There we were given instructions in preparing the tea trays under their watchful supervision. 

Everything we did seemed to be incorrect. "Gisele, don't you dare spill tea on your uniform!" and so on. It was decided that I should be the one to carry the tea tray, Jim the plates of sandwiches and Pete the cups and saucers.

When the members of the sorority had gathered in the living room we were presented to them by June. "Girls," she announced, "We have three pretty French Maids to wait on our bidding. This is Robette, this Gisele and this Marie!" Great laughter greeted her remarks, but more crushing to our spirits was when Martha ordered us to curtsy to them. Both Pete and I somehow managed it; but poor Jim tripped over his heels and down he went in a fluttering mass of petticoats. June and Martha went to his rescue, dragging him to his feet, then pushing up his skirts in back they gave him several resounding slaps as a reminder to be more careful in the future.

We were marched back to the kitchen and ordered to bring out our trays. I somehow managed to place mine before Mrs. Jones without mishap, although I was trembling in fear that I would make a false step and dump the teapot in one of the girls' laps. Poor Pete was not so fortunate as he tripped and spilled the cups and saucers onto the rug. Mary leaped to her feet, upbraiding him for his clumsiness, and ordering him to pick up the mess he had made. He bent over to do her bidding. It delighted the girls no end when he presented a full view of his lace frilled lingerie. When he had picked up the cups and saucers and placed them before Mrs. Jones, Juneordered him to her. 

"You need a lesson in deportment," she declared, grabbing him by the arm and giving it a quick twist she pulled him down across her lap. The girls went into hysterics as he lay there wriggling and squirming, begging to be released. Instead she pushed his skirts up over his waist, exposing his drawers. Her hand rose and fell with resounding slaps. The fact that she was spanking him as one would a child was all the more humiliating. "There!" she cried with a final smack, "Let this be a lesson to you to be more careful in the future. Next time I'll use a strap." Pete struggled to his feet and retrieved his drawers from about his ankles. Even Jim and I found it amusing to watch him trying to arrange the frilled garment.

Those determined girls kept us mincing back and forth before them until dinner time, eachvying with the other to degrade us. "Gisele! Come here this minute. Your petticoats need arranging!" Pete would hobble over to her and stand there shamefaced as she would pretend to adjust them. "Robette!- your apron strings are coming loose. Come here this minute!" They would fashion the ends into a new bow. Some demanded we stand with our backs to them, while they lifted our skirts and teased us about our cute lingerie. Finally they left for dinner, leaving us in charge of our Mistresses. We were ordered to take the tea things back to the kitchen.

It was Jim who asked the question which was on all our minds. "When are you going to let us eat?" For an answer June ran her fingers over his stays, tittering, "Your figure dear. Remember your figure." They finally gave us a glass of milk and a few saltines.

The same pattern followed afternoon after afternoon. Laced down to the last breathless inch by Mrs. Jones, petticoated and uniformed by our Mistresses, forced to wait hand and foot on the amused and delighted girls. An addition had been made to our ensembles, we now wore wigs which completely erased the last trace of masculinity. Yet despite all this there were moments of compen­sation. Such as the afternoon when Martha announced that I was to assist in dressing her for a tea. "I'll call you when I need you," she told me, ordering me to wait outside her door. At least thiswould be a diversion from the usual routine and perhaps . . . I waited patiently for her summons, an object of derision to the girls who came and went to their rooms. 

Finally I was summoned. She was seated at her dressing table putting the finishing touches to her makeup. Alas, she was fully clothed, except for her frock. It was disappointing as she did have a cute little figure. "You'll find my dress on the chair," she called over her shoulder, adding a dab of powder to her little' nose. "You know, I have been watching you of late Robette," she turned to face me. "I think you have come to find your petticoats and lingerie rather fascinating. 'Fess up now, isn't it true?" There was a teasing note in her voice. For a moment I was unnerved. Could she be reading my thoughts? Of course not. Still she had put into words something which had been troubling me of late, something which I pushed from my mind. How could she have guessed? "Well Robette," she asked, "Isn't it true?"

For a moment I was panic stricken. Yet it was' true - the tightly laced stays, the stilt-heeled slippers, the petticoat frills caressing my silk covered knees, the sibilent swish of my uniform all had come to hold a strange fascination for me. The' thought that I found delight in arranging their pretty intimate garments in their bureau drawers, or running my fingers caressingly over their pretty frocks and gowns as I hung them in their closets,: and sometimes, if no one was looking, to take them down from their hangers and mince happily before a cheval mirror to press them against my person to picture myself in them. It was so very unnerving.

But how could Martha have guessed my secret? I recovered sufficient composure to protest. "Of course not, Miss Martha. What a silly idea!" I desperately hoped that my voice sounded con­vincing as I turned away to hide my flaming cheeks. She regarded me silently for a moment or two. "Perhaps not," she said thoughtfully, turning back to complete her makeup. Thank goodness she was not certain, that was some relief. Even so, l must be very careful not to give her the least idea to arouse her suspicions.

I minced over to the bed to gather up the frock she had selected for the party. It was a smartly styled pale blue taffeta, tight-bodiced and with a flaring skirt. It whispered excitingly as I lifted ii with my tingling fingers, the touch of the stiff silk making me wish ... I dispelled the thought . . .to crush it against my person. Goodness, what was happening to me? It was rather frightening. I held out the frock for her to slip into, then arranged it about her slim little figure and zipped it at the back. "It's really a very pretty frock, isn't it Robette?" she asked, giving me a coy look. She gathered the skirt in her fingers and made frou frou with it. I must have crimsoned, for she gave a gay little laugh and patted me gently on the cheek. "You needn't worry Robette, I'll keep your secret." 

I lowered my eyes demurely and whis­pered, "Oh Miss Martha, then you know?" She studied me a moment before she replied. "Yes Robette, I have suspected for some time now. Perhaps it's the way you look when I'm dressing you, or just my intuition." She swished out of the room, leaving me to ponder her statement. Somehow I felt that my secret was safe with her; but suppose she even dropped a hint to a friend. Iwould simply die of shame.

I tidied up the room and started to leave when I spied a scene which revealed that I was not alone in being affected by our enforced servitude to the petticoat. Pete was standing before the scheval mirror in the hall. As I watched, he ran his fingers over his waspish waist, an ecstatic expression lighting up his features. I ducked back into the room as he turned his head to glance up and down the hallway, and feeling himself unobserved, raised his skirts to view his elaborately frilled drawers. He hurriedly lowered them as the click­click of high heels sounded on the staircase, and minced daintily down the corridor. No, I was not alone in the change which had come over me.

The fact that she shared my secret did not deter Miss Martha from exacting prompt and painful punishment for any failure to comply with our sentences. The very next afternoon, I thoughtlessly neglected to address he properly. "So!" she stormed, "Perhaps you think that because of our conversation yesterday, you may take liberties with me. Very well, you will soon learn how mistaken you are."

She slipped the belt from my trousers and stood there flailing the air with it. "Oh Miss Martha, please. It won't happen again!" My pleas fell on deaf ears and I was ordered to stand with my face to the wall. She tied my wrists with a length of slik ribbon. "Indeed Robette, I am going to teach you a lesson in politeness." She obviously relished the opportunity. Another length of ribbon was brought out, and gathering my skirts up about my waist, she fastened them there with the ribbon. "Please! Please! Miss Martha," I begged as I heard the belt swish thru the air, then SMACK! It cut across my buttocks. Down came the whistling belt again and again until my poor buttocks felt as though they were on fire, and surely my pretty drawers must be badly ripped. I squirmed and writhed in agony.

I had a momentary respite, when Mary came into the room. "Robette was insolent," Martha explained. "Oh do let me have a turn at him, won't you?" It was indignity enough to be thrashed by Martha, and now Mary wished a turn. She was far more cruel in her application, not only using my buttocks as a target, but my thighs as well, these protected only by my silk stockings. I screamed each time the belt slashed against them. Finally Martha decided I had had enough and stopped her. How poor Pete must suffer at her hands, if this was an example.

A few days later, our Mistresses summoned us to a conference with Mrs. Jones. What new humiliations were they scheming up for us?

Mrs. Jones asked, "Girls, wouldn't it be an amusing idea to invite the members of another Sorority in for tea some afternoon, so we could show off our three pert `maids?" Our Mistresses clapped their hands in delight. As for us, we were crushed at the thought of being publicly shamed. "And we'll have them look their prettiest!" June exclaimed, glancing at Jim's drawn expression. 

Practical Martha remarked, "Their uniforms will need to be taken in, they have become rather loosein the bodice since we trimmed down their waists. 

The women burst into laughter. "I'll attend to that myself," Mrs. Jones told them, "And you may be certain of their lacing that day." We were obliged to remain while they planned all the details.

The afternoon set for the party found us proceeding slowly down the street to the Alpha Beta Gamma house. Jim was speaking. "Aw fellows, let's not do it. Let's stay away today. I'd rather face my Dad's wrath than to have it spread around the campus, what they have in store for us." It took no end of persuasion on our part to finally get him to agree to go along with us. In the end we reported to our Mistresses as usual.

"You are late!" Martha scolded, consulting her wrist watch. June and Mary started on Jim and Pete. They were forever looking for some excuse to lash us. "I'm sorry, Miss Martha," I dropped to my knees as I said it and Jim and Pete followed suit.

Martha untied my skirts and smoothed them down into place, then unfastened my wrists. The two girls found it very amusing to watch me caressing my flaming buttocks. "You know Martha, Robette looks cute with his skirts tied up the way you had them. Why not parade him before the other girls?" Martha agreed that this addi­tional humiliation should teach me a lesson, and between them my skirts were again tied up. I must have looked silly with my arms over them. I was marched down to the living room and paraded about before the amused and delighted members. Further, I was informed that I would wear my skirts that way the remainder of the day.

Several of the members passed by as we knelt there in supplication. This always amused them no end, and they would stop to tease us about our servitude.

We were presented with new drawers, thesepatterned along Little Girl fashion, with rows of lace ruffles and cute little pink satin bows on each leg. When we were ready, Mrs. Jones attended to our lacing, as she had promised, at least an inch tighter than usual. "The guests will be jealous of your pretty waists," she told us.

A new item had been added to our usual ensemble - a pair of sponge rubber falsies - to give us a proper feminine figure. Our petticoats had been starched to stand up by themselves, and an additional one was added, this of rustling taffeta. This was to create the proper swish, for swish was so definitely feminine, Martha ex­plained. She took considerably more pains with my makeup than usual, this time seating me with my back to the mirror, insisting I must not so much as take a peek until she had finished her ministrations. She went to work with a will and after she had fitted my wig to my head, ordered me to turn around and view myself.

Peering at me from the depths of the mirror I saw an ivory complexion, delicately tinted cheeks, lips carmined into a Cupid's Bow, pencil thin eyebrows and long silky lashes lidding the eyes - the face of a pretty girl. I was stunned at the completeness of my transformation. Not a trace of masculinity was visible. Worse, I found myself rather pleased with the picture. "Oh, Miss Martha," I exclaimed, "Why I ... I ... actually look like a girl!" Her hands crept down over my shoulders and toyed with the falsies, "And even a girl's figure," she teased. This last remark broke the spell, and my shoulders slumped - the truth dawned on me. I was nothing more than a petticoated slave. The realization left me com­pletely unnerved.

When she had fitted the uniform to me, I was ordered before the mirror to view myself. Could this dainty creature be me? The pretty face, the waspish waist, the smart uniform flaring out from the waist, the whispy cap and apron set, the shapely legs and trim ankles and the stilt-heeled, gleaming patent pumps?

Mrs. Jones turned her attention to our Mistresses. "Now let me see," she mused, "We'll need one at the door to greet our guests as they arrive, another in the bedroom to take their wraps, and the other can prepare the tea tray." "Of course they will all help serve tea?" Martha asked. "Yes dear, of course," Mrs. Jones replied, "We must afford our guests the opportunity to see how perfect our `maids' have been trained." There was more laughter. She made her assignments -Jim was to be stationed at the door, I was to take care of their wraps and Pete to start the tea trays. "Very well `girls' you know your places, now hurry along, the guests will be arriving quite soon now."

Martha escorted me to my station - a bedroom at the head of the stairs, and left me with a caution to conduct myself in a ladylike manner or ... She had no need to remind me of what she would do if I faltered. Shortly after she left, I heard gay laughter in the hallway downstairs, and the gay chatter of girls'voices floated up to me. "How cute! Is she an initiate? You lucky people you." Perhaps . . . per­haps the Delta Delta girls were not to be told of our identity. Moments later I was receiving their wraps and placing them on the bed. Some stopped to powder their noses, others left directly. They were all chattering about the maid service at the house. One asked me directly, "Are you being initiated?" I placed my finger on my lips as though I were not allowed to speak. She seemed satisfied and did not press me. I had only to say one word and they would know from the timbre of my voice that something was wrong.

There were embarrassing moments, as when they would pull up their skirts to adjust their garters, exposing graceful silk covered legs and trim ankles, or tugging on their girdles. Of course they had no idea that the pretty maid in attendance was a mere petticoated male.

One girl remained after the others had all departed, and I had noticed that she was eyeing me in a peculiar manner. She cast her eyes about to make certain we were alone, then came over and slipped her arms about my waist, whispering, "You're cute!" I didn't know what I was expected to do under the circumstances, draw away from her or allow myself to be petted. I chose the latter and her lips closed over mine in an exquisite caress. Apparently thinking I was submitting to her, she held me close for several minutes, kissing me fondly.

The three of us exchanged glances. They all said the same thing. Was she going to reveal our identities?-Some of the Delta Delta girls thought it should be reported to the Dean and the offenders expelled, while others were of the opinion that they should be properly chastised. Not one offered the suggestion that they should be forced to serve as maids. What a pity we had not selected the Delta Delta house.

Mrs. Jones waited patiently as ideas were bantered about, then remarked, "Well girls, you know we had just such an experience, and do you know what we decided to do?" She hesitated long enough for the excited murmur her statement had created to die down. "Well, not only did we give them a sound thrashing, and with their own belts, but we decided that as they were so interested in our panties, it was only right that they should wear them for awhile." Giggles and titters swept the room. "But how would you know they were doing it?" someone questioned. "Oh that was very simple. We ordered them to report to us every afternoon and, of course we made certain that they were wearing cute little lace panties. They had a choice: either submit, or be reported to the Dean and be expelled." By then, questioning glances were being cast in our direction. We kept our eyes on the floor before us to evade them.

Suddenly one of the Delta Delta girls ex­claimed. "Oh. No! It couldn't be! It simply couldn't!"  Everyone looked in her direction, clamoring for an answer. Mrs. Jones supplied it by ordering us before the group, using our feminine names.

Never will I forget the shrieks of laughter which rose from their throats as we minced with faltering steps to the position Mrs. Jones had designated. "They're not really boys are they? Oh they couldn't be! Look at their waists! And their faces are so definitely feminine!" Round the room questions and exclamations flew, as we stood cringing before them, our cheeks flaming crimson under the rouge. "Oh this is simply priceless!" someone cried out. Mrs. Jones motioned for quiet, and the clamor slowly died down. She addressed herself to us, saying "Girls, show our guests how prettily you can curtsy!" More shrieks of laughter as we took our skirts daintily in our fingers and curtsied to them. "But who are they?" someone inquired. "That must remain our little secret," Mrs. Jones replied. I could have rushed over and kissed her for saying that, if I had dared. At least we were safe - for the moment.

Her hands started to rove over my person and I released myself from her embrace, shaking my head. "Why don't you come and visit me some afternoon," she suggested, giving me a gentle pat on the cheek. She left with a gay little laugh. As soon as she had departed, I hurried down to the kitchen to help Jim and Pete.

"You look like the cat that has just swallowed the mouse," Jim whispered as I swished into the kitchet. "What's up?" I told them about my peculiar experience and he remarked, "Going to keep the date?" They both began to laugh at my flushed face. "Say, you know I don't think they know we're males at all!" Pete whispered. "Just as well for us," Jim retorted, "Boy what a ribbing we would get if anyone found out about our being dressed like this," he glanced down to the skirts which flared out from his slimmed waist. Somehow Jim's disgusted expression struck me as funny, and I burst out laughing. A moment later our Mistresses came striding into the kitchen, demanding to know why we were so noisy. We quickly lapsed into silence, assuming our usual menial expressions. "What they need is a good spanking!" Martha declared. 

"Bend over!" they ordered, and when we had assumed that humili­ating position, they pushed our skirts up over our backs and administered a few hard slaps with their hands. "If only I had his belt handy," June remarked with a trace of regret in her tone. They left us with instructions to bring in the tea things. As we minced into the room, we were greeted with Oh's and Ah's of delight from the Delta Delta girls, while our tormentors smiled knowingly. The same question was on every tongue, "Were we being initiated?" "Wasn't it a cute idea! "and so on. Apparently not a single one of them had any idea of our real sex. Now if the girls did not reveal our secret-if only they wouldn't. There were no mishaps while we were serving the tea, and it was not until we had taken our places near the door to the kitchen, that Mrs. Jones raised her hand for attention. When the chattering had subsided a little, so that she could make herself heard, she asked, "Girls, have there been any panty raids at your Sorority?" They replied that they had not been molested. She continued, "Well if there was a panty raid, what would you do with any you caught in the act?" Obviously she was leading up to something.

For the moment, yes, but when I saw June go over and whisper something to Mrs. Jones who smiled knowingly and nodded her head in approval, I knew that we were to be subjected to some new humiliation before the Delta Delta girls.

As June finished, Mrs. Jones motioned for the group to give her their attention, and when a semblance of order had been restored, she asked, "Girls, June has suggested that perhaps you would find it amusing to have our maids model their petticoats for you." Excited exclamations of delight greeted her remark, leaving no doubt in our minds as to their desire to submit us to this abject humiliation.

Mrs Jones motioned June to her side and suggested that she should explain to us the proper method of having us carry out her idea. Of course June selected Pete as her subject, instructing us to follow her movements. She stepped behind him and placed her hands against the back of his skirts, then pushed pushed them forward until they were bunched at the front. It created a pretty display of their frilled hems. Jim and I followed suit, and we were ordered to go over and stand before the Delta Delta girls. They simply shrieked with delight at this infamous display of our lingerie, and made cutting remarks about how cute we looked in petticoats. Suddenly one of the group jumped to her feet crying "Let's grab the panty raiders' panties!"

This was a signal for a concentrated rush towards us, and in moments we found ourselves in the midst of the screaming females, who grabbed at our skirts trying to push them up to grab our drawers, while we frantically tried to stop them. 

With our stilt heels and confining stays, we could offer only token resistance. Then oneof the group surrounding Jim cried out exuberantly, "I've got a pair!" She waved them over her head excitedly. This was an added incentive for them and they renewed their efforts with vigor. My arms were pulled behind my back while eager hands quickly pushed up my petticoats and inquisitive fingers sought to rip off my drawers. Sharp fingernails bit into my flesh as the garment was torn from me.

"Girls! Girls! Stop it! Stop this minute!" Mrs. Jones cried frantically, waving her arms. Our Mistresses and the Alpha Beta Gamma girls came to our rescue and a small riot took place, with the girls screaming and clawing at each other.

Our Mistresses hurried us out to the kitchen, leaving the screaming girls behind. "Just look at their uniforms!" Martha cried. We did indeed present a disheveled appearance. Our uniforms were torn and ripped, our wigs askew, our petticoats sagging down below our knees, our stockings full of runs. Yes we were quite a mess.

We were taken up to the bedrooms to be divested of our clothing. "You were fortunate that we were prepared  for something like this to happen," Martha remarked as she helped me out of my torn uniform. It was indeed, for who knows to what depths of indignity those hysterical females might have subjected us. I shuddered to even think of what could have happened. There was a ray of hope for us. Now that our uniforms and lingerie were past repair, perhaps they could not replace them and we would be relieved of our humiliating feminine finery. Alas, my happiness was momentary, for Martha said "Fortunately we can replace your pretty clothes." From her expression I guessed that she had gathered what was passing thru my mind. She started to lower my petticoats.

"Did you find serving in the powder room interesting, Robette?" There was a questioning lilt in her voice. I admitted it had been rather embarrassing at times, especially as the girls had no idea of my sex. Martha found this amusing and burst into laughter as my cheeks crimsoned at the recollection of watching those girls adjusting their garters, or holding up their skirts to arrange their panties. "Quite an education in powder room etiquette, wasn't it?" she teased. As the last of the petticoats slipped down about my ankles, Martha gave a little cry of distress.

"Robette, you poor darling!" there was genuine sincereity in her voice, "Just look what those horrid girls did to you.!" I lowered my eyes to find the upper portion of my stockings full of runs and under them, long red scratches where the fingernails of inquisitive, eager hands had scraped the flesh. Could this obviously perturbed young lady be Martha, the domineering Martha who had thrashed me so thoroughly and found both delight and amusement in arraying me in humiliating petticoats and drawers? This very disturbed young lady, moaning over the fact that another had inflicted pain on my person. It was food for thought. 

"There!" Martha exclaimed, gathering up the remnants of my uniform and petticoats. "As soon as you have changed to your lace panties, you may dress. For a moment I was non-plused. Had she  forgotten that I was still laced into stays? "But Martha, my stays!" She whirled about. I gulped when I realized I had forgotten to say `Miss'. I quickly corrected myself. She glared at me without a word and took up my belt. "Oh No! Please!" I pleaded, falling to my knees before her. I simply couldn't endure being punished after that unnerving experience at the hands of the Delta Delta girls. She stood there, an expression of anticipation hardening her features. There was no mercy to be found. "Get up!" she ordered, bringing the belt down sharply across my shoulders with a resounding crack. "Please Miss Martha, please!" I begged as f rose to my feet. 

She only glared at me . . . "You seem to have the  impression that, because I was sorry for what the Delta girls did to you, that I would forget to punish you for any impertinence. No my pretty Robette." She flailed the air to emphasize her point. I was ordered to lay face down over the edge of the sofa, where she applied the belt. Smack! Smack! SMACK! It burned itself into my flesh. I was reduced to a state of trembling servitude before she tired, and how my poor inflamed buttocks burned. "Now get on your feet!" she ordered.

"You mentioned your stays. We have decided to have the three of you wear them all the time, as well as your panties, to be a constant reminder of what happens to `panty raiders'." Oh no, now I would be forced to endure the exquisite compres­sion of those hateful stays all the time. Was there no end to the humiliations they heaped on us?

As Martha had stated, the tearing of our uniforms by the Delta Delta girls had been no obstacle in continuing us in maid's uniforms. In fact our new ones were identical to the previous ones, and except for the fact that our lingerie was frillier than before, it might never have happened. There was to be no end to our subservience to their commands. They kept us busy tidying up their rooms, cleaning and polishing furniture or serving tea. This was the established routine, day after day. Yet there was some consolation and Jim and Pete had noticed it too. for on our way home one evening, it was the topic of conversation. "Have you noticed, fellows, that they don't tease us as much as they used to?" I asked. Pete exclaimed cheerily, "Maybe they won't make us come there until the end of the semester." His voice sounded hopeful. 

Naw, don't worry, they'll keep us all right; saves them doing the work," Jim declared. It put us back in our gloomy frame of mind. "I wished I dared to take off my ... my ... corset!" I whispered the shameful word; "But I certainly couldn't ask anyone to lace it for me, and I'd hate to think of the hiding I'd get from Martha. Boy can she wield a belt." My hand unconsciously rubbed my bottom. The hint went unobserved, they made no offer. With that we parted.

The following afternoon, as Martha was dressing me, she asked, "How do you like wearing your stays all the time?" I sheepishly admitted that if I were also wearing my high heels, it would not be too uncomfortable. She laughingly suggested that I remedy the situation, as they would have no objections to my wearing my slippers on the street. I should have known better than to admit anything. Something I had noticed of late did worry me no end -the flesh on my chest was taking on embarrassing shapes. Oh well, the semester would soon be over and they would disappear.

"We have a surprise for you girls today," she exclaimed brightly. I waited nervously for her to continue, for obviously they had thought up some new scheme to shame us. "I want you to look your prettiest this afternoon," she chattered on, arranging a petticoat about my waist. "You see Robette, we have accepted an invitation from the Phi House to have our `maids' come over and serve tea for them." The episode of the Delta girls passed thru my mind, so vividly that I almost relived those awful moments.

"Oh Miss Martha, you couldn't do that to us!" I cried out in dismay, almost feeling the touch of those inquisitive fingers as they grabbed at my drawers. My expression must have revealed my thoughts, for with a gay laugh she said, "Oh I see what you mean. No, this time you need have no worry. That is . . . " a stern look came to her face . . . "If you behave yourselves in a ladylike fashion." I promised myself that I would offer them no cause for correction; but even so, the idea of being paraded about before a group of strange girls rankled no end. When Martha had completed my makeup and arrayed me in my uniform and lace cap and apron set, I was ordered before the mirror to view myself. It unnerved me to find myself peering at such a pretty, smartly-uniformed maid. Moments later Martha ordered me to follow her to Mrs. Jones' rooms, where we were to be inspected before leaving for the Phi House.

Mrs. Jones was even more careful than on the previous occasion, for not a single detail of our costumes or makeup escaped her searching glance. She stopped before Jim, and raised his skirts. "You know girls, it might be a novel idea to have them wear long drawers, you know, to reach to below their knees and of course be very frilly. Pants to pants, you know!" The women burst into peals of gay laughter, as our faces went crimson. Jim spoke up- Mrs. Jones?" she turned her attention to him, "Yes Marie, what is it you wish to say?" He stammered . . . "But Mrs. Jones, suppose . . . - they . . . they . . . " She interrupted him. "I know what you're trying to say. What if you are mandhandled again, isn't that it?" Jim nodded his head. "I thought the girls had explained to you that if you conduct yourself properly, as meek, well­trained maids, you will have no trouble." I distinctly heard Jim's suppressed sight of relief. The women found it quite amusing and burst into laughter anew.

With that, we were marched downstairs to be fitted out with cloaks which covered our humili­ating attire, white glace loves and, after they had replaced our lace caps with pert bonnets. I dreaded the thought of our being paraded down the street to be ogled by everyone. What if they pierced our makeup and discovered our sex. How they would jeer at us. My fears were unfounded, for we passed our first test shortly after leaving the Alpha Beta Gamma House.

We had barely reached the sidewalk in front of the Alpha Beta Gamma house, when to my consternation I spied a group of my classmates coming down the street. "Oh, Miss Martha, what if they recognize us. We never could live it down!" "Don't worry Robette, they won't. Not in your pretty clothes," she teased. I heard whispering behind me. Obviously Jim and Pete shared my fears. "Robette's afraid they will recognize him," Martha tossed over to June who was following along behind us. "I told him not to worry," she added, and the girls began to laugh. As they came up to us, the fellows greeted "Hi! Girls!" and one stared at me for a moment, then gave me a wolf whistle. I hastily lidded my eyes to hide my confusion, and after they had passed by, breathed a sigh of relief. A few steps later, June suggested that we should  open our coats to show off our uniforms. 

We pleaded with our Mistresses not to subject us to this; but they turned deaf ears, and we were ordered to walk along with our coats opened in front. All the way to the Phi house, we were objects of atten­tion-the fellows whistling at us, the girls snickering and asking our Mistresses where they found the cute maids. It seemed as if we would never get to our destination.

As we walked up the path to the Phi house, I expressed our common thought. "Oh Miss Martha, you don't think they will be like the Delta girls, do you?" She gave me a smile and said, "That all depends on how you conduct yourselves." There was little satisfaction in that remark. Three Phi girls met us at the door and guided us to the powder room to leave our wraps. As we removed our coats and bonnets, the girls looked us over approvingly­"What a perfectly cute idea of an initiation!" they exclaimed. "It reminds them of their lowly position as candidates," Martha replied. So this was the story which had been given to the Phi girls. Our gloves were removed, although June thought we should keep them on. Our Mistresses fussed with our apron string bows and our lace caps were tied on. They even dabbed powder on our noses. We were being treated as though we were children being readied for a party. Jim and Pete's faces were as crimson as my own flaming cheeks.

"Remember to be on your best behavior, girls," Martha warned. "There's always the b ... shecaught herself in time ... paddle you know." "Shall we go into the living room, the girls are all there, and they're simply dying to see them!" She motioned in our direction. Our Mistresses led off and we meekly minced along after them. On entering, we were brought face to face with a group of giggling chattering girls, who found our appearance very amusing, Martha presented us to the members of the Phi house. "Girls this is Robette!" She motioned me forward, then instructed me to curtsy. Jim and Pete followed. The girls shrieked with delight, watching us curtsy like little girls. As the laughter diminished a little, the house mother announced that everything was in readiness for us to serve tea. One of the Phi girls escorted us to the kitchen.