When Patty Went to College. Jean Webster

       APER-WEIGHTS," observed Patty, sucking an injured thumb, "were evidently not made for driving in tacks. I wish I had a hammer."

      This remark called forth no response, and Patty peered down from the top of the step-ladder at her room-mate, who was sitting on the floor dragging sofa-pillows and curtains from a dry-goods box.

      "Priscilla," she begged, "you aren't doing anything useful. Go down and ask Peters for a hammer."

      Priscilla rose reluctantly. "I dare say fifty girls have already been after a hammer."

      "Oh, he has a private one in his back pocket. Borrow that. And, Pris,"—Patty called after her over the transom—"just tell him to send up a man to take that closet door off its hinges."

      Patty, in the interval, sat down on the top step and surveyed the chaos beneath her. An Oriental rush chair, very much out at the elbows, several miscellaneous chairs, two desks, a divan, a table, and two dry-goods boxes radiated from the center of the room. The floor, as it showed through the interstices, was covered with a grass-green carpet, while the curtains and hangings were of a not very subdued crimson.

      "One would scarcely," Patty remarked to the furniture in general, "call it a symphony in color."

      A knock sounded on the door.

      "Come in," she called.

      A girl in a blue linen sailor-suit reaching to her ankles, and with a braid of hair hanging down her back, appeared in the doorway. Patty examined her in silence. The girl's eyes traveled around the room in some surprise, and finally reached the top of the ladder.

      "I—I'm a freshman," she began.

      "My dear," murmured Patty, in a deprecatory tone, "I should have taken you for a senior; but"—with a wave of her hand toward the nearest dry-goods box—"come in and sit down. I need your advice. Now, there are shades of green," she went on, as if

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