HER SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY "Please, Miss Lewis, _please_ do," came in a chorus of pleading voices, as half a dozen Freshmen surrounded Betty in the lower hall, one snowy morning late in January.

"I think you _might_ consent when we all want one so tremendously." "Come on down, Mary Ware," called A.O., catching sight of a wondering face peering over the bannister, curious to see the cause of the commotion.

"Come down here and help us beg Miss Lewis to be photographed.

There's a man coming out from town this morning to take some snow scenes of the place, and we want her to pose for him.

Sitting at the desk, you know, where she wrote her stories, with the editor's letter of acceptance in her hand.