going to be proposed for class president–Jean Eastman–you know her, Betty.”

“Oh yes,” cried Betty, enthusiastically. “She’s that tall, dark girl who was with you yesterday at Cuyler’s. She seemed lovely.”

Eleanor nodded and got up from the piano stool. “I must go to work,” she said, smiling cordially round the little group. “Tell them what a good president Jean will make, Betty. And don’t one of you forget to come.”

“She can be very nice when she wants to,” said Katherine bluntly when Eleanor was well out of hearing.

“I think she’s trying to make up for Sunday,” said Betty. “Let’s all vote for her friend.”

The first class-meeting of 190- passed off with unwonted smoothness. The class before had forgotten that it is considered necessary for a corporate body to have a constitution; and the class before that had made itself famous by suggesting the addition of the “Woman’s Home Monthly” to the magazines in the college reading-room. 190- avoided these and other absurdities. A constitution mysteriously appeared, drawn up in good and regular form, and was read and promptly adopted. Then Eleanor Watson nominated Jean Eastman for president. After she and the other nominees had stood in a blushing row on the platform to be inspected by their class, the voting began. Miss Eastman was declared elected on the first ballot, with exactly four votes more than the number necessary for a choice.

“I hope she’ll remember that we did that,” Katherine Kittredge leaned forward to say to Betty, who sat in the row ahead of her with the fluffy-haired freshman from the Hilton and her “queer” roommate.

That night there was a supper in Jean’s honor at Holmes’s, so Eleanor did not appear at Mrs. Chapin’s dinner-table to be duly impressed with a sense of her obligations. “How did you like the class-meeting?” inquired Rachel, who had been for a long walk with a girl from her home town, and so had not seen the others.

“I thought it was all right myself,” said Adelaide Rich, “but I walked home with a girl named Alford who was dreadfully disgusted. She said it was all cut and dried, and wanted to know who asked Eleanor Watson to write us a constitution. She said she hoped that hereafter we wouldn’t sit around tamely and be run by any clique.”

“Well, somebody must run us,” said Betty consolingly. “Those girls know one another and the rest of us don’t know any one well. I think it will all work around in time. They will have their turns first, that’s all.”

“Perhaps,” admitted Adelaide doubtfully. Her pessimistic acquaintance had obtained a strong hold on her.

“And the next thing is the sophomore reception,” said Rachel.

“And Mountain Day right after that,” added Betty.

“What?” asked Helen and Roberta together.

“Is it possible that you don’t know about Mountain Day, children?” asked Mary Brooks soberly. “Well, you’ve heard about the physical tests for the army and navy, haven’t you? This is like those. If you pass your entrance examinations you are allowed a few weeks to recuperate, and then if you can climb the required mountain you can stay on in college.”

“How very interesting!” drawled Roberta, who had some idea now how to take Mary’s jibes. “Now, Betty, please tell us about it.”

Betty explained that the day after the sophomore reception was a holiday, and that most of the girls seized the opportunity to take an all-day walk or drive into the country around Harding.

“Let’s all ask our junior and senior friends about the nicest places to go,” said Rachel, emphasizing “junior and senior” and looking at Mary. “Then we can make our plans, and engage a carriage if we want one. I should think there might be quite a rush.”

“You should, should you?” jeered Mary. “My dear, every horse that can stand alone and every respectable vehicle was engaged weeks ago.”

“No one has engaged our lower appendages,” returned Katherine. “So if worse comes to worst, we are quite independent of liveries. Which of us are you going to take to the sophomore reception?”

“Roberta, of course,” said Mary. “Didn’t you know that Roberta and I have a crush on each other? A crush, my dears, in case you are wanting to know, is a warm and adoring friendship. Sorry, but I’m going out this evening.”

“Has she really asked you, Roberta?” asked Betty.

“Yes,” said Roberta.

“How nice! I’m going with a sophomore whose sister is a friend of Nan’s.”

“And Hester Gulick is going to take me–she’s my friend from home,” volunteered Rachel.

“I was asked to-day,” added Helen. “After the class-meeting an awfully nice girl, a junior, came up here. She said there were so many of us that some of the juniors were going to help take us. Isn’t it nice of them?”

Nobody spoke for a moment; then Katherine went on gaily. “And we other three have not yet been called and chosen, but I happen to know that it’s because so many people want us, and nobody will give up. So don’t the rest of you indulge in any crowing.”

“By the way, Betty,” said Rachel Morrison, “will you take some more dancing pupils? I was telling two girls who board down the street about our class and they said they wanted to learn before the reception and would much rather come here than go to that big class that two seniors have in the gym. But as they don’t know you, they would insist on paying, just as they would at the other class.”

Betty looked doubtfully at Roberta. “Shall we?” she said.

“I don’t mind,” answered Roberta, “if only you all promise not to tell my father. He wouldn’t understand. Do you suppose Miss Watson would play?”

“If not, I will,” said Mary Rich.

“And we could use the money for a house spread,” added Betty, “since we all help to earn it.”

“And christen the chafing-dish,” put in Katherine.

“Good. Then I’ll tell them–Mondays, Tuesdays and Fridays,” said Rachel; and the dinner-table dissolved.

CHAPTER IV
WHOSE PHOTOGRAPH?

The dancing class went briskly on; so did the Livy class and the geometry, the English 1, the French required and the history elective. The freshmen were getting acquainted with one another now, and seldom confused their classmates with seniors or youthful members of the faculty. They no longer attempted to go out of chapel ahead of the seniors, or invaded the president’s house in their frantic search for Science Hall or the Art Gallery. For October was fast wearing away. The hills about Harding showed flaming patches of scarlet, and it was time for the sophomore reception and Mountain Day. Betty was very much excited about the reception, but she felt also that a load would slip off her shoulders when it was over. She was anxious about the progress of the dancing pupils, who had increased to five, besides Helen and Adelaide, and for whom she felt a personal responsibility, because the Chapin house girls persisted in calling the class hers. And what would father say if they didn’t get their money’s worth? Then there was Helen’s dress for the reception, which she was sure was a fright, but couldn’t get up the courage to inquire about. And last and worst of all was the mysterious grind-book and Dorothy King’s warning about father’s telegram to the registrar. She had never mentioned the incident to