They went down main street, turned off on the side street and climbed the slope to their home.
Mrs. Blair was busy putting some heavy pots over flowers she wanted to protect from the wind.
“Dinner’s all ready,” she told them, “and I’ve asked Margaret Stevens over. She wants to talk with Helen about the sophomore class picnic tomorrow.”
“I won’t have time to go,” said Helen. “We’ll be awfully busy working on the next issue.”
“You’re on the class committee, aren’t you?” asked Tom.
“Yes.”
“Then you’re going to the picnic. We’ll have lots to do on the Herald but we won’t have to give up all of our other activities.”
“Tom is right,” said Mrs. Blair. “You must plan on going to the picnic.”
Margaret Stevens came across the street from her home. Margaret was a decided brunette, a striking contrast to Helen’s blondness.
“We’ll go in and eat,” said Mrs. Blair. “Then we’ll come out and watch the storm. There is going to be a lot of wind.”