It was two o’clock in the afternoon and the end of the first school day. There had been no lessons to speak of. The new girls had been piloted to the various classrooms, introduced to the teachers, received their books and the general plan for the year had been laid out.

At the close of the last period Lois Farwell and Betty Thompson met in the Study Hall corridor, and locking arms, sauntered off in the direction of Freshman Lane.

“My, but it’s good to be back again,” began Betty, playing a tattoo with her pencil on the steam pipes, that ran along under the windows on one side of the corridor; “bully to be back,” she repeated.

“Bet, do stop that fiendish noise,” begged Lois. “You’re as bad as ever. Yes, it is good to be back; what shall we do to celebrate?”

“Let’s talk about the new girls,” suggested Betty; “how do you like them so far?”

“I haven’t talked to many of them, the ones in our corridor seem to be all right. I think I’m going to like Polly Pendleton a lot.”

“Oh! she’s a duck,” Betty agreed. “I like her already. The others are nice, too, but there’s something different about Polly, she’s—”

“Yes, I know what you mean,” Lois answered slowly. “She’s more Seddon Hallish than the rest; she sort of fits,” she continued, wrinkling up her forehead in an attempt to explain a state of being not exactly describable in words.

At this point, they stopped to survey the bulletin board, and as they stood reading the notices posted, they were joined by Louise Preston and Florence Guile, both in Peter Thompsons, the accepted dress of the school, but with their hair fixed on top of their heads, as befitted the two most important members of the senior class.

“We want you two,” greeted Louise; “been looking for you everywhere; we’re trying to get up a paper chase for this afternoon, some of the new girls are ‘weepy,’ and Mrs. Baird thinks their thoughts had better be diverted from home.”

Betty assumed an attitude of deep dejection.

“I’d sort of hoped to spend the afternoon studying,” she sighed, regretfully, “but of course I’ll be a martyr for such a worthy cause.”

“Thanks, dear, we do appreciate your sacrifice,” laughed Florence, “and you, Lo, we can count on you I suppose, as it is a favor to Louise?”

Lois blushed and looked self-conscious. She had been rather extravagantly fond of Louise the year before, and it embarrassed her to be reminded of it.

“Yes, I’ll come,” she replied with a great show of indifference. “That is, if I can be one of the hounds.”

“Of course you may, that’s one of the privileges of an old girl,” Louise assured her. “But we must hurry; will you two go up and get the Freshmen together! We start at three from the gym.”

“What about the paper?” Betty inquired. “I’ll get it for you if you like and find a laundry bag with a hole in it.”

“Do, and we’ll love you forever,” promised Florence, adding over her shoulder as the two girls dashed off down the corridor:

“Be sure there’s plenty of it, we want a long chase.”

Three minutes later, breathless from their race upstairs, Betty and Lois reached Freshman Lane.

“Everybody ready for a paper chase at three o’clock,” Lois called out; “no excuses need be offered for none will be accepted.”

“Angela and Connie, you lazy ones, that means you, too, come along,” Betty commanded, bursting into Connie’s room and discovering her curled up comfortably on the bed, while Angela, sitting Turk fashion on the window seat, was devouring crackers and peanut butter sandwiches.

Pausing now with one half way to her mouth, she drawled:

“Oh, Betty, you’re so energetic, I don’t want to go, I’m much too tired.”

She received no sympathy, however; instead, she was dragged ruthlessly to her feet and admonished:

“Too lazy you mean, and too full of peanut butter; no, Angela, it is my painful duty to save you from growing hideously fat.” And Betty, as though the subject was settled, turned her attention to Connie. But Connie offered no opposition.

“I’ll come with pleasure,” she assured her. “Anything would be better than watching Ange stuff.”

Lois had proceeded to some of the other rooms and found their occupants only too eager for something to do.

“I can’t find Polly Pendleton,” she called as Betty joined her, still holding tightly to the reluctant Angela. “Have you seen her?”

Some one called out that she had not returned to her room after school, so Lois went down to the Study Hall, in search of her.

She met her half way up the stairs.

“Were you looking for me?” she asked. “Louise Preston told me that there was to be a paper chase and that you’d tell me what to do.”

“Oh good, then you know,” answered Lois. “Come on back to the corridor,” she suggested; and slipping her arm around Polly’s shoulder, asked:

“You’re not homesick, are you!”

Polly smiled curiously, and half closed her eyes.

“Not now,” she answered truthfully.

A few minutes before three about thirty girls in sweaters and caps were waiting on the steps of the gym.

Louise Preston and Florence Guile, eagerly assisted by Lois and Betty, and helpfully, though a little less eagerly by Connie and Angela, were dividing the party into hares and hounds.

“All old girls to the right of the steps, all new girls to the left,” ordered Florence. “New girls are hares, old girls, hounds.”

“But doesn’t some one go with us?” questioned Flora Illington, timidly. She was one of the new girls for whom Mrs. Baird considered a paper chase necessary.

Florence turned to consult Louise, but it was Betty who answered:

“Certainly not,” she said decidedly. “You are entirely on your ‘own’; choose a leader, and run in any direction.”

“But we might get lost,” Flora persisted, almost tearfully looking for support to the rest of the hares.

“You can’t,” Betty assured her; “don’t cross any stone walls and you’ll be all right. The stone walls are the school boundaries, you can’t miss them. Besides, we’re sure to find you.”

Flora subsided doubtfully, and Louise called:

“Choose your leader.”

After a good deal of hesitancy, for the new girls were a little uncertain of one another, Polly Pendleton was selected because she was already generally liked, and partly because she seemed to be thoroughly acquainted with the rules of paper chases.

As Betty gave her the bag of paper she whispered:

“Good luck, and be sure not to go out of bounds.”

Polly slung the bag over her shoulder as she answered:

“We won’t; how much start do we get?”

“Fifteen minutes,” Lois replied, hearing the question and adding, regretfully, “I wish you could go with the hounds.”

Just then Louise blew the whistle, and Polly, calling the hares to attention, started off at a dog trot in the direction of the woods.

The hounds, left alone, grouped themselves on the steps to wait until the fifteen minutes were up.

“The trouble with these first races,” Connie remarked with a yawn, “is that they are so easy. The hares never know where to go, and we find them a few feet from the pond, and then it’s all over. Flora’s idea of having an old girl lead them wasn’t so bad.”

“What! and change a memorable Seddon Hall custom!” exclaimed Angela, jumping to her feet. “Con, I always said you’d no heart, and now I know it. Besides, it’s the best thing in the world for the new girls.”

“Something tells me, that with Polly Pendleton as a leader they may not be so easy to find this year,” Lois mused, gazing along the thin white streak that marked the trail of the hares and disappeared into the depths of the wood beyond.

“Time to start,” announced Louise after consulting the gym clock—and the chase began.

An hour later in the heart of the woods, the hounds stopped to consult. Without doubt Lois’ prophecy had been fulfilled. The tracking of the hounds had not been easy.

“Where under the sun do you suppose they are?” demanded Betty. “We’ve been going ’round and ’round in a circle and there’s not a sign of them.”

“I’ll admit I’m completely stumped,” said Florence. “This track leads from here to the apple orchard, over the bridge, around to the farm, through the pasture and back to here. Where do we go next?”

“What did I tell you?” asked Lois. “I knew Polly would give us a chase.”

“H’m, so did I,” Betty agreed, “but I didn’t think she’d do it as well as this.”

The shadows of the trees lengthening out over the rich black ground gave warning of the approaching sunset.

The hounds looked puzzled.

“Perhaps they have been doubling on the trail, and we’ve been chasing them around the circle—I say let’s go back the way we came, perhaps we’ll meet them,” suggested Connie.

They all thought this a likely solution, and in a minute they were again in marching order, ready to retrace their steps.

Connie’s conjecture was quite true, as far as it went—that was, however, not quite far enough to reach the hares.

Polly, to whom all woods were an open book, once out of sight of the gym, had found her way by various paths to the orchard and, by keeping to the right she discovered the bridge.

“What a piece of luck,” she exclaimed to the girls who were running beside her, adding, in explanation:

“If we can only make a circle and come back here, they will never find us—we can stand under the bridge, the brook’s almost dry and there are loads of stones.”

The other hares, only too eager to be led, acquiesced at once.

Off they started, keeping well to the right, past the farm, and through the pasture, leaving the tiny line of white that later dumbfounded the pursuing hounds. On they sped to the orchard and panting, but delighted, they again reached the bridge.

“Everybody underneath and don’t make a sound,” Polly warned them, “and keep well to the end so they won’t see us as they come along; our only danger is, that they may notice the short trail that leads down here.”

They waited for what seemed an age, balancing themselves on slippery stones, very much excited, but very still, save for an occasionally suppressed giggle.

In a few minutes they heard the thump, thump of the approaching hounds and held their breath as the bridge shook over their heads.

“Safe,” whispered some one as the sound grew fainter in the distance:

“Where next?”

“Here, of course,” replied Polly; “we mustn’t move, they are sure to come back.”

After the hounds had consulted in the corner of the pasture, they made the circle again. As they reached the bridge for the third time, they were both tired and discouraged. In the middle they halted.

Underneath, the hares huddled breathlessly and Florence Guile’s voice came down to them.

“It’s after five o’clock, really, I think we’d better give up.”

And Betty made answer:

“I suppose so, but it seems dreadful to be beaten by the new girls.”

“Hardly by the new girls,” laughed Louise, “beaten by that little Polly Pendleton. I don’t believe any of the rest could have done it.”

So proud were the triumphant hares under the bridge, that they didn’t even resent this remark.

“Who can call the loudest?” Louise continued. “Betty, you can tell them we give up, we’ll have to go ’round the trail again till we find them.”

Betty walked dejectedly to the side of the bridge, pushed her flying hair from her face, put both hands to her mouth and taking a tremendous breath, yelled:

“Come in! Come in! We give up.”

Before the echo had died away, sixteen grinning faces appeared from under the bridge.

There was a moment of speechless amazement, and then Polly asked in a quiet voice that contrasted ridiculously with Betty’s mighty yell:

“Were you calling us?”

“Look, they’re here.”

“Under the bridge.”

“Where’s the trail?”

“Here, look!”

“We’re blind!” came the chorus from the startled hounds, followed by:

“How did you do it?”

“Have you been here all the time?”

“Polly, you’re a wonder!”

“The new girls never won before.”

“Three cheers for Polly!” and suddenly the leader of the hares was the center of an admiring and enthusiastic crowd.

Something had happened, she was no longer just one of the new girls; by this little act, she had won her right to a place in the big school.

Had you asked any of the old girls to explain the difference they would probably have expressed it as Lois had earlier in the day by telling you that:

Polly had proved herself to be thoroughly “Seddon Hallish!”