ring at one end of the slender
chain which barred his waistcoat.

Kit retired with it, as though she bore a trophy, and the next day the
last preparations were completed for impressing on the freshman class the
honor of having a Founder's granddaughter in their midst.

CHAPTER XIV

IN HONOR OF MARCELLE

"I think you ought to preside, Kit," Charity said as she arranged the tea
table more handily before the corner couch. "It's your party, and you
ought to pour."

"Takes too much concentration," Kit returned. "Anne'll help you. I want to
have my mind perfectly clear to manage the thing. You see, Marcelle
doesn't know a blessed thing about it yet, and there's no knowing how
she'll take it. Wouldn't it be funny if she got proud and haughty, and
marched away from our Founders' Tea?"

"I don't think you ought to spring it until after we've had refreshments.
Food has such a mellowing effect on human nature. It's all a question of
tact, though. If I were you, I'd talk to them in an intimate sort of way
instead of lingering too much on the historic value. Better straighten
Malcolm, over yonder; he looks kind of topply."

Kit regarded the framed steel engraving of Malcolm Douglas almost fondly.
It had been taken from a history of early Wisconsin, together with some
other founders fortunate enough to be included on the roll of honor, and
had hung down in the Dean's room. Now it occupied a prominent spot
specially cleared for it in the middle of the wall, and Kit had twined a
long, double tendril of southern smilax around it, culled from the local
florist's supply for any chance Delphi festivities.

Backed by Miss Daphne's approval and interest, Kit had called at several
homes where lived the descendants of other founders, and the results were
manifest. Mrs. Peter Bradbury had contributed two Indian blankets and a
hunting-bag, besides an old pair of saddle bags used by her father, one of
the early missionary bishops of the northwest, in his travels through the
wilderness. Two fine timber wolf pelts lay on the floor, and of these Kit
was specially proud. She had beguiled them from the treasure store of old
Madame Giron, whose husband could still tell with fiery eyes and thrilling
tone of how he had killed the animals not a quarter of a mile from the
site of Hope College, in the old settler days.

From the cabinet in the Dean's room had come mostly records, old documents
carefully framed, and several letters written