It was the first Saturday of the regular fall term at Miss Allen's Boarding School. The girls were back again in their old places—all except the seniors of the previous year, who had graduated—and now the sophomores were preparing for the first social event of the year, their reception to the freshmen. Marjorie Wilkinson was chairman.
The clock struck seven, and she stood perfectly still in the center of the floor, viewing the result of their work. The bare, ugly gymnasium had disappeared; in its place was a little winter scene from fairyland. Cedar branches, decked with flakes of artificial snow, and great white snowbanks, completely hid the walls from view. Spread over the floor, except for a space in the middle reserved for dancing, were pine needles and more patches of snow; and everywhere frosty tinsel glimmered in the soft, blue light of the covered electric bulbs.
The girls walked lightly and spoke softly, as if they feared that by some rude noise they might break the magic spell of the scene.

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