“One of my college papers. I haven’t had time to write anything new since the Duchess left. It’s on the ‘Psychology of the Child in Relation to Club Work.’ I had to piece on half the title to make it appropriate.”

The suspicion of a twinkle lurked about the doctor’s eyes. “Well, good luck to you,” he said; “the Literary Association may not approve of your paper, but it can’t find fault with your dress.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Jack. “That garb is like all the rest of Barbara,—it’s too irritatingly new to pass unscathed in Auburn. Is that churn effect the Umpire Style, Barb?”

“It can’t rouse any more criticism than it has already had,” said his sister. “I shan’t care what they say about the gown, if they only hear my message.”


With subdued swish of black silk skirts, and a decorous silencing of whispers, the Auburn Ladies’ Literary Association came to order. Barbara, with veiled amusement, looked about the familiar “parlors” of the Presbyterian church. The standard and banner, with the legend “Honor Class,” had been moved into a corner, the melodeon, stripped of its green cover, stood in walnut nakedness on the platform, and a sprawling bunch of carnations and a gavel ornamented the superintendent’s desk. The map of Palestine, done in colored chalk, had been partially erased from the blackboard at the head of the room, and beneath it was written the following

Program

Roll Call. Answered by quotations from Shakespeare.
Instrumental Solo. “Murmuring Zephyrs.”
Miss Martha Crary.
Recitation. “Queen of the Flowers.”
Miss Hypatia Harrison.
Paper. “Geo. Eliot’s Life, Character, and Position as a Novelist.”
Mrs. Abbie Penfold.
Vocal Solo. “Night Sinks on the Wave.”
Miss Libbie Darwin.
Address. “The Literary Atmosphere of Our Club.”
Mrs. Angie Bankson.
Readings. a. Macbeth.
b. Daisy’s Daisies.
Miss Coleman.
Paper. “Psychology of the Child in Relation to Club Work.”
Miss Barbara Prentice Grafton.