chairs.

"What's the formula for swearing an undying friendship?" giggled Addie
Knighton.

"Was it Rose of Sharon you called her?" twinkled Christine Crosswood.
"Or Lily of the Valley?"

Ulyth did not reply. She walked upstairs very slowly. The nasal twang of
that high-pitched voice in the hall had wiped the bloom off her
anticipation. The small double dormitory in which she slept was No. 3,
Room 5. The door was half-open, so she entered without knocking. Both
beds, the chairs, and most of the floor was strewn with an assortment of
miscellaneous articles. On the dressing-table was a tray with the
remains of tea. Over a large cabin trunk bent a girl of fourteen. She
straightened herself as she heard footsteps.

Alas! alas! for Ulyth's illusions. The enchanting vision of the prairie
flower faded, and Rona Mitchell stood before her in solid fact. Solid
was the word for it--no fascinating cinema heroine this, but an
ordinary, well-grown, decidedly plump damsel with brown elf locks, a
ruddy sunburnt complexion, and a freckled nose.

Where, oh, where, were the delicate features, the fairy-like figure, and
the long rich clustering curls of Rose of the Wilderness? Ulyth stood
for a moment gazing as one dazed; then, with an effort, she remembered
her manners and introduced herself.

"Proud to meet you at last," replied the new-comer heartily. "You and
I've had a friendship switched on for us ready-made, so to speak. I
liked your letters awfully. Glad they've put us in together."

"Did--did you have a nice journey?" stammered Ulyth.

It was a most conventional enquiry, but the only thing she could think
of to say.

"Beastly! It was rough or hot all the time, and we didn't get much fun
on board. Wasn't it a sell? Too disappointing for words! Mrs. Perkins,
the lady who had charge of me coming over, was just a Tartar. Nothing I
did seemed to suit her somehow. I bet she was glad to see the last of
me. Then I was sea-sick, and when we got into the hot zone--my, how bad
I was! My face was just skinned with sunburn, and the salt air made it
worse. I'd not go to sea again for pleasure, I can tell you. I say, I'll
be glad to get my things fixed up here."

"This is your bed and your side of the room," returned Ulyth hastily,
collecting some of the articles which had been flung anywhere, and
hanging them in Rona's wardrobe; "Miss Moseley makes us be very tidy.
She'll be coming round this evening to inspect."

Rona whistled.