place in the long line that was automatically forming around the
great old elm. An extension course in special work kept Jane with
her junior friends.

"Wellington, dear Wellington!" rang out the then famous strain in
hundreds of silvery voices. The college song was echoed from every
hill into every grass lined hollow, and if the new girls doubted the
spirit of comradeship they were to be favored with there, the
consecration brought it home to them, like strong loving arms
stretched out in the sea of school day mysteries.

It was hours later, when the pattering of feet in the long corridors
died down to a mere trail of sound, that Jane and Judith managed to
pair off for a confidential chat.

"You have got to tell me," demanded Judith.

"As if I wouldn't," replied Jane.

"You can't blame us for being curious, Janey. This afternoon was
almost a failure, just because your eyes had a faraway look."

"I'm so sorry, really, Jude. What an abominable temper I must have."

"We all know better than that girlie." Judy might now have been
charged with harboring a faraway look herself.

"Just give me a little time," smiled Jane, "and if there's anything
on my conscience I'll gladly transfer it to yours."