Judith woke early Friday morning with a feeling that something was going to happen. "What is it?" she asked herself sleepily. "An examination? No! Thank goodness, they are all over for this year." Now she remembered, this was the day of the Reunion—and the Wedding! No wonder that she felt that something was going to happen. What a day it was going to be!

She stretched lazily, and instantly Nancy, who heard her moving, whispered:

"You awake, Judy? I can't sleep. The Old Girls are coming to-day. Oh, Goody! Goody! If the bell doesn't ring soon I'll burst. I simply must shout a little bit."

Nancy's smiling face appeared over the wall of the cubicle.

"Let's get up and be all dressed when the bell does ring, and then we can slip out into the garden."

"We'll have to be awfully quiet going for our baths," objected Judith, who didn't feel as energetic as Nancy appeared to be; "you go first."

Nancy agreed, but when she came back all rosy from her bath Judith was sound asleep. Nancy tiptoed over to the bed determined to wash the sleeper's face with a bath-sponge, when something in the utter relaxation of Judith's attitude struck her. Judith was tired, very tired. "And no wonder," thought Nancy, as she stole quietly and with infinite precautions back to her own room, "it makes me tired even to think of all we've done this week, and all there is to do yet, but it's awfully jolly. Poor Judy! What a good thing she's got her speech all ready for to-night. I am glad she isn't on the refreshment committee."

There was an air of excitement in the dining-room even at breakfast-time. Reminiscences of Old Girls were the order of the day, and Judith learned the names of some of the more famous graduates. She must look out for Kathryn Fleming, who had been singing in New York all season, but she couldn't miss her, she wasn't the sort who was easily overlooked; and Julia Weston, a judge of the Juvenile Court out West; and Penelope Adams, who had married a millionaire and was a great belle; and Martha Penrose, who was just "the sweetest little Virginian you ever saw"; and her chum, Winifred Freeman, who was matron of a big hospital; and Kitty Fisken, the artist; and Isobel Grier, who married Professor Mitchell. Judith finally put her fingers in her ears.

"Don't tell me about any more of them," she begged. "I'm beginning to get the same dazed feeling I had the first night I was here—I felt smothered in people."

Breakfast was usually a rather quiet time, but to-day there was such a clattering and chattering that Miss Langton rang the bell and asked for "Lower voices, please." Judith's neighbour, Marjory, grinned.

"This isn't anything to what it will be by to-morrow," she said.

Even the maids seemed infected by the spirit of gaiety, but if they moved more briskly than usual perhaps it was because they knew that there would be many extra tables for them to serve at luncheon-time.

By nine o'clock the noise in the corridor was deafening. Old Girls could evidently make a row when they chose. Such cries of joy on meeting their special pals! Such questionings and laughings! Such greetings with the Staff who forgot all about their waiting forms in their desire to welcome So-and-So and to hear the latest news of some one else! Miss Martin gave them ten minutes' grace before the bell rang for prayers, and then the Old Girls joined the Sixth and took their places in Big Hall once more. How happy Miss Meredith looked as the hymn was sung.

Judith found it difficult to listen to the reading of the lesson; she wished she had eyes in the back of her head to see the Old Girls with the Sixth. Nancy had told her before prayers that Evelyn Coulson, last year's Captain, had arrived, and Penelope Adams, looking perfectly stunning, and Dr. Mary Burgess, who had been in command of a Woman's Hospital Unit in Serbia. Judith wanted to see her most of all, and she wondered if Aunt Nell were with the others.

Prayers over, they went back to their form rooms, the Old Girls crowding into the Sixth-Form room for a talk from Miss Meredith; but Miss Meredith was detained for a few moments and they had a chance for reminiscences.

"Do you remember Miss Watson's plaid skirt? My dear, she has on the identical skirt now and her hair is just the same, only more so."

"Do you remember the time, Kathryn, you had to learn the 116th Psalm for Miss Meredith, and thought she said the 119th?" said a plump young matron with the contented look which belongs to mothers of happy little families. "I remember if you don't for you made our nights and days miserable hearing you, and then it was all a mistake."

"Do you remember the first debate we had on woman's rights? Gracious me, we thought we were advanced thinkers and no mistake."

"Do you remember the time Grace Wilton tried to trick the Infirmary nurse by pouring her dose of castor oil down a rubber tube attached to a bottle hid in her blouse, and how she poured it down the tube all right, but not into the bottle? She was in a mess."

"And do you remember Alice Roberts, when we had the measles epidemic, rubbing her chest with a stiff hairbrush and complaining of headache so that when nurse looked at her she sent her off to the Isolation House—to join her special pal?"

The Sixth hung on the outskirts of the crowd drinking in stories of the good old days, and then there was a sudden quiet in the room; Miss Meredith had returned and was standing by the desk looking at them so tenderly, so understandingly, that every girl knew that the Head Mistress had come in to them with the prayer in her heart that she might be able to give a message of strength and inspiration.

Such prayers are answered.

After the lesson the Old Girls moved away in little groups down to the Big Hall where they were to have their annual business meeting. A great deal of business was despatched during the next hour; notices of motion were given for the next meeting, the reports of various committees were read and approved, the question of this year's administration of the scholarship fund discussed with much interest, and suggestions made as to the form which this year's gift to the School should take. The President got through the business on hand as quickly as possible, for, as she pointed out, they had a real York Hill wedding on their hands, and the meeting adjourned to decorate Big Hall for the ceremony. They left it a bower of beauty. Some of the Old Girls had motored out to the country and brought great masses of white and purple lilac, and sweet-scented syringa, and big jars held the roses that the bride loved.

Judith and the rest of the "Jolly Susan" crew had begged to be allowed to help since they were Miss Ashwell's own cubicle girls, and they had a joyous time unpacking flowers which kept arriving, speculating as to the bride's gown, and wondering what they would feel like if they were going to be married that very afternoon.

"Next year won't be a bit the same," mourned Judith as she handed festoons of green to Nancy who was decorating the front of the platform. "Miss Ashwell will be gone and Catherine and Eleanor. I don't see whatever we'll do."

"Oh, it'll be up to us," laughed Nancy, stepping back to admire the handiwork.

"Us?" said Judith, aghast. "Why, I never thought of that before. I suppose we will be in the Sixth Form."

"Well, you're going to be," said Nancy with conviction. "I don't know whether I'll manage it or not. Oh, we'll have heaps to do next year, never fear. Let's go and dress now so we'll have plenty of time to arrange the last things for the supper."

Jane and Josephine were discussing the possibility of the bride appearing in a real wedding gown. To Judith's disappointment the popular vote seemed against it, since the wedding had been so hurriedly arranged. But when a little later Miss Ashwell looking her loveliest came down the aisle on Miss Meredith's arm, the most romantic of her romantic audience was satisfied with her truly bride-like appearance. Some of the girls afterwards could tell any number of details about the way the orange blossoms fastened her veil, and how the long train was lined, and whether her shoe buckles were of silver or of brilliants, but Judith had eyes only for the lovely face with its expression of serene and radiant happiness.

Judith had hoped that she would have a chance for a last word of good-bye, but outside on the lawn the Old Girls and Staff crowded around the bride and monopolized her, and the School gave itself up philosophically to an orgy of ice-cream and bride's cake. Then in some magical way the bride was spirited away to change for the journey, and all Judith could hope for was a word at the very end or at least a piece of the bride's bouquet which was tossed out of the carriage. But she seemed doomed to disappointment. Miss Ashwell was gone without a word and Judith turned and fled to her room. To her surprise she found Elise, Miss Meredith's maid, just leaving the "Jolly Susan."

"I have put a note and parcel for you on your dressing-table, Miss Benson," said Elise. "Mrs. Phillips said I was to be most particular to bring it to you the minute she was gone."

"Mrs. Phillips"—Judith looked bewildered and then caught the smile on Elise's face—"Thank you, Elise," she said breathlessly, and rushed into her cubicle. There lay a letter and a tiny parcel. The letter first:

For a moment a suspicious moisture blinded Judith's eyes; then curiosity urged her to open the little white box. "What a darling pin!" she breathed as the lid flew back and disclosed three beautiful pearls exquisitely set in a plain white gold bar. "And what a darling she is—and if it had to be some one I'm glad it's the Major."

This ever-to-be-remembered day still held another great event—the Reunion supper. So Judith dried her eyes and went out to the lawn again where she found the Decorating Committee of the New Girls hard at work. It was such a warm evening that permission had been given to have the supper out on the board tennis court. Benches, which were to be used as tables, were being carried from Big Hall and placed in a square on the boards; rugs and sofa cushions were placed beside them, for Form Five intended to sit cross-legged at their feast in true Eastern fashion. The benches or tables were decorated with pretty paper napkins, and every new girl had brought down anything she possessed in the way of a flower vase, and these Marjorie and Frances were filling with flowers donated by the day girls. Judith found that she could help here; her special task was the pasting of a label bearing the owner's name on the bottom of each vase. Althea and Marian with three or four helpers were tying Chinese lanterns over the electric lights which Brodie had strung for them across the boards. Sally May and her committee were engaged in putting the last touches to the place cards, for true to her nature Sally May had refused to be hurried and the cards were still to be finished.

Judith felt her heart beginning to thump uncomfortably as she thought of the toast she had to answer. Sally May was to be toastmistress and to Judith had been given the honour of replying to the last toast—the toast to "The School." Judith was glad that she had written out her little speech last week, for the last few days had been so packed full that she had not had a moment to herself.

The tables were finished to the satisfaction of every one, and then Judith found Nancy, and asked her if she would hear her speech. They found a secluded spot and Judith recited a little eulogy of York Hill.

"It's tremendously good, Judy," said Nancy admiringly. "I think that part about the experiences of the first week is awfully funny, and I like the ending too—'Ring out the old, ring in the new'—It makes us think of next year, doesn't it?"

"I'm afraid you're not a severe critic," said Judith, flushing with pleasure at Nancy's honest admiration, "but I want it to be my very best."

"Come on, you two," cried Sally May at this juncture. "Do come and see the other tables."

They visited Nancy's table first.

"Oh, how sweet your flowers look!" said Judith, admiring the little old-fashioned posies in their stiff paper frills.

"Mrs. Hewson sent us in several boxes from her country place, and Joyce and Phyllis made the frills. They do look quaint, don't they?"

"What thrilling place cards!" cried Sally May. "Look, Judy—four snapshots on each one—are they all the same, Nancy?"

"Oh, no, Jane and Marjorie collected eight or ten snaps from the girls who had cameras and then they printed enough for every one to have four. Every one has some view or other of the School, and every one has a picture of one of the prefects."

"Here's a perfectly sweet one of Catherine," said Judith, pouncing on one on the other side of the table; "here's Miss Meredith's house—and what's this?" Squeals of delight from both of them.

"Oh, it's Josephine and Jane in their carnival costumes, and here's Eleanor at the wicket. Oh, Nancy, what perfectly glorious place cards! Wouldn't I just love to have one!"

"Wait till next year," said Nancy; "but I'll try to get some of the snaps for you," she added in a lower tone as a dozen or more New Girls came in to admire.

"Come on over and see ours now," said Judith hospitably. "I'm dying myself to see our place cards. Sally May has kept them a great secret."

Nancy was appreciative and admired the lights and the paper napkins, and then the place cards came in for their share of praise. Sally May's cheeks grew pink with pleasure as Judith and Nancy became more and more enthusiastic. Sally May was really very clever with her pencil and on each card she had drawn a little sketch reminiscent of the New Girls' Play at Christmas. Scrooge was there, of course, "before and after," Judith said laughingly as she ran from one place to another—and Tiny Tim, and Bob Cratchit, and the boy with the turkey, and the ghost, and Martha. Sally May had looked up several illustrated editions of the "Christmas Carol" and Miss Carlton had given her and Florence permission to work on the cards during Studio hours. They had taken ever so long, but Florence had been a brick and they were finished at last. Edith and Helen had printed in the toast list.

Judith shivered as she saw her name at the bottom of the list. How she wished she had spent more time on her speech—how could she put into words at all what she felt about the School?

She felt this more keenly than ever before as she stood arm in arm with Nancy and looked in through the windows of the dining-hall at the tables prepared for the Old Girls. She heard Nancy and Sally May exclaiming over the lovely irises which decked the long tables, but she was thinking of the girls who had gathered from all over the wide Dominion to visit again their old School. Judith had felt vaguely the same emotion as she saw the Old Girls marching into Big Hall in the morning, but she felt it now with a rush of warm feeling—School seemed infinitely more dear, more worth while, bigger. There must be something very big in York Hill, she thought, something very strong, to draw back every year these hundreds of Old Girls.

Nancy was pointing out celebrities. "That must be Kathryn Fleming. Isn't she simply stunning?" she said, as a tall, fair-haired woman in gold-and-white brocade entered the Hall; "and there's Judge Weston and Miss Fisken—what a gorgeous gown!—looks Chinese. I wonder who that small, black-haired girl is! She looks as if she played the violin or wrote plays or something."

"She probably stays at home and dusts the drawing-room," said Judith, laughing.

"Don't be horrid," pouted Sally May. "Oh, there's Mrs. Dexter. Wouldn't it be thrilling to be President? You'd make a good President, Judy, you're so tall. Come on,[1]

They found numbers of the New Girls already standing about under the Chinese lanterns admiring the work of the Decorating Committee, and some of them, we regret to add, casting hungry glances at the rolls and salad which were already on the table.

Judith found herself seated next to Sally May and opposite Frances, who was to reply to the toast to "Our first days at York Hill."

How they enjoyed their supper! For once, to be able, while at School, to have exactly what you desired to eat, limited only, of course, by the amount of the tax levied on each member! Marjorie and Edith, who had been responsible for the ordering of the food, had many congratulations passed down to their end of the table, and Sally May felt amply repaid for the trouble she and her committee had taken with the place cards when she heard the exclamations of delight on all sides.

Judith, already excited and keyed up by the events of the day, and susceptible as always to beauty in any shape or form, could hardly eat at all. It was an exquisite June evening. The magic and charm of the coloured lanterns, the warm splashes of colour made by the sweater coats and cushions, the soft, rosy glow of the fading sunset, and the silver of a young moon, all made for Judith a veritable fairy-land. If only she hadn't to answer the toast she could be perfectly and absolutely happy.

But all too soon lemonade glasses were refilled for the toasts, and Joyce fidgeted and cleared her throat preparatory to giving "The King." "God save the King" was sung with a will, and then Frances proposed "Our Country" and this was followed by "O Canada," and "My Country, 'tis of Thee." Marjorie had brought her violin to accompany the songs, and the thin, silvery notes and the clear, fresh voices of the singers sent little shivery thrills of pleasure up and down Judith's spine.

Judith's toast was coming now. Quite suddenly she knew that she hadn't been able to realize before what York Hill stood for—to herself, to all these New Girls, and to all the Old Girls who had come back to pay a tribute to the School they loved. Whatever could she do? She tried to think of something else to say, but Frances Purdy was speaking now and the bursts of laughter all about were too infectious to withstand. Frances was describing the woes of her first week. She had been told that she must say "ma'am" to all the Sixth-Form girls, and that new girls must get up before the others and have their baths before the bell rang, and she convulsed her audience by a description of her first ecstatic experience in the tuck shop. She had been informed that the School provided buns and milk at recess, and meeting a neighbour who was consuming a particularly luscious-looking Chelsea bun at recess-time, she enquired where they were to be found. She was directed to the tuck shop in the gymnasium, where she spent some happy moments choosing buns and cakes and sweets, all of which the presiding genius had asserted, in answer to her enquiries, she might have at recess. Her admiration for a School where this kind of thing was done was only equalled by her dismay when she discovered her mistake and was requested to hand over twenty-three cents!

And now came the last and most important toast of all, and the School song was sung with a right good will. Judith stood up and found herself in the grip of an emotion stronger than herself. She looked out through the trees where she saw the lights streaming out from the dining-hall where the Old Girls were gathered; away off to the right was Miss Meredith's green-shaded lamp burning on her study table; in front she could see the lights in the common room and the library; here beside her was the gymnasium where most of her own particular friends were sitting at another table—and all these people were bound together by one thing—love and loyalty to York Hill.

The song was ended—they were waiting for her to speak; here and there in the semi-darkness she could distinguish a puzzled face; had they been waiting long? With an effort she opened her paper, no, it wouldn't do—she crushed it in her hand and waited for a minute till her heart should stop throbbing in her throat. Then she spoke, falteringly at first.

"Some of us were conceited—and—selfish. We thought about ourselves mostly when we came here last September, but York Hill has made us despise our littleness and long to be bigger and broader; some of us didn't know how to use our bodies or our brains, but the School has taught us how to be true sports and how to think straight; some of us had mighty small ideals about what things really mattered; but York Hill has shown us how 'to play the game, and be true to the best we know.'" Judith faltered as she remembered how many times she had failed to live up to that best, her voice broke, and tears shone on her lashes. "Some of us are little fools—but we're going to see to it that we don't stay fools, we're going to be women that York Hill will be proud of when we come back to the Old Girls' Reunion."

And then she sat down feeling limp and tired and wishing that she could run upstairs to her room and hide her head under the pillows. But the girls were applauding whole-heartedly.

"It's awfully kind of them," thought Judith; "they know how miserable I feel breaking down like that—in front of everybody."

"You made the speech of the evening, Judy," said Sally May as Judith joined her a little later in the Gymnasium for the Sixth-Form Dance.

"Don't be silly, Sally May. I failed, that's what I did, and just when I wanted badly to say 'thank you' to the School."

"Of course she made the best speech," said Nancy, putting her arm through Judith's, "Florence has been telling me about it." And Judith greatly comforted went off to have the first dance with Nancy.