before your first term is over."

"I am accustomed to a very quiet life," responded Priscilla, "and I
want to work; I have come here to work."

"Dear, dear! any one would suppose you were going in for a tripos. If
this were your last term I could understand it-- but your first!"

It was Miss Marsh who said these words. She was a bright-eyed,
merry-looking girl, the reverse of over-studious herself.

"Oh, come along, dear; I'll give you such a delicious cup of cocoa,"
said Miss Day.

She crossed the room and tried to link her hand affectionately in
Prissie's arm. Miss Peel drew back a step.

"Thank you," she said, "but I-- I-- cannot come."

"I must say you have a blunt way of refusing," said Miss Day. She felt
inclined to be offended, but Nancy Banister, who was standing by and
had not hitherto spoken, bestowed a quick glance of approval on
Priscilla and then said something soothing to Miss Day.

"May I cocoa with you instead, Annie?" she said. "I am afraid no one
can accuse me of killing myself with work, but we all respect earnest
workers-- we must. It is for them St. Benet's is really meant. It was
endowed for them, and built for them, and we poor drones must not
throw disparaging remarks on the busy bees."