Virginia, who had read too late, and who even at bed-time felt called upon to inscribe some thoughts in her book, was startled at eleven o’clock by hearing foot-steps in the hall. Her door was unceremoniously opened by a tall, gray-haired gentleman, who carried in his arms a limp figure in a pink dress—a figure, who cried in a muffled voice from somewhere within the scarfs that covered her: “Oh, Virginia, ’twas no use. They came out all the same!” “So this is the other member of the new medical school,” announced the gray-haired man, depositing his bundle on the bed. “Miss Virginia, I’m honored to meet you!” The mystified and frightened Virginia was led away to Miss Wallace’s room, where she gleaned some hurried information before that lady returned to help the doctor, who assured them that Priscilla would be much improved and doubtless much more speckled in the morning. An hour later he drove away, leaving sweet Miss Bailey, St. Helen’s nurse, in charge. But the contrite and troubled Virginia could not sleep until she had been permitted to say a short good-night to her room-mate. “Oh, Priscilla,” she moaned. “I’m so sorry! I thought ’twas just the right thing to do.” “It was,” said the patient from under the blankets, for a return to steaming had been prescribed. “It was, Virginia! Else I never could have gone, and I wouldn’t have missed the one half I had for the world. Only I’ve just thought of the awful result! I’ve probably given them to Carver and all the others; and he’ll never invite me again! Oh, why didn’t we think?” Virginia, by this time weeping in sympathy, was again led away to Miss Wallace’s room, where she spent a restless night, thinking of the awful consequences to Colonel Standish’s grandson. But both she and Priscilla might have spared themselves unnecessary worry, for the solicitous Carver telephoned daily for a week, and sent some flowers and two boxes of candy. A few days after the telephone calls had ceased, the fully restored Priscilla received the following note: “Gordon School, Mar. 1, 19—. “Dear Priscilla: “I’ve got them, and so has Bob, and the four other fellows you danced with. Don’t mind, because we’re all jolly well pleased. Old Morley, who is a good sort, let us out of the February exams and we’re some happy, I tell you. Besides, grandfather sent me all kinds of new fishing-tackle, and ten dollars. We all think you were no end of a game sport to come, and next year Bob and I are going to have you and Virginia, whom grandfather’s always cracking up to me. “Your speckled friend, “Carver Standish.” CHAPTER XIV WYOMING HOSPITALITY.