more than ever the loyal children of Overton, their Alma Mater.

The building of a specially endowed home for self-supporting girls who
were trying to gain a college education, presented to Overton College,
by Mrs. Gray, in honor of Grace Harlowe, Anne Pierson and Miriam
Nesbit, and named Harlowe House, decided Grace as to what her future
work would be. In "Grace Harlowe's Return To Overton Campus" appears the
story of her first year at Harlowe House.

And now the dear, too brief holiday was drawing to a close. To-morrow
would see the house party scattered to the four winds. This was the last
frolic they would have in the water.

"Oh, dear," lamented Arline, her blue eyes mournful with regret, "why is
it that perfectly lovely times go by like a flash, while horrid,
disagreeable ones last forever?"

"'Tis the way of life, my child. 'It is not always May,'" quoted Emma
sentimentally. "I might as well add, right here and now, that I'm glad
of it. May is a dubious and disappointing month, dears. It always pours
barrels on the first. It's a shame, too, when one stops to consider all
the poems that have been composed about that weepy, fickle first day of
May.

"Oh, radiant May day,
This is our play day.
Youth is in its hey day;
Hail we this gay day;
Park clouds away day.

"And then down comes the rain and spoils it all," finished the
versifier, lapsing into prose.

Emma's improvisation was greeted with laughter.

"It sounds just about as sensible as a whole lot of those old English
verses," declared Elfreda, who was not fond of poetry.

"It was a deadly insult to English verse," defended Anne Pierson with
twinkling eyes. "You can't expect me to let it pass unnoticed."

"Having been fed as a babe on Shakespeare," agreed Emma, "I will admit
that it gives you some room for criticism, but as a dutiful teacher of
English I feel it entirely within my province to break forth
occasionally into such English ditties as happen to come to my mind,
regardless of Shakespeare."

"Oh, do say another," begged the Emerson twins. They especially
delighted in Emma's poetical outbursts.

"Nothing comes to my mind," averred Emma solemnly. "Wait until the
spirit moves me."

"I wish something would come to your minds about how we are to spend the
rest of the day," put in Elfreda, with her usual briskness. "It isn't
ten o'clock yet, and we've had our breakfast and our swim. Let's get
together and decide now. Re