“You needn’t care,” said Tavia to Dorothy. “There’s a good tight shut-in box to the ‘Fire Bird,’ but I wanted to gather some wild flower roots to take to Glenwood. Those ferns we brought back with us last year just kept me alive in my ‘glumps,’ and I’m sure to have them bad as ever when I get there this time.”
“I suppose you miss the boys,” said Dorothy, innocently. Then, seeing the effect of her words, she tried in vain to make amends.
“I’m sure I miss them,” she hurried to add, “I am always homesick for a week, but I have to get to work, and that’s the best cure I know of.”
“And it has exactly the opposite effect on me,” declared Tavia. “If I didn’t have to get to work, I fancy school life would not be such a bore.”
“But you manage to keep going. I suppose you and Ned Ebony will be as thick as ever. And you and Nita Brandt will be as—”
“Thin as ever,” finished Tavia, “which means that we will run like melted butter at ninety degrees. I never could get along with that splinter.”
“Well, I hope Cologne will be there when we arrive. She always seems to be the first bell—starts everything up,” continued Dorothy. “I’m going to work hard this year. There are prizes, you remember.”
“Mine for the ‘booby,’” sighed Tavia. “I hate prizes. Always make me think of putting your name on the church envelope. Kind of cheap advertising.”
“Oh, I don’t feel that way about it,” objected Dorothy. “When one wins a prize it is something to have a remembrance of the contest. That’s the way I look at it.”
“Well, I always like to forget the contests,” insisted the obdurate Tavia, “so I don’t mind not having the medal. But say! Isn’t it time you went down? Urania was to start early. Don’t wait for me. I’m going to take my time this morning. Last morning I’ll get time to take until holidays.”