reat satisfaction.

"I know she's going to be a treat," she declared. "I hope she keeps
whole for a while at least, until I get better acquainted."

"And do you know," she went on, "that the model is a Russian refugee,
and he tried to kill himself because he was so homesick. He's just out
of the hospital, and he has a great red scar across his breast. Isn't
it exciting to be among such different sort of people? We've always
been so sort of tabbified."

"We've had enough ups and downs, I am sure," said Elinor vaguely. It
was evident that her mind was not on either their varied past nor even
the fascinating present, but was busy with a future of progress and
achievement.

"Wake up, old lady," cried Patricia. "There's the gong, and we must
fly."

Patricia toiled all that afternoon with the ardor of ignorance and
hope. The others looked at her with occasional interest, but otherwise
paid little attention to her. In the rests she went out to visit
Elinor, or Elinor came in to watch her progress. Her head fairly swam
with the delightful novelty of this new and quick-flowing life. When
the last gong rang she heard it with regret.

"It's better than I ever dreamed," she said to the amiable Griffin as
she was showing her how to put the wet cloths about her work. "It's
not half so hard as I thought it would be, either."

"Wait till Saturday, when old Jonesy lights on you," warned her new
friend. "You won't find life so lightsome when his eagle eye discovers
you."

"Pooh, I shan't mind how criss-cross he is," declared Patricia
valiantly. "I'm only the rankest greenhorn, anyway. He can't expect
me to be a Rodin."

She washed her tools in the grimy tanks of the clay room, more in love
with it every minute, and when she joined Elinor at their lockers, she
was fairly bursting with enthusiasm.

"It's simply heavenly, and I don't know how we got along without it!"
she cried, rapturously. "It makes me wild to think of the _months_
we've wasted this fall."

Elinor laughed her low ripple. "We didn't find Francis Edward David
till the middle of December, and it's now the third week in January. I
don't think we've let much grass grow under our feet."

"I wish this were the night for night life," said Patricia fervently.
"I'd stay and watch you begin----"

"No, you wouldn't," said Elinor, promptly. "They don't allow other
people in the life-class rooms. You'd have to go home and see that
Judith was all rig