over their books again.

But there was no dawdling in Duet Two, West Dormitory. Had Helen been
inclined to lapse occasionally, or Ruth sunk under the worriment of
mind which had borne her down since the day of the skating party on
Triton Lake, Mercy Curtis kept the two chums to the mark.

"No shirking, you young ones!" commanded the crippled girl, in her
sharp way. "Remember the hare would have won the race easily if he
hadn't laid down to nap beside the course. Come! some tortoise will
beat you in French and Latin yet, Helen, if you don't keep to work.
And go to work at that English composition, Ruthie Remissness! You'd
both be as lazy as Ludlum's dog if it wasn't for me."

And so she kept them up to the work, and kept herself up, too. There
wasn't much time for larking now, if one wished to stand well at the
end of the term. The teachers watched for shirkers more closely, too.
Even Mary Cox and her friends next door showed some signs of industry.

"Although it does seem as though we were always being worked to death,"
groaned Heavy, one day, to Ruth. "I feel as though my constitution was
actually breaking down under the strain. I've written to my father
that if he wants to see even a shadow of my former self at Christmas,
he had better tell Mrs. Tellingham not to force me so!"

She sighed breezily and looked so hard at the piece of cocoanut pie
beside Ruth's plate (having eaten her own piece already) that Ruth
laughed and pushed it toward her.

"Have it if you like, Heavy," she said. "I am not very hungry."

"Well, there isn't quite so much of you to nourish, my dear," declared
Jennie Stone, more briskly. "I really _do_ feel the need of an extra
piece. Thank you, Ruth! You're a good little thing."

"Miss Picolet will see you, Ruth," whispered Helen, on her other side.
"She is disgusted with Heavy's piggishness. But Miss Picolet, after
all, won't say anything to you. You are her pet."

"Don't say that, Helen," replied Ruth, with some sadness. "I am sorry
for Miss Picolet."

"I don't see why you need be. She seems to get along very well,"
returned her chum.

But Ruth could not forget how the little French teacher had looked--how
frightened she was and how tearful--the afternoon when Ruth had told
her of the incident aboard the _Minnetonka_, and of her loss of the
mysterious letter sent by the harpist. The little French woman had
begged her not to blame herself for the loss of the letter; she