for the new girls, to keep them from being homesick. I, for
one, intend to try."

"I'm with you," agreed Lily, as she crawled into bed.

But Ruth Henry's last waking thoughts were of a different nature: how
she might best succeed in gaining the class presidency for herself.

"If I go at the thing boldly," she decided, "there is no reason why I
should fail. And I mean to do it, if I never accomplish another thing as
long as I'm at Miss Allen's!"

CHAPTER II

THE SOPHOMORE PRESIDENT

"Are you going to dress for Ruth's tea?" asked Doris Sands of Marjorie
Wilkinson, as the girls walked out of the dining-room together.

Marjorie pulled down the corners of her mouth at the question. It did
seem strange to her that Ruth Henry should have decided in such a hurry
to give a tea. There must be something behind it! Probably the girl was
making a play for popularity, so that she might be elected to an office.

"I'm not going. It's just at the time of hockey practice, and, of
course, I couldn't miss that. Lily won't be there, either."

"I'm sorry!" murmured Doris. "Things never seem half so nice without
you, Marj!"

Marjorie smiled gratefully; Doris Sands not only said pleasant things,
but one knew that she meant them. It was too bad that the class
constitution prohibited a girl's re-election as president. The sophomore
class could never find anyone else so tactful, so universally popular as
Doris, Marjorie thought.

"Thanks, Doris," she said. "But I don't see why Ruth couldn't give us
more notice, so that we might have arranged things to go. She never said
a word about it at the reception!"

"Ruth always does things on the spur of the moment, and for queer
reasons," sighed Doris, for the intricacies of the workings of Ruth's
mind were too complicated for her simple, straightforward nature to
comprehend. She and Ruth were exceptionally good friends; but then Doris
Sands was the sort of girl who could get along with anybody. She never
thought of Ruth as self-seeking; merely attributed the measure of
success she obtained to cleverness. She always looked for the best in
everybody.

When Marjorie and Ruth had entered the seminary the previous fall, there
had been thirty-five girls in the class. Now the membership had
decreased to twenty-five, and they were all on rather intimate terms.
Five of these were Girl Scouts: Anna Cane, Doris Sands, Lily Andrews,
Ruth and Marjorie. These were the envied few, the inner circ