n for his tree, and, don't you remember,
Laurie Armitage brought you the tree and the holly and ground pine?"

Constance flushed slightly at the mention of Lawrence Armitage. A
sincere boy and girl friendship had sprung up between them that promised
later to ripen into perfect love.

"That reminds me," broke in Jerry bluntly. "I've something to tell you,
girls. Hal told me. He's my most reliable source of information when it
comes to news of Weston High. Laurie is writing an operetta. He's going
to call it 'The Rebellious Princess,' and he would like to give a
performance of it in the spring. There's to be a big chorus and
Professor Harmon is going to pick a cast from the boys and girls of
Weston and Sanford High Schools."

"Who is Professor Harmon?" asked Constance curiously.

"Oh, he's the musical director at Weston High," answered Jerry
offhandedly. "He looks after the singing and glee clubs there, just as
Miss Walters does at Sanford High. You can sing, Connie, and Laurie
knows it. I wouldn't be surprised if you'd get the leading part."

"I'd be more surprised if I did," laughed Constance, "considering that I
don't even know Professor Harmon when I see him."

"Laurie will introduce you to him, I guess," predicted Jerry
confidently. "Hal said something about a try-out of voices. I can't
remember what it was. I'll ask him when I go home."

"I don't believe I could even sing in a chorus," laughed Marjorie. "I
haven't a strong voice."

"You can look pretty, though, and _that_ counts," was Jerry's emphatic
consolation. "That's more than I can do. I can't see myself shine, even
in a chorus. I don't sing. I shout, and then I'm always getting off the
key," she ended gloomily.

Constance and Marjorie giggled at Jerry's funny description of her vocal
powers. The stout girl's brief gloom vanished in a broad grin.

"Two more days and Christmas will be here!" exclaimed Marjorie with a
joyous little skip, which caused a pile of packages on the floor near
her to tumble in all directions.

"Easy there!" warned Jerry. Secretly she was delighted at her friend's
lightsome mood. Marjorie had been altogether too serious of late.
Privately, she had frequently wished that Mary Raymond had never set
foot in Sanford.

The early December dusk had fallen when, the last package wrapped,
Constance and Jerry said good-bye to Marjorie. "I'll be over bright and
early Christmas morning," reminded Constance. "Remember, you are coming