mother was dead and she had traveled and lived in hotel rooms for several years previously, and so her room at school was more like a home than anything she had known since her mother's death. It was prettily furnished, and her pictures and rugs were better and more luxurious than most schoolgirls' rooms could boast. Nevertheless, she was known as "a good fellow," and was popular with the girls.

Alison's tap at the door was answered by a cordial "Come in," and she entered, to find Katherine and Joan curled up on the bed, talking vigorously, but both sprang up to greet her joyously. She found a seat on a velvet-covered stool beside the couch, and Joan resumed her interrupted grumble.

"I'm just too disappointed and cross for anything," she lamented. "Here I came flying back to our old quarters like—like a homing pigeon, only to find my place taken by that cross-looking thing. I don't believe you are going to like her a bit, Alison. She doesn't look as if she would fit in."

"It is too bad; but then it gives me Joan for a roommate, which is a silver lining," said Katherine equably. "I didn't know there was a chance of your losing your place, or I would have spoken to Miss Harland and tried to get one of the old girls to change with her."

"Oh, well, it's only the first day; maybe something will happen; or we may like her better when we know her," said Alison hopefully.

"And in the mean time, Joan is welcome with me as long as she likes. I'll ask for a cot for her. There's plenty of room," said Katherine hospitably. "We shall be close by and can get together whenever we like. So cheer up, Jo, it won't be so bad."

They fell into an animated discussion of school matters, which was presently interrupted by a tumultuous rush outside, the door was opened without ceremony, and in flocked the rest of the "Kindred Spirit,"—Evelyn and Polly, boon companions, unlike as they were; studious Rachel; Rosalind, the school beauty, whose golden head and apple-blossom face scarcely suggested books or scholarship. These with Alison, Katherine and Joan, made up the seven "Kindred Spirits," an informal little club of loyal friends. Their favorite gathering place last year had been the room occupied by Alison and Joan, and consternation reigned when the news spread that the newcomer had usurped Joan's place.

"It won't be the same thing at all," complained Polly, flinging herself back on the bed in a paroxysm of disappointment.

Katherine poured oil on the troubled waters. "You can meet here just as well. And maybe, as Alison says, we shall like her when we know her. Don't let us judge her too hardly beforehand."

"So charitable, Kathy always is," murmured Evelyn.

Rachel changed the subject.

"Well—did you know we have a new English teacher?"

"No. What's her name?"

"Miss Burnett—Cecil Burnett. She's lovely. And she's to be at our table."

"Are Helen Yorke and Brenda Thornton back?"

"Yes. I saw them this morning. As musical as ever. Oh, is that the supper bell? It can't be six o'clock already."

"It seems it can—for it is," said Alison, consulting her wrist watch and finding it correspond with the bell. "I must go and see if my roommate is awake, and take her down to supper. Please be nice to her, girls. I don't know yet whether she is cross or just shy." She gave the group an appealing look as she left the room, and Katherine answered it with a reassuring smile.

But Joan shrugged her shoulders and made a face. She had not been prepossessed in favor of the new girl.

Chapter IV

ESSAYS AND ESSAYS

The dining room was a large, square, light room, filled with tables, each holding twelve. Alison piloted her roommate to a seat next to herself, at her old table, where Evelyn, Katherine and Joan were already seated, the rest of the group being at the next table. The new English teacher, Miss Burnett, presided—a pretty girl, not many years older than her prospective pupils. Brown-haired and brown-eyed, with a deep, soft rose color in her cheeks, she was exactly the type that girls a few years younger would naturally fall in love with on sight.

Accordingly, the group of girls at her table, running true to form, promptly "fell for her" with schoolgirl unanimity; copied the way she did her hair, whether it was becoming to them or not, practiced her engaging smile, and even copied her clothes, as far as possible. Brown was her favorite color—a deep, rich brown that suited her eyes and hair and blended with the rose glow in her cheeks. This shade of brown promptly became popular.

Life at Briarwood soon settled into an accustomed routine of classes, sports and recreation, and the days were full and busy. Miss Burnett had an eager class, more interested in the study of their mother tongue than they had ever been before, simply because she taught it.

Toward Thanksgiving she gave them an essay contest, and Alison and her roommate became more congenial as they discussed subjects and titles. But their tastes and ideas were very different.

"I don't believe I could write anything worth reading, but I'll try, because Miss Burnett wants us to," said Alison, to whom the study of English was genuine enjoyment.

"And I'll try because I've got to," responded Marcia with a wry face.

"Just let her hear you saying got, that's all," laughed Alison, reaching for her book.

"I hate all lessons, but I believe I hate English worst of any," said Marcia crossly. "I don't see why we have to study it."

"Why did you come to college, if you hate it so?" asked Alison curiously.

"Oh, because one must do something, I suppose."

"But why do you take English?"

"Because the rest of you do, and I don't like to be left out. Besides, Miss Harland made me. Are you going to track meet this afternoon?"

"Yes."

"Then, will you lend me your English Literature? Rosalind borrowed mine and hasn't returned it."

"And welcome. There it is on the table."

"Thank you. I'll work while you play, like the ant and the grasshopper," said Marcia more graciously than usual.

It was a brilliant autumn afternoon, and most of the girls were tempted out. The hall was deserted, save for Marcia, scribbling hard in her room.

"Finished already?" asked Alison, coming in just in time for supper, flushed and breathless after a basketball game.

Marcia was just putting away her writing materials. She looked up nonchalantly. "Almost. I've only to correct and copy it."

"You've had a grand quiet time to work. I wish I had been as industrious; but it was so lovely out. We had a splendid practice."

Nothing was talked of in school for the next few days but the essays, which were to be handed in the week before Thanksgiving, and the prize winner would be announced on the day before—"to give us extra reason to be thankful," said Joan.

Katherine had written a scholarly essay, giving a sort of bird's-eye view of the entire field of English literature, concisely expressed. Privately, she believed herself sure of the prize, but no such self-laudatory opinion was hinted at in her dignified demeanor.

Joan had skipped airily over the earlier periods, coming rapidly down to present-day fiction in the space of four pages. "She'll like mine because it's short, anyway," she congratulated herself.

Most of the other girls had tried,