“Dish-washing, and sweeping, and bed-making, and all that is before your humble servant,” laughed Tavia. “I’m going home, as you know, to keep father’s house for him spick and span. Mother will be glad. She hates housework.”
They packed their trunks more soberly than they had ever packed them for removal from the school before. Down from the walls came every keepsake and picture that they owned.
“Nix on the decorations!” Tavia said. “Jumble them all into the boxes. Never more shall they hang from the battlements——”
“What a lot of them there are, too!” sighed Dorothy. “Not half room in this box for my photographs.”
“We might throw away all the boys’ photographs,” said Tavia, giggling. “You know, we have foresworn boys. Is that right, Doro?”
“Oh, yes; boys are only a nuisance—except our brothers and cousins. Don’t you say so, Tavia?”
“Sure! And a few thousand more,” she added, sotto voce. “But we’re going to marry twins if we marry at all. That is decided, Doro?”
“Certainly,” returned Dorothy, gravely.
It was growing late. The nine o’clock bell meant nothing to the girls of Glenwood Hall this night. There was bustle in every room, laughter in the corridors, and a running back and forth until late. Suddenly Tavia had an idea. It grew out of the over-crammed boxes and trunks of “loot” from the walls.
“Goody-goody-gander! I’ve got it!” she announced to Dorothy.