"Do you suppose we've been here long enough to call Taffy down if she's noisy?" she inquired. "I'd just love to call Taffy down."

Daphne's cool gaze rested on Janet, then she laughed her funny little laugh.

"Guess I'll have to stay through the Christmas vacation to get even with you," she drawled.

"You'll do nothing of the kind," Sally protested. "I just had a letter from mother today and she says she's planning with Auntie Mogs Carter the most scrumptious Christmas Eve party, and I'd like to see you dare stay away from it."

Gladys turned back to the window and her private conversation with Aunt Jane's Poll-parrot.

"Why, Poll, you never told me that New York girls gave parties," she complained.

But the New York girls were too busy discussing Mrs. Ladd's letter to notice her.

"Merciful gumption!" Phyl exclaimed a few minutes later. "There goes sweet dreams."

The others stopped to listen. From the farthest end of the hall came the soft chimes of the grandfather clock. The little melody sounded like a slumber song, and the girls all called it sweet dreams.

"I thought it was about eight o'clock," Ann protested. "I haven't even looked at my history."

"Well, I hate to be inhospitable," Sally said, "but I must set the example to Taffy; she's a new girl, you know."

"You never would know it," Prue said with a little smile. "Taffy and the twins are part of the spirit at Hilltop, and have been for centuries.

Who dares to call them new?"

"Very prettily said, Prue darling," Sally laughed. "But, out you go, just the same and seek your own little beds."

Gladys put her arm protectingly around Prue.

"Never mind, lamb child. You can come and orate to your two long-suffering room-mates."

They all left the room, finishing their good-nights in the hall.

The twins went straight to bed. Each night at Hilltop saw them thoroughly but happily tired out.

"Do you think the Red Twins have a chance?" Phyllis inquired sleepily.

"Awfully afraid they have," Janet answered. "I saw them practicing today, and they made awfully good scores."

"Well, cheer up, perhaps they'll be nervous tomorrow, with the entire school looking on."

A m.u.f.fled chuckle came from the depth of Janet's pillow.

"What are you laughing at?" Phyllis demanded.

"The idea of the Red Twins being fussed by anything. Why those girls have got the a.s.surance of Diana herself. I wish you could see them string their bows."

"The responsibility of being the twins for the old wing is growing daily," Phyllis laughed. "I'm worse than Prue when it comes to a straight eye, so I suppose we're doomed for one defeat."

"We're doomed for no such thing," Janet denied hotly.

But an inarticulate murmur was all the response she received from Phyllis.

"Oh, go to sleep then, lazy bones!" she said, and snuggled deeper into her pillow.

She was soon dreaming that the Red Twins were making bull's-eyes with every arrow that they loosed.

When the sun, red gold in his morning splendor, sent his first shafts through the woods, throwing queer patterns on the green lawn, he surprised two girls, busy with their bows and arrows. They had flaming red hair, and the sun always jealous of compet.i.tion scowled behind a tiny white cloud.

CHAPTER XI-The Archery Contest

On the day of the Archery Contest, lessons stopped at noon at Hilltop.

By two o'clock all the girls were a.s.sembled on the south lawn. They all wore immaculate white dresses, that contrasted prettily with the autumn colors. A stack of bows, their strings loosened, stood against the bench near the target and a heap of feathered arrows lay on the ground.

Under the shade of a big tree, the score board flashed forth in white letters, "Archery Day."

Forty girls were competing. You could pick them out from among the others by their eager expectant expression.

The faculty in the daintiest of gowns were making the guests, who had driven in from all around the countryside, as comfortable as possible in the grey wicker chairs that had been brought down from the school, and placed in a half circle back of the shooters. They came because they loved the pretty sight of the girls in their white dresses on the green lawn, with the old mansion as a background, rather than for any real interest in Archery.

There were tables under the trees, where, after the contest, lemonade would be served to the girls, and tea to the guests and faculty.

Prue at the last moment had decided not to enter.

"Why swell the number of the old wing failures?" she said to Gwen, and Gwen nodded, fully conscious of the sacrifice she was making; and to repay her for it, she made her official score-keeper.

The twins, with Sally and Daphne, and Gladys and Ann, formed a little group with her around the board.

"Prue, if I make a score, will you please write it very large?" Phyllis requested. "I don't expect to make more than one, and it would be a comfort really to see it."

"I'm as nervous as a cat," Sally shivered. "I have a horrible feeling that the old wing is going to lose."

"Oh, don't even breathe it!" Gladys wailed. "The very idea makes me turn cold all over."

"My hands are icy," Ann held them out for inspection. They were beautiful hands, firm and capable, but they trembled ever so slightly.

Gwen and Poppy joined them.

"I declare you all look like picked chickens," Poppy protested, "I never saw the old wing hang its head so low."

The girls straightened up, every chin lifted with determination.

"That's better," Gwen encouraged. "If you feel like dropping them again, just look at the new wing."

"The Red Twins are positively walking on air," Sally ground her teeth and looked appealingly at Phyllis.