years, years of hopeful effort, aspirations
and youthful problems, the currents of their young lives had
intermingled closely; now each must go its way. The moment brought the
pang that comes to youth at such a parting. Their bonds were something
closer than friendship. Behind them were months of the sweetest
intimacy that youth can know--ahead were the lives they must live apart
out in a world that cared nothing for college ideals and inspirations,
where each must find her "work" and do it, so that "her Alma Mater
might be proud!"

Statistics, even in a university, would be dull if, now and then, Fate
did not play a trick with them. Upon the roster of the class of
Nineteen-nineteen had been entered two names: "Anne Leavitt, Los
Angeles, California; Anne Leavitt, New York City."

When one thinks that in the great world war there was an army of,
approximately, seventy-five thousand Smiths alone, and a whole division
of John Smiths, one need not marvel that two Anne Leavitts came that
October day to the old University. Doubtless, in those first trying
days, they passed one another often and did not know, but a week later,
when Professor Nevin in First Year French, read slowly from his little
leather book: "Miss Anne Leavitt," two girls jumped to their feet and
in astonishment, faced one another.

"_I_ am Anne Leavitt!" spoke the larger of the two.

"And _I_ am Anne Leavitt, too!" laughed the smaller.

A snicker ran around the room. Professor Nevin frowned and
stared--first at his little worn book and then at the two offending
young women. Of course he was powerless to undo what had been done
years before! And as he scowled, across the classroom one Anne Leavitt
smiled at the other. When the hour ended the recitation they walked
away arm in arm, laughing over the ridiculous situation.

At the Library steps they were joined by another girl from the French
class. She had run in her eagerness to overtake them.

"Are you _really_ both Anne Leavitts?" she asked breathlessly.

They assured her solemnly that they were and that they didn't know just
what to do about it--old Professor Nevin had been so funny and upset.
They all three laughed again over it all. And there in the golden
warmth of that October day began the friendship of these three--for the
third girl was Claire Wallace.

The students in the University found countless ways of distinguishing
between the two Anne Leavitts. One was tall and grave w