Mercy had tried to beg off at first; then she had agreed to go, if she could take half a trunkful of books with her.

Briarwood girls were as busy as bees in June during these last few days of the first half.  The second half was broken by the Easter vacation and most of the real hard work in study came before Christmas.

There was going to be a school play after Christmas, and the parts were given out before the holidays.  Helen was going to play and Ruth to sing.  It did seem to Ann as though every girl was happy and busy but herself.

The last day of the term was in sight.  There was to be the usual entertainment and a dance at night.  The hall had to be trimmed with greens and those girls—­of the junior and senior classes—­who could, were appointed to help gather the decorations.

“I don’t want to go,” objected Ann.

“Goosie!” cried Helen.  “Of course you do.  It will be fun.”

“Not for me,” returned the ranch girl, grimly.  “Do you see who is going to head the party?  That Mitchell girl.  She’s always nasty to me.”

“Be nasty to her!” snapped Mercy, from her corner.

“Now, Mercy!” begged Ruth, shaking a finger at the lame girl.

“I wouldn’t mind what Mitchell says or does,” sniffed The Fox.

“Fibber!” exclaimed Mercy.

“I never tell lies, Miss,” said Mary Cox, tossing her head.

“Humph!” ejaculated the somewhat spiteful Mercy, “do you call yourself a female George Washington?”

“No.  Marthy Washington,” laughed Heavy.

“Only her husband couldn’t lie,” declared Mercy.  “And at that, they say that somebody wished to change the epitaph on his tomb to read:  ’Here lies George Washington—­for the first time!’”

“Everybody is tempted to tell a fib some time,” sighed Helen.

“And falls, too,” exclaimed Mercy.

“I must say I don’t believe there ever was anybody but Washington that didn’t tell a lie.  It’s awfully hard to be exactly truthful always,” said Lluella.  “You remember that time in the primary grade, just after we’d come here to Briarwood, Belle?”

“Do I?” laughed Belle Tingley.  “You fibbed all right then, Miss.”

“It wasn’t very bad—­and I did want to see the whole school so much.  So—­so I took one of my pencils to our teacher and asked her if she would ask the other scholars if it was theirs.

“Of course, all the other girls in our room said it wasn’t,” proceeded Lluella.  “Then teacher said just what I wanted her to say:  ’You may inquire in the other classes.’  So I went around and saw all the other classes and had a real nice time.

“But when I got back with the pencil in my hand still, Belle come near getting me into trouble.”

“Uh-huh!” admitted Belle, nodding.

“How?” asked somebody.

“She just whispered—­right out loud, ’Lluella, that is your pencil and you know it!’ And I had to say—­right off, ‘It isn’t, and I didn’t!’ Now, what could I have said else?  But it was an awful fib, I s’pose.”