o another
year, and must go back and forth from little Douglas to the Center
Town Seminary all by herself. Every morning and every night--the days
loomed ahead of her, not to be numbered or borne. Well, it was hard.
No more merry chattering rides, as there had been last year when the
girls were her companions. No more gay little car-feasts on the home
trips, out of the carefully hoarded remnants of their dinners.

"I wish I'd kept up in mathematics and things!" lamented Glory,
gazing at the flying landscape with gloomy eyes. "If I'd known how
this was going to feel, I'd have done it if it killed me. Think of a
year of this! Two times three quarters of an hour is an hour and a
half. Let me see--in the three terms there'll be three times
sixty-five days. Three times sixty-five is"--Glory figured
slowly--"one hundred and ninety-five days! An hour and a half in one
day--in one hundred and ninety-five days there will be--oh, forever!"
groaned Glory. She sat and looked into the year to come with a gloomy
face. In spite of herself she multiplied one hundred and ninety-five
by one and a half.

"That's the number of hours you're going to sit here on a car-seat,
is it?" she demanded of herself. "It's a nice prospect, isn't it?
You'll have a charming time, won't you? Aren't you glad you didn't
keep up in things?"

It did not occur to Glory that she might employ the time in study.
Studying very rarely "occurred" to Glory, anyway. She went back and
forth from little Douglas to the Centre Town "Seminary for Young
Ladies" because of Aunt Hope. Aunt Hope wanted her to, and Aunt Hope
was a dear. She would do even that for Aunt Hope!

The slow local train lurched on between grainfields and cattle-dotted
pastures, and the pretty, dainty little maid on the back seat sat on,
with the plaintive face of a martyr. In spite of herself the Other
Girl smiled. The Other Girl was not dainty, nor was she pretty unless
she smiled. The uptwitch of her mouth-corners and the flash of white
teeth helped out a great deal. She had never had occasion to laugh
much in her fifteen years of life, but now and then she smiled--when
she saw girls playing martyr, for instance!

"It's funny, if she only knew it," the Other Girl thought. "There she
sits feeling abused because she has to go to school--oh, my goodness,
goodness! She feels that way, I'm certain she does! It's printed in
capitals on her face. Diantha Leavitt, do you hear?--there's a girl
back the