"I'd hate to be sent back, and have my father know I'd failed, when he spent so much time preparing me; but"--Olivia began to cry again--"I want to go back so much that I don't believe I care." "You don't know what you're talking about," said Patty. She put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Mercy, child, you're sopping wet, and you're shivering! Sit up and take those shoes off." Olivia sat up and pulled at the laces with ineffectual fingers, and Patty jerked them open and dumped the shoes in a squashy heap on the floor. "Do you know what's the matter with you?" she asked. "You're not crying because you've flunked. You're crying because you've caught cold, and you're tired and wet and hungry. You take those wet clothes off this minute and get into a warm bath-robe, and I'll get you some dinner." "I don't want any dinner," wailed Olivia, and she showed signs of turning back to the pillows again. "Don't act like a baby, Olivia," said Patty, sharply; "sit up and be a--a man." Ten minutes later Patty returned from a successful looting expedition, and deposited her spoils on the bedroom table. Olivia sat on the edge of the bed and watched her apathetically, a picture of shivering despondency. "Drink this," commanded Patty, as she extended a steaming glass. Olivia obediently raised it to her lips, and drew back. "What's in it?" she asked faintly. "Everything I could find that's hot--quinine and whisky and Jamaica ginger and cough syrup and a dash of red pepper, and--one or two other things. It's my own idea. You can't take cold after _that_." "I--I don't believe I want any." "Drink it--every drop," said Patty, grimly; and Olivia shut her eyes and gulped it down. "Now," said Patty, cheerfully bustling about, "I'll get dinner. Have you a can-opener? And any alcohol, by chance? That's nice. We'll have three courses,--canned soup, canned baked beans, and preserved ginger,--all of them hot. It's mighty lucky Georgie Merriles was in New York or she'd never have lent them to me." Olivia, to her own astonishment, presently found herself laughing (she had thought that she would never smile again) as she sipped mulligatawny soup from a tooth-mug and balanced a pin-trayful of steaming baked beans on her knee. "And now," said Patty, as, the three courses disposed of, she tucked the freshman into bed, "we'll map out a campaign. While eight hours are pretty serious, they are not of necessity deadly. What made you flunk Latin prose?" "I never had any before I came, and when I told Miss--" "Certainly; she thought it her duty to flunk you. You shouldn't have mentioned the subject. But never mind. It's only one hour, and it won't take you a minute to work it off. How about German?" "German's a little hard because it's so different from Italian and French, you know; and I'm sort of frightened when she calls on me, and--" "Pretty stupid, on the whole?" Patty suggested. "I'm afraid I am," she confessed.