Polly sank back in her chair. “I never could see the sense in walking where a horse could carry you.”
“Or even an ox cart,” added Ruth mischievously; “that seemed to be the favorite Atlanta vehicle.”
“I wonder that you stand her teasing,” said Lois; “you are more amiable than I should be.”
“Well,” responded Polly, “this is my second year at Cambridge, and if I would I could tell a tale of Cambridge mud that would make Atlanta shine in contrast.”
“Yes, Atlanta mud is red,” murmured Ruth. But Polly took no notice of the interruption, and the conversation drifted from Atlanta and Cambridge mud to a more general putting forth of opinions of New England weather, a never-failing topic when two or more persons from outside New England are gathered together.
“Give me the bleak New England climate before any other,” cried Lois. “I haven’t travelled, but I have seen the products of the other climates, and ours has the greater staying power every time.”
“You’re right smart cruel,” cried Polly; “I will never lend you my note-books again.” Whereat all the others laughed, for it was Polly and not Lois who was ever the borrower. The note-books of Lois, were models of conciseness and neatness, and she was ever ready to lend them to those girls who needed, or thought that they needed, assistance. The borrowers were not always shiftless. Some were simply careless girls, who found it easier to sit idle during a lecture than to write. Some, indeed, had difficulty in following the lecturer and filling their note-books at the same time. To such girls the loan of a note-book like that of Lois was a great boon. They could copy her work in a time that was short compared with what would have been necessary to decipher, expand, and rewrite their own half-intelligible notes.
As for Lois herself, she often found it hard to lend the note-book which she liked to have by her side when preparing for the class-room. It was equally hard to refuse when a girl asked the favor in particularly beseeching tones. On reflection, however, it seemed selfish to Lois generally to refuse merely because she might wish to refer to the book, and it happened that her note-books for one or two of the courses were travelling half the time. While Polly Porson was one of the most persistent of the borrowers, Lois never refused her requests. She was fond of Polly, although it would be hard to imagine two girls more unlike than the ease-loving little Southerner and the self-restrained Massachusetts girl. The two were, nevertheless, the best of friends, though Lois was a girl who had few intimates. For one thing she was too busy, and for another she had little inclination to spend all her spare time talking or walking with other girls.
Even on this brisk, cool morning, although she had no lecture for half an hour, Lois did not sit down with Ruth and Polly and the others. She lingered scarcely five minutes, and almost before they had missed her she was up in the library, with books and writing material before her, ready for a half-hour’s work.
“Why, where’s Lois?” cried Polly, suddenly discovering her absence.