“Now, Priscilla,” she commanded, “you go back to bed. You’re _going_ to that dance. Remember that! I’ve got an idea. If heat will bring the things out, then cold must keep them in, of course. We’ll fill the hot water-bottles with cold water, and turn off the heat, and you’ll feel better. See if you don’t. And you won’t get speckled to-day anyway, because Jean Blackmore didn’t till two days after they started; and even if you do behind your ears it won’t matter. Stop crying, or somebody’ll hear, and tell Miss Wallace you’re sick.” This dire threat soothed the agitated Priscilla, and she consented to the cold bags, which felt good against her hot cheeks and forehead. By breakfast time she did feel better, though still not very well; and she went to classes with injunctions from Virginia to return after each one and lie down fifteen minutes in a cold room until time for the next class. Thus the morning passed. In the afternoon, Virginia tacked an “Asleep” sign on the door, and commenced more rigorous treatment. The numerous hot water-bags were again collected, this time filled with cold water, and placed around the recumbent patient. An ice-bag, surreptitiously filled from the pitcher in the dining-room, adorned her aching head, and a black bandage covered her watery eyes. The poor child’s thoughts, when she had any, were directed toward Eskimos and the Alps, and “such things as refrigerators, sherbet, and icebergs.” For the sake of atmosphere, her room-mate read “Snowbound” to her. But all in vain. They did not stay in! By supper time unmistakable speckles were apparent behind two very red ears, as well as elsewhere. Priscilla’s cheeks were hot and flushed Her eyes were watery, and her head ached; but her spirit was undaunted. “My dear, you don’t look well,” Miss Wallace said anxiously, as they left the dining-room, and went to dress. “Are you sure you’re well?” “Oh, yes, Miss Wallace. I’m just hot because I’m excited. My cheeks always get red then What time does the machine come?” “In an hour, I think. You’re sure you’re all right, Priscilla?” “Oh, yes, thank you!” Priscilla spoke hastily, and hurried away before Miss Wallace should feel called upon to examine her too closely. “Come on, Virginia, and help me dress.” Miss Wallace went to her room, a trifle anxious. Strange to say, she did not once think of German Measles. No more cases had appeared, to St. Helen’s relief; and apparently the epidemic had been confined to three unfortunates. Priscilla was probably, as she said, a little over-excited; and Miss Wallace had been in that state herself. There was doubtless not the least cause for alarm, and, reassured, she began to dress. Meanwhile, behind a mysteriously locked door, the anxious Virginia was dressing her room-mate, who showed unmistakable evidences of further speckling, and whose determination alone kept her from crawling into bed, where she most assuredly belonged. “Don’t you feel a single bit better, dear?”