Polly had just washed her hair, and she was sitting on her shirt waist box before the open window drying it. It was a gloriously warm, sunshiny day and the twitter of birds, the spring smell of the earth and the lazy hellos of the girls as they greeted one another on the campus below, gave her a drowsy feeling of contentment. Exams were nearly all over, and every one seemed to be just waiting in happy anticipation of Commencement.

Except for a short talk by Mrs. Baird after dinner it was to be a free evening and the girls had been granted permission to stay out of doors until it was really dark. Mrs. Baird had said that now was the time to take a big deep breath before rushing into the coming week of excitement.

Polly, half asleep, felt the top of her head and found it nearly dry—she shifted her position to a half kneeling one, shook her hair over her face so that the sun might shine on the back of it, and cradling her head on her arm resumed her dreaming.

“I wonder where Lo is,” she mused—“probably practicing in the gym with Bet. I wish I hadn’t washed my hair. It seems awfully silly to waste this beautiful day just breathing. I wonder what we could do. Why doesn’t Lo come up; she knows I can’t go out. I believe I’m lonesome.” Polly sat up as this thought took shape in her mind. “How absurd,” she said aloud. And then she laughed. It was funny to think that after all the years she had spent alone that she could so soon forget how to amuse herself. It was the first time she had realized what a difference Seddon Hall had made to her.

“I’d better get used to it,” she said again, but she looked very doleful at the prospect.

A few minutes later, as she was feeling sorry for herself, a rap sounded at the door and Lois’ voice called:

“Oh, Poll, are you there?”

“Yes, come in.”

“I’ve been looking all over the place for you.”

“I told you I was going to wash my hair.”

“Well, if you did I forgot it, and I’ve been all over the grounds trying to find you.” Lois poked her head out of the window. “She’s here, Bet, come on up,” she called. “We have a plan for tonight,” she continued; “it’s too nice to waste time just roaming around.”

“That’s what I’ve been thinking. What are you going to do?”

Polly, now quite awake, was rubbing her head with the towel in an attempt to hurry the drying.

“Nothing very exciting, it’s Bet’s suggestion.”

“I like that,” Betty herself burst in upon them. “Not very exciting, just one of Betty’s silly ideas.” Lois and Polly laughed heartily. Nothing was quite so amusing as Betty trying to look offended.

“It’s a perfectly good idea, Poll,” Betty continued, “and fits in with this nice lazy day.”

“What is it?”

“Just a walk to the fort after dinner. Of course when we get there, we can sing and—”

“Thrilling, Bet, thrilling,” teased Lois, but Polly made her stop by pushing her down on the bed and stuffing a pillow over her mouth. To Betty she said:

“It’s a bully idea. It ought to be wonderful near the river tonight. Who’s going?”

Lois struggled under the pillow. “I’ll be good, let me up,” she pleaded. “Ugh! you nearly smothered me. I’ll tell you who’s going. We are, of course, and Ange and Connie, and the two Dorothys, because one of them can sing, and perhaps Florence and Louise and—oh, anybody else that wants to come along.”

“Who’ll chaperon?”

“Oh, I never thought of that.”

“Let’s ask Miss Porter; I know she’d like it.” It was Polly’s suggestion.

“Fine, she’s just the one.”

“Not if the two Dorothys come,” Betty said decidedly. “Have you forgotten the row in class?”

“Then let’s drop the two Dorothys,” replied Lois.

“Wait, I’ve an idea,” Polly exclaimed; “let’s ask only the girls we like awfully well. We don’t know when we’ll ever be together again and—”

“Oh, Poll!” Lois protested. “Don’t talk like that.”

“Well, we don’t know. Louise and Florence graduate; Connie may go to the conservatory, and Ange—”

“I see what you mean,” Betty interrupted. “Make it a sort of farewell reunion and of course we’ll take Miss Porter—she’s our favorite teacher.”

“It’ll be worse than a funeral,” Lois said dolefully, “but it’s rather a pretty idea.”

“Lo, stop being sentimental; let’s get the girls,” suggested Betty. “Poll, hurry up and fix your hair.”

“It’s still sopping.”

“Never mind, stick it up any way. It’s too warm to make any difference.”

Later they stopped to consult on the “Bridge of Sighs.” They had asked Angela and Connie, and Louise and Florence, and had left them delighted with the plan. Louise and Florence had a class meeting on, but they promised to come for a little while.

“Who else?” asked Betty, expectantly.

“I don’t know,” replied Polly; “I can’t think of any one.”

“Neither can I,” Lois added, “except Miss Porter.”

“Why, that’s perfectly silly; don’t tell me there are only four girls in school we like,” protested Betty.

“You’re forgetting ourselves,” Lois reminded her.

“Yes, but even then.”

“Let’s each choose one other girl,” suggested Polly. “Lo, you first, who do you want?”

Lois puckered her eyebrows and tried hard to think; finally she said, “I just don’t want any one else and that’s the truth.”

Polly smiled, “Bet, it’s your turn; who do you want?”

“Mine? All right, let’s see. I like a lot of girls—there’s you and Lois and Ange and Connie—and—Oh, Jemima, but you’re all going and I can’t think of any one else, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” Polly said, laughing, “so that’s settled. Let’s go and ask Miss Porter.”

They found the English teacher in a perfect ocean of examination papers, a daub of red ink on one ear.

“Come in, girls, I suppose you want to know if you’ve passed,” she said, smiling the welcome she always felt for this particular trio.

“Why, our papers aren’t corrected are they?” Betty asked, excitedly. “I thought it would be days before we knew.”

“Oh, please tell us,” begged Polly.

“Not until I hear why you came,” Miss Porter said.

“Oh, no, tell us our marks first, please, please, please,” Lois beseeched.

“Very well, I will. I’m too delighted to keep it to myself another minute,” Miss Porter’s eyes snapped. “You all passed wonderfully well—I can’t tell you your marks, that wouldn’t be fair to the rest, but I am so proud of you all.”

They accepted this unexpected good news with delight. Literature was more important to them than any other subject.

“Oh, great.”

“Isn’t that bully!”

“I was scared to death, the examination was so hard.”

“Now tell me why you came.” Miss Porter put down her pen and waited.

“Will you?”

“We thought—”

“Tonight—” They all began at once.

“It’s your idea, Poll, go on,” Lois said.

“Well,” Polly began.

“Polly, Polly,” Miss Porter chided, “all your wells will surely make an ocean and drown you some one of these days.”

“Oh, I know it, but it’s such an easy way to begin a sentence. I won’t do it again.” Polly took a long breath.

“You know tonight there is nothing to do, and we thought it would be nice to go for a walk, out to the fort, just we three, and Angela and Connie; Florence and Louise said they’d come for a little while if they could.”

“Yes, and?” Miss Porter asked inquiringly.

“Oh, well, of course, we want you to come, too,” Polly ended, rather lamely.

Miss Porter sat very still for a minute and then she smiled, and when Miss Porter smiled it was a rare treat. If you watched her long enough you always ended by smiling, too. “That is a jolly idea,” she said, enthusiastically. “Of course I’ll come. I can’t think of any nicer way of spending this lovely evening.” Then suddenly her face fell. “Oh, my dear children, I forgot.”

“What?” they demanded.

“We haven’t a free evening at all. We are to have a lecture.”

“You mean Mrs. Baird? But she’s only going to tell us the plans for next week; it won’t take a minute,” Betty said assuringly.

“No, that’s not it; this is another quite unexpected lecture. Mrs. Baird told the faculty about it after luncheon, but it slipped my mind.”

“Oh,” Lois groaned, “what’s it to be?”

“A lecture on New England during the Revolution, by Professor Hale.”

“Hale? The Spartan—Miss Porter, did she have anything to do with it?” Betty’s eyes flashed indignation.

“The Professor is Miss Hale’s cousin, I believe, and she was responsible for his coming. I think the lecture will be a very interesting one. He is going to show pictures.” Miss Porter tried to be cheerful.

“Lantern slides?” demanded Polly.

“Yes, I believe that’s it. I’m sorry about the walk, it would have been so nice.” Miss Porter looked wistfully out of the window, as if she could see the old fort bathed in moonlight that very second. “But I am sure we will enjoy the lecture,” she added hastily. The girls knew that no matter how strongly Miss Porter sympathized with them she would not permit a word against Miss Hale.

They left in silence and waited until they were in Polly’s room, with the door closed, before they gave vent to their feelings.

Lois threw herself on the bed in despair. “If that isn’t the meanest thing I ever heard of.”

“To have to stay in on an evening like this and listen to History,” Betty raged.

“History and the Spartan’s cousin,” Lois, cross as she was, could not help laughing at the combination.

“I suppose it’s to get even; we weren’t awfully pleasant about the Latin exam.” Betty was jumping at conclusions.

“Oh, Bet, how silly.” Polly turned from her place at the window. “The Spartan’s not as bad as all that, she probably thinks we’ll enjoy it.”

“Yes, she does,” Betty was skeptical.

“Polly, talk sense,” Lois begged. “How could any one think that we’d rather listen to—Oh, mercy, when I think of it—the Revolution, battles and dates—Maybe the Spartan means well, only—”

But Polly was again looking out of the window. Her eye traveled over the familiar objects. The tennis court, the gym roof, and a little farther on, the corner of the stables and the power house. Something in the queer shaped little stone building caught her attention.

Betty was still raving. “But Lo, that’s not the worst of it, we’ll have to look at millions and hundreds of postal cards, while the Spartan’s cousin explains them like this:

“My dear young ladies,” Betty snatched up a nail file from Polly’s dresser and pointed to a picture on the wall; “in the foreground of this beautiful picture, we have the exact spot where five minute men fell after a heroic encounter with the British, in the year—”

“Oh, Bet, do stop; it’s too horrible. Can’t we cut?” There was a moment’s silence.

“We cut one lecture,” Polly said with meaning.

“And we promised Mrs. Baird we’d never do it again,” Lois finished for her.

Polly whistled softly and reached for her sweater.

“Where are you going?” Betty demanded.

“For a walk, and I don’t want any company,” Polly replied, going out quietly and shutting the door.

Lois and Betty were too surprised to speak. And when they had recovered sufficiently to go out and follow Polly, it was too late, for Polly had chosen the most unlikely spot for her walk.

At dinner that night, Mrs. Baird announced the lecture. It was received with respectful silence. The rest of the girls were quite as disappointed as Lois and Betty had been—Polly was the only cheerful one at the Freshman table, and Betty whispered to Lois:

“I can’t make Polly out; she acts as if she were pleased.”

“Poll,” Lois appealed direct, “what is the matter with you, do you really think you are going to like this lecture?”

Polly smiled an inscrutable smile—“History is my favorite lesson,” she said primly.

After dinner she disappeared. There would be fifteen minutes before the lecture began and she had enough to do to fill each one. She went straight to the power house. Pat was standing in the doorway, his pipe in his mouth, and an expression on his face that boded ill to all lectures.

“Beautiful evening, isn’t it?” Polly greeted him.

Pat looked surprised. “Oh, you’re back again. What is it you want to know now?” he asked.

“Nothing much, I just thought it would be fun to see you fix up the connection for the lantern,” Polly answered idly.

“Sure, it’s all fixed. I’m sorry; had I knowed you was that interested, I’d a waited.”

“Oh, pshaw.” Polly looked very crestfallen.

“It’s an easy matter to show you how it’s done, though. Come inside.”

After a lengthy and voluble discourse on the one hand, and eager attention on the other, Polly asked:

“So, really, if you just pulled down that switch the lantern wouldn’t work up at school?”

“Not till it was turned on again, but why—”

“Pat,” Polly interrupted hastily, “don’t you think it’s time to go up to school? They can’t begin without you.”

Pat’s face fell and he sighed reproachfully.

“There, I suppose you’re right; I’ll be getting my coat.”

“Pat, do you like to work the lantern for lecture?”

“I do not; well, that’s not always.”

“How about tonight?”

“Tonight?” Pat hesitated, tried to keep his reserve, and then gave it up. “It’s like this, Miss, tonight I made plans to go to the village, and so you can see that this lecture coming sudden like, is not, in a manner of speaking, welcome to me.”

“Hard luck; I’m sorry,” Polly said airily. “It can’t be helped, though; I guess we’d better start.” They left the power house and had gone about a hundred feet when Polly stopped.

“Gracious, Pat, I’ve left my Latin book in the power house. I’ll have to go back for it. There goes the bell; you’d better hurry.”

Professor Irvington Hale mounted the platform in Assembly room at exactly seven-fifteen. He was a young old man with a knotty forehead and very large ears. He wore horn rim glasses and he carried a black ebony pointer in one hand. Betty described him adequately when she whispered to Lois: “He’s an owl.”

Lois smothered a giggle and turned to Polly—They were all sitting in the front row. “Two hours of that; O dear.”

Polly was occupied in watching Mr. Hale, very closely. She only said: “Oh, cheer up,” and kept on watching.

“Good evening, young ladies. I—er—have the pleasure to address you this evening on New England and its historical past—” The professor was already stumbling on his way. After his opening remark he coughed, shifted his feet, and consulted a card that he held in the palm of one hand. “First picture, please,” he said rather abruptly.

The lights were turned out promptly, and the girls settled down with a sigh of resignation.

They waited, no picture came; the white curtain waved ghost-like in the dark. The younger girls began to giggle nervously and then some one turned on the light. Mrs. Baird went to the back of the room.

“What’s the matter, Pat, is there something wrong with the lantern?”

Pat scratched his head in solemn wonder. “Sure, there should be nothing wrong with it,” he said.

“Perhaps the trouble is at the power house,” Mrs. Baird suggested. “You better go as quickly as possible and find out. And in the meantime,” she continued, returning to the platform, “perhaps Professor Hale will talk to us.”

But Professor Hale would not, could not. He had just his lecture, all learned by heart. A picture slipped in at the wrong time would have seriously upset him. He fled from the very idea of attempting to talk against time to this room full of fluttering beribboned young ladies. He refused point-blank—

The school waited restlessly for Pat’s return. It was prompt. Mrs. Baird rose as he entered, and there followed a low voiced and very lengthy explanation in which the words “wouldn’t happen in a hundred years,” “short circuit,” and “sorry to disappoint the gentleman,” entered repeatedly.

Mrs. Baird explained that it would be impossible to fix the lantern that night, and tried again to induce Professor Hale to give a short talk, but to no avail. He departed with the Spartan without another word.

“There will be no lecture tonight, girls,” Mrs. Baird announced, “and you may go out as you planned to do. Don’t go too far away from the house and be sure and return promptly when you hear the bell.” And glancing at the clock she added, smiling: “You haven’t lost much time.”

It was the merriest of parties that set out a few minutes later for the old fort.

Lois and Betty tried their hardest to find out just how Polly was responsible, for responsible they knew she was, but Polly refused to say anything. Her eyes danced with fun and impishness as she insisted it was really too bad that they’d had to miss the lecture. When the others joined them Lois and Betty dropped the subject. They sang all the school songs, and did a great deal of speculating about the future. Miss Porter told story after story of college.

“It’s been the jolliest and at the same time the saddest evening of the whole year,” Connie declared, as they hurried home at the first sound of the bell. “Hasn’t it, though; it’s been so nice just being together. I don’t believe we’ll any of us ever forget it,” Angela agreed.

Polly thought of that remark as she sat up in bed an hour later.

“I know I’ll never forget it,” she said to her conscience—“It really was a wonderful evening, and it couldn’t have been so very wicked for me to turn off that switch. And oh dear, Pat was so funny; I know he was pleased. It was hard for him, though, having to do all the fibbing. I wonder why things you know are wrong seem right sometimes. This was the sort of thing Aunt Hannah would have said ‘I’m shocked’ about, but when I tell Uncle Roddy he’ll only say: ‘Good for you, Tiddle de Winks.’ It’s too much for me, I don’t understand,” she finished, drowsily. And in a few minutes sleep relieved her of any further need of explanation.