It was early in March when the inter-class basketball contests ended with the championship game that resulted in a tie. Kathryn’s party was given on a Friday night, when a western blizzard had occurred and the rest of the country was surprised by a heavy snow. Memories of the bob-sleds at the Dorrance home during their freshman year came back to more than Betty Lee of the “old crowd.” Chet Dorrance had the best of excuses to make arrangements with Betty for a snow date, as he called it, and she promised to go with him and the rest on the next day after school. “Make it a regular date, Betty,” said he, “for we’ll have something doing whenever we have enough snow.”

Betty was delighted with the snow, but made no “long distance” engagements. There had not been “a decent snow all winter,” everybody claimed, and great was the enthusiasm. Great drifts edged the walks at Kathryn’s and Betty came early to help, as she had promised. She, Chauncey and Kathryn had a brilliant idea and made a big snow man on the front porch, where he would be well lit up by the porch light at the arrival of the company. “We’ll have to have something or other outdoors,” declared Chauncey, who went around behind the house to reconnoiter. Kathryn and Betty, who were flying around inside, tried to think as they filled pretty little dishes with bonbons and finished the decorations.

“It’s Chauncey’s birthday,” said Kathryn, “but he wouldn’t let me tell a soul. I don’t think the other boys know. They surely would wash his face for him in the snow if they did!”

“I’ll not betray him,” laughed Betty. “But why not have a snow fight? Listen, Gypsy. Those high piles of snow along the walk you know, why not use them and make a fort or two?”

Chauncey came in with the same idea, except that he thought the best place was in the back where snow had drifted in certain hollows. “It’ll spoil everybody’s good clothes, though,” said he. “Do you suppose the girls will come in those thin things they wear?”

“Not tonight, Chauncey, because I told some of them that we’d probably do something outdoors, and the rest will have a pretty good suspicion that we will.”

Kathryn’s party included some of the older boys and girls to whom she was indebted. Lucia, as the stranger in their midst and a good friend, was invited. Marcella and Peggy were the only other representatives of the Kappa Upsilons. Ted Dorrance was there and the junior girl to whom he was supposed to have transferred his affections since Louise Madison began to have social relations with the University men.

“Hello, Betty Lee,” said he. “I haven’t seen you except at a distance for some time. Congratulations for not letting the junior team beat you in basketball. Those girls ought to feel crushed.”

“But don’t,” added Betty. “Congratulations yourself on your own basketball record. I was so surprised when I heard you were on the team. I haven’t missed a game that was played here if I could help it. You’ve become a star.”

“According to the Lyon’s Roar,” answered Ted, in derision. “They’re hard up for somebody to write up as a star if they have to take me!”

“Your modesty is very becoming,” demurely remarked Betty, as an older girl might have done, and Ted looked again. This was a cute girl, this little sophomore. He remembered her coming to Lyon High for the first last year. Chet had her in his crowd. How would it do to take her somewhere some time?

In consequence of these impulsive thoughts, in the course of the evening’s fun Betty found Ted Dorrance beside her several times and once he asked her if she “had a date” for the next Symphony Concert.

“Why, no, though Mother and I go to some of them,” said Betty, not dreaming that Ted meant to ask her. But she was mortified at the thought of what she considered her “dumbness,” when he asked her to go with him on that coming Saturday night.

“Oh!” she said. “Why—Mother never lets me go to anything down in the city with anybody; but I think she would let me go with you.”

“I hope she will,” smiled Ted. “Let me know, Betty.”

“I will tomorrow,” said Betty, feeling uncomfortable, as girls do, for fear the boys will think them too childish. But Betty had confidence in her mother and she knew well that the ban would be off when she grew older. Oh, how wonderful to be going somewhere with Ted Dorrance! She looked so happy, though full of fun, as she helped Kathryn serve, that more than one boy looked her way and thought that Betty Lee was a “pretty girl.” Then they all put on wraps and as a final spurt of fun went out for a battle of soft snowballs, by the girls’ direction. No fort was made, for it was too late when the indoor fun was finished, but great plans were made for the following afternoon and evening, to take advantage of the winter’s one great opportunity.

And the snow man remained, to melt in a day or two into a messy heap on the porch; and an early robin cocked his head at the sight, as he stopped for the crumbs from the cake Kathryn had stuffed in the gaping mouth of the snow man. “Let’s give him a cooky,” Kathryn had said, as she and Betty laughed at Chauncey’s last artistic efforts.

Indeed, the birds were arriving all through March and April. It was baseball now, not basketball, though Betty did not play. She was devoted to the swimming in particular and was getting ready to take part in the events of a girls’ high school swimming meet, in which the swimmers from the different high schools would compete for excellence and points.

“No,” she said to Miss Fox. “Hockey and basketball were enough. I’m out for swimming, and that is all I can do, Miss Fox, if I get my lessons. Oh, of course hikes and all the points I can make when I’m not needed at home.”

“I like to hear you say that, Betty. Too many girls don’t want to help at all at home.”

“I don’t do enough,” Betty replied—“but I have a dear family and we go out together in the machine a lot.”

Going out with Ted was a great event, for Mrs. Lee said that she might, “though this is not to be taken as a regular break in our ideas,” Betty’s mother was careful to add.

“I don’t care, Mother,” said Betty, “only I wish I didn’t have to say that my mother doesn’t like to have me do it.”

“You can make your own excuses, Betty.”

“Of course. But if the boys think you don’t want to go with them it makes them mad and you won’t get asked again.”

“And that would be terrible,” laughed her mother, who had little fear but that Betty would have enough “dates” to keep her happy.

“Yes, it would,” Betty answered, but a little smile crept about her lips.

“How would it do just to say that you are allowed very few engagements, especially at night?”

“I might work out something else. You should have seen—or heard—how dumb it sounded, what I said to Ted!”

“There he is, my daughter,” said Mrs. Lee as the bell rang. Betty looked in the glass, patted a refractory lock, and walked sedately through the hall and into the front room, where Ted, all correct, in a new top-coat, and carrying hat and gloves, waited, having been admitted by Dick.

Ted rose and shook hands, as Betty entered, but said that he was late and that if she would put on her wraps he “thought they’d better start.” Mrs. Lee came in then and Betty ran back for her wraps, thankful that they were new, this year, and that her gloves were everything that could be desired. She had worn her prettiest dress and hoped that Ted, who was accustomed to taking out girls, would find nothing lacking in her ensemble.

“Betty’s beginning rather young,” said Mr. Lee thoughtfully, coming in from the garage where he had been putting in his car. “That is a good car young Dorrance is driving. Do you suppose it is his own?”

“Very likely, though I do not know, either.”

“There were some others, so I imagine it is a ‘theatre party.’”

“All the better—but I’d like to keep Betty from all that till she is older. I shall, too. She is obedient and sensible. We shall have this the exception rather than the rule.”

“I’m glad to leave it to you, Mother,” replied Mr. Lee.

“I’ll warrant,” laughed his wife.

Betty need not have worried about Ted’s superior knowledge of the ways of society. He was only a high school boy after all, and though Mrs. Dorrance had been left a widow with plenty of means, she was a woman of culture and of a certain both practical and realistic sense when it came to social affairs. Real things that mattered and not foolish forms of convention governed her and provided for her boys a certain freedom, while asking of them the ordinary courtesies and consideration of gentlemen.

Another senior boy and a senior girl were in the car, Betty found, and she was glad to settle beside the senior girl in the back seat while Ted and his old friend Harry sat in front.

The “theatre party” was a very modest one, for Betty was not led to a box. But they had good seats, well in front in the balcony, and Betty enjoyed all the little attentions that Ted knew so well how to give, though as a matter of course.

The playing of the orchestra happened to be just what Betty liked best, not so much of the musical fireworks, but the lovelier selections from the classics. Even Ted was forgotten during one number till as she leaned back with a little sigh after it was over he said, “You liked that as much as I did, didn’t you? Do you do much with your violin now?”

“Scarcely a bit,” she whispered, “but I love to hear it. How did you know I played?”

“A little bird told me,” said Ted.