ard, and only seriously
frightened three or four."

"Yes," said Helen primly. "I think so too. The girls here are inclined
to be very frivolous."

"Who?" demanded Betty.

Helen hesitated. "Oh, the girls as a whole."

"That doesn't count," objected Betty. "Give me a name."

"Well, Barbara Gordon."

"Takes sixteen hours, has her themes read in Mary's class, and in her
spare moments paints water colors that are exhibited in Boston," said
Betty promptly.

"Really?" gasped Helen.

"Really," repeated Betty. "Of course she was very well prepared, and so
her work here seems easy to her. Next year I hope that you and I won't
have to plod along so."

Helen said nothing, but she was deeply grateful to Betty for that last
sentence. "You and I"--as if there was something in common between them.
The other girls set her apart in a class by herself and labeled her
"dig." If one was born slow and conscientious and plodding, was there
any hope for one,--any place among these pretty girls who worked so
easily and idled so gracefully? Helen shut her lips firmly and resolved
to keep on hunting.

CHAPTER XI

MID-YEARS AND A DUST-PAN

Viewed in retrospect the tragic experiences of one's freshman year seem
often the most insignificant of trifles; but that does not prevent their
being at the time momentous as the fate of empires. There are mid-year
examinations, for instance; after one has survived them a few times she
knows that being "flunked out" is not so common an experience as report
represents it to be, and as for "low grades" and "conditions," if one
has "cut" or been too often unprepared she deserves and expects them,
and if she has done her best and still finds an unwelcome note or two on
the official bulletin board, why, she must remember that accidents will
happen, and are generally quite endurable when viewed philosophically.
But in freshman year one is inexperienced and easily the dupe of
mischievous sophomores. Then how is one to prepare for the dreadful
ordeal? The distinction is not at all clear between the intelligent
review that the faculty recommend and the cramming that they abhor.
There is a disconcerting little rhyme on this subject that has been
handed down from generation to generation for so long that it has lost
most of its form and comeliness; but the point is still sharp. It is
about a girl who followed the faculty's advice on the subject of
cramming, took her exercise as usual, and went to