Jean spent the spring vacation with Elizabeth up on "Olympus," as she called their hilltop village, and she found the beauty and new experiences of the spring as fascinating as those of the winter. Although every waking hour seemed filled to the brim, still it was a restful change and the two girls returned to college with new strength and enthusiasm to begin the last term of the year. They would need it all, too, for this is the hardest term of the year, with the hot, drooping days of May and June, and still hotter nights, when studying seems almost impossible and one is content to sit in the darkness and watch the stars and dream such dreams as float through college girls' heads on nights in June, when all the world is theirs.

On the Monday after they returned to college, both girls went up to oratory class in the afternoon and sat back to enjoy the hour, knowing it was not their turn to mount the platform and hold forth. Jean sat near the open window and was breathing in the balmy air and watching some greedy robins snatch at the worms in the damp, new grass. She had almost forgotten there was such a thing as oratory until Miss Moulton's clear, penetrating voice brought her back to consciousness again.

"Of course you know, young ladies, that prize-speaking is an annual event at Ashton, and it is a great honor to participate in it. Any member of the oratory classes is eligible. In the freshman divisions I have made it a rule that every girl must do one of two things: either she must learn a new selection or choose one already learned during the year and present it to the committee of the faculty chosen to judge the preliminary speakers; or she must write an original poem or prose selection and present it before the freshman oratory classes. The preliminary prize-speaking will take place in the chapel on the evening of May twelfth at eight o'clock. The annual prize-speaking will take place at three o'clock on the afternoon of June sixth. The classes will meet May twenty-eighth for the afternoon of original work. I hope you will all take great interest in this work and feel free to consult me at any time about it. Unless there are some questions to be asked now, we will consider the class excused."

As the girls left the class-room there was but one topic of conversation, for Miss Moulton had filled their minds with but one thought. Neither one of her propositions pleased the majority of the girls, for one looked as difficult as the other. Of course a few were delighted with what she had said, for they had been anticipating the event and in their hearts had secret hopes of being the prize winner, even though there were upper-class girls to compete with them. The chapel steps looked so attractive in the afternoon sunshine that three or four of the girls wandered over there to sit down for a few moments to discuss the question.

"What are you going to do, Jean?" said Anne Cockran as she limped up to join the girls. Although it had been a long time since her accident, she could not walk easily yet.

"Don't ask me, Anne; I don't know. I don't like the idea of exhibiting my limited oratorical ability before the faculty, but positively I haven't an original idea in my head. I'll have to think it over."

"Why, nonsense, Jean," said Bess Johnson, "everybody knows that original sonnet you wrote for Miss Whiting last month was the cleverest thing in our whole division. When Miss Whiting condescends to praise anything we freshmen do, you can take it from me that it's pretty good. You don't need to hesitate about going in for the original stunt."

"Elizabeth," said Anne, "you've just got to try for the prize, for there isn't a girl in our whole division that can hold a candle to you. If you give that little poem, 'Carcasson,' with which you won Miss Moulton's heart last term, you'll melt the faculty to tears, and they'll put you on the finals before you've finished the second verse."

"Oh, Anne, you flatterer, why I couldn't compete with you or a half-dozen more of the girls in our division, to say nothing of the upper-class girls," replied Elizabeth, smiling. "I'm trying for credit in my German, and perhaps history, and it takes every spare moment I can get to do my collateral reading. It seems as though Miss Evans tried to see how much work she could pile on us. I think I'll try at the preliminaries, though, because it's easier than working on something original. I can give something I learned last term, 'Carcasson,' if you all like that so well."

"Like it?" said Jean. "Why, Beth, it's by far the best thing anybody has done in class this whole year and you've just got to give it, and I know you'll make the finals, and if you do, why, we'll all insist upon your trying for all your worth for the prize. Why shouldn't a freshman win it? Think of the honor for the class. You've been saying lately you wished you could do something for 1915, and here's your chance. Why, I think it's an honor just to be on the finals even if you don't win the prize. Who knows how many are generally chosen?"

"Eight, I think," said Bess Johnson. "I was looking over Edith Thayer's memorabilia the other day and saw a last year's programme. Edith spoke last year, but didn't win a prize. As I remember it, there were eight speakers. Anyway, there were somewhere near that number."

"What is the prize, Bess?" asked Anne. "Miss Moulton forgot to say anything about that, and I think it's the most important item."

"The first prize is twenty-five dollars in gold and the second and third ten dollars each. Of course it's the honor more than the money that counts," said Bess, whose idea of money values was very hazy, being abundantly supplied by an indulgent father. Although Elizabeth said nothing she thought the twenty-five dollars would help her a great deal if, by any chance, it came her way, for she needed a new dress and hat for class-day, but she hated to ask her father for anything more this year.

"Well," said Jean, "this loafing here will never do for me. It's society meeting to-night and I've got a theme to write before supper. If any of you want to see me, come right down to the room and make yourselves comfortable, but don't talk to me until I've finished my theme. I think the subjects get worse and worse every week. Where do you suppose Miss Whiting ever finds them? I should think her poor head would ache many a time before she found some to really suit her. I wonder if she ever corrects half of the themes."

"I doubt it," said Bess; "they say Mary Dudley corrects the themes in the daily theme course, for she's doing special work in the English for her degree."

All the girls seemed to have plenty to do, and Jean went down to 45 alone and worked on her theme for the next day and finished it just as the supper bell rang.

When the preliminary prize-speaking took place, it was surprising how many entries there were, especially among the freshmen, for undoubtedly most of them had decided that this was the lesser of the two evils offered them by Miss Moulton. From the large number there were eight chosen for the finals and among them was Elizabeth Fairfax, the only freshman thus honored. There were three seniors, two juniors, two sophomores and the one freshman, and 1915 was jubilant over the fact that one of its members was chosen. When Elizabeth first heard of it she was a little frightened and declared she never could do it, but when she saw how all the freshmen felt the honor that was hers in being chosen to represent them, she determined to enter the contest with all the best that was in her and prove to them that she was as loyal to 1915 as any of the rest of them.

She spent hours and hours with Miss Moulton and finally decided upon a selection which, like the others, was to be kept secret until the programme was announced. Every minute that she could spare from her regular work she put upon her selection, and as the fatal day drew near she went again and again to the chapel and mounted the platform to move the empty seats with her eloquence. Miss Moulton gave all the girls equal coaching, and worked harder, perhaps, than all the girls together. When she had heard the last girl rehearse her selection for the last time, she closed the chapel door behind her with a bang and locking it said to herself and the clinging ivy on the tower wall, "I wish there were eight prizes so they all could have one, for they all deserve one, still I hope—"

But she did not finish, for in the gathering dusk she recognized Elizabeth Fairfax's slender figure advancing toward her. "Oh, Miss Moulton, can I have just one more rehearsal to-night? There's one place toward the end that troubles me."

"No, Miss Fairfax, not to-night; you are tired and nervous and you must do nothing more. Take my advice and think no more of your selection to-night; go to bed early and have a good night's sleep and to-morrow morning you will have forgotten all about these imaginary troubles. It's always darkest just before the dawn, you know, so let's not think any more about prize-speaking. I'm very tired to-night, too, but I'm going home to read some really thrilling detective story or something equally absorbing until I get sleepy, and then away to bed in spite of all the work I ought to do. I advise you not to do any studying to-night, for you are excused from to-morrow's lessons. Good night, Miss Fairfax. I wish you a restful night and success to-morrow," and the two went their separate ways.

There could not have been a more beautiful June day than the one chosen for prize-speaking. The sun shed its warmth and brightness over everything, and the little green leaves danced merrily in the soft summer wind. The rain of a few days before had freshened the grass and the flowers until it seemed as though they were outdoing themselves for this special occasion. Merry little red and gray squirrels ran up and down the great tall trees and then across the wide paths, out of sight to another tree, and some of the bolder birds sang lustily as if proud of their share in the day's festivities. All nature seemed to be clapping its hands to applaud the eight nervous speakers concealed somewhere in the rear of the chapel.

Prize-speaking Day is properly considered the forerunner of Class Day and Commencement, hence the friends of the college make every effort to attend this annual event. Long before three o'clock the seating capacity of the chapel seemed taxed to its utmost, and the gallery had to be opened to accommodate the waiting throng. Members of the various oratory classes had been chosen as ushers and were pretty indeed in their white dresses, with sprays of green ivy twisted in their hair, and they carried batons wound with white and green ribbons. Jean was one of the two representatives of the freshman class and was enjoying every moment of her ushering, for it was the first time she had ever served in this capacity, as only the upper-class girls ushered at Vespers on Sunday afternoons.

A few minutes after three o'clock, Miss Emerson welcomed the guests to the exercises of the afternoon and announced the entire programme of the days to come. Then she informed them that the three judges were from neighboring colleges and at the close of the speaking she would announce their decision regarding the prize. In conclusion, she asked that there be no applause, and then took her seat with the other members of the faculty in the front row of seats usually occupied by the seniors. One after another of the speakers came upon the platform, did their very best, thrilled their listeners and then took their seats on the front row of the annex which had been reserved for them.

Last on the programme was Elizabeth Fairfax and she was to give Tennyson's "Lady of Shalot." When she came upon the platform she looked very small and white, and her simple muslin dress was the one she had worn the year before at her high-school graduation. Instead of coming to the front of the platform as the others had done, she stood back almost in the center of the stage, where it was a little dark in spite of the brilliance of the outdoor world. She stood for a moment without uttering a sound, and more than one of the vast audience thought she must have become stagestruck and forgotten the lines, but soon her sweet, clear voice began:

And she held every listener spellbound as she told the sad sweet story of the Lady of Shalot as though she were inspired, and when she finished with:

For a moment there was absolute silence, and then followed tremendous applause in spite of what Miss Emerson had said. Every one looked at her neighbor as much as to say, "There's not a question but that she deserves the prize. I never heard anything like it."

So there was not great surprise a little later when Miss Emerson in her quiet way announced the prize-winners and first called upon Miss Elizabeth Fairfax to come to the platform. In presenting her with the tiny box which held the twenty-five dollars in gold, she congratulated her upon her excellent work and said that for the first time in her memory the first prize had been given to a freshman, consequently she might be doubly proud of what she had done. Elizabeth thanked her, and very white and trembling took her place with the other speakers.

This ended the exercises and as the audience arose many went forward to offer their congratulations. Jean seized Elizabeth and whispered, "You were just wonderful, but I knew you'd do it. Oh, I'm so proud of you and I wish Dick could have been here," and she gave her place to a long line of girls and faculty, who were waiting their turn to speak to her.

When Elizabeth went up to her room from the supper-table that night she was tired but very happy, for her dream of doing something worth while for 1915 was realized. She walked slowly down the corridor and opened the door, expecting to find Jean there, for she did not see her in the reading-room with the other girls as she passed by the open door. She did not see Jean in 45, but she gave a little gasp at the sight which did meet her gaze. The study-table which usually stood in the center of the room was drawn up between the couch and Elizabeth's desk. It had been cleared of the books and lamp which usually adorned it and was one mass of brilliant bloom. There were roses and carnations and sweet peas and lilies of the valley filling the room with their sweetness. For several moments Elizabeth just gazed and then walking up to the flowers found there were cards attached to each bouquet. The roses were from Jean, the carnations from Miss Hooper, the sweet peas from Merton House girls, and the lilies from Miss Moulton. Elizabeth had never had so many flowers in all her life before and could not quite believe they were all hers. She buried her face in the great American Beauty roses and was whispering a secret to them when Jean came out from the bedroom.

"Well, little room-mate, what do you think of yourself now? I couldn't stay away another minute. The flowers came while we were at supper and I hustled upstairs the minute I was through so I could have them arranged before you came. Then after everything was ready I waited and waited, but I thought you never would come. When at last I heard you coming down the hall, I hid in the bedroom to see what you would do. You looked just about as surprised as when Miss Emerson called you to the platform this afternoon."

"Of course I was surprised, Jean. I never had so much happen to me in one day before in all my life and I can hardly believe it's true. How I wish Father and Brother could know all about it and see what you've done for me! I must sit down and write to them now so the letter will go out the first thing in the morning."

"Before you write your letter, Elizabeth, I want to ask you something. Come over here on your couch and sit down, for you are tired, and we can enjoy the flowers there just as well as standing up in the middle of the room."

"All right, Jean, but let me take one of your roses with me. It's the first time I've ever had an American Beauty of my very own. How good you were to give them to me! You must have known how badly I have wanted one."

In a moment the two girls sat down upon Elizabeth's couch and in Elizabeth's hand was a beautiful, long-stemmed rose. "What are you going to do this summer, Beth?" asked Jean.

"I don't quite know yet," Elizabeth answered. "I feel as though I were needed at home so that mother can go away to visit her people in Vermont, but I wish I could find some work to do, for I want to earn the money for next year to help father all I can. Some of the girls are talking about waiting on the table at the beach or at the mountains and I thought of applying, too. Christine Newell is going to the White Mountains and says she went last year and earned fifty dollars. She wants me to go there with her, but I haven't decided yet."

"Before you decide, Elizabeth, I want to tell you something, and perhaps it will alter your plans a little. Miss Hooper is going abroad for the summer and has invited me to go with her. When father was here I told him about it and my decision to stay at Ashton for the four years. He was so delighted that he consented to the trip abroad for the summer and said I might take any girl with me that I chose. Now I have chosen you, Elizabeth, and I want you to say you will go to the British Isles with Miss Hooper and me for your vacation. I have known about it ever since father was here and it has been awfully hard to keep it a secret, but I wanted to wait until after prize-speaking, for I made up my mind that if you didn't win the first prize I should offer you this as a consolation prize, and if you did win the prize then this would be my own special prize. What do you say, will you accept my prize, too?"

At first Elizabeth could not speak and just looked straight at Jean as if to determine whether or not she was jesting. "Why, Jean Cabot! What are you talking about? I spend a whole summer in Europe? Why, you must be dreaming. I've never been out of New England and don't expect to go to Europe till I've taught years and years. Why, all the money I have in the world is this twenty-five dollars I won to-day and I need that to buy my class-day dress and hat and shoes. Where do you suppose I'd ever get the money? Why, it takes more than it does to go to college."

"You big goosie, you don't understand. You needn't consider the money; I'm going to take you for my companion and it isn't to cost you a penny. Father would like to go himself and would if it wasn't for business, so he wants you to go with me in his place. Don't you see now what I mean?"

"Yes, Jean, but why do you want me? There are so many of the other girls like Peggy and Natalie and Sallie, who have traveled and know more about the world than I. I'm pretty green, you know, when it comes to society."

"Nonsense, Elizabeth; if I hadn't wanted you more than any one else I shouldn't have asked you. Is it 'yes' or 'no'? Quick!"

"Why, you take my breath away, Jean. I can't believe you want me to go with you."

"Yes, I do, I tell you, and you must say 'yes,' for I shan't take any other answer. Now write your letter home and tell them what you are going to do, or rather get their permission to do what you wish to do. After you finish the letter we'll take it down to the office and then go over to Miss Hooper's room for a minute. You want to thank her for the flowers she sent you, and I want to tell her that you are going with us. She will tell you what her plans are, and from now on we must do a lot of reading with her about the places we are to visit, for we don't want to appear to be perfect ignoramuses in the land of our forefathers. Of course you know English history from A to Z, but I can never tell one king from another and always mix up all the battles and wars, so it's good hard reading from now on for me."

"Of course you know I'd like to go, Jean, but it's so sudden I can't quite grasp it all, but I'll write home and tell them all about it, and when I hear from them I can tell you definitely."

"I'm going to write a letter to your father this very minute, too, and tell him what I think about the matter. Let's see who will finish first."

Both pens scratched away at a merry rate, and each girl found so much to say that the college clock struck eight before either one realized it. "There, I've finished," said Jean. "How about you?"

"I have a little more on this page and then I'll be ready. You collect the letters on the hall windows and go downstairs and register and I'll be through by that time."

After the letters were dropped into the box outside the post office, Jean exclaimed, "There, that's off my mind! Now to tell Miss Hooper."

They found Miss Hooper alone in her study lying on the couch because of a severe headache. The girls insisted that she remain there in spite of her protests. "We're only going to stay a minute, anyway, Miss Hooper. I've come to tell you that Elizabeth has consented to travel with us this summer." Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something, but Jean began again, "She hasn't really said she would go, but she's written home and after she hears from her father she'll tell us 'yes' pretty quickly. Won't you, Elizabeth?"

"I think it's wonderful, Miss Hooper, but it's just like Jean, always doing something to give pleasure to other people. I want to thank you, too, for the beautiful flowers you sent me. I don't deserve all the good things that have come to me to-day."

"If you didn't deserve them, dear, I am sure they never would come to you. We shall be a very congenial trio, I am sure, this summer, and I wish you both would come to see me Wednesday evening next so we can talk over our plans. I have a list of reading to give to you. Jean tells me you are a lover of history and literature, Elizabeth, so perhaps you have read my list already. If so, we shall depend upon you for a great deal of our information, for there is very little time left in which to do a great deal of work. I am sorry I do not feel better to-night, for we might have begun now."

"No, Miss Hooper, we must not stay a moment longer," said Jean. "Elizabeth is tired, too, and we both have a little studying to do before ten o'clock bell. I hope your head will be better in the morning. Good night."

"Good night to both of you, and thank you for coming," said Miss Hooper, and the two girls left Wellington and strolled slowly homeward in the shimmering moonlight. As they neared Merton, Elizabeth broke the silence. "I hate to go indoors, Jean, and have this splendid day end. I am inclined to believe it's all been a dream. Pinch me and let me see if I'm really awake."

"Oh, you're awake all right, Elizabeth," said Jean, but she gave Elizabeth's arm a vigorous pinch to assure her that she really was awake. "It's only the beginning of a whole summer of splendid days if you'll only say you'll go with us."

"I'll go, of course," said Elizabeth, "if father thinks it's all right," and the two girls left the summer moonlight behind them and climbed the stairs to 45.