was eighteen last week."

"Then you needn't worry about your uncle. You are of age and can do as
you please."

"Do you mean that he can't make me leave here?" Mary Reynolds' eyes were
wide with surprise and sudden hope.

"Of course he can't," reassured Kathleen. "Girls, I'm going to adopt
Mary Reynolds as my especial charge and help her fight her battles in
the Land of College. Mary, will you let me adopt you?"

Mary regarded Kathleen with shy admiration. She thought her the most
wonderful person she had ever known. She was deeply grateful to Grace
and her two friends for their kindness, but Kathleen's swift, efficient
action on her behalf had completely won her heart. "I'd be the happiest
girl in the world," she said solemnly.

The next morning Grace went frankly to Miss Wilder with the tragic story
of Mary's struggle to obtain an education and the attempt her miserly
uncle had made to force her to return to the farm.

"We shall be obliged to look into the matter," declared the dean. "Send
Miss Reynolds to me as soon as possible. I must be very sure that she is
all she represents herself to be. I should not care to have a repetition
of the station scene later, on the campus, for instance. It would hardly
add to the dignity of Overton."

"I'll bring her to your office to-morrow morning," said Grace, "then you
can form your own opinion of her."

Mary Reynolds' wistful face was the last touch needed to completely
enlist Miss Wilder's sympathy in her behalf. On the strength of the
straightforward story which she repeated to the dean, she was allowed to
proceed with her examinations. Meantime Miss Wilder wrote to the
authorities of the little town near which Mary's uncle's farm was
situated. They conducted a prompt investigation and by the time the
hitherto friendless girl had passed triumphantly through the ordeal of
examinations the faintest trace of objection to her becoming a student
at Overton had been removed.

CHAPTER X

THE THIRTY-THIRD GIRL

"I am sorry," said Grace gently, "but I am afraid it will be impossible
for me to do anything for your sister this year. Harlowe House will
hold, comfortably, thirty-two girls and no more. It isn't so much a
matter of meals. They could, perhaps, be arranged, but I haven't a room
for your sister. Could she afford to rent a room in town and come here
for her meals?" This was an afterthought on Grace's part, born of the
desire to clear away the cruel shadow