It was an unwritten law, however, that the Freshmen should wait for their class elections until Thanksgiving time; that would afford opportunity for them to get acquainted with each other, and to determine who were the most suitable candidates. [Illustration: Beth and Dolly were discussing it one day as they took their usual walk.] It was an all-important subject in the eyes of the Freshmen, and so, not unnaturally, Beth and Dolly were discussing it one day as they took their usual walk. "I believe that Margaret Hamilton will be elected president," predicted Dolly. "She is so tall and handsome, she would be such a magnificent president." "She knows it," returned Beth dryly. "She has been posing for it ever since the term opened. She dresses for it, talks for it, and is always working for it--not openly, but in a hundred little subtle ways." "You don't like Margaret." "Not to any great extent, I'll confess. I would much rather see you class president." "Me? I haven't any dignity, and you know it." "Well, you have other qualifications that are quite as desirable." "I'm out of the question, so stop talking about it. There goes Miss Hamilton now. I wonder why she always turns down that lane? It is a private one, you know, and I'm sure she has no permission to go to the house every day." "I'm positive she doesn't even know the people," Beth said, staring after her classmate. "I am consumed with curiosity. What do you suppose she does want, anyway?" "I have not the faintest idea, and I really do not suppose that it concerns us, anyway. What do you think?" "Don't be snubby! Margaret Hamilton is queer in some ways, though none of you seem to have discovered it but myself." "That simply shows what an imagination you have. I must go into the library now and scribble a note to Fred. I don't see when you get your home letters written, Beth. I must send one to Father and Mother twice a week, or they would think that I was sick and rush on here: and Fred, off at Harvard, demands one just as often. I told him that I would write as long as he did, but that when he commenced to shirk on his letters to me, I would stop. So far he has done remarkably well, and Mother likes me to write him often, not mere notes, you know, but long, chatty letters; she thinks that home-letters help to keep boys out of temptation." "I presume they do," said Beth soberly, as if struck by a new thought. "Possibly it would not hurt me to write to Roy, he is off at a preparatory school." "Have you a brother? I didn't know it." "I have not been much more communicative than Margaret Hamilton, have I? But I hardly imagine that our reasons are the same for keeping so quiet: If there is time after our letters are finished, I'll give you a biographical sketch of our family. Roy is my half brother, I have no own brothers or sisters." And then Beth commenced to talk of something else as if she repented her momentary confidence, and the girls went in to write their letters.