"Well, it's a little different with you. Your family live so far out
west they can't very well mail grub to you; but Mater is right here
in New York, and of course as she's near by she'd be no sort of a
mother if she didn't send me something beside this prison fare. Come
on and see what it is this time."

Bob loosened the string from the big box and began unwinding the
wrappings.

"Plum-cake!" he cried. "A dandy great loaf! And here's olives, and
preserved ginger, and sweet chocolate. She's put in salted almonds,
too; and look--here's a tin box of Hannah's molasses cookies, the
kind I used to like when I was a kid. Isn't my mother a peach?"

"She sure is; and she must think a lot of you," said Van slowly. "I
wish my mother'd ever--"

"Maybe if you pitched in a little harder here she'd feel--"

"Oh, cut out the preaching, Bobbie," was the impatient retort. "I've
had enough for one day."

Bob did not speak, but tore open the letter that had come with the
bundle.

"Oh, listen to this, Van," he shouted excitedly. "Mother says they
have decided to open the New Hampshire house for Easter. They're
going up for my spring vacation and take in the sugaring off. What
a lark! And listen to this. She writes: 'You'd better arrange to bring
your roommate home with you for the holiday unless he has other