"Cheer up," Ruth said. "You are making the worst possible use of your time here—keeping to yourself and being so afraid of making friends. We're not all rich girls, I assure you. And the girls on this corridor are particularly nice."
"I suppose that may be. But if everywhere I go they show so plainly they don't want me——"
"That will stop!" cried Ruth, vigorously. "If I have to go to Dr. Milroth myself, it shall be stopped. It is hazing of the crudest kind. Oh! what a prettily crocheted table-mat. It's old-fashioned, but pretty."
"Aunty does that, almost all the time," Rebecca said, with a little laugh. "Fred once said—in confidence, of course—that half the family income goes for Aunt Emmy's wool."
"Do you do it, too?" Ruth asked suspiciously.
"Oh yes. I can."
"Say! could you crochet one of these tams?" cried Ruth, eagerly.
"Why—I suppose so," admitted the other girl.
"Then, why not? Do it to please the seniors and juniors. It won't hurt to bow to a custom, will it? And you only need buy a few hanks of wool at a time."
Rebecca's face flamed again; but she took the suggestion, after all, with some meekness.