"Hurry, girls," urged Grace, as they set out for Wayne Hall, after repeated promises to call the next morning and prolonged good nights, "we may be locked out. That has never happened to me since I came to college."

"That is better than being locked in," reminded Elfreda grimly.

"You mean the night of the ghost party, don't you?" asked Miriam, referring to an incident that had occurred in Elfreda's freshman year.

"I do, indeed, mean the ghost party," retorted Elfreda with grim emphasis. "I still have a remarkably clear recollection of it."

"What a lot of things have happened since then," said Anne, half musingly.

"Only a little while and our college life will be over," sighed Miriam.

"And our real life begun," was Grace's hopeful reminder. "After all, college is just a preparation for the time when we must stand upon our own ground and a.s.sume the complete responsibility of our own lives."

"You girls give me the blues," grumbled Elfreda. "I don't want to think about my 'real life' or any other solemn old subject. There's a time to reflect, but this isn't the time. I'd rather save all my harrowing reflections until just before commencement. Then we might give a misery party and invite our friends to glower and gloom with us."

"That's a good idea!" exclaimed Grace. "We could all be miserable together."

"If we all met together for the express purpose of being miserable, you can make up your mind that the party itself would defeat its object,"

laughed Anne.

"But just at present we had better be gay and gleeful. We must plan something for Mrs. Gray's entertainment," suggested Miriam. "It is our lawful senior duty to see that she enjoys her visit to Overton."

"She wishes to meet Dr. Morton and Miss Wilder and Miss Duncan, too,"

said Anne. "She mentioned it twice this evening. We must give a dinner in honor of her at Vinton's, and a luncheon at Martell's. Then we ought to drive out to Guest House for supper. Of course, we must give one spread in either our room or Miriam's and do stunts."

"Why not give the Wonderland Circus just for her?" proposed Elfreda.

"Miss Wilder will let us have the gymnasium for the evening, and by making it strictly a senior cla.s.s affair there will be no hurt feelings on the part of the other cla.s.ses. Nearly all the performers are seniors, too. We can serve refreshments, have a dance afterward, and Mrs. Gray will have a splendid opportunity to see 19-- together. How is that for a stunt?"

Elfreda's plan was received with acclamation, and by the time they reached Wayne Hall each girl had been a.s.signed her part in the week's programme.

"We mustn't forget our Christmas girls," reminded Anne, as they lingered for a brief moment in the upstairs hall.

"I am glad you mentioned them," replied Grace. "I must see Arline to-morrow."

The first week of December had dragged, but the next two weeks raced by on winged feet, and the two days before college closed for the holidays were crowded to the brim with last duties and pleasures. Mrs. Gray won the united regard of the Semper Fidelis Club, who immediately enlisted themselves in her service. The genial, light-hearted old lady entered into the life of the college with an enthusiasm that caused her at once to be declared an honorary member of Semper Fidelis. She was the guest of honor at luncheons and dinners, at which she was toasted and sung to with a fervor that left no doubt in her mind as to her standing with Grace's cla.s.smates.

The Wonderland Circus had been saved as the crowning event of her visit, and invitations had been sent to Mr. Thomas Redfield, the benefactor of Semper Fidelis Club, Dr. Morton, Miss Wilder and the various members of the faculty to be present at the Circus. Never had the immortal animals been in better form. Round after round of applause greeted the conclusion of their famous Wonderland song. The demonstration continued until Alice stepped forward and made a funny little speech, in which she introduced the animals, who skipped, waddled or shuffled forward according to each one's conception of what its own peculiar gait should be.

Emma Dean, who had not taken part in the Circus, appeared in her ridiculous Sphinx costume, and, after a monologue that elicited constant laughter, added to her ability as a fun maker by the weirdly funny dance that she had intended to give at the bazaar, and which she was obliged to repeat before her audience was satisfied.

A reception followed, and delicious buffet refreshments were served by the seniors in one corner of the big gymnasium, which had been roped off with the senior colors and made as attractive as senior hands could make it. Mrs. Gray was in her element and held court like a veritable queen.

Before the evening was over the senior cla.s.s, to a member, had vowed eternal allegiance to her. Dr. Morton, Miss Wilder and Mr. Redfield, too, apparently succ.u.mbed to her spell, for toward the close of the evening they formed an interesting group about her, and, at the end of a lengthy confab, shook her hand with an earnestness which seemed almost to indicate a promise of loyalty. To Grace, Anne and Miriam Mrs. Gray's long conversation with the faculty was merely a further proof of her ability to make friends, but the watchful Elfreda regarded the matter from a different viewpoint.

"I wonder what Mrs. Gray was talking about to Professor Morton, Miss Wilder and our fairy G.o.dfather?" she remarked in a speculative tone to Miriam as they prepared for sleep late that night. "Fairy G.o.dfather is a good name for Mr. Redfield, isn't it?" she laughed.

"Certainly it is," returned Miriam. "I always bestow appropriate names upon people. Isn't he the fairy G.o.dfather of Semper Fidelis and didn't I give him that name after he sent us the first check?"

"He is," admitted Elfreda, "and you did."

"What is on your mind now?" asked Miriam. "What do you find so mysterious in the fact that Mrs. Gray held discourse with the powers that be?"

"You can make fun of me if you like," said Elfreda, smiling a little, "but I know what I saw with my own eyes. There is a conspiracy on foot among those persons. It's a delightful conspiracy, of course, but mark my words, they are planning something, and some day when the whole thing comes to light you'll say, 'You were right, J. Elfreda,' see if you won't."

"I will say it now if you wish me to," laughed Miriam, "merely to show you that I have faith in your marvelous powers of observation."

"Thank you," returned Elfreda. "There is nothing like being appreciated.

But under the circ.u.mstances I am afraid I can't pursue my usual methods of investigation. If Mrs. Gray is planning something delightful, you may be sure it is for her Christmas children, and J. Elfreda Briggs will not be the one to pry into the surprise."

CHAPTER XIX

WHAT PATIENCE OVERHEARD

"Oh, Overton, our voices clear Ring out in reverent praise to-day, To thee, our Mother, loved and dear Who guides us on our college way,"

sang Grace softly as she walked about her room putting away the various articles of wearing apparel she had taken from her trunk. The Christmas vacation had come and gone like a glad, happy dream, and with a hundred pleasant memories of home to sweeten the days that lay between her and Easter, Grace cheerfully unpacked her belongings, humming as she worked the song of Overton that she loved best.

A light knock on the door, accompanied by, "May I come in?" hushed the song on Grace's lips. "I should say so," she called, recognizing Patience Eliot's voice. "Enter and give an account of yourself. I've hardly seen you since I came back."

"I have had more or less unpacking to do, too," said Patience, with a comprehensive glance about the room. "Also deep in my soul lurks the fear of the fateful midyear with its burden of exams. I am conducting a general review every night for the benefit of Patience Eliot, but it is rather up-hill work. I envy you high and mighty seniors, whose days and nights of anxiety are past."

"I don't believe you are half as much worried as you pretend. Patience Eliot is far too valiant to be downed by a mere examination."

"It is all very well to talk," grumbled Patience, "but you know just how footless mere talk is. I'm not at all sure that I shall not flunk."

"You won't, so don't try to make me believe you will," a.s.sured Grace, "and you are going to forget your books and have dinner with me at Vinton's to-morrow night, too."

"Am I?" asked Patience. "Let me see. Oh, yes, I am. It is on Wednesday evening that the great event takes place."

"What great event?" asked Grace with unthinking curiosity. "I beg your pardon, Patience, I didn't mean to----"

Patience dismissed Grace's attempt to apologize with a wave of her hand.

"Oh, that is all right. It is what I came here to tell you. You may believe it or not, but Kathleen West has actually invited me to go to that ill.u.s.trated lecture on 'Mexico' at the Overton theatre on Wednesday evening."

"And you are going?" Grace could not keep a slight constraint from her tone. Her resentment against the newspaper girl still lived. Despite the long, intimate talk she had with her father, she could not quite forget that Kathleen had been partly responsible for the unhappy hours she had spent before going home to Oakdale.

"Yes," Patience replied. There was a note of finality in her voice. "I believe it is best, Grace. In fact, I am sure it is."

Grace stood staring moodily at Patience. A struggle against her own personal feelings was going on within her. Suddenly her face cleared, and with a little, rueful smile she held out her hand to the other girl.

"I'm truly glad you are going with her, Patience. I thought I wasn't, but I am. I can't imagine why I don't outgrow my resentment against that girl. I don't understand myself lately."

"I knew you would agree with me." Patience still held Grace's hand in hers. "Now that the ice has been broken--you know you asked us not to mention Kathleen to you--I can say something I've wanted to tell you for a week. There has been a slight change for the better in Kathleen since Christmas. I don't know what has brought it about, but she is less hard and bitter than she used to be. She is terribly blue, though, and the other day I came into the room and found her crying. Just imagine Kathleen West in tears if you can. She wiped them away post haste and I pretended I hadn't noticed that she was crying. One can't sympathize with her, you know. She wouldn't like it. She prides herself on her stoicism."

"I wonder what happened," mused Grace.

"She has been writing every evening on her play," continued Patience, "until last night. I was hard at work on my Horace, when suddenly she said, 'Oh, what's the use?' and began tearing up everything she'd written. 'I could see,' to quote Elfreda, that she was in one of her black moods, so I never said a word. I think her conscience is troubling her. Perhaps one of these days she will find herself and surprise all of us."