oarswomen saw
neither the beauty surrounding them nor the black clouds threatening.
They were practising for a race. Neither spoke. They pulled with long
steady strokes in perfect time. Suddenly Frieda's oar flopped and
"caught a crab." The bow at the same moment struck the bank, and a great
scrambling tearing sound followed. In a fright the girls huddled
together in the bottom of the boat, not daring to look up.

"O, pshaw! It's only a cow, more afraid than we were. She made all that
noise just tearing up the bank."

"I thought it was an earthshake," sighed Frieda, leaning back and
resting. "That was one hundred strokes without missing. I didn't know
the bank was so near."

"Neither did I. That's the trouble with us, Frieda. We get so interested
in rowing that we forget to steer."

"We steered into a steer that time."

"O, Frieda! You ought not to be allowed to make jokes in English, you
make such bad ones."

Frieda smiled cheerfully. "Ten days ago I thought I should never make a
joke in any language, or laugh at one again. I was very sorrowful when I
came here, Polly."

"I didn't dream it," answered Polly. "You looked very sweet when I first
saw you, and I thought you kept still because you didn't care to talk!
But we have had a lot of fun these days, haven't we? I feel as though I
had known you a long time. Wish you were going to Wellesley."

"So do I. It would be delightful, with you there and Karl and Hannah so
near. But my parents decided for me. Karl will go to see you, though."

"That's nice. Really, Frieda, you will find it's lots easier at a small
college than a large one at first. And you can come on East afterward.
Dexter is fine, and you'll have such a start, going in as Catherine's
friend."

Frieda grimaced.

"If every one there is as beautiful and--_apart_ as Catherine is, I
shan't get on very well. Catherine is like a saint. She could never
understand wickedness as you and Hannah do."

"Thanks very much!" Polly answered dryly. "But you take my word for it,
Catherine isn't just a saint. There is fun in her, too, though not on
the surface. You may always feel as though she were a beautiful picture
or poem but you won't like her the less for that. She's not
stand-offish. She's just different. My dear, I felt a drop."

"So did I. And there's another." Straightway the heavens opened and a
deluge descended, most of it, it seemed, aiming for the small rowboat at
the pasture's edge.

The thin