The two halcyon weeks of October passed, and the shortened days began to grow colder. Already there was a touch of November in the air; and the girls were beginning to prefer to spend the half hour after supper around the open fire than out-of-doors. On Friday evening of the third week of school, there being a shorter study period of from eight to nine o’clock, they stayed later than usual, talking of various subjects as they sat on the floor around the open fire. Among other things they spoke of their “vocations” in life—each painting in glowing colors the ideal of her life-work. Mary was going to teach, and she already had her pattern, she said shyly, not venturing to look toward Miss Wallace out of courtesy to poor Miss Green, who sat opposite. Anne, who loved nothing so well as “doctoring” the girls when they would permit, would be a Red Cross nurse, bearing cheer and consolation wherever she went, like Mrs. Browning’s “Court Lady,” though she should wear a uniform instead of satin. Dorothy would go on the stage and charm young and old, like Maude Adams, her idol, and never take part in any but up-lifting plays. Lucile longed to have a villa outside of Paris, and help poor American students, who had come to Paris to study art and had been unfortunate and unsuccessful. She had seen so many, she said. They were so pathetic; and she would give them encouragement and a fresh start. Priscilla said with a little embarrassment, that since every one was telling the truth, she must admit that she dreamed of being an author, and writing books that should inspire the world; and Virginia, who sat by her, all at once squeezed her hand tightly, and said that she longed to write also. Imogene “hadn’t decided,” and Vivian made them all laugh by saying she wanted more than anything else to have a home for orphan babies and take care of them every one herself. Miss Wallace and Miss Green listened, the one with sympathetic, the other with amused interest. Neither of them spoke until the girls had finished; and then Miss Green, feeling that perhaps it was her duty to declare that dreams were fleeting, said, “You must be careful, my dears, that unlike Ibsen’s ‘Master Builder,’ you can climb as high as you build. Dreams are very well, but I have lived long enough to discover that one’s vocation in life is usually thrust upon her.” “Horrors!” cried Dorothy. “Then I won’t have any!” The others were silent, all conscious of a dampening of enthusiasm. Miss Wallace stirred a little uneasily in her chair. Virginia, being honestly interested in Miss Green’s observation, and feeling intuitively that some one should speak, broke the silence. “Was your vocation thrust upon you, Miss Green?” she asked politely. “It was,” returned that lady, a little icily, the girls thought, but Virginia mistook the tone for one of regret.