“To go, or not to go?—that is the question,” paraphrased Marjorie Dean glancing up from the open letter in her hand. She fixed her eyes on Jerry Macy, her room-mate as though trying to read what was in her chum’s mind.

Jerry aptly supplied.

“Fine, Jeremiah. I certainly would love to roost on the Deans’ family tree for four blessed days.” Marjorie’s voice rang with wistfulness. “I’ve tried to persuade myself into believing that it won’t make much difference to the dormitory girls if we decide we’d best go home for Thanksgiving. But I’m not sure.” Marjorie knitted troubled brows. “This is the tenth,” she reflected aloud. “Whether we go home, or whether we stay on the campus over Thanksgiving, we’ve enough to do beforehand to keep us hustling.” She sprang up from her chair as though animated anew by the mere recollection of work yet to be done.

“Why remind me, beautiful Bean? I’m sadly aware of the fact. What we must do is organize the new Travelers’ sorority and let them see the dormitory girls through Thanksgiving. If they do nicely,” Jerry continued in patronizing tones, “their reward’ll be more work, and lots of it. If they flivver—but they won’t. We old Travelers knew how to pick out our successors. We’re safe to go home and leave our Thanksgiving stunts to our little Traveler sisters to carry out. Ha; great intellect!” Jerry admiringly patted one of her own plump shoulders. “You always do suggest such brilliant ideas, Jeremiah,” she gushed.

“How conceited you are! Still, there’s a grain of wisdom in your vain remarks.” Marjorie patted Jerry’s other shoulder. “I hereby confer upon you the high and noble order of the pat,” she declared in a deep pompous voice. She accompanied her words with several pats, each one more forceful than the last.

“The hard and croo-il order of the whack, I’ll say.” Jerry caught the conferring hand in time to save herself one last thump. “Now that I’ve been initiated into this wonderful order what happens to me next?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute. Let me think.” Marjorie fixed absent eyes on Jerry as she considered the situation. “You’re to go downstairs and telephone Kathie and Lillian to come over to dinner at the Hall this evening. If they can’t come to dinner, then they must come afterward. Tell them the time has come to open the box. That will bring them.”

“You bet it will,” Jerry made slangy concurrence.

“Then I’ll depend on you to hunt Leila, Vera, Ronny, Lucy and Muriel. They’re not to dare think of another engagement.”

“Yessum.” Jerry made a respectful, bobbing bow to Marjorie. “Please, mum, may I ask what you’ll be doing, mum, about the same time I’m rushing upstairs and down?”

“I’m going over to Silverton Hall,” Marjorie returned as she crossed the room to her dress closet and reached for coat and fur cap. “I’ll see Robin, Phil and Barbara; bring them back to dinner, if I can. Thank fortune Barbara is at Silverton Hall this year instead of Acasia House. I’ll be back by five o’clock. It’s ten minutes to four now.”

“Then you’ll have to go some,” Jerry said skeptically. “If you are back here with those three girls by six o’clock I’ll give you a prize. Remember, you can’t stay to dinner at Silverton Hall. We’ve Kathie and Lillian to consider.”

“The prize is as good as won. What are you going to give me?” Marjorie’s inquiry was slyly coaxing. She sidled confidently up to Jerry.

“Never mind now.” Jerry waved her away. “Come back at five o’clock and ask me.”

“I will. I’m going z-i-p-p across the campus. Just like that!” Marjorie made a lightning forward pass with one arm. “I’m going to have a wind sail. There’s a dandy stiff wind blowing today. Mary Raymond and I used to take our school umbrellas when we were little girls and go out on a windy day with them. It was a regular game. We named it ‘wind sails.’ We’d let the wind blow us along. Sometimes the umbrellas would turn inside out, or the wind would whisk them away from us and we’d have to chase them a long way. Once mine blew into the river, and once a big boy caught Mary’s umbrella and ran off with it. We never saw either of those bumbershoots again.”

Marjorie paused at the door to laugh at the recollection of childhood adventures. “Oh, Jerry,” she changed the subject with sudden abruptness, “we’ll have to dig up some eats for a spread. Whoever dreamed of gathering in the Travelers without feeding them?”

“I’ll ask Leila to run us into town for eats as soon as you come back. That’s an incentive to hurry,” bribed Jerry.

“There are times when I can’t help appreciating you, Jeremiah. Good-bye. I’m in such a hurry.” Marjorie breezily closed the door and made a speedy descent of the stairs.

She opened the massive front door of the Hall with the same gusty energy, and went down the front steps at a frisky jump. The brisk November wind caught her none too gently, blew a fluff of curls about her sparkling face and a brighter color into her rosy cheeks. She paused for an instant on the drive to inhale deeply the crisp, invigorating November air, then she set off across the campus at her best hiking stride.

With the wind at her back, noisily urging her along, she laughed enjoyingly, spread her arms wide in lieu of sails and ran with it. Passing a little delegation of lingering robins, strung along a tree limb, their feathers fluffed out, their red breasts making a bit of autumn color against the brown limb, she whistled cheerily to them.

“Naughty little fellows,” she playfully chided. “You should have started for the land of flowers long before now. You’ll have to hurry if you expect to get there in time to eat Thanksgiving dinner with your folks. I ought to take that advice to myself.”

Bump! Her eyes still lingering on the flock of birds, she collided forcefully with a girl who had deliberately courted collision. Muriel Harding, emerging from the library, had spied Marjorie from the library steps. Her mischievous love of teasing always uppermost, she had approached Marjorie unseen, bent on surprising her.

“Uh-h-h!” Muriel pretended to stagger back. “Why don’t you look where you’re going, lady?” she demanded gruffly.

“Why don’t you?” The two girls faced each other, flushed and laughing.

“I did. I decided to let you know I was near you,” confessed Muriel. “If you had been moderately observing you might have averted the crash.”

“I doubt it.” Marjorie looked her skepticism.

“So do I,” Muriel agreed so amiably that the pair again broke into laughter.

“You’d best come with me,” Marjorie invited. “Jerry’s hunting for you, but that’ll be all right. I’ve found you.” She went on to explain her errand to Silverton Hall. “Forward, march,” she concluded, taking hold of Muriel’s right arm. “Step lively. I’ve lost at least three precious minutes exchanging mostly impolite remarks with you.”

“I’ll hit up a pace,” Muriel slangily assured. “I’m nothing if not obliging. It’s fortunate for you that you met me. I am always so helpful.” Her brown eyes danced roguishly. “You must know that.”

“I’ve heard you say so.” Marjorie was purposely vague. “If I had been even moderately observing I might have noticed that you were. That is, if you really——”

“Why dwell on the subject? This is the way the wild wind goes.” She began whisking Marjorie over the half frozen ground at a mad run. Marjorie sturdily kept up with her. The two girls tore across the campus toward their goal, shrieking with laughter, bubbling over with high spirits.

They were nearing Craig Hall, one of the campus houses which they had to pass on their diagonal route to Silverton Hall, when the front door of the house opened and two young women came out on the veranda, then descended the steps. Evidently their ears caught the sounds of mirth emanating from the pair of exuberant P. G.’s. Two pairs of eyes, one pair coldly green, the other small, black and shrewd, immediately fastened on Marjorie and Muriel.

“Look who’s here. Keep right on going,” Muriel muttered in Marjorie’s ear. She nodded to one of the two girls who had come from Craig Hall and were now within a few feet of her and Marjorie. Her nod was courteous rather than friendly. The response she received was a stiff inclination from Doris Monroe’s golden head.

Marjorie had obeyed Muriel’s muttered direction. For the barest instant her clear, truthful gaze met, impersonally, the narrowing, hostile eyes of Leslie Cairns. She then glanced serenely away from Leslie. She had long since ceased to regard Leslie Cairns with personal displeasure. This in spite of the ex-student’s treacherous attempt to frustrate her and Robin Page’s plans in the matter of the buying of the dormitory site.

As for Doris Monroe, Marjorie had been rebuffed by chilling looks on three different occasions when she had encountered and spoken to the haughty sophomore. She now claimed the privilege of one repeatedly ignored, to ignore in return. She had not given up the idea of carrying out a certain gracious little plan she had in mind to further the popularity of her beautiful “fairy-tale princess.” Marjorie was too great of spirit to harbor resentment against Doris Monroe, simply because Doris did not like her. Instead she found herself experiencing the anxiety of one who had suddenly encountered a friend in a dangerous position.