" asked Judith, smoothing the glossy rail lovingly.

"Yes, but Judith, did you notice someone in the lower hall just as we left our room?" whispered Jane. "See that figure--gliding around the pedestal?"

"The plumber, likely," replied Judith. "I have seen that old coat before. Let's hurry, Janie, or, as you said, I shall have to give the expressmen my things 'As Is,' which means any old way, in store parlance. Where do we go from here?"

At the door Jane glanced back a little ruefully. She had seen some one--a man, surely, standing there, just as they came out of the big room at the top of the stairs, and possibly when he noticed they could observe him he disappeared in the direction of the heavy folding doors and the big bronze statue, that marked the entrance to the dining room.

"I wish Helen had come along," Jane remarked when on the sidewalk, "somehow I will be rather glad when we all get safely to Wellington."

"I have felt the same way these last few days," admitted Judith. "Jane, I think you are a wonder not to come right out, and ask Helen what all the mystery is about. Don't you feel a bit squeamish having her turn pale at old men's faces, and seeing her dodge every foreign-looking man, woman and child who comes along? Surely she is not too proud to be Polish."

"Oh, no, indeed. I know it is nothing like class pride. She loves to watch the little children who congregate around hand organs and hurdy-gurdies, her eyes dance with them. No, Judith, Helen has a secret, and I am sure it is one that keeps her anxious, but why should I pry into it, just because she happened to win a scholarship? That would be poor sport, wouldn't it? To exact a price--the price of personal confidence from the winner? She won honestly and we are glad she did, so why speculate?"

"The Greeks still live," spoke Judith. "Jane, I believe if old friend Methuselah happened back for something he had forgotten, you would hand it out to him without asking the secret of his eight hundred years of life. Too personal for you. All righty. I shall agree, and I love the little curly-headed Helen. Also, I claim first round from the opposition when we start basketball and fight for Center. This is the sort of day that brings our game up even above the joy of seeing Marian Seaton die of envy. Did I tell you I had a letter from Visite? She is the French girl who came at the end of last season, you know, Adrienne's friend."

"Oh, yes, I recall, her name is Visitation and they call her Visite. She always wore such absurd high heels, didn't she?"

"That's Visite. But we will forgive her the heels for she speaks and writes perfect English. Some of the big girls, as she calls them, are having their cars sent out. I guess they did not like being overshadowed by your wonderful horse, Firefly. Not that a mere machine could compare with that glorious little animal."

"Oh, they may have their cars. I don't fancy motoring--yet. I may take to it when I get old and feeble. Here we are. I want to get a Tell-Tale for Katherine. Don't you think they are the dearest little books? And they always do tell tales, if we keep them written up. Let us look at these."

They inspected the dainty new dairies on the beautifully polished glass counter in Brientos. The new style diary had much to recommend it. The suggestions given in "Heads" left little to be worked out, by even such registrants as might be indolent. There were classified duties, pleasures, accidents, questions, engagements, expenses, apologies, dance steps, candy recipes, and such other incidents as might be particularly interesting to young girls. The lines were partly written, so that all the writer should fill out was the end of the line, like an insurance blank.

"Now, that is the way all our themes ought to be started for us," specified Jane. "If we had a starter line we could dash off a thesis with our eyes shut. I will take two of these. I am going to give one to Elaine. You know how she loves to write."

"Yes, I remember too well. She wrote a beautiful poem all over my closet door, and I had to stand for it," recalled Judith. "Better buy her a couple of reams of paper besides that sample. She needs space."

From the stationer's the girls paid a last visit to their favorite confectioner. The amount of candy purchased seemed extravagant. Even the white-capped and ribbon-aproned clerk looked surprised when Judith called for the third box of cherries, but when the girls said good-bye, and Jane unpinned her own violets for this pretty little candy counter miss, the very delivery boy who swung out with the big white package, whistled good naturedly.

"Is that all?" asked Judith, glancing at her wrist watch anxiously.

"Almost. I want to get dad another box of cigars and Aunt Mary a bottle of sachet. I ordered her favorite scent and it will be ready now. They can be mailed direct from the stores."

Steps quickened, and cheeks glowing accordingly, Jane and Judith sped along. New York had been attractive, and the days just gone were filled with happy memories.

Finally, with lists all checked off, Miss Jordan's apartment was reached within ten minutes of the actual time set for return.

"I am sure Helen has everything ready," commented Jane, getting out her latch key.

"Trust her for that," Judith replied. "I hope she has been the good Samaritan to poor little me. Otherwise I see those armfuls and the staggering expressmen."

At the inside door, that opened into the girls' own apartment, Jane fumbled with her key. It would not open the door.

"Locked with the key in," Judith thought. "Call Helen!"

"Helen! Open the door!" called Jane. "Helen--are you there?"

No answer.

"She could not have gone out and left the key on the inside," Jane said, anxiously now. "I wonder what can be the matter."

"Let me shake the door," suggested Judith. "Queer----"

"Oh, is that you, girls?" called Miss Jordan from the lower hall. "I have been trying to find someone to let me in there. The expressmen have been here, and I could not reach your trunks."

"But we left Helen in," Jane was trembling now. "She must be inside. Listen! Helen!"

A shuffling behind the panel could now be heard, then the key turned in the door, and Helen confronted them, pale and disheveled.

"Oh, child, whatever is the matter!" exclaimed Miss Jordan, brushing past the two girls and getting her motherly arms around the tottering Helen. "What ever has happened to you?"

"Oh, I--got--weak--I guess I fainted. I am all right now. I am so sorry----"

"Sorry!" exclaimed Jane. "Why, Helen dear, to think you were all alone. And had the door locked so Miss Jordan could not reach you! Sit down and let us get you some ammonia. Judith, it is on my stand. Please fetch it quickly."

No need to tell Judith to hurry, for the color of the little Polish girl's face was warning enough.

"Were you frightened of anything?" asked Miss Jordan, rubbing the trembling hands.

"But no one came in, did they, Helen?" asked Jane in real alarm.

"Oh, no, I--locked the door when I felt so queer. I thought perhaps it was the expressmen, but I could not attend----"

"You were very wise, my dear," and Miss Jordan shook her head thoughtfully. "It was better to be alone, although the experience was unpleasant. Those men might have picked up anything from this collection and then----"

"I am so sorry we left you alone," Judith murmured, with real penitence in her voice. "And to think we were gadding about, while you were ill and needed us so urgently. There, swallow that ammonia. It will soon revive you. I should hate to faint."

"Oh, I am again all right," and the pale face lightened up just a shade. "I am so much of a baby to get sick like that----"

"We will not leave New York until to-morrow if you do not feel perfectly all right," announced Jane with authority.

"Oh, but please, yes," begged Helen. "I am so glad to get to the big school. I like New York, but it is not like the college with all big grounds----"

"That is just what I say, Miss Allen," put in Miss Jordan as she smoothed the cushions they were piling around Helen. "You young ladies have been having a great time, running around and feeding on electives, as we say at college when we choose our own studies. Are you sure you feel all right to travel, Helen?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. It was nothing. I was so happy--with all the new things that I forgot to eat my breakfast. I shall be all ready when the other girls are. And I am so grieved to give trouble." Helen was now quite herself again. The ammonia had done the work of restoring the temporarily impeded circulation. But Jane and Judith were not satisfied that all the story of her sudden illness had been told. It was decidedly strange that a girl should faint, right in her own room, and in the middle of the day. Still, both were too wise to press questions just then. The very best plan to be put in operation, they were deciding silently, was for all hands to be off to Wellington that very afternoon.

There was some bustling about, but Miss Jordan helped, and in spite of the confusion the baggage was finally shipped successfully and on time.

"Little old New York!" exclaimed Jane merrily, pressing her personal good bye on Miss Jordan. "You have been very good to the Wellington Refugees. And we thank you."

[CHAPTER XII--WELLINGTON EN MASSE]

"Pray tell me, pretty maiden, are there any more at home like you?" This came from the spreading oak, while from the group of young pines, in a remote corner of the campus the answer wafted in vigorous girlish voices:

"There are a few, and pretty too-to-too, to-oo-oo-oo."

It was the call to the incoming horde, on their first day at Wellington.

Over in the hollow, known as the Lair, another contingent from the upper classes called out, rather than sang:

"Sing a song of Freshies ready for the fray,

Open arms, oh, Wellington, and carry them away!"

A grand rush followed this challenge. The newcomers to Wellington, some timid, some brave, but all expectantly happy, were then borne away to the mysteries of college initiation--to the great world of advanced education. No hazing here, just the good-natured pranks dear to the heart of every college girl, and significant in the good fellowship established at the very outset of the broader school life. Came another shout:

"Get together, all together, keep together--wow!

Every little Freshie must make a pretty bow!"

This was the signal for the real carrying off, for as the freshmen complied with the order "to bow" each was blindfolded, and carried off by a pair, or more, of strong arms, and quickly deposited in the gym.

With that dexterity for which such pranks are chiefly remarkable, the stunt was accomplished, to the sophs being assigned the task. The pledge of college sorority restricts the publication of the actual happenings in the sacred confines of the gym on this Initiation Day, but facts not on the program may be honorably recounted.

When Helen was ordered to sit down, she did so with such unexpected alacrity that she sat on the college cat--Minerva by name.

No one regretted this accident more than did the cat. The howl from the girls, and the protests from Minerva fully substantiating this statement. But following this incident no one else could be induced to sit down. All feared cats, fiercer cats and bigger cats. As usual with the simple sitting down order a merry time followed. The blinded girls always feel they are in some unseen danger and refuse to be seated. Visions of cold lakes, high hills, soapy tubs, and even sequestered cats, seem to possess the aspirants. Of course, when they do unbend, they always find themselves sitting comfortably in a perfectly good seat. But Helen sat down with a bang, and this promptness won her first goal.

"She's a good sport!"

"A regular scout!"

"That's the sort of do-it-tive-ness!"

"Three cheers for Helen, Helena, Nellie and Nell!"

"All in favor of Nell shout!"

"Nell, Nell, ding, dong, ding!"

"She's with the Wellington's! Her hat's in the ring!" shouted, cheered and yelled the sororities.

Thus winning the first goal at initiation, Helen, thereafter to be known as Nell, found herself in unsought favor. The shouts and cheers of her new companions pleased none better than Jane Allen, although Jane had done nothing to provoke the sentiment. No one in Wellington knew, or would know, about the scholarship. When the announcement was made to schools in the spring, that such an opportunity was open to them, there was expressed keen interest, but in Wellington little or nothing was said or done to attract attention to the fact of a free scholarship. This was obviously good taste, as otherwise the winner would undoubtedly suffer social hardships.

As a prelude to other good times Train Day sports were carried on auspiciously. The fairness of putting the freshies "through" at once was apparent, as any delay, however trivial, served to develop for the newcomers--friends or enemies. Thus it was that the up-to-date plan of efficiency included these initial sports.

Also, it was better for the freshmen. They did not then have to go about for days fearing accidents, either planned or spontaneous. They were thus saved from the horror of fasting, fearing mustard or soap; they might now look on the lake without dreading a mysterious hand in the ducking process, and they might go to bed without special precautions suggesting accidental insurance policies.

After a few simple stunts, such as singing in three foreign languages, answering ten questions truthfully and reciting Mother Goose from Tucker to Horner, the new students were considered qualified to take their places as freshmen.

The treat of the day was the Free Lunch Spread. This consisted of a typical lunch-wagon meal. In fact, the wagons, relics of the good old days when college raised its own supplies, had been fitted up, and from this portable delicatessen, coffee, rolls, hamburger and franks were distributed. Golden rod and iron weed, the gold and purple blending royally notwithstanding franks and hamburgers, were bunched at the oilcloth supports, and in the middle of each wagon covering, with a right artistic hole jaggedly punched, the "counter" could be both seen and heard from the outside.

"Oh, how glorious!" exclaimed Dorothy Ripple, otherwise known as Dick. "I never hoped to find college like this."

"And to get our first feed in the open without all the formalities of good manners," supplied Weasis Blair, who had, according to her own statement put into cold storage her burdensome title "Marie Louise."

"Perfectly all right to be freshie to-day," commented Grazia St. Clair (she pronounced her name like "Grawcia"). It might have been Latin-Italian, and did not seem to euphonize with the British St. Clair. However, Grazia was a very attractive girl. She had hair that curled up and down, hiding the fact that it was bobbed, and she looked out of a pair of the most wonderful topaz eyes! Everyone loved Grazia at sight. She, Weasie and Dick, formed a combine immediately, and a happier little trio of freshmen could not be found on the campus. All over the spacious grounds girls flitted to and fro, winding in and out of the autumn sunshine in the very best of their late summer glorious gowns. It was a patch of summer weather always welcome to school girls, who are loath to give up pretty togs without affording school friends an opportunity of getting a glimpse of them. The voiles, from green of the daintiest, to geranium of the gayest, blazed everywhere in a riot of tropical warmth and splendor.

Jane and Judith were very busy. As juniors they carried considerable responsibility of the day's function, and to Jane, Right Guard of soph year, descended the special honor of playing hostess to the sophs and freshmen.

"I like our new plan immensely," Judith declared to Jane as the latter gathered up cups and saucers, and rescued spoons from leafy graves. "What a wonderful class!"

Helen sidled up to the big rustic bench from which Jane was frantically trying to gather up all kinds of paper dishes and incorrigible china.

"Oh, Jane dear," she exclaimed, "isn't it beautiful!"

"Do you like it, Nell?" asked Jane, caressing the little word "Nell" with a ring like the old-time pretty little song, "Nellie Was a Lady."

"Oh, I adore it!" enthused Helen. "And I like the American Nell. It has a tone like the bell," and she tossed her curly head in rhythmatic sway of a silent, human song.

"We shall have to call you the girl of many names," Jane said with a bright smile. "But what is movable is curable, we say in English, so perhaps some day you will have a name so famous----"

"Oh, la, la, la!" and Helen ran off to the beckoning throng of freshmen, which included Dick and Weasie. She had thus acquired more freedom in a few hours on the campus than many would have gained in days, under more formal circumstances.

Small wonder seniors commented favorably on the "Jane Allen Plan," as the new arrangements had been styled. That Jane had suffered tortures on her own initiation no one guessed, but that she was instrumental in saving others embarrassment was too obvious to disregard. As was expected, many of the old class failed to return. The close of the World's War had spent its baneful influence on many homes, where happy school girls were suddenly thrust into premature womanhood, and where girls, hitherto closely guarded from the most trivial hardship, now occupied the boys' places, and willingly offered sturdy young arms to prop crushed parents under the blows dealt by Humanizing Fate.

But Marian Seaton--she whom Jane and Judith and their faction, had struggled so valiantly to subdue--she was back--like the proverbial bad penny.

Her hair was no longer any relation to yellow, but glowed a rich golden brown like early chestnuts. How do the heads stand the changes! And her white skin, pale to the edge of chemistry, was now pale in spots and tinted in detail. Her deep uncertain eyes, now blue and then yellow, movie eyes, as Meta Noon called them, were surely changing tone. Every experimenter knows hair dye afflicts the blood in color changes, affecting the eyes disastrously. Also, but it seems unkind to suggest such a catastrophe, hair-dye has an immediate action on the sight. Cicily Weldon could not tell time last year after one trip to New York when her hair was "fixed up!"

"Oh, how do you do, Jane?" lisped the same Marian, coming up the path as Jane was hurrying down. "Wasn't it perfectly wonderful?"

"Delightful," replied Jane with a show of good nature she intended to make infectious. "Did you have a pleasant summer?"

"Yes, and no. I was on at Camp Hillton helping mamma with some war work left unfinished. I met some lovely non-coms."

"Oh, at Camp Hillton! Only the sick are there, are they not?"

"Not all really very sick," replied Marian. "Some are merely ailing. But of course, they had been wounded," she felt patriotically obliged to qualify.

"Poor fellows," sighed Jane.

"Awfully jolly chaps," replied Marian.

Even at this early date Jane and Marian disagreed--and about wounded soldiers!

"Dazzling little foreigner our--Nellie," too sweetly remarked Marian. "Hasn't she the loveliest accent?"

"Do you think so?" almost gasped Jane. There! In spite of all precautions that word "foreigner." What was there so perfectly fiendish about Marian Seaton? Why should she always sing out the falsetto?

"Oh, yes, I was wondering what was her province?" she persisted.

But Jane was now hurrying down the path, scattering recalcitrant dishes as she went.

Plague that old Marian Seaton and her sneers!

"Oh, hello, Janie," called out Dozia Dalton, otherwise Theodosia. "How's the Wild and Wooly?"

"Almost ready to shear," replied Jane, in as jovial a tone as Dozia had betrayed. "There are whiskers on the moon, and the sun has a pompadour. How's little Beantown?"

"Browning nicely, thank you!" in an invisible pun. "I had a pan just before I left."

Good old Dozia, always ready for a lark. No doubt she did have what might be taken for a "panning" previous to leaving home if she perpetrated any of her famous jokes physically. Dozia was regarded "an awful joker" and she usually preferred the illustrated brand of funnies.

"Welcome to our city," yelled Minette Brocton. "Someone said you had made your debut--saw you in New York."

"Oh, hello, Nettie," called back Jane. She liked Minette, and wondered if she had seen the "housekeepers" while that squad was on duty in New York.

"What are squashes fetching to-day? And have you any very nice La France onions?" asked Minette in a tone full of good humor. "I wonder, Jane, you did not buy a pushcart."

"Oh, Nettie Brocton! Don't you dare tell me you saw us in New York and never came to see us," reproached Jane.

"Couldn't find you. All I could ever see distinctly were brown paper bundles."

"Oh, Nettie, really, did you see me in New York?" Jane was coaxing now.

"No, but a friend of mine did. There now, not one more scrap of information will I give you. But I love your little friend Nellie."

"I am so glad, Nettie. We need you in our ranks. Spread the call for team play. This will surely be an eventful year."

[CHAPTER XIII--STIRRING THE DEPTHS]

"She won't run!"

"Of course she will. Who asked her?"

"I didn't ask her, but I heard her say emphatically that she would not. And you know Jane Allen."

"But we must have her. And we have to get very busy before the freshmen have a chance to go over our heads. I have been lobbying ever since the four thirty, and I have seen all the old girls, and lots of new ones. This is so important, Gloria. You know what a big year we have planned."

"Yes, Judy, I do know. All the more reason why we should have Jane. But she can't or won't forget her freshman experience. She declared it showed a prejudice that would react on the club if we chose her. That is why she refuses."

Gloria Gude and Judith Stearns were in conclave. It was the day before class election and not a single head could be seen anywhere either in or out of college. They ran in pairs, and from that up to tens but no singles. Everyone was scouting and rooting secretly for her candidate, and not a few sashes were inadvertently exchanged in the wild pulls and grabs, desperately made to get votes that might be passing by in chapel or through recitation halls. Dozia Dalton had thus acquired Molly Linott's black velvet long ding-dong belt, and Nettie Brocton lost her embroidered Chinese ribbon somewhere going from two ten, to three fifteen.

"If I get any more souvenirs I shall have to have an auction," Judith remarked, to Gloria. "Someone just pegged a perfectly good powder puff at me to get my attention. Now, who uses that scent?"

"Oh, Judy, let's be serious. What shall we do if Jane will not run?"

"Take her," declared Judith, practical for once.

"But how?"

"That is for us to decide. We are the executive committee. Let's get under cover."

The brisk October morning pinched their cheeks giving glow but not imparting warmth. It was chilly even for college girls--quite cold for mere folks.

"Come over to the wigwam. There we can talk unmolested, as Cleo would say. We must make her editor this year, by the way," digressed Gloria.

"One thing at a time, especially one election. Now, whom have you seen? Who will lead the Maths?" Judith checked up.

"Tim Maher. You know she is a dandy. She not only leads but lines 'em up. She won't let a single vote get loose."

"Yes, Timmy is dependable. But I thought the Seatons rather copped her late last season? She went a little with Mazie."

"Oh, yes, but even Mazie is with us now. Marian Seaton has lost a lot of friends. I think I know why."

"Could I know? It might help with the election."

"Well, Judy, it is very personal. Haven't you noticed Marian is wearing some of last year's things?"

"No, I hadn't. But they surely have scads of money."

"Oh, yes, but Marian has a very determined father, I believe. However, it is not anything we should feel like injecting into our politics. Jane would never stand for home stuff getting into class work."

"Oh, no, I had no idea of suggesting it," replied the rather aggrieved Judith. "I have some honor myself, Gloria."

"Don't get mad, Judy. I know you are all wool and a yard wide, or you will be after this year's series. But let us keep at the subject. Whom have we for the second division?"

"Suppose we try Janet Clark?"

"Oh, she's too fly-away and pretty. Likely that's her powder puff that came kiting. How about Ted Guthrie?"

"If she isn't too fat to get around, Ted is all right. But have you observed her circumference? Must have spent her summer at a pure food show. Well, say we try Ted Guthrie," and the pencil scrawled over the half sheet of notebook paper.

"Oh, there's Nettie Brocton. Let's call her and ask about the Triangles. Oh, Nettie! Whoo! Whoo!"

Answering the owl call, Nettie ran across the campus, jumping nimbly over the hedge balls that marked the places where girls were not supposed to tread. But the reckless late fall weather cancelled such orders automatically.

"Nettie, do you know about the Triangles? How are they lining up? For Jane?"

"Oh, I am so disappointed," and the pretty face submerged its dimples. "Someone has been telling about the college the most absurd story about Jane."

"Story about Jane!" both girls exclaimed, indignantly.

"Yes, too ridiculous. Said she has adopted a girl, actually adopted a girl, who is at this college. And that she has brought her here just to wait on her. Did you ever hear such trash?"

A light filtered through Judith's mental reservation. That story must mean Helen. And the "adoption" must belong to the scholarship clause. How awful it seemed to struggle against class prejudice! Why must some girls always be snobs?

"Who would have spread such a crazy yarn?" asked Gloria.

"Well, someone who shopped in New York late this summer, I guess. Said she saw Jane lots of times, and the little girl carrying her bundles."

Judith's face fell to zero. After all they had done for Helen, to think the tables had been turned, making Jane the beneficiary!

"We have to come right out and contradict that," exclaimed Gloria. "We could never win with Jane wearing the stigma of--snob."

"And Jane Allen above all girls! She who has always been so generous and so considerate. Why, I would as soon think of accusing her of theft, or any crime outright, as to say she would bring a girl here under false pretenses."

None knew better than did Judith how delicate a situation was evolving. To clear Jane would implicate Helen to the extent, at least, of proclaiming her a scholarship student, and this would be an outrage, just when she was becoming so popular, and when news from her friends--but Judith could no longer cogitate. She must act! She must do something to save the situation.

"I was with Jane and Helen in New York, and we stopped at Miss Jordan's. We all had a wonderful time. Now how could anyone make bad capital out of that?" she demanded of the defenseless and innocent Gloria.

"Well, you know the opposition," Gloria reminded the indignant Judith. "They are all wizards at that sort of thing. There goes the gong. We must away. Nettie, don't do anything till you hear from us. Be at the palms when three thirty is dismissed," and with a well-practiced dash all three covered the stretch of green and presently sauntered in line with their classes, quite as calm and unruffled as the remainder appeared. All but Judith. Those who knew her best might easily have guessed she was "boiling over." That determined, self-restrained expression could mean nothing else.

"What on earth is it, Judy?" whispered Jane.

"Turned on my ankle," glibly lied Judith, without any such intention.

"Hurt much?" persisted the troublesome Jane.

"No, that is--yes. I don't know--maybe nothing," and Judith blushed at her own stupidity. Presently Jane would be suggesting iodine. Breathing exercises over, just as Judith had feared, along came Jane with her whisper:

"Iodine!"

"Oh, yes, war paint!" Judith flung back. "I am all right, Janie, I was joking."

A look of relief was so apparent on Jane's pretty face that Judith was chagrined. But Judith knew too well if she did not put an end to the joke at once, and that decidedly, Jane would likely be insisting upon doing the rubbing for that ankle. Maybe between periods. Jane was like that with her sympathy, practical.

Class in session all eyes seemed focused in the direction of the "Two Jays" as Jane and Judith were dubbed. Jane was quite as determined as her opponents that she would not run for class presidency, and Judith was just as positive as both factions that Jane would run and also that she would win. Little Judy Stearns, as she was telling herself, must have some sense, and she would get right to operating it that very afternoon. But how help Jane without hurting Helen?

The day's work seemed interminable. Everything dragged but worry, and that leapt.

In a retrospective interval the memory of the queer fainting spell Helen suffered, just before leaving New York, came to Judith with positive relevance. What if that had been caused by someone frightening Helen, and if that someone had sent all that hateful story to Wellington?

Obviously Helen would never have told them if such a thing had happened. Would she admit it now?

That the Polish girl was seriously afraid of some haunting terror Judith knew instinctively, and it was certain any additional cause for worry would be equivalent to the proverbial last straw. No telling what might occur if Helen ever guessed she was the innocent cause of trouble for Jane.

When class was finally dismissed Judith avoided Jane and sought out her "chiefs." A real round-up of the voting situation must be made with all possible celerity, and Judith knew it would be no easy matter to rally her scattering forces, in the face of the delicious gossip that was slowly but surely filtering through the groups to the detriment of Jane's reputation.

Minette Brocton was waiting at the palms. She pinched Judith's hands confidently as the two fell into step for recreation.

"I think I can trace the story, Judy," she said in a hushed voice. "And whether Jane runs or not, we must bury the corpse, or better still, cremate it. But how about little Nell? She seems supersensitive."

"She is exactly that. But don't you think all--strangers are apt to be?" Judith was on the point of saying "foreigners," when she caught herself.

"Yes, I have always noticed that," Minette replied. "But I overheard something at luncheon that gave me a clue. Did you ever meet a boy, a sort of foreigner while you were in New York?"

"A boy--a foreigner!" Judith searched her memory. "Of course we likely met many such. You don't mean call boys, bell boys, or check boys, do you?"

"Oh, no, certainty not. I knew you met battalions of them. I mean some one who called on--Helen?"

"Oh, mercy no!" Judith almost gasped. "Helen would not see anyone. She acted like a frightened little mouse."

"Then did she get many--letters?"

"Never one that I saw," promptly replied the surprised Judith.

"Well, it is something about a boy, and a letter, and of course he had to be foreign to match up. But I know it is all plain rubbish. And I will do all in my power to run it down. Meanwhile we have to have an election," and the soft brown eyes looked wistfully into Judith's darker orbs.

"Worse luck," replied Judith. "But since we must have it, we must elect our candidate. I never felt quite so helpless. It is plain I do depend a lot on Janie."

"We all do, but this is an excellent opportunity to try out our own mettle. If I could only come right out and ask----"

"Whom?" insisted Judith with much vehemence.

"Marian Seaton, of course."

"Then, why not!"

"Because I have no defence prepared. I would not know what to say to offset her accusations. You know how horribly sneering and insinuating she is, if she would only say something intelligent one might reply, but she just smirks, and sneers, and curls those painted lips."

"Oh, easy, Nettie, don't slam Marian. She is real, at corners, you know, even if the corners are anything but square, still I am willing to admit Marian is insidious," Judith qualified.

"The smirking snob," Minette declared, losing her temper. "I have no patience with a girl in the juniors who acts like a freshling cad. It isn't as if she had not already had the benefit of two hard years' training."

"And enough hard knocks to make the training effective," corroborated Judith. "I know all that, Nettie. But it is just the peculiar situation. Difficult problems require skilful handling, and this is a hard knot. I may as well tell you, Nettie, something about the whole thing, so we will be able to work intelligently," Judith suddenly decided.

"Seems to me every one is holding conference with every one else," remarked Minette, seeking out a safe place in which to continue their talk. "I wonder how they will ever get together for the line up?"

"I have tried to take care of that for our party," Judith answered. "We have arranged to meet directly after supper on the South Slope. When we call the roll and give the handshake, we will know if we have any spies among us. Then, when all is fixed, we will take the hall by storm and put our ticket through before the freshmen know what is going on. Of course, they may have a plan better than ours and may swamp us," Judith finished, a little dubiously.

"Oh, there is Jane! She is looking for us. What shall we do now? We can never plan with her listening," exclaimed Minette, regretfully.

"Got to postpone it a little," Judith said hurriedly. "Hello, Janie. What's the war cry?"

"Judy, dear, I hate to be so emphatic, but I really can't let you go on with this electioneering for me. I will not run." Jane struck a rigid pose and spoke with unmistakable emphasis.

"But why?" gasped Minette, before Judith could speak.

"It is too long a story to tell in a moment," Jane replied very seriously, "but you must believe me, when I say, I cannot run."

Judith bit her red lips until her wonderful teeth threatened to take root outside of their limits. She was saying yes, just as emphatically as Jane was saying no. The two heads were all but wagging, and each wigwagged a very different meaning.

"You still feel all that old stuff about being a Westerner and having had squabbles during your fresh year," blurted Judith. "You know, perfectly well, Jane Allen, all the whole college admires you, and you won't let us have our way. Now, do you call that fair play?"

"Well, Judith, I have to think of--other things. You may imagine every one likes me, but I have a perfectly good pair of working ears and I have not wadded them up for the last few days. From what I have unwillingly heard, I can judge of what I didn't hear," and Jane smiled that old-time determined Allen smile, the pride of her father. Could he have seen her now he would have openly rejoiced. Jane assumed a distinctive attitude. It proclaimed "No Compromise."

"Perhaps, if I skip along, you two may fight it out in comfort," suggested Minette. "I'll away--and--see--some--folks," she finished enigmatically. But Judith had the interpretive key.

[CHAPTER XIV--BAFFLING STRATEGY]

"Shh! Ssh! Careful!"

"Keep back, Ted. They'll see your feet!"

"No bigger than yours!"

"Hush there, you two rowdies. Do you want to have us all captured?"

"Larry is pinching me!"

"Never saw such babies. We will run you all home, if you don't behave. I wish I had the other line to lead. They would--obey."

"Hush, kids. We'll be expelled. But isn't it too funny?"

"Might be for you, but I'm choked. If I don't get this mask off soon I'll collapse and you'll have a real funeral."

Titters and gasps, muffled giggles and escaping "S-sish!" like a steam valve leaking noise, the sophs and their co-workers among the freshmen were crowding around Oak Hall for the all-absorbing election. As usual on this occasion the freshies were in a panic of fun. They knew nothing of the agony of being captured by the juniors, and the masked line with the perfect disguise of gym uniform, and the head winders, found more ways of giving expression to forbidden mirth than even their giggling reputation credited them with. "The Babes," ever fractious, were simply exasperating to-night, and Judith, with her scouts, more than once threatened to drive them home to bed at the very next whimper.

Directly back of Oak Hall the plotters plotted. They were to assemble there, rush into the hall at a given signal, and put the election over before the other contingent gained their bearings.

"All counted?" whispered Judith.

"Yes," replied Dozia Dalton, "and some to spare."

"Sure they're ours?" cautioned Judith again.

"They had the grip," replied Dozia.

"And the pass word?"

"I didn't try it."

"We have to--spies could defeat us."

"All right. Wait," and the fearless Dozia crept through the line of masked figures until she reached number forty-eight. Here she halted.

"Grip?" she whispered, and the figure gripped.

"Password?" she ordered again, but no word came.

"Give the password," she hissed into the ear--this time very distinctly. But only a mumble came from the now shifting mask.

"Step out!" ordered Dozia, and the girl in place "forty-eight" instantly ducked the line and ran toward the lake, Dozia close at her heels.

"You may as well stop!" called the soph. "We will get you if we have to put off this election to do it."

But the figure only yanked its bloomers higher above knees, giving more freedom for action, and clearing every sort of woody obstacle, dashed on. Dozia gave a muffled "Coo-ee." She required help to overtake the spy. And the chimes were striking seven--the hour of attack! A runner known by her stout stick and shorter skirt answered the coo-ee call immediately. When within hearing Dozia ordered:

"Go ahead! Don't mind me! I will take care of Forty-Eight," and back to the now moving line the runner made her way to relay Dozia's answer.

"Now!" signalled Judith. "One, two, three! Go!"

The rush that followed this order did full credit to the wild occasion. Scrambling, pushing, urging, shoving, all fighting to gain entrance to Oak Hall, and there to hold the fort against the opposition, the mass of determined girls forced their way on.

Those who actually fell by the wayside were automatically picked up, and carried on with the tide, so that once the hall was reached it took but a few seconds to surround the ballot boxes, secure the official blackboard, and begin the election before the other side had recovered from its shock of surprise, caused by the commotion.

Judith was chairman of candidates. It was her duty to report on nominations. Edith Lee and Minette Brockton were clerks of election; Dorothy Blyden and Grazia St Clair, inspectors. Judith jumped to the platform over the foot lights (unlighted to-night) and reached the rostrum without the slightest hint of formality. Forthwith she shouted:

"We are here to elect the class president for '20. We have a candidate unanimously chosen. I shall give the name to the clerk."

She then passed to Edith Lee a slip of paper. From this Edith promptly read:

"Jane Allen, '20."

There was a roar of applause, and then followed a mumble of objection. The applause attempted to drown the call for an opportunity to be heard.

"Madam Chairman! Madam Chairman! Mrs. Chair! The chair! Hear! Hear!"

"Prepare your ballots!" came the order from the chair, ignoring the call from the floor.

There was no need to give this last call, for scarcely Judith uttered the word "prepare" than the girls, all primed for the cue, made another rush for the ballot box.

By this time the other side had "gained consciousness," as Minette expressed it, and were massing to form a blockade. To reach the ballot box, deposit the votes every one of which was correctly signed, then to seize the box, count the votes and announce the winner would constitute a legal election. And some work!

In spite of the scramble and seeming disorder, every turn of the proceeding was carried out according to parliamentary rules--all but one detail: the candidate had not accepted the nomination.

"Where is she? Where is Jane Allen? Jane, dig in!" came shout after shout, as the girls pressed their way to the little box, therein to deposit the fateful slip of yellow paper. But Jane did not appear.

Nevertheless the voting went on, wildly, madly.

Groups of the opposition surrounded groups of the less experienced girls--those among the freshmen, but captives were quickly released by the forceful breaking in of the sophs. The call for Jane grew wilder and more persistent.

"Is she hiding?" someone asked.

"Jane Allen hide!" came back the indignant denial. "You don't know your candidate."

"Where is she? Produce her, or we shall challenge the election!" This last threat came from the gallery, and was known to have been uttered in a faculty voice. Now Jane must really be produced.

"Quick! Get the boxes. They are all in," gasped the panting Judith. "Jump into the side room and get counting before the others can line up, and we will go for Jane. We will not come back without her."

"Fraud! Fraud! Stuffed boxes! Unparliamentary! Against the rules! Where's your candidate?" came the repeated and reiterated shouts until even the lustiest among them cracked her voice and fell back on groans.

"They can't do it," insisted a cry for the opposition.

"Yes, we can. We will have our candidate here on time to accept," came back the equally determined rejoinder.

"Clear the floor. Balloting is over for the count. Polls closed! Time's up, clear the floor for counting!" came the well-known official voice from the gallery.

"Shame! Outrage! Fraud!" muttered the vanquished horde, but Judith and Grazia were scouring for Jane.

Without the presence of the candidate she could not be legally elected.

But where on earth was the invisible and elusive Jane!

[CHAPTER XV--ELECTION NIGHT]

"But she is not in her room. I went there just before the Pow-Wow."

"She may have come back. Where else could she be?"

"Do you suppose?"

"No, I don't. Jane would stand by her guns to the last ditch."

"Yet, she was so determined not to run. Perhaps, after all, we were foolish to force it on her."

"No, I just weighed up all the standards, and decided we had to have her for the good of this year's work all round. And then I knew, if we could convince her of that, she would not desert us. I know Jane will come through."

Judith and Grazia were punctuating their flight with such broken sentences as the above. They had not yet discovered the whereabouts of their candidate, and there were precious few moments left to accomplish that important task without which success, their election would promptly be declared null and void.

"Now, let us draw our breath, and incidentally our common sense," advised Judith, coming to a sudden halt. "If she is not in her room, I know she is not in college; if she is not in college then where is she?" reasoned the much perplexed young lady.

"Let's ask Molly. She was brushing up the halls when supper room let loose." This seemed an opportune suggestion from Grazia.

"Yes, there was a telephone, girls, and yes, it was for Miss Allen and yes, I saw her go out." Molly did not wait long enough to be cross examined.

"Which way? Did she walk? Did you hear her answer the phone?" Molly with her dustpan and broom was further besieged.

From the meager information thus obtained it was plain Jane had left the grounds.

Despair, thick and black, settled over the erstwhile politicians.

"But she could soon be back," offered the sympathetic Molly. "Hark! There's a car now."

The door opened slightly, and the portal framed a figure in blue! With a wild rush the committee of two dashed to the door.

"Jane! Jane Allen!" called both, verifying their suspicion with a tug at the now shrinking Jane.

"You are elected!" predicted Judith. "Come right along, and accept. Resign later if you must, but accept now or we are lost."

"One moment----" panted Jane. It was evident she had been experiencing some trouble. She was flushed and excited.

"We haven't the moment," insisted Judith. "They are waiting for us with the votes held up. Come on, Jane. Be a sport!" and like two young giants the hitherto ordinary girls assumed the role of baggage men and picked up Jane bodily, carrying her off to the expectant election room.

"Clear the way! She comes! Lo! The conquering hero comes!" shouted the crowd at the first glimpse of the triumphant entry.

"Are you ready for the question?" called the election clerk, taking up her delayed cue with alacrity.

"Question!" went up a shout.

"The result of the ballot is the unanimous election of Jane Allen, president of Class 1920!"

Wild cheers completely submerged Oak Hall charging the atmosphere like a veritable tidal wave.

The first great rush and roar over, the still billowing tide surged and splashed into the inevitable class yell:

"I know a girl and her name is Jane,

A reebald, ribald rowdy;

The second verse is just the same,

A reebald, ribald rowdy!"

Thus, the improvised class yell, went on one verse after another all being ended "Just the same" until throats gave out and feet merely pounded, or patted, and kept the echoing time. Finally Jane was accorded an opportunity of making herself heard, although it was rather a meager opportunity, and uncertain in spots. She had just risen to her feet when a cry from the "left wing" got the floor.

"We challenge this election!" shouted the opposition, led by Lillian Summers. "The candidate never accepted."

"She is here to accept," fired back Judith as spokesman for the right.

"I accept the candidacy," promptly called Jane, to the intense delight and utter surprise of her strongest advocates. She had declared all along she would not run. Even Judith was now thoroughly astounded.

"Hurrah, hurray! horroo!" rang out the call. Then the unquenchable:

"A reebald, ribald rowdy!

The hundredth verse is just the same----"

Judith pounded for order and after a few "flare-ups" had been extinguished, she, as spokesman, went on with the proceedings.

All this time Judith and her followers were at a loss to account for Marian Seaton. It was just like her to go off in comfort and expect her abject contingent to do her troublesome bidding, and certainly, no one could mistake the hand that ran the opposition; yet in spite of that argument Marian might reasonably be expected to lend a hand through the unexpected difficulty, and, at least, give the ship a push to start it out on the troubled waters. But no Marian was either seen or heard.

Once more gaining what substituted for quiet Judith took the floor. She was surprising herself with the newly acquired efficiency she so deliberately demonstrated.

"We are fully prepared to submit to our officials all the records of these proceedings, which have resulted in the election of Jane Allen class president," she proclaimed without a pause. "We can show that every vote is properly signed, and that the report of the nominating committee, and the acceptance of the candidate, complied with the time rules. Our clerks will be happy to meet the faculty, at any time named by that honorable body, and then and there produce the proofs of our sincerity and obedience to the honorable rules of our beloved Wellington."

"Three cheers for our leader, Judith Stearns!" were then called for and responded to with such ructious vehemence, as might have been expected had the criers and cheer squad been turned loose at that moment. A full half hour of the most strenuous kind of shouts and cheers had little effect on dampening voices and ardour, when the call to cheer Judith sounded anew.

Judith waved for silence in vain. Not in years had there been such a remarkable manifestation at an election. Just once Judith caught the glittering eye of Helen, who was down front with her contingent. It had been carefully arranged that she should keep away from Judith and Jane, to dispel suspicion regarding their actual relationship, but that the little artist had worked for the result now being proclaimed to honor Jane, none knew better than the new class president herself.

"Speech! Speech!" shouted the cheering squad. Then Jane stepped forward.

"This honor," she said, "I have not sought, but I am none the less grateful. Why I have changed my mind from a positive declaration against accepting to the position I now hold, is a matter--too complicated for platform utterance. I feel, however, in justice to my supporters, they should know, if they care to, the exact particulars. Therefore, we will arrange a time for a private conference of the leaders, as quickly as that time can be set apart. In the meantime be assured of my gratitude, and my determination to support the traditions of Wellington."

"Cheers! Cheers!" demanded the shouting squad, and answering the call came that unintelligible faulty rhyme:

"I know a girl and her name is Jane,

A reebald, ribald rowdy!

The hundredth verse is just the same

A reebald, ribald rowdy!

Janey, get a rat-trap bigger than a cat-trap!

Reebald, ribald! Siss-boom-bah!

Wellington! Wellington! Rah! Rah!"

"I never thought we could do it," Drusilla Landers hissed into Jane's ear, as they filed out, at the same time giving her hand a congratulatory squeeze. "You have no idea how the opposition worked. We won by strategy--nothing else. They had us beaten in point of numbers two to one. But they never got a chance to poll a vote."

"Nor to candy a candidate," assisted Jane, with a school girl's delightful disregard of common sense English.

"But they will make us pay for our victory," forecast the sage Drusilla.

"We put it over this time, and we have right on our side," orated Jane. "No need to climb the steeple until the flagpole sags."

"Oh, our colors are flaunting to-night!" Drusilla made Jane hear, her eyes sparkling with well-earned satisfaction.

"Ummmm!" Jane reciprocated the long "M" like a whisper through the pines, serving to express more with its hum, than might have a whole paragraph of mere ordinary cut out words.

In the day's records no mention is made of the lecture. But it was delivered, and the class attended, so the "condition" was met, if not entirely appreciated. Sleep itself had to fight for its honors on that night in Wellington.

[CHAPTER XVI--POLITICS ET AL]

"Oh, I am too excited for words!" exclaimed Clare Bradley. "Have you heard the news?"

"I may have," replied Judith, with her old-time drollery. "What particularly choice crumb have you reference to, Clare?"

"Oh, Marion Seaton is perfectly wild. Threatens to leave college if we are not all disciplined. She won't even come to her classes. Judy, dear, do you think we--will catch it?"

She was a dear little freshman, and while she loved the fun of real trouble, especially when some one other than herself was more seriously involved, she did have a little fear of reported college pranks reaching the ears of her ministerial father. He was a good sort (not sport) himself--was Rev. Clarence Bradley, and he had experienced his own college fun, no doubt; but Claire promised, on leaving home, she would never bring disgrace to his curly blond head, with any "bad reports" from school, and the pretty little black-eyed, light curly-haired girl fervently hoped to keep her promise.

"I am not a bit afraid of Marian's threats," answered Judith boldly. "In fact, I rather think she will be the one to call halt, when we ask for a report of the doings of election night. Marian is not living in a stone house. I fancy there are lots of windows in it, if it is not entirely made of glass, to speak metaphorically."

"And another thing, a lot of the girls are turning against Helen," went on the communicative Clare. "They say she--is--a free scholar."

"Free scholar!" Judith repeated. "Where have I heard that term before? Oh, yes, it was Poor Scholar in some old book. But free scholar is entirely new. How could one get into Wellington free, may I ask? Have you heard, Clare?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. They say she is a scholarship girl and that Jane has adopted her. But you know all that nonsense was exploded before the election," Clare made haste to add, as she noted the black frown steal over Judith's face.

"Yes, it was, Clare, and I don't think it ought to be resurrected again," said Judith, with a show of severity. "However, we will have a pow-wow to-night in the big study room. We got permission to use it to finish up our election work, and if any one wants to ask questions they may do so there. Good bye, Clare, and be sure to come to the pow-wow," and with a reassuring smile Judith glided away to meet Jane and Helen who were on a bench near the lake.

"Rumors, always rumors," Judith told herself, "but I must keep them from Jane and Helen, if possible. I suppose, as Drusilla said, we will have to pay for our victory."

"Oh, hello, Judy Stearns!" called Jane before the girl with the shifting frown came within talking earshot. "How do you do! I had been planning to send you a wire, or a special, or some sort of message to find out if you were still at Wellington. I scarcely ever see you. Of course, when you are due to sleep you may come in, but by that time I am unconscious. How is the brave warrior?" and Jane swung her free arm around her chum.

"I, too, thought our Judy was escaped," said Helen. "I have so seldom seen her--pretty face."

"It is well worth while to make one's self scarce when it inspires such sentiments," said Judith. "I am very well, thank you, and just help yourself to yeses, for any of the other questions. Jane, you look wonderful, after your practice. Did they threaten to expel me for not being on hand?"

"Where were you? I was afraid we would lose our end without our trusty forward."

"I fully expected to get to the gym in time, Jane, but I was detained," she finished with a comical twist of the last word showing how utterly meaningless it was intended to be.

"Oh!" said Jane, displaying a similar lack of intelligence.

"But it was very wonderful," contributed Helen, her deep blue eyes (tabulated as violet) fairly melting into a sweetness that made itself felt with returned affection by her friends. "Jane--was--the star."

"Mercy, friends, mercy!" exclaimed Jane, in mock alarm. "If I receive any more compliments I shall expect to go up in smoke. It 'ain't natural nor human,' as old Uncle Todd would say," and she slipped down in a pretty heap on the lawn now hidden under the last fall of autumn leaves. "What do you think a girl is made of, really? Am I bomb proof, and air tight, and warranted not to go up, or go off? You should have seen me shirr a big hole in my best stocking this morning, to know how weakly and sickeningly human I am."

"Oh, the shame!" exclaimed Helen. "I should have fixed that----"

"Oh, never, Helen!" and Jane spoke with newly assumed asperity. "You remember you are not to do a single thing for me or Judith. Those gossipy girls must have none of that sort of thing to fall back on. I shirr my own socks and wear my own blisters, thank you just the same."

Helen's face fell, and she kicked at her heels in the new girl fashion. All the girls did that, and she unconsciously had acquired the trick. Judith picked up the cue, and presently all three were kicking their own flat shoed heels.

"I said my own blisters," put in Jane. "This is not a contest," and she patted the heel supposed to be affected from the rosetted stocking.

"Judy, I had a lovely letter from Aunt Mary," and the soft gray eyes went dewy. "It is wonderful at El Capitan just now----"

"Jane Allen, you stop this very minute. Do you want me to run away? I was dreaming of Fedario. I heard your old uke so late last night, it went into my sleeping brain, and Jane Allen, I simply can't bear to think of Montana these days. I would have one of the boys send me a false alarm wire, if I thought dear little Aunt Mary would take me in." Judy was snivelling and sobbing in the most woebegone manner. That El Capitan was glorious in autumn was not to be denied, and both girls looked rather wistfully toward the setting sun.

"There's Drusilla Landers and Norma Travers!" exclaimed Jane, happily breaking in on Judith's dirge. "Let's overtake them, and have company to the post office. I want to walk so fast I shall not be able to think. I feel exactly like giving my head a real rest, Judy."

"You have been cramming. I know it. And I saw you with the pretty red-headed soph. I understand that you could not avoid falling in love with her. Your hair is auburn, and hers is the very next station--red. But, Jane, remember your responsibilities and keep fit. We need you in our office, and we are going to run a basketball try-out next week. You are to be Center, you know. There is positively no chance of bolting that, even if the honors do rather overburden you. I don't notice any flying at my own poor head."

"More's the pity. You would make a wonderful Center, Judy, and you will stick to Guard. Are you perfectly sure you are not dodging?"

"Sure as shooting, Jane. Nobody wants me to be Center. They all think I have honor enough being little old Guard. And as far as I am personally concerned, I guess it will do for the time being. Hello, Drusa, and hello again, Norma! Whither away, fair maids?"

"Low girls," came the reply from the two in sweaters and corduroy skirts. "We are on a miniature hike--to the post. Any mail to keep the home fires burning?" joked Drusilla.

"We are with you," and Jane fell in step with Drusilla while Judith sprang along side Norma. "Yes, we have mail, and we have need for open air, the kind we get outside the grounds. Crickey, but one's brain does get stuffy on a day like this. I feel I have acquired enough Euclid to take over the internal revenue," and Jane sighed audibly.

"Me," said Judith comically, "I have acquired enough sass to fight the Marians. I believe they are massing for attack."

"Oh, yes, won't we have a great time to-night?" exclaimed Norma. "Jane, I hope you have all your moral and mental life preservers on."

"Quite ready for the onslaught," replied Jane, but Judith guessed rightfully when she surmised the painfully crowded head was not entirely traceable to class work. There was a mixture of personal anxiety at the turn affairs had taken, and Jane Allen had promised herself Helen Powderly would not be socially ostracised on account of her peculiar status in Wellington.

"She is the best little scout in college," Jane had repeatedly assured herself, "therefore, why should she be made a victim of girls' foolish whims? Isn't she more worthy than they, who could not earn their way in on merit if put to the test?"

Coming and going to the post office, an entirely unnecessary jaunt, as mail boxes were an important part of the Wellington equipment, the quartette met with, and passed out any number of students on this particular autumn afternoon, but their handicap in stride was, perhaps, well balanced by the merry laughter and good natured calls repeatedly hailed to Jane.

Election night embraced delicious possibilities, and all classes seemed fittingly keyed up, joyous and expectant.

[CHAPTER XVII--POTENTIAL ENEMIES]

The time had come! Disclosures promised real sensations, and Jane, quiet, composed, if a trifle flushed, waited rather uneasily in her place beside the retiring class president.

Just across the room, directly below the big desk, sat Marian Seaton, surrounded by a chattering crowd, taking advantage fully of the open session preceding the formal program.

Hazel Manners, the retiring president, looking very handsome and very charming, in her senior gown, with the cap's tassel still to the left, however, made a happy and appropriate little speech in stepping down. She assured the girls of her willingness and wish to assist them, by advice with any matter her experience might make valuable to them. Hazel was one of the most popular girls in college, and it was undoubtedly the aspiration of every girl present to become like Hazel in her senior year.

Jane thanked her gracefully, and took the place at the desk. A few words of consecration, as Jane expressed it, opened the new period of class history.

This was the signal for all outsiders to withdraw; that is, all except the guards, these being two of the faculty, always on hand to keep order.

With characteristic directness Jane plunged into the most difficult part of the meeting.

Instantly everyone changed positions, that shifting move, usually marking a new angle in a sermon, and after that one could have heard a pin drop in the big room.

"To sustain my reputation and on that account only," Jane began, "I am prompted to open a subject bound to be rather distressing to all. I refer to the question of my change of heart on the matter of taking this office. I had said positively I would not take it, and now here I am. In such a position I feel obliged to give a reason for my decision, to my splendid supporters."

Applause interrupted Jane at this point. Not only did the girls want to know what happened on election night, but they had no hesitancy in publicly proclaiming their interest.

"When you began your meeting at which you hoped to elect me (Applause) I had fully intended to decline, but scarcely had I settled down to wait for your call than another came--it was an urgent call to go to Rutherford Inn, where, the message said, I would meet a relative, who was in distress! I have few relatives (Jane paused a moment) and that call sent me flying out to Rutherford!" Audible breathing marked the interval.

"But no sooner did I cross the threshold of the Inn than I was seized by--someone, or some two or three, and after a rather rough tussle I succeeded finally in getting free," declared Jane. "Of course, I knew then it had been a trick to kidnap me!"

Cries of "shame," "foul," and hisses broke in on the monologue here, and Jane was obliged to rap loudly for order.

"Kidnapping is positively forbidden in class rules," Minette managed to make heard, "and the perpetrators should be brought to trial."

"Madam President! Madam President!" shouted a girl from the opposition. "I demand to be heard----"

"Miss Tracy has the floor," conceded Jane.

"The rules were not violated. We did not kidnap a candidate. You had not yet accepted," Miss Tracy shouted in verbal chunks.

"No such interpretation can be placed on rule five!" replied Jane calmly. "The secretary will please read rule five, by-laws."

Theodora Guthrie, known as Ted, fat and flustered, stood up with the little typewritten pamphlet of rules and by-rules. She thumbed the pages to find the desired section, and after a preliminary cough and some squirming of her touseled black head, waited for a signal from Jane (Ted was a very careful secretary), then she proceeded:

"Section two, by-law five: candidates: No candidate shall be forcibly or strategetically detained from her caucus, at any time calculated to debar her from office. This shall apply to abductions, kidnapping, stunts, and tricks, hitherto allowed, but from this date and by this section now prohibited."

"That seems to cover the case," said the president.

"It does not," shouted the spokesman for the opposition, Rose Bowers, without regard for voice, or its effect on her listeners. "If that were true with Jane Allen, it was equally true with Marian Seaton. She was kidnapped by the other side."

"Nothing of the kind," interrupted Dozia Dalton. "I was----"

"Silence! Order!" called the crier, Judith. "We shall be obliged to clear the room at the first sign of disorder. We have given our word to the guards."

"Yes, and that order must be obeyed," insisted the chair, namely, Jane Allen. "We shall be pleased to hear each in turn. Secretary, who has the floor?"

"The report of the secretary on the rules was just finished," replied Ted Guthrie.

"And I ask the secretary to make a record that the rule covered the case of illegal abduction," went on Jane. "I may add further that the trick of bringing my relations into the fight was, in my opinion, small and cowardly. At a call from home I would have gotten into an airship without question--any girl would."

Applause and hisses mingled at this, until the latter caught up with the former, merging all the sounds into a conglomeration of noises such as only school girls know how to issue. Order at length restored, the meeting proceeded.

"Madam President! May I speak?" called Dozia Dalton.

"Miss Dalton has the floor," replied Jane, before anyone else could cut in.

"I would like to tell what happened to me on election night," Dozia began, and again the apprehensive silence, preluding something of deep interest, was so loud it could almost be heard.

"Proceed," ordered Jane.

"When I took the password and grip from our contingent I found a stranger in our lines. I called her out and she ran!"

"That was----"

"No interruptions, please! Miss Dalton, go on."

"When I followed I found the runaway was Miss Seaton!"

"Oh, shame!" came from more than one voice. "Spying! Sneaking!"

"I was not," declared Miss Seaton hotly, now on her feet. "I had a perfect right to be in the Allen lines. Why shouldn't I?"

"Miss Dalton has not finished," Jane ordered with a very considerate nod to Marian who still stood, thus claiming the floor. She finally sat down but kept up a mumble for some moments.

"Yes, I found the leader, Marian Seaton, had stolen into our ranks, perhaps to give all our secrets to the opposition," went on Dozia mercilessly, and plainly excited.

"And you tried to tie my feet!" swung in Marian.

"And you tried to gag me!" almost shouted Dozia.

"They both tumbled into the lake," fired in a freshman who never should have spoken, but was too new to know of her disbarment.

A roar of honest laughter greeted this announcement. It was not difficult to picture Dozia trying to tie Marian's feet, and Marian trying to gag Dozia, with the result of both girls rolling into the lake.

"And of course," continued Dozia, "I could not get to the meeting at all. I had to stay in that cold, dark boat house----"

"What about me?" again interrupted the indignant Marian. "I was kept away from the hall, and I got a very bad cold----"

"Oh, too bad. Wasn't that awful! Dear little thing!" and similar exclamations crowded out Marian's attempt to gain sympathy.

"We have two different charges here, it seems to me," replied the now judicial Jane. "One is, that a girl from the other side stole into the ranks of the right with the intention of betraying secrets, and----"

"No such thing, that isn't so. We had a right there with our own class," and a string of such outcries from Marian's corner interrupted Jane.

"Not after sides had been taken and candidates chosen," declared Jane indomitably.

"But why could I not vote--for your--candidate?" asked Marian in a quaking voice.

"Oh! oh! oh! oh! oh! As if you would!" came the call of the squad that should have saved its tones for cheering on other occasions.

"Well, I claim I had a perfect right to be in that line. And I am going to take the matter to the faculty," persisted Marian rather feebly.

"You will have no occasion to," snapped Jane, forgetting the dignity of her office. "I dislike, very much, this petty squabbling and I am determined, this year, to keep our reputation clear of it. If you want any redress other than to stand by the result of all our meetings you can ask for a special session, and we will thrash it out, if it takes all night, but I am against any one carrying tales to the faculty. It is a small and--childish thing to do, and we all claim to be at least old enough to be in college," finished Jane.

"I move that we give three rousing cheers for our new president," spoke up little Dorothy Blyden. This was responded to by so many "second its" the secretary was obliged to ask: "Who seconded that motion?" But meanwhile the three rousing cheers were echoing through the old study hall.

"And will someone move that we invite the opposition to come in on the committees?" generously asked Jane.

"No need to do that," snapped Marian Seaton, "for until this matter is adjusted, I, as leader, shall oppose uniting with the Allens," she almost sneered at the word Allens. "And I will ask for a special investigation, in spite of the opposite views having been expressed," grandiloquently finished the vanquished leader.

"Any other business? If not, we stand adjourned," called Jane resonantly, and the celebration which followed seemed to lack nothing from the fact that all the class was not represented in its numbers.

A feature of the occasion, as reported in "The Trumpet," was the new president, Jane Allen, seated on a pyramid of cushions, crowned with a glorious feather duster, meanwhile dispensing sweet music from her home-made uke.

[CHAPTER XVIII--THE WOES OF "ALIAS HELEN"]

A fall evening, dark, dreary and drizzling.

The amount of work to be prepared for next day seemed heavier and more difficult than usual and Jane Allen, humanly responsive, felt keenly the natural reaction of the wild week of honors and excitement.

It was almost time to "call it a day" when a very timid tap at the door, brought the bronze head up with welcome attention.

"Come!"

It was Helen--teary, and distrait. Helen with tie askew and hair tousled. Helen with eyes too bright and cheeks too red, and breath too short for normal.

"Oh, Helen, do come in! What is the matter?"

Jane brushed the papers from the wicker chair, and Helen sank in it. The red eyes were pressed with a small wet ball, and the unsympathetic curls from her forehead dug into teary lashes with pure teasing persistency.

"Child, why do you cry?" asked Jane with a precision of manner suitable for an occasion such as this. Helen regarded abrupt speech as a mark of indifference, and Jane surmised this was no time for indifference.

"Oh, my dear friend!" sobbed the crestfallen Helen. "It--is too much, I cannot to--stand it!"

"What, Helen? What has happened? Tell your own Janey!" and with a caress, unmistakable in its sincerity, Jane dropped on a stool at the feet of the sobbing Polish girl.

"I thought not to tell you--it is too much that I should be like a baby," went on Helen, endeavoring with poor result, to check her choking sobs, "but to-night, I feel I must go!"

"Why, child! Go where?"

"That is what is too hard. I cannot know where, but to go--Oh, I must, Jane darling! I can no longer stand it all!"

"Now, Helen, tell me about it. You know it cannot be so serious that we shall not find a remedy," Jane coaxed.

"First, when I came here you know I heard many words--of anger that I, Helen Podonsky, should be at an American college." Something like triumph rang in the voice that now spoke the Polish name. "But I did not protest, I had the very good friends, and I loved them dearly." The brown curly head tossed with unmistakable pride, and Jane was surprised and charmed at the note evolving in the hitherto docile little Helen.

"Very many times," continued Helen in even tones, "I would have told you about that detestable girl--she who goes about at my heels, and listens at my door, until my dear roommate, Dicky Ripple, told Mrs. Weatherbee all about it."

"Dicky told Mrs. Weatherbee about whom?" asked Jane in surprise.

"I hate the name too much to utter it. To-night you must pardon me, my dear Jane, but I am indignant, and I feel the Podonsky power breaking in all my veins." An eloquent gesture, two arms thrust out with power unmistakable, accompanied this assertion. Surely, Helen was betraying a new attribute--she was dramatically indignant! Something had aroused her slumbering pride, something had awakened her dormant lineal glory. Helen Powderly was not at the moment Helka Podonsky. It was a new Helka, all Polish, all artist, all self confident, that confronted Jane.

"Oh, you mean Marian Seaton?" Jane was glad to insert. "I have had so much trouble from that girl, Helen dear, that I am now immune, that is, it no longer gives sorrow or worry. I just expect it like bad storms and other calamities."

"But when a girl is a sneak, when she makes trouble, so one cannot go to sleep, when she hisses into other girls' ears such things as are--lies--then, what would you do?"

"She has done all of that to me, Helen. My first year here was a nightmare, in spots," and Jane tried to inject a little mirth into the fast-growing seriousness of the conversation. "But I got over it (she might have said 'rose above it,' but Jane was humble). Yes, Helen, I did suffer just as you have described, and now you see the other girls are my friends, and she is losing all her companions."

"For you, yes, that is all good. You are the president of our class, and much loved, much honored, Jane Allen. But for Helen Powderly, who has a wrong name, who got to college by tricks, who is perhaps some spy! Ugh! It is too much!"

That surely was foreign. No American girl could indulge in that sort of melodrama, and hope to retain her reputation as a well-bred member of society. It was too impassioned, too effusive, too altogether out of harmony. Yet Jane was secretly admitting it was sincere! It rang true! And it was gloriously frank! She admired the spirit, if she did somewhat discount the tone of voice.

"Now, Helen dear, I am sure you are just a little bit mistaken. Even the hateful Marian would not do such injustice as to pile all that dishonor on your pretty head. Don't you think something has made your nerves--too tight, and they hurt the way you are stretching them?" Jane realized this was a weak simile, but it was not easy to give Helen a clear understanding always, and the intricacies of this conversation taxed even Jane's ready flow of speech.

"Nerves! nerves!" repeated Helen with something like a sneer. "We do not grow nerves in Poland, my dear friend. We must work hard for our art, and every hardship puts its foot on the squirming nerves. No artist can grow big, with those nerves biting her power."

Another revelation! Helen had her own psychology. This "killing of nerves" for the good of talent, was quite philosophical, if a trifle vague in the abstract. Jane bethought herself a nerveless career was, indeed, idealistic.

"But what has happened just now?" pressed Jane. "What has Marian been doing to so distress you?"

Helen sank again into an attitude of polite concentration. She even smiled into the gray eyes that compelled her love, and confidence.

"I was out in the far grove, under the trees," she began. "I go there to hear the wild wind shriek and wail, so I may make those notes on my violin. Last night the wind howled like some awful frightened spirit, and I knew our masters made their wonderful music from such inspiration. I was sitting in a low branch, the wind rocked me like a playmate, and up in the trees, those shrieking, wonderful notes, oh--if I can only catch them!" she paused, and in the interval Jane visioned Helen up in that tree--as Judith would have said, "she had a life-sized picture" of the girl and her violin, in the tree, under the shrieking night winds, strong enough last night to blow girl and violin into realms of inspiration she so coveted. Presently as Jane nodded:

"It was too lovely to be there, and gently draw from my beloved violin the echo of that wind music. But the hateful girl! She had followed, and when I was so happy, with one magic strain, when she laughed out loud, horrible! She hissed and--made the noise to destroy my inspiration, to frighten away my beloved notes, and their little graces."

"Oh, that was too bad, surely, Helen," considered the rather bewildered Jane. She knew very well what effect the "movie" in the tree would naturally have on a girl like Marian. "But you must understand she knows nothing of the art or its inspirations," finished Jane.

"That I know also, and I could forgive the ignorance. But she mocks me," declared the unhappy girl, "she says vile things--she says--I am--mad!"

"Oh!"

That was it! Marian had taunted Helen with being mad! This was really serious, and Jane showed her apprehension by a complete silence. To prevent the little foreigner from a precipitous withdrawal from Wellington was now her problem.

[CHAPTER XIX--TEAMS AND TEAMSTERS]

"But we must attend to our practice, Judith, this very afternoon I have called for a full team. We are to meet the girls of Breslin, and no personal worries must be allowed to interfere with the duties of our team. You know, Judy dear, no one is more anxious than I to have dear little Helen's tangle straightened out, and I am going to it with all the wild and wooley in my make-up," Jane almost smiled, but there was a qualified twist at her mouth corners, and such an effect had often been called an ingrowing smile, id est: A smile fraught with fury.

"Oh, all right, Janey!" assented Judith. "I, like you, dear, am anxious to vanquish both foes, to wit: Breslin and Marian, but I am not so keen for practice. Janey, do you think I could work up a little water on the knee, or housemaid's ankle, or something like that, just for this afternoon? I have the prospect of the loveliest hike--out to Blighty our poney England, you know. I would love to go, but, of course, if I must make baskets for the sophs----"

"You really must, Judith. I will take no excuse positively. Besides, Judy dear, we are to have an audience this afternoon, and do you think I will stand for our team being minus our tall, striking, beautiful Junoesque----"

"Perfect thirty-six! Halt! All right, Jane. I shall be on hand. Consider the bid accepted," and Judith flounced out in mock pomp, her limited skirt confines yanked out, in comic imitation of the sweeping court costume.

Basketball fever had set in with epidemic proportions. Every minute in the day available, or capable of being snatched, was occupied with the little blue book guaranteed to give all the rules, all the official information, all the strategic signals, and all the game of girls' basketball, visionary and actual, the only omission noticeable being ball and basket.

Last year's uniforms of green were decided upon as an economic measure, the war price of wools, and the actual scarcity of such materials putting a ban on the commodities usually used in college athletic costumes.

Jane had lined up her team, all pledged to run to the gym directly three thirty was dismissed. Grazia St Clair was one of the most promising forwards, and she had already proven her prowess. She could duck and dodge and sprint and "shoot a basket" while her companions of the team were extricating themselves from each others' stockings. Judith occupied the critical position of standing center, and all her wisdom coupled with her indomitable push, earned the rather mystifying title of Towser. It was "get 'em, Towser!" and "shake 'em, Towser!" until Judith felt a peculiar interest in the very bones, inadvertently left on her dinner plate.

It was to be expected that Marian Seaton would occupy a place on the opposition team within Wellington. After many difficult meetings and "pow-wows" it was finally "amicably" agreed that two teams be formed from the juniors and sophs. The coach and managers were from the senior lines as were the referee and umpire.

On the first or Team One, Jane and her followers were placed, while the second, or Team Two, included Marian, Antonia Dexter, otherwise Tony, Mildred Jennings, Martha Rutledge, Dolorez Vincez and Molly Igo, all new girls with the exception of Marian. Just what ability this team possessed was a matter of interesting speculation for Team One. All worked hard and earnestly and every day was Field Day in the gym!