“Miss Shirley Duncan,” came the dean’s voice, and then she paused.

“Here is a student who has shown exceptional work in mathematics,” she continued, “and while her preparation for college has been undoubtedly faulty, her teachers recommend that she continue her work and apply herself with special tutors for those studies in which she has been especially deficient.”

Shirley was all but gasping, when again from Jane Allen’s seat came the approval of applause.

“She made it,” the girls were whispering.  “I always knew she was a wizard at math,” insisted Nellie Saunders.

“Bobbie is perfectly all right,” declared the wise little Margie Winters.  “It was all on account of her country ideas—­”

“Hush,” whispered Dolly Lloyd.  “We are all more or less from the country.  Do you want to claim the Grand Central Station?”

This set Margie back in her seat—­and presently all the “freshies” had been given their ratings.  A few very sharp warnings were administered, and that a great deal of cramming would have to be done by some before the mid-year exams, to take place early in January, was made especially plain by the dean.  No one would be dropped without warning, but the standards of Wellington would have to be maintained, she concluded.

Little reader, if you expect to get to college begin your “cramming” now in high school, and let each day’s record be such as will surely make a satisfactory total in preparation.  If more students could only realize this in time!

Assembly was dismissed and the girls surrounded Bobbie and Sally.  Jane and Judith seemed personally responsible for these two freshmen, and no one could discount the gleam in Jane’s eyes when she squeezed Bobbie’s clammy hand.

“Why so—­frightened?” she demanded.  “Isn’t it just wonderful to know you couldn’t break away even though you tried so flagrantly?” There was a twinkle thrown in with this, and Jane next piled compliments on Sally.

Never were there two “satisfactory” students so manifestly unhappy.  No one could miss the nervous manner Sally tried so hard to hide, nor yet the heightened color in Bobbie’s cheeks when she flatly refused to comment on the surprise.

“Queer,” observed Dolly Lloyd.  “If I turned out satisfactory when I just waited for my little return home notice, it seems to me I would at least emit a smile.”

Freed from the scrutiny of their companions at last, Sally and Bobbie bolted for Lenox.  It had been a trying ordeal and both felt its effects too keenly to throw it off at once.

“It’s over,” eulogized Bobbie, slamming down her hat on Sally’s camp chair and promptly sitting on it.

“Yes, and you ought to be the happiest girl in all Wellington,” declared Sally, standing limp before the dresser that reflected a sad little face unobserved.

“I ought to be happy!” repeated Bobbie.  “How about you?  Ted knew his guess when he called you King Pin of the Freshies.  Sallylun, why don’t you try to finish?  Couldn’t I help you?”