The locomotive whistle, however, awakened the guilty consciousness of three young ladies of the Crammer Institute, who were even then surreptitiously regaling themselves in the bakeshop and confectionery saloon of Mistress Phillips in a by-lane.  For even the admirable regulations of the Institute failed to entirely develop the physical and moral natures of its pupils.  They conformed to the excellent dietary rules in public, and in private drew upon the luxurious rations of their village caterer.  They attended church with exemplary formality, and flirted informally during service with the village beaux.  They received the best and most judicious instruction during school hours, and devoured the trashiest novels during recess.  The result of which was an aggregation of quite healthy, quite human, and very charming young creatures that reflected infinite credit on the Institute.  Even Mistress Phillips, to whom they owed vast sums, exhilarated by the exuberant spirits and youthful freshness of her guests, declared that the sight of “them young things” did her good, and had even been known to shield them by shameless equivocation.

“Four o’clock, girls! and, if we’re not back to prayers by five, we’ll be missed,” said the tallest of these foolish virgins, with an aquiline nose, and certain quiet elan that bespoke the leader, as she rose from her seat.  “Have you got the books, Addy?” Addy displayed three dissipated-looking novels under her waterproof.  “And the provisions, Carry?” Carry showed a suspicious parcel filling the pocket of her sack.  “All right, then.  Come, girls, trudge—­Charge it,” she added, nodding to her host as they passed toward the door.  “I’ll pay you when my quarter’s allowance comes.”

“No, Kate,” interposed Carry, producing her purse, “let me pay; it’s my turn.”

“Never!” said Kate, arching her black brows loftily, “even if you do have rich relatives, and regular remittances from California.  Never!  Come, girls, forward, march!”

As they opened the door, a gust of wind nearly took them off their feet.  Kindhearted Mrs. Phillips was alarmed.  “Sakes alive, galls! ye mussn’t go out in sich weather.  Better let me send word to the Institoot, and make ye up a nice bed tonight in my parlor.”  But the last sentence was lost in a chorus of half-suppressed shrieks as the girls, hand in hand, ran down the steps into the storm, and were at once whirled away.

The short December day, unlit by any sunset glow, was failing fast.  It was quite dark already, and the air was thick with driving snow.  For some distance their high spirits, youth, and even inexperience kept them bravely up; but, in ambitiously attempting a short cut from the highroad across an open field, their strength gave out, the laugh grew less frequent, and tears began to stand in Carry’s brown eyes.  When they reached the road again, they were utterly exhausted.  “Let us go back,” said Carry.

“We’d never get across that field again,” said Addy.