tered
about the rust till we reached the lake where we found two big bonfires
and three musicians to play dance music while we skated. Imagine how
lovely with the flames leaping against the background of snowy banks and
bare black trees! Berta and Lila and I crossed hands and skated around
and around the lake with the crowd. When we stopped in the firelight,
Lila looked unusually pretty with her rosy cheeks and her curls frosted
by her breath. Berta's eyes were like stars. Of course Robbie Belle was
beautiful, but she did not associate much with us that evening. After one
turn up and back again while we discussed Mary Winchester, she said she
thought she would invite our little freshman roommate for the next
number.

We kept on talking about Mary. Lila was insisting that she ought to be
put in the tenth class or worse, while Berta maintained that she wasn't
quite so bad as that. I kept thinking up arguments for both sides.

Lila counted off her crimes, and she didn't speak so very low either.
"Mary Winchester doesn't deserve a place even in the tenth class. Why,
listen now. You admit that she borrows disgracefully and never returns
things. At least, she helped herself to my skates. It is almost the same
as stealing. She has no friends. She always goes off walking alone, and
sits in the gallery by herself at lectures and concerts. Everybody says
she is queer."

"Miss Anglin thinks girls in the mass are funny," I volunteered, "though
maybe they are not any more so than human kind in the bulk. She says that
we all imagine we admire originality, but when we see any one who is
noticeably different from the rest, we avoid her. We call her queer and
are afraid to be seen with her."

"Mary Winchester's independence is commendable," protested Berta. "I envy
her strength of character. She ignores foolish conventions----"

"As for instance, the distinction between mine and thine," interrupted
Lila, "you don't live next to her, and you don't know. Her disregard for
the property rights of others indicates a fatal flaw----"

"Fatal flaw, fatal flaw!" chanted Berta mischievously, "isn't that a
musical phrase! Say it fast now, and see if it tangles your tongue."

I was afraid Lila would feel wounded, so I remarked hastily that we
agreed that Mary was not polite; the question was as to the degree of
impoliteness.

"Even Robbie Belle acknowledges that she is not a lady," chimed in Berta;
"she said it when Mary wanted to take tha