In honor of Miss Day’s cocoa, the lanterns were all lit now, and the effect, on fans and pictures and on brilliant bits of color, were grotesque and almost bizarre.

Miss Day thought her room lovely.  It was dazzling, but the reverse of reposeful.

The girls were lounging about, chatting and laughing; they were having a good time and were absolutely at their ease.  One, a red-haired girl, with frank, open blue eyes and a freckled face, an inmate of Katharine Hall, was sending her companions into fits of laughter.

“Yes,” she was saying in a high, gay voice, “I’m not a bit ashamed of it; there’s never the least use in not owning the truth.  I’m used up, girls:  I haven’t a pennypiece to bless myself with, and this letter came from Spilman to-night.  Spilman says he’ll see Miss Eccleston if I didn’t pay up.  Madame Clarice wrote two nights ago, declaring her intention of visiting Miss Eccleston if I didn’t send her some money.  I shall have no money until next term.  There’s a state of affairs!”

“What do you mean to do, Polly?” asked Lucy Marsh in a sympathizing tone.

“Do?  My dear creature, there’s only one thing to be done.  I must have an auction on the quiet.  I shall sell my worldly all.  I can buy things again, you know, after dad sends me his next allowance.”

“Oh, Polly, but you cannot really mean it!” Miss Marsh, Miss Day and two or three more crowded around Polly Singleton as they spoke.

“You can’t mean to have an auction,” began Miss Day; “no one ever heard of such a thing at St. Benet’s.  Why, it would be simply disgraceful!”

“No, it wouldn’t—­ don’t turn cross, Annie.  I’ll have an auction first and then a great feed in the empty room.  I can go on tick for the feed; Jones, the confectioner, knows better than not to oblige me.  He’s not like that horrid Spilman and that mean Madame Clarice.”

“But, Polly, if you write to your father, he’ll be sure to send you what you want to clear off those two debts.  You have often told us he has lots of money.”

“My dears, he has more tin than he knows what to do with; but do you think I am going to have the poor old dear worried?  When I was coming here he said, Polly, you shall have thirty pounds every term to spend as pocket money; not a penny more, not a penny less.  And you must keep out of debt on it; mind that, Polly Singleton.’  I gave the dear old dad a hug.  He’s the image of me—­ only with redder hair and more freckles.  And I said, I’ll do my best, dad, and, anyhow, you sha’n’t be put out whatever happens.’”

“Then you didn’t tell him you’d keep out of debt?”

“No, for I knew I’d break my word.  I’ve always been in debt ever since I could remember.  I wouldn’t know how it felt not to owe a lot of money.  It’s habit, and I don’t mind it a bit.  But I don’t want dad to know, and I don’t want Miss Eccleston to know, for perhaps she would write to him.  If those old horrors won’t wait for their money till next term, why there’s nothing for it but an auction.  I have some nice things and they’ll go very cheap, so there’s a chance for you all, girls.”