Isabelle heard shouts of laughter, and hurried to the window. Down below in the twilight a crowd of laughing girls was burying a prostrate victim under the leaves. They shrieked and cavorted about her. A yellow moon hung low over the hills. All at once, clear and high, a bugle call arose, and echoed far and near. It was a scene and impression she was never to forget. "What is that?" she demanded of Peggy. "Time to dress. Mr. Benjamin bugles whenever we have to do anything," complained Peggy. There was a rush on the stairs, more laughter, questions called and answered, doors slammed. A poignant sense of loneliness, of homesickness, swept over Isabelle. She turned to Peggy, who sat by. "I hate it!" she said fiercely. "So do I. Going to change?"--languidly. "You needn't. Girls don't have to, their first night. Just wash and come on." Isabelle followed her suggestion and presently the two girls went downstairs together. Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin sat together on a high backed settle by the fire. They were enjoying each other's conversation. Mrs. Benjamin's face shone as she listened to her husband. It was rather a plain face, surmounted by hair parted smoothly in the middle and drawn low into a diminutive knot at the back. She wore a queer dress, Isabelle thought, and a fine white kerchief was folded across her breast. This was her costume always, save on Sunday, when the dress was of silk. "I hope thee found thy room pleasant, Isabelle," she said as the girls entered. "Yes, thanks." "Thee has a fine view over the hills," Mr. Benjamin said. Then the other girls trooped in, and Isabelle was introduced to them. A servant announced supper. Mr. Benjamin gave his arm to Mrs. Benjamin, and they led the way, followed by the girls, two by two, arm in arm, across the hall to the dining room. There was an unexpected moment for Isabelle when everybody bowed the head and offered silent grace. The supper was plain, but how those girls did eat! Cold meats, baked potatoes and apple sauce, and cookies disappeared in quantities. Even the rice pudding had to be served twice all round. There was talk and laughter. No sense of disorder or noise, but it was just jolly. Mr. Benjamin at one end of the long table beamed at Mrs. Benjamin at the other end. They both played a part in the sprightly give-and-take of the children. It was like a happy family. Isabelle was silent, taking note of everything. Peggy was sullen. After supper there was a rush for sweaters. "Get your coat, Isabelle, and come out. We're going to have a bonfire to-night. No lessons until to-morrow," shouted a girl named Agnes. Isabelle started up to get her coat, but on second thoughts she went back for Peggy. "Oh, I can't do those things, I tell you. I'm too delicate," whined the girl. "It won't hurt thee at all, my dear, if thee wraps up well," said Mrs. Benjamin. "I'm never allowed out in the night air----"