“Confess,” threatened Miriam, seizing the little brass tea kettle and brandishing it over Elfreda’s head.

“I won’t,” defied Elfreda, laughing a little in spite of her efforts to appear offended.

“One, two,” counted Miriam, grasping the kettle firmly.

“All right, I did,” confessed Elfreda nonchalantly.  “What are you going to do about it?”

“Present you with your Christmas gifts now,” smiled Miriam.  “You wouldn’t look at us last Christmas, so we’ve been saving our gifts ever since.  Wait a minute, girls, until I go for mine.”

As she darted from the room, Grace said softly:  “We hoped that you would understand about Thanksgiving and that everything would be all right by Christmas, so we planned our little remembrances for you just the same.  Then, when—­when we didn’t see you before going home for the holidays, Anne suggested that we put them away, because we all hoped that you’d be friends with us again some day.”  Rummaging in the tray of her trunk she produced a long, flat package which she offered to Elfreda.  Anne, who, at Grace’s first words, had stepped to the chiffonier, took out a beribboned bundle, and stood holding it toward the stout girl.  Another moment and Miriam had returned bearing her offering.  “I wish you a merry June,” declared Miriam with an infectious giggle that was echoed by the others.  Then Elfreda opened the package from Miriam, which contained a Japanese silk kimono similar to one of her own that her roommate had greatly admired.  Grace’s package contained a pair of long white gloves, and Anne had remembered her with a book she had once heard the stout girl express a desire to own.

“You had no business to do it,” muttered Elfreda.  Then gathering up her presents she made a dash for the door and with a muffled, “I’ll be back soon,” was gone.  It was several minutes before she reappeared with red eyes, but smiling lips.  Then a long talk ensued, during which time the art of trunk-packing languished.  It was renewed with vigor that evening and continued spasmodically for the next two days.  In the campus houses the real packing dragged along in most instances until within two hours of the time when the trunks were to be called for.  Then a wholesale scramble began, to make up for lost minutes.  One of the most frequent and painful sights during those last two days was that of a wrathful expressman, glaring in impotent rage while an enterprising damsel opened her trunk on the front porch to take out or put in one or several of her various possessions which, until that moment, had been completely forgotten.

The night before leaving Overton the four girls paid a visit to Ruth Denton.  The plucky little freshman had refused an invitation to spend the summer with Arline Thayer, but had accepted a position in Overton with a dress-maker.  The last two weeks of her vacation she had promised to spend with Arline at the sea-shore.

Their last morning at Overton dawned fair and sunshiny.  Grace, who had risen early, stood at the window, looking out at the glory of the sparkling June day.