“What is it, and has it anything to do with Mary? She isn’t here, and I haven’t the faintest idea where she is.”

“It has nothing to do with Mary, but I hope Mary may be able to explain to us. Professor Arnold is in our room, and Margery is packing up everything she owns. They are going to take the five o’clock train tomorrow morning for New York. You know Professor Arnold lives there, too. She called me into my room, and spoke to me privately. She asked if I would object to rooming with you tonight, as she would like to sleep in my room herself.”

“Just as if Margery were a prisoner and she the jailer,” said Dolly, in an awe-struck tone.

“That is just about the size of it, my dear. Of course, I said I was sure you would take me in. Evidently Margery tried to slip off tonight, thinking that amid all the excitement she would not be missed. I wonder what she did!”“And they go on the five o’clock train? No Latin for us then. Professor Arnold did not intend to go, I know, until Friday. We were to have all of our regular lessons tomorrow morning.”

“We had better get to bed, or someone will be after us, even if today is an exceptional time.”

“That’s true, but where is Mary?”

“Here,” answered Mary’s own voice, as the sitting-room door opened.

“Where have you been? Give an account of yourself.”

“I have been hearing the true story of Elizabeth’s room-mate. I suppose you know by this time that she is to go home early tomorrow?”

Both girls nodded.

“After our entertainment I went upstairs to Aunt Mary’s room. We were talking, when Professor Arnold came to the door. She called Aunt Mary into the hall, and stood there for some time. I could not help hearing a part of what was said, so, when aunty came back, she told me the full story, and said that I might tell you. We are not to repeat it to the other girls, but, of course, they will be told in chapel that Miss Ainsworth has been sent home.”

“Yes, well?”

“It seems that Professor Graydon has noticed how very restless Margery has seemed this week. From several little things, she decided that Miss Ainsworth would try to slip away when we were all in the College Hall, and so she kept a careful watch on her. Patrick knew about it, too, and when he saw her slip out of the side gate and run off toward the city, he went after her. He met one of the maids and sent word back to Professor Graydon. Mrs. Carruther’s carriage was at the college, and Professor Graydon got into it and soon overtook Patrick. He was standing outside a boarding-house on Summit Avenue, looking as perplexed as he well could look. He didn’t like to go in and order Margery out; he had no right or business to do that, and, of course, it never would have done. So he just stood outside and wondered what was the right thing for him to do. I reckon” (Mary still lapsed into her favorite idioms at times) “that he was mighty glad when he saw Professor Graydon in the carriage. She rang the bell at once and asked for Miss Ainsworth. I imagine that there was a very stormy scene inside, but of course Professor Arnold was in too great a hurry to tell Aunt Mary all the details. Presently Professor Graydon came out with Margery and took her to the president’s room. They managed to get the full story out of Margery at last. It seems that there is a young lady at the boarding-house, a Miss Lampton, very proud and flashy and fast; Margery knew her in New York, and the two became quite intimate before Margery’s parents found out about it. The girl has been mixed up in several scandals. She went to Boston once in a smoking-car and smoked cigarettes all the way. You can imagine what sort of a girl she is from that.”

“I wouldn’t want to imagine,” broke in Dolly disgustedly. “How could Miss Ainsworth ever tolerate her?”

“Birds of a feather,” said Beth wisely. “But we must let Mary tell her story and then get to bed.”

“Yes, it is horribly late. Well, as soon as the Ainsworths found out the sort of girl she was, they tried to break off the intimacy, but Margery kept contriving to meet her places, and there was a brother who was just as bad–worse, in fact. So, finally, Margery was sent here to college to get her away from them. She was told not to correspond with either, but there is no surveillance on the letters here, and Margery corresponded all last year with them both, though her parents never knew it. This fall Miss Lampton decided to come here and board for a while. She had just gotten into a scrape that was a little worse than usual in New York, and I suppose she thought she had better go away till the talk blew over.”

“Has the girl no parents?”

“No, only an aunt, who acts as sort of a figurehead, and who has no control over either Miss Lampton or her brother. So she came here to board last fall, and of course wrote to Miss Ainsworth as soon as she came. That is where Beth’s room-mate has gone whenever she has disappeared in town.”

“That is certainly bad enough, but it is not as bad as I feared it might be.”“You haven’t heard the worst yet, Elizabeth. Every little while the brother came down, and at last he and Margery decided that they were in love with each other, and do you know that they had planned an elopement for this very night?”

The girls gave a cry of horror.

“Yes, that is absolutely true. If Elizabeth had not let me tell Aunt Mary, so that the faculty was on guard, you see what a dreadful thing would have happened. Now they have telegraphed to Mr. Ainsworth, and Professor Arnold will not leave Margery until she is safe with her father.”

“How dreadful it all is,” and then, despite the lateness of the hour, the girls talked the matter over until there came a light tap at their door.

Professor Arnold looked in. “We are not going to be very strict tonight with you freshmen, after you have just achieved such a triumph at your entertainment, but there is really reason in all things, and I advise you to have your light out and to be in bed within five minutes.”

“Yes’m,” three voices responded meekly, and then there was hurried scrambling and the freshmen settled down for the night.

The next afternoon saw the three girls at Dolly’s home. The following day brought Fred and his two friends, and there was a lively time until Christmas.

Christmas morning found them all down in the library, bright and early. The subject of Christmas gifts had troubled Dolly a little, because she feared lest Mary and Mr. Steele might feel that they had no part in the good times.

“You see, mamma, that I want to give Mary something as nice as I do Beth, but I know that Mary has hardly any money to spend for presents, and I do not want her to feel mean or awkward about it. And then there is Mr. Steele; he certainly cannot afford to do much in that line, either, and yet, of course, we want to remember him. What shall we do?”

“Just get what your good sense dictates, without thinking of their presents at all. You do not give for what will be given to you. You give for the pleasure of giving. Don’t think of that phase of the question. As for Mr. Steele, I feel that we owe him more than we can ever repay.”

“How so, mamma?”

“He has great influence over Fred, and he has certainly helped him to keep steady at college.”

“Oh, mamma, you do not mistrust Fred?”

“I know how much Fred likes a good time, dear. Sometimes he takes it without thinking of consequences. I rather dreaded college for him; but he is growing much more independent and self-reliant.”

“Fred is a darling, and you know it, mamma.”

“Of course, but I can see his weaknesses, and so I am glad that he has taken a liking to Robert Steele. I intend to do my best to have this Christmas one that he will like to remember.”

There could be no doubt at all but that she succeeded. There was a load of pretty remembrances for everyone. Rob Steele had been bothered somewhat, too, over the question of gifts. Fortunately, while not an artist, he had some skill with brush and pencil, and after considerable cogitating, he devoted his few spare moments to painting some dainty marine views in water colors; he had these inexpensively framed, and told himself that he would not worry; he had done the best he could, though, of course, his trifles were not to be mentioned in the same breath as the elegant presents which Martin would buy.

But on Christmas morning, Bob Steele found that his little gifts received much more attention than the handsome ones that Dick Martin had given. And even Mary Sutherland, with all her supersensitiveness, never thought of comparing the relative value of the inexpensive books she had given, with the very beautiful muff, handkerchiefs, ribbons and laces which she found in her Christmas corner.

There were no heart-burnings and no jealousies. The only drawback to the day, as Fred declared, was the thought that the party would be partially broken up on the morrow. Dick Martin was going back to Boston. Mary would join her aunt at college for a little trip, and Dolly and Beth would leave for Philadelphia. Fred grumbled considerably at such a scattering of the congenial party, but there was no help for it. Rob Steele would stay with him until Harvard reopened, and Dolly and Beth might be able to stay over night on their way back to Westover.

A moment later Dolly had been introduced to Beth’s father