Kit regarded the framed steel engraving of Malcolm Douglas almost fondly.  It had been taken from a history of early Wisconsin, together with some other founders fortunate enough to be included on the roll of honor, and had hung down in the Dean’s room.  Now it occupied a prominent spot specially cleared for it in the middle of the wall, and Kit had twined a long, double tendril of southern smilax around it, culled from the local florist’s supply for any chance Delphi festivities.

Backed by Miss Daphne’s approval and interest, Kit had called at several homes where lived the descendants of other founders, and the results were manifest.  Mrs. Peter Bradbury had contributed two Indian blankets and a hunting-bag, besides an old pair of saddle bags used by her father, one of the early missionary bishops of the northwest, in his travels through the wilderness.  Two fine timber wolf pelts lay on the floor, and of these Kit was specially proud.  She had beguiled them from the treasure store of old Madame Giron, whose husband could still tell with fiery eyes and thrilling tone of how he had killed the animals not a quarter of a mile from the site of Hope College, in the old settler days.

From the cabinet in the Dean’s room had come mostly records, old documents carefully framed, and several letters written by the founders themselves.

“You know,” Kit said, as she gave a last touch to her exhibit, “of course these are important, but I like the Indian and hunting things best.  I wish I could run away with that double pair of buffalo horns that belonged to Dr. Gleason’s granduncle or somebody.  I like them better than anything.”

A quick rap came on the door, and before Charity could even call “come in” Peggy entered with her usual galaxy behind her, Amy, Norma, and a newcomer from Iowa, Henrietta Jinks, whom the girls had instantly dubbed “the Jinx,” because of her infallible habit of everlastingly doing the inopportune thing.

“If it wasn’t that her father was a congressman, she’d never get by with it,” Amy had said, “but as it is, if you’ll just remember that she’s been reared on rhetoric and torch-light parades, you can understand that little abrupt way she has.  I think it’s rather interesting to be a ‘Jinx,’ it’s so different, and the boys only have mascots.  This way, it shows we have a fine, proud disregard for the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.  Kit, my child, did you hear that?  I’ll be playing Ophelia before the New Year dawns.”

“Tony Conyers sent word she’d be ready in five minutes,” said Norma.  “I think she’s dressing up as something symbolical, and she’s got a lot of the girls in there with her.  Charity, I think this is a perfectly stupendous idea of yours.”

“’Tisn’t mine,” retorted Charity, hurtling cushions handily from one couch to another in order to balance the room.  “It’s Kit’s.  This is her party.  Her coming out party at Hope.”

“Oh, are you the founder’s granddaughter?” Amy inquired, her blue eyes opening widely.