Jane Allen: Right Guard | Page 2

think of leaving it for a while.

"Last year I felt as though I was being torn up by the roots. This year I
feel all comfy and contented and only a little bit sad. The sad part is
leaving you and Aunt Mary. Still I'm glad to go back to Wellington. It's
as though I had two homes. I wanted to tell you about it, Dad. To let
you know that this year I'm going to try harder than ever to be a good
pioneer."
Raising her head, Jane suddenly sat very straight on the bench, her gray
eyes alive with resolution.
"You don't need to tell me that, Janie." Her father took one of Jane's
slender white hands between his own strong brown ones. "You showed
yourself a real pioneer freshman. They say the freshman year's always
the hardest. I know mine was at Atherton. I was a poor boy, you know,
and had to fight my way. Things were rather different then, though.
There is more comradeship and less snobbishness in college than there
used to be. That is, in colleges for boys. You're better posted than your
old Dad about what they do and are in girls' colleges," he finished
humorously.
"Oh, there are a few snobs at Wellington."
An unbidden frown rose to Jane's smooth forehead. Reference to
snobbery brought up a vision of Marian Seaton's arrogant, self-satisfied
features.
"Most of the girls are splendid, though," she added, brightening. "You
know how much I care for Judy, my roommate, and, oh, lots of others
at Wellington. There's Dorothy Martin, in particular. She stands for all
that is finest and best. You remember I've told you that she looks like
Dearest."
Jane's voice dropped on the last word. Silence fell upon the two as each
thought of the beloved dead.
"Dad, you don't know how much it helped me last year in college to
have Dearest's picture with me," Jane finally said. "It was almost as if
she were right there with me, her own self, and understood everything.

I've never told you before, but there were a good many times when
things went all wrong for me. There were some days when it seemed to
me that I didn't want to try to be a pioneer. I wanted to pull up stakes
and run away. I sha'n't feel that way this year. It will be so different. I'll
walk into Madison Hall and be at home there from the start. I'll have
friends there to welcome----"
Jane's confidences were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of
Pedro, the groom, leading Donabar, Mr. Allen's horse, along the drive.
"I've got to leave you, girl." Mr. Allen rose. "I've an appointment with
Gleason, to look at some cattle he wants to sell me. I'll see you at
dinner to-night. Probably not before then."
With a hasty kiss, dropped on the top of Jane's curly head, her father
strode across the lawn to his horse. Swinging into the saddle, he was
off down the drive, turning only to wave farewell to the white-clad girl
on the beach. Left alone, Jane turned her attention to her letters.
Those who have read "JANE ALLEN OF THE SUB-TEAM" will
remember how bitterly Jane Allen resented leaving her beautiful
Western home to go East to Wellington College. Brought up on a ranch,
Jane had known few girls of her own age. To be thus sent away from
all she loved best and forced to endure the restrictions of a girls' college
was a cross which proud Jane carried during the early part of her
freshman year at Wellington.
Gradually growing to like the girls she had formerly despised, Jane
found friends, tried and true. Being a person of strong character she
also made enemies, among them arrogant, snobbish Marian Seaton, a
freshman of narrow soul and small honor.
Due to her interest in basket-ball, Jane soon found herself fighting hard
to win a position on the freshman team. She also found herself engaged
in a desperate struggle to rule her own rebellious spirit. How she won
the right to play in the deciding game of the year, because of her high
resolve to be true to herself, has already been recorded in her doings as
a freshman at Wellington College.

"You first, Judy," murmured Jane, as she tore open the envelope
containing Judith's letter and eagerly drew it forth.
She smiled as she unfolded the one closely written sheet of thin, gray
paper. Judith never wrote at length. The smile deepened as she read:
"DEAR OLD JANE:
"It's about time I answered your last letter. I hope to goodness this
reaches you before you start East. Then you'll know I love you even if I
am not a lightning correspondent. I just came home from the