other before," Harold
explained it a little aggrievedly one day to Genevieve, when O. B. J.
Holmes had just thrown her one of his merry glances at a sudden revival
of Tilly's "O Be Joyful" name. "Say, _have_ you known him before?"

Genevieve laughed--but she shook her head.

"No; but maybe I do know him now--a little better than you do," she
answered demurely, thinking of the name that Harold did not even
suspect.

School this year, for Genevieve, was meaning two new experiences. One
was that for the first time class officers were elected; the other, that
a school magazine was started. In both of these she bore a prominent
part. In the one she was unanimously elected president; in the other she
was appointed correspondent for her class by the Editor-in-Chief. By
each, however, she was quite overwhelmed.

"But I don't think I can do them--not either of them," she declared to
Mrs. Kennedy and Miss Jane Chick when she had brought home the news. "To
be Class President you have to be awfully dignified and conduct meetings
and know parliamentary law, and all that."

"I'm not afraid of anything _there_ hurting you," smiled Miss Jane. "In
fact, it strikes me that it will do you a great deal of good."

"Y-yes, I suppose you would think so," smiled Genevieve, a little
dubiously.

"And I'm sure it's an honor," Mrs. Kennedy reminded her.

Genevieve flushed.

"I _am_ glad they wanted me," she admitted frankly.

"And what is this magazine affair?" asked Miss Jane.

"Yes, and that's another thing," sighed Genevieve. "I can't write
things. If it were only Quentina, now--she could do it!"

"But you have written for the Chronicles, my dear," observed Mrs.
Kennedy. "Have you given those up?"

"Oh, no; we still keep them, only we have entries once a week now
instead of every day. There isn't so much doing here as there was in
Texas, you know."

"Then you do write for that," said Miss Jane.

"Oh, but _that's_ just for us," argued Genevieve. "I don't mind that.
But this has got to be printed, Miss Jane--printed right out for
everybody to read! If it were only Quentina, now--she'd glory in it.
And--oh, Miss Jane, how I wish you could see Quentina," broke off
Genevieve, suddenly. "Dear me! wouldn't she just hit on your name,
though! She'd be rhyming it in no time, and have 'Miss Jane at the
window-pane,' before you could turn around!"

"Quite an inducement for me to know her, I'm sure," observed Miss Jane,
dryly.

Genev