I'm a working student"— this with a rising flush and defiant toss of her pert little head.

"'A working student?'" repeated Katherine, inquiringly.

"That's what I said," laconically. "I can't afford to pay full tuition, so I wait on Prof. Seabrook and his wife, and do other kinds of work to make up the rest. You see"—the flush creeping higher, but with a secret determination to "sound" the new junior- -"I haven't any father or mother, and my aunt, who has always taken care of me, is poor, and there was no other way to finish my education after leaving the high school—see?"

"Yes, I understand, and I think you are a dear, brave girl to do it," said Katherine, with shining eyes, and laying a friendly hand on her shoulder as they began to mount the stairs leading to the second story.

"Do you—truly?" queried Jennie, with a glad ring in her tones. "My! I believe I feel two inches taller for that"—throwing back her head proudly; "you've given me a lift, Miss Minturn, that I shan't forget; nobody has ever said anything so kind to me before. I tell you"—confidentially—"it does take a lot of courage sometimes to buckle on to a hard lesson, after running up and downstairs forty times a day, besides no end of other things to do. Most of the girls are pretty good to me; though, now and then, there's one who thinks she was cut out of finer cloth. I dote on the professor, even if he does get a bit cranky sometimes, like to-day, when something ruffles his stately feathers. His wife is lovely, too, and the teachers are all nice. But don't call me Miss Wild, please. I'm 'Jennie' to everybody. 'Wild Jennie' most of the girls call me, and there really is a harum-scarum streak in me that does get the best of me sometimes," she concluded, with a mischievous flash in her dark eyes.

"I shall be very glad to call you Jennie, if you wish, and my name is Katherine, with a 'K,'" said that young lady, with an inviting smile.

"I'm sure there isn't any 'harum-scarum' about you," said the girl, gravely, as she searched the sweet, brown eyes.

"That depends upon what you mean by the term," responded Katherine, with a ripple of mirthful laughter. "I assure you I love a good time as well as any other girl."

"U-m—p'rhaps; but I guess it would have to be a—a—genteel good time. There's one thing I don't need to 'guess' about, though—you just know how to stand firm on your heels when you need to."

"What do you mean by that?" questioned Katherine, with a look of perplexity.

"Nobody will ever make you take a back seat—not even his highness downstairs, when you know you're right. I say, though"—she interposed, eagerly—"weren't you mad, through and through, at what he said to you just now?"

"Mad?" repeated Katherine, flushing, and wondering if she had unconsciously manifested anything that had seemed like anger or temper during the recent interview.

"Yes; didn't you feel as if you'd just like to go at him with 'hammer and tongs'"—doubling up her fists and striking out suggestively right and left—"for being so crusty with you about your religion? I did."

Katherine laughed out merrily at the girl's strenuous espousal of her cause, and with a sense of relief to know that she had shown no feeling unworthy of a Christian Scientist.

"No, dear," she gently replied, "I could not feel anger or resentment towards any one because of a mere difference of opinion."

"U-m! well, you didn't show any, that's sure. You just faced him, sweet as a peach, but like a—a queen who knows she's on her own ground. I thought, though, you might be just boiling over inside; but if you say you weren't, I believe you, for I think you're 'true blue,' and I think Prof. Seabrook might have learned a lesson from you, for I never saw him quite so upset over a little thing before. I never had any use for Christian Scientists myself; don't know anything about 'em, in fact. But if they're all like you, I don't believe they'll ever do much harm in the world. Here we are, though—this is Sadie's room. She's an orphan, too, but she is very rich, and I tell you she just knows how to make her money fly—isn't a bit stingy with others, either," the voluble girl concluded, as she paused before a door at the head of the stairs in the second story of the west wing and rapped vigorously upon it for admittance.

"Come in," responded a good-natured voice, whereupon Jennie opened the door and entered a sunny, inviting apartment, the sight of which instantly gave Katherine a homelike feeling.

She also saw two pretty beds, on one side of the room, piled high with a motley assortment of dresses and finery that made her wonder how one person could ever make use of so many things, while an attractive girl was sitting upon the floor before the one dressing case, her face flushed and perplexed as she tried to pack another promiscuous collection into the insufficient space that would henceforth belong to her.

"Miss Minot," said Jennie, advancing farther into the room and thus revealing her companion, "this is Miss Minturn, who is to room with you. Prof. Seabrook sent me to show her here and to introduce her to you."

Miss Minot sprang to her feet and came forward with outstretched hand, her manner characterized by true Southern hospitality.

"Come in, Miss Minturn," she said, cordially; "come right in and sit down," and releasing the hand she had grasped, she whisked two or three skirts off a rocker, tossing them upon the heap on one of the beds. "I knew you were coming, and I've been working right smart to get ready for you. I've had full swing here so long I've filled every nook and cranny of the place, and now"—with a shrug and a deprecatory smile—"I shall have to learn to be very orderly to keep from encroaching upon your territory. But there's lots of time. The things can wait while we get acquainted a little. Jennie, you'll have to take the trunk," she concluded, with a careless glance at the girl.

"I haven't time to sit down, Miss Minot; I've my algebra lesson to learn for to-morrow morning," and Jennie, flushing with sudden anger at being so cursorily consigned to a trunk, turned to leave the room.

Katherine put out a detaining hand.

"Thank you, Jennie, for coming up with me," she said, with a friendly smile, adding: "And I hope there will be no more interruptions while you are conning the algebra lesson."

"I hate mathematics," Jennie affirmed, with an impatient shrug, "but the things you most dislike are supposed to do you the most good, so I just have to bottle up when it's time for algebra and try to play 'it's an angel being entertained unawares.' Good-by, Miss Minturn. I'll see you again later." And bestowing a bright glance and nod upon her new friend, she shut the door and went whistling cheerily down the hall.

"That's a queer 'pickaninny'! I didn't mean to hurt her, though," observed Miss Minot, as she curled herself up on the foot of a bed, preparatory to getting acquainted with her new roommate.

"She certainly possesses originality," Katherine laughingly responded; "but I like her none the less for that."

"Poor young one!" Sadie continued. "She doesn't have a very easy time of it here. She is a stray waif, and hasn't a relative in the world, to her knowledge."

"She spoke of an aunt," interposed Katherine.

"She calls Miss Wild 'aunt,' but she isn't, really, and the child actually does not know her own name. The way of it was this," Miss Minot went on to explain: "When she was a baby there was a terrible railway accident, in which it was supposed both her parents were killed, for nobody