There was a slight stirring in the lower berth of the double-decker. “Talitha,” she called out softly. “Air you awake?” But the voice which answered was not Talitha’s. “It’s Urilla,” it said hesitatingly. Gincy leaned over and her eyes sought the occupant of the cot below. Propped up on the pillow was the pale face of the girl who had arrived yesterday. The solemn brown eyes looked straight up into hers inquiringly as though not at all sure of a welcome. “I reckon you’re some surprised,” she said. “You were asleep when I came in last night and I aimed to keep pretty still.” “Yes,” answered Gincy rather dazed. “But whar’s Talitha?” Urilla shook her head. “Mrs. Donnelly sent me here—I had this room last term. I reckon Talitha’s on this floor, though. The first and second year girls are mostly together.” Gincy swung down and began dressing without another word. She would interview Talitha at breakfast; perhaps they could arrange to room together after all. Urilla looked too sober for a roommate. “Whar you from?” Gincy asked finally, rolling up her hair. “Jackson County,” Urilla answered promptly. “I rode twenty miles yesterday and the road was might rocky. Where’d you come from?” “Over in Clay,” Gincy smiled into the tired face as she answered. “I should think you’d be plumb tickled to be back. Seems like you couldn’t stay away from here nohow, but I heerd you say your mammy war sick,” she added, anxious not to appear lacking in friendly interest. “Not bed sick, or I couldn’t have come. She’s up, but I keep studying about her and wondering if Sallie—that’s my next sister—will keep her from working. Mother’s had a spell of fever and don’t seem to get strong.” Apparently, Urilla was fumbling in the little trunk on the floor for some article of wearing apparel, but Gincy saw the teardrops, and instantly her tender heart warmed. She stooped over and took the pale face between her two hard little palms. “You mustn’t fret, honey, mammy had the fever a couple of years back, and she’s robustious as kin be now.” Urilla looked the thanks her lips were unable to speak. In a minute she had regained her composure, and by the time the breakfast bell sounded, her few belongings were carefully hung in her half of the little closet, the bedclothes airing, and the tiny dresser in perfect order. Together they went down the long flights of stairs, but not to the same dining-room. Gincy had been assigned to a table in the Annex where Martin and Talitha ate, but the latter had not arrived. Silently she waited for the blessing, and then catching Martin’s eye, “Whar’s Talitha?” she inquired. “I don’t know—exactly,” he answered with hesitation and truthfully, he thought. She might be anywhere between Clover Bottom and Lost Creek by this time.