last year's girls were new and
you liked them. Anyway, cheer up, and don't worry about it now. Listen
to the racket they're making in the hall."

Polly gave herself a little shake, a trick she had when she wanted to
dismiss a thought from her mind, but her face failed to reflect Lois'
smile of anticipation. She was a queer puzzle, was Polly. Uncle Roddy
once described her as a tangle of deep thoughts, completely surrounded
by a sense of humor. And Mrs. Farwell always insisted that she discussed
the weightiest problems of life when she was running for a trolley. Lois
was the exact opposite, an artist, a dreamer of dreams, who, when her
mind was off on some airy flight, was maddeningly indifferent to
everything else. They were ideal friends, for they acted as a balance,
the one for the other. They were so much together that no one ever
thought of them singly.

A shout of welcome from the old girls, and eager silence from the new
ones, greeted their entrance into the Assembly Hall. There was a hubbub
of hellos for a minute, and then Betty descended upon them.

Betty, the freckled face--she wasn't a bit changed. She still wore a
ribbon on her hair, and her nose was as snubbed and impudent as ever. Of
course, she was taller and her skirts were longer, but no one realized
it. That was the difference. With Polly and Lois the years had really
added themselves and marked a change, but Betty was still Betty and
years mattered not at all.

"Jemima!" she exclaimed, joyfully, "but I'm glad you've come. What
under the sun did you wait until the late train for. I've been here all
day and I've felt like a fish out of water. There's a raft of new girls,
but no Senior specials, thank goodness. The two Dorothys are here,"--she
paused and wrinkled her nose just the least little bit in disapproval,
and then rushed on. "I'm rooming with Angela, you know. Isn't it mean
Connie isn't back? Ange misses her already."

Constance Wentworth, of whom she spoke, was one of the old girls and
Angela Hollywood's chosen companion. She had not returned this year
because her music professor had insisted upon her starting in at the
Conservatory of Music, for she was a remarkable pianist. The girls
realized that no one would ever quite fill her place.

"Where is Ange?" Lois inquired, when Betty paused for breath.

"In her room, I mean our room; she's moping," Betty answered. "She said
three distinct times that she wished Connie were back, and so I left