"Wake up, old lady," cried Patricia. "There's the gong, and we must fly."

Patricia toiled all that afternoon with the ardor of ignorance and hope. The others looked at her with occasional interest, but otherwise paid little attention to her. In the rests she went out to visit Elinor, or Elinor came in to watch her progress. Her head fairly swam with the delightful novelty of this new and quick-flowing life. When the last gong rang she heard it with regret.

"It's better than I ever dreamed," she said to the amiable Griffin as she was showing her how to put the wet cloths about her work. "It's not half so hard as I thought it would be, either."

"Wait till Sat.u.r.day, when old Jonesy lights on you," warned her new friend. "You won't find life so lightsome when his eagle eye discovers you."

"Pooh, I shan't mind how criss-cross he is," declared Patricia valiantly. "I'm only the rankest greenhorn, anyway. He can't expect me to be a Rodin."

She washed her tools in the grimy tanks of the clay room, more in love with it every minute, and when she joined Elinor at their lockers, she was fairly bursting with enthusiasm.

"It's simply heavenly, and I don't know how we got along without it!"

she cried, rapturously. "It makes me wild to think of the _months_ we've wasted this fall."

Elinor laughed her low ripple. "We didn't find Francis Edward David till the middle of December, and it's now the third week in January. I don't think we've let much gra.s.s grow under our feet."

"I wish this were the night for night life," said Patricia fervently.

"I'd stay and watch you begin----"

"No, you wouldn't," said Elinor, promptly. "They don't allow other people in the life-cla.s.s rooms. You'd have to go home and see that Judith was all right. We can't leave her too much to her own devices, even if she is the best little thing in the world."

"Bless her heart!" cried Patricia, with a laugh. "I'd clean forgot that I had any relatives in the world. It's a good thing I have you to keep me straight, Norn. Mercy, what a jam! I don't believe we'll ever get a place at the wash-stands."

The dressing room was crowded to its limit, paint brushes were being washed and stained hands scrubbed at the line of faucets that occupied two sides of the room; girls were hurrying into their street clothes, while others, coming in for the night life, were getting into ap.r.o.ns and paint dresses; some few who were staying for the night life were curled up on the wide couches, exchanging comments with their friends among the hurrying crowd while they refreshed themselves with crackers or cakes.

Patricia, with her cheeks glowing and twin lights dancing in her big eyes, loitered so over her dressing that they were among the last to leave.

"I hate to go, don't you?" she said, as they came out into the corridor, which was dimmer than ever in the spa.r.s.ely lit twilight. "I love-- Oh, how you made me jump!" she cried, starting back as a figure stepped from the alcove by the street entrance.

The girl, who was unknown to them both, addressed them impartially.

"The Committee on Initiation hereby notify you that your initiation will take place on Friday of this week, and you are instructed to produce the usual initiation fee, or answer to the committee for the failure."

Patricia gasped. "My word!" she cried. "They don't postpone things much around here, do they? What is the fee?"

"Three pounds of candy for the modeling and composition cla.s.s, four for the head and ill.u.s.tration cla.s.s, and five for the life," was the prompt response.

Patricia giggled. "You're in for it, Norn. You have to pony up for the head and the night life, too. I'm in luck to be in the mudpie department."

"What is the initiation itself?" asked Elinor, as the girl turned away.

"You'll find out when it happens," she replied, over her shoulder.

"They never know themselves till the last moment. The day cla.s.ses are tame--just a speech when you turn in your candy or some such mild diversion, but the night life is more sporting, and they may put you through a course of sprouts, but they're good-natured idiots on the whole. None of us are as outrageous as we seem."

Elinor looked after her thoughtfully.

"I hope they won't be too hard on me," she said slowly. "I'd be sorry to begin my term with anything that left the least bitter taste.

Everything here is so free-spirited and high-minded that I want it to keep on being so for me always."

Patricia's eyes narrowed. "I believe I'll make my candy up in as attractive a way as I possibly can, and I'll spring it on them first thing, so they'll be in too good a humor to want to haze me very hard.

Don't you think that might work for you, too?"

"Indeed I do," replied Elinor, heartily. "I'm getting an idea already, and if I can put it through, I don't believe the committee will have so much fun with me as they may think."

CHAPTER III

ANTIc.i.p.aTION

"What a pack of mail," said Judith.

It was Friday morning, and the three girls were the last in the dining-room. The sun was slanting brightly in over the table and fell across the pile of letters with a prophetic shimmer, making the little red and green patches of the stamps flame into gay prominence.

Patricia sorted them over rapidly before Elinor had reached the table.

"Here's one for you from Frad," she announced, "and one for me from Miss Jinny, and there are two for Judy from Rockham--looks like Mrs.

Sh.e.l.ly and Hannah Ann, but I'm not sure--and the rest are only circulars. Atkins' Diablo Water and Bartine's Foreign Tours."

"I do wish they wouldn't send those circulars to us. They're so disappointing, for half the time they look like real letters," said Judith, reaching an eager hand for her own mail. "I think they ought to keep them for older people who don't care so much. Oh, it is Mrs.

Sh.e.l.ly, Miss Pat," she broke off, as she tore open the first envelope and began eagerly to scan the sheets.

Patricia, absorbed in her own letter, merely grunted "Uh-huh" and turned the page. Then she burst out joyfully, "Well, of all people in the world! Listen, Norn. Miss Jinny is coming to town next week to stay four or five days, and she wants to know if we can get her a place here. Isn't that jolly!"

Elinor, who had lifted her eyes perfunctorily, gave real attention.

"How splendid!" she cried. "Now we'll have a chance to give back a few of the kindnesses she showered on us last summer. Of course we can find a place, and we won't let her come except as our guest, and we'll give her the very best sort of a time we can, to show how glad we are to have her here."

"If Mrs. Hudson hasn't any other room, she can have mine," said Judith promptly. "She never would let us make up for all those afternoons that she kept the library for us, and I'd love to be _dreadfully_ uncomfortable if I could help make her comfortable."

Elinor laughed and patted the slender hand that pressed the table with such nervous force.

"I don't think Miss Jinny'd want any of us to suffer for her pleasure, Ju dear," she said gently. "I'm sure Mrs. Hudson has a good front room that we can get. I heard that Miss Snow had left and her room wasn't to be filled till next week; so we are just in the nick of time, you see."

"Isn't it lucky?" cried Patricia radiantly. "You'll see about it right away, won't you, Elinor? It has a splendid view of the park. I know she'll love that. You know how she hates 'bricks and mortar.'"

Elinor nodded, picking up her letter again. "You don't seem at all keen about David," she began, when Judith broke out excitedly, holding up her letter.

"Mrs. Sh.e.l.ly wants me to come with Miss Jinny and stay over Sunday.

Please, please let me go, Elinor, for she says she'll get out all her old stories and letters, and we'll have a splendid time!"

Patricia and Elinor swept a swift, remembering glance at the pale, eager face, and the memory of that scene in the old bookroom at Greycroft, when Judith had the vision of her future, flashed into each mind. They had had no laughter then for Judith's prophecy of her literary career, and so now they had only instant sympathy with their little sister's enthusiasm.

"Of course you shall go, Ju dear," said Elinor, warmly. "It's sweet of Mrs. Sh.e.l.ly to ask you, and you'll have a lovely time in that dear little old-fashioned house with her and Miss Jinny."

"Won't it seem queer to you to be anywhere but at Greycroft, though?"

mused Patricia, her eyes wide and absent. "Although we've only had the place not quite a year, I feel as though we'd always been there, and I can't imagine how it would seem to have to live anywhere else _now_."