is a corker. Her horse cut up somethin' awful. They all offered to
change with her, but she said she guessed she could manage. Look at the
way she sets an' pulls. She's got grit all right. I guess I'll have to
make out to have you go to college, Annie."

Whereupon little Annie spent a rapturous evening dreaming of the time
when she should be a Harding girl, and be able to say bright, funny
things like Miss Ayres. She resolved to wear her hair like Miss Watson
and to have a pleasant manner like Miss Wales, and above all to be
"gritty" like Miss Hildreth. For the present evening the fiercest steed
she could find to subdue was an arithmetic lesson. Annie hated
arithmetic, but in the guise of a plunging bay mare, that it took grit
to ride, she rather enjoyed forcing the difficult problems to come out
right.

Meanwhile the riding party had reached the campus, a little later and a
little wetter than most of their friends, and they were provided with
hot baths and hot drinks, and put to bed, where they lay in sleepy
comfort enjoying the feeling of being heroines.

Very soon after dinner Betty got tired of being a heroine, and when
Georgia Ames appeared and announced that a lot of freshmen were making
fudge in her room and wished Betty would come and have some and tell
them all about her experiences, she looked anxiously at Helen Adams, who
was the only person in the room just then.

"It's awfully good fudge--got marshmallows in it, and nuts," urged
Georgia. "They want Miss Adams too."

"Can I come in a kimono?" asked Betty. "I'm too tired to dress."

"Of course. Only----" Georgia hesitated.

"There's a man in the parlor, calling on Polly Eastman. And the folding
doors are stuck open. I wish my room wasn't down on that floor. You have
to be so careful of your appearance."

Betty frowned. "I want awfully to come. Can't you two think of a way?"

"Why of course," cried Georgia gleefully, after a moment's
consideration. "We'll hold a screen around you. The man will know that
something queer is inside it, but he can't see what."

So the procession started, Helen and Georgia carrying the screen. At the
top of the last flight, they adjusted it around Betty, and began slowly
to make the descent. At the curve Georgia looked down into the hall and
stopped, in consternation.

"They've moved out into the hall," she whispered. "No--this is Lucile
Merrifield and another man. We've got to go right past them."

"Let's go back,"