e who pined for candy
could make it over the gas-stove in the Domestic Science kitchen. Those
who were too lazy to make it could buy it Monday afternoons from Mammy
Easter, an old coloured woman who lived in a cabin on the place. She was
famous for her pralines, the sophomore declared. "We have jolly charades
and impromptu tableaux up in the gymnasium sometimes. Oh, school at the
Hall is one grand lark!"

"Don't you believe it," said the spectacled junior who monopolized Lloyd
next. "It's a hard dig to keep up to the mark they set here. But I must
say it is an agreeable kind of a dig," she added.

"It's good just to wake up in the morning and know there's going to be
another whole day of it. The classes are so interesting, and the
teachers so interested in us, that they bring out the very best in
everybody. Even a grasshopper would have its ambition aroused if it
stayed in this atmosphere long."

She peered at Lloyd through her glasses as if to satisfy herself that
she would be understood, and then added, confidentially: "I can fairly
feel myself grow here. I feel the way I imagine the morning-glories do
when they find themselves climbing up the trellis. They just stretch out
their hands and everything helps them up,--the sun and the soil, the
wind and the dew. And here at Warwick Hall there's so much to help. Even
the little glimpses we get over the garden wall into the outside world
of Washington, with its politics and great men. But those two people
over there help me most of all." She nodded toward Madam Chartley and
Miss Chilton, the teacher of English, who were now seated together on a
sofa near the door.

"When I look at them I feel that the morning-glory vine must climb just
as high as it possibly can, and shake out a wealth of bells in return
for all that has been given toward its growth. Don't you?"

"Yes," answered Lloyd, slightly embarrassed by the soulful gaze turned
on her through the spectacles. "Betty would enjoy knowing you," she
exclaimed. "She is always saying and writing such things."

"Oh, I thought that you were the one that writes," answered the junior.
"Aren't you the one the freshmen are going to elect class editor for
their page of the college paper?"

"No, indeed!" protested Lloyd, laughing at the idea. "Come across the
room with me and I'll find Betty for you."

"There won't be time to-night," responded the junior, "for there goes
the music that means good night. They always play 'Am