Jen Robins sat up in bed with a jerk.
“I’ll go and tell Joan now—this minute! It’s seven o’clock; she’s sure to be awake. Gosh! I am in a mess! I must have been pitching about in my sleep. I don’t remember dreaming anything very dreadful!”
She regarded her dishevelled condition severely. Her thick pigtail was loosened and she was shrouded in long yellow locks. She chuckled and began to plait it hurriedly. “Can’t go to call on Joan looking like that! I am a sight! Jack would call me Rapunzel again. That’s better; I look more civilised now.” She flung back the heavy plait and reached for her blue dressing-gown and slippers. She was spending the week-end at the Hall, with the Shirleys, the red-haired cousins who had been her first friends at school. Though Jen—Jenny-Wren to her chums, —was only fourteen and Joan and Joy Shirley were seventeen, the friendship was real and deep, and Jen, who was a boarder at school, had already paid many visits to the Hall. She was also maid-of-honour to Joan, last year’s May Queen, and she was burning with eagerness to share with Joan the great thought
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