“Nice poll, pretty poll!” Gladys stood by Sally’s window, where the girls had decided that Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot lived in a magic cage.

“Polly want a cracker?” she continued coaxingly.

“What are you flattering my Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot for?” Sally demanded with dignity.

“I want to find out if I’m going to make the Archery Contest tomorrow,” Gladys replied, “and I don’t know anybody but Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot that can tell me.”

“You might ask her about the rest of us,” Prue suggested, and Gladys turned back to the window.

“How about Prue, Polly?” she inquired seriously.

“... Oh, is that so?”

“... Well, perhaps you’re right.”

“... Very well, I’ll tell her.”

She turned back to the laughing group of girls.

“Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot says that Prue couldn’t hit the side of a barn door, and he advises her to serve lemonade on the side lines.”

Prue sniffed contemptuously.

“Just to show you that that bird is a fraud, I’ll make a bull’s-eye tomorrow.”

A shout greeted her threat. Prue had never even hit the target, but every year she tried again, for the hope that she might some day make the archery team for the old wing burned bright in her heart.

“What’s the gossip about the new wing?” Ann inquired. “It would be simply terrible if they got the cup this year.”

Gladys frowned and shook her fist at imaginary Polly.

“That’s the trouble with the new wing,” she said. “They’re so beastly efficient, and they really have good material to work with.”

“Meaning that we haven’t?” Ann inquired indignantly.

“No, but they have six in the old team back this year, and we have only three. Gwen’s really upset about it. Of course, as captain of sports, she has to be neutral, but everybody knows she wants the old wing to get it.”

“I heard the Red Twins bragging awfully,” Daphne said. She had been at Hilltop for a week now and had found her place already. She was so thoroughly likeable that the girls gave her their instant affection. “The twins and Taffy are just like old girls,” was a constant phrase.

“Were there ever two girls as bumptious as those two?” Gladys demanded.

Ann looked up with a twinkle in her eye.

“I know of only one other,” she replied. “She was an impudent little wretch, named Gladys Manners.”

“Hum, I knew you were going to say that,” Gladys replied, her temper not one bit ruffled. “And it’s almost true. I was an awful smarty, but then I was only ten years old.”

“And it didn’t take you long to reform, I’ll say that for you,” Ann admitted.

“It couldn’t have, because butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth my first year,” Prue laughed at a sudden memory now two years old. “If I even raised my voice above a whisper, the little imp would remind me that I was a new girl, and here I was a whole year older than she was.”

“Mercy, we must be careful, Jan,” Phyllis said, and Janet nodded.

“Do you suppose we’ve been here long enough to call Taffy down if she’s noisy?” she inquired. “I’d just love to call Taffy down.”

Daphne’s cool gaze rested on Janet, then she laughed her funny little laugh.

“Guess I’ll have to stay through the Christmas vacation to get even with you,” she drawled.

“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” Sally protested. “I just had a letter from mother today and she says she’s planning with Auntie Mogs Carter the most scrumptious Christmas Eve party, and I’d like to see you dare stay away from it.”

Gladys turned back to the window and her private conversation with Aunt Jane’s Poll-parrot.

“Why, Poll, you never told me that New York girls gave parties,” she complained.

But the New York girls were too busy discussing Mrs. Ladd’s letter to notice her.

“Merciful gumption!” Phyl exclaimed a few minutes later. “There goes sweet dreams.”

The others stopped to listen. From the farthest end of the hall came the soft chimes of the grandfather clock. The little melody sounded like a slumber song, and the girls all called it sweet dreams.

“I thought it was about eight o’clock,” Ann protested. “I haven’t even looked at my history.”

“Well, I hate to be inhospitable,” Sally said, “but I must set the example to Taffy; she’s a new girl, you know.”

“You never would know it,” Prue said with a little smile. “Taffy and the twins are part of the spirit at Hilltop, and have been for centuries. Who dares to call them new?”

“Very prettily said, Prue darling,” Sally laughed. “But, out you go, just the same and seek your own little beds.”

Gladys put her arm protectingly around Prue.

“Never mind, lamb child. You can come and orate to your two long-suffering room-mates.”

They all left the room, finishing their good-nights in the hall.

The twins went straight to bed. Each night at Hilltop saw them thoroughly but happily tired out.

“Do you think the Red Twins have a chance?” Phyllis inquired sleepily.

“Awfully afraid they have,” Janet answered. “I saw them practicing today, and they made awfully good scores.”

“Well, cheer up, perhaps they’ll be nervous tomorrow, with the entire school looking on.”

A muffled chuckle came from the depth of Janet’s pillow.

“What are you laughing at?” Phyllis demanded.

“The idea of the Red Twins being fussed by anything. Why those girls have got the assurance of Diana herself. I wish you could see them string their bows.”

“The responsibility of being the twins for the old wing is growing daily,” Phyllis laughed. “I’m worse than Prue when it comes to a straight eye, so I suppose we’re doomed for one defeat.”

“We’re doomed for no such thing,” Janet denied hotly.

But an inarticulate murmur was all the response she received from Phyllis.

“Oh, go to sleep then, lazy bones!” she said, and snuggled deeper into her pillow.

She was soon dreaming that the Red Twins were making bull’s-eyes with every arrow that they loosed.

When the sun, red gold in his morning splendor, sent his first shafts through the woods, throwing queer patterns on the green lawn, he surprised two girls, busy with their bows and arrows. They had flaming red hair, and the sun always jealous of competition scowled behind a tiny white cloud.