through the line, grasped Jane's hand and deliberately forced a
folded slip of paper into it. Then, with a mocking smile that ran
into an audible sneer, she turned and sped away. Her awkward gait
and frank romping so close to Wellington Hall brought questioning
glances from the line of juniors.

"What's that, Jane Allen?" asked Janet Clarke good-naturedly. "I
hope you are not doing uplift for anything like that this year?"

"The merry little mountain maid," mocked Inez Wilson, doing a few
skips and a couple of jumps in demonstration.

"How on earth did she ever make Wellington?" demanded the
aristocratic Nettie Brocton, disapproval spoiling her leaky dimples.

"Girls, you are horrid!" declared Judith to the rescue. "You all
know the freaks love Jane. It's her angel face," and Judith
playfully stroked the cheek into which streaks of bright pink
threatened admission of guilt--that Jane really knew the uncouth
country girl.

"She's a stranger to me," said Jane truthfully, "but in spite of
that I must respect her confidence." The crumpled note was thereat
securely tucked into the pocket of Jane's blouse.

Winifred Ayres tittered outright, but the advent of Dozia Dalton
furnished a welcome interruption.

"Girls," she panted, "what ever do you think? Dol Vincez, our
dangerous adversary of last year, runs the beauty shop beyond our