ed as if with chill, and Wee Watts, alarmed for her
star,--the real shining light of the play,--rubbed the cold hands in an
agony of apprehension and spoke comforting words.

[Illustration: "SHE WAS OONAH, THE BEWITCHING LITTLE IRISH MAIDEN."]

"Blue Bonnet--you mustn't go to pieces like this--it's dreadful! Try to
calm yourself and think of your lines. You'll be all right in a
minute--just as soon as you're on the stage. I know you're going to do
well. This awful nervousness is a part of the game--it's the artistic
temperament."

And so it proved. Blue Bonnet had scarcely spoken her first line before
fear fled to the winds. Her own personality fell from her like a mantle.
She was Oonah, the bewitching little Irish maiden, on her way from
Dublin to make her home with her grandmother in the country. In her hand
she held the "twig of thorn," which, having been plucked on the first
day of spring, had thrown her under the spell of the fairies. Around her
shoulders she wore the peasant's cape with its quaint, becoming hood,
and as she threw it off there was a smothered exclamation from the
audience, for the vision was one of startling loveliness. Her hair was
caught loosely and hung in many ringlets; her eyes were large and
luminous with the excitement of the moment, and her pretty
brogue--slaved over for weeks--captivated all listeners.

Blue Bonnet, quite unaware of her triumph, was overwhelmed at the end of
the performance to hear her name called uproariously from the audience
and fled to the far end of the wings, from which she was rescued
unceremoniously by two insistent fairies, who brought her to the
footlights to acknowledge the tribute of friends and admirers.

But it was after the play, when the teachers had left the room, and the
chairs had been drawn around the table that the real fun of the evening
began. It was then that the presidents of the two classes made speeches
that were masterpieces of diplomatic art, and the Seniors contributed
their share of entertainment with rare stunts. The eccentricities of
teachers were taken off in a way that convulsed the entire gathering;
the Junior class song was sung for the first time, and midnight crept on
without any one dreaming of its approach until faithful John, the
janitor, announced it from the door exactly on the stroke of twelve.

With sighs and regrets that anything so altogether heavenly as a
"spread" should have an end, the girls moved out of the old gymna