nor with
exaggerated politeness. "Which shall it be, Miss Kendall? Each is
equally diverting, but the Howl has the merit of greater brevity. No
extra charge for the choice, you know, so speak up and name it."

Elinor glanced about at the circle of laughing, friendly faces and her
eyes shone.

"I'll choose the song," she announced, gayly. "I've heard a lot of
howling already this evening."

"The song it is," cried Griffin, stepping on a chair and beginning to
beat time with a big paint-brush. "Now then, all together, my
children. Warble!"

Patricia, thrilled by the sweetness of the rippling, crooning song, and
before the verse was half done, joined unconsciously in with the
others, forgetting the need of words in the melody of the lilting song.

"Creatures of the night are we,
Sisters of the glow-worm dim,
Comrades of the hooting owl,
Toilers when the sunset's rim
Overflows with shadows deep;
Harken to our even-song,
Night it is that makes us strong."

The chorus swelled, with Griffin's thrilling treble soaring high and
clear:

"Glorious night that makes us strong,
Drowning day and ending strife;
Guide the skilful hand and eye,
Shape our efforts into life."

Patricia's heart beat hard with the beauty of the woven word and
melody, and she gave a little gulp to keep back the tears that sprang
so readily.

"I didn't dream those uproarious creatures could be so serious. I
wonder where they got that song," she said to herself as she slipped
unnoticed out into the twilight of the corridor.

She put the question to Griffin when she met her in the hall after the
class had broken up in disorder to celebrate the initiation by a
general gambol through the deserted halls and corridors. Patricia and
Griffin were seating themselves on a drawing-board at the top of the
short flight of stone steps that connected the back corridor with the
exhibition rooms above.

"That? Oh, Carol Lawton wrote that for us before she left. She was a
corker, I can tell you." A shade flitted over Griffin's face as she
settled herself more firmly on the board. "She died last fall, and
we've sung that song ever since. Ready now! Let her _go_!"

Away they sped down the stony stairs with a great clatter of board and
flutter of skirts, winding up at the bottom with a final heavy thump.

"Phew! That's great!" cried Patricia, springing lightly to her feet.
"It's more like flying than anything