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Jane Allen, Junior by Edith Bancroft
page 36 of 247 (14%)
A lot of goody goodies, too stuck up to bother with country girls."
Jane jumped from her seat and gasped at an interruption but did not
succeed in sustaining it. "But I've got friends around here who know
the ropes. They are not freshies either, so don't bother about me,
Miss Allen. I'll see about the looking-glass and the girl who hit me
with her hammer."

Jane let her go, was actually glad to see the last of the satin
skirt as it swished out into the winding path, nor did she
immediately follow it. Instead she sat there, tearing little red
rose hips from the tenacious vines and tossing them away regardless
of their artistic value as decorative winter berries.

"Tragic," she muttered, "positively tragic. And that is what my
darling dad wasted a perfectly good scholarship on." Thoughts of
"dad" mercifully intervened and saved the girl's temper further
violence. "But what puzzles me is how that girl ever won the
scholarship?" Jane silently questioned, and in that unspoken
sentence she unconsciously shaped the key to fit the mystery.

How did this girl win the scholarship? For some moments longer Jane
sat there. She went over again the incident of Dozia's tack hammer.
That she could depend absolutely on Dozia, and knew this strange
girl had done more than sit in the path of the showering tack hammer
was irrefutable.

"Dozia was a little bit reckless of course," admitted the mentor,
"and she did seem to coddle the fact that her hammer fell on
Shirley's head. I recall she even said she was glad it hit her and
hoped the blow would send the freshie home to her 'maw.'"
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