“Well, if this is an exhibition of the true college spirit, deliver me from college,” grumbled Miriam.  “I must say——­”

Miriam’s denunciation against college was never finished, for at that juncture a soft voice said, “Welcome to Overton.”  Turning simultaneously the three girls saw standing before them a young woman of medium height.  Her hand was extended, and she was smiling in a sweet, friendly fashion that warmed the hearts of the disappointed freshmen.  She wore a tailored frock of white linen, white buckskin walking shoes that revealed a glimpse of silken ankles, and carried a white linen parasol that matched her gown.  She was bareheaded, and in the late afternoon her wavy brown hair seemed touched with gold.

“I am so glad to meet you!” exclaimed the pretty girl.  “You are freshmen, of course.  If you will tell me your names I’ll introduce you to some of the girls.  Then we will see about escorting you safely to your boarding place.  Have you taken your examinations yet?”

“No,” replied Miriam.  “We have that ordeal before us.”  Her face relaxed under the friendly courtesy accorded to them by this attractive stranger.  She then introduced Grace and Anne.  Their new acquaintance shook hands with the two girls, then said gayly, “Now tell me your name.”

Miriam complied with the request, then stated that through a friend of her mother’s they had engaged a suite of rooms at the Tourraine, an apartment hotel in Overton, until their fate should be decided.

“The Tourraine is the nicest hotel in Overton,” stated Mabel.  “I am always in the seventh heaven of delight whenever I am fortunate enough to be invited to dine there.”

“Then come and dine with us to-night,” invited Miriam.

Mabel Ashe shook her head.  “It’s very nice in you,” she said gravely, “but not to-night.  Really, I am awfully stupid.  I haven’t told you my name.  It is Mabel Ashe.  I am a junior and pledged to pilot bewildered freshmen to havens of rest and safety.”

“Do you consider freshmen impossible creatures?” asked Anne Pierson, her eyes twinkling.

The young woman laughed merrily.  “Oh, no,” she replied.  “You must remember that they are the raw material that makes good upper classmen.  It takes a whole year to mould them into shape—­that is, some of them.  Now, come with me and I’ll see that you meet some of the upper class girls.”

As they were about to accompany their new acquaintance down the platform, a tall, fair-haired girl walked toward them followed by the others upon whom Miriam had commented.  “Wait a minute, Mabel,” she called.  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you all afternoon.”

“You’re just in time, Beatrice,” returned Mabel Ashe.  “I wish you to meet Miss Harlowe, Miss Nesbit, and Miss Pierson, all of Oakdale.  Girls, this is Miss Alden, also of the junior class.”

Beatrice Alden smiled condescendingly, and shook hands in a somewhat bored fashion with the three girls.  “Pleased to meet you,” she drawled.  “Hope you’ll be good little freshmen this year and make no trouble for your elders.”