“Fun! I’ll write my mother and have her take me away from here,” muttered Bess, in a rage. “Why, these girls are all beasts!”
“Hush, honey! don’t make it worse than it already is,” advised sensible Nan. “The madder you get the more they will enjoy teasing you.”
A rather severe and plainly dressed woman, wearing spectacles, who had been walking about among the tables, now came to the one where Nan and Bess were seated. She looked somewhat suspiciously at the dishes pushed so close to Bess Harley’s plate; but all the girls at the table were as sober as they could be.
“Dr. Prescott tells me you are the two girls from Tillbury,” she said to Nan.
“Yes,” was the reply. “My friend is Bess Harley and I am Nan Sherwood.”
“We are glad to have you with us, and you have been assigned to Number Seven, Corridor Four. Your trunks will be unpacked in the trunk room in the basement to-morrow.” Then she flashed another glance at the array of dishes before Bess.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.
“I—I——,” Bess stammered, and some of the girls gave suppressed giggles.
Laura Polk soberly came to her rescue—or appeared to.
“This is her birthday, and all the girls have been giving her presents. At least, that is the way I understand it.”