ruce!"

"Of course it is. Who did you think I was--your grandmother's ghost?"
giggled Jennie, pinching her.

"Oh, oh!" panted Nancy.

"You're scared to death. What's the matter?"

"You were going into Number 38?"

"Yes," admitted Nancy.

"Well, come into my room. It's Number 40. I'm chummed with a girl who
has gone to that party."

"You--you know about it, then?" stammered Nancy.

"I should say I did."

"And your roommate was invited--and not _you_?"

"Grace and her crowd aren't in love with me," remarked Jennie.

"Oh!"

"And I reckon they are not overpoweringly fond of _you_?" suggested
Jennie.

Nancy could not speak then. Jennie put her arm over her shoulder.

"Come on into _my_ bed, Nancy," she said. "Sally will wake us up when
she comes back from the spread. I think Cora and that Montgomery girl
have treated you just as meanly as they could."

Nancy still sobbed. Jennie opened the door of Number 40 and drew her
inside.

"Don't you let them see that you care," commanded Jennie.

"I--I don't care a--about _them_," sobbed Nancy. "It's--it's because I
haven't a friend in the world."

"Oh, don't say that, honey," urged the other girl, still holding Nancy
in her arms after they had discarded their robes and crept between the
sheets.

"It--it is so," sobbed Nancy.

"You mean you haven't made friends here at Pinewood?"

"I haven't made friends anywhere," said Nancy.

"Why--why--Surely you have some folks--some relatives----?"

Nancy's naturally frank nature overpowered her caution here. Jennie
Bruce was the first girl who had ever seemed to care about Nancy's
troubles. She did not seem curious--only kind. The lonely girl did the
very thing which her caution all the time had warned her would be
disastrous.

She opened her heart to Jennie Bruce.

"Do you know who I am?" she demanded of the surprised Jennie.

"Why--what do you mean? Of course you are Nancy Nelson."

"I don't even know if I have a right to that name."

"Mercy!"

"It's the only name I know. It seems to be the only name anybody who
knows about me, knows."

"Then it's yours."

"How do I know _that_?" queried Nancy, bitterly. "I'm just a little Miss
Nobody."

"Goodness me! but that _does_ sound romantic," whispered Jennie.

"Romantic!" cried Nancy, with scorn. "It's nothing of the kind. You're
as bad as Scorch."

"As bad as _who_?"

"Scorch O'Brien," replied Nancy.

"Well, for goodness sake! if that doesn't sound i