Thanksgiving vacation started with the confusion and excitement always necessary when a school breaks up even for so short a time.

Polly and Lois could hardly wait until the Seddon Hall special pulled into the Grand Central station on Wednesday morning. The vacation began on Wednesday and the girls were expected to be back Sunday evening.

They were the first to jump to the platform as the train stopped.

Mrs. Farwell was waiting for them.

“Darling children!” She hugged and kissed them both. “How well you look!”

“Well? Why we’re robust, Aunt Kate,” Polly laughed, “and bursting with excitement.”

“What’s the surprise, Mother? Please tell us,” Lois begged.

Mrs. Farwell only shook her head mysteriously. “Not a word until after luncheon. We must shop this morning.” She looked at the girls despairingly. “How do you manage to wear out your clothes so? You both need everything new, particularly hats; the ones you have on are sights.”

Uncle Roddy’s car was waiting for them, and they got in it and were whirled away to the shops.

It was not until luncheon that they had a chance to breathe.

“There, that’s settled.” Mrs. Farwell viewed them with satisfaction. She was proud of them both. Lois’ delicate handsomeness and Polly’s clear cut beauty. She had chosen dark blue for the one and hunter’s green for the other.

“Won’t you girls ever take an interest in your clothes?” she asked, wonderingly. She couldn’t believe they were quite as indifferent to the charming pictures they made in the very becoming hats and sporty topcoats as they pretended.

“Poor, darling mother, we are interested,” Lois protested, “but we’re

“Fussed.” Polly finished for her, looking decidedly self-conscious, as she tilted her hat a tiny bit more over one ear.

Uncle Roddy and Dr. Farwell met them for luncheon, and then they heard the plan.

“It’s Bob’s idea,” Uncle Roddy explained, “and here’s the schedule. You,” he was looking at Polly and Lois, “and Mrs. Farwell leave for Boston this afternoon. Bob will meet you and take you to dinner, and to-morrow you’ll go to the game. Harvard plays Princeton.”

“That’s hard on you, Lois,” Dr. Farwell laughed; he never stopped teasing for one minute.

“What do you think about it, Tiddledewinks?” Uncle Roddy asked.

“It’s a perfect plan,” Polly said, enthusiastically. “I’m crazy to see Bob. Isn’t it a shame about his foot?”

The doctor looked grave.

“Yes, it’s too bad; he was laid up for quite a while. Of course, it’s all right now, but he lost time, and he’s had to make up a lot of work.”

“Oh, of course.” Polly suddenly realized that Bob’s father was not looking at it from quite the same angle that she was.

After luncheon they hurried to the hotel where the Farwells were staying, repacked their bags and were back at the Grand Central in time for their train.

Lois and Polly talked and planned ahead all the way to Boston. They thoroughly enjoyed the coming fun in anticipation; but, of course, they never guessed for a second that the real surprise was still ahead.

“There’s Bob,” Polly exclaimed, as they followed the porter through the gates. “I can see him; he’s way at the end of that line of people, and Lois, look who’s with him!”

Lois looked. A tall, heavily set fellow, with a very broad pair of shoulders, was waving his hat.

“Frank Preston! Why how do you suppose ” But the rest of the sentence was cut short by the meeting.

“Hello, Mother!” Bob began, “how are you?” He turned to the girls. “Here’s a friend of yours, Lo.” Then he squeezed Polly’s hand till it hurt.

“How do you do, Mrs. Farwell?” Frank shook hands hurriedly and turned to Lois.

“Isn’t this bully luck? Gee, I’m glad to see you!” he said, eagerly.

Bob looked in admiration. He wished he had Frank’s courage. Why he couldn’t even kiss his mother and Lois in public, without blushing, and as for Polly, well, he would have to wait until they were alone before he could tell her how glad he was to see her. But he comforted himself with the thought that he’d be more artistic about it when the time came than Frank had been.

They found their hotel, the same one they had stayed at on their first memorable trip to Boston, and Mrs. Farwell, tired out from her strenuous afternoon, ordered tea at once.

Lois and Frank sat down on a sofa at one end of the room, and Frank explained how Bob had wired him to meet him.

“Of course, I came,” he said.

“You are not in the game to-morrow?” Mrs. Farwell asked from behind the tea urn.

“No, worse luck,” Frank told her. “I’m only a sub; of course, there’s a chance; I may be needed.”

“But if you’re a sub, how did you manage to get here?” Polly inquired.

“Oh, I managed that all right. I won’t break training, though I’m tempted to.” He eyed the tea cakes longingly, “and I’ll be on hand to-morrow. So that’s all right. It’s awfully jolly of you people to ask me,” he smiled, engagingly, at Mrs. Farwell.

“Why, we’re delighted to have you, Frank,” she assured him.

Bob, who had been looking out of the window all this time, turned abruptly.

“Mother, Polly doesn’t want any tea, and there’s loads of time for a walk; do you mind?” he asked.

His mother laughed. “Not if Polly doesn’t, but I should think she’d be tired.”

But Polly was not tired. She insisted that she wanted some exercise after the trip on the cars. So Bob took her out.

The sun was just getting ready to set, and they walked towards the river.

“Polly!” Bob said, after they had walked a block in silence.

“Yes

“I think this is pretty much O. K., don’t you?”

“What, this street?” Polly was very happy and she felt like teasing.

Bob tightened his grip on her arm, started to protest, and then changed his mind.

“Yes, of course, this street; I think it’s a lovely street in fact it’s a great favorite of mine,” he said instead.

Then Polly was sorry. After a while she said, softly:

“What did you really mean, Bobby?”

“Why, the street.”

“Oh, very well, if you don’t want to tell me.”

“Ha, ha! but I do; I think it’s great having you here for the game, and mother and Lois. Wasn’t I clever to get Frank to amuse Lo to-night? We’re going to the theater, you know, something musical. I wish he could stay longer, but, of course, he can’t; he’ll have to return with the defeated team.”

“Will they surely be defeated?” Polly asked, seriously. “Bob, I think I’ll just die if Harvard doesn’t win.”

“Don’t worry, we will,” he assured her with perfect confidence. Then followed another pause. They had reached the river, and Polly stopped.

“Bob!”

“What is it?”

“I’m awfully sorry about your foot; I can’t tell you how sorry, because words are so stupid; the right ones never come when you really want to say something. But I feel about it, oh, awfully! Isn’t there even a chance?”

“Yes, a little one,” Bob said; “but not enough to matter. I can’t start training, and I’ll be too stiff to do any good by Spring.

“Tough luck!” Polly laid her hand unconsciously on his arm. “Don’t give up, though. You may make good if you work awfully hard. May’s ages off.”

“Gee!” Bob delivered this inelegant exclamation with feeling. “Poll, you’re the best little sport I ever knew. You always understand. Any other girl would have said that running was bad for my heart, and expected me to be consoled.”

Polly was overcome by such frank praise. She tried to think of something to say, and finally decided on:

“Oh, rot! Isn’t it time to go back?”

The theater that night was very amusing. Lois and Frank were in gales of laughter every minute.

“If you laugh any more,” Lois said, between the acts, “you’ll never be able to play to-morrow.”

“But I won’t have to play,” Frank protested, “unless an awful lot of awful things happen. Anyway, don’t let’s talk about it, honestly, Lois.” He lowered his voice, “I get cold all over when I think of it. I’m almost sure I’d lose my nerve if I had to go in.”

“You never would,” Lois admonished, crisply. “You’d find it, any amount of it, the minute you heard the signals. I hope oh, how I hope you have to play.”

“Well, if I do,” Frank grumbled, “it won’t do me any good to remember you’re on the Harvard side.”

“Now, you’re silly,” Lois teased. “What difference does it make where I sit, so long as I root for Princeton?”

“Do you mean that?” Frank demanded. “Do you honestly want us to win? Gee, that’s great! I sort of thought, because of Bob

“Oh, Bob! Well, you see there’s Polly,” Lois said, demurely, just as the curtain rose for the last act.

Thanksgiving morning was all glorious sunshine. There was not a single cloud in the sky, and the air was just the right football temperature.

“Everything O. K., so far,” Bob said, joyfully, as he joined his mother and the girls at breakfast. “What’ll we do this morning to kill time?”

“Lois wants to go to the Library and see the Abbey pictures,” Mrs. Farwell answered.

Bob looked his disgust he appealed to Polly but for the first time she deserted him.

“I’m going too, Bobby. I guess you’ll have to find something to do until luncheon,” she said.

Mrs. Farwell and the girls wandered about the Library all morning, and returned to the hotel ten minutes later than the time set by Bob for luncheon.

He and his roommate, Jimmy Thorpe, were waiting for them in the lobby.

“I knew you’d be late,” Bob greeted them. “We’ll have to dash through lunch. Did you enjoy the pictures?” he asked, sarcastically.

“Darling Bobby, are we late? We’re so sorry. How do you do, Jimmy? It’s awfully nice you can be with us.” Mrs. Farwell was so contrite and charming that Bobbie’s momentary huff disappeared as it always did before his mother’s smile.

“Well, we didn’t have to hurry so very much,” she said, when luncheon was over and they were preparing to start. “Now are you sure we are going to be warm enough?”

Bob and Jim looked at each other, over the sweaters and steamer rugs they were loaded down with, and winked.

“Here’s the taxi,” Jim announced. “Come on, Lois.”

After a considerable time lost in stopping and threading their way among the other hundreds of cars, they reached the Harvard Stadium at last.

“Bob, how wonderful and how huge it looks to-day,” Polly exclaimed, as they entered their section, and she caught sight of the immense bowl, and the hundreds of people.

They had splendid seats, near enough to really see and recognize the players. Jim and Bob explained the score card, talked familiarly about all the players and pointed out the other under graduates who had won importance in other sports.

“Oh, but I wish I were a boy,” Polly said, longingly. “Imagine the thrill of being part of all this. Why it makes school look pale and insignificant in comparison.”

“I don’t wish I were a boy,” Lois said decidedly. “I’d much rather be a girl, but, I’ll admit, football does make basket ball look rather silly.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Jim said, condescendingly. “Basket ball’s a good girls’ game.”

Polly was indignant.

“Jim, what a silly thing to say. You know perfectly well that just as many boys play it as girls. The only difference is that when we play we have to use our minds while boys

“Yes, we know, Poll,” Bob interrupted, “boys have no minds; therefore their rules must be less rigid. But don’t be too hard on us.”

“I judge Polly plays basket ball.” It seemed to be Jim’s day for blunders.

“Plays basket ball oh, ye Gods!” Bob wrung his hands. “Why, Jim, surely I told you that she was no less than captain of her team. Personally, I think she deserves the title of general.”

Polly laughed in spite of herself.

“Bob, you’re a mean tease. But just wait. I’ll ask you both up for field day, and

“Sh ! here they come,” Bob warned as a prolonged cheer announced the arrival of the teams.

The game was on.

Everybody stood up and shouted. And then a tense silence followed, as the first kick-off sent the pigskin hurtling into the air.

Any one who has seen a football game knows how perfectly silly it is to attempt a description of it. Polly and Lois could both tell you all the rules and explain the most intricate maneuvers, if you gave them plenty of time to think it out; but with the actual plays before them, they were carried away by excitement and gave themselves up completely to feeling the game, rather than understanding it. They watched the massed formation with breathless anxiety, thrilled at every sudden spurt ahead which meant a gain; groaned when the advance was stopped by one of those terrifying tackles, and experienced the exultant joy only possible when the pigskin sails unchecked between the goal posts.

Between periods they had to appeal to Jim and Bob for the score. At one point in the game, Bob turned hurriedly to Lois.

“Watch out for Frank,” he said, excitedly; “He’ll be on in a minute.”

“How do you know?” Lois demanded. “Oh, Bobby, I wish they wouldn’t; he, he said he’d lose his nerve.” Lois had suddenly lost hers.

“You watch that man,” Bob pointed, “they’ll take him out, see if they don’t; he’s all in. Frank will play next period.”

He was right. When the whistle blew, Frank, after a few hurried words with the coach, tore off his sweater and ran out to the field.

Lois’ eyes were glued to him whenever he was in sight, and during one tackle when he was completely lost under the mass of swaying arms and legs, she forgot her surroundings and the fact, most important in Bob’s and Jim’s eyes, that she was on the Harvard side by shouting lustily.

“Stop it, stop it! Get off, you’ll smother him!”

Mrs. Farwell quieted her.

“Lois, you mustn’t, dear child,” she laughed. “They can’t hear you, you know. Do sit down and don’t look if it frightens you.”

By this time Frank was up and doing wonders. Lois gave a sigh of relief.

“Football’s a savage game,” she said, indignantly. And Mrs. Farwell agreed with her. She had been thankful beyond words that Bob had not gone out for the team running was sufficiently dangerous. It was to her lasting credit that she had thought of Bob’s feelings first, instead of her own, when news came of his hurt foot.

Putting Frank in the game made a decided difference. The Orange and Black began to gain. They fought and contested every inch, but the Crimson triumphed.

Polly’s eyes reflected the light of victory as the last longed for whistle blew. She shouted and went quite mad with all the rest.

“What a game! Oh, Bob, what a game!” she cried as they started for their exit. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for taking me. I’m nearly dead from excitement, though.”

Bob, in his exuberance, slapped her on the back.

“Good for you, Polly; you ought to have been a boy, shouldn’t she, Jim?” he demanded.

“Why, I can’t see that there’s any room for improvement, if you ask me,” Jim said gallantly. And Bob gnashed his teeth.

They all had dinner at the hotel that night, and went to the theater again, but it is a question whether any of them could tell you what they saw, for the music acted only as a sort of fitting background as they went over and over again, each play of the wonderful game.

That is, Polly and Bob and Jim. Lois had only one comment to make:

“Princeton lost,” she granted them, “but it was only because they hadn’t the sense to put Frank in sooner.” And Bob admitted there might be a degree of truth in what she said.