into her bedroom and began
slinging things into a dress-suit case.

Priscilla stood in the doorway and watched her in amazement. "Are you
going to New York?" she asked.

"No," said Patty; "to the infirmary."

"Patty Wyatt, you're a wretched little hypocrite!"

"Not at all," said Patty, cheerfully. "I didn't ask to go, but the
doctor simply insisted. I told her I had an examination, but she said it
didn't make any difference; health must be the first consideration."

"What's in that bottle?" demanded Priscilla.

"That's for my appetite," said Patty, with a grin; "the doctor hopes to
improve it. I didn't like to discourage her, but I don't much believe
she can." She dropped an Old English grammar and a copy of "Beowulf"
into her suit-case.

"They won't let you study," said Priscilla.

"I shall not ask them," said Patty. "Good-by. Tell the girls to drop in
occasionally and see me in my incarceration. Visiting hour from five to
six." She stuck her head in again. "If any one wants to send violets, I
think they might cheer me up."

* * * * *

THE next afternoon Georgie and Priscilla presented themselves at the
infirmary, and were met at the door by the austere figure of the head
nurse. "I will see if Miss Wyatt is awake," she said dubiously, "but I
am afraid you will excite her; she's to be kept very quiet."

"Oh, no; we'll do her good," remonstrated Georgie; and the two girls
tiptoed in after the nurse.

The convalescent ward was a large, airy room, furnished in green and
white, with four or five beds, each surrounded with brass poles and
curtains. Patty was lying in one of the corner beds near a window,
propped up on pillows, with her hair tumbled about her face, and a table
beside her covered with flowers and glasses of medicine. This elaborate
paraphernalia of sickness created a momentary illusion in the minds of
the visitors. Priscilla ran to the bedside and dropped on her knees
beside her invalid room-mate.

"Patty dear," she said anxiously, "how do you feel?"

A seraphic smile spread over Patty's face. "I've been able to take a
little nourishment to-day," she said.

"Patty, you're a scandalous humbug! Who gave you those violets? 'With
love, from Lady Clara Vere de Vere'--that blessed freshman!--and you've
borrowed every drop of alcohol the poor child ever thought of owning.
And whom are those roses from? Miss Skelling! Patty, you ought to be
ashamed."

Patty had the g