“When you feel that you must fall down, Dropsy, be careful not to fall into shelves of china,—­that’s all.  Bookcases are the best things to fall into, you’ll find; and a book is the best thing to drop, too, my poor child.  When you feel the fit coming on, put down the teacup and grab a dictionary; then choose the toe you want it to fall on,—­superfluous aunt of the family, or some one of that sort,—­and you are all right.  Bless you, Dropsy!  Farewell, my dear!”

Hildegarde took the girls directly up to her room, and they admired all her arrangements as heartily as she could wish.  Bell exclaimed with amazement at the size of the room.

“To have all this for your own, your castle and defence,” she cried.  “What would the girls at college say if they could see such a room as this, and one girl living in it!  Twelve by fourteen is our rule, and two girls to that.”

“Dear me!” said Hildegarde.  “Why, I couldn’t live without room.”

“Oh yes, you could!” said Bell, laughing.  “One gets used to everything.  It’s rather good fun seeing how closely one can pack.  We have sixty-five pictures in our room, my chum and I. Oh, you have my William!  I didn’t know anyone else had just exactly that portrait.”

“Your William, indeed!” cried Hildegarde, laughing.  “Why, he is mine, my very own, and no one ever began to love him as I do.”

The two girls fell into a friendly discussion, and ran lightly over the history of the Netherlands, with occasional excursions to Italy, the Highlands, or the south of France, as one picture or another claimed their attention.  Hildegarde was enjoying herself immensely, and did the honours with ardour, delighted to find that the “college girl” knew all about the things she loved, without being in the least bookish or prosy.

“I thought you would be ‘primmed up with majestic pride,’” she said, laughing.  “I was frightened when your little brother said you were at college, and I instantly saw you with spectacles, and pale, lank hair done up in a bob on the top of your head.  And then—­then you came over the top of the fence, looking like—­like——­”

“Like what?” said Bell.  “I insist upon knowing.”

“You are sure you don’t mind?” asked Hildegarde, as Bell herself had asked the day before.  “You looked like an apple,—­so exactly like a nice red and white Benoni I was sure you must be good to eat.  Oh, I am so glad you came!”

“So am I!” said Bell.

“Do you think we might drop the ‘Miss’ part?” inquired Hildegarde, “or are you too dignified?”

“Apples must not stand on dignity,” replied Bell, gravely.  “But I have wanted to say ‘Hildegarde’ ever since I came into this room, because the name just fits the room—­and you.”

At this point Gertrude, who had forgotten her destiny in the joy of pictures, and was backing round the walls in silent ecstasy, saw—­or rather did not see—­her opportunity, and fell quietly downstairs.  One special feature of Hildegarde’s room was the staircase, her own private staircase, of which she was immensely proud.  It was a narrow, winding stair, very steep and crooked, leading to the ground floor.  When Gertrude disappeared down this gulf with a loud crash, Hildegarde was much alarmed, and flew to the rescue, followed more leisurely by Bell.