Polly awoke with a start and bounded out of bed as the rising bell clanged down the corridor.

“I knew it, I knew it; my Latin won’t be finished and the Spartan will be furious,” she exclaimed to the four walls, “but I did intend to get up early. Well, it can’t be helped now; hateful stuff, anyhow.”

For two days the snow had been falling, and the coasting had been perfect. As might be expected, lessons had suffered. The girls would come into study hours flushed with excitement, their blood tingling and their eyes sparkling, and it was only the most studious that could get down to real concentrated work.

It was Friday morning, and a particularly glorious day. The grounds were covered with snow three feet deep, the main hill where the girls coasted had been shoveled out, stamped down, and refrozen until it resembled a broad ribbon of ice with high banks of drifted snow on either side.

The fir trees were weighed down to the ground, icicles hung from the porches of the school building, and the gym looked like an ice palace.

This enticing scene, with sunshine over all, made Polly look longingly from the corridor window on her way to Latin class, a couple of hours after we left her thinking of her unprepared lesson.

“I wish it were the last period instead of the first,” Lois whispered, catching up with her and linking her arm in hers.

“So do I, for a lot of reasons,” groaned Polly. “In the first place, I haven’t my Latin finished, and in the second, well, it’s a crime to stay indoors on a day like this.”

“Really, girls, I must remind you, there is no talking allowed in the corridors.”

The Spartan was upon them. One never heard her coming; she wore rubber heels.

“You will admit you were talking, I suppose, Marianna?” she inquired.

“Certainly I will admit it. I was talking. I don’t crawl, Miss Hale.” And Polly sucked in her under lip, a danger sign that she was angry.

“I was talking, too, Miss Hale,” spoke up Lois.

The Spartan paid no attention to this, however, but marched off down the corridor. Two minutes later she confronted them in Latin class. Polly was still sucking in her under lip.

“Papers for the day on my desk, if you please.”

“My Latin is unprepared,” announced Polly with deadly calm. “And,” she added, “I have no excuse.”

“Dear me!” And Miss Hale raised her eyebrows until they disappeared into the depths of her large pompadour. “And is there any other girl whose Latin is not prepared, and who had no excuse?” she inquired.

As no one answered she continued:

“And may I ask why your Latin is not prepared? Don’t you like Latin, Marianna?”

“No, I do not, Miss Hale,” Polly answered, dangerously polite.

“You don’t like Latin, so you don’t prepare Latin; how very unfortunate!”

“I never said that was the reason I was unprepared. I told you I had no excuse.”

Polly was getting very angry, still she might have controlled herself if just at that moment Miss Hale had not lifted a restraining hand and said, “Tut, my dear,” in her most irritating manner.

Have you ever noticed the effect “Tut, tut,” has on an angry person? Sometimes it’s quite dreadful. Polly was no exception. She stamped her foot, threw her Latin book violently on the floor and marched out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Punishment followed as a matter of course. Polly had expected to be sent to Mrs. Baird. She did not know how thoroughly the Spartan disapproved of her superior’s gentle lectures, preferring more drastic measures.

It was not until after school, however, that she learned her fate. It was in the shape of a note that read as follows:

“Kindly keep silence for the afternoon; report in the study hall and make up today’s lesson, the advance lesson, and translate the first ten lines of story on page 35. Bring work to my room.”

“Hard luck,” sympathized Lois, reading over Polly’s shoulder. “That means no coasting. I wish I could help you.” Then putting her arm around her. “There, dear, never mind, don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” denied Polly, hastily daubing at her eyes, “but if you stay here any longer, I will. Go on, or I’ll blub.”

Lois left to hunt up Betty, who had completely recovered from her ducking and again grinned joyously on the world. Together they went out to coast. As they passed the bulletin board Lois stopped and read:

There will be a lecture on anatomy, by Miss F. Tilden-Brown, in Assembly Hall, at 8 P. M. tonight.

“The dickens there will,” exclaimed Betty. “Anatomy forsooth, and by Miss Tilden-Brown. Nothing a woman with a name like that could say would interest me.”

“That’s right, think of yourself instead of poor Polly. Latin all afternoon and anatomy all evening.”

Betty looked thoughtful.

“Hum; she’s already in a sweet temper,” she mused. “I see trouble ahead.”

At 4:30 Polly, with her finished papers in her hand, crossed the Bridge of Sighs and knocked at Miss Hale’s door.

“Come in,” called that lady.

She was attired in a flowered kimono and was in the act of brushing her mouse-colored hair.

“My papers, Miss Hale,” announced Polly in her most frigid tones.

“Very well, if you will put them on my table, please.” Then as she turned to leave the room the demon in the Spartan prompted her to add: “Have you nothing to say? You know it is customary when one has thrown books about, to—”

“Oh, an apology,” interrupted Polly. “I suppose Mrs. Baird would wish it.” And looking straight into Miss Hale’s watery blue eyes, she said: “I apologize.”

It was insolence, of course, but, after all, an entire afternoon of Latin demands some outlet.

As Polly reached the corridor, Lois and Betty met her.

“Poor darling, are you awfully tired?” Lois asked. “We did miss you so; the coasting was—” but Polly interrupted her.

“Lois, if you dare tell me what a good time you had I’ll never speak to you again.” Then as she saw her surprised look, she added, laughing: “Don’t get worried, I’m just awfully cranky and my head is splitting.”

“Better wash your face in cold water,” suggested Betty, “and stop thinking of Latin. For instance, contemplate the joys of this evening in the arms of Miss Tilden-Brown and anatomy.”

“What!” yelled Polly. “A lecture tonight. Oh, that’s too much. I’m going to cut,” she announced.

There was silence for a full minute. They had reached Polly’s room by now. Then Lois said very solemnly:

“I’ve never cut before, but if you’re determined to do it, I’ll go with you.”

“So will I,” echoed Betty, springing up from the window seat. “I’d brave anything—lions, CÆsar’s ghost, or the whale that swallowed Jonah—rather than listen to that lecture. Besides, I couldn’t desert you, Polly. Where will we go?”

“Coasting, of course,” Polly answered. “There’s a gorgeous moon.”

“We will be caught,” remarked Lois, “but then we’re all willing to face the consequences.”

That evening at 8:15 when the girls were all seated in Assembly Hall and Miss Tilden-Brown was expatiating on the evil results of tight lacing, three figures, standing on top of the hill, were silhouetted against the sky.

The moon was there, as Polly had predicted, making the snow sparkle with its blue-white rays. The silence was broken only by the crunch, crunch of the snow, as the three girls pulled their sleds into place.

“You go first, Polly,” said Bet. “It’s your party, and we’ll follow close behind so the goblins won’t get you.”

“I’m off, then,” and Polly threw herself flat on her sled.

It was great sport. The track was so icy that the runners made sparks as the sleds whizzed down the steep hill.

About nine o’clock Mrs. Baird stole from the Assembly Hall and sought the rest of her own room. She had grown fearfully tired of Miss Tilden-Brown’s endless talk, and heartily sorry for the girls.

As she reached her dainty chintz-hung sitting-room, she lifted the window and stood looking at the big full moon and breathing the cool night air. Presently a joyous laugh rang out, followed by another. Mrs. Baird looked puzzled and leaned farther out of the window.

The laugh had been caused by Betty forgetting to steer and tumbling into a snow bank, thereby blocking the way for Polly and Lois, who were following close behind, so that they all landed in the drift.

“Somebody pull me out,” sang Polly.

“Sorry, can’t oblige,” came Lois’ muffled tones. “I’m on my way to China.”

“Betty to the rescue. Whose foot is this?”

“Ouch! Oh, let go!”

“That was a mix-up.”

“Where are the sleds?”

After much scrambling they managed to regain the track.

“Lucky thing we were not all killed,” Betty reflected.

“Serve us right for cutting,” commented Lois.

“’Bout time to go in, isn’t it?” Polly inquired regretfully.

“Yes, it’s all over,” replied Betty. “And now the consequences. Wonder what part of the anatomy Miss Tilden-Brown is discussing now?” And she chuckled gleefully.

Mrs. Baird smiled broadly and closed the window. A few minutes later she met the girls in the lower hall.

“Why, girls, where have you been?” she inquired.

“Out coasting, Mrs. Baird,” Lois answered. “We cut the lecture,” she added, nervously twisting the third finger of her red mitten.

“Perhaps you had better come into my office and tell me about it,” suggested Mrs. Baird, and she led the way down the hall.

They were in the office just ten minutes, but in that time Mrs. Baird found out all she wanted to know. Polly’s afternoon in the study hall, Betty’s dislike for lectures, and Lois’ love for adventure. She finished the interview with these words:

“I did not expect it of you girls in the past, and I am not going to expect it of you in the future. I look to you as holding the position of wholesome examples in the school. Your fault tonight was not very great, but it was a step in the wrong direction. Pull yourselves up, and now, good-night.”

As the girls turned to go, she added with a smile:

“I promise you all, there will be no more lectures on anatomy.”

They walked thoughtfully back to the corridor. As Betty opened her door she said:

“For two years I’ve been trying to find an adjective to describe Mrs. Baird and the nearest I can come to one is ‘saint,’ and that doesn’t suit her at all. Good-night.”

“Good-night,” answered Polly. “I suppose there will be no more cutting.”

“No, I suppose not,” agreed Lois, “but, cricky, I wouldn’t have missed tonight.”

They all laughed guiltily, and then as they heard the rest of the girls trooping out of Assembly Hall, stole quietly into their rooms.

An hour later Miss Hale and Mrs. Baird were alone in the faculty room, finishing a conversation.

“I can’t understand,” Mrs. Baird was saying, “why, when you bend a girl to the breaking point, you are surprised that she breaks. You know it is near Christmas and they are all tired.”

“Our ideas of discipline are very different,” Miss Hale returned stiffly.

“Well, after all, you will admit I am the head of the school,” Mrs. Baird reminded her, smiling good-naturedly to soften the rebuke.

“Certainly, to be sure,” Miss Hale stammered, rather lamely. “I think I’ll be saying good-night.”

When she had gone, Mrs. Baird sank into a big chair before the hearth.

“It was breaking rules, of course,” she mused, smiling into the fire, “but I can’t help loving them for wanting to coast instead of listening to anatomy lectures. It shows they’ve healthy minds anyway, bless them.”