Try as she might she began to fall behind in her recitation marks during these days of waiting.  Her nervousness was enhanced by the doubts she felt regarding her general standing in her classes.

Mrs. Tellingham talked cheerfully in chapel about “our graduating class;” but some of the girls who were working with a view to receiving their diplomas in June would never be able to reach the high mark necessary for Mrs. Tellingham to allow them those certificates.

There would be a fringe of girls standing at the back of the class who, although never appearing at Briarwood Hall another term, could not win the roll of parchment which would enter them in good standing in any of the women’s colleges.  Ruth did not want to be among those who failed.

She worried about this a good deal; she could not sleep at night; and her cheeks grew pale.  She worked hard, and yet sometimes when she reached the classroom she felt as though her head were a hollow drum in which the thoughts beat to and fro without either rhyme or reason.

Ruth Fielding was a perfectly healthy girl, as well as an athletic one.  But in a time of stress like this the very healthiest person can easily and quickly break down.  “I feel as though I should fly!” is an expression often heard from nervous and overwrought schoolgirls.  Ruth wished that she might fly—­away from school and study and scenarios and sullen girls like Amy Gregg.

One evening when she came back to Mrs. Sadoc Smith’s with a strapful of books to study before bedtime, Ruth saw Curly Smith by the shed door busy with some fishing tackle.  Ruth’s pulses leaped.  Fishing!  She had not thrown a hook into the water for months and months!

“Going fishing, Curly?” she said wistfully.

“Yep.”

“Where are they biting now?”

“There’s carp and bream under the old mill-dam up in Norman’s Woods.  I saw ’em jumping there to-day.”

“Oh! when are you going?” gasped the girl, hungry for outdoor sport and adventure.

“In the morning—­before you’re up,” said the boy, rather sullenly.

“I wager I’ll be awake,” said Ruth, sitting down beside him.  “I wake up—­oh, just awfully early! and lie and think.”

Curly looked at her.  “That don’t get you nothin’,” he said.

“But I can’t help it.”

“Gran says you’re overworked,” Curly said.  “Why don’t you run away from school if they make you work so hard? I would.  Our teacher’s sick so there isn’t any session at the district school to-morrow.”

“Oh, Curly!  Play hooky?” gasped Ruth, clasping her hands.

“Yep.  Only you girls haven’t any pluck.”

“If I played hooky would you let me go fishing with you to-morrow?” asked Ruth, her eyes dancing.

“You haven’t the sand,” scoffed Curly.

“But can I go if I dare run away?” urged Ruth.

“Yep,” said the boy, but with rather a sour grin.