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Another Random Scribd Document
with Unrelated Content
warm, and for excitement we can get weighed or read the time-
tables on the wall."
Huddled round a great old-fashioned stove in the center of the
room were a dozen or so people waiting for belated trains. They
forgot the cold or disappointment at missing their train when they
saw the two girls. It was not often they had such a good-looking
stranger as Jean Cabot to gaze upon. She did make a picture there
in her dingy surroundings with her long fur coat and little fur turban
with two iridescent quills stuck jauntily through the front. The
blackness of the fur as it rested against her hair intensified its
golden hue and the fair whiteness of her skin.
From one corner where he apparently had been dozing arose a
long-legged, lackadaisical-looking fellow, who strolled up to where
the two girls were standing.
"Why, how d'ye do, Miss Fairfax. Home for the holidays?" was his
greeting, and all the time he was stealing glances at Jean. Elizabeth
coolly replied to his question and introduced him to Jean. He hardly
had time for more than a few casual remarks before Elizabeth heard
some sleigh-bells and going to the door saw her father outside in his
little low sleigh. "May I call on you before you return to college?"
asked the young man as he carried their heavy suit-cases to the
waiting sleigh.
"Why, yes, if you care to," replied Elizabeth as she and Jean
stepped up to the sleigh.
"Father, I've brought my room-mate, Jean Cabot, home with me
for the holidays. She expected to go to New York to visit her aunt,
but at the last moment she had to give it up, as her aunt was sick. I
know you are always glad to welcome one more, so I invited her up
here."
"Very glad to know you, Jean. Hope you'll excuse my not getting
out to help you," said Dr. Fairfax, "but I'm so bundled up I don't
believe I could ever get back again if I once got out. It's been a
terribly cold day up our way, and I drove ten miles the other side of
our hill before I came down for you. I've been over to Judge
Morton's, Elizabeth, to see his mother. She's a pretty sick woman,
and I almost doubt if I can pull her through this time."
"Oh, that accounts for Franklin Morton's being at Wilton Junction.
What a contemptible snob that fellow is! I've seen him hundreds of
times driving through the village, and have known him ever since he
first spent his summers at Gorham, but he's never spoken five words
to me until to-night when he saw the prospect of meeting Jean. Did
you hear him ask if he might call on us? I imagine him in our little
farmhouse! Well, I guess we needn't borrow trouble, for he would
never come, especially as his grandmother is very sick.
"Now, Father, what about Dick? I hoped he would come down with
you to the station."
"Lucky he didn't now, isn't it, Jean, for how could we four have
ridden home in this little sleigh? Pretty tight squeeze as it is. To tell
you the truth, dear, I'm a little worried about Richard's case, for he
doesn't seem to get his strength back as I wish he would. Typhoid
does pull any one down so, it's a hard fight to get back again. He's
been a wonderfully patient boy through it all, but I think sometimes
he gets discouraged about himself, although he never says anything
to us. I don't know what he would do without your letters, girl. I
verily believe he knows them all by heart, and he talks about your
friends there as though they were his own. He'll feel right at home
with this young lady here, for next to you, Elizabeth, Jean has been
of most interest to him, and he's wondered so many times if he
could ever see her.
"Here, Jean, is where we begin to climb our hill at the top of which
is our little village. I think now that it has stopped snowing the moon
will soon appear, and if it does you will see one of the finest winter
pictures I know of. I ride for miles and miles around this whole
country, but I know of no more beautiful views than this hill affords
us in winter as well as in summer.
"See, there's the moon peeping behind that cloud now."
Slowly the old horse pulled his heavy load up the long hill, and
before the ascent was half made the full moon was shining brightly,
shedding its beauty over the snow-covered country. Gaunt trees
threw long black shadows across the tiny thread of a road, while
here and there were deserted buildings almost hidden from view by
the great drifts of snow. There was hardly a sound but the tinkle of
their own sleigh-bells and the crunching of the runners on the snow.
Peace and quiet and beauty were everywhere, as far as the eye
could reach.
Jean could hardly believe her eyes. Here was something she had
read about but never seen, and the wonder of it threw its spell over
her. Indeed, all three became gradually silent, apparently engrossed
with their own thoughts, the doctor wondering how his aged patient
was rallying under the treatment he had suggested, Elizabeth,
deeply troubled by her father's words about her brother, and Jean
lost in contemplation of the strange and wonderful scene before her.
Jean was the first to break the silence. "Oh, Elizabeth, how I wish
Miss Hooper were riding with us to-night! About two weeks ago
when I was walking with her through the Willows she said she
wanted me to go there with her again when there was snow on the
ground and a moon, for it is so beautiful. But I am sure nothing
could be as wonderful as this hill to-night. I wish I could give her a
good description of its beauty."
"Why don't you write to her while you are here and tell her about
it? I know she would appreciate it, for she told me she was to stay
at Ashton over the holidays."
"I think I will write to her to-night and tell her all about this
wonderful ride. It seems now as if I could ride on forever, but I see
lights over there, so we must be approaching the village. Why, it
seems as though we were on top of the world up here!"
"We'll be home in half an hour, Jean; our house is right over
there," and Elizabeth pointed to a little group of lighted houses at
her right.
It did not take long to reach the rambling old farmhouse where
Fairfaxes had lived for the last hundred and fifty years. The front
door was opened as the sleigh turned into the yard and a fresh
young voice rang out:
"Welcome home, Sister! Hurry up and come in, for I am tired of
waiting for you. I thought you'd never get here."
The doctor warned the owner of the voice not to stand longer in
the cold, and so he disappeared from view. It did not take the girls
long to get into the house and reach the blazing fire in the huge
fireplace. Mrs. Fairfax greeted them cordially and then brother and
sister were in each others' arms. Then in a moment Elizabeth
introduced Jean, and after one look at her Richard burst out, "You're
just as I thought you'd be. Wishes do come true. All the afternoon
I've been wishing you'd come up here on our hilltop with Sister to
visit us instead of going to New York to visit your aunt. Now take off
your things and let's have supper."
When the doctor came into the living-room it was the signal to
repair to the dining-room, where a steaming supper awaited them.
Jean thought she had never tasted anything as good in all her life,
and as the cold ride had whetted her ordinarily good appetite she
did justice to everything Mrs. Fairfax had prepared. As often as she
dared she stole glances at Richard Fairfax and she thought she had
never before seen such an attractive although pathetic face. It was
deathly white, with almost perfect features, but one could never
forget the eyes. They were deep-set and dark and brilliant, but when
he spoke or was interested when some one else was speaking they
fairly seemed to flash fire.
The conversation at table was general, and when they arose Dick
suggested that they sit round the fireplace in the living-room and he
would draw the couch up and lie upon it, for he was much more
comfortable there than in the hard, stiff-backed chairs. Mrs. Fairfax
and Elizabeth went into the kitchen to wash the dishes and make the
last preparations for the morrow's dinner, while Jean and Richard
and Dr. Fairfax made themselves comfortable before the blazing
wood fire.
 "Let's not have a light at first, Father," said Richard; "I love the
firelight best and I think Jean will, too, after she sees how nice it is.
Now, Father, will you please recite us your poem about the firelight?"
In his pleasing, deep-toned voice Dr. Fairfax gave the simple two-
versed poem he had written on the firelight, and when he finished
Dick pleaded, "Oh, don't stop, Father, please give us all my favorites,
it's just the night for poetry." And one poem followed another until
the doctor insisted that it was some one else's turn.
"Now, Jean," said Richard, "won't you give us something you have
learned at college?"
"Oh, I can't. I don't know any poems. I've never learned them."
"What, never learned poetry? Don't you love it? Why, I think
there's nothing in all the world to compare with it. I spend hours and
hours reading my favorite poets until I know their best poems by
heart. I wish I could write myself. I mean to some day if—" but his
voice broke and Dr. Fairfax said, "Perhaps, Jean, before you go,
Richard will let you read some of his own poems. He's a little
particular who hears them, but possibly you can persuade him to let
you read them. I've got to go out to the barn now to lock up for the
night, so I'll leave you here together a little while. I fear it's been a
hard day for Jean and Elizabeth, so we mustn't keep them up too
late. But doesn't it seem good, Dickie-boy, to have them here? It's
really living again."
Left to themselves the two talked together, mostly about Jean's life
in California. Just as she was in the midst of a description of a
camping trip in the mountains Elizabeth hurried into the room.
"What are you two talking about so excitedly? Don't you want the
lamp lighted now and some more wood put on the fire? It's almost
out. I came in to ask Jean if she would like to go out into the kitchen
to see the turkeys and the other preparations, but you're having
such a good time I hate to disturb you."
"Oh, I can finish this another time, Elizabeth; I'd like to go with
you."
 When Jean saw the size of the turkeys and the quantities of other
things piled up on the tables she exclaimed, "Why such an amount
of food? We'll never eat that in a week."
"Wait till you see all there are to eat it and you won't think this is
too much. I'll wager there won't be anything worth eating left over
by Friday. I think I'm about ready for bed, Jean. How about you?"
"Quite ready, thank you. Is it late? I've lost all track of time."
"Yes, it's nearly twelve o'clock. It will be very cold up in our room,
although I've lighted a fire in the stove, so I think we'd better take
up these freestones to keep our feet warm. Let's go in and say
good-night to father and Dick."
When the lights were out and Jean was thinking over the events of
the day she could not but admit to herself that she had come into
the midst of a family life wholly unknown to her before. She
recognized a depth and earnestness that were lacking in most of the
families with whom she was acquainted. Although she saw
evidences of the lack of this world's goods, there was a certain
refinement and culture and an appreciation of the things that make
life worth while. She began to realize a little the absence of purpose
in her own life, and she saw for the first time what she might do
with all that was hers to use.
Thanksgiving morning was not as cold as the preceding ones and
gave promise of a pleasant day. The family arose early in spite of the
late hour of their retiring, and at breakfast Dr. Fairfax suggested that
they all attend the Thanksgiving service in the Congregational
Church. "By the way, Elizabeth," he said, "Mrs. Walton wants to
know if you will play the organ to-day. She hurt her wrist yesterday
and won't be able to play for several weeks. She would like to have
you sing a solo, too, if you can get some one to play for you."
Elizabeth blushed a little and Jean said, "Why, Elizabeth, I never
knew you could play and sing. Why haven't you said something
about it at college?"
"There were always so many others who did things better than I
that I didn't think any one wanted me. I only play and sing a little,
but it helps out here where there are so few to do anything. Will you
play my accompaniment if I sing this morning?"
"I have never played on an organ in my life, Elizabeth."
"But there is a piano, too, which we use in the Sunday school, and
you can play that."
"Why, yes, if you'd like to have me, but we'd better practise
together before the service begins."
"Yes, let's go into the other room now and run over one or two
selections."
At ten o'clock the five took their places in the big double-seated
sleigh and started for the church, a half-mile down the road. Many a
sleigh heavily loaded with old and young passed them, and it did not
take long for some one to discover Elizabeth and welcome her
home. "Why," said Jean, "you know everybody, Elizabeth."
"Yes, it isn't hard in a little town like this, especially when one's
father is the only doctor. I've driven with him ever since I can
remember."
They stopped before a severe white church on slightly elevated
ground. Dr. Fairfax helped the others to alight and then drove the
horse around to the sheds in back of the church.
Elizabeth and Jean went immediately to the choir loft, where they
were welcomed by the few singers that had already arrived. It
seemed to Jean as though most of them were Elizabeth's cousins, of
one degree or another, and she began to believe that everybody in
town was related to everybody else. When the congregation began
to take their places, Jean took a seat in the audience near the
upright piano, which occupied most of the space to the right of the
pulpit.
The church was old and severe in every line, evidently built in the
early days when worship did not demand comfortable surroundings.
The pews were high and narrow, with faded red cushions and stools.
By a quarter of eleven every pew was filled and the old white-haired
preacher began the service. Jean watched Elizabeth at the organ
and marveled at the melody she seemed to be getting out of the
wheezy old instrument, which was pumped intermittently by a rosy-
cheeked youngster whose mind may have been more on the feast
awaiting him at home than on the hymns of praise. When it came
Elizabeth's turn to sing, she left the organ and stood in the center of
the choir-loft and waited for Jean to strike the opening chords on the
piano. Although Jean was a skilled performer on the piano it must be
confessed that she trembled a little as she began to play, but when
Elizabeth's sweet voice broke into song it gave her confidence, and it
seemed the most natural thing in the world for Elizabeth to be
singing and she to be playing in the little village church at
Newburgh.
She never remembered much that the old preacher said in his
eloquent sermon, for during it all she seemed to be in somewhat of
a haze, but afterward she summed it up in three thoughts: the
blessedness of home; the joy of the home-coming; and the
satisfaction of the parents in knowing that their children have found
life worth while and are making something out of it.
There was a general handshaking after the benediction, and before
she left Jean thought she knew every person in the church. It did
not take her long to see how interested every one was in Elizabeth,
and how glad they were to have her with them again. She had a
pleasant greeting for them all, and never forgot to ask about the
ones left at home.
As they drew up into the Fairfax yard again they found sleighs,
single and double, already there and more following them.
"You see, Jean, it's our turn this year to have the relatives at our
house," said Dr. Fairfax. "Ours is a pretty big family, and we're
counting on twenty or thereabouts to-day. Everybody helps and
'many hands make light work,' you know. You must feel that you're
one of the family to-day, Jean, for we're always glad of one more."
There were twenty-six to sit down to the Thanksgiving dinner,
nineteen at the large table and seven children at a little one placed
in the kitchen. Jean decided that she had never before seen such
quantities of food, for in addition to the preparations Mrs. Fairfax
had made, every one of the guests had contributed what he thought
to be his share. There were turkeys and chickens, vegetables of all
kinds, puddings, pies, cakes, fruit, nuts, and candy passed and
repassed until all declared they could eat no more.
After dinner there were games and music and the children went
outdoors to slide. About six o'clock Mrs. Fairfax suggested supper,
but she could find no one inclined to eat except the children, who
came in hungry again after their vigorous exercise. Some of the
families having a long distance to ride felt obliged to leave at seven,
and from then until ten o'clock there was a general departure. When
the last sleigh drove out of the yard Elizabeth dropped into her
father's old armchair with, "Oh, I'm tired, but wasn't it splendid?"
The next two days were filled with happy experiences for Jean.
She coasted on a neighboring hill, drove over to "Aunty" Wilbur's for
a "left over" Thanksgiving dinner, went down to Cousin Mary
Fairfax's to a candy-pull, and helped Elizabeth in her household
duties. She fairly reveled in the outdoor life and the beauty of the
hilltop, and declared that for the first time since she had left
California was she really living. Before she realized it, Saturday night
came and the visit was almost at an end.
After supper, Jean and Dick found themselves alone again before
the fireplace and Dick asked that she finish her story of the camp in
the mountains which had been interrupted Wednesday evening.
When she finished the narrative, she timidly asked Dick if he would
read her some of his poems.
"No, I'll not read them to you, but I'll recite them to you if you care
to have me." In his sweet, low voice, very similar to his father's, he
recited one after another of his poems, short little things, to be sure,
but full of feeling and the promise of what was to come later on.
"Splendid," said Jean, when he had finished; "I know you're going
to make something of this gift, aren't you?"
"Yes, if I ever have an opportunity. I want to study and have the
best education it's possible to get. Since I've had the fever I've
wondered if I shall ever get to college. I'm not nearly as strong as I
used to be, and sometimes it seems as if I never would be again,
but I must live, I must amount to something. I've got too much to
live for to give up now."
"What do you intend to do with your education, Richard?"
"I don't know yet, Jean, but a man can do anything if he's
educated. Then the whole world's open to him, but when he's not it
closes its heavy gates to him and he can beat against them in vain.
What are you fitting yourself for, Jean?"

"I don't know yet, Jean, but a man

can do anything if he's educated."—
Page 152.

"Why, Dick, I'm almost ashamed to tell you. I've never thought
anything about the real purpose of college. I came to Ashton
because my father and brothers thought it the best place for me to
go. I'm only going to be there one year, and after that I think I'll
study music. So far this year I've amounted to nothing; I haven't
done any studying and received two faculty warnings. That's pretty
serious, you know, but I'm going back Monday morning with the firm
determination to do something. You and Elizabeth are an inspiration
to me and I'm not going to waste any longer the opportunities that
are waiting for me. And don't you get discouraged and worried
about not going to college. You're going, I know you are, and next
year, too. I've made up my mind to that, and in the meantime I shall
need lots of encouragement as an inspiration from you on your
hilltop. You'll never know all that this visit has meant to me, and I
thank you all for taking me right into your family. This is a secret for
us alone, Dick. Please don't say anything about it to the others, for
maybe they wouldn't understand, but here's my hand on it, Dick.
You've my promise that from now on I'll make something more of
myself."
 CHAPTER VIII
THE CORAL BEADS

Monday morning at half-past eleven o'clock Jean reported at the

office in answer to the summons she had received. The clerk, Miss
Stetson, led her into the dean's private office and there she found
Miss Thurston awaiting her. As yet Jean had met her only in a social
way and she felt a little ashamed at the thought of what brought her
there.
"Good morning, Miss Cabot. Take this chair here by the window. I
have a little matter to talk over with you. I find you have cut Chapel
ten times since the opening of college, which is altogether too many
times. Do you realize that only thirteen cuts are allowed for the
whole first semester? Chapel-cutting is a very serious offense here
and I hope I shall not have to speak to you about it again. And then
in the matter of gymnasium, Miss Matthews reports an utter lack of
interest on your part in the classes and frequent absences.
Gymnasium is required work and should be completed satisfactorily
freshman year. I'm afraid, Miss Cabot, that you are not taking
college seriously enough."
"I agree with you, Miss Thurston; I have not taken it seriously
enough in the past, but from now on I intend to go at things
differently. I do not think you will ever need to call me here again.
I'm sure I shall never be an honor pupil, but I mean to do the best
that's in me. It will be hard work, for I have practically all the work
of the past three months to make up besides a condition in French
to remove."
"Yes, it will be hard, Miss Cabot, but I have the confidence that you
can do it if you've made up your mind to it. That's all for to-day,
thank you."
As Jean left the office she started off in the direction of the library.
There were some references in English literature which she wanted
to look up as soon as possible. To tell the truth, it was the first time
she had been to the library except the evening she had rescued
Elizabeth from spending the night there, and she knew nothing
about the system. However, she found Natalie Lawton in the
magazine room and told her what she wanted.
"Why, Jean, aren't you getting rather studious all of a sudden?
Come right over here into the English department. You can take any
of the books down to read here, or if you want to take books home
for a week's use ask the librarian for a card and have the book
charged. I always prefer to do my hard studying in my room, for
there are so many girls down here talking and walking round that I
can't ever get my mind on what I'm reading. After you get your
books I want to talk to you a minute about basket-ball. When you're
ready, come out to the desk and I'll help you."
After Jean found the two books she needed and had obtained
permission to keep them a week she and Natalie left the building
and strolled slowly up to Merton. "I wonder if you've ever thought
about athletics at college, Jean. I think you ought to make
something, sure. It's up to you to choose what appeals most to you
and try for all you're worth to make it. Every girl ought to do
something for her college and her class, and it's only the exceptional
girl that can do more than one thing well. Some make the glee club,
some basket-ball, some the crew, some the track team, and some
tennis. I've been thinking it over lately and I've decided that you're
just the sort for basket-ball. If you don't make the college team
perhaps you can make the 1915 team, and its really more fun to
make that than the other, for the freshman-sophomore basket-ball
game is the biggest thing of the year. Basket-ball practice begins this
week and I want to see you out Wednesday afternoon. Next to
tennis, basket-ball is the very best sport I know of. You've got to try
for tennis, too, in the spring, but that's a long way off. Will you go
out for basket-ball?"
 "Yes, Natalie, if I have the time, but I've got to devote myself a
little more to study from now on, so don't expect me to practise very
often. I'll make an awful try, for I've always wanted to be able to
play basket-ball. I've never been in a game in my life, so of course I
couldn't hope to make anything."
"Lots of girls make the teams who have never played till they came
here. It's good hard practice does it. To change the subject, what
kind of a time did you have in New York?"
"I didn't go. Tuesday night I got a telegram from Tom saying my
aunt was sick and our visit was all off."
"But you didn't stay at college, did you?"
"No; I went home with Elizabeth and had a perfectly wonderful
time. I've never been in the country before, and of course there was
something new for me to do all the time. And she has the nicest
family I've ever met. None of us here at college half appreciate
Elizabeth. I have discovered lots of things about her that I never
would have dreamed of, and I think you other girls will, too, as you
come to know her. Are you going right in to supper or will you come
up to my room while I brush up a bit?"
"I think I'll just stop a minute in Clare Anderson's room to help her
a little on her algebra. She asked me this noon if I'd go in before
supper. Poor little thing, she's having a terrible struggle with it and I
pity her from the bottom of my heart. You ought to thank your lucky
stars that you're not taking mathematics. Here we are at her room.
See you later," and the two girls parted on the second floor.
After supper it was Jean's turn to play for the dancing, so Marjorie
Remington did not have an opportunity to talk to her, although she
had tried to ever since dinner. The minute Jean arose from the piano
Marjorie hurried up to her and asked her to come up to her room for
a few moments. "I hear you didn't go to New York after all, Jean,
but to your room-mate's instead," said Midge, after they were
comfortably seated in 47. "What possessed you to spend five
perfectly good days with that stick? You knew I was going to be in
Boston at my aunt's and would love to have you with me. I should
think you would have thought of that and come and told me. I never
enjoyed myself more in all my life. Jack certainly outdid himself to
give me a good time.
"What on earth could you find to do up in the country with
Elizabeth? I think I'd prefer staying in my room here for a vacation
to having to visit with such a little, insignificant goody-good as she
is."
Jean had listened as long as she could, and she stood up and
started for the door, saying, "Marjorie, Elizabeth is my room-mate
and I love her dearly and shall not stay here a minute longer to hear
you abuse her. Unless you are willing to show her some respect I do
not care for your friendship," and she walked out into the hall.
"Jean, pardon me," said Marjorie, hastening after her, "I didn't
realize you two were such great friends. When did all this happen?
Must have been rather sudden. By the way, have you found your
coral beads?"
"Why, Marjorie, how did you know I'd lost them?"
"Oh, I heard all about it. A little bird told me," said Marjorie, as she
shut the door into her room.
When Jean entered her own room she found Elizabeth waiting for
her. She was sitting at her desk and held in one hand Jean's coral
beads.
"Oh, Jean, what do you think! I've found your coral beads, but in
the queerest place. I just went to my desk to get my fountain pen
which I keep in the little drawer at the right, and there were the
beads. How do you suppose they got there? Some one must have
put them there, but you don't believe I did it, do you?"
"No, indeed, Elizabeth. You'd be the last person in the world to put
them there."
Without another word Jean turned and almost ran up to Grace
Hooper's room and fortunately found her alone. "Gracie, did you tell
any one besides Mary Boynton about my losing my beads?"
 "No, Jean; don't you know we decided it was best to say nothing
about it. Have you found them?"
"Yes, they were only misplaced, so please don't say anything more
about it to anybody. I'm glad now that I didn't put up a notice on the
bulletin board; it would have caused so much talk. Good-by. I can't
stop; I've a lot of studying to do," and she hurried on to Mary
Boynton's room, where she found Mary and her room-mate hard at
their lessons for the next day.
"Please excuse me, Ethel, if I take Mary out in the hall to whisper
to her a moment." When they shut the door behind them Jean
began excitedly, "Mary Boynton, did you tell any one besides Grace
Hooper about my losing my coral beads? I've found them again;
they were only misplaced, and I'm sorry I bothered you about them.
Did you tell any of the girls?"
"No, Jean; to tell you the honest truth, I haven't thought about the
matter since Tuesday night. You were coming to me Monday
morning if you didn't find them, and when you didn't appear I
decided you'd found them."
"Well, please don't say or think anything more about the matter.
Sorry to have taken you from your studying. Did you have a pleasant
vacation?"
"Yes; I went home with Ethel. Come up and see us when you can
stay longer. Good night."
Jean hastened down the corridor and up the stairs and along
fourth floor until she came to Marjorie Remington's room. She
hesitated a moment at the door and then hearing no voices she
knocked. Marjorie appeared and looked a little surprised to see Jean
back so soon, but she motioned her to a comfortable rocker and
offered her a plate of fudge which looked as if it had just been
made. Jean refused the chair and the candy and stood perfectly still
in the center of the room, without saying a word. Marjorie, to relieve
the situation, said, "I'm glad you've come back, Jean. Can't you sit
down and talk to me? I'm awfully lonesome to-night."
 "No; I can only stay a moment, Marjorie. I came in to tell you that
I've found my coral beads and to ask you why you put them in
Elizabeth's desk."
"Why, Jean, what do you mean? What have I got to do with your
coral beads? I don't understand what you're talking about."
"Well, if you will not answer my first question, will you tell me who
told you I had lost my beads?"
"I did tell you it was a little bird," answered Marjorie, laughingly.
"This is no time for joking, Marjorie. I ask you once more to
explain it to me."
"And if I refuse?"
"Well, if you refuse I shall give you my explanation."
"Very well, your explanation then."
"For some reason all the year you have disliked my room-mate and
have tried to make her uncomfortable on every possible occasion.
Lately you seem to have had the same feeling towards me. When
you were talking to me last Tuesday evening as I was packing, you
must have taken my coral beads when I went into the bedroom to
get my opera coat, and sometime later, probably on Sunday, before
we arrived home, you put them in Elizabeth's desk to point suspicion
towards her. Fortunately I have come to know Elizabeth so much
better these last few days than all the rest of the term that I am
sure stealing is the very last thing she would resort to. It is true that
she is poor and has none of the things that you and I have, in
abundance, but she is honest and conscientious, and kind to every
one with whom she comes in contact. No one knows what I have
just told you but ourselves, and I ask you now to tell me why you
did such a thing. You may be perfectly sure that I never shall say
anything about it if you will promise never to do such a thing again."
"Well, Jean, you're a regular old Sherlock Holmes. There isn't very
much for me to say now. It's pretty much as you've said. I did take
the beads and put them in Elizabeth's desk because I wanted you to
believe she stole them. I've never liked her from the first time I saw
her. I was provoked that she broke up our plans for the first night at
college by coming in late. I'm jealous, horribly jealous, and I didn't
want her to be your friend. I was disappointed because you didn't
join Gamma Delt. I've wanted you all along for my best friend, and I
saw I was gradually losing you. I haven't many friends and I couldn't
stand yours. That's all. What do you think of me now?"
Jean answered very slowly, "I'm very sorry, Marjorie. I had hoped
from the first that we might be good friends. You were kind to me
and seemed like a girl after my own heart. We still can be friends, I
hope, but you must not injure me or any of my friends. We'll forget
this incident and begin over again if you say so."
"All right, Jean. Thank you for your kindness. I'm afraid I don't
deserve it. You see what a nasty disposition I've got, but I'll try to
conquer it in the future. Now won't you stay a while? I want to tell
you about my good times in Boston."
"No; not to-night, Marjorie; I'm going to study, but some other
time I'll be glad to hear all about it. Good night." And then Jean
opened her own door and said to Elizabeth, "Now, dear, I'm ready
for the German lesson."
 CHAPTER IX
THE CHAFING-DISH PARTY

"Elizabeth, have the girls announced the date of the French play?"
"Yes, I think it's December eighteenth, the Wednesday night before
college closes. Of course you're going?"
"Yes, and I've been thinking I'd invite Constance Huntington out
for the play and have a rabbit afterward. I haven't made anything
but fudge in my chafing-dish since I bought it, and it's about time I
did. We could have ten or twelve of the girls in after the play and get
permission to stay up a little later than usual. I think I'll write Connie
to-day and invite her out. Would you mind sleeping with Anne
Cockran that night so Connie could have your bed?"
"Why, of course not, Jean; I'd be glad to do it and anything else I
can to help you. Who's in the play?"
"I don't know many of them, but Peggy Allison is to be a man and
Alice Cunningham's got the star girl's part. They say she's a wonder
when it comes to acting. Then Bess Atherton and Joe Knight and
Fliss White and Mary Brownell are in it, but I don't know the rest
very well. None of the girls from my division are in the club, for you
have to be at least a soph, to be eligible and then only a small
proportion of the upper-class girls make it, for you have to get high
rank in French. Oh dear, I'd never make it if I studied a hundred
years. I can't seem to get it through this stupid old head of mine,
and as for talking it and acting it too—why, it's simply beyond my
comprehension."
Jean wrote her letter to Constance and soon received word that
she would be delighted to accept the invitation and would be out
early in the afternoon, but she would have to take the first train
back in the morning as she had a lesson at noon.
The morning of the eighteenth was dull and cloudy, and before
noon it was snowing hard and had every appearance of a bad storm.
Jean stood at the window after dinner and watched the whirling
snowflakes. "She won't come, I know she won't come, if it snows
like this, and after I've gone and made all those elaborate
preparations I call it a mean shame. Lucky I went down to the
Square yesterday and bought the food, for I shouldn't enjoy lugging
things home to-day in this storm. Well, if she doesn't come we'll
celebrate just the same. I hope it won't be so deep by night that we
can't get up to the gym. I think I'll do my packing now, for I sha'n't
have much more time before the train starts unless I sit up to-night
after the girls go. You tell your people, Elizabeth, that I'm very much
obliged for their dandy invitation for the holidays, but I simply can't
postpone my New York visit again. But there are other vacations
coming, and I'll be pretty glad to go home with you then. Here's a
box I want you to put into your suit-case, but it's not to be opened
until Christmas morning, and this letter's for Dick, but it's so valuable
I won't trust it to Uncle Sam and I want you to put it in his stocking,
or if he's too old to hang up his stocking you can put it under his
plate at breakfast. I wonder when my box from home will arrive.
Father wrote me he had sent it. We always hang up our stockings at
home Christmas Eve and then have a big Christmas tree at night. It's
the first time I've ever missed it, and unless I'm having an awfully
good time in New York, I'll be pretty homesick."
Jean worked hard at her packing and after she had finished she
went downstairs to do a little practising. The piano was so arranged
that she had a good view of Faculty Row and it must be confessed
that she kept her eyes there as much as on her music. At last she
saw Constance battling against the wind and the snow and she ran
to the door to greet her. "Oh, I'm so glad you've come, Constance! I
was afraid you couldn't get over here. Are the cars on time, or did
you come by train?"
 "I went across the city on the Elevated and took the train out. It
isn't deep enough yet to affect the trains, but it will be soon if it
keeps up like this. The wind is so strong it's beginning to drift. By
morning I may not be able to get back or you to go to New York. I
thought I'd never get up the Row; as it is, my feet are soaked. Let
me borrow your slippers and some dry stockings and I'll be all right.
I'm crazy to see your room, Jean. Those snapshots you sent are
mighty attractive, but I know the original's lots better."
"Fine," said Constance after she had stepped into 45. "It's so
simple, not packed brimful with the useless trifles one generally sees
in college girls' rooms. You can find your way around in these rooms
all right. You ought to see the box I live in. Positively we have to
move some of our furniture out into the hall at night before we can
get undressed and into bed. You don't mind if I look around, do you?
I love new things. What a splendid picture of Tom! He didn't give me
one; guess I'll have to remind him of it. What's this picture of an old
farmhouse on your desk?"
"That's my room-mate's home in Newburgh. You know I spent the
Thanksgiving holidays there and quite fell in love with the place."
"With the place or somebody on the place? Come, Jean, 'fess up';
don't keep any secrets from me."
"Well, both, Connie; they're the nicest family I've met in the East.
Here, put on these stockings and slippers and dry your feet on the
radiator or you'll catch your death-o'-cold. Then we'll go downstairs
and see some of the girls. I've invited a few up here after the play,
but I promised one or two who are very anxious to meet you that I'd
take you in to see them before supper. I hope you'll like the girls out
here. I think they're a mighty jolly lot. My room-mate is studying
algebra in one of the freshman rooms, but she'll be back before
long. She's quiet, but there's ever so much to her."
Presently they started down to Peggy Allison's room and found she
and Natalie had made tea for them and had sandwiches, nuts and
candy. "You'll spoil our appetites for supper, Peggy, with all this
glorious feed."
 "Just as well, Jean," said Peggy; "it's Wednesday night and we
always have beans. I think baked beans on Saturdays and
Wednesdays, too, is the limit."
"Well," said Natalie, "let's not go down for supper. We can stay
here and eat all we want to. I don't believe Peg will eat anything,
she's so excited. She's been rehearsing all the afternoon, and all the
morning she worked on the scenery. She's got a stunning costume
and make-up. Wait till you see her and you'll say she's the
handsomest cavalier you've ever set eyes on, and fall in love with
her on the spot. Isn't it a shame it's storming so hard? I don't
believe half of the guests will come, but perhaps Mlle. Franchant will
let them repeat it after vacation. It's a shame after everybody has
worked so hard."
"Thanks for your invitation for supper, Nat, but I think Constance
and I had better go downstairs, for I want her to see our dining-
room and the girls. Why, there's the bell this minute and we
intended to go into some of the other rooms. Good luck to you,
Peggy; I know you'll be the bright and shining star. Oh, where is
your seat, Natalie? Ours are in 'G.' We freshmen in the house got
some together. Don't forget you two are coming up to our room
after the play. I've got permission for us to stay up till eleven o'clock,
so if the play is late, hustle down as soon as you can."
The play was held in the gymnasium, and by eight o'clock it was
crowded to the doors in spite of the storm. The girls were greatly
disappointed that they could not wear their best-looking gowns, but
it was dangerous to risk them in the drifting snow, so most of them
wore light waists with their dark skirts. The French play always was
considered one of the events of the year and anticipated by the
whole college. This year the play presented was "Andromaque," and
given wonderfully well. Of course the most interesting parts were
those where the girls took the parts of men. As the masculine
element were not invited to attend the performance, the girls felt
free to dress as fancy prompted them and, as Natalie had said, "did
make perfectly stunning men." All the girls did well, and unless one
were prejudiced, one had to admit that one girl did no better than
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