description of the colonists' determined struggles to gain a foothold in
the New World was well worth listening to. The reading of extracts from
special reference books pertaining to that gallant expedition into the
treacherous forests of an unknown, untried country made the lesson seem
doubly interesting. When the recitation was over Marjorie went back to
the study hall congratulating herself on the fact that she had not
dropped history, and reflecting that no one would ever have suspected
Miss Atkins of being so fascinating.

As she groped in her desk for her textbook on physiology, she looked
about her for some sign of Constance Stevens. She recollected that she
had not seen her in her seat when the afternoon session began. The
moment her recitation in physiology was over she hastened to the locker
room. No, her new friend's hat was not there. She had not returned to
school after luncheon. Marjorie reached for her own hat, vaguely
wondering what had happened to keep Constance away from school.

She stood meditatively poking her hatpins in and out of her hat, when
the sound of footsteps on the stairs came to her ears. School was over
for the day. She put on her hat in a hurry, took a swift peep at herself
as she passed the one large mirror that hung at the end of the
freshmen's lockers, and ran up the stairs. She would not disappoint
Muriel's friends again.

This time she was first on the scene, standing on the identical spot
where she had stood the day Constance rushed weeping past her. Why
didn't her class come out? Surely she had heard their footsteps on the
stairs. But it was fully five minutes before the stream of girls began
to issue from the big doors. Then Muriel appeared, surrounded by her
friends, and in another instant the girl with the dimples, the
fair-haired girl, the stout girl and the Evil Genius were, with varying
degrees of friendliness, telling Marjorie Dean that they were glad to
meet her.

Susan Atwell said so frankly with a delightful show of dimples. Irma
Linton looked the acme of gentle friendliness. Geraldine Macy's face
wore an expression of open admiration. Mignon La Salle's greeting,
however, was distinctly reserved. To be sure, she smiled; but Muriel,
who had been furtively watching her, knew that the French girl was not
pleased with the idea of admitting another girl to their fellowship.

"The rest of the girls like her," thought Muriel. "Mignon will find
she'll have to give in this