he had come the year the school
was opened. Mrs. Vincent had more than once said to herself: "Well, I
certainly have four oddities to deal with: _Who_ is Marjorie? She is one
of the sweetest, most lovable girls I've ever met, but I don't really
know a single thing about her. She has come to me from the home of a
perfectly reliable Congregational minister, but even he confesses that
he knows nothing beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost
to civilization in the remotest regions of the Klondyke. He says he
believes her mother is dead. Heigho! And Juno? What is likely to become
of _her_, poor child? What does become of all the children of divorced
parents in this land of divorces? Oh, why can't the parents think of the
children they have brought into the world but who did not ask to come?

"And Rosalie? What is to become of that little pepper pot with all her
loving impulses and self-will? I believe her father has visited her for
about one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and I also
believe his visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child
so. Of course, it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to
correct it? And this year comes Stella, the biggest puzzle of all. Her
father? Well, I dare say it is all right, but he sometimes acts more
like--" but at this point Mrs. Vincent invariably had paused abruptly
and turned her attention to other matters.

"Can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?" asked Lily Pearl.
"I think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that
horrid place year in and year out for four years with only four months
to call their own in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!"

"Lily's been doing the multiplication table," cried Rosalie.

"Well, I counted and I think it's awful--simply awful!" lamented Lily.
"I'd give anything to see Charlie Purdy and have another of those
ravishing dances. I can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he
snuggles your head up against him and nestles his face down in your
hair--m--m--m! Why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke!
I can smell it yet!"

A howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but Helen, who bridled
and protested:

"Oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the
eyes of a half dozen chaperones every minute. Lily and I got acquainted
with our friends."

"Well, I hope we did have a chaperone or two," was Polly's retort. She
h