“I always believe in separating sisters,” Miss Hull made this astonishing announcement with a gentle smile.

Janet and Phyllis looked at each other, consternation written large on their faces.

“But Miss Hull——” Janet began.

It was Phyllis who spoke with grown-up assurance.

“We couldn’t think of being separated, Miss Hull,” she said, with one of her winning smiles. “You see, we found each other only a little over a year ago, and we’ve such a lot of time to make up.”

“But if you were separated you’d get to know the girls so much better,” Miss Hull’s soft Southern drawl protested. “I’ve planned for each of you to room with an old girl. I’m sure it’s the better way.”

Miss Hull was an imperious woman, statuesque in figure, a smooth level brow, flashing dark eyes and a mass of wavy gray hair, piled high on her head. When she said a thing she expected instant submission. She was surprised when Phyllis, still with her charming smile, but with a note of firmness in her voice, replied:

“But you see, Miss Hull, we should both be very unhappy. We’re twins, you know, and that makes a difference.”

Miss Hull could not deny the note of decision in her voice, and like all broad-minded and imperious people, she admired anyone who had those same qualities in common with her.

She did not speak down to Phyllis, but rather as to an equal, when she replied:

“Very well, you will room together. I suppose being twins does make a difference,” she added laughingly.

Phyllis thanked her, and with a maid to guide them, they went upstairs to a big room, with long French windows, one of which opened onto a tiny balcony. They sat down in comfortable wicker chairs and stared at each other.

“Oh, Phyl, you are magnificent!” Janet exclaimed. “I never was so petrified in my life. Miss Hull is such a masterful sort of person that she silenced me with a glance.”

Phyllis tossed her head.

“The person never lived that could silence me,” she said vaingloriously. “But I don’t think it was very nice of her to wait until Auntie Mogs left and then try to separate us.”

“We should have let Auntie Mogs stay at the hotel for a day or two as she wanted to,” Janet remarked thoughtfully.

“No; that would have been a kiddish thing to do; and after all, Jan., Miss Hull was really doing what she thought was right. As soon as I explained to her she was very nice about it. I like her tremendously,” she said.

“Well, I don’t,” Janet announced firmly. “She tried to separate us.”

“But she didn’t, dearest. It would take more than Miss Hull to do that.” Phyllis laughed into Janet’s serious eyes.

The Page twins after a summer in Arizona with their brother Tom, had come to Hilltop school. Their aunt, Miss Carter, had brought them from New York to the Virginia hills, but had returned almost at once, for they had arrived early that morning, and she had taken the afternoon train for home. It was six o’clock now, and from their window they could see the twilight creeping closer to the great old trees that grew in a thick protecting border around the school.

Hilltop was indeed well named. The white colonial building crowned the hill, and a roadway, straight as an arrow, and lined on either side with tall interlacing elms, ran down the gentle slope for a mile and a half until it joined the highway in the valley.

It had been a wonderful mansion in its day. Now a new wing had been added on, and many of the rooms had been divided and cut up into smaller ones, but the outside of the house had lost nothing of its old-world dignity and charm.

Janet and Phyllis stood in the little balcony and watched the shadows lengthen on the green below. They had each other so they were not unhappy, but the suggestion of a lump in their throats made them think a little forlornly of Auntie Mogs and the cheerful rooms of their New York house.

“I wish Sally would come,” Janet exclaimed. “I simply can’t wait to see her.”

“Neither can I,” Phyllis agreed. “Just think, we haven’t seen her since last Christmas.”

“It was a shame Daphne couldn’t come down with us, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, in a way; but we’ll be acquainted by the time she gets here, and that will be nice, too.”

“Still, it would have been fun to have her on the train with us.”

Sally Ladd and Daphne Hillis were old friends of the twins. They had known them in New York, and at Miss Harding’s school they had been known as The Quartette. Sally had come to Hiltop for the second term the year before, and it was because of her glowing accounts of boarding-school life that the other three girls had decided to come this year.

Sally had not come from New York with the twins, as they had planned, because at the last minute she had decided to visit a friend of hers in Ohio. Her train was due at eight o’clock.

A knock at the door brought the twins in from the balcony.

“Come in,” Janet called, and a tall, heavily-built girl with red hair and spectacles entered the room.

“Aren’t you the Page twins?” she inquired heartily.

“Yes, we are,” Phyllis and Janet answered.

“Well, Sally Ladd has talked so much about you that I feel as if I’d known you all my life. I’m Gwendolyn Matthews, otherwise known as Gwen.” She held out a large hand covered with golden freckles, and the twins shook it gratefully.

“Come along downstairs and be shown off. The girls are dying to see you, for of course Sally has told us the thrilling way you discovered each other last year.”

Phyllis and Janet followed her down the wide red-carpeted hall to the floor below. They could see the lights coming from a big room a little way beyond, and hear a hubbub of voices.

Janet had a sudden and overwhelming desire to run, but Phyllis hurried forward eagerly. Gwen pushed them both before her, and they found themselves in an immense room, brightly lighted by two crystal chandeliers. The ceiling was painted with white clouds against a blue sky, and fat little cupids danced or plied their art with miniature bows and arrows. It was the old ballroom untouched and still beautiful after these long years.

They had barely time to look about them before Gwen held up an impressive hand and announced in strident tones:

“The Page Twins.”

There was an instant hush of voices and the girls looked at them curiously. A dark-haired, blue-eyed girl, dressed in fluffy white, left the group she had been talking to and came towards them with outstretched hands.

“I declare, Gwen, you are just a dreadful tease.” Her delightful Southern drawl was lazily good-natured.

“How do you do? We’re mighty glad to welcome you to Hilltop,” she said cordially.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” Phyllis smiled winningly.

“Thanks,” Janet mumbled.

“My name is Hillory Lee, and I’m a Senior,” she went on; but a rippling laugh interrupted her.

“A Senior, just one day old. Come now, Poppy, don’t put on airs. You’re not old enough.”

“A dear little, new little, Senior, all filled up with dignity,” another voice teased.

Poppy—Hillory Lee was always called Poppy—led the laugh that followed, and then suddenly the girls gathered around the twins, introducing themselves and talking with a fine disregard of one another.

The dinner gong silenced them, and out of the confusion a double line formed down the length of the room. Phyllis and Janet were shown their places along with the rest of the new girls.

Poppy, as the president of the senior class, stood on the top of the steps that led to a small stage at the end of the room.

“You all must come to order, and please go down very quietly to the hall,” she said a little shyly; but no one attempted to tease her. She represented Hilltop as she stood on the stage, and they one and all gave her instant obedience.

The dining hall was under the ballroom of the first floor. Deer heads decorated the wall, with other trophies of the chase. A huge fireplace ran along the side of one wall. The mantel was filled with big silver loving cups.

Janet and Phyllis were to learn their importance in the life of the school as the year progressed. Just at present they could not take in details. They were too busy trying to sort their first impressions.

There were four long tables with twenty girls and two teachers at each. The twelve seniors, with Miss Hull, sat apart in state on a dais at the end of the room. The tables were all narrow and the high-backed oak chairs gave the room the look of an old monastery.

There was lots of talking at dinner. The twins did not try to remember all of the girls’ names, but three of them stood out as special friends of Sally’s. One was Gladys Manners, a rough-and-tumble sort of girl with mischievous blue eyes, dark hair and a contagious giggle.

“Do you know Aunt Jane’s poll-parrot?” she asked at the beginning of the meal, and the twins loved her at once.

Prudence Standish—called Prue for brevity’s sake—sat beside Janet, and she was so attentive and thoughtful during the meal and so careful to explain what the girls meant by their many illusions of places and things that had happened in the past, that the twins’ gratitude ripened into a sincere liking before the meal was over.

The third girl sat just across from Phyllis. Her name was Ann Lourie. She hardly spoke through the meal, but her quiet smile and the humor that lay at the back of her hazel eyes gave the twins the impression of a personality worth cultivating.

The teachers at the table were Miss Remsted and Miss Jenks. They were both young and full of fun, and the twins contrasted them with the teachers at Miss Harding’s, to the latter’s disadvantage.

When dinner was over Miss Hull stood up.

“You have nothing to do tonight, girls, but get acquainted; and I want you to do that thoroughly. Remember, every new girl must be made to feel at home at Hilltop.”

The bell tinkled, the lines formed, and the girls marched back to the ballroom.