The first day of the Xmas holidays had at last arrived and fifty-six tired girls were busily packing trunks and bags. Nerves that had been overstrained for the past couple of weeks had relaxed, and everywhere there was the noise and excitement of leaving.

In Freshman corridor trunks were being jumped on and made to close, and all the girls were exchanging addresses and exacting promises of letters and visits.

“Oh, Lois,” sighed Polly, taking her chum’s arm and leading her to the end of the corridor farthest away from the rest of the girls, “I do wish you didn’t live in Albany. Of course I’ll be glad to see Uncle Roddy, but I can’t help feeling that vacation is going to be awful lonely.”

“I know,” replied Lois. “I wish we could be together; anyhow we can write. Bet will be in New York and you will see her.”

“Yes, but Bet’s not you,” Polly answered. “But let’s cheer up. Why, here’s Betty now; speak of angels—looking for us?” she called.

“Oh, there you are; you’re both wanted—Polly in the reception-room and Lo in Mrs. Baird’s office.”

“Do you know what for?”

“No.” But Betty’s expression made both girls apprehensive.

“Wonder what’s up,” queried Lois as they ran down the broad staircase to the main hall.

When Polly reached the reception hall she found Uncle Roddy with a big fur coat over his arm, a cap in his hand, waiting for her.

“Hello, Tiddle-dy-winks; thought I’d plan a surprise for you, so I came up in the motor to take you home. It’s a glorious day. If there are any girls you care to bring along, why—”

But Uncle Roddy’s explanation of his unexpected arrival was cut short by Polly’s violent hug and kiss.

“Uncle Roddy, what a darling you are!” she exclaimed. “I’ll get ready this minute and see who I can get to go with us.” And she flew back to the corridor.

As she stood in her room throwing the remaining leftovers into her trunk, Lois came in and threw herself on the bed, in tears.

“Polly, Bobbie has typhoid and I can’t go home,” she sobbed. “Father wired Mrs. Baird. Poor darling Bob!” Her voice was muffled in the pillow.

Polly’s joy in Uncle Roddy’s surprise was forgotten as she tried to comfort her friend.

After Lois had left the office, Mrs. Baird returned to the reception-room where she had left Uncle Roddy.

“Did Marianna find you all right, Mr. Pendleton?” she asked. “Such a distressing thing has just happened! Dr. Farwell wired me that his son has typhoid and Lois will have to remain here for the vacation. I am sorry, for the child needed a change.”

Then it was that Uncle Roddy had an inspiration. The thought of amusing Polly during the vacation had worried him. Several ladies of his acquaintance had promised to take her about, but that had not reassured him. Now if there were two of them, they would amuse each other, and under the able care of Mrs. Bent, his worthy housekeeper, all would be well.

It was a matter of a few minutes to lay the plan before Mrs. Baird and, with her help, to reach Dr. Farwell by long distance telephone. Over the wire the two men renewed their acquaintance of college days and the doctor was only too delighted to give his consent.

In less than an hour the two girls were wrapped up in countless fur robes in the back seat of Uncle Roddy’s comfortable car, while that relieved gentleman was at the wheel, and the chauffeur, always along in case of tire trouble, occupied the seat beside him.

As it was twelve o’clock when they started, Uncle Roddy suggested luncheon at the hotel in the village. That was lark number one. The food was terrible, but Uncle Roddy was so funny the way he imitated the waiter and teased the big green parrot, that as long as the food was filling, it didn’t matter about the taste.

On the road they had two tires blow out, and as the second happened just on the outskirts of Irvington-on-the-Hudson, home of Rip Van Winkle, Uncle Roddy suggested dinner at the Sleepy Hollow Inn. They had the most delicious muffins, and pork chops with apple sauce, and very black coffee. That was lark number two.

But best of all was the getting home at ten o’clock. Uncle Roddy lived on Riverside Drive in a big apartment, with Mr. and Mrs. Bent, his housekeeper and butler.

Polly had stayed with him for three months before going to school and knew the lay of the land. She led the way to the big guest room that she had occupied, but instead of the gray walls and sedate old mahogany furniture that she remembered, imagine her surprise at finding soft cream walls with a border of nodding yellow daffodils and the most adorable ivory-colored furniture.

Lois broke the amazed silence by demanding:

“Polly, what a beautiful room; why did you never tell me about it?”

But Polly was speechless with delight as she stood looking, first at the big double bed with the carved roses at the head and foot and next at the dressing-table with its dainty silver brushes and combs and Dresden china candlesticks. A slender-legged table with a bowl of yellow tea-roses on it stood beside the bed, and the walls were hung with colored prints of Greuze’s “Girl with the Broken Pitcher” and “The Milk Maid,” Reynolds’ darling portrait of “Penelope” and “The Boy with the Rabbit.”

Polly, in the days of Aunt Hannah and her four-posted beds and crazy quilts, had dreamed of a room such as this. Finally she managed to answer Lois’ question.

“I didn’t know about it myself, till this very minute,” she gasped. “Oh, Uncle Roddy, it’s beautiful! I never saw anything half so lovely!”

“I wanted you to feel at home, dear child, and now I think you had both better get to sleep.” And after renewed thanks and good-night kisses, he left them.

A second later Mrs. Bent tiptoed in with a broad smile that took in the whole world.

“You’re hungry, I’m sure, my dears. I’ll have some hot chocolate ready for you when you get into bed; just ring when you want it.”

Polly and Lois hugged each other for joy and after taking a disgracefully long time to undress, they finally fell asleep over their chocolate and cakes.

The two weeks of Christmas vacation was an unending good time; every minute was full. The mornings were spent chiefly in bed, for Mrs. Bent brought them their breakfast and sat to chat.

Sometimes they lunched down-town with Uncle Roddy and sometimes they motored through Central Park, or, with Mrs. Bent for chaperone, wandered through the stores, and as the old Scotch woman could refuse them nothing, they did pretty much as they chose.

Uncle Roddy came home at four o’clock and always with bonbons and theater tickets.

It would be useless to try and recount all their doings, so you will have to be contented with the descriptions of the good times that pleased them most.

One was Lois’ box party for “Peter Pan.” Dr. Farwell had written that the seats were in her name at the box office for Saturday matinÉe, and the question arose whom to ask.

“There’s Betty, of course,” said Lois. “We’ll phone her this morning; and Angela and Connie live in New Jersey and we ought to be able to get them.”

Betty’s home was reached and her voice sounded over the wire in reply to Lois’ invitation:

“Come? You bet I will! What a lark!”

“Ask her for luncheon,” called Polly. Then hurriedly to Mrs. Bent: “It will be all right, won’t it?”

“Indeed it will, my lamb; any one you like; it’s only too happy I am to see a little life now and then,” answered that devoted woman.

When the receiver was hung up it was arranged that Betty would be at the apartment Saturday morning. Angela and Connie had another engagement and couldn’t possibly come.

“That’s too bad, Lo. Who can you ask now?”

Lois looked puzzled for a minute and then exclaimed:

“I have it! Why can’t Uncle Roddy” (she had called him Uncle since the dinner at the Sleepy Hollow Inn), “and that funny man, Mr. Whittington, come?”

No sooner said than done. The long-suffering operator connected them with the office in Wall Street occupied by George B. Whittington, broker. He was a little taken back at the invitation, but answered that he would be “pleased as punch and would meet them at the theater.” Uncle Roddy also accepted with pleasure.

Betty arrived Saturday morning, and the three of them chattered like magpies until luncheon. They drove to the theater in the motor and found the two men there to meet them. Betty was introduced to Mr. Whittington and she nicknamed him The Lord Mayor of London at once, after Dick of the same name in the nursery tales. By the time the curtain went up they were the best of friends.

Of course they adored Peter Pan and Wendy. They laughed a good deal and cried a little and waved their handkerchiefs madly when Peter asked them if they believed in fairies.

“This is quite the nicest party I ever attended,” Mr. Whittington insisted as the curtain fell after the last act. “Why can’t we have another one just like it, soon?”

“But, Mr. Lord Mayor of London,” interrupted Betty, “where would we ever find another Peter Pan?”

“Just leave that to me. I know the very thing, but I’m not going to tell you a word about it. You must all be my guests for next Wednesday night. How about it?”

Everybody was of course delighted and accepted at once.

Wednesday night finally arrived and with it another jolly party. Mr. Whittington’s surprise turned out to be the Russian Ballet, and as the girls watched the fascinating premiÈre danseuse as Pupin Fee (fairy doll) in that charming story dance, they were wild with delight, and Polly openly transferred her affection from Peter Pan. Lois remained faithful, and Betty never could make up her mind which one she loved the better.

“She might just as well be talking,” exclaimed Polly between acts. “I know just what she’s thinking with every move she makes. Oh, isn’t she precious!”

“I know what the next composition I write for Miss Porter will be about,” announced Betty.

“Oh, Bet, for pity sake stop talking about school. I’m in fairy land and I don’t want to come back,” Lois begged. “There goes the curtain up for the last act.”

The evening was over far too soon to please our party and when Mr. Whittington said good-night, at the door of the theater, his guests left no doubt in his mind of their appreciation and enjoyment of the good time he had given them.

Best of all days of the vacation was Christmas. Polly and Lois were wakened at nine o’clock by Uncle Roddy’s knock.

“Get up, you lazy children! Merry Christmas!” he called. “Lois, I have your mother on the phone for you. Come and speak to her.”

Lois jumped out of bed and in a minute was calling Xmas greetings all the way to Albany.

After breakfast Mr. Whittington arrived, and he and Uncle Roddy whispered mysteriously. Finally Mr. Whittington said:

“Get your things on, girls; we’re going for a ride.”

“A ride?” exclaimed Polly. “Why, the ground’s covered with snow.”

“Doesn’t make any difference; we’re going for a ride,” he told her and not another word could they get out of him.

They rode in the car as far as Fort Lee Ferry and then Uncle Roddy ordered them out, and they crossed the ice-choked Hudson on the ferry-boat.

“Please tell us where we are going,” pleaded Polly.

“I am simply dying to know; it’s all so mysterious,” added Lois.

But “wait and see” was all the satisfaction they could get from Mr. Whittington and Uncle Roddy, and they had to wait until they reached Fort Lee, where a big double-seated sleigh was waiting for them.

When they were all in and the warm robes were tucked snugly about them, Mr. Whittington whipped up the two black horses and they were off along the smooth snow-covered road.

It was one o’clock before they finally reached an old-fashioned farmhouse way up in the hills back of the Hudson.

“Every one out!” ordered Uncle Roddy.

“What a ducky old house! But what are we here for?” asked Lois.

“I know,” laughed Polly, stamping her feet on the porch. “An old-fashioned Xmas dinner.”

“Quite right, Polly, and I hope it’s a good one, for I’m starved. But here are Mr. and Mrs. Hopper, let’s ask them about it.”

As Mr. Whittington was speaking the door had opened and an old lady and gentleman stood in the hall.

“Merry Xmas to you both,” he continued, shaking them each by the hand. “Let me introduce you to the rest. Girls, this is Mrs. John Samuel Hopper, the finest cook in the State of New York; every chance I get to eat one of her turkeys—well, I take it,” he explained.

The old lady blushed with pleasure.

“Won’t you be coming in?” she invited. “The dinner’s ready, so you’d best set.”

You may be sure they all did justice to the roast duck and turkey, for their ride had given them hearty appetites.

After dinner they went out to inspect the farm and ended by having a royal snow fight. When it was over Uncle Roddy suggested more to eat and they spent the rest of the afternoon before the open fire, roasting chestnuts and apples, while the men entertained them with stories of their college days.

The vacation ended at last and Uncle Roddy saw them off, each with a box of candy and a bunch of violets, at the Grand Central Station.

Seddon Hall had a private car for the girls and as each one entered they were greeted by a chorus of shouts:

“Hello, did you have a good time?”

“So sorry I couldn’t come and see you that day.”

“Why didn’t you answer my letter?”

“Didn’t you adore ‘Peter Pan’?” and a thousand other questions.

They reached school at six o’clock and as Polly and Lois strolled down the corridor, waiting for the supper bell, Lois said:

“Well, here we are, back again. Polly, I never had such a good time. I’ll never be able to thank you.”

“Oh, bother the thanks,” replied Polly. “Do you know, Lois, now that we’re back I feel as if we had never been away.”

“I know,” Lois sighed regretfully. “It’s more like a wonderful dream. Still it is good to be back, you know it is.”

“Of course it is,” Polly agreed heartily.

Just then the gong rang and they went down to supper.