"My goodness!" cried Rosalie, "I thought I knew Peggy Stewart, but the Peggy Stewart we know at Columbia Heights, and the Peggy Stewart we saw at Wilmot, and the Peggy Stewart we've found here are three different people!"

"And if you stay here long enough you'll know still another Peggy Stewart," nodded Polly sagely.

"She is a wonder no matter where you find her," said Nelly quietly, "and she grows to be more and more of a wonder the longer you know her."

"How long have you been observing this wonderful wonder?" asked Juno.

"I think Peggy Stewart has held my interest from the first moment we came to live at Severndale," was Nelly's perfectly truthful, though not wholly enlightening, answer. Juno thought the evasion intentional and looked at her rather sharply. She was more than curious to see Nelly's home and father, and wondered if the party would be invited there.

The Christmas hop, which had been a paradise within flag-draped walls for Captain Stewart's guests, was numbered among delights passed, but so many more were in store and the grand climax of the year, the New Year's eve hop, though, alack! it had to be given on the night of December thirtieth instead of the thirty-first, was looked forward to with eagerness.

The party had come out to Severndale by a special car at twelve-thirty, and a "madder, merrier" group of young people it would have been hard to find.

Upon their return to Bancroft Hall after Mrs. Harold's summary dismissal from "Middie's Haven" the previous Saturday night, Ralph, Jean Paul, Durand, Bert, Gordon and Doug had been ordered to report at the office and had it not been for the hint given at the tea, would have gone in trepidation of spirit. But it so happened that the officer in charge was possessed of a flickering memory of his own midshipman days, and his twinkling eyes and cheerful grin were reassuring. The boys all openly adored him, and even though they had dubbed him Hercules Hugh, would have formed a door mat of their bodies had he hinted a desire for it.

When the lucky six finally grasped the fact that Captain Stewart had actually obtained forty-eight hours liberty for them, and they were to go out to Severndale with the house-party, some startling things came very near taking place right in the O C's office. Luckily the favored ones restrained themselves until they reached Durand's room on the third deck, where a vent promptly presented itself, and is too good a story to leave untold.

Naturally at Christmas, innumerable boxes of "eats" are shipped to the midshipmen from all over the United States, their contents usually governed by the section of the world from which they are forwarded. New England invariably sends its quota of mince pies, roast turkeys and the viands which furnish forth a New England table at Yuletide. The South and West send their special dishes.

Durand's Aunt Belle never failed him. Each holiday found a box at Bancroft addressed to the lad who was so dear to her, and it was always regarded as public property by Durand's friends, who never hesitated to open it and regale themselves, sure that the generous owner of the "eats" would be only too glad to share with them everything he owned. But like most generous souls, Durand was often imposed upon, and this year the imposition went to the very limit. While Durand and his friends were over in Wilmot Hall his box was rifled, but it could hardly have been said to have been done by his friends, several men who had counted upon "Bubbles being a good old scout" having made way with practically everything the box contained. When he returned to his room the turkey carcass, picked clean as though buzzards had fallen upon it, rested forlornly upon its back in the middle of his study table. It was well for him that the midshipman on duty in his corridor had been one of the marauders, otherwise he would have been speedily reported for that which followed.

When the yelling, shouting bunch rushed into Durand's room they stopped short and a few expletives expressed their opinions of the pirates. But Durand's wits worked quickly. Catching up the denuded bird by its greasy neck and giving the yell of a Comanche, he rushed out into the corridor waving his weapon over his head like a war club. The man on duty at the table at the end of the corridor saw him coming and needed no further hint that his Nemesis was upon him. Regardless of duty or anything else, he bounded from his chair and fled around the corner of the corridor, the turkey carcass speeding after him with unerring aim.

Had he remained within range he would have received all and more than his share of the bird. Unluckily, a divisional officer had chosen that moment to turn into the corridor, and the turkey whizzed over his head, for he was one very tiny man. Durand did not wait to make inquiries. He had not removed cap or overcoat, a window was close at hand, the window of the adjoining room was accessible to one as agile as Durand, and the next second he was out of one and through the other, leaving his friends to make explanations.

Why it did not result in Durand and all the others losing those precious forty-eight hours of liberty, only their special guardian spirits were in a position to explain, but they kept discreetly silent. The men in Durand's room could truthfully declare that they had not had a thing to do with the launching of that extraordinary projectile and also that Durand was not in his room. It was not necessary to be too explicit, they felt, and twenty minutes later all were over at Middie's Haven, Guy Bennett and Richard Allyn, to Juno's secret disgust, having shifted into civilian clothes as was the privilege of the first classmen "on leave," the difference between "leave" and "liberty" being very great indeed. Stella, although admiring the uniforms, was tantalizingly uncritical. The girls could never quite understand Stella's lack of enthusiasm over the midshipmen.

And so had passed that joyful evening of the Christmas hop, the biggest surprise of all awaiting them up at Round Bay upon the arrival of the car at that station.

Nearly every horse and vehicle at Severndale had been pressed into service to carry its guests from the station, and mounted on Shashai and Star, Jess having brought them home for the holidays, were Happy and Wheedles.

They had been unable to leave their ships as soon as Shorty, so taking a later train had gone directly to Severndale. Their welcome by Peggy and Polly was a royal one. When the party arrived at Severndale another surprise greeted it as a very fat, very much-at-home Boston bull-terrier came tumbling down the steps to greet them. To all but Polly he was an alien and a stranger. Polly paused just one second, then cried as she gathered the little beast into her arms, regardless of the evening wrap she was wearing:

"Oh, Rhody! Rhody! who brought you?"

As though to answer her question, Rhody rolled his pop-eyes toward Wheedles.

Of the happy Sunday and happier Christmas day space is too limited to tell. At five P. M. Durand, Ralph, Jean Paul, Bert, Gordon and Doug were obliged to bid their hostesses adieu and return to Annapolis, but each day of Christmas week held its afternoon informal dance at the auditorium, to which Mrs. Harold escorted her party, the mornings being given over to work by the midshipmen, and to all manner of frolicing out at Severndale by Happy, Wheedles, and Shortie, who seemed to have returned to their fun-loving, care-free undergraduate days.

Yet how the boys had changed in their seven months as passed-midshipmen. Although full of their fun and pranks, running Peggy and Polly unmercifully, showing many little courtesies to Nelly whom all had grown to love during the old days, and playing the gay gallants to the other girls, there was a marked change from the happy-go-lucky Wheedles, the madcap Happy, and the quaint, odd Shortie of Bancroft days.

But Shortie's interest was unquestionably centered on one golden-haired little lady, and many a long ride did they take through the lovely country about Severndale. Captain Stewart watched proceedings with a wise smile. Gail and Shortie were prime favorites of his.

Happy and Wheedles had to do duty for many during the morning hours, but the girls' especial escorts were punctual to the minute when the launch from Severndale ran up to the Maryland Avenue float at three-forty-five each afternoon, and they had no cause to complain of a lack of attention, for many beside those who had been invited to Severndale were eager for dances with little gypsy Rosalie, tall, stately Stella, winsome Natalie, shy Marjorie or the scornful Juno, whose superiority was considered a big joke.

During their week in Annapolis Helen and Lily Pearl had made tremendous strides in a certain way. Foxy Grandpa had met a gushing, gracious widow, who made Wilmot her home. That the lady's hair was of a shade rarely produced by nature, and her complexion as unusual as her innumerable puffs and curls, Foxy Grandpa was too dull of sight and mind to perceive. He had gone through life somewhat side-tracked by more brilliant, interesting people, and to find someone who flattered him and fluttered about him with the coyness of eighteen years, when three times eighteen would hardly have sufficed to number her milestones, went to the old gentleman's head like wine, and he became Mrs. Ring's slave to the vast amusement of everyone in Wilmot.

And Mrs. Ring promptly took Helen and Lily Pearl under her chaperonage, introduced her son, a midshipman, to them, who in turn introduced his room-mate, and a charming sextet was promptly formed. Poor Mrs. Vincent was likely to have some lively experiences as the result of that Christmas holiday, for Paul Ring and Charles Purdy were one rare pair of susceptible simpletons, if nothing worse.

And so passed the week at Severndale for Mrs. Harold's party, Peggy once more the gracious little chatelaine, sure of herself and entertaining her guests like a little queen, a perfect wonder to the other girls. Polly was happy as a grig, and all the others equally so. The older people rejoiced in this rare reunion, and Captain Stewart each day grew more devoted to his "Howland bunch" as he called them. The three girls openly adored him, and dainty, quiet little Mrs. Howland beamed upon everyone, little guessing how often the good Captain's eyes rested upon her when she was unaware of it, or how he was learning to esteem the mother of the three young girls whom he pronounced "jewels of the purest water."

But that lies in the future. It is once more Saturday morning and once more a big dance is pending to which all are going.

This time Shortie was taking Gail, Wheedles had asked Stella, Happy was looking after Juno, Polly would go with Ralph, Peggy with Durand, Rosalie would have cried her eyes out had any one save Jean Paul been her gay gallant, Natalie was Bert's charge, Marjorie and big Doug had become good chums, and, of course, Gordon Powers had made sure of Nelly's company.

As this was to be the most magnificent affair of the holiday season, it had been decided to drive into Annapolis directly after luncheon, attend a matinee to be given at the one funny little theatre the town boasted, and for which Mrs. Harold had secured three stalls in order to include "the bunch," then to go to Wilmot to dine and dress, Mammy, Harrison and Jerome having been intrusted with the transportation of the suitcases containing the evening finery.

All went merry as a marriage bell. When the matinee ended the boys were sent to the right about and the girls hurried to their rooms to make their toilets, for a six-thirty dinner had been ordered and everybody would be present.

As the girls, excepting Stella and Gail, were all under seventeen, and still to make their formal bows to the big social world, their gowns were all of short, dancing length, Juno's excepted. Juno was a good deal of a law unto herself in the matter of raiment. Her father supplied her with all the spending money she asked for, and charge accounts at several of the large New York shops and at a fashionable modiste's, completed her latitude. There would be very little left for Juno to arrive at when she made her dÉbut.

There was no time for comment or correction when the girls emerged from their rooms to accompany the older people to the dining-room, but at sight of Juno's gown Mrs. Harold's color grew deeper, and for a moment her teeth pressed her lower lip as though striving to hold back her words. Juno and Rosalie shared one room but Rosalie had known nothing of the contents of Juno's suitcase until it came time for them to dress, then her black eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets, for certainly Juno's gown was a startling creation for a school-girl.

Needless to add, the one which she was supposed to have taken to Annapolis had been replaced by the present one at the last moment, and Mrs. Vincent was not even aware that Juno possessed such a gown as the one she was then wearing.

It was a beautiful pearl white charmeuse, cut low in front and with a V in the back which clearly testified to the fact that the wearer was not afflicted with spinal curvature. Its trimmings were of exquisite lace and crystals sufficiently elaborate for a bride, and the skirt was one of the clinging, narrow, beaver-tailed train affairs which render walking about as graceful as the gait of a hobbled-horse, and dancing an utter impossibility unless the gown is held up. It was a most advanced style, out-Parisianing the Parisian. When Juno prepared to get into it, even Rosalie, charming beyond words in a pink chiffon, had cried:

"Why, Juno Gibson, it's lucky for you Mrs. Vincent isn't here. You'd never go to the hop in that dress."

"Well, she isn't here, so calm yourself."

But the climax came as they were crossing Wilmot's reception hall on their way up from dinner. Mrs. Harold was walking just behind her flock, Peggy with her, fully conscious of the tension matters had assumed, for modest little Peggy had been too closely associated with Polly and Mrs. Harold not to have stored away considerable rational worldly knowledge and some very sane ideas.

As they were about to ascend the stairs Juno with well affected indifference caught up her train, thereby revealing the latest idiosyncrasy of the feminine toilet. She wore silver slippers and black silk tights and had quite dispensed with petticoats. The stage and the Hotel Astor had developed Juno's knowledge of la mode en rÈgle at a galloping pace.

Some of the girls gave little gasps, and amused smiles flitted across the faces of the people within range. Mrs. Harold colored to her forehead.

When they reached her corridor she said to Juno:

"Little girl, will you come into my room a moment?'

"Certainly, if you wish it, Mrs. Harold," was the reply in a tone which meant that Juno had instantly donned her armor of repulsion

Seating herself upon a low chair, Mrs. Harold drew a hassock to her side, motioning Juno to it. The seat might have been accepted with a better grace. Mrs. Harold took the lovely, rebellious face in both her hands, pressed her lips to the frowning forehead, and said gently:

"Honey, smoothe them out, please, and, remember that what I am about to say to you is said because Peggy's and Polly's friends are mine and I love them. Yes, and wish them to learn to love me if possible. Nothing is dearer to me than my young people and I long to see all that is best and finest developed in them. You have come to me as a guest, dear, but you have also come to me as my foster-daughter pro tem, and as such, claim my affectionate interest in your well-being. Mother and daughter are precious names."

There was a slight pause, in which Juno gave an impatient toss of her handsome head and asked in a bitterly ironical voice:

"Are they? I am afraid I'm not very well prepared to judge."

Mrs. Harold looked keenly at the girl, a light beginning to dawn upon her, though she had heard little of Juno's history.

"Dear heart, forgive me if I wounded you. It was unintentional. I know nothing of earlier experiences, you know. You are just Polly's friend to me. Perhaps some day, if you can learn to love and trust me, you will let me understand why I have wounded. That is for another time and season. Just now we have but a few moments in which to 'get near' each other, as my boys would say, and I am going to make a request which may displease you. My little girl, will you accept some suggestions regarding your toilet?"

"I dare say you think it is too grown-up for me. I know I'm not supposed to wear a low gown or a train."

"I'm afraid I should be tempted to say the gown had been sent to you before it had grown-up enough," smiled Mrs. Harold. "And certainly some of its accessories must have been overlooked or forgotten altogether."

"Why, nobody wears anything but tights under a ball gown nowadays. How would it fit with skirts all bunched up under it? As to the neck, it is no lower than one sees at the opera at home. I know a dozen people who wear gowns made in exactly the same way, and Madam Marie would expire if I did not follow her dictates—why, she would never do a bit more work for me."

"Then I beg of you, outrage the lady's ideas forthwith, for—" Mrs. Harold laid her hand upon Juno's—"no dressmaker living should have the power to place a refined, modest little girl in a false position, or lower her womanly standards and ideals. Not only hers, dear, but what is vastly more far-reaching, the ideals of the boys and men with whom she is thrown. You are too young to fully appreciate this; you could hardly interpret some of the comments which are sure to be made upon the ballroom floor from those who are somewhat lacking in finer feeling; nor can you gauge the influence a truly modest girl—I do not mean an ignorantly prudish one, for a limited knowledge of the facts of life is a dangerous thing—has over such lads as you meet."

"You have a beautiful hand, dear," continued Mrs. Harold, taking Juno's tapering, perfectly manicured fingers in hers. "It is faultless. Make it as strong as faultless, for remember—nothing has greater power figuratively. You hold more in this pretty hand than equal franchise can ever confer upon you. See that right now you help to make the world purer—your sisters who would have the ballot are using this crying need as their strongest argument—by avoiding in word or deed anything which can dethrone you in the esteem of the other sex, whether young or mature, for you can never know how far-reaching it will prove. You think I am too sweeping in my assertion? That you never have and never could do anything to invite criticism? Dear heart, not intentionally, I know, but in the very fact that you are innocent of the influence which—say such a gown as you are now wearing, for an illustration—may have, lies the harm you do. If you fully understand you would sooner go to the hop tonight gowned in sackcloth; of this I am certain."

For a moment Juno did not speak. This little human craft was battling with conflicting currents and there seemed no pilot in sight. Then she turned suddenly and placing her arms about Mrs. Harold, laid her head upon the shoulder which had comforted so many and began to sob softly.

"My little girl! My dear, dear little girl, do not take it so deeply to heart. I did not mean to wound you so cruelly. Forgive me, dear."

"You haven't wounded me. It isn't that. But I—I—don't seem to know where I'm at. No one has ever spoken to me in this way. I'm often scolded and lectured and stormed at, but no one cares enough to make me understand. Please show me how. Please tell me. It seems like a glimpse into a different world."

"First let me dry the tears I have been the cause of bringing to your eyes—if my boys see traces of them I shall be brought to an account. Then we will remedy what might have done harm."

As she spoke Mrs. Harold took a bit of absorbent cotton, soaked it in rose water and bathed the lovely soft, brown eyes. Juno smiled up at her, then nestled against her, again.

"My new little foster-daughter," said Mrs. Harold, kissing the velvety cheeks.

"'It's beauty, truly blent, whose red and white,
Nature's own sweet and cunning hand laid on.'

Keep it so—it needs no aid—we shall learn to know each other better. You will come again—yes, often—and where I can help, count upon me—always? And now I'll play maid."

Ten minutes later when Juno entered the living-room, an exquisite bit of Venetian lace filled in the V at the back of the bodice; the softest white maline edged the front, and when, she raised her train a lace petticoat which any girl would have pronounced "too sweet for words" floated like sea-foam about her slender ankles.

No comments were made and all set forth for the hop. And was the experiment a red letter one? Well!