A Sweet Girl Graduate. Meade L. T.

an inmate of St. Benet’s far-famed College for Women. Mr Hayes left no stone unturned to effect his object. He thought Priscilla could do brilliantly as a teacher, and he resolved that for this purpose she should have the advantages which a collegiate life alone could offer to her. He himself prepared her for her entrance examination, and he and Aunt Raby between them managed the necessary funds to give the girl a three-years’ life as a student in these halls of learning.

      Prissie knew very little about the money part of the scheme. She only guessed what had become of Aunt Raby’s watch and chain; and a spasm crossed her face when one day she happened to see that Aunt Raby’s poor little jewel case was empty. The jewels and the watch could certainly not fetch much, but they provided Prissie with a modest little outfit, and Mr Hayes had got a grant from a loan society, which further lightened expenses for all parties.

      Priscilla bade her sisters, her aunt, and the old rector good-bye, and started on her new life with courage.

      Chapter Six

      College Life

      The routine of life at St. Benet’s was something as follows: —

      The dressing-bell was rung at seven, and all the students were expected to meet in the chapel for prayers at eight. Nothing was said if they did not appear; no reproofs were uttered, and no inquiries made; but the good-fellowship between the students and the dons was so apparent in the three Halls, that known wishes were always regarded, and, as a rule, there were few absentees.

      The girls went to chapel in their white-straw sailor-hats, simply trimmed with a broad band of ribbon of the college colours, green with a narrow stripe of gold. Breakfast immediately followed chapel; tea and coffee and different cold meats were placed on the side-tables, and the girls helped themselves to what they pleased.

      The great event at breakfast was the post. Each student, when she entered the breakfast-hall, would make an eager rush to the side-table where the letters were neatly placed. During breakfast these were read and chatted over. The whole meal was most informal, and seldom lasted more than a quarter of an hour.

      After breakfast the notice-board in the large entrance-hall was visited and eagerly scanned, for it contained a detailed account of the hours for the different lectures, and the names of the lecturers who would instruct the students during the day. By the side of the large official notice-board hung another, which was read with quite as deep interest. This contained particulars of the meetings of the different clubs and societies for pleasure or profit got up by the girls themselves.

      On the morning after her arrival, Priscilla, with the other students, read the contents of these two boards, and then, in the company of a Fresher, nearly as shy as herself, she wandered about the lovely grounds which surrounded Heath Hall until nine o’clock, when lectures began.

      Lectures continued without interruption until lunch-time, a meal which was taken very much when the girls pleased. The time allowed for this light midday refreshment was from half-past twelve to two. The afternoons were mostly given up to games and gymnastics, although occasionally there were more lectures, and the more studious of the girls spent a considerable part of the time studying in their own rooms.

      Tea was the convivial meal of the day; to this the girls invited outside friends and acquaintances, and, as a rule, they always took it in their own rooms.

      Dinner was at half-past six, and from half-past seven to half-past nine was usually the time when the different clubs and societies met.

      There was a regularity and yet a freedom about the life; invisible bounds were prescribed, beyond which no right-minded or conscientious girl cared to venture, but the rules were really very few. Students might visit their friends in Kingsdene, and receive them at the college. They might entertain them at luncheon or dinner, or at tea in their own rooms, at a fixed charge; and provided the friends left at a certain hour, and the girls themselves asked for leave of absence when they wished to remain out, and mentioned the place to which they proposed to go, no questions were asked, and no objections offered.

      They were expected to return to the college not later than eleven at night, and one invitation to go out in the week was, as a rule, the most they ever accepted.

      Into this life Priscilla came, fresh from the Devonshire farm and from all the pursuits and interests which had hitherto formed her world. She had made a very firm niche for herself in Aunt Raby’s old cottage, and the dislodgment therefrom caused her for the time such mental disquiet and so many nervous and queer sensations that her pain was often acute and her sense of awkwardness considerable.

      Priscilla’s best in her early life always seemed but a poor affair, and she certainly neither looked nor was at her best at first here. After a few days, however, she fitted into her new grooves, took up the line of study which she intended to pursue, and was quickly absorbed in all the fascinations which it offered to a nature like hers.

      Her purse was restored to her on the morning after her arrival, and neither Maggie Oliphant nor Nancy Banister ever guessed that she had overheard some words of theirs on the night of her arrival, and that these had put bitterness into her heart and nearly destroyed her faith in her fellow-students. Both Maggie and Nance made several overtures of kindness to Prissie, but the cold manner which was more or less habitual to her never thawed, and, after a time, they left her alone. There is no saying what might have happened to Prissie had she never overheard this conversation. As it was, however, after the first shock it gave her courage.

      She said to herself —

      “I should think very little of myself if I did not despise a girl like Miss Oliphant. Is it likely I should care to imitate one whom I despise? There was a brief, dreadful hour when I absolutely pined to have pretty things in my room as she has in hers; now I can do without them. My room shall remain bare and unadorned. In this state it will at least look unique.”

      It did. The other students who lived in the same corridor came to visit Priscilla in the free and easy manner which characterised them, and made remarks the reverse of flattering. When was she going to put her pictures up? Miss Day would be delighted to help her whenever she chose to do it. When did she intend to go down to Kingsdene to order her easy-chairs and little Japanese tables, and rugs, and the other small but necessary articles which would be required to make her room habitable?

      For several days Priscilla turned these inquiries aside. She blushed, stammered, looked awkward, and spoke of something else. At last, however, she summoned up courage, and, once for all, delivered herself from her tormentors. She did that remarkably brave thing which sometimes very nervous people can brace themselves to do.

      It was evening, and Miss Day, Miss Marsh, and Nancy Banister had all come in for a few minutes to see Priscilla on their way to their own rooms.

      “Do come and cocoa with me to-night, Miss Peel,” said Miss Day. “You’re so dreadfully unsociable, not a bit like an ordinary St. Benet’s girl. If you go on in this fashion you’ll be moped to death before your first term is over.”

      “I am accustomed to a very quiet life,” responded Priscilla, “and I want to work; I have come here to work.”

      “Dear, dear! anyone would suppose you were going in for a tripos. If this were your last term I could understand it – but your first!”

      It was Miss Marsh who said these words. She was a bright-eyed, merry-looking girl, the reverse of over-studious herself.

      “Oh, come along, dear: I’ll give you such a delicious cup of cocoa,” said Miss Day.

      She crossed the room, and tried to link her hand affectionately in Prissie’s arm. Miss Peel drew back a step.

      “Thank you,” she said, “but I – I – cannot come.”

      “I must say you have a blunt way of refusing,” said Miss Day. She felt inclined to be offended, but Nancy Banister, who was standing by, and had not hitherto spoken, bestowed a quick glance of approval on Priscilla, and then said something soothing to Miss Day.

      “May I cocoa with you instead, Annie?” she said. “I am afraid no one can accuse me of killing myself with work, but we all respect earnest workers – we must. It is for them St. Benet’s