was only
sixteen, then. I'm seventeen years and one day old now. I'm ever so much
wiser. It's funny but that is really what I wanted to talk to you about.
Going back to Wellington, I mean. I want to go this time. Truly, I do."

"I know it, Janie. I was only teasing you."

Henry Allen smiled down very tenderly at his pretty daughter.

"Of course you were," nodded Jane. "I knew, though, that you were
thinking about last year, when I behaved like a savage. I was thinking
of it, too, as I lay in the hammock looking off toward the mountains.
Dear old Capitan never seemed so wonderful as it does to-day. Yet
somehow, it doesn't hurt me to think of leaving it for a while.

"Last year I felt as though I was being torn up by the roots. This year
I feel all comfy and contented and only a little bit sad. The sad part
is leaving you and Aunt Mary. Still I'm glad to go back to Wellington.
It's as though I had two homes. I wanted to tell you about it, Dad. To
let you know that this year I'm going to try harder than ever to be a
good pioneer."

Raising her head, Jane suddenly sat very straight on the bench, her gray
eyes alive with resolution.

"You don't need to tell me that, Janie." Her father took one of Jane's
slender white hands between his own strong brown ones. "You showed
yourself a real pioneer freshman. They say the freshman year's always
the hardest. I know mine was at Atherton. I was a poor boy, you know,
and had to fight my way. Things were rather different then, though.
There is more comradeship and less snobbishness in college than there
used to be. That is, in colleges for boys. You're better posted than
your old Dad about what they do and are in girls' colleges," he finished
humorously.

"Oh, there are a few snobs at Wellington."

An unbidden frown rose to Jane's smooth forehead. Reference to snobbery
brought up a vision of Marian Seaton's arrogant, self-satisfied
features.

"Most of the girls are splendid, though," she added, brightening. "You
know how much I care for Judy, my roommate, and, oh, lots of others at
Wellington. There's Dorothy Martin, in particular. She stands for all
that is finest and best. You remember I've told you that she looks like
Dearest."

Jane's voice dropped on the last word. Silence fell upon the two as each
thought of the beloved dead.

"Dad, you don't know how much it helped me last year in college to have
Dearest's picture with me," Jane finally said. "It was almost as if sh