“Yes; to be sure. I have the correspondence from all of you Sanford girls. I think there has been no mistake concerning your rooms. Just a moment.”

Miss Remson, a small, wiry-looking woman with a thin, pleasant face and partially gray hair, bustled to a door, situated at the lower end of the room. Thrown open, it disclosed a small, inner apartment, evidently doing duty as the manager’s office. Seating herself before a flat-topped oak desk, she opened an upper drawer and took from it a fat, black, cloth-covered book. Consulting it, she rose and returned with it in her hand.

“Miss Dean and Miss Macy made application for one room together, Miss Harding for a single room, provided a classmate, who expected to enter Wellesley, did not change her mind in favor of Hamilton. In that case she would occupy the room with Miss Harding. Miss Lynne applied for a single and afterward made request that Miss Warner might share it with her. Am I correct?”

The manager spoke in an alert tone, looking up with a slight sidewise slant of her head that reminded Marjorie of a bird.

“That is the way we meant it to be. I hope there have been no changes in the programme.” Jerry had constituted herself spokesman.

“None, whatever. I have a request to make of Miss Harding.” Unerringly she picked out Muriel, though Marjorie had only gone over their names to her once by way of general introduction. “Would you be willing to take a room-mate? We have so many applications for Wayland Hall to which we simply can pay no attention save to return the word ‘no room.’ This particular application of which I speak has been made by a junior, Miss Hortense Barlow. She was at Wayland Hall during her freshman year, but left here to room with a friend at Acasia House during her sophomore year. Her friend was a junior then and was therefore graduated last June. Miss Barlow is most anxious to return to this house.”

Muriel looked rather blank at this disclosure. She was not at all anxious for a room-mate, unless it were a Lookout, which was out of the question.

“I hardly know yet whether I should care to take a room-mate,” she said, with a touch of hesitation. “I will decide tonight and let you know tomorrow morning. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Perfectly, perfectly,” responded Miss Remson, and waved her hand as though urbanely to dismiss the subject. “I will show you young women to your rooms myself. Dinner, this week, is from a quarter to seven until a quarter to eight.” She repeated the information already given them by Helen Trent. “That means that no one will be admitted to the dining room after a quarter to eight. We are making special allowances now on account of returning students.”

With this she led the way out of the reception room and up the stairs. Down the hall of the second story she went, with a brisk little swishing of her black taffeta skirt that reminded Marjorie more then ever of a bird. At the last door on the left of the hall she paused.

“This is the room Miss Lynne and Miss Warner are to occupy,” she announced. “Directly across find the room Miss Macy and Miss Dean are to occupy.” She turned abruptly and indicated the door opposite. “Miss Harding’s room is on the third floor. I will conduct you to it, Miss Harding. I trust you will like your new quarters, young ladies, and be happy in them.”

Immediately she turned with “Follow me, Miss Harding,” and was off down the hall. It was a case of go without delay or lose her guide. Making a funny little grimace behind the too-brisk manager’s back, Muriel called, “See you later,” and set off in haste after Miss Remson. She had already reached the foot of the staircase leading to the third story.

“She’s the busiest busybody ever, isn’t she?” remarked Jerry. Marjorie, Ronny and Lucy at her back, she opened the door of her room and stepped over the threshold. “Hmm!” she next held forth. “This place may not be the lap of luxury, but it is not so bad. I don’t see my pet Circassian walnut set or my dear comfy old window seat, with about a thousand, more or less, nice downy pillows. Still it’s no barn. I only hope those couch beds are what they ought to be, a place on which to sleep. They’re more ornamental to a room than the regulation bed. I suppose that’s why they’re here.”

“Stop making fun of things, you goose, and let’s get the dust washed off our hands and faces before we go down to dinner. I am smudgy, and also very hungry, and it is almost seven o’clock,” Marjorie warned. “We haven’t a minute to lose. A person as methodical as Miss Remson would close the dining room door in our faces if we were a fraction of a minute late.”

“Don’t doubt it. Good-bye.” Veronica made a dive for her quarters followed by Lucy.

“You and I will certainly have to hurry,” agreed Jerry, as she returned from the lavatory nearly twenty minutes later. Marjorie, who had preceded her, was just finishing the redressing of her hair. It rippled away from her forehead and broke into shining little curls about her ears and at the nape of her neck. Her eyes bright with the excitement of new surroundings and her cheeks aglow from her recent ablutions, her loveliness was startling.

“I won’t have time to do my hair over again,” Jerry lamented. “It will have to go as it is. Are you ready? Come on, then. We’ll stop for Ronny and Lucy. What of Muriel? Last seen she was piking off after Miss Busy Buzzy. Hasn’t she the energy though? B-z-z-z-z! Away she goes. I hope she never hears me call her that. I might go to the foot of the stairway and howl ‘Muriel’ but that would hardly be well-bred.”

“She will probably stop for us. You can’t lose Muriel.” Marjorie was still smiling over Jerry’s disrespectful name for the manager. “For goodness’ sake, Jerry, be careful about calling her that. Don’t let it go further than among the Five Travelers. We understand that it is just your funny self. If some outsider heard it and you tried to explain yourself—well, you couldn’t.”

“I know that all too well, dear old Mentor. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry about me, as little Charlie Stevens says after he has run away and Gray Gables has been turned upside down hunting him. I presume that is Muriel now.” A decided rapping sent Jerry hurrying to the door. About to make some humorous remark to Muriel concerning her late hasty disappearance, she caught herself in time. Three girls were grouped outside the door but they were not the expected trio of Lookouts.