Music and laughter, youth and happiness!

What a splendid affair the dance turned out to be! Even the staid faculty, acting as patronesses, looked on with generous smiles of absolute approval.

As if to add to the gentle flame of curiosity in Jane's circles, she accepted a number of dances from Teddy—in fact the big fanciful "T" which Jane remembered so well in the spook letter, was scribbled all over her dancing card, while Judith accepted Ray Mann, a chum of Ted's, in complacent substitution. Ray was a capital fellow, with such a stock of chestnut hair he might have matched up pretty well with Bobbie, if her spare time had not been so filled in with Dave Jordan, also a "Yorktown man."

Wellington had a reputation for this one big social event, the invitations for which were always censored by a committee of the officials, each boy accepted being socially vouched for by the patronesses. This was as near as the old college would go to co-ed functions, and perhaps the fact that these young girls were always left to themselves for good times (except at the big dance) gave added zest and novelty to the pre-holiday event.

All went merrily indeed, except that Jane was almost lost in bewilderment before she and Teddie had finished out two dances (halves) and one "sitting out" in the Bosky Dell.

Who was this boy's relation? she wanted to know. And why did Sally so promptly surrender him to all other partners? Sally danced so gracefully, and they seemed to step together as dancers do who have learned at the same functions, yet she did surrender him willingly.

Jane dragged Judith out of the din, and after fortifying herself and her chum with two drinks of fruit punch, she dragged her further into semi-seclusion in the cloak room.

"What do you make of it?" asked Judith fairly twittering with suppressed excitement.

"That is what I wanted to ask you," replied Jane, swirling her scarf over her shoulders to tame down a frolicsome little breeze that danced to the jazz music stealing in the cloak room. "There is a positive mystery about all this. Can't you see how much Ted Barrett looks like Sally Howland?"

"Of course I can," replied Judith. "But surely that letter said 'sister' and was written to Shirley."

"And he is not in any way like Bobbie."

"No, and Bobbie is as shy as a baby when speaking with him." Jane bit her lip in serious reflection.

"But isn't he very nice?"

"Lovely manners and a very takable boy," admitted Jane. "And say, Judy, I love this mystery, but we can't let the freshies beat us at it. Be sure you keep your eyes and ears open and report anything— suspicious."

"Glad to," Judith accepted the commission. "But don't you like my
Ray?"

"Couldn't help it," said Jane affably. "Of the two boys I like Ray's hair best. It's so—smoky."

"And Jane! Have you seen who Dozia is lugging around? That awfully big boy, the football giant of Yorktown."

"Makes Doze look small by comparison, and that's an achievement," said Jane. "There's my dance with Nettie Brocton. It would be dreadful if we forgot to take care of our own little playmates. Isn't everything going lovely?"

"Nothing could be improved upon unless it be Miss Robert's hair.
That's a bit lopsided."

"But her feather fan is a gem," said Jane, moving toward the dance floor.

"So is her back comb," laughed Judith, as the chums drifted apart among the dancers.

A waltz encore was just then being demanded. The dancers stood about clapping and insisting upon a repetition of the number. Jane and Judith waited a moment before their partners espied them, and as they lingered they heard the girls commenting on Sally. She was, indeed, a charming figure as she stood out there with her partner, who happened to be Ted; and it was Inez Wilson who most particularly noticed the two dancers in the center of the floor. She seized Jane's hand and whispered:

"Oh, Jane, just see how much Sally looks like her partner!"

"Yes," put in Janet Clarke, "they even have the same pose."

"Cousins," said Jane simply, as she and Nettie swung out into the repeated waltz.

The resemblance was very remarkable and standing with the tall boy in his "Tux" the girl in her butterfly gown made quite a charming little picture. Their isolation at the moment, standing well out on the floor almost alone at the end of the "first half," gave them somewhat undue prominence, but it also gave everyone a splendid opportunity of seeing Ted and of admiring Sally's evening frock.

When the number ended a group of freshmen cornered themselves in a window arch and promptly set about whispering some plans. Nellie Saunders was leading, and she declared Sally was the one to make the presentation. Presently a committee of seniors joined them, and the purpose of the secret session became evident.

Miss Rutledge, dean of Wellington and beloved mother of the entire flock, was to be presented with a glorious bouquet of golden chrysanthemums and Sally Howland, the pet freshman, had been voted by her class the one to do the public honors.

"Where is she?" asked Anne Morley, the senior, waiting to complete the details.

"Just finished dancing," volunteered Nellie. "I'll go get her."

"When the orchestra plays 'Wellington,' that's your cue," said Miss Morley. "The senior class president will make her speech and you freshmen then send up the flowers. Be sure you do it promptly, as the speech has the flowers planted in it," finished the tall, capable senior, leaving the younger girls to carry out her orders.

Nellie was back with Sally immediately.

"Here she is, and doesn't her gown go wonderfully with the golden ball chrysanthemums?" panted Nellie.

"Just like a picture," exclaimed Dolly Lloyd. "Be sure you carry them like a bride's-maid, Sally. Maybe a long time before you get another chance."

"But what is this all about?" gasped Sally, a little bit frightened at the importance of the great sheaf of yellow blooms propped up in the corner.

"You are to present the flowers to Deanie," said Nellie. "You see, the girls always give her something at this dance, and they choose the freshies just to act in the capacity of page. You don't have to say a word," as Sally showed reticence. "A senior makes a speech and you just walk up prettily with this corn shock."

"Oh, girls, I couldn't," exclaimed Sally tragically.

"You couldn't! Why not?" came a chorus.

"Because—oh, I can't just explain, but won't you please excuse me?"

"No, indeed we will not," declared Nellie. "Just another touch of that timidity we fought out when you first came. This is an honor, Sally, and we know whom to choose for it. We know how you stand in the half year's record," and she proceeded to straighten out the maline butterfly on Sally's shoulders—no one could seem to resist that temptation.

"I do appreciate the honor," faltered Sally, "but there is a reason- -a serious reason why I feel I should decline."

"Wait a minute! I'll persuade her," said Dolly, and in the time specified she was back in the corner again and had Jane with her.

"She simply has got to deliver those flowers," explained Nellie. "She matches as if she were dressed for the part. See her yellow head, her yellow and white gown, the dear little golden slippers; then the great huge, gigantic bunch of chrysis—we all chipped in for those—"

"Miss Allen, please let me off," begged Sally, turning two blue eyes, overflowing with meaning, full on Jane.

"I cannot go back on a sorority order," said Jane, wondering why she should. "There's your cue, and Sally, here are the flowers. Bun along, little girl. There's a dear."

Sally was "running along" in the freshmen's glide, almost hidden behind the shock of golden balls, before she could further protest.

"Wellington, dear Wellington!" finished the chorus; and then the senior who was on the little platform by the orchestra, called the dean forward and in "a few well chosen words" told Miss Rutledge how much every girl in college loved her.

Dear, gentle, beloved Miss Rutledge! Her cameo beauty was not lost even in that group of glowing students. She wore her stately heliotrope brocade, and her perfectly white wavy hair just framed a face soft as damask, with enough natural warmth of color to defy any record of years.

Sally glided along with the bouquet, while the dean spoke softly, gently, in that strangely far-reaching voice peculiar to those who train for such concentration. Directly Sally placed the flowers in her extended hands applause broke loose.

What music can compete with the simple inspiration of hand clapping?
And these students knew that score in jazz perfectly.

Finally, Sally turned back again in the little aisle made for her through the assemblage, and before she had proceeded more than a few paces Bobbie rescued her.

"Kitten!" she whispered, putting her strong arms about the now trembling Sally. "How perfectly lovely! Here's Ted. He is too excited to speak. I have just been trying to restore him."

"King Pin of the Freshies!" Ted managed to orate, seizing Sally's hand in congratulation. "That stunt is something we fellows miss. If it were our old 'Shuffles' now, likely we would treat him to a soft little ball on his renowned pate."

"King Pin of the Freshies!" took up Bobbie. "Splendid! I'll tell
Nellie that and she can chime it in her new class song. Here they
are claiming you, Kitten. Come on and see what's doing in the rear.
Boys"—to Teddy—"not allowed."

"Never are when there's anything good in sight," replied Ted pleasantly. "Where's that pretty girl—my dance—oh, here she is," and he seized Judith for the Drop Step just being inaugurated.

In another hour—how short a time it seemed—the dance was over.
University boys were piling into their cars, and the girls of
Wellington would presently be back again in that cozy, if limited,
little world, all their very own.

What a glorious success it had been! Even the night was perfect, and now at the happy shouting of "good-byes" the stars blinked down mischievously, and a busy old moon took time from his science to send out a couple of searchlight flashes to greet youth on its merry way.

Ted "Barrett" was saying good-bye to Jane. He made opportunity for this, although his companions were honking their horn recklessly, bidding him "come now or stay as long as he pleased."

"Miss Allen," said the Yorktown boy, "I can't help telling you personally how fine this has been. To have—the girls here, I know is due to your—special generosity, and some day I hope I'll have a chance to tell you what it has meant to me. Just now," he smiled broadly, "those freshies have me bound in their riddle game and I can't talk intelligently; tongue-tied," he finished.

"I understand," spoke up Jane, smiling herself. "They are a wonderful team—and I am much interested in both."

"So am I," called out the chivalrous Ted, as he answered an ear- splitting honk from his chums and rushed out to the big waiting car.

Sally and Shirley were at the steps to see him off, and now Jane joined them. Ted tossed back a freshman's cap, snatched from the head of a luckless "stude" who must go all the way to Yorktown uncapped. He threw the "inkspot" out high in the air, and as it came down, somehow it managed to come within reach of Jane's outstretched palm.

Promptly she donned it, of course, and the trophy instantly became an object of excited interest among the retiring dancers.

It was only a very small black cloth cap, and a poor freshman was now going home with his inadequate hand on a cold head in lieu of it, but somehow when Jane stuck it on the wall between two Wellington pennants, the juniors' and freshmen's, it seemed a symbol of her mystic relationship with the girl who carried the Allen scholarship.

"I'll leave it here until we can clean up," she said looking affectionately at the small black spot on the wall. "Then, of course, it goes to my room."

"Of course," echoed Judith dolefully. "I suppose the ownership of that puts you in a Yorktown frat."

"Hardly, but it will be a little souvenir of this wonderful night."

Both Sally and Bobbie were beside her now. Their cheeks blazed still with excitement, and eyes continued the dance even now echoing through those beam-bedecked walls.

"Wasn't it wonderful?" exclaimed Sally.

"I never thought I could have such a perfect time," sighed Bobbie.

"That's Wellington," commented Jane loyally. "We do everything just right under that banner," and picking up her little party bag she was ready to leave for sleeping quarters.

"And do you know what Ted called Kitten when she came down from presenting the flowers?" teased Bobbie.

"What?" asked Jane merrily.

"King Pin of the Freshies!" replied Bobbie. "Doesn't that sound like a class yell?"

"I hope it will be some day," said Jane. But Sally's blue eyes were proclaiming something—something far removed from the honor and glory promised by her junior sponsor.

And even Bobbie's insistent joking could not dispel that strange foreboding.

"Sally!" charged Jane, noting her sudden preoccupating, "are you seeing things?"

"Why?" A flush suffused the face just showing the tell-tale lines of fatigue.

"I sometimes think you two girls are base deceivers," Jane joked.
"You change your cast of countenance as quickly as—"

"Now Janie, you leave our little star alone," ordered Judith. "Seems to me any girl would be flustered after a first night of this kind."

"Of course," dimpled Jane. "Here, children, please take these things. I will be held responsible for them and there's no telling who might take a notion to cover her couch with that lovely silk scarf."

They gathered up the precious trophies, flags and scarfs. Then the lights were out at last.