The session between the Thanksgiving and Christmas vacation always seemed a brief one, filled as it is with plans for the latter holiday.

When the Thanksgiving holiday was over Beverly and the boys went back to their respective schools under Admiral Seldon’s escort. At least he went as far as Front Royal with Athol and Archie, leaving them at that point to go on by themselves while he accompanied Beverly to Leslie Manor. He was minded to have a few words with Miss Woodhull and know something more of the lady’s character than he already knew. The outcome of that interview left a good deal to be desired upon the Admiral’s part. He returned to Woodbine “with every gun silenced,” and the lady triumphant in her convictions that her methods of conducting a school for girls were quite beyond criticism. It would be utterly impossible for Beverly to even think of visiting her brother at Kilton Hall, she said, nor could she consent to Athol visiting Leslie Manor. She did not wish to establish a precedent. As to Archie ever coming there, that idea was preposterous. Why every boy for miles around would feel at liberty to call upon her pupils and they would be simply besieged. She had conducted her school successfully for many years under its present methods and until she saw more cogent reasons for changing she should continue to do so.

Had not the Admiral made arrangements for the year it is safe to surmise that Beverly would have returned to Woodbine with him, and his frame of mind, and the remarks to which he gave utterance, as he drove back to the junction, elicited more than one broad grin or chuckle from Andrew J. Jefferson as he drove. But Beverly did not know anything about it.

So the weeks sped by until the Christmas recess drew near and the girls were once more planning to scatter, far and wide, for their two-weeks holiday.

Now be it known that Petty had returned from her Thanksgiving trip to Annapolis in a more sentimental frame of mind than ever, and filled as full of romance as an egg is of meat.

Each day brought a letter always addressed in a feminine handwriting, to be sure, or there would have been little chance of said letter ever reaching Petty. They were, she confided to every girl in the school under strictest promises of secrecy, re-addressed for “Reggy” by “darling mamma,” for mamma, knowing how desperate was their devotion to each other, just simply could not help acting as a go-between. And she knew very well too that she, Petty, would not have remained at school a single day unless she did this. Why, mamma, herself, had eloped with papa before she was sixteen. One whole year younger than she, herself, was at that moment. “Wasn’t that romantic?”

“Where is papa now?” asked Beverly. She had never heard him mentioned.

“Oh, why—well—he has business interests which keep him in South America nearly all the time, and—er,”

“Oh, you needn’t go into details. It doesn’t make any difference to me,” said Beverly, and walked away with Sally.

“Isn’t she odious! And so perfectly callous to sentiment,” cried Petty.

“She’s a dear, and it’s a pity you hadn’t a small portion of her common sense,” championed Aileen emphatically.

“I have sense enough to be engaged before I’m seventeen, and to know what it means to be embraced, which is more than any other girl in this school can boast,” brindled Petty.

“Well, I should hope it is!” was Aileen’s disgusted retort. “And if you don’t watch out you’ll boast just once too often and Miss Woodhull will get wise to your boasting. Then there will be something stirring unless I’m mighty mistaken.”

“Pouf! Who cares for Miss Woodhull? I don’t believe she ever had a proposal in all her life.”

“Well, you’d better be careful,” was Aileen’s final warning as she left the half-dozen girls of which Petty formed the bright particular star.

“Those three feel themselves so superior yet they are such children,” was Petty’s withering remark.

Aileen was two months her junior. Sally less than a year and Beverly exactly fifteen months. But being engaged very naturally developes and broadens one’s views of life. Dear “Reggie” was just twenty, and had his lady love but known that interesting fact, had already been “engaged” to three other susceptible damsels during his brief sojourn upon the earth. Moreover, he was openly boasting of it to his fellow midshipmen and regarding it as a good joke. Oh, Reggie was a full-fledged, brass-buttoned heart-breaker. Happily he was not a representative among his companions. Most of them are gentlemen. They can do a good bit of “fussing” as they term it, but this wholesale engagement business is the exception, rather than the rule.

Nevertheless, Petty had sang of the charms of Annapolis until all her set were wild to go there, and her enthusiasm had spread like chickenpox. If the affairs at Annapolis were all Petty pictured them and the midshipmen as fascinating, the place must, indeed, be a sort of Paradise.

Of course, all the girls knew that Beverly was a real, true Admiral’s grandniece. That he had left Annapolis upon his graduation to take sides with his native state. So why had Beverly never been to that alluring place?

Beverly had never given Annapolis a thought. Now, however, she meant to know a few facts regarding it, and while home on her vacation learned a number. She also learned that sometime in the spring, during the Easter holiday, possibly, her uncle might take her and the boys to Washington and while stopping in the capital, visit the old town which lay adjacent to the Naval Academy Reservation.

Upon her return after the Christmas recess Beverly made some casual allusion to this fact, and at once started a new and livelier interest. Why couldn’t a party of girls be chaperoned there by one of the teachers, choosing the same time?

In five minutes it was all planned. But they had Miss Woodhull to reckon with, and Easter was still many weeks ahead on the calendar.

When not long after came the mid-year examinations. The girls had been working hard all the week and were tired. Examinations had ended the day before and they had about reached the limit for that week. February was the month most dreaded of all the eight. The last period of each day was twelve to one, the juniors had history and English literature under Miss Baylis. Now Miss Baylis at her very best was not a restful individual with whom to come in touch, and after a long morning of hard work and the growing hunger of healthy appetites for food for the body rather than for the mind, the girls did not find “a barbed tongue” and a caustic disposition soothing.

English literature as taught by Miss Baylis was not inspiring to say the least, and the half hour devoted to it had not aroused enthusiasm. Then came the second half hour for English history; Miss Woodhull believing it well to take up the kindred subject while the girl’s minds were well imbued with the first one. Just as Miss Baylis was about to begin she was summoned from the recitation room by Miss Forsdyke.

“Take your books and refresh your memories for a moment or two: I shall be back immediately, and I hope you will employ this special privilege in studying diligently. You in particular, Electra, for you certainly did not make a brilliant showing in your literature recitation. Remember I shall expect you to redeem yourself in history, for the periods are identical,” was her admonition as she went toward the door. As she was about to pass through it, she paused to repeat her words. Sally yawned behind her book. As the door closed Petty’s inevitable “tee-hee-hee” was audible. The next second the door was hastily opened.

“I hope,” and Miss Baylis’ suspicious eyes were upon her charges. Then she vanished. Naturally someone else tittered.

Barely five minutes passed and when she returned her first words were:

“I hope—” then she paused for a smile appeared upon every face bringing the abstracted lady back to earth. It was Beverly who asked innocently: “Excuse me, Miss Baylis, but did you tell us to begin our literature papers at the ninety-fifth line of Pope’s Essay on Man: ‘Hope springs eternal’?”

“We ended our literature recitation ten minutes ago, Beverly. If you were so inattentive as to miss what I said that is your misfortune,” was the austere retort. Nevertheless, the shot had told.

Ten more minutes of the period slipped by, nay, crawled by, in which Miss Baylis darting from one victim to another bent upon reaching their vulnerable points. Then it came, Electra Sanderson’s turn to recite.

Now Electra Sanderson was distinctly of the nouveau riche. She came from an eastern city where money is the god of things. Why her father, a kindly soul who had risen from hod carrier to contractor, happened to choose Leslie Manor for his youngest daughter must remain one of the unanswered questions. Perhaps “mommer” made the selection on account of the name which had appealed to her. Manors or manners were all one to her. At any rate, Electra (christened Ellen) was a pupil at Miss Woodhull’s very select school. A big, good-natured, warm-hearted, generous, dull slouchy girl of seventeen, who never could and never would “change her spots,” but was inevitably destined to marry someone of her own class, rear a flourishing family and settle down into a commonplace, good-natured matron, Leslie Manor nevertheless, and notwithstanding. Miss Woodhull and her staff might polish until exhausted. The only result would be the removal of the plating and the exposure of the alloy beneath.

Electra didn’t care a whoop for the old fogies who had lived and ruled in England generations before she was born. Indeed, she would not have wept had England and all the histories ever written about her disappeared beneath the sea which surrounded that country. What she wanted now was to get out of that classroom and into the dining room visible from the window near which she was sitting, and through which she gazed longingly, for there could be found something tangible. Her thoughts had been in the dining room for the past five minutes, consequently she was not aware that Sally had surreptitiously reached toward her from the seat behind, laid hold of about eighteen inches of the lacing of her Peter Thomson (dangling as usual) and while Petty Gaylord, sitting next Sally, was secretly reading a letter concealed behind her book, had made fast Electra’s Peter Thomson lacing to Petty’s boot lacing, likewise adrift, and then soberly awaited developments.

Sally could manage to do more things unobserved than any other girl in the school, though she had found a fair rival in Beverly.

Thus lay the train “of things as they ought (not) to be” when Miss Baylis fired her first shot at poor Electra.

“Electra suppose you return to this world of facts,—you seem to be in dreamland at present—and tell me who brought a rather unpleasant notoriety upon himself at this period.”

Electra returned to England and English affairs at a bound. But to which period was Miss Baylis referring? Electra had not the ghost of an idea but would make a stab at it any way.

“Why-er-oh, it was-er-the man who made extensive use of bricks in the House of Commons,” she ventured at random.

“What?” demanded Miss Baylis, utterly bewildered.

“Yes, ma’am. I mean yes, Miss Baylis. I can’t remember his name but he did. I learned that by heart last night at study period,” staunchly asserted Electra, sure for once in her life of her point, for hadn’t she read those very words?

“Of ‘bricks’?” repeated Miss Baylis.

“Yes m—, Miss Baylis.”

Miss Baylis’ eyes snapped as much as any pair of colorless blue eyes set too close together can snap. One of the many hopeless tasks which she had undertaken with Electra had been to banish from her vocabulary that impossible “ma’am”, yet like Banquo’s ghost it refused to be laid.

“Open your book at that page and read the sentence,” commanded the history teacher.

Electra obediently did as bidden and read glibly.

“‘He made extensive use of——’” and just there came to an embarrassed halt as a titter went around the schoolroom.

“Silence!” Miss Baylis’ tone of voice did not encourage levity. “Well?” she interrogated crisply.

“It’s bribes, Miss Baylis,” said poor Electra, covered with confusion and blushes.

“Exactly. The greatest simpleton would understand that. Are you more familiar with bricks than bribes?” It was a cruel thrust under the circumstances, and Miss Baylis had the grace to blush at the look of scorn which darted from Beverly’s eyes straight into her own and the curl which Aileen’s lips held. But even a worm may turn, and for once Miss Baylis was taken off her feet by having Electra reply: “I guess it’s more honest to be.”

“Good!” came from someone, but Miss Baylis thought it wiser to ignore it.

“You may stand and read that sentence five times. Perhaps it may percolate after so doing.”

Electra, still smarting under the sting of Miss Baylis’ sarcasm rose hastily, and with her as hastily rose Petty’s foot to a horizontal position, encountering in its ascent the rung of Electra’s chair and toppling it over with a crash.