f?" asked Dorothy.

"Oh, she's president of the board of commissioners," replied Rose-Mary.
"Miss Honorah Higley is the chief of all departments."

"And Miss Crane?" inquired Dorothy. "I have met her."

"Oh, she's all right," declared the informer. "Camille Crane is a
dear--if the girls do call her Feathers."

"I thought all that nick-name business was done in colleges," remarked
Dorothy. "Every one here seems to have two names."

"Couldn't possibly get along without them," declared Cologne. "I've
been Cologne since my first day--what have they given you?"

"I haven't heard yet," said Dorothy, smiling. "But I do hope they
won't 'Dot' me. I hate dots."

"Then make it Dashes or Specks, but you must not be Specks. We have
one already."

"Glad of it," returned Dorothy. "I don't like Specks either."

"I guess we will make it 'D. D.' That's good, and means a whole lot of
things. There," declared Cologne. "I've had the honor of being your
sponsor. Now you must always stick by me. D. D. you are to be
hereafter."

"That will tickle Tavia," declared Dorothy. "She always said I was a
born parson."

"Better yet," exclaimed Cologne. "Be Parson. Now we've got it. The
Little Parson," and away she flew to impart her intelligence to a
waiting world of foolish schoolgirls.

CHAPTER XIV

THE INITIATION

The first days at Glenwood revolved like a magic kaleidoscope--all bits
of brilliant things, nothing tangible, and nothing seemingly important.
Dorothy had made her usual good friends--Tavia her usual jolly chums.
But Viola Green remained a mystery.

She certainly had avoided speaking to Dorothy, and had not even taken
the trouble to avoid Tavia--she "cut her dead." Edna tried to persuade
Tavia that "Fiddle" was a privileged character, and that the seeming
slights were not fully intended; but Tavia knew better.

"She may be as odd as she likes," insisted the matter of fact girl from
Dalton, "but she must not expect me to smile at her ugliness--it is
nothing else--pure ugliness."

Dorothy had sought out Viola, but it was now plain that the girl
purposely avoided her.

"Perhaps she is worrying about her mother, poor dear," thought the
sympathetic Dorothy. "I must insist on cheering her up. A nice walk
through these lovely grounds ought to brighten her. And the leaves on
these hills are perfectly glorious. I must ask her to go with me on my
morning walk. I'll go to her room to-night after t