ng and erudite person. But
we see very little of Life. And if school is a preparation for Life,
where are we?

Being here alone since the day after Christmas, I have had time to think
everything out. I am naturally a thinking person. And now I am no longer
indignant. I realize that I was wrong, and that I am only paying the
penalty that I deserve although I consider it most unfair to be given
French translation to do. I do not object to going to bed at nine
o'clock, although ten is the hour in the Upper House, because I have
time then to look back over things, and to reflect, to think.

"There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."
SHAKSPEARE.

BODY OF THEME:

I now approach the narative of what happened during the first four days
of my Christmas Holiday.

For a period before the fifteenth of December, I was rather worried. All
the girls in the school were getting new clothes for Christmas parties,
and their Families were sending on invitations in great numbers, to
various festivaties that were to occur when they went home.

Nothing, however, had come for me, and I was worried. But on the 16th
mother's visiting Secretary sent on four that I was to accept, with
tiped acceptances for me to copy and send. She also sent me the good
news that I was to have two party dresses, and I was to send on my
measurements for them.

One of the parties was a dinner and theater party, to be given by Carter
Brooks on New Year's Day. Carter Brooks is the well-known Yale Center,
although now no longer such but selling advertizing, etcetera.

It is tradgic to think that, after having so long anticapated that
party, I am now here in sackcloth and ashes, which is a figure of speech
for the Peter Thompson uniform of the school, with plain white for
evenings and no jewellry.

It was with anticapatory joy, therefore, that I sent the acceptances and
the desired measurements, and sat down to cheerfully while away the time
in studies and the various duties of school life, until the Holadays.

However, I was not long to rest in piece, for in a few days I received a
letter from Carter Brooks, as follows:

DEAR BARBARA: It was sweet of you to write me so promptly, although I
confess to being rather astonished as well as delighted at being called
"Dearest." The signature too was charming, "Ever thine." But, dear
child, won't you write at once and tell me why the waist, bust and hip
measurements? And the request to have