't you walk over to the campus with me, little girl?" she
asked. "I have one or two errands. Oh no, you don't need a hat. You
never do here."

So they wandered off bareheaded in the moonlight, which made the
elm-shaded streets look prettier than ever. On the dusky campus girls
strolled about in devoted pairs and sociable quartettes. On the piazza
of one of the dwelling-houses somebody was singing a fascinating little
Scotch ballad with a tinkling mandolin accompaniment.

"Must be Dorothy King," said the sophomore. "I thought she wouldn't come
till eight. Most people don't."

"Oh!" exclaimed Betty, "I know her!" And she related her adventure at
the station.

"That's so," said Miss Brooks. "I'd forgotten. She's awfully popular,
you know, and very prominent,--belongs to no end of societies. But
whatever the Young Women's Christian Association wants of her she does.
You know they appoint girls to meet freshmen and help them find
boarding-places and so on. She's evidently on that committee. Let's stop
and say hello to her."

Betty, hanging behind, was amazed to see the commotion caused by Miss
Brooks's arrival. The song stopped abruptly, the mandolin slammed to the
floor, and performers and audience fell as one woman upon the newcomer.

"Why, Mary Brooks! When did you come?"

"Did you get a room, honey?"

"Oh, Mary, where did you put on that lovely tan?"

"Mary, is Sarah coming back, do you know?"

"Hush up, girls, and let her tell us!"

It was like the station, only more so, and oh, it was nice--if you were
in it. Mary answered some of their questions and then looked around for
Betty. "I've lost a freshman," she said, "Here, Miss Wales, come up and
sit on the railing. She knows you, Dottie, and she wants to hear you
sing. These others are some of the Hilton House, Miss Wales. Please
consider yourselves introduced. Now, Dottie."

So the little Scotch ballad began again. Presently some one else came
up, there were more effusive greetings, and then another song or two,
after which Miss King and "some of the Hilton House" declared that they
simply must go and unpack. Betty, suddenly remembering her trunk and her
sister, decided to let Miss Brooks do her other "errands" alone, and
found her way back to Mrs. Chapin's. Sure enough, Nan was sitting on the
piazza.

"Hello, little sister," she called gaily as Betty hurried up the walk.
"Don't say you're sorry to be late. It's the worst possible thing for
little fresh