Perhaps it was her duties as president, and her new task as correspondent, or perhaps it was just the allurement of the beautiful out-of-doors that made it so hard for Genevieve to spend time on her lessons that autumn. Perhaps, too, her lack of enthusiasm for Miss Hart had something to do with it. Whatever it was, to concentrate her attention on Latin verbs and French nouns grew harder and harder as the days passed, until at last--in the frenzied rush of a study-hour one day--she did what she had never done before: wrote the meaning of some of the words under the Latin version in her book. It was, apparently, a great success. Her work in class was so unusually good that Miss Hart's tired eyes brightened, and her lips spoke a word of high praise--praise that sent to Genevieve's cheek a flush that Genevieve herself tried to think was all gratification. But--the next day she did not write any words in the book. The out-of-doors, however, was just as alluring, and the outside duties were just as pressing; so there was just as little time as ever for the Latin verbs. They suffered, too, in consequence. So, also, did Genevieve; for this time, Miss Hart, stung into irritation by this apparently unnecessary falling back into carelessness, said a few particularly sharp words that sent Genevieve out of the class with very red cheeks and very angry eyes. "I just hate Miss Hart and school, and--and everything," stormed Genevieve hotly, five minutes later, as she met Cordelia and Tilly in the corridor after school was dismissed. "Oh, Genevieve," remonstrated Cordelia, faintly. "Well, I do. I didn't have time to get that lesson--but a lot Miss Hart cared for that!" "Why don't you use a pony?" twittered Tilly, cheerfully. "A--pony?" Genevieve's eyes were puzzled. Tilly laughed. "Oh, it isn't one of your bronchos," she giggled, "and it's easier to ride than they are! It's just a nice little book that you buy--a Latin translation, you know, all done by somebody else--and no bother to you." "But--is that quite--fair?" frowned Genevieve. "Hm-m; well, I presume Miss Hartless wouldn't call it--good form," she shrugged. "Why, Tilly Mack! of course it isn't fair, and you know it," cried Cordelia. "It's worse than cribbing." "What's cribbing?" demanded Genevieve. "It's the only way out when you haven't got your lesson," answered Tilly, promptly. "It's writing the translation under the words in the book," explained Elsie Martin, who, coming up at the moment, had heard Genevieve's question. "It's just plain cheating--and it's horrid," declared Cordelia, with emphasis. Genevieve's face turned a sudden, painful red, for some unapparent reason. "Y-yes, it must be," she murmured faintly, as she turned to go. On the walk home that noon, Harold, as was frequently the case, overtook her. "Well, what part of the world would you like changed to-day?" he asked, with a smiling glance at her frowning face.