It was nearly the middle of March before a big bundle of printed Manuscript Magazines appeared at Vine Haven. Dean Craig did not bring it himself as the melting snow and frequent rains had made the cross country roads almost impassible, and so he had sent it by express, via Boston, which greatly lengthened its journey. Micky O’Brien was sent to the village to obtain it and great was the excitement in the library of the seminary when Miss Torrence assembled all the girls who were chiefly interested to be present at the official opening of the bundle.

“Oh Virg, doesn’t your name look perfectly scrumptious on the cover? ‘The Manuscript Magazine, edited by Virginia Davis!’ Wouldn’t I feel all spiffed up if my name were in it anywhere, even in the teeniest, tiniest print way off in a corner somewhere.”

Miss Torrence smiled indulgently at the girl who felt that English as the King spoke it, was not expressive enough to embody the sentiments of an American school girl. “Keen stuff! Oh, I mean it’s a very nice magazine.” Betsy actually looked embarrassed, but Miss Torrence was at that moment saying to Virginia, “You wanted one copy to send to Eleanor Pettes, didn’t you? And one for Winona?”

“And, oh, I would love to have one to send to my brother Malcolm.”

“Of course, so you shall. Dean Craig wrote a little letter which told of the coming of the magazines that he would leave the type set until he received a message from us telling if we need more copies.”

“Isn’t he the nicest man?” Barbara, the ever impulsive, exclaimed; then she wondered why Miss Torrence’s cheeks were suddenly like roses.

“I like him,” was the reply. Then, as a gong, pealing through the school, told that lunch hour was approaching, the magazines were divided and away the girls trooped to the upper corridor to prepare for the noon meal.

“Did you notice Miss Torrence blushing when we mentioned the Dean?” Sally asked her roommate when Sweet Pickle Alley had been reached.

“Me? Nope, my belovedest! I have a mind above such things. I was sniffing the air just then trying to decide what savory thing was being prepared in the kitchen.”

“Oh, Betsy, you are so tantalizing.”

“And I decided that it was liver and bacon. If I am right, will you give me your share, Sal, old dear?”

That particular dish, as all the girls knew, was Betsy’s favorite.

“Goodness no, much as I don’t like it, I’m too hungry to give it away if that’s all there is.” But the menu that noon was of quite a different nature. However, Betsy always ate anything that was provided with a relish. “Girls,” she confided, “Micky told me that the postman has bronchial fiditis and that he is to drive into town this afternoon and get the mail. It being Saturday and sunny, I thought perhaps we might get permission to ride in with him.”

“I’d like that all right,” Barbara smiled. “I was just wishing I could go out in this sparkling air and not get my feet wet.”

Mrs. Martin was glad to permit them to accompany the gardener’s boy and an hour after lunch, the school bus started down the hill road, filled almost to overflowing with laughing, singing, joyous girls, who felt that the holiday spirit was abroad.

“Watch out for a first robin!” Betsy shouted.

“Or violets,” Barbara sniffed the warm earthy, fragrant air. “I just know there are some over yonder in that ferny dell.”

“More likely we’d find them in that sunny sheltered meadow or some fence corner.”

When the town was reached, the girls tried to be more sedate. When the bus stopped at the post-office they could not decide which one should have the honor of going in to inquire for the mail, with Micky, who, of course, would be needed to carry out the pouch. Since they all wished to be the one selected, Betsy cried, “Let’s compromise and all go.”

This they did, tumbling out of the bus with such a merry rush that old “Si” Peters, who for years had sat all day long on the bench in front of the post-office, leaned forward on his cane and chuckled, although he chewed faster than ever, if such a feat were possible.

Betsy nudged Babs, as she nodded toward the old man who was a town character. “See how his chin beard points up,” she whispered. “Honest Injun, I believe he’s going to speak to us.”

Nor was she wrong. “Good-day, gals! Be ye all from the seminary up top the hill?” he inquired pleasantly.

“Yes, we are,” Virginia replied kindly. Virginia was always kind to everyone whom she met of whatever station.

“Waal now, as nice a parcel o’ gals as ever I did see,” they heard him muttering as they trooped in to the general store bent on spending part of their hoarded allowance for striped bags full of candy.

The mail pouch was unusually bulky, and, as the girls rode back up the hill, they amused themselves by guessing which of them was to receive a letter. Suddenly, just as they reached the crest and were about to turn in between the seminary gates, Betsy Clossen gave a cry of joy, and leaped to her feet pointing. “See, there it is! Quick! Everybody wish on the first robin.”

A flash of red from a tree near, and a familiar, though startled note, confirmed Betsy’s remark. “I wish to pass A 1 in every subject on the spring exams,” Sally surprised them all by remarking.

“Oh, I say, Sal, wish for something that could happen.”

“Stick to it, Sally, you’ve improved worlds since Virg has been playing tutor.” This from Babs.

“I wish my mother may find Aunt Dorinda,” Eleanor began, when the bus stopped under the seminary portico and ten eager girls followed Micky as he carried the pouch (which might contain a letter for them) up the steps and into the school.