School, in an amazingly short time, fell into its customary routine. Genevieve, it is true, did not cease to pine for long, free hours out of doors; but with as good grace as she could she submitted to the .  
Miss Hart was still not a favorite in the school, and no one seemed to realize this more keenly than did Miss Hart herself. At all events, as the days passed, she grew thinner and paler looking, and more nervous and worried in her manner. While none of the Happy Hexagons set herself to making trouble, certainly none of them tried to cause matters to be any easier for her. The girls themselves had long since forgotten their brief day of unpleasantness regarding O. B. J. Holmes, and were more than ever, after this, their first quarrel.
 
In the Kennedy home, too, matters had settled into their usual routine. Miss Jane had returned, and the days, for Genevieve, were full of study, practice, and the usual number of lessons in cooking and sewing.
 
As the crisp October days came, every pleasant Saturday afternoon found the Hexagon Club off for a long walk or ride, sometimes by themselves, sometimes with Harold, Charlie, O. B. J. Holmes, or some of the other boys and girls as invited guests.
 
O. B. J. Holmes had long since ceased to be the "new boy." He was not, indeed, exactly a favorite with some of the young people, but he was included frequently in their merrymakings—chiefly because Genevieve declared openly that she thought he ought to be. He was not called "Oliver" except in the classroom. Outside he was known usually as "O. B. J." into "Obejay." Sometimes, it is true, Tilly's old "O Be " was heard, but not often—perhaps because the lad appeared not to care if they did call him that, if Genevieve were near to join in the good-natured laugh with which he greeted it.
 
Undeniably, this frank of the most popular girl in school had much to do with the way the others regarded him; though they were at a loss, sometimes, to account for a certain quality in that friendship, which they could not .
 
"It's for all the world as if you'd known each other before," Harold explained it a little aggrievedly one day to Genevieve, when O. B. J. Holmes had just thrown her one of his merry glances at a sudden of Tilly's "O Be Joyful" name. "Say, have you known him before?"
 
Genevieve laughed—but she shook her head.
 
"No; but maybe I do know him now—a little better than you do," she answered , thinking of the name that Harold did not even suspect.
 
School this year, for Genevieve, was meaning two new experiences. One was that for the first time class officers were elected; the other, that a school magazine was started. In both of these she bore a prominent part. In the one she was unanimously elected president; in the other she was appointed correspondent for her class by the Editor-in-Chief. By each, however, she was quite overwhelmed.
 
"But I don't think I can do them—not either of them," she declared to Mrs. Kennedy and Miss Jane Chick when she had brought home the news. "To be Class President you have to be and conduct meetings and know parliamentary law, and all that."
 
"I'm not afraid of anything there hurting you," smiled Miss Jane. "In fact, it strikes me that it will do you a great deal of good."
 
"Y-yes, I suppose you would think so," smiled Genevieve, a little .
 
"And I'm sure it's an honor," Mrs. Kennedy reminded her.
 
Genevieve flushed.
 
"I am glad they wanted me," she admitted .
 
"And what is this magazine affair?" asked Miss Jane.
 
"Yes, and that's another thing," sighed Genevieve. "I can't write things. If it were only Quentina, now—she could do it!"
 
"But you have written for the Chronicles, my dear," observed Mrs. Kennedy. "Have you given those up?"
 
"Oh, no; we still keep them, only we have entries once a week now instead of every day. There isn't so much doing here as there was in Texas, you know."
 
"Then you do write for that," said Miss Jane.
 
"Oh, but that's just for us," argued Genevieve. "I don't mind that. But this has got to be printed, Miss Jane—printed right out for everybody to read! If it were only Quentina, now—she'd glory in it. And—oh, Miss Jane, how I wish you could see Quentina," broke off Genevieve, suddenly. "Dear me! wouldn't she just hit on your name, though! She'd be rhyming it in no time, and have 'Miss Jane at the window-pane,' before you could turn around!"
 
"Quite an inducement for me to know her, I'm sure," observed Miss Jane, dryly.
 
Genevieve laughed, but she sighed again, too.
 
"Well, anyhow, she would do it lovely—this correspondence business; but I can't, I'm sure."
 
"What are you supposed to do?"
 
"Why, just hand in things—anything that's of interest in my class; but I don't know what to say."
 
"Perhaps the others can help you," suggested Aunt Julia.
 
Genevieve gave a sudden laugh.
 
"They'd like to—some of them. Tilly's tried already. She gave me two items this noon, all written down. One was that O. B. J. had a new on the left side of his nose, and the other that Bertha hadn't said 'I told you so' to-day."
 
"Genevieve!" protested the shocked Miss Jane. "You wouldn't—" She stopped helplessly.
 
"Oh, no, Miss Jane, I wouldn't," laughed Genevieve, merrily, as she rose from the dinner-table.
 
Perhaps it was her duties as president, and her new task as correspondent, or perhaps it was just the 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 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, , a great success. Her work in class was so unusually good that Miss Hart's tired eyes brightened, and her lips 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 , 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 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," 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 ?" twittered Tilly, cheerfully.
 
"A—pony?" Genevieve's eyes were puzzled.
 
Tilly laughed.
 
"Oh, it isn't one of your bronchos," she , "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 .
 
"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, .
 
"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 ," 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.
 
"Chiefly, I reckon I'd like no school," sighed Genevieve; "but if I can't have that, I'd like another[285] box of teachers opened so we could have a new one."
 
"What's the trouble now?"
 
"Oh, I reckon the trouble is with me," admitted Genevieve, ruefully. "Anyhow, Miss Jane would say it was. I in Cæsar—but that's no reason why Miss Hart should have been so disagreeable! But then, I suppose she has to be. She came out of that kind of a box, you know."
 
Harold laughed, though a little gravely.
 
"You still think they come all boxed, sorted, and labeled, do you?" he said. "And that they aren't 'just folks' at all?"
 
"Yes, I still think so. They never seem a bit like 'folks' to me. It's their business to sit up there stiff and solemn and stern, and see that you behave and learn your lessons. I never saw one that I liked, except Miss Palmer and Miss Jones—but then, they came out of a jolly box, anyhow."
 
"Lucky ladies!"
 
Genevieve laughed .
 
"Oh, I know I'm horrid," she admitted; "but—well, I went off for a ride with Tilly yesterday after school, instead of paying attention to his Imperial Highness, Cæsar; and that's what was the trouble. But, Harold, it was so glorious out I had to—I just had to! I tell you, every bit of me was to go! Now what do you suppose Miss Hart knows of a feeling like that? She simply couldn't understand it."
 
"But—Miss Hart doesn't look very old—to me."
 
Genevieve stopped short, and turned half around.
 
"Old! Why, she's a teacher, Harold!"
 
Harold , as they started forward again.
 
"I should like to see some teachers' faces if they could hear you say 'teacher' in that tone of voice, young lady!"
 
"Pooh! I reckon it would take considerable to make me think of any teacher as young," retorted Genevieve, with emphasis.
 
"All right; but—aren't you coming out, later, for a wal............