Arden and her chums dressed in sports clothes, topped, usually, by the inevitable mortar-boards. Now that hazing was over, the college settled down to a peaceful routine, with not so much stress on the poor freshmen.
“Well,” Arden finally remarked, “I must say you girls show very little of the stuff which made our country the great place it is today. You have no curiosity. That’s your trouble!”
“My trouble is not enough sleep,” murmured Sim drowsily.
“Latin will be the death of me,” declared Terry.
“Then I’ll leave you to yourselves,” announced Arden, turning away. “I’m off to see what I can see.”
“Not mad, are you?” questioned Sim.
“No, just curious.” Arden was soon beyond talking distance.
She was a little surprised, though she would not let Sim or Terry know it, that they took the dean’s explanation so calmly and believingly.
“For my part,” reasoned Arden to herself, “I’m going to find out if an old black ram really caused all the scares and trouble.”
Once her mind was made up, Arden acted quickly. Her next class was an hour away. There was time enough, she knew, as she swung off in the direction of the orchard. She went in through the hedge entrance. It was dark and gloomy there, even with the sun shining, and for a moment the girl hesitated. But she kept on, and was soon in the grove of gnarled and fantastic trees. The sun was shining down through their twisted branches and glinting on the vari-hued apples. Arden drew in a deep breath of a tangy perfume.