tain recitation rooms, the offices of
the president, the dean and other officials of the college. Around the
campus were the various houses in which the more fortunate of the
hundreds of students lived. It was very desirable to secure a room in
one of these houses, but somewhat expensive and not always easy to do.
Rooms were sometimes spoken for a whole year in advance.

"Do you room on the campus?" asked Grace.

"Yes," replied Mabel. "I live at Holland House. I was fortunate enough
to have a friend graduate from here and will me her room. I entered
Overton the autumn following her graduation."

"One of our Oakdale girls is a junior here," remarked Grace. "Her name
is Constance Fuller. She graduated from high school when we were
sophomores. We do not know her very well, and had quite forgotten she
was here. This afternoon on the train, Anne, who never forgets either
faces or names, suddenly announced the fact. I wonder if she has arrived
yet. We came early, I believe, but that is because we are obliged to
take the entrance examinations."

"Now I know why the name, Oakdale, seemed so familiar!" exclaimed Mabel
Ashe. "I have heard Constance mention it. She is one of my best
friends. Does she know that you are to be here?"

"No," replied Grace. "We haven't seen her this summer. We were away from
Oakdale." Grace did not wish to mention their trip to Europe, fearing
their companion might think her unduly anxious to boast. One of the
things against which Julia Crosby, her old time Oakdale friend, and a
senior in Smith College, had cautioned her, was boasting. "Avoid all
appearance of being your own press agent," Julia had humorously advised.
"If you don't you'll be a marked girl for the whole four years of your
college career. The meek and modest violet is a glowing example for
erring freshmen."

"I'll remember, Julia," Grace had promised, and she now resolved that
she would think twice before speaking once, whatever the occasion might
be.

"Constance has not arrived yet," said Mabel. "I heard her roommate say
this morning that she expected her to-morrow. She rooms at Holland
House, too. I shall tell her about you the moment I see her. This is the
Tourraine," she announced, pausing before a handsome sandstone building
and leading the way up the steps that led to the broad veranda, gay with
porch boxes of flowers and shaded by awnings.

"Won't you come up to our rooms?" asked Miriam.

"Not to-night, thank you," repl