In the morning Sarah found, fortunately, no time for regret or grief. She had said good-by to the twins and Albert the night before, and though they had loudly insisted that they would be up in time to see her off, they did not wake and were not called. The three older members of the household had breakfast together, then the new trunk was lifted to the back of the spring-wagon, and Sarah, in her new sailor suit and blue hat, climbed to her place between William and Laura for the drive to the station.

Her heart beat so rapidly that she could not speak. She looked back at the broad, low-lying house, shadowed by a great hickory tree; at the friendly barn, which had been a playground for them all; and then at the winding, twisting stream, which made their land so fertile. Was it possible that a few days ago she had wished to go away?

Up at Uncle Daniel's house, the family was already astir. Jacob Kalb crossed the barn-yard, milk-pail in hand, disdaining to look back, though he must have heard plainly the sound of the spring-wagon.

"He will go in and peek out," laughed Sarah. "Jacob, he wouldn't miss nothing."

"'Jacob wouldn't miss anything' is what you mean, isn't it, Sarah?" asked her sister-in-law.

"Ach, yes!" cried Sarah penitently. "But what is coming?"

She grew pale. Down from the Swartz house hurried Aunt 'Liza. "She can't stop me!" said Sarah, gasping.

William laughed. "No, indeed."

Aunt 'Liza came to the side of the wagon. She had never approved of Uncle Daniel's methods.

"Here is something for Sarah," she said. "I thought while she was going off I would make her a little cake, once, and a little apple schnitz. She liked always apple schnitz."

Sarah jumped down over the wheel of the spring-wagon.

"Ach, I thank myself."

And she seized the stout lady in a fervent hug, which her aunt as fervently returned.

"And now," said Sarah happily, as she climbed back, "I am not cross over nobody, and nobody is cross over me. Ach, I know I am talking dumb again! But after I get on the cars, I will say everything right."

She could scarcely sit still. Laura and William looked at each other and smiled.

In all her life Sarah had been on the train but once. That was six months ago, when, accompanied by the twins and "Teacher," she had gone to the county-seat to protest against Uncle Daniel's being made their guardian. She was too much worried then to enjoy the roar of the great engine as it rushed upon them, the hurry with which they scrambled aboard, the wild thrill of delight as the train got under way. Now she enjoyed each sensation to the full. There had never been such a wonderful train as this, whose seats were so luxuriously cushioned, which moved so swiftly, which was so filled with interesting persons. Sarah waved her hand to William, she tried to call to him a final message to the twins, and then they were off. Sarah drew a deep breath.

"Ach!" she wailed. "My trunk!"

Laura showed her the check. "Your trunk is on the train, my dear."

"Ach, it is too wonderful!" cried Sarah. "No, I won't say ach any more. Ach, but I am going to try!" She clapped her hand over her mouth and looked up comically. "Ach—I can't express me without ach."

"Yes, you can," Laura assured her. "See the girls opposite us. They're probably going to the Normal School."

Sarah looked eagerly across the aisle. The girls were laughing and talking together as though they had not seen each other for a long time. They were tall and slender, and they were unlike any girls that Sarah's admiring eyes had ever seen. One had blonde curly hair, the other was dark, with wide, lovely eyes.

"Do you think I will know those girls?" she whispered.

"Of course you will. Those and many more."

Sarah clasped her hands happily. The stern and critical race with which she had peopled the Normal School suddenly ceased to exist, and lovely creatures like these took its place. Sarah's eyes brightened as she smoothed down her new blue dress. Then she sighed. The bothersome consciousness of her own unworthiness overwhelmed her.

"The Normal will have a hard time to make me look like them," she said to herself.

Once, long ago, when her mother and father were still alive, and the twins scarcely more than babies, the Wenners had taken a long holiday drive. One of the towns which they visited was that in which the Normal School was situated. It was then that her father promised that if Sarah studied, she should go there. She could see the school as plainly as though it were yesterday instead of eight weary years ago; she could hear her father's voice. Her recollection of the low house and the barn and the creek which they had left that morning was not more vivid. Before the train stopped, she saw the tall tower, which she remembered; she knew just how it overshadowed the other buildings. And there had been beautiful trees and tennis-courts and young people going back and forth.

She scrambled down from the train, and clung close to Laura, a little frightened by the noise and confusion about her, the loud greetings, the shouts of hackmen.

"This way to the Normal School. Take my carriage, lady!"

They picked their way round a great pile of trunks, and Laura gave Sarah's check to a baggage man. He touched his hat smilingly.

"Glad to see you back, Miss."

"Does he know you?" asked Sarah in awe.

Laura smiled. A pink glow had come into her cheeks.

"No. He only recognizes me for an old student. We'll walk down to school. It isn't far, and we'll both enjoy it."

A little farther down the street a grocer stood at the door of his shop, and to him Laura said good-morning.

"Does he know you?" asked Sarah.

"He remembers that I used to buy apples from him. That is the place to get the best apples in town. You see, coming back to school is like coming back home."

"I never thought of that," said Sarah slowly. She was to remember it clearly enough months afterward. "But—"

They had turned a corner and come out before a wide green campus. "But this ain't—ach! isn't my Normal! It—it wasn't so big, and this—this isn't my tower!"

"No, the tower you saw is the little one over yonder. This is the new Recitation Building. This wasn't here then. See, over there on the Main Building is your tower. And this is the Model School, and yonder is the Infirmary, and away back there is the Athletic Field, and—Ah, here we are!" And Laura ran up the steps of the Main Building as though she were coming to school herself.

The wide door stood open, there was a sound of cheerful talking from within. Sarah heard a man's voice lifted suddenly above the rest.

"Why, Mrs. Wenner, how do you do? And this is your sister-in-law. We are glad to see you both."

"Thank you," answered Laura. "Sarah, this is Dr. Ellis. I think you said Sarah was to have my old room."

"Yes," answered the principal. "Eugene will take you up and give you the keys. Here, Eugene."

In another minute they were in the elevator; then they went down a wide hall and turned a corner.

"Here we are. I wonder whether your room-mates are here."

It was the bell-boy who answered as he flung the door open.

"It looks so, miss."

The two newcomers stood in the doorway and gasped. Sarah was not entirely unacquainted with confusion. She knew what the kitchen at home looked like at the end of a morning's baking at which the twins and Albert had been allowed to assist. But the twins and Albert at their worst could accomplish nothing to equal this.

A room in which two trunks are being unpacked is not expected to look very neat, but this confusion seemed the result of careful effort. There were dresses scattered here and there, not on the backs of chairs, or laid across the beds, but dropped to the floor and in heaps on the table. There were shoes, not set side by side, but widely scattered, a slipper and an overshoe on the bureau, a boot and a slipper on the radiator. A drawer had been taken from the bureau and laid on a bed; into it a trunk-tray had been emptied, helter skelter, as though its contents were waste paper. Apparently the owner had been suddenly called away, for the tray still lay upside down across the drawer.

To Sarah's Pennsylvania-German eyes, the scene was terrible.

"You'll have to do some missionary work, Sarah," Laura said merrily. "This closet seems to be empty. Hang your hat here, and take that bureau. We'll turn it this way so that the light is a little better. That is the way Helen Ellingwood used to have it when she and I roomed here together. The school wasn't so crowded and there were only two of us. Now we'll take your pitcher down the hall and fill it, and by that time your trunk may come, and perhaps the owners of these clothes, also, and then we can clear up."

They made their way round the trunks and boxes in the hall. A few doors away, a girl who was bending over her trunk stood up to let them pass. She turned her face away, but not before they had seen that it was streaked with black. Her hands, too, were as black as ink, and she was crying. Laura stopped at once.

"Why, what is the matter?"

"I packed—a—bottle of ink—in my trunk, and it—it has broken. I—"

Laura looked into the depths of the trunk.

"Oh, my child! Have you taken the bottle out?"

"Yes, but the ink is there yet."

Laura pushed back her cuffs.

"Can you get me a lot of newspapers and spread them thickly on your floor? There, in the sunshine. Why, these things seem black to begin with. Your gymnasium suit is black, isn't it? And here is a black skirt. See, it hasn't reached down to your books, and the trunk isn't stained."

"But my white petticoats are—are all black." The girl's tears made white channels on her face.

Laura patted her on the shoulder. "Then wash your face and hands, and run down to the book-room and get some ink eradicator, and I'll show you how to apply it. Come, Sarah."

Sarah's bright eyes shone. Laura might not know how to make waffles, but she knew other, more wonderful things. Sarah's heart swelled; she thought of Albert and the twins in this safe care, and she slipped her hand into Laura's without a word, and Laura smiled down at her.

As they came back through the hall, they heard a cheerful voice.

"I'll unlock the door, Eugene. Yes, we're glad to be back. Move that trunk in here, please. Gertrude, you brought a trunk-cover, didn't you?"

A dark-eyed girl appeared in the doorway.

"Yes, Ethel."

"They are our girls," whispered Sarah.

"Yes, and they are evidently other people's girls."

The hall was suddenly crowded with a welcoming throng.

By this time, Sarah's room-mates had appeared. One was tall and stout; she said that her name was Ellen Ritter. The other, who was equally stout but much shorter, said that she was Mabel Thorn. It was to her that the bureau-drawer belonged. She lifted the trunk-tray and slid the drawer into place.

"Our trunks must be out of here by night," she said. "They take them to the trunk-room. Mine's ready."

"And mine," said Ellen Ritter.

She slammed down the lid, and pulled the trunk into the hall, and Mabel pushed hers after it. Two small, cleared spaces were left, otherwise there was no change in the appearance of the room. The girls did not return, even to close the door. Sarah, staring after them, saw a smiling young woman poise for an instant on the sill, a hand on either jamb.

"Well, Laura Miflin!" she said.

The speed with which Sarah had flown to meet William upon his return from Alaska was no greater than that with which Laura crossed the room.

"Helen Ellingwood!" she cried. "What are you doing here?"

"I am going to teach Elocution. Why haven't you written to me? I didn't even know you were married. I live next door. And who is this, and how are you?" And Miss Ellingwood pushed aside a pile of books and underclothes and collars and sat down on the edge of the bed. "These things don't belong 'to you nor none of your family,' I hope?"

Laura shook her head.

"This is my sister-in-law, Sarah Wenner, question number one. I am very well and very happy, question number two. No, these do not belong 'to me nor none of my family,' question number three. What would you do with them?"

"Spank the owners. Perhaps they'll clear up, though. The first day is always demoralizing. Now tell me everything you can think of."

And Miss Ellingwood shifted to a more comfortable position, and while Laura unpacked and Sarah put away, the old friends chattered until dinner-time.

The great dining-room, with all the confusion of the first day of school, was an awesome place to country-bred Sarah. She was sure that she should never know one face from another. She should never learn to find her place.

"You must sit at my table," said Miss Ellingwood. "There will be plenty of room there to-day, and this afternoon I shall have you assigned there permanently. This way"; and Miss Ellingwood put out a guiding hand. Sarah began to take courage.

The afternoon seemed as long as the morning had been short. Directly after dinner, Sarah went with Laura to the train. She did not see the rushing engine so clearly now, nor watch the streaming white smoke; her eyes, fixed firmly upon a slender figure in a brown suit, were dimmed, and the strange lump of yesterday had come back into her throat. Now, at last, the moment of separation had come.

She walked slowly back to school, and about the grounds. Laura would be getting home now, and William would have driven to the station to meet her. Had the twins done just as they were told all day? Had they remembered the deserted kittens in the barn? Would Laura be able to fix the fire for the night?

Sarah ate her supper with difficulty. Miss Ellingwood did not appear, the other students said little, Sarah could not see her room-mates, or the Ethel and Gertrude who seemed a little less strange than the other students, or the girl who had packed the ink in her trunk. At the recollection of her woe-begone face, Sarah smiled and felt better.

"She is dumber yet than I," she said to herself.

At seven o'clock there was a chapel service. The gongs rang in the halls, and there was a general opening of doors, and passing of footsteps. Sarah followed her neighbors down the hall. At the entrance to the chapel stood Miss Ellingwood, a book in her hand. She was assigning seats which the students were to keep for the year.

"Wenner, Row B, left, seat 32. Down there to the left, Sarah, near the girl in the white dress."

Sarah made her way down the sloping aisle. She had never been in any room larger than the little country church, and this chapel with its high ceiling, its fine chandeliers, seemed marvelous. In the chandeliers, strange to say, candles were burning instead of lamps.

To her dismay, her seat was directly beneath one of them. She glanced upward uneasily. There was no contrivance to catch the drippings, and everybody must know that candles dripped. She looked down at her new blue dress; it would be impossible to get candle grease out of it. She meant to speak to the girl in the white dress; then she saw that Mabel Thorn was coming down the aisle. She took the next seat.

"Are you not afraid of the candles?" whispered Sarah.

"What candles?"

"Those, up there. They will drip on us."

Mabel tilted her head and looked up. Then she grinned.

"Did you never hear of gas?" she asked.

"Stove gas," answered Sarah. "Our stove makes it when the wind is not right."

"You never heard of illuminating gas?"

Sarah shook her head. "Never."

"Where do you come from?"

"Near Spring Grove post-office."

"Well, the candles won't hurt you," laughed Mabel.

She got up and went across to the next row of seats to where the girl in white was sitting, and whispered to her, and they both turned and looked at Sarah. Then she came back to her place, as the chapel began to fill, and whispered to the girl on the other side, and she looked at Sarah and laughed. Sarah became slowly aware that she had said something very foolish.

Mabel did not wait for her when chapel was over, nor did she and Ellen appear until bed-time. Sarah had sat for a long time staring across the moonlit campus, and waiting to ask which bed she should take. There were a double and a single bed side by side. She supposed that the two friends would wish to sleep together, but she did not know. Once she heard the doleful strains of "Home, Sweet Home," played on a mouth organ, and some one called, "Have mercy on the new students!" and there was a burst of laughter.

When Mabel and Ellen finally arrived, they told her that she was to have the single bed. She supposed that now they would put the room in order. Well, she would cover her head from the light, and be thankful. But they undressed and tumbled into bed, even before Sarah was ready, without touching anything except the articles which were in their way. In a suspiciously short time, they were asleep.

Sarah lifted the clothes from the single bed and laid them on the chairs, then she attempted to blow out the light. Mabel was wide awake in an instant.

"Turn it off there at the wall, you goose!" she said; and was at once apparently asleep.

Sarah made her way warily toward her bed. Having said her prayers, she laid back the covers and jumped in.

Instantly there was a terrific crash, and she went down with spring and mattress to the floor. She was for the first second too terrified to breathe, then she picked herself up and found that she was not hurt. There was a faint light coming in through the transom, and she could see that the slats which supported the springs had become misplaced. With a little help, she could readjust them.

"Ach, would you please help me a little?" she begged.

There was no response from the double bed. Instead there came a heavy knock at the door.

"Who is out?" asked Sarah faintly. If the principal himself had replied, she would not have been surprised.

A stern "Let me in!" answered her. She drew her dress on over her nightgown and went to the door. A strange figure stood without,—a tall woman in a long, flowered dressing-gown.

"What was that noise?"

Sarah pointed to the bed. "I—I didn't know it would go—go down."

"Where are your room-mates?"

Mabel and Ellen evidently thought it was time to manifest signs of life.

"Here, Miss Jones."

"Can you explain this?"

"Oh, no, we were asleep. Weren't we, Sarah?"

"It just went down," stammered Sarah. "I—I guess I jumped too hard on it."

"What is your name?"

It was the first time the Wenner name had ever been mentioned with hesitation and shame.

"Sarah Wenner."

The tall figure was gone, its silent departure worse than threats, and Sarah closed the door. Mabel turned over lazily.

"Get up and help her fix the bed, Ellen, I saved her from blowing out the light."

Ellen rose, grumbling. Miss Jones lived beneath them and was the strictest teacher in the school, she said. Sarah would be haled to the office to-morrow. She helped to put the slats in place, and told Sarah not to make any more noise. Then, long after exhausted and terrified Sarah had fallen asleep, she giggled with Mabel until the night-watchman rapped at the door. That, mercifully, Sarah did not hear.