roups, too. Nobody
came to see her in the room, and she was invited nowhere--perhaps
because the other girls thought she must be "in" with the clique to
which Cora belonged.

At the head of this party of freshmen was the very proud girl named
Grace Montgomery, whom Cora indefatigably aped. Girls who were proud of
their parents' money, or who catered to such girls because they were so
much better off than their mates, for the most part made up this clique.

There was not more than a score of them; but they clung together and
were an influence in the class, although altogether there were nearly a
hundred freshmen.

As the days went by the lessons became harder and the teachers more
strict. Nancy found that it was very hard to be put out of her own room
in study time because of the chattering of other girls, many of whom,
it seemed, did not care how they stood in their classes.

"Really, I cannot hear myself think!" Nancy gasped one day when she had
sat with her elbows on her desk, her hands clasped over her ears, trying
to give all her attention to the text-book before her.

For half an hour there had been noise enough in Number 30 to drive a
deaf and dumb person distracted.

"Well, if you don't like it, you can get out!" snapped Cora, when Nancy
complained. "You're not wanted here, anyway."

"But I have as much right here as you have--and a better right than your
friends," said Nancy, for once aroused.

"I don't think a girl like you has any business in the school at all,"
cried Cora, angrily. "Who knows anything about you? Goodness me! you're
a perfect Miss Nobody--I can't find a living soul that knows anything
about you. I don't even know if your folks are respectable. I've written
home to my folks about it--that's what _I_ have done," pursued the angry
girl. "I'm going to find out if we girls who come from nice families
have got to mix up with mere nobodies!"

CHAPTER XI

ON CLINTON RIVER

This was not the only unpleasant discussion Nancy Nelson had with her
ill-tempered roommate. But it was one of those that hurt Nancy the most.

Whenever Cora hinted at the other girl's lack of friends and
relatives--at the mystery which seemed to surround her private
life--Nancy could no longer talk. Sometimes she cried; but not often
where her roommate could see her.

There was a scrub crew for the eight-oared shell. Nancy made that, and
Carrie Littlefield, who was the captain of the school crew, praised her