x
at five o'clock, and Eleanor noted with satisfaction that both Sally May
and Catherine were there.

"Any for me?" she called to Sally May, who was at the box.

"Not one," was the answer.

"Oh, well," said Eleanor, clearly and distinctly, "of course I can
always follow Genevieve's example and _write one to myself_, a printed
one, I mean; but no, on second thoughts I don't believe I shall, they
are rather horrid things, don't you think?" And she walked quietly away.

For days afterwards at mail-time Jane, who loved to ride a joke--"till
it died of sheer exhaustion," as Peggy said--could always raise a laugh
at Genevieve's expense. "Any a-non-y-mous letters for me?" she would
inquire plaintively. "No? I really must see about it. I suppose I must
attend to it myself."

CHAPTER XI

FRIENDS

EASTER examinations, although a month away, were already looming darkly
on the horizon and Judith settled down to a long and hard pull.

"So much to learn and so little time," she groaned to Nancy. "I'd like
to spend all my time on my essay for Miss Marlowe, but there are French
and geometry tests next week, which need every minute of study time I
have. Why can't the days be forty hours long?"

However, most of the school thought the days quite long enough, and in
fact some happy souls had already counted up the number of hours until
the holidays began and were ticking them off with great glee.

Judith's delight in lesson hours was steadily increasing. Even in
mathematics classes which she disliked, she was beginning to feel the
joy of triumphing over difficulties, and she looked forward to her
literature lessons as the happiest hours of the week. Loving Nancy as
she did, Judith was always trying to share her enjoyment of some
beautiful lines of poetry or an interesting scene in the play they were
studying, and not always with pronounced success. Nancy's mind was of a
practical turn; she was very lukewarm about poetry.

"Listen to this," Judith had commanded one day as she sat waiting for
Nancy to finish dressing for dinner:

"How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank:
Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music
Creep in our ears; soft stillness and the night
Become the touches of sweet harmony.
Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;
There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest
But i