“Really Lo, I think its downright inconsiderate of you to be for Princeton.” Polly was standing on a chair which threatened every minute to topple from its precarious position on her bed and she was struggling with a huge Harvard banner. She made the above statement with spirit.

Lois, on the other side of the room, was in nearly the same position, only she was struggling with a Princeton banner.

“I don’t see why,” she answered Polly’s remark casually, and went on tacking.

“Because that awful orange color simply fights with my crimson. We can’t have them in the same room.”

Lois descended to the floor and surveyed the two banners.

“No, we can’t,” she said decidedly. “Mine goes better with the room than yours, don’t you think?” she asked, after a pause, with just a little too much show at indifference.

“No, I don’t.” Polly’s reply was prompt. “Color scheme doesn’t matter to me anyway, but Bob’s flag is going up somewhere.”

Fortunately, at this moment Betty burst into the room.

“News, good news,” she exclaimed. “The Art teacher has just arrived and I’ve met her. She’s a duck. Hello, what’s the matter?” she inquired, suddenly interrupting herself. “Is this flag day, and do you really mean you are going to hang both those banners?”

“No, we’re not,” Lois answered, and Polly laughed.

“The trouble is, Bet, we can’t decide which one we will hang. Lo, of course, with her artistic ideas, thinks the orange would go better with the browns of the rug and screen, and I want my Harvard banner up through sentiment. Bob gave it to me and he’ll probably make the track this year and anyway, he’s Lois’ brother and she’s always been for Harvard until Frank decided on Princeton and gave her that.” Polly gazed with resentment on the banner and Lois both.

“Did Frank give Lo that? Jemima! I didn’t know they were such good friends.”

Frank Preston was a cousin of Louise Preston, an old Seddon Hall girl Lois and Polly had met him three summers before, while they were visiting Louise, and Lois and he had kept up the friendship ever since.

“Of course he gave it to me, and Polly you know he had a thousand and one good reasons for going to Princeton. Harvard is not the only college.”

“Only one I’d go to if I were a boy,” Polly answered airily. “But what will we do? I can’t hold this up all day.”

Betty had a sudden inspiration.

“I’ll tell you,” she announced. “Take turns, Poll, you put yours up this week and Lo can have hers next, and there you are.” She looked proud at having solved the difficulty.

“Bet, you’re a genius!” Polly exclaimed, and Lois added her quota of praise.

“Put yours up first, Poll,” she said.

But Polly protested.

“No, yours is up already; leave it, and mine can go up next week.” So it was decided.

“Now, stop work and let’s talk,” Betty suggested. “Haven’t you anything to eat?”

“Jam, crackers and peanut butter in the window box,” Lois told her. “Get them out and tell us about the Art teacher; I’m going to go on hanging pictures.”

“Well, she’s a duck, I told you that, and an old friend of Mrs. Baird; her first name is Janet. I was standing in the hall when she arrived and I carried her bag to her room. She has the one next to the Spartan’s, poor soul!”

“Well how do you know she’s nice?” Polly insisted.

“Because she’s something like Mrs. Baird.”

“Oh, well, of course that’s enough; she couldn’t be just as nice.”

“No, naturally not. There’s only one Mrs. Baird, which reminds me there’s a young child” Betty said the words with emphasis “A Freshman, I think, who needs serious attention. I heard her fussing to-day; something was wrong and she said ‘Mrs. Baird made her sick.’”

Lois looked horrified, but Polly only shrugged her shoulders.

“She won’t last long,” she said indifferently, and Betty felt ashamed of having bothered to give the child a lecture.

“When do we have a Class meeting?” she asked, to change the subject. “We’ve got to do something about the welcome dance.”

“Why not now?” Lois stopped hammering. “Let’s get the Seniors all in here.”

It was only a matter of a few minutes before this was accomplished, for Betty went to rout them out.

Angela came first to be followed by the two Dorothys, then Mildred Weeks and Evelin Hatfield, two girls who had come to Seddon Hall the year before. Betty followed them.

“Everybody here?” she asked. “Don’t you think we’d better elect officers first off? Then some one will be able to start things. Here’s some paper,” she added, tearing off sheets and passing them around.

But things were not to run so smoothly. One of the Dorothys rose to protest.

“Don’t you think it would be more formal if we held a real meeting in one of the classrooms with Mrs. Baird there,” she said. “Then we could have a ballot box and do the thing properly.”

Polly and Lois exchanged glances. The Dorothys had always been dissenting voices ever since Freshman days.

Betty tore her hair in secret behind the wardrobe.

It was Angela’s slow drawl that settled the question.

“It would be more formal,” she agreed, “but what would be the use? Mrs. Baird is much too busy to come, the classrooms are always stuffy after school and besides, we couldn’t take the jam along, it’s against the rules.”

Mildred and Evelin, who had been rather inclined to favor the Dorothys, were won over by this and the point was carried.

The meeting stayed where it was and the vote was cast. Lois was elected President; Angela, Treasurer; Betty, Editor of the school paper; and Polly, Secretary. When the congratulations were over they started with their plans for the welcome dance.

“Do let’s have it different,” beseeched Betty. “Last year it was awful. All the new girls cried and there wasn’t enough ice cream.”

“How can we make it different? There’s nothing to do but dance.” Dot Mead protested. She was not altogether happy over the election.

“Let’s make more of a feature of the new girls,” Mildred said shyly. “Last year I know Evelin and I felt awfully out of it. Couldn’t we

“You’ve hit the nail on the head,” Polly exclaimed. “We’ll find some new idea of doing things so that the new girls will really feel it’s their dance. Everybody think.”

While these preparations were going on in the Senior Alley another meeting, less important in character, but equally heated as to discussion, was raging in Freshman Lane.

Jane Ramsey, who had been at Seddon Hall for three years in the lower school and had at last reached the dignity of Freshman, was giving an admiring group of new girls some advice.

There were five of them, Catherine and Helen Clay, two sisters Catherine a Freshman and Helen a Sophomore, Winifred Hayes, another Sophomore, and Phylis Guile. Phylis Guile could hardly be classed with the rest of the new girls. Her big sister Florence, who had been a Senior three years before, had told her all about Seddon Hall, and the thought of going anywhere else had never entered her head. She knew so much about everything, that Jane, whose ideas of being a Freshman meant having a chum, took to her at once, and they vowed eternal friendship.

Jane, whose hair was black, almost as black as her eyes, contrasted strangely with Phylis’ dazzling fairness. At present, they were doing most of the talking.

“Do the new girls vote for Captain too?” Phylis asked. “Florence has told me of course, but I’ve forgotten.”

“Yes, all the upper school,” Jane told her.

They were talking of the coming basket ball election.

“But how do we know who to vote for?” demanded Helen. “We’ve never seen them play.”

“You ask an old girl,” Jane replied loftily. “As it happens, this year they’ll all tell you the same thing.”

“What?”

“Oh, I know,” Phylis answered eagerly. “They’ll tell you to vote for Polly Pendleton. Florence told me she played a wonderful game, and to be sure and vote for her.”

“She does, too,” Jane agreed with enthusiasm, “but so does Lois Farwell. I can’t make up my mind which to choose, and it’s awfully important.”

“Is Polly the one that sits next to Mrs. Baird on the right,” Catherine asked, “with the brown hair?”

“Yes, that’s Polly.”

“Well, I love her; she’s so pretty; and, anyway, I’m going to vote for her,” she finished.

“Who’s the beautiful Senior with golden hair?” Winifred inquired. “I’d like to vote for her.”

Jane laughed heartily. Sometimes news of the upper school leaked into the lower, and she had heard Angela’s views on all strenuous sports.

“That’s Angela Hollywood; she’s awfully funny, but, oh dear, she can’t play basket ball; why she’s never even made the team.”

“Tell us who’ll make it this year?” Helen asked. “Do new girls ever get on?” she added wistfully.

“Polly was the only one who made it; that is for five years,” Phylis explained; “she was a new girl and a Freshman. My sister’s best friend, Louise Preston, was captain that year. I wish it would happen again; but no fear, I guess we’ll have to wait.”

“If we sit here talking about it, I’ll begin to hope,” and Jane jumped up and began brushing her hair. “It’s time to dress anyway.”

Her guests took the hint and departed, all except Phylis.

“That spoils it all,” she said, when the door closed.

“All what?” Jane inquired.

“Why, I’d picked some flowers, and I was going to give them to Polly, but now if she’s going to be the captain it looks

“Nonsense; it does not,” Jane contradicted. “Send them but don’t be silly about it, Polly wouldn’t think of letting you have a crush on her.”

“Will you put your name on the card, too?” Phylis asked.

Jane considered. “I will if you send them to Lois, too,” she said, thereby giving away a secret she had hoped to keep.

After the Senior meeting Polly decided she needed air.

“I’m going now, this minute,” she declared. “I’m suffocated.”

Lois, who had thrown herself down on the bed between laughter and tears, murmured a vague promise to follow. She changed her mind later and decided on a cold shower instead.

As she went down the stairs to Roman Alley, she heard some one stumble, and then the thud, thud, of falling boxes.

“Who is it, did you hurt yourself?” she called, and hurried around the turn of the stairs. A remarkably pretty woman looked up from a waterfall of canvases.

“No; but I deserved to, for carrying a lazy man’s load,” she laughed.

“Let me help,” Lois offered, starting to pick up the canvases, “you must be Miss Crosby. Oh, but that’s nice,” she added suddenly, holding out a sketch at arm’s length.

Miss Crosby smiled.

“Do you like it? I did it this summer. Are you interested in drawing?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” Lois’s tone was surprised as if any one could doubt such a well known fact.

“Then you must be Lois Farwell,” she said.

“Why, I am.”

Miss Crosby’s smile broadened. “I thought you were; you see Mrs. Baird told me ” she hesitated, “well it doesn’t matter what. If you’ll help me up with these things I’ll be ever so grateful.”

Together they carried all the pictures up to Miss Crosby’s room, and
Lois stood them up against the bed and walls, and then admired them.

Miss Crosby made her talk, and understood what she said, which was difficult for most people when Lois talked art. In fact she completely forgot she was Senior President, and had barely time to scramble into her dress and reach the platform to announce to the assembled old girls the plans for the coming dance.

It was not until after study hour that Polly and she returned to their room and found the flowers. Polly almost stepped on them as she opened the door.

“What under the sun?” Lois turned on the light. “Flowers? do look! To Polly and Lois from Jane and Phylis.”

“Crushes,” gasped Lois, “how awful!”

Then they looked at each other and laughed.