“I’ve got some colored crayons,” suggested Harry. So Cornelia scribbled a minute, and produced the following, which Harry proudly copied in large illuminated letters on a piece of wrapping paper: “The Copleys’ breakfast’s buckwheat cakes, With maple syrup too; They’re light and tender, sweet and brown, The kind you needn’t chew. So, Carey, rise at early dawn, And put your vesture on, And come to breakfast in good time, Or they will all be gone!” Louise danced up and down as she read it. “O Nellie, Nellie, that’s real poetry!” she declared, “and aren’t we having a good time?” “I should say we were!” declared Harry, beginning to make a large flourishing capital T with green and brown crayons. “Talk about dates!” contemptuously. “If a fella has got a good home, he oughtta stay in it!” “O Nellie, it’s so good to have you home!” sighed Louise suddenly snuggling down into her sister’s tired arms. “I’m so glad your college is done!” And all at once Cornelia realized that she too was glad. Here had she been nearly all this afternoon and evening, having a first-rate, beautiful time getting tired with hard work, but enjoying it just as much as if she had been working over the junior play. It came to her with a sudden start that just at this hour they were having one of the almost last rehearsals—without her! For a second it gave her a pang, and then she realized that she really and truly was just as much interested in getting Carey’s room fixed up, and making a cheerful, beautiful living room some day for the family to gather in, and having good times to win back Carey, as ever she had been in making costumes for the girls and making the play a success by means of her delightful scenery. For was she not, after all, about to plan the scenery for the play of life in the Copley family? Who should say but there would be as much tragedy and comedy and romance in the Copley play as ever there had been at Dwight Hall? Well, time would tell, and somehow the last twenty-four hours had put her on a different plane, and enabled her to look down at her college life from a new angle. What had done it? Her knowledge of how her father and mother had struggled and sacrificed? The dearness of her young brother and sister in their sturdy, honest desire to be helpful and to love her and look up to her? Or was it her longing to hold and help the young brother who had been her chum and companion in the days before she had gone to college? At least, she could truly say in her heart that she was glad she was here tonight, and she was not nearly so dismayed at the dreary house and the sordid surroundings as she had been twenty-four hours before; for now she knew that it only spelled her opportunity, as that lovely lady on the train had suggested, and she was eager to be up and at it in the morning.