But after all there was no mystery concerning the time when Eleanor Burgess was to arrive at the seminary, for she appeared, bag and baggage, on the second day after the visit which Mrs. Martin and Virginia had made to the supposedly deserted house.

The physician’s wife was eager to get away from the wet, cold, Boston winter and into the golden, warm climate of southern Italy, and as she had no friend whose companionship she more enjoyed than that of the overweary mother of Eleanor Burgess, she was happy indeed when she heard that her dream-plan was to become a realization and that, within a fortnight.

Mrs. Warren accompanied her husband from Boston on his return trip, two days later, and after having taken Eleanor to the seminary, the luxurious automobile, with its non-skid tires that defied snow-banks, bore the three older people away to the city and left a girl whose heart was filled with mingled sentiments of gladness and sorrow.

It would be a long, long while, she knew, before the mother, who was dearest in all the world to her, would return. But she was more content as she pictured what that mother would look like after three months of carefree existence, just resting and basking under sunny Italian skies.

“What wonderful friends the Warrens are to us,” the girl thought as she lifted the knocker of quaint design. The door was opened by the pleasant-faced Delia, and Mrs. Martin, chancing to leave her office at that moment, held out both hands to the newcomer.

“Dear Eleanor,” she said, “how glad I am that you came today. Little Miss Rose is impatient to be away, but she wanted to remain until she could explain to you about her babies, all of whom she loves, as she is sure that you will, also. But first you must go to your room.”

The principal noted an eager brightening of the girl’s face as she looked up inquiringly. “Are you wondering with whom you are to room?” Mrs. Martin asked.

“I was hoping that it might be with Virginia Davis, but I suppose that someone else is with her.”

Mrs. Martin had planned giving Eleanor the Tower Room, which was still unoccupied, but she recalled its remoteness, and fearing that Eleanor might be lonely there, she at once decided to go to Virginia and ask if she would like the new pupil to take Winona’s place until that maiden might return, if, indeed, she came back at all.

Excusing herself, Mrs. Martin went to one of the classrooms and stepped within. After consulting a moment with Virginia, she returned, saying with her kindly smile, “Your wish is to be granted.” Then to Delia, “Will you go with Miss Burgess to the southeast corner room?”

Virginia could hardly wait until the class was dismissed to hasten upstairs and greet her new roommate. Eleanor was standing at the window which overlooked the sea when she heard the door open. She turned quickly and walked toward the girl who had entered, hands outstretched. “Isn’t it all wonderful,” she exclaimed, “and just like a story in a book? Mother is to have the rest and change that she needs, and I am to have my opportunity to learn to write and draw, and be independent at the same time.” Then leaning over impulsively she kissed Virg as she said sincerely. “It was mighty nice of you to let me be your roommate.”

“Eleanor,” Virginia said, “I’m just looking forward to our free evenings. We both like the same things and that, I am sure, is the secret of true comradeship.”

That afternoon the new teacher of the primary pupils began her duties, and she reported, when she returned to Apple Blossom lane, that she just adored the babies (there were five of them, and the oldest was seven, while the youngest was but four and a half), and if only she could have a letter from her mother every other day, at least, she was sure that she would be the happiest girl in all the school.

At the afternoon free period Virginia threw Winona’s warm-colored blanket over her head, for it had been a parting gift from the Indian maid to her schoolmate of many years, and, with a bundle of papers under her arm, she followed the path that was shoveled deep between snow banks, until it reached the shelter of the grove, and there, in many places, were pine needles on the ground that was but slightly covered with snow.

Miss Torrence was eagerly awaiting the editress of The Manuscript Magazine. “Herein lies our only hope,” Virginia said when her English teacher had led her in to the sunny little den where she spent many hours planning lessons for the girls, reading or writing. Now and then a poem by Miss Torrence appeared in a current magazine, to the delight of her girls.

The teacher smiled as she took the bundle of papers.

“Three stories and two poems, you say; and from them we may choose material for our first Manuscript Magazine? Thank you for bringing them. I will let you know tomorrow, Virginia, what I think of them.”

The girl, as was her wont, stopped a moment in the sunny living room to chat with the dear little old lady who liked nothing better than to have one of the pupils from the seminary tell her of their merry or busy life. “It gives me something pleasant to think over for quite a time,” she often said. But best of all, she liked to have Virginia visit with her, and then their talk was not of the school, but of the desert, and the little old lady’s eyes would glow as she would retell, time and again, the story of her journey across the plains with her father and mother in a prairie schooner. And Virginia would listen, at each telling, as though it were the first time she had heard it.

“She is such a nice girl,” the old lady would invariably tell her daughter, when Virg was gone. “I like the others, but some way I like her best.”

“Virginia is unselfish. She is sincerely interested in whatever interests others, and few girls are that,” Miss Torrence would reply.

At that same time Kathryn Von Wellering had called a meeting of her “Exclusive Three.”