Judging from the patient’s alacrity in securing the basket she was not suffering. In fact she might have been called most indiscreet, as the morning air was cold. However, the flower of discretion does not bloom in boarding-school; and the afflicted Jean, after depositing the basket on the floor, and giving some air to the half-suffocated mice, leaned farther out of the window. “Don’t go. I’ll look my mail over later. It’s fine of you to come. Any more caught?” “Yes, Bess Shepard has them for sure, and Elinor Brooks has a sore throat.” “Then she’s probably just starting out.” “My room-mate is awfully cross without any reason.” This from Vivian. “Look behind her ears. Probably there are specks and lumps, too.” “Are you all over speckles, Jean?” “Pretty much so!” The patient appeared to listen, drawing herself farther into the room. All at once she waved a corner of her red bath-robe, a signal of danger, and slunk back toward the couch. The six sympathizers with one accord withdrew to the other side of the lilac bushes. They heard the closet door open and close, after something had been hurriedly placed therein, then foot-steps, and a peremptory rap on Jean’s door. Then Jean’s voice, pathetically lowered, “Come in.” The door opened. “Jeannette,” said a voice, which they behind the lilac trees recognized as Miss Wood’s. “Jeannette, don’t you feel the draught from that open window?” “No, thank you, Miss Wood. I need air.” “Didn’t I hear you talking a moment since?” “Perhaps,” said the weary Jean with half-closed eyes. “I recite a great deal to myself. And this morning I felt able to say a few words to some of the girls who came beneath the window.” “You must not talk, my dear. It is bad for your throat. Do you feel better this morning?” “Yes, I think so, slightly, thank you.” Miss Wood smoothed with soft fingers the patient’s head. “You seem very cool—a good sign. How would some cream-toast taste? It’s nourishing, and won’t hurt your throat.” “Oh, it would be delicious, I’m sure. Thank you, Miss Wood. I really believe I’m a little hungry.” Miss Wood departed to make the toast, while her patient, quickly recovering, consumed buttered popcorn as an appetizer, hoping that cream toast would be agreeable to the white mice. After which, she once more lay down, and tried to look ill in time for Miss Wood’s reappearance. Meanwhile the six behind the lilac trees hurried across the campus toward their respective cottages to do the weekly “tidying” of their rooms. “Virginia,” said Priscilla, as they left the others to post some letters, “I just know I’m going to have them. I was with Jean all one afternoon when she was hating everybody. Oh, I hope you’ll have them when I do!” “So do I. ’Twould be fun having the girls bring mail from every one. And maybe Miss Wallace would make us cream toast. That would be worth the regular measles, not to mention German. You don’t feel out-of-sorts yet, do you?”