Won't it be splendid to
have a 'Merry Heart' for toastmistress?"

Madeline nodded carelessly. She was thinking more about a letter from
home, with news that her father and mother were to sail at once for
Italy, than about matters of class policy. She loved the Italian sea and
the warm southern sunshine; and the dear old "out-at-elbows" villa on
the heights above Sorrento was the nearest thing she had known to a
home. Father had told her to come along if she liked--ever since she
could remember she had been allowed to make her own decisions. But then,
as Babbie had said, there was only one 19--, and with plenty of "passed
up" courses to her credit she could work as little as she pleased this
year and never go to a class-meeting after to-day.

"Let's stop for the B's," she suggested, as they went out into the
September sunshine. "Bob hates meetings as much as I do. I'm not going
to be the only one to be disciplined."

Before they had reached the Westcott, the B's shouted to them from their
hammocks in the apple-orchard, which they reluctantly abandoned to go to
the meeting. Bob had just had an exciting runaway--her annual spills
were a source of great amusement to her friends and of greater terror to
her doting parents--and she was so eager to recount her adventures and
display her bruises, that nothing more was said about Madeline's plan
for Eleanor.

The class-meeting was large and exciting. The election of a senior
president is as thrilling an event at Harding as the coronation of a
Czar of all the Russias to the world at large. It was a foregone
conclusion that Marie Howard would be the unanimous choice of the class,
but until the act was fairly consummated--and indeed until Marie had
been dined at Cuyler's and overwhelmed with violets to the satisfaction
of her many friends--the excitement would not abate. There was a
pleasant uncertainty about the other class officers. Six avowed
candidates for the treasurership quarreled good naturedly over their
respective qualifications for the position, each one in her secret soul
intending to withdraw in favor of her dearest friend among the other
five. In another corner of the room an agitated group discussed the best
disposition of the ten thousand dollar fund.

"I don't think we ought to dispose of it hastily," Christy Mason was
saying. "It's a lot of money and we ought to consider very carefully
before we decide."

"Besides," added Emily Davis flippantly, "as long a