"To
ask Miss Pomeroy's permission to stay here over Christmas."

"Why?" cried the amazed conspirators in one breath.

"Oh, I just got to thinking how badly I would feel if I _had_ to stay
here for the holidays like Kitty and Bertha must, when everyone else is
going home to parties and tournaments and gay times generally, and I
thought it would be lots more fun for them _if_ there were others here
to keep them company. So when Aunt Lyda came for me, I asked her about
it and she said I might stay if Miss Pomeroy would let me."

"Goody! She will. She said we might. When your aunt goes, come up to
Grace's room and let's make our plans right away. We will get Chrystobel
if she isn't with Puss."

The next morning when the bevy of bright-faced, light-hearted girls came
to wish their teachers and two lone mates a merry Christmas before
scattering for the holiday season, the four plotters, Chrystobel,
Carrie, Grace and Vera, were foremost in the ranks, laughing and
chattering the gayest of them all, as they jerked on coats and strapped
up suitcases ready for departure.

"Here comes the bus," called someone. "Grace, Carrie, where are you?"

"Where are the Monrovia girls? Oh, Vera, you are wanted."

"Chrystie, your turn next. Is this your grip? Good-by all! Merry
Christmas!"

With a few final, hasty hugs, the quartette sprang down the steps, climbed
into the waiting vehicles, and departed--to all appearances--amid a great
waving of handkerchiefs and pennants.

At length the last good-by had been spoken, the last merry girl was
gone, four of the teachers, too, had deserted their posts for holiday
fun, and as the chug-chug of the last machine died away in the distance,
Miss Pomeroy dropped her arms over the shoulders of the two drooping
figures on the steps, and said cheerily, "And is this all I have left of
my big flock? Well, we are going to have some joyous celebrating this
year, I can promise you; but no doubt you have some Christmas work you
would like to complete this morning, so I will not detain you now to
discuss our plans. Run up to your rooms if you wish; we can do our
talking at luncheon."

Bertha and Tabitha tried to smile bravely, but the tears were too near
to permit of words, and in silence the lonely duet climbed the wide
stairway to their floor, each intending to have a private little weep
all by herself. But,

"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft a-gley."

There was a w