his loneliness almost
overpowered Dorothy when she realized that her sister-friend was
gone--and the little bed across her room all smooth and unruffled by
the careless, jolly girl who tried to make life a joke and did her best
to make others share the same opinion.

It was Rose-Mary who came to cheer Dorothy in the loss of Tavia. She
sat with her evenings until the very last minute, and more than once
was caught in the dark halls, the lights having been turned out before
the girl could reach her own quarters.

Rose-Mary and Dorothy had similar fancies. Both naturally refined,
they found many things to interest them--things that most of the girls
would not have bothered their pretty heads about. So their friendship
grew stronger and their hearts became attuned, each to the other's
rhythm, until Dorothy and Rose-Mary were the closest kind of friends.

Mrs. Pangborn had decided upon a play for mid-year. It would be a sort
of trial for the big event which always marked the term's close at
Glenwood and the characters would embrace students from all
departments. The play was called Lalia, and was the story of a pilgrim
on her way, intercepted by a Queen of Virtue and again sought out by
the Queen of Pleasure. The pilgrim is lost in the woods of doubt, and
finally brought to the haven of happiness by the Virtuous Queen
Celesta. This Pilgrim's Progress required many characters for the
queen's retinues, besides the stars, of course, and the lesser parts.

Dorothy was chosen for Lalia--the best character.

The part had been assigned by vote, and Dorothy's splendid golden hair,
coupled with that "angelic face," according to her admirers, won the
part for her. Rose-Mary Markin was made Celesta, the Queen of Virtue:
and Viola Green, because of her dark complexion, being opposite that of
Celesta, was elected to be Frivolita, the Queen of Pleasure.

Each queen was allowed to select her own retinue--a delicious task,
said the ones most interested.

Mrs. Pangborn made a neat little speech at the Glenwood meeting where
these details were decided upon, and in it referred to the lesson of
the story, incidentally hinting that some of the pupils had lately
taken it upon themselves to do things not in strict accord with the
history of her school--the forming of a society, for instance, without
the consent or knowledge of any of the faculty. This secret doing, she
said, could not continue. Either the girls should come to her