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Title: The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen's School

Author: Edith Lavell

Release date: July 28, 2017 [eBook #55213]

Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Dave Morgan and the Online

Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN'S SCHOOL ***

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT

MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

Contents

CHAPTER

Page

I

OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

3

II

MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

11

III

THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

19

IV

THE STOLEN MEETING

27

V

THE SORORITY PARTY

36

VI

PLEDGE-DAY

46

VII

OUTSIDERS

56

VIII

THE HOCKEY MATCH

65

IX

MARJORIE’S HOUSE-PARTY

73

X

THE DANCE

87

XI

THE GIRL SCOUT TROUP

97

XII

THE BOY SCOUTS’ DEMONSTRATION

104

XIII

AFTER THE MEETING

114

XIV

PANSY TROOP MEETS

120

XV

THE LATIN TEST

132

XVI

A WINTER HIKE

141

XVII

MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT

152

XVIII

THE SECOND-CLASS TEST

161

XIX

THE BOY SCOUTS ENTERTAIN

171

XX

MARJORIE’S SUSPICIONS

180

XXI

THE BASKET-BALL GAME

186

XXII

THE GHOST AT THE CABIN

196

XXIII

RUTH’S ADVENTURE

205

XXIV

RESTITUTION

217

XXV

THE VERDICT

227

XXVI

THE PLAY

233

All eyes watched it describe a graceful arc and fall straight through the goal,—a perfect shot. (The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School)

Page 193

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT

MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

BY EDITH LAVELL

AUTHOR OF

“The Girl Scouts of Camp,” “The Girl Scouts’ Good

Turn,” “The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip,” “The

Girl Scouts’ Rivals.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

THE

GIRL SCOUTS SERIES

A Series of Stories for Girl Scouts

By EDITH LAVELL

- The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School

- The Girl Scouts at Camp

- The Girl Scouts’ Good Turn

- The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip

- The Girl Scouts’ Rivals

Copyright, 1922

By A. L. BURT COMPANY

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

Made in “U. S. A.”

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT

MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

CHAPTER I

OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

“SECRET societies! Whew! I’m glad they don’t have them at our school.”

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, perched himself upon the porch railing, and swung his legs contentedly, as if he had uttered the last word on the subject.

The two girls to whom the remark was addressed listened eagerly. Ruth Henry, the small, dark-haired one, who was obviously no relation of the boy, leaned forward. Challenging him with her eyes, she asked quickly:

“What makes you say that, Jack? Have you any grounds?”

The other girl, whose fair hair and straight nose resembled the boy strongly enough to identify her as his sister, looked impatient.

“He doesn’t know a thing about them,” she said.

“Now, listen, Marj,” remonstrated Jack in the tone one might use to a child, although his sister was only two years his junior, “haven’t you ever heard dad tell about the awful things some of those secret societies did when he was at college? They had a house without a single window, and with only one door—made of iron—and nobody ever knew what went on inside. But dad said one poor freshman, who was to be initiated, got rebellious and wouldn’t do the stunts; and they blindfolded him and threw him into the creek. It was cold, and he got pneumonia and died!”

“Oh, Jack, you’re exaggerating!” exclaimed Marjorie scornfully. “You read about that in a book—you must have forgotten. Anyway, girls’ societies wouldn’t do anything like that.”

But Ruth’s dark eyes were sparkling at the idea of adventure and danger. If the truth were told, it was because of these very secret societies, or sororities, as the girls called them, that she had persuaded her mother to let her register among the freshmen at Miss Allen’s Boarding School for the coming fall. And Marjorie Wilkinson, a more timid girl, desired to go simply that she might be with Ruth. Both families had at last consented, but too late to give the girls a chance to secure a room together. The idea of a strange room-mate filled Marjorie with dismay; but to Ruth it meant new opportunities for friendship—and a new chance to make one of the secret societies.

A week after the foregoing conversation, the girls were on their way to the school. They had been satisfied to sit quietly during most of the journey, contenting themselves with looking out of the window, and dreaming of future popularity and happiness. It was only after they were seated in the school hack that Marjorie was seized with a sudden pang of homesickness.

“If we only could have roomed together!” she sighed, clasping Ruth’s hand, and looking away from the gathering darkness. “Promise me, Ruth,” she said ardently, “whoever your room-mate is, you won’t like her better than me!”

“Jealous!” teased Ruth. “How do I know who I’m going to like?” Then, seriously, “Marj, do you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority?”

“Maybe you will, but I never would,” answered Marjorie. “I can’t make friends quickly enough.”

At this moment the hack stopped in front of the school door. Miss Allen’s Boarding School originally started in a beautiful old house which had been in her family for generations. She began with about fifteen pupils, and only one teacher besides herself. Each year she was forced to add a little more to the buildings, until now her school accommodated almost a hundred girls. The lovely big trees, wide porches, and large grounds made the spot an ideal one for a boarding school. At one end of the estate there was a small pond where the girls went skating in winter, and there were also wonderful little groves which could be used for picnics whenever the Principal’s permission could be obtained. The swimming pool, the gymnasium, and the hockey field supplied ample facilities for the athletic girl to indulge her desire for more strenuous sport.

As Ruth and Marjorie approached, and saw the bright lights through the windows, and heard the happy girls’ laughter, they felt, indeed, that they had reached the place of their dreams. Marjorie’s feeling of homesickness vanished as Miss Landis, the English teacher, came to greet them.

“How do you do, girls?” she said cordially. “I’m Miss Landis. Will you tell me your names?”

“I am Ruth Henry, and this is Marjorie Wilkinson,” replied Ruth. “We’re so glad to be here,” she added, “after our long ride.”

“I will take you to your rooms,” said Miss Landis, leading the way.

Marjorie was charmed by Miss Landis’s manner, which seemed so cordial and pleasant that she decided if everyone at school were like her, it surely would be a delightful place. But Ruth’s thoughts had taken an entirely different direction.

“Who are our room-mates?” she asked, as they ascended the stairs.

“Let me think,” said Miss Landis. “It’s hard to remember with so many girls, but I helped Miss Allen with the lists.” She stopped as they reached the second floor. “Oh, yes,” she continued, “you room with Ethel Todd—a sophomore. She’s a splendid girl—very popular. You’re lucky! And your room-mate,” she turned to Marjorie—“hasn’t come yet. She’s a freshman, named Lily Andrews.”

They walked down the corridor and stopped at the room which was to be Ruth’s. In answer to Miss Landis’s knock, a pretty girl about sixteen years old opened the door, disclosing an attractive interior with three large windows. Miss Landis introduced the girls.

Ethel apologized for the appearance of the room.

“You see I am just hanging the pictures and putting up the curtains,” she said. Turning to Ruth, she added, “It will be lovely to have you to help me!”

Ruth’s eyes danced; already she was fascinated by Ethel.

“Now I’ll show you to your room,” said Miss Landis to Marjorie. “I’m sorry there will be no room-mate there to welcome you, but then you can do that for her when she comes.”

As they went up another flight of stairs, Marjorie asked:

“Does she—does Ruth’s room-mate—belong to any of the sororities?”

“Yes, she belongs to the sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “There’s only one, but we teachers wish there weren’t any; for it takes the girls’ minds from their lessons and their athletics, and besides, it causes a good deal of unhappiness.”

“Unhappiness!” repeated Marjorie in astonishment. “Why, I should think it would be all fun.”

“It is—for those who belong. But you see only sixteen girls—four out of each class—are chosen; and most of the other girls in the school are miserable because they aren’t asked to join. We’d like to abolish it; but some of the prominent Alumnæ who are members of the Board belong, and as long as the girls want it, they won’t hear of doing away with it.”

Miss Landis stopped before a door at the back of the building. “Here is your room,” she said.

As the teacher threw open the door, Marjorie experienced a chill of disappointment. In contrast to Ruth’s attractive room, hers was dark and small, with only one window, and the slanting roof extended down over part of the wall. And it was very bare—only the bed seemed ready for use.

“I’m sorry you’ll be alone,” said Miss Landis, “but I’ll come and take you over to Ruth’s room to go down to supper with her. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

It was all Marjorie could do to keep from crying. Mechanically she began to take off her hat and coat.

“I feel just like poor little Paul Dombey who was sent to that dreary school of Doctor Blimber’s—in Dickens,” thought Marjorie. “Only, I guess everything will be all right when I see Ruth again, and meet my room-mate.”

The bell for supper had already rung; in a few minutes Miss Landis returned, and they started off together for Ruth’s room. There was no answer to Miss Landis’s knock at the door.

“She must have gone down with her room-mate,” said Miss Landis. “Never mind; you can come with me. I’ll find you a place.”

The dining-room was brilliantly lighted. Seven long tables were placed in various parts of the room. The girls, most of them in light summer dresses, were crowding in and sitting down anywhere, as the regular seats were not yet assigned. Marjorie noticed that one teacher sat at each table.

“Where would you like to sit?” asked Miss Landis.

Just then Marjorie spied Ruth sitting beside Ethel Todd, at the farthest table under the window.

“I want to sit over there, near the window, with Ruth!”

“I am sorry,” said Miss Landis, “but I wouldn’t advise you to sit there without an invitation. All those girls belong to ΦΑΒ,—(Phi Alpha Beta)—the sorority—except the freshmen who have been invited there by them; and you wouldn’t want to sit there without an invitation.”

At that moment Marjorie felt all the bitterness of the outcast. “Ruth will make the sorority, and I won’t,” she thought. But she gave her attention to Miss Landis, who introduced her to some other freshmen.

When supper was over, Marjorie asked some of her new friends to her room. They did visit her for a few minutes; but they were all tired, and left early. Marjorie went to bed without even bothering to unpack, or to make any attempt to see Ruth.

“Never run after the sorority girls,” Miss Landis had advised, and Marjorie intended to profit by the advice.

CHAPTER II

MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

WHEN Marjorie awoke in her bare little room the next morning, a feeling of happy anticipation came over her. What was it? Oh, yes, she was away at school, and she was to meet her new room-mate to-day.

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, so that she had time to take a stroll in the garden before the breakfast bell rang. She met several of the girls she had sat with at supper the night before, and they asked her to join their group.

“Why, there goes Ruth!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Funny she didn’t see me!”

“Ruth who?” asked Ada Mearns, a sophomore.

“Ruth Henry—my best friend from home. She’s with some girls I don’t know.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ada, following the direction of Marjorie’s gaze, “those are all ΦΑΒ girls with her. I guess your young friend’s made a hit. Probably she’ll be one of the lucky four.”

“What lucky four?” asked another freshman.

“One of the lucky four freshmen to be asked to join the sorority!”

Marjorie bit her lip. “I’m not going to be miserable and jealous,” she thought, “only I don’t see why Ruth has to drop me for her new friends.”

“My word!” exclaimed Ada suddenly. “Look at this funny package coming up the walk!”

The girls all looked in the direction Ada indicated and saw the strangest-looking girl trudging up the path, carrying a suitcase and a hatbox. She was short and very fat, and vulgarly overdressed in clothes far too old for a girl of her years—a velvet coat, gray suede shoes and stockings, and a large hat trimmed with ostrich plumes. She seemed hot and out of breath.

When she came abreast of the girls she stopped.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but will you tell me where to go? I’m the new girl who was coming to-day.”

“The new girl?” laughed Ada. “Don’t you know there are several other freshmen—thirty-five to be exact?”

The stout girl looked as if she were not listening. “My name’s Lily Andrews—I’m from New York. Don’t you—any of you know where my room is?”

Marjorie’s face fell. So this was her room-mate! This ill-mannered, over-dressed, unattractive young lady, whose whole bearing stamped her as “newly rich!” Why should she, Marjorie, have the bad luck to draw something like this, when Ruth had fallen in with one of the most popular and influential girls of the school?

However, she answered, “Yes, I know where your room is, Miss Andrews, for I’m the freshman who is to room with you. I’ll take you to it. There’s just time before the second bell rings.”

Marjorie took Lily’s suitcase and the two girls walked off together.

“Poor Marjorie!” sighed Ada, “I hope she has the good sense to drop her.”

Lily talked all the way upstairs about the clothes she had brought. When they arrived at the room, and Marjorie opened the door, she uttered an exclamation of disgust.

“What!” she exclaimed, “me, Lily Andrews, have to live in a room like this, when my father’s rich enough to buy me a suite at the McAlpin?”

Marjorie tried to explain. “You see the older girls choose their rooms, and the freshmen are assigned the ones that are left. It’ll only be for one year, then we get our chance to choose.”

“I’ll never live here for a year! I couldn’t stand it!”

Marjorie’s hopes rose.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “Go back home?”

“No, indeed!” said Lily. “And miss all the fun I’ve read so much about? No, I’ll just go tell Miss Allen I’ll pay more, and she’ll give me a better room. Besides, I want to room with an upper classman who already belongs to the secret society, so as I’ll be asked to join!”

Marjorie remembered the attractive girls who sat under the window the previous night, who were members of ΦΑΒ, and she smiled to herself. Poor Lily! She didn’t know what was in store for her.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. The rooms are all assigned now, and I don’t believe Miss Allen would make any changes. Hurry up! there’s the last bell for breakfast!”

They went into the dining-room together, and both girls were conscious of the fact that all eyes were turned upon them. Lily thought it was because of her expensive clothing; but Marjorie knew better, and blushed.

After classes that afternoon, when Lily and Marjorie were unpacking their trunks and doing their best to arrange their homely little room to make it look attractive, Ruth knocked at the door. Marjorie experienced a joyful surprise as her old friend appeared.

“I’m so glad to see you, Ruth!” she exclaimed. “I want you to meet my room-mate, Miss Andrews. This is Miss Henry, Lily.”

Ruth bowed, and Lily murmured, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Well, how do you like it all by this time?” asked Marjorie. “Are you the least bit homesick?”

“No, indeed!” answered Ruth, enthusiastically. “I never was so happy. I’m crazy about my room-mate!”

“She does seem nice,” observed Marjorie. “What do you think of the teachers?”

“Teachers!—I don’t give them a thought. They’re necessary evils!”

“I think Miss Landis is lovely,” said Marjorie. “I like teachers when they’re nice, and not prim old maids.”

Lily was all the while busily unpacking her trunk. Suddenly she produced an enormous box, wrapped in white paper, and tied with pink ribbon.

“Father gave me five pounds of chocolates,” she remarked, as she untied it, “and he promised to send me more when I want them.”

She passed the candy to the girls.

“Thank you,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t believe I’ll take any. I want to make the hockey team, and my brother always said one of the most important things about doing well in athletics is to eat the right things.”

“The girls’ll think you’re a prig,” said Ruth, nibbling a chocolate. “You won’t get invited to things!”

“I don’t care!” said Marjorie, “if I only make the team!”

“I’d much rather make the sorority,” sighed Lily. “Have you met any of the sorority girls, Miss Henry?”

“Yes,” answered Ruth. “I room with one, and she has introduced me to quite a number. They’re awfully nice.”

“I should guess so,” said Lily. “I suppose they’re the richest crowd at Miss Allen’s. I’d like to invite them all out to my father’s place on Long Island, so they can see where I get off!”

Ruth laughed. “You better not try it,” she said. “Let them do the inviting.”

“What are you going to wear to the Sophomore reception?” asked Marjorie suddenly.

“My pink organdie. What are you?”

“My white embroidered voile, I guess.”

“Will they be fancy enough?” asked Lily. “I expect to wear a blue net and spangled dress—it’s quite the thing in New York!”

At this moment, there was a knock at the door, and in answer to Marjorie’s “Come,” three freshmen, accompanied by Ada Mearns, a sophomore, entered.

“These girls were looking for Miss Henry,” said Ada, “and I thought she might be in here.”

Ruth jumped up joyfully. “Hulloa!” she exclaimed. “Girls, I want you to meet Marjorie Wilkinson, and Lily Andrews—Doris Sands, Evelyn Hopkins, and Mae VanHorn.”

The girls acknowledged the introduction, and Marjorie invited them to sit down.

“No, we simply can’t,” said Doris. “Ruth’s room-mate—Ethel Todd—wants to take our picture; but we wouldn’t consent to having it without Ruth!”

“I’m going, too,” said Lily. “I want some fresh air.”

“Oh, but you’re not dressed,” interposed Ruth, “and we can’t keep Ethel waiting. I’m sorry—some other time!”

The four freshmen linked arms, and went out together.

“Those four girls,” said Ada, lowering her voice, “are the ones everyone thinks will be invited to join ΦΑΒ.”

“How can they tell so soon?” asked Lily, with resentment in her voice. “It isn’t fair! I think everybody ought to have a chance! I haven’t even met any sorority girls.”

“Everybody will have a chance, don’t worry. They don’t choose their candidates till six weeks are over, so they’ll be pretty sure to know everybody. And, of course, they may change their minds, and drop one or all of those girls.’”

“I’d love to make it,” sighed Lily.

“I’m not going to bother about it,” said Marjorie. “I’m going out for the hockey team.”

“Good work!” said Ada. “That’s the spirit!”

But Ada could not tell from Marjorie’s words how bravely she was struggling to hide her feelings.

“We get our regular places at tables in the dining-room to-night,” said Ada. “Fortunately, they don’t allow any sorority stuff there. The girls are chosen by lot from each class—four girls from each, and a teacher besides. Then, after Christmas, we draw all over again.”

“I do hope I get with some nice girls,” said Lily.

“Oh, everybody here is nice,” said Ada. “I never met lovelier girls.” She got up from the bed, where she had been sitting. “I must go,” she said. “Good-bye—I’ll see you both at the reception to-morrow night, if not before.”

She hurried out, and Marjorie and Lily resumed their unpacking.

CHAPTER III

THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

WHEN the four freshmen left Marjorie’s room, and walked out of the dormitory to the campus where Ethel Todd and Marian Guard, another sophomore members of ΦΑΒ, were waiting with the camera, their whole bearing expressed pride, as if they wanted to say to the rest of the school, “We have been singled out by the sorority as the four most eligible freshmen!”

Before they reached Ethel and Marian, the former called out, “Hurry up, girls! We can’t wait all day!” Then, turning to Marian, she said in a low voice, “Those girls are entirely too sure of themselves.” As they came closer, she said aloud, “I always photograph a group of girls from each class to send to mother. But I wish we could get some more girls into this picture.”

Ethel looked away for a minute, as if she were thinking. She turned to her room-mate. “Ruth,” she said, “who was that girl I met you with yesterday?”

“Oh—Marjorie Wilkinson?”

“Was she tall and pretty?”

“Yes, she’s tall, and I suppose you might call her pretty: she has light hair and brown eyes!”

“That’s the girl I mean! Couldn’t you go get her, if I wait a couple of minutes?”

“I don’t believe so; I don’t think she’s dressed.”

“All right,” said Ethel, “I guess you will make a good picture of freshness!”

“Are we so very green?” asked Doris, nevertheless highly flattered to be teased by so important a person as Ethel Todd.

“Absolutely!” replied Ethel. “Now arrange yourselves in a group.”

She looked into the camera and saw Ruth, partly hidden behind Doris. “She wants to be urged to a more prominent position,” thought Ethel, “but she’s going to get left!” She said nothing and snapped the picture. Then turning to Marian, “It’s time to dress,” she said; “let’s go in.”

Ruth joined them; inwardly thanking her stars that she roomed with Ethel.

After they had reached their room, and Marian had left them, Ethel said, “To-morrow night I want to make it a point to meet this Marjorie Wilkinson. Will you ask her to come over and go to the reception with us?”

“I don’t believe she’d want to; I think I heard her planning to go with her room-mate.”

“Well, let her bring her along, too.”

Ruth burst out laughing. “If you’d ever see her room-mate!” she exclaimed. “She dresses like a Christmas tree, and she’s always talking about her father’s money. She’s simply impossible!”

“Then I shouldn’t think your friend Marjorie would care for her.”

“Oh, she likes anybody,” said Ruth, anxious to dismiss the other girl from the mind of her room-mate. “Let’s finish putting up the pictures.”

“Anyway,” said Ethel, “I want to know Marjorie Wilkinson. She looks promising.”

The sophomores had secured the gymnasium for their reception to the freshmen. All the afternoon of the following day, the committee was busy with the decorations. The girls had gone into the woods and returned with their arms full of autumn leaves and wild asters. They twined branches through the apparatus; they covered the walls with school banners; and they pinned orange crepe paper over the bright electric bulbs to soften the glare. At quarter of six, Frances Wright, the sophomore president, surveyed the hall approvingly.

“You’d never recognize the old gym, would you?” she remarked to Ethel, as the girls started toward the door.

The sophomores all ate rather hastily that evening, in their anxiety to precede their guests at the reception. Shortly after eight, the freshmen began to arrive in groups. Ruth, accompanied by her three friends—Doris Sands, Evelyn Hopkins, and Mae VanHorn, was among the first to appear.

Marjorie and Lily came very late. Lily had encountered difficulty in dressing—“Without mother’s maid to help me,” she had explained to her room-mate; and Marjorie had patiently waited for her. Almost everyone else was there when they finally arrived.

The reception committee had become scattered, but Frances Wright noticed the newcomers as they entered the room, and went forward to greet them.

“We’re awfully glad to see you, girls,” she said cordially. “Will you forgive me if I ask you your names?”

“Certainly,” replied Marjorie, graciously complying with the president’s request.

“Marjorie Wilkinson!” she repeated. “Oh, yes, I know. You’re the girl Ethel Todd has been talking about.”

“Ethel Todd! Ruth Henry’s room-mate?” asked Marjorie, somewhat surprised.

“Yes.”

“But I only met her once——”

“Well, you must have made an impression. So long as I’m not busy, I’d like to take you both over to see Ethel.”

Ethel, Marian Guard, and Lulu Davids, the other sorority sophomores, were standing talking to Ruth and her three freshmen friends. Frances walked between Lily and Marjorie, holding an arm of each. Ethel seemed particularly cordial, and Lily talked fast and loud, realizing that their group, including as it did, the four ΦΑΒ sophomores, must be the center of attraction, and the envy of all the other freshmen.

Just then the musicians struck up a one-step. Ethel asked Marjorie immediately for a dance, and the two whirled off together. Marian and Lulu asked Doris and Mae, and Frances Wright excused herself to attend to some other matters. Ruth and Evelyn stood watching the dancers, as Lily turned to them.

“My, aren’t these sorority girls swell?” she said. “I like them a lot, and I never thought I’d get in with them so quick! But my father said he bet I’d wear their pin home Thanksgiving!”

Ruth looked contemptuous, and Evelyn laughed out loud.

“Let’s dance together,” suggested Ruth, and without even an apology, they left Lily standing alone.

At the end of the dance, games were introduced to scatter the groups; and even Ruth found herself, in a few moments, far away from her beloved sorority friends. But they managed to get together again for refreshments. When everybody was seated, Ethel suddenly asked:

“Where is Marjorie Wilkinson?”

“She’s over there with some of her freshmen friends,” said Ruth.

“I’d like to have her with us,” said Ethel. “Ruth, will you go over and ask her to join our group?”

Ruth frowned slightly, but rose obediently to do as Ethel requested. She showed rather plainly, however, that she did not especially want Marjorie, and the latter was quick to recognize her feeling.

“No, thank you!” said Marjorie. “It’s very kind of Miss Todd, but I can’t leave Lily, and the other girls I am with.”

“I’ll go,” said Lily, “even if Marjorie doesn’t care to!” She rose and slipped her fat arm, covered with expensive bracelets, into Ruth’s. “It’s such fun!” she exclaimed.

Ethel expressed her disappointment. “Well, then, I am going over to talk to her,” she said. “Don’t you want to come with me, Marian?”

As both girls rose, Lily announced, “I believe I’ll change my mind, and go back again, so that I’ll be with Marjorie when it’s time to go home.”

Everyone laughed, as Lily tagged along after the two sophomores. Ruth turned to Doris.

“Isn’t it too bad, to have all our plans spoiled?” she asked.

“You mean about the sorority?”

“Yes.” She lowered her voice, and Mae and Evelyn drew their chairs nearer to the others.

“You see,” continued Ruth, “up till to-night, the ΦΑΒ girls haven’t been paying attention to anybody except us four girls; and I felt pretty sure we’d be chosen. Now, if they get interested in Marjorie Wilkinson, one of us is sure to be left out.”

“That’s so!” exclaimed Mae.

“What we ought to do,” announced Ruth, “is all stick together—and if they don’t ask all of us, then none of us will join!”

“I don’t approve of that,” pouted Evelyn. “There are thirty-five girls in the Freshman Class, and they can ask four entirely different girls from any of us. I, for one, intend to join if I am asked.”

“You’re not very loyal!” exclaimed Ruth.

“How about your loyalty?” snapped Evelyn. “Wasn’t Marjorie Wilkinson your friend? And now aren’t you doing your best to work against her?”

Ruth did not answer this accusation. The situation was relieved by the orchestra starting to play.

“There’s the music for the last waltz,” said Doris. “I guess we might as well dance it together, Ruth.”

But before the girls got started, Ethel came back again. “I want this dance with my room-mate,” she said, taking Ruth’s hand.

Ruth looked up happily, and they started off together.

“And I’m going to take you home,” she said; “each sophomore takes a freshman.”

As Ruth hurried up the stairs to get her cloak, she met Marjorie. “Hasn’t it been wonderful?” she whispered.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Marjorie enthusiastically.

“And Ethel is taking me home!” said Ruth triumphantly. “I thought she would want to take you, she seemed so struck with you! By the way, who is taking you?” she asked.

“I had the last dance with Frances Wright, and she offered to walk over with me.”

“Phew!” exclaimed Ruth. “The President of the Sophomore Class, and a ΦΑΒ girl besides!”

“She’s a nice girl,” said Marjorie simply; “and I have enjoyed my evening.”

CHAPTER IV

THE STOLEN MEETING

THE spirit of rivalry, which had temporarily given way to one of courtesy for the night of the sophomore-freshmen reception, returned again with full force as soon as the party was over. Although no regular hazing was permitted, the sophomores usually enjoyed the privilege of ordering the younger girls to obey their commands.

The struggle between the classes lasted only six weeks, and might be ended before that time if the freshmen succeeded in holding a class meeting within that period, and electing a president with due formality. All the conditions regarding the conduct of the meeting were printed in large type and hung on the principal Bulletin Boards.

Ruth, who had always been a ring-leader in affairs of this nature, took particular interest in the event. She had discussed it many times with Evelyn and Mae, but neither she, nor in fact any other members of her class, had decided upon any definite action.

About a week after the sophomore reception, she paused on her way to Marjorie’s room to read the notice again. She almost knew it by heart; nevertheless, she read it over again carefully to see that she had missed nothing. It said:

“FRESHMEN PLEASE NOTE:

“The following rules concerning the election of a class president must be observed:

“1. The meeting must be held on the school grounds within six weeks’ time after the opening of the fall term.

“2. There must be at least two-thirds of the members of the class present to make the meeting valid.

“3. A president must be elected by a majority vote; at least two candidates must be nominated.

“4. The sophomores may do all in their power to prevent or break up such a meeting.

“5. If the freshman class fails to hold said meeting within the alloted time, a committee of three must be sent to the sophomore president to beg on bended knees for permission to hold their meeting.”

Ruth closed her lips tightly, resolving to do something—and to do it immediately. She hurried to Marjorie’s room.

“I tell you our class is as slow as molasses!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to do something about our class-meeting.”

Marjorie fingered her hockey-stick, and looked questioningly at her visitor. Her mind was still on forward passes, and she did not quite take in what she was saying.

“There’s no hurry, is there?” she asked, without much display of interest. “Isn’t there lots of time yet?”

“I should say not!” answered Ruth, crossly. “Two weeks have gone already—we only have four more!”

“Oh, four weeks is an age! I wish you would pay more attention to hockey, Ruth. Our class hasn’t any good players at all.”

“Now listen, Marj, I’m not here to talk about hockey. I’m going to do something about electing our class president. Who do you think would be good?”

“I don’t know many girls very well. Who do you think?”

“Why, how about yourself, Marj?”

Marjorie scorned the idea. “I’d never make it,” she said positively. “Besides, hockey takes all my time.”

Ruth hoped that Marjorie might suggest her in return for the compliment, but she was forced to leave the room ungratified.

She received more encouragement from Evelyn, however.

“I mean to nominate you, Ruth, if we ever get the meeting,” said her friend.

“Thanks, Eve—then I’ll nominate you!”

The other girl laughed. “What fun to run against each other!” she exclaimed.

“Of course, it isn’t only the honor of being class president, but they say she is always chosen by ΦΑΒ. They couldn’t afford to let a girl like that go by!”

Ruth rallied her forces, and finally succeeded in passing word around that all the freshmen should steal into the assembly room as soon as the lights went off the following night, which was Saturday.

Marjorie and Lily did not pretend to undress, but Ruth, in order to deceive Ethel, went to bed as usual. Her classmates had advised her not to make any attempt to attend the meeting if Ethel seemed at all suspicious; they reminded her that eleven girls out of the thirty-five freshmen could be absent, and that she might be one of that number.

But Ruth could not force herself to lie still and miss everything. She had arranged the meeting; she hoped to be nominated for the office; and she could not be content to remain away. Accordingly, after the lights were out, and she and Ethel were both in bed, she stirred cautiously and looked to see whether her room-mate were awake. Unfortunately, she was.

“Ethel,” she whispered, “Marjorie had a headache, and I want to take her over some of your aspirin pills. I forgot to do it before I got undressed. Where are they?”

“In the top drawer,” replied her room-mate, sleepily. “But, Ruth, it’s against the rules to go off the floor after ten.”

“I know, but—poor Marjorie is suffering!”

“Well, she could go to the infirmary. The night nurse would take care of her.”

“But I promised, and I mean to stick to it. You don’t mind?”

Ethel watched her go out of the door, and buried her head again in her pillow. The night was rather chilly, and she was glad she did not have to creep around cold corridors.

Suddenly she sat up in bed. Why was Ruth doing this? She wasn’t usually so solicitous about Marjorie; she certainly was willing to slight her at the reception the previous week! Ethel forgot all about the chilliness of the night, and her own sleepiness. She put on her shoes and stockings, and reached for her middy and skirt. Then, seizing a sweater, she rushed up to Frances Wright’s door on the third floor.

She opened her friend’s door cautiously. “Wake up, Frances!” she said. “It’s Ethel—I think the freshmen have something up. Ruth’s gone!”

Frances jumped out of bed. “Where?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know—you better blow your whistle!”

“I daren’t at night; it’s against the rules.”

Ethel gasped. “Well, then hurry,” she said.

“I’ll go look in the class and assembly rooms, and you wake up the other squads to search the dormitories.”

By this time Frances was already dressed, and the girls started out together.

She knocked three times on the sophomores’ doors as she passed, thus substituting the night signal in place of the whistle she used in the day time.

The freshmen had chosen an unfortunate place for their meeting; it was too obvious; and they could not keep down their voices. Ruth was trying to count the girls, but since the assembly room was almost perfectly dark, she found this a difficult thing to do.

When she had finally ascertained that two-thirds of the members of the class were present, she called for order, and announced: “Nominations are in order!”

“They are not!” cried Ethel, throwing on the switch.

The freshmen could only gasp at the suddenness of the interruption and the light. The spectacle they presented, with their hair down, and in their unconventional clothing, contrasted oddly with the usual dignity of assembly room audiences. Ethel laughed out loud.

It was only a moment before the light attracted a crowd of sophomores, and the meeting had to disband. Just as the girls were leaving Miss Allen appeared, demanding an explanation. She ordered all the girls back to their rooms, and warned them that if a night meeting were ever attempted again, the practice would have to be given up.

At the beginning of the fourth week of school, the freshmen made another attempt to hold their meeting, and this time, with the help of several of the juniors, their attempt was successful.

Edith Evans, an upper classman, stood out under the big tree on the campus and waved a white handkerchief, which the freshmen interpreted as a summons to the library basement, secured for the occasion. The time for the meeting was selected at an hour when the sophomores were on the hockey field.

Edith Evans counted the freshmen as they entered the library; as soon as there were twenty-four, she went inside, and took charge of the nominations. Doris Sands, the prettiest, and at the same time one of the most popular girls of the class, was already elected president, when Ruth and Evelyn arrived on the scene.

“Who were nominated?” asked the former, breathlessly.

“Doris Sands and Rita Wilds. Of course Doris got it,” replied the freshman she had questioned. “She’d get it, no matter who else was put up.”

Ruth turned away hastily, for she could not keep back the tears. Evelyn saw her disappointment, and decided to leave her alone. But before she had reached the door, it was flung open, and half a dozen sophomores, with their hockey sticks in their hands, rushed in.

“Too late!” cried Edith triumphantly. “The freshmen have elected Doris Sands for their president!”

A groan arose from the defeated girls. Frances Wright was the first to put aside the class antagonism, and to remember her manners.

“Congratulations, Doris!” she said, coming forward and shaking hands.

By this time Ruth had control of herself again; she resolved not to let Ethel know that she had ever hoped for the office. She found her among the group around Doris, and the girls walked back to their room together.

“I’m not surprised that Doris was elected,” said Ethel, as she unlaced her hockey shoes. “I always thought she would be!”

“So did I,” agreed Ruth pleasantly. “She’s the girl we all wanted from the first!”

CHAPTER V

THE SORORITY PARTY

FIVE weeks of school had gone by—five happy weeks, filled with all sorts of new experiences for Ruth and Marjorie. Pledge-day, the day to which every freshman looked forward, was only one week off!

Although the ΦΑΒ girls had singled out certain individuals as their favorites by inviting them for walks and occasional visits to their rooms, they had as yet given no formal party for which invitations had been issued. And, since it was understood that such a party was an event to be expected, almost every girl in the class cherished the hope of finding an attractive envelope in her letter box very soon.

As the time for pledging the freshmen drew near, Ruth became especially uneasy. Ethel had not paid much attention to her lately, and she lived in constant dread lest she should not be included among the guests for the ΦΑΒ party,—an omission which would be a sure indication that she would not be invited to join the sorority.

But Marjorie had taken little interest in such affairs. She became greatly absorbed in athletics; she bent all her energy toward making the hockey team.

To add to her interest in athletics, she became infatuated with Miss Phillips, the gym-teacher, a young woman just out of college, whose clear, bright eyes and pink cheeks radiated health. She seemed, indeed, a living example of the wholesome life she advocated. Besides this, Miss Phillips had a charm all her own; she inspired the girls with a greater love of athletics than they would otherwise have had.

And so Marjorie, after the first two or three days, had not given much thought to the sorority; in fact, she had even neglected her chances of making it in her zeal for hockey practice. Once or twice Ethel Todd had come to her room to ask her to go for a walk; but she had refused because Miss Phillips expected her on the hockey field.

On one of these occasions, after Ethel had left the room, Lily looked at Marjorie as if she could not understand her action.

“I wish I had your chances,” she sighed. “I’d make the sorority in a minute!”

“You’d be better off if you made the hockey team,” remarked Marjorie. “You need some good, stiff exercise, Lily!”

“I know you think I’m too fat, but I can’t help it. And my father says it’s all right—he likes fat girls!”

“You eat too many sweets, and you sit inside too much!”

“I’m always hoping Ethel Todd or Frances Wright will come for me to take a walk, and I’d hate to miss either of them.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Marjorie; “if they wanted you very badly, they’d make it a point to come when you’re here. Don’t bother your head with them! Promise me you’ll go out for athletics every day!”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that!” Lily protested.

Marjorie sighed. She turned toward the door, and put her hand on the knob.

“I’m going down to see if we got any mail,” she remarked, as she turned it.

As Marjorie looked through the glass door of her post-office box, she saw a tiny, pale-pink envelope, which appeared very interesting. “It must be an invitation!” she thought, as she excitedly tore open the paper.

The ΦΑΒ Sorority requests the pleasure of Miss Marjorie Wilkinson’s presence next Saturday afternoon at two-thirty at the home of Mrs. Walter Johnson, 109 Maple Avenue.

R.S.V.P. to Mrs. Johnson.

Marjorie wrinkled her brows. “What can this mean?” she muttered. “The sorority must be inviting all of us freshmen, so they can give us a last looking over before pledge-day! Why, I believe that comes next week!”

As she walked slowly out of the school post-office, she met Ruth, entering hastily.

“Hulloa!” greeted Ruth. “Wait a minute, Marj; I’ll walk with you.”

She found a similar envelope in her box, and opened it. She said nothing about its contents to Marjorie, but looked happy and mysterious.

“I suppose you got an invitation for Saturday afternoon?” Marjorie asked.

Ruth opened her mouth in surprise. “Yes; did you?”

“Yes; I wondered if the ΦΑΒ girls were inviting the whole freshman class.”

Ruth looked scared. “Oh, it couldn’t be that!” she exclaimed. Then suddenly her face brightened.

“Lily didn’t get an invitation in your letter-box, did she?”

“No,” answered Marjorie, “mine was the only letter there.”

Ruth smiled happily. “I’m so excited, Marj,” she said, putting her arm around the other girl’s waist. “Wouldn’t it be great if we’d both make it?”

“Yes,” said Marjorie doubtfully, as if she saw little hope of such a possibility. “Of course you will, but I don’t believe I shall. They don’t know me. They must have invited more than four girls to their party; then they will pick out the ones they want and ask them for next week.”

“Let’s go see if we can find out who else got invitations,” suggested Ruth.

Arm in arm the girls walked down the path in front of the school. It was a beautiful bright day in October, and they both felt very happy—Marjorie more so because she was with her old friend Ruth, than because she had been invited to the ΦΑΒ party. After they had walked about five minutes, they met Evelyn, Doris, and Mae, who stopped to chat.

“The bids are out!” said Mae excitedly. “Of course you got one?”

“Yes,” answered Ruth.

Doris looked embarrassed. In truth, she was afraid Marjorie had not, and she did not want to hurt her feelings.

But Ruth continued, “Marjorie and I each got one! I suppose all you girls got them, too?”

“Yes, yes!” they answered.

“Isn’t that funny?” said Mae. “Could it be that they intend to ask five freshmen to join, instead of four?”

“No,” replied Doris, “they have invited more girls this week than will get the final bids next week. I was just talking to Anna Cane, the new girl who arrived here lately from that California seminary, and she told me she was invited. Poor girl! She’s awfully innocent; she doesn’t understand a bit about secret societies. They didn’t have any in the boarding-school she came from. I really think we ought to coach her!”

“Let her look out for herself,” said Ruth. “We didn’t have anybody to help us, did we?”

“No, I guess not,” admitted Doris.

“It all seems silly!” exclaimed Marjorie. “If I ever did get invited to join it, I’d try to change it into something with honor attached to it. Why, as it is, it’s merely chance, whether you get invited, or not.”

“No, it isn’t!” said Evelyn. “The girls know who they want.”

“Let’s walk,” said Marjorie. “I want to sign up an hour’s exercise.”

“What seems so foolish to me,” she continued, “is that you daren’t mention it to the girls who are in it. Now, if you four girls are asked to join, and I’m not, I will never dare talk about the sorority to you.”

“That makes it all the more fun,” said Ruth.

“Perhaps for those in it. But think of the dozens of girls like Lily who are just eating their hearts out because they aren’t asked, and never would be.”

“What kind of society would you have?” asked Doris diplomatically.

“Well, I’d have one that only takes in the all-around girl—first she’d have to be excellent in her studies; then good in athletics; and finally, generally popular. Then, if the society did interesting things like take hikes, and study nature and first-aid, and maybe go camping in the summer, it would be worth-while!”

Ruth laughed. “I’m glad you aren’t the boss, Marj! I guess I wouldn’t have much chance of making it.”

Meeting one or two other freshmen who joined the group, the girls dropped the subject.

Saturday dawned clear and mild. The freshmen decided to go together, and met downstairs near the big lamp in the hall. Marjorie was the last to arrive.

The girls were all dressed simply and in good taste—in summer dresses and light sweaters. It was so warm that no one wore a hat. Marjorie alone wore a dark dress, a becoming brown crepe-de-chine, which made her look tall and slender. Her hair was arranged in a long plait—none of the freshmen wore theirs up yet—and her brown eyes looked especially soft and beautiful.

The six girls were in high spirits. Marjorie, who did not expect to be invited to join, and Anna, who did not know anything about pledge-day, each thought it was lovely to be included; Doris, Ruth, Evelyn, and Mae, were each secretly sure of being one of the lucky four, but nevertheless were nervously self-conscious.

The house where the party was held was decorated with chrysanthemums and brightly colored autumn leaves, and although the day was rather mild, a cheerful fire was burning in the fireplace to dispel any indication of dampness. Ethel Todd and Frances Wright, two of the sophomores, received the girls and introduced them to the hostess and the other members of the Alumnæ who were present.

There were tables containing miscellaneous games for a progressive “Salmigundi,” and the victrola was playing a waltz. The girls took seats together on the sofa in the corner.

“Here!” said the hostess, standing before them, “this won’t do! You freshmen are the guests of honor. Each one of you is to sit at a separate table and get acquainted.”

The freshmen scattered; the hostess rang a bell and the games began.

Marjorie sat at a table where the girls speared peanuts in a bowl with hatpins. Ruth, at the table next, was endeavoring to pick up dried beans with two skewers. The games were so ridiculous that soon everyone was laughing and feeling at ease.

After the girls had progressed all around the room, the bell was rung and the score cards collected. Marjorie was surprised to be awarded the prize—a beautiful bunch of violets.

“You certainly are smart,” said Ethel, “to get all those points.”

“No,” said Marjorie, “I’m just lucky! I love games. I guess that is why I’m so crazy about athletics.”

“But maybe the gym teacher has something to do with that,” teased Ruth.

After refreshments were served, the girls sang some school songs, and a few danced together out in the spacious hall. Before they realized it, the clock struck half-past five.

“Oh, I must go!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Lily will be wondering what has become of me.”

“Lily!” said Ruth contemptuously, “you don’t mean to say you bother with her?”

“Why, yes, of course; she’s my room-mate.”

“Such a girl! I never could be nice to her. Nobody likes her.”

The freshmen thanked their hostess for the lovely time, and walked back together.

“Wasn’t it perfect?” exclaimed Marjorie.

“Oh, I wonder who will be asked to join?” said Ruth with a sigh.

“Join what?” asked Anna.

Doris explained all about the sorority, and Anna listened in amazement. “Well, I’ll never be asked,” she said. “They must think I’m terribly fresh, because I guess I often asked questions that are tabooed. Would you apologize?”

“No,” replied Doris, “just wait. I think the girls understand.”

At that moment, Miss Phillips passed, and already Marjorie had forgotten sororities in her interest in the morrow’s hockey game.

CHAPTER VI

PLEDGE-DAY

WHEN Marjorie returned from the party, she found Lily in tears.

“You’re awfully late,” she sobbed, “and I’ve been so lonely.”

“I’m sorry,” said Marjorie, “do you want to hear about the party?”

Lily raised her head from the pillow. “I don’t care—if you want to tell me, and it isn’t a secret, or anything.”

Marjorie began to tell about their good time. Suddenly she stopped, and looked hastily at her watch. “You better hurry and dress, Lily!” she advised. “It’s five minutes of six. You’ll be late for supper!”

“I don’t want any—I couldn’t go in the dining-room like this; my eyes are a sight!”

“Well, I’ll ask if I can bring you some supper up here.”

“No—I’m not hungry. I’ve been eating chocolates. Father sent me another five-pound box.”

“Oh, Lily! why did you eat them? Can’t you just eat them after meals? Your digestion will be ruined, and besides you’ll never be able to play hockey, or swim in the pool.”

“I don’t want to play hockey or swim!” she exclaimed. “I hate athletics. And I loathe Miss Phillips. Every time I see her, she says something about ‘chocolate éclairs and cream puffs.’”

Marjorie sighed. The dinner bell sounded. “Well, I’ll have to go,” she said. “I’ll tell you more about the party after supper.” She paused and unpinned her bunch of violets. “I want you to have half,” she said as she divided them. “They were the prize—I won them.”

“Thanks, awfully, Marjorie,” said Lily, smiling again. “Don’t leave me long; and, oh, Marjorie, if you do make the sorority, promise to help get me in it.”

“I can’t do that, dear. They only take four girls from each class, and there wouldn’t be a vacancy unless somebody died or left the seminary.”

“Then promise me you’ll always be my friend.”

“If you’ll promise to eat less candy, and go out more for athletics,” she answered.

“I will; I will, honestly,” said Lily earnestly.

Marjorie stooped and kissed her. “I don’t think I’ll make the sorority, but if I should, it wouldn’t make any difference between us,” she said.

“Lily has improved,” thought Marjorie, as she walked down the hall, “but there’s room for a lot more. If only she wouldn’t think so much about herself. If girls would go in hard for athletics when they’re blue or morbid, they’d soon get over it.”

At the corner she met Ethel Todd. Just as Ethel was about to say something, Miss Phillips hurried up to her.

“Marjorie Wilkinson!” she said, “can you come to my table to talk over the hockey team this evening?”

Ethel’s face fell. “Oh, I was just going to invite Marjorie to our table—I got Miss Allen’s permission. Can’t she go with you some other time?”

But Marjorie turned to Ethel, and shook her head. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, as she glanced again at Miss Phillips. “Thanks awfully, Ethel,” she said, “but you see, if I don’t go with Miss Phillips, it will be too late to discuss the team. And besides,” she added, smiling, “it’s such an honor to be invited by a teacher!”

Miss Phillips beamed. “I admire your pluck, Marjorie,” she said, after Ethel had gone off. “There aren’t many girls who would turn down an ΦΑΒ girl for a teacher!”

“But I like the teacher better,” she said shyly, as she slipped her arm into Miss Phillips’s, and walked with her into the dining-room.

The next day was set aside for the freshman picnic. Miss Phillips and Miss Landis, the chaperones, guided the girls along a winding path which led into a deep pine woods.

“What a wonderful place!” cried Marjorie.

“Yes,” agreed Miss Phillips enthusiastically, “and the beauty of it is that it’s just as nice in winter as at any other time, because it is always secluded from the wind, and the trees never change.”

“I am going to make a map of it,” said Marjorie. “My brother showed me how the Boy Scouts make them.”

Ruth looked scornful. “Marjorie, you are interested in such queer things!” she said.

Mae was standing beside Ruth. “Girls,” she said to Ruth and Marjorie in a low tone, “our crowd is over here under the trees—we’re going to eat together. Will you both come?”

Marjorie was rather surprised to be included in what Mae had designated as “Our crowd,” but she was very glad to be with Ruth. They all walked over to the spot indicated by Mae, and found Evelyn, Doris, and Anna, untying packages of lunch.

Ruth became very gay. “Girls,” she said, “I feel that we ought to stick together to-day, for this is our last chance. To-morrow, of course, is pledge-day—and by supper time, we’ll be divided—and two of us will be left out of the crowd. So let’s be friends as long as we can!”

“Surely you don’t mean that, do you, Ruth?” asked Anna. “Why can’t we keep on all being friends, even if four of you are pledged to ΦΑΒ, and two of us are not?”

“Anna certainly is modest!” exclaimed Evelyn. “She includes herself amongst those left out.”

Anna blushed. “I never have expected to make the sorority,” she said, “ever since Doris told me about it; but I don’t see why I should lose all your friendships for that reason.”

“Of course not,” said Marjorie emphatically. “Let’s be sensible. We’re too good friends for that. Why, that would mean a sorority girl could have only three friends in her own class.”

“Let’s promise to go on just as we are,” said Doris, sweetly, “and if we don’t make it ourselves, be glad for the ones that do.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” snapped Evelyn. “You’re President of the class, and you know she’s always chosen!”

Mae changed the subject. “Does anyone know how they make the bids?” she asked.

“Yes, I do,” said Ruth. “One of the girls from home who went here, told me. You see to-morrow’s Saturday, and so, after lunch, if it’s a nice day, the girls usually go for a walk in the garden. Of course, you don’t have to—you can stay in your room if you like. Well, anyway, the ΦΑΒ girls meet in the room of one of the senior or junior members at two o’clock, and begin to vote. They say sometimes they have an awful lot of voting—I guess like the primary elections my father tells about—because each new member has to be elected unanimously, so they often vote over and over again. Then, as soon as they have decided on the candidates, the four sophomores are each sent to get a freshman who has been voted in.”

“My goodness! How exciting!” exclaimed Anna.

“I don’t think, though,” continued Ruth, “that a girl usually stays out in the garden unless she either is sure of being asked or of not being asked.”

“What do you mean?” asked Doris.

“Well, of course, you, Doris, would go out in the garden, because everybody knows you’ll be asked; and Lily Andrews, for instance, could go out, because nobody expects her to be invited; but all doubtful people like Marjorie, and Anna, and me—why, we’d feel humiliated if we were out there and weren’t taken. So I for one am going to stay in my room.”

“Oh, but I want to see the fun,” objected Marjorie. “And I sha’n’t mind not being invited.”

“Marjorie Wilkinson!” exclaimed Ruth, “you know that is not the truth—you’re just dying to write home and say you are an ΦΑΒ Pledge!”

“Maybe I am,” admitted Marjorie.

“Am what?” inquired Lily, approaching the group, in search of her room-mate.

“Am full!” laughed Marjorie. “I can’t stuff another bite.”

“Sit down, Lily,” said Doris politely. “We want to talk over the freshman hockey team.”

Lily did as she was requested, and the girls chatted gaily until Miss Phillips announced that it was time to pack up.

The next day was one of great excitement. Thirty-five freshmen girls were eagerly waiting to see who would be the lucky four. Naturally everyone expected the candidates to be chosen from the six who had been invited to the party; but every girl cherished in her heart the hope of a joyful surprise. Once, it was whispered, a girl whom no one had thought of had been asked. Why not again?

Marjorie was secretly excited, but she did not admit it. After lunch, instead of walking on the campus, she went over to the gym to Miss Phillips’s office, where she could watch proceedings out of the window, and at the same time, help her favorite teacher with some work.

Ruth went up to her own room and tried to write letters. Doris, Mae, and Anna, strolled out in the garden, and Evelyn went to the library to read. Lily looked in vain for Marjorie, and finally went up to her room and sat where she could see the door, listening for every step.

The clock on the library door chimed half-past two. Nothing had happened, except that all the sorority girls were missing. The groups of girls on the campus began to come closer together, to center around the side porch.

The clock chimed quarter of the hour. Still nothing happened. The girls kept walking closer and closer. One or two girls, tired of waiting, went into the house. Then, just as the clock struck three, Frances Wright, the sophomore President, opened the side door and came out on the porch.

The groups all stopped, breathless. Then they tried not to watch, to look unconcerned, and to talk naturally, though everybody was pretty sure they knew where Frances was headed. Looking straight ahead, she walked down the porch steps, across the path, and over to the big elm where Doris, Mae, and Anna were sitting on the seat around the tree.

With only a word from Frances, Doris rose and took the arm she extended, and both girls disappeared into the house.

Everybody drew a deep breath, and began to talk excitedly. Anna and Mae were trembling.

“Let’s join those freshmen over there!” suggested Anna. “Suppose you were taken—I’d be left sitting here alone, and I’d feel so funny!”

“All right,” agreed Mae; but before they had put their words into action, Marian Guard and Lulu Davids, two other sophomore ΦΑΒs, came out of the building and walked directly towards them. They went through the same proceeding as Frances, and Anna and Mae accompanied them back into the house.

Excitement now ran high. Who was to be the fourth girl? Undoubtedly Ruth Henry! Where was she? Everybody looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Of course, she’s in her room,” said one freshman; “and Ethel Todd’s the only sophomore left, so she’ll go there to get her—and we’ll miss seeing it. I call that mean!”

By quarter after three, the crowd became restless, and presuming that Ruth had been asked from her room, they started to move towards the door. Suddenly it opened, and Ethel Todd appeared. Passing the groups almost as if she saw no one, she followed the path to the gym. The girls watched her open the door, and disappear, and in a minute she reappeared with—Marjorie Wilkinson!

CHAPTER VII

OUTSIDERS

WHEN quarter after three came and Ethel had not come to the room for Ruth, she thought there must be something wrong.

“It may take longer than they expected,” she kept telling herself over and over, as she tried to fasten her attention on the letter she was writing to her aunt.

Then, gradually she became aware of a stir outside the door. The girls were returning in groups. She could hear their footsteps and even their voices plainly, for she had left the door open a crack to hear Ethel’s step in case she should come.

And then the realization came over her that it was all over, and that she had not been asked! Could it be true? Ruth suddenly felt weak. Nothing mattered now. How would she ever tell the folks at home? She had written so much about the girls, and the sorority; she would be ashamed to tell them she had lost out.

At that moment, she heard a group of girls stop in front of the door next to hers, and the freshman who lived there, and who had been lying down all afternoon with a sick headache, came out into the hall.

“Who were asked?” Ruth heard her inquire.

And then she listened to the names—names among which hers was not included. Her head positively swam, as the other freshman answered, “Doris Sands, Anna Cane, Mae VanHorn, and Marjorie Wilkinson!”

Ruth did not listen to the description of the proceedings that followed. “Marjorie Wilkinson!” she muttered, and buried her face in the sofa pillow, and wept.

In Lily Andrews’s room, a similar scene was taking place. She had retired there soon after lunch with a magazine and her ever-present box of chocolates, and had left the door open and waited. Once or twice she had perched herself upon the window sill to watch developments in the garden, and at one of these times she had witnessed Frances Wright approach and claim Doris Sands. Then she had gone back to her chair and waited.

In about fifteen minutes she thought she was rewarded. Her heart beat fast as she heard footsteps approach her door and stop; then a knock sounded on the half-open door.

Trembling, she answered, “Come!”

It was Ethel Todd!

But Lily’s hopes were to fall as quickly as they had arisen. Ethel apologized for the interruption.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Lily; but can you tell me where to find Marjorie?”

“Yes, she must have gone over to the gym to help Miss Phillips make out her records.”

Ethel thanked her, and went out. Lily, like Ruth, wept; but there was no bitterness in her tears, only disappointment. “If I couldn’t make it myself,” she sobbed, “I’d rather have Marjorie get it than any other girl.”

Meanwhile the four freshmen were taken into the senior member’s room, where absolute darkness prevailed. They were commanded to sit upon the floor, and sat down on something very soft, which they afterwards discovered to be flour.

In a hollow voice, one of the Juniors read:

“Proclamation of the ΦΑΒ Sorority, October 30th, 1920—

“Be it understood that Doris Sands, Anna Cane, Mae VanHorn, and Marjorie Wilkinson are hereby pledged as members of the ΦΑΒ Sorority. They must submit themselves to all rules of the sorority, and keep everything absolutely secret. If they comply with these terms, they shall, in three weeks’ time, be initiated as regular members. Will you hereby sign your acceptance of these terms?”

The freshmen were handed a large book; each girl signed, and a seal was made after her name. Then they were blindfolded and put through two or three initiation stunts.

By four o’clock, the proceedings were over, and refreshments were served. Each girl was presented with a tiny silver pledge-pin which she wore on the left side of her shirtwaist.

When all was over, Marjorie went back to her room almost dazed. It seemed impossible that she could not go tell Ruth about it—why, Ruth hadn’t made it—she must be unhappy! And poor Lily! Surely she didn’t expect to make it—and yet—well, she would do her best to console her.

She was hardly inside the room, and had just noticed Lily lying on her couch in tears, when Mae VanHorn ran up to her.

“Oh, Marjorie,” she said, “do come out for a walk with me. I’m simply dying to talk it over with somebody. Besides, I have to get away from my room-mate (Mae roomed with Evelyn); she’s so blue I can’t stand her company!”

Marjorie glanced at Lily. “Thanks, Mae,” she said, “but I can’t leave Lily; she’s been alone all afternoon.”

Mae pouted and stood still.

“Marjorie,” she said, “why couldn’t you and I fix it up to room together? Evelyn and Lily might as well be together.”

Lily looked up, frightened. Evelyn Hopkins had treated her more rudely than any other girl in the school, with the possible exception of Ruth; so the prospect was not a pleasant one for her.

But Marjorie shook her head. “Thank you, Mae,” she said, “but I want to stay with Lily.”

Lily jumped up. “Marjorie,” she said between her sobs, “if you want to room with Mae, you do it—I’ll manage somehow!”

Marjorie went over and put her arm around her.

“No, dear,” she said, “I don’t want to room with anybody but you. Now, Mae, won’t you sit down?”

“No; I think I’ll go look for Doris. Good-bye!”

“Good-bye!” answered Marjorie.

“I’m so glad you made it, Marjorie,” said Lily, drying her eyes.

“Thank you, Lily, I really believe you are. And it makes it ever so much nicer for me. But I want you to know that except for the meetings and parties, I’m never going to leave you for the sorority girls.”

They talked for a while, going over the events of the afternoon. Lily started to dress for supper. Suddenly turning to Marjorie, she said:

“I’ve made a new resolution. From to-day on, I give up candy and sweets between meals. And I’m going to practice for full-back on the team. Do you think there’s any chance of my making it?”

“Splendid!” exclaimed her room-mate. “Yes, there is no one to substitute for Mildred Warren, in case she gets sick. And Lily, couldn’t you go out for swimming? Each class is supposed to have six girls on the team; and positively, our class is awful!”

“Yes, I’ll try,” said Lily, “but I don’t believe I could ever learn to swim.”

“Of course you could!” said Marjorie; and the two girls linked arms, and went down into the dining-room together.

After supper, Lily went over to another freshman’s room to study French, so Marjorie slipped out and went to see Ruth. She found her alone.

“Hulloa!” said Ruth, unenthusiastically. “Won’t you sit down?”

“Thanks,” said Marjorie, accepting her invitation.

They discussed lessons and hockey, and finally Ruth came to the topic that was uppermost in both their minds.

“How does it feel to be an ΦΑΒ?” she asked.

“I’m not!”

“What?” asked Ruth, excitedly. A vain hope that Marjorie had turned down her bid ran through her mind.

“I’m only pledged,” said Marjorie. “We’re not going to be taken in till just before Thanksgiving. Lots of things might happen between then and now.”

“Have you written home yet?”

“No, of course not; there hasn’t been time.”

“I should think you would have written the minute you got back to your room.”

“No, there was too much to explain. I never told the family much about the sorority, because I didn’t expect to make it!”

“I wish I hadn’t told them so much,” sighed Ruth. “They won’t understand why I failed.”

“To tell you the truth, I don’t either, Ruth,—why they ever decided on me instead of you or Evelyn is a mystery to me!”

“It was your indifference, Marjorie. They had to run after you. It was a clever stroke on your part.”

Marjorie flushed angrily. “Clever stroke!” she exclaimed. “I never thought a thing about it. I was too crazy about hockey—and Miss Phillips!”

“Well, now I suppose you won’t care to keep up our old friendship,” said Ruth.

“I just told Lily, and I’ll tell you—it won’t make one bit of difference between my friends and me because I belong to the sorority.”

Ruth drew herself up proudly. “You needn’t class me with Lily Andrews—and go with me out of pity! I won’t stand for that!”

“Don’t, Ruth! Please! But I do care for Lily for her own sake. She’s going to make a dandy girl, only her parents have brought her up all wrong. When she begins to lose some of her laziness, and dress decently, and be interested in something besides herself and her father’s money—why, you’ll see that there’s really a lot to Lily. She’s so loyal, and so affectionate!”

“I suppose you’ll be trying to get her into ΦΑΒ,” jeered Ruth.

“You know I can’t do that. The charter limits the membership to four in each class.”

“I wish I could start a rival club,” observed Ruth.

“You can’t,” said Marjorie, “because the faculty have set their foot down against any more secret societies.”

“I always thought you didn’t approve of them at all, Marj!” This was said with a malicious little twinkle in her eyes.

“I hardly think I do, but I can’t tell yet. Wait till we’ve been here a year or two, and have had a chance to observe things.”

Marjorie rose to go. “It’s time to study,” she said. “I just wanted to run in and see you for a little while. Ruth,” she lowered her voice, “please don’t be discouraged. There’s a great deal more to school than being a sorority member!”

Ruth turned away. “I tell you I don’t want your sympathy, Marj.”

“I’ll never mention it again,” agreed the other, as she stood with her hand on the door. “And Ruth, I’ll look for you at hockey-practice to-morrow! Good night!”

“Good night,” mumbled Ruth.

CHAPTER VIII

THE HOCKEY MATCH

THREE weeks had passed by, and the girls were making preparations to return to their homes for the Thanksgiving holidays. The whole school, however, looked forward to the big hockey match with Miss Martin’s Seminary which was to be held the last Saturday before vacation. After the game there was to be a reception to the teams and to the visitors from the other school.

Ruth regretted that she had not gone out for athletics from the first; it was too late now to try to make any position on the hockey team. Now that class affairs had quieted down, and there was no longer a possibility of being chosen for the sorority, she was forced to lose her place in the foreground of the school affairs, a situation entirely distasteful to such an ambitious girl as Ruth. She turned the matter over and over in her mind, but she did not see what she could do to alter her position. She had been too proud to write much about her personal feelings to her mother; she preferred to try to work out the problem by herself.

Nor had Marjorie’s expectations been realized; she was not so happy after she was pledged to the sorority as she had hoped to be. She lived in too much of a rush; she seemed to race from hockey-practices to teas and cocoa-parties, and to be obliged to stay up late at night to finish her lessons. This, of course, was not allowed—the lights were turned off at ten o’clock—but she lighted three or four candles and put a raised umbrella between Lily’s cot and the light, and “crammed.” But all her lessons, and especially her Latin, suffered.

She had been chosen for one of the forwards on the school hockey team. Lily, strange to say, had been appointed substitute full-back, a position usually taken by girls of the heavier type. She had resolutely kept her word, and had gone in training ever since she had made her promise to Marjorie; and because full-backs were scarce, and Lily did fairly well, and much to her surprise, she had been chosen. She had no idea of playing in the game with Miss Martin’s, but Miss Phillips had told her to come out dressed for action, in case she should be needed.

Most of the other members of the team were upper classmen, and a few of them sorority members. On one occasion, during practice, Miss Phillips showed herself particularly cross with the sorority girls, for a round of parties had left them tired out, and with little energy for practice.

“I wish we could abolish that sorority!” she remarked to Miss Landis after the practice. “Marjorie Wilkinson isn’t the girl she was before she was asked. She hasn’t much time for athletics. I don’t believe she’ll even go out for the swimming team.”

“I certainly agree with you about the sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “The freshmen couldn’t settle down to work on their lessons till after the first six weeks of excitement were over, and then it was too late. I wish there could be some sort of standard mark a girl had to make and keep, to belong to the society.”

“It would be a good plan, but it’s too late to introduce changes now. The thing will go on forever as it is because it can only be changed by a majority vote from within, or by the agreement of the whole Board. And neither of these will ever give in.”

“Lily Andrews certainly has improved, hasn’t she?” remarked Miss Landis. “Compare the change in her with that in Marjorie! Why, that would be the strongest argument anybody could make against sororities!”

The Saturday before the Thanksgiving holidays arrived, bright, clear, and cold. Lily was up early.

“Come on, Marj!” she cried, “wake up! It’s the day of the game.”

“I’m so sleepy!” pleaded Marjorie; “let me sleep ten minutes more.”

“But you’ll be late for breakfast——”

“I don’t care——”

After five minutes, Lily made another attack. The other girl roused herself slowly, and rubbed her eyes. “Oh, why did I go to that cocoa-party last night at Mae’s? I know I’ll play a bum game!”

“I hope not,” said Lily pleasantly. “But you ought to follow the advice you are always giving me. You’re a regular member of the team, and I’m only a substitute. Oh, don’t you hope we beat? I know a girl who goes to Miss Martin’s, and I’d feel so badly if her school beat us.”

“I guess we’ll win,” said Marjorie calmly. “Our team’s pretty good.”

When afternoon came the regular team and the substitutes met in Miss Phillips’s office for some final coaching. The girls themselves were confident of success, but the teacher was doubtful.

The benches down on the field were already filled with girls in bright-colored sweaters and fur coats and caps. Miss Martin’s girls arrived,—not only the team, but the whole school—and announced themselves with a rousing yell for “Miss Allen’s.” Miss Phillips brought her team down to the field, and the opponents were introduced. The substitutes sat on a special bench reserved for them.

The whistle blew, and the game began. At first it was hotly contested; for several minutes the ball stayed near the center of the field. At the end of five minutes, Miss Martin’s girls got control of it, sent it through the half-back, on past the full-back into the goal. There was a great shout from the audience.

The remainder of the half passed without either side’s scoring. When Miss Phillips blew the whistle for “time,” the girls stopped, exhausted. And Mildred Warren, the full-back for whom Lily was to substitute, announced that she was played out.

“I couldn’t play the next half,” she said, “if my life depended upon it.”

So Miss Phillips called Lily to take her place.

As the girls grouped around her for final instructions, the teacher showed by her voice that she was vexed. “You’re not getting into it, girls! Marjorie Wilkinson, you act as if you were half asleep,—and Margaret and Elsie,” she said, addressing two of the half-backs, “you never should have let that ball slip through. Now brace up, and win this half!”

The game started; but with little more promise of success. Finally Marjorie got the ball and started down the field. But she was attacked by the opposing forward, who sent the ball flying past Marjorie and past the half-back. But Lily Andrews was on the alert; with all her might she hit the ball and sent it back to her forwards. Everyone clapped.

“A yell for Lily Andrews!” called the cheerleader; and a hearty one was given.

But the forward who was playing against Marjorie on the opposing team was not to be easily daunted. She succeeded in getting the ball again, and this time she aimed it towards the other side of the field from that on which Lily was playing. She sent it past the other full-back and into the goal! Miss Martin’s girls rose in a body and cheered and cheered for their forward. The score was now 4–0.

A final chance was given to Miss Allen’s girls to score when one of the opposing team made a foul, and Marjorie was chosen to make a free shot; but either she had been keeping too late hours, or else she was too nervous; for she missed it. The whistle blew, and the score remained 4–0.

The girls shook hands and crowded around Miss Phillips. She congratulated Miss Martin’s girls, but said nothing to her own team. It was plain to be seen that she was disappointed.

Marjorie and Lily walked together towards the gymnasium.

“You were splendid, Lily!” said Marjorie. “If it hadn’t been for you, the score would have been a good deal worse than it was.”

“Thanks,” said Lily, “but that doesn’t make me feel better about the defeat.”

“It was a lot my fault,” admitted Marjorie. “I certainly played badly.”

“You’re not so much interested in athletics now, are you?” asked Lily, as the girls entered the door.

“Yes, I am; but I simply don’t have enough time to do anything well. I’m always helping to get some party ready for the sorority, or talking with the girls, or going to a meeting or a feed. I wish I could do better, though,” she added wistfully; “I still love Miss Phillips, and—somehow I’m not as good as I am when I feel her influence. Wouldn’t you love to be like her when you’re a woman, Lily?”

“Yes, I would. I’m crazy about her, too. You see I know her better now. By the way, did you know what we girls do every Friday evening while you have sorority meeting? We go up to Miss Phillips’s room, and take our fancy-work, and she reads to us.”

“That must be lots of fun,” said Marjorie. “What sort of books does she read?”

“She has just finished reading us ‘Old Chester Tales’ by Margaret Deland. It’s great, too! And one night she read us a story by O. Henry, and I was so interested that I wrote home and asked mother to buy me the book. She usually reads a poem or two besides, that she thinks we would like.”

Marjorie thought of the profitless way in which the evenings of sorority meetings were spent, and sighed; but she said nothing.

That evening the freshmen pledged became regular members and were awarded the little blue-and-gold sorority pin, to wear home Thanksgiving.

CHAPTER IX

MARJORIE’S HOUSE-PARTY

ALTHOUGH Marjorie and Ruth did not visit each other during the Thanksgiving holidays, they met at the station on the day of their return to school, and rode back together. But they seemed to have less to talk about than when they first made the trip. Ruth was still jealous of Marjorie because she had made the sorority, and she made no attempt to conceal the fact from the other girl. The consciousness of her feelings made Marjorie uncomfortable. They tried to keep up the conversation with commonplace remarks; but both girls felt relieved when the journey was over.

Lily was waiting on the station platform as the train pulled into the school town. At this time, she presented a very different appearance from that of the day when she first arrived at school. Instead of an elaborately frizzed coiffure, her hair was parted simply on the side, and hung in a long plait down her back. And her clothes were more appropriate, too; she was dressed neatly in a dark blue Peter Thomson, over which she wore a big blue sweater; and on her head was a knitted cap to match. In this costume, Lily Andrews was far from unattractive.

Marjorie and Lily kissed each other affectionately.

“I’m awfully glad you’re back, Marj!” Lily said.

“Yes, I’m glad to be back, too. I surely missed all the girls.”

“It was better for you than for me,” said Lily, “for you had Ruth, and nobody from Miss Allen’s lives near me.”

“I don’t count!” exclaimed Ruth, sarcastically.

Lily looked puzzled, and Marjorie hastily changed the subject.

“I’m glad now that I don’t room with Ruth!” thought Marjorie, as the girls separated to go to their rooms.

The dining-room that night rang with laughter and gay chatter. The girls had all had a good time; but they were glad to be back among their school friends again. There was so much to tell about the vacation that everybody lingered longer at the table than was the usual custom.

Marjorie was the first at her table to ask to be excused. She was anxious to see Miss Phillips; she had to tell her that it would be impossible for her to go out for swimming. She knew the teacher would be disappointed; but she had made up her mind.

She met Miss Phillips in the hall, and after greeting her somewhat coolly, asked her to come into the parlor with her.

“I am afraid I can’t go out for the swimming team, Miss Phillips,” she said abruptly, after they had seated themselves side by side on the sofa. “I’m down in Latin, and if I don’t study hard, I won’t pass.”

“I’m awfully sorry. Can’t you possibly manage it? We need girls so much—and you’re a good swimmer already. I wouldn’t want you to neglect your lessons; but Latin won’t take all your time, will it?”

“No, but you know the sorority takes an awful lot of it. I’ve just got to give up something—so I guess it will have to be athletics.”

“Very well,” replied Miss Phillips, rising; “you know best.”

But as the days passed Marjorie often wondered whether she really did know best. She realized, in a vague sort of way, that she was not so happy as she had been when she first came to Miss Allen’s; and she was not so healthy either. Her cheeks had lost their rosy color, and she was visibly thinner.

She seldom saw Miss Phillips now—and she missed her.

When it came time to pick the class swimming teams, it was a difficult matter to find enough freshmen to make the required number. In fact, most of the girls chosen were beginners. Lily Andrews, who had gone religiously to practice every day, made it; and, strange to say, Ruth Henry developed a new interest in athletics, and proved to be so clever in the water that she was immediately chosen captain. But the team could not in any way compete with those of the upper classes; in the inter-class tournament, it was the first to be defeated.

Marjorie tried not to take the defeat to heart; but she had to tell herself over and over that it was not her fault, that it would hardly have done better if she had taken part. She tried to dismiss athletics and Miss Phillips from her mind, and turn her attention to other interests.

She planned a sorority house-party for the Christmas holidays, and wrote home for her mother’s consent. When she received her reply, approving the idea, she ran over to Doris’s room to announce the good news.

Doris was enthusiastic over the plan. Marjorie went into detail in her explanation.

“You are invited for the Friday before we come back to school,” she said, “and stay till Sunday night, when we’ll all come back together. I’m just asking the freshmen and sophomore members—there wouldn’t be room for everybody.”

“I love house-parties!” exclaimed Doris, “and this will be wonderful!”

“I hope you will have a good time. We’re going to have an informal little dance on Saturday night; my brother Jack—you know he goes to Episcopal Academy—will invite the boys.”

Together they ran over to Ethel Todd’s room, and found her alone. Marjorie was talking excitedly about the party when Ruth suddenly opened the door, and came in. Stopping in the middle of a sentence, she rose, and added, “We must go, Ethel. I just wanted to make sure you’d come.”

“You bet I’ll come, Marj,” answered Ethel; “the four o’clock train?”

“Yes, Jack—my brother—will meet it with the machine.”

Marjorie and Doris went out, and Ethel turned to Ruth with a word of explanation. “Marjorie is inviting the freshmen and sophomore members of our sorority to her home for the last week end before we come back. Won’t that be delightful?”

“Charming,” assented Ruth, unenthusiastically.

Ethel turned away. Why did Ruth always show so plainly that she was jealous?

When the time came for the girls to leave for the Christmas holidays, Marjorie succeeded in being excused in time to make an early train; she wanted to avoid the necessity of the long ride with Ruth; it would be too embarrassing to talk about the house-party, and yet she knew Ruth would bring the subject up if she had the opportunity.

For the same reason she managed to keep away from Ruth during the holidays. Once or twice the girls met at entertainments or social gatherings, but they never were alone together.

The day for the arrival of Marjorie’s guests came, and her brother Jack, and his chum, Roger Harris, each borrowed his father’s machine, and drove down to meet the four o’clock train. Marjorie went with Jack.

“Isn’t Ruth coming over to meet the girls?” he asked as they got into the car.

“No,” answered Marjorie, without looking up.

“Why not? I always thought she was your best friend.”

“She’s one of my best friends; but you see she doesn’t belong to our sorority, so she’s not invited.”

“But there’s nothing secret about this house-party, is there?”

“No, but—oh, you wouldn’t understand, Jack—it simply wouldn’t do!”

“Well, she’s coming to the dance, isn’t she?”

Marjorie frowned. “No!” she said emphatically, “she isn’t coming any of the time.”

Jack looked disappointed, but said nothing more. Ruth had always been a favorite of his, and he could not quite imagine a party without her.

In a minute or two, both machines pulled up to the station, and the young people got out, just as the whistle of the locomotive was heard around the curve beyond.

Almost before the train stopped, Mae and Doris had reached the platform, and Ethel, Marian, and Frances were close behind them. Marjorie had not expected Anna, who had gone far away for her vacation; but she was surprised to miss Lulu Davids.

After the girls had kissed each other, and the boys had been introduced, Marian hastened to explain the other girl’s absence.

“Lulu took a bad cold yesterday,” she said, “and her mother wouldn’t let her come. I guess you’ll get a letter from her to-morrow.”

Marjorie expressed her disappointment, and the girls began to get into the machines. Jack and Roger both clamored for Doris’s suitcase; then, remembering their manners, they went to the assistance of the other girls.

While the girls were unpacking their suitcases, Marjorie outlined the program.

“After you rest, and dress, we’re going to have dinner quietly at home—just mother and dad, and Jack and Roger besides us; then the boys are going to take us to the early show at the movies. So we’ll get back by nine-thirty, and get into our nighties, and have a little something to eat in our rooms, and settle down early. To-morrow mother’s going to let us sleep as long as we want, and then Jack and Roger will drive us over to the cutest little tea-room out in the country for lunch. We’ll come back early to rest and dress for the dance.”

“I’m so excited about the dance!” said Mae, her eyes sparkling.

“The only thing about the dance is, we expected Lulu, and Jack has invited five other boys besides himself and Roger.”

“That’s much nicer than having too many girls,” said Mae.

“But it’s not so nice as an even number.”

“Oh, well, we’ll do our best to be entertaining,” said Doris.

“I guess you can easily manage two, Doris,” teased Marjorie, taking great delight in watching the pretty girl blush.

Mrs. Wilkinson soon made the girls feel at home, and the party progressed splendidly. Jack and Roger, with their constant teasing, never allowed things to get slow. They collected half a dozen clocks and set the alarms to ring every half hour, and hid them in the girls’ rooms before they arrived; so that early Saturday morning the sleepy girls awakened at regular intervals, much to their annoyance. By half past seven, they were thoroughly awake, and decided to get up.

When they were all seated at the breakfast table, Mrs. Wilkinson asked casually:

“Ruth will be over for the dance to-night, I suppose?”

Marjorie flushed, and without raising her eyes from her plate, she replied, “No, she isn’t coming.”

“Why not?” asked her mother in surprise.

“I didn’t invite her.”

But Mrs. Wilkinson failed to notice the embarrassment of her daughter and the other girls, and persisted with her questions.

“Couldn’t Jack get enough boys together?”

“Yes—it wasn’t that.”

At this point Jack interrupted. “I’ve even got an extra one; I invited one for the girl who didn’t come.”

“Then call Ruth on the telephone,” suggested Mrs. Wilkinson.

Marjorie felt herself growing angry. “But, Mother,” she explained, “she isn’t in our sorority.”

“Nonsense! What difference does that make?”

But Marjorie did not answer, and her father, seeing her predicament, came to the rescue, and changed the subject.

After the girls had eaten as many hot-cakes, and as much “country sausage” as they possibly could, they went into the sitting-room to read magazines and chat while Roger and Jack went out to the garage to look over their cars.

When they returned, the girls were waiting for them.

“Couldn’t we all go in one car?” asked Frances. “It seems a shame to be separated! And there are only eight of us!”

But Roger expressed instant disapproval. He was counting on having Doris beside him on the front seat, and he did not care to sacrifice his plan.

“Well, maybe it will be better to take both cars,” remarked Marjorie. “We’re not big, but our coats are!”

“Miss Sands, will you ride with me?” asked Roger boldly.

“Thank you,” said Doris, and she stepped into his car.

The young couple were surprised to see all the others climb into Jack’s machine, laughing in high good humor at the joke they had played in leaving them alone together—a joke, however, which suited Roger immensely, and which was not unpleasing to Doris.

The machines started together; Jack, who was more familiar with the roads, took the lead. They drove along the principal business streets of the town, and stopped at one or two of the principal shops. Finally, they left the houses and stores behind, and, following an unfrequented road, made for the open country. They rode for over an hour, laughing and chatting gayly. Jack was in his element.

“I really think your brother likes being the only boy among us all,” teased Ethel.

“How about Roger?” asked Jack.

“Oh, he doesn’t count—he’s in the other machine, and besides, he’s completely absorbed with Doris.”

“Well, I won’t have the distinction long,” he remarked. “The boys will be here to-night.”

“Do tell us about them,” pleaded Mae. “What are their names, and what are they like?”

“The finest fellow, to my way of thinking, is John Hadley. He’s a senior—the oldest of the bunch; he’s Captain of the football team, and Senior Patrol leader of the Boy Scouts—which is one of the highest honors a boy can get at Episcopal.”

“Are you a Boy Scout, Jack?” asked Ethel.

“No, not yet; but I’m studying for it, and hope to make it before the year’s out.” Returning to the subject of interest, he continued, “Two other Boy Scouts—both juniors—are coming. Russell Henderson and David Conner—I think you’ll like them, too. And the other two boys—Ross Morgan and Art Whiteside, are members of my class. Ross is funny; can keep you laughing forever. Perhaps he isn’t much for looks, but everybody likes him.”

“Aren’t there any freshmen coming?” asked Mae, a trifle disappointed.

“No, I didn’t ask any; they’re so green, you know.”

The girls laughed at the typical sophomore point of view.

“Are the boys pretty good dancers?” asked Marjorie.

“Yes, I think so—all but Ross. He’d probably rather run the victrola, and sit out dances. It would be all right if we only had enough girls!”

“Oh, here’s the tea-room!” cried Marjorie, glad of the opportunity to change the subject. “I hope Roger and Doris aren’t lost.”

The other machine drove up in a minute, and the young people jumped out. Marjorie led the way.

“Are you ready for us, Mrs. King?” she asked, as a good-natured looking landlady smilingly approached the girls.

“Yes, indeed—there’s your table by the window, Miss Marjorie.”

The little tea-room, with its prettily curtained windows, its fireplace, and its shining white paint, was exceedingly attractive. The table to which Mrs. King had directed the girls was already set with dainty china, and a big bowl of pink roses served as a center-piece.

Mrs. Wilkinson had known Mrs. King for many years; and believing that the young people would enjoy a luncheon by themselves, she had telephoned to her to ask her to act as chaperone.

The luncheon, from the appetizing chicken soup to the French pastry dessert, was delicious and dainty; the service was good; and the party was in high spirits. After it was over, Mrs. King invited the young people to sing some school songs around the open fireplace. It was almost three o’clock when Marjorie rose to go.

“If this were the end of it all,” said Ethel, as she climbed into the machine, “I would vote it the best time I ever had in my life.”

“And the best is yet to come,” said Frances, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

CHAPTER X

THE DANCE

AS soon as the girls reached home, they went to their rooms and substituted kimonas for their street clothes, preparing to rest before dinner. But though one or two of the number expressed the desire for a nap, the others would not keep quiet long enough for them to fall asleep. Ethel was attempting to comb her hair at Marjorie’s dressing table, and Frances was manicuring her nails; all the other girls were stretched lazily on the beds of one or the other of the communicating rooms.

“Isn’t it the grandest thing in the world to belong to ΦΑΒ and go on parties like this?” observed Frances.

“It is fun to be together,” said Marjorie slowly; “but we could do that just the same if we didn’t belong to the sorority!”

“Oh, but we wouldn’t be likely to. The other girls at school don’t have them much. I guess it would be too hard to know where to draw the line, without hurting some girl’s feelings!”

“And don’t you suppose we ever hurt anybody’s feelings by being exclusive?” asked Marjorie, bitterly.

“I don’t believe girls like Lily feel hurt; they know they’re out of it.”

“I wasn’t thinking of Lily,” said Marjorie, as she left the room.

“I wonder if Marjorie’s worrying about Ruth!” remarked Doris, thinking of the conversation at the breakfast table. “In a way, it does seem too bad.”

“Well, she’s foolish if she worries over her!” exclaimed Ethel; “for Ruth never troubles herself about Marjorie. She’s awfully selfish!”

“And yet I wonder whether we wouldn’t feel resentful if we were in her position,” said Frances. “It’s terribly hard for the girls who almost make the sorority.”

Marjorie came back with the dress she was to wear that evening, and the girls hastily changed the subject.

“How lovely!” exclaimed Doris, looking admiringly at the lemon-colored georgette Marjorie was holding on a hanger.

“Marj, why did you insist that we all wear different-colored dance dresses?” asked Mae.

Her hostess laughed gaily. “It’s a secret,” she said. “You’ll find out to-night!”

“But I want to know now!”

“Let’s all get out our dresses, and see if we really did strike different colors,” suggested Marian.

“I hope they harmonize,” said Frances.

The soft pastel shades of the six dresses did blend beautifully together. Lavender, green, yellow, pink, blue, and white had been selected. They were not elaborately made; perhaps Doris’s was the fanciest; but it was white, and could afford, therefore, to have more trimming.

“It reminds me of a rainbow wedding,” said Marian. “Did you ever see one, where each bridesmaid wears a different-colored dress?”

“And the bride wears white!” laughed Marjorie, with a significant look at Doris.

A knock at the door drew the attention away from Doris, but only for a moment; for the box which Maggie, Mrs. Wilkinson’s second maid, handed to Marjorie was directed to her.

“Flowers for the bride!” announced Marjorie solemnly.

Doris opened the box, and found a bunch of violets.

“Who could have sent them?” teased Ethel.

Doris glanced at the card, and hastily slipped it into her suitcase. As soon as she was dressed she pinned the flowers through her sash, and followed the others to the dining-room. But to her great relief, Roger was not present at supper; he had gone home to dress.

Shortly after eight o’clock, the boys all arrived together. Jack received them and presented them to the girls. After everyone had been given a program, Marjorie announced her plan for the first dance.

“Since nobody knows anybody else,” she said, “I made a little game for finding partners for the first dance. The girls, as you see, all have on different-colored dresses. Now there is a candy pillow hidden somewhere in this room to match each dress. The boys hunt for them, and then go to claim their partners.

“Of course,” she continued, “you know that we are very much disappointed because one girl we had expected didn’t come. So, besides the six candy pillows, I have hidden a licorice taffy. Whoever finds the taffy has to be content to eat it instead of dancing the first dance!”

“Now get to work and find them!”

The boys searched diligently. Roger came across a green pillow, but seeing that no one was looking, he instantly hid it again in order to look further for a white one. Then he saw Jack with the white pillow, and gave up his chances of securing Doris. He returned to the hiding place of the green one, but found that it had already been captured, and David Conner was claiming Mae for the dance. In a minute or two he found the licorice taffy, and hunted Mr. Wilkinson, to spend the time with him at the victrola.

John Hadley was delighted to claim Marjorie. He had singled her out as the most interesting girl at the dance. And she certainly did look attractive in her simple party dress.

“I feel very much honored,” said John, “to have the first dance with the hostess.”

As they danced, he asked her all sorts of questions about the school, and the girls, and even the sorority. When she described the methods of the latter, he wrinkled his brows.

“Doesn’t that cause a good deal of unhappiness?” he asked.

“Perhaps—at first; but I guess the girls who aren’t taken in soon get over it. Don’t you have fraternities at Episcopal?”

“No; we only have a Boy Scout troop; and all the money, and pull, and even popularity, in the world can’t get you into that. It’s simply a question of hard work.”

“And what do you do?” asked the girl eagerly.

John started to tell of some of the troop’s activities, but before he had gone very far, the dance was over.

“Promise me the intermission and the last waltz?” he asked.

“All right,” agreed Marjorie, “if you’ll excuse me now to look after things.”

She had Jack announce that the next dance would be a Paul Jones, and that after that, the boys might fill their programs according to the girls’ wishes. He also said that during the intermission, when refreshments were served, he would be the “extra man”—without a partner—as he was needed to help; so the fellows could go ahead and get their programs filled.

When everyone was served, Marjorie turned to John and asked more about the scouts. She was fascinated by the accounts of their activities; and John—big, handsome John Hadley, the most popular fellow at Episcopal—was fascinated by this slip of a freshman.

“I tell you,” he suggested; “why don’t you start Girl Scouts at your school?”

“I’d love to,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t have time now for the regular things at school because ΦΑΒ keeps me so busy!”

John persuaded Marjorie to give him an extra dance in the second half, and when she saw how happy her guests seemed to be, she agreed.

Mrs. Wilkinson had set the time limit of the dancing at half-past eleven; so before twelve o’clock, the boys had all gone, and the girls were starting up for bed.

“If they’d only let us have callers at Miss Allen’s!” sighed Doris, so woefully that everybody laughed out loud.

“They do, when you’re a senior, Doris!” said Ethel, “so cheer up—you’ve only three years to wait, and surely Roger’s love won’t grow cold in that time!”

Doris smiled and put her violets in water.

“Well, it’s been the loveliest time I’ve ever had!” said Frances; “oh, Marjorie, I’m so happy!”

“So am I”—“So am I,” cried the others.

“I guess everybody was happy to-night, Marj; it’s been such a perfect party!” said Doris.

But one person was unhappy that evening; one girl passed the gaily lighted house and looked in from the outside; one girl thought of the sorority she had missed making, and the friend she had lost—and in it all Ruth Henry blamed not herself, but Marjorie.

CHAPTER XI

THE GIRL SCOUT TROOP

RUTH had no desire to ride back to school on the same train with the sorority girls, so she decided to wait over until Monday morning. Besides, she had an important letter to write on Sunday evening, and she needed the quiet of her own room to compose her thoughts. As she sat at the window, she saw Wilkinsons’ machine, filled with the joyful members of the house-party, pass in the street below. But Ruth was no longer envious; if her scheme worked—as she felt it must—the tables would be turned; Marjorie and her friends would be begging favors of her!

A letter and a package in her post-office box on Wednesday came in prompt reply to her letter of Sunday. She broke the seal in breathless haste. Its contents seemed to come up to her expectations, for she smiled brightly, and literally ran to Evelyn’s room.

“I’ve a grand new plan!” she exclaimed enthusiastically, after she had opened her friend’s door without knocking. “A rival for ΦΑΒ!”

“No!” cried Evelyn, dropping the book she was reading. “It isn’t possible to start another sorority, is it?”

“Almost as good,” answered Ruth, holding out her letter. “A Girl Scout Troop! My cousin tells me all about it; here, read this!”

The other girl took the letter and read the details concerning the organization of a troop. It did sound very interesting. The letter closed by stating that a handbook would follow.

Ruth was already untying the string of the package. The girls sat down side by side on the couch, and turned the pages together.

“Do you suppose anybody can belong?” asked Evelyn doubtfully.

“Yes, it seems to say so—any girl over ten years old!”

“But what’s the fun then? If Lily Andrews, and just any old girl can belong, who wants to be a Girl Scout?”

“Don’t you know Lily Andrews is quite popular now?” Ruth laughed sarcastically. It seemed impossible that such a girl could really stand higher among her class-mates than she did herself.

After a minute or two, she said, “I guess we won’t have to take anybody we don’t want; our troop’ll be different.”

“I’ll bet Miss Allen won’t let you start anything secret!” said Evelyn.

Ruth stood up. “I believe I’ll go see her right away,” she announced, “and talk it all over with her.”

Miss Allen received her graciously, and carefully examined the book.

“I would have to look more closely into it,” she said. “And I think I’ll consult Miss Phillips. I have always heard that the Girl Scouts is an organization along athletic lines.”

Ruth was not a favorite with Miss Phillips. She frowned. “Oh, don’t let’s have any teachers in it! Except you,” she added diplomatically.

“But you have to have a Captain—a woman over twenty-one. And I see each troop has thirty-two members, but there are ninety-five girls in the school—how would you decide who was to belong?”

“Why, that’s easy—I started it, so Evelyn and two or three more of our friends would vote on the new members.”

Miss Allen smiled. “You want another sorority, Ruth,” she said. “And that you can’t have. But this Girl Scout idea appeals to me. I’ll think it over, and let you know.”

Miss Allen and Miss Phillips spent the evening in going over the handbook. They were delighted with its contents; the Girl Scout movement seemed to be just the thing the school needed.

“It is my idea,” said Miss Phillips, “to start the troop with only such girls as have 80% or over in their lessons, and are at the same time members or substitutes on one of the school teams. This will give the organization a high standard at the outset, and besides, I think it will make both lessons and athletics more popular. Then, if a girl drops in either, she can be temporarily deprived of the Troop’s good times!”

“Splendid!” exclaimed Miss Allen; “but do you think more than thirty-two girls in the school will qualify?”

“If they do, we can start two troops. I guess you can easily find two teachers to act as Captains.”

“I think the girls ought to be allowed to elect their own Captain, don’t you?” asked Miss Allen; and Miss Phillips nodded her approval. “They will have to meet on Friday evenings, of course,” she continued. “But what about the sorority?”

“I don’t think a girl should be allowed to belong to both ΦΑΒ and the Girl Scouts,” said Miss Phillips emphatically. “For one evening in a week is all that can be spared!”

The next night, when dessert was being served, Miss Allen rose from her seat at the front of the room. The girls instantly became quiet, and turned attentively to listen to what she had to say.

“Girls,” she announced in her usual quiet tone, “we have decided, if you are in favor, to start a Girl Scout troop here. It was Ruth Henry’s idea, and after careful consideration of the matter, we have found the organization to be splendid. The members will wear a uniform, meet once a week, and on Saturdays take hikes and boat-trips; and perhaps this summer go camping.

“There will be lots for a Girl Scout to learn—first-aid, out-door cooking, horsemanship—in fact, almost anything you are interested in.”

She paused for a moment, and the girls signified their approval by breaking into a hearty applause. Ruth looked important, as if to take the credit of it all to herself.

Miss Allen continued: “We have decided to make both scholarship and athletic ability the qualifications for membership. Any girl who wishes to belong must have at least 80% in all her studies, and must be a member or a substitute on some school team. And if there are more than thirty-two girls eligible, we will start two troops.”

The girls were surprised at Miss Allen’s remarks, and many of their faces registered disappointment. Frances Wright rose from her seat.

“Well, Frances?” asked the Principal.

“Miss Allen, when will the Girl Scouts meet?”

“Friday evening.”

Frances looked astonished. “How about the sorority?” she asked.

“No girl can belong to both the Girl Scouts and the sorority,” Miss Allen replied significantly. “It would take too much of her time. She must choose between them!”

Since there were no other questions, Miss Allen took her seat, and for the rest of the meal, the dining-room buzzed with the excited voices of the girls, discussing the new proposition.

After supper Ruth made her way to Marjorie’s room.

“What do you think of it?” she asked Marjorie.

“It’s wonderful!” the other girl exclaimed.

“Would you rather belong to it than ΦΑΒ?”

“I almost believe I would. It sounds so much more worth while. To tell you the truth, Ruth, aside from the excitement of being asked, it isn’t much of an honor to belong to ΦΑΒ!”

Ruth looked triumphant. “I knew I’d make you girls see you weren’t so much!”

“I never said we were!”

“Well, you acted it. How about the house-party at Christmas?”

“Oh, Ruth—I am sorry about it!”

“Yes, you are! I’d just like to keep you out of the Girl Scouts to pay you back!”

It was then that the door opened and Lily Andrews came in, with a book in her hands, reading as she entered.

“What has happened to you, Lily?” asked Ruth. “Turned dippy-stude?”

“No, only I do want to make the Girl Scouts, and I’m almost afraid my lessons won’t let me!”

“Good work!” said Ruth, as she produced her handbook, and began to read the Tenderfoot test questions aloud.

The next night was sorority meeting, and the members went prepared for a fight. After the business was over, the senior president opened the discussion.

“It would be a shame,” she said, “for ΦΑΒ to allow a passing fancy like the Girl Scout troop to shake it. We have been here a long time. We stand for the oldest traditions of the school. We must think carefully of all the Alumnæ before we make any move.”

Several other girls spoke along the same line. Finally, Marjorie stood up.

“Girls,” she said, “I have been thinking about it seriously and I have decided I would rather be a Girl Scout. We meet here Friday after Friday, and do nothing but have a silly business meeting, chat, and drink cocoa. And when we ought to be studying or practicing for some team, we are going to a feed. We never learn anything new. We have friends, but we are not supposed to make any close ones outside our own set. And once a year, we make the whole freshman class—except four girls—miserably unhappy. So I’ve decided to hand in my resignation to the sorority.”

Everybody was quiet for a moment. Ethel Todd was the first to speak.

“I’m so sorry, Marjorie!” she said.

Tears came to Doris’s eyes. “It won’t be the same without you, Marj,” she said. “Please don’t do it!”

“Besides,” said Mae, “hadn’t you better wait till you’re asked to join the Girl Scouts?”

Marjorie laughed. “Well, if I’m not asked, it will be because I’m down in my lessons—and I’ll never get up in them as long as I belong to ΦΑΒ!”

“Marjorie’s right,” said Frances. “And this fall, when I saw Evelyn and Ruth almost breaking their hearts over not being asked, I just felt as if I couldn’t go through the pledging another year. I hand in my resignation, too.”

After some hesitation, and some more discussion, Lulu decided to follow suit, and two of the Juniors joined the ranks.

“Whatever will we do?” asked Mae, “elect new members?”

“We’re not allowed to,” replied the president. “Vacancies can only be filled once a year—six weeks after school starts. We’ll have to go on as we are. But if more than eight girls resign, the sorority must be abolished. We have to keep eight girls to allow it to exist. Oh, girls,” she pleaded, “don’t follow the impulse. Wait! Think of the Alumnæ! Think if you ever had a daughter and sent her here, she would stand a good chance of belonging.”

“And she might be left out like poor Virginia Hall, whose mother was an ΦΑΒ!” Marian Guard laughed. “You know Virginia is impossible!” she exclaimed.

Doris had been thinking hard. “Girls,” she said, “I don’t want to be mean, and you know I’m not athletic, so I probably won’t make the troop; but I think the sorority ought to be abolished, and now is the best time to do it. So I, too, resign.”

“Oh, Doris—you’re president of the freshman class!” exclaimed one of the seniors.

“Yes, and for that reason more than any other, I want to do away with ΦΑΒ!”

The senior president intervened. “Girls, that makes six resignations. But let’s don’t take them as final. We’ll wait till next week, and give everybody the chance to think it over.”

Marjorie made one request. “May Miss Phillips be invited to come in next week after the business part is over?”

The president frowned; but several of the girls seemed to want it, so she finally consented.

“And remember, girls,” she said, “this must be kept secret until at least next week. You are still members of ΦΑΒ. Promise!”

“We promise,” murmured Frances and Marjorie, and two or three others; and the girls adjourned.

CHAPTER XII

THE BOY SCOUTS’ DEMONSTRATION

DURING the next few days, the excitement which usually preceded pledge-day was felt over the school, and in this instance, it was even more intense; for almost every girl at Miss Allen’s felt that she had a chance to become a Girl Scout,—if not right away, at least at some future date. Ruth had sent for more handbooks; the copies went the rounds, and were read and re-read. The uniform proved to be a constant topic of interest, and more than one girl wrote home to ask for the money to buy it, in case she was chosen.

Miss Landis noticed a decided improvement in the girls’ lessons, and remarked about it to Miss Allen. Miss Phillips, too, appreciated the added zeal with which the girls attended unrequired practices.

At last Ruth was happy. She had started something worth while; no doubt the whole student body, as well as the teachers, would look to her constantly as a benefactor. She realized, too, that she had dealt the most decided blow to the sorority that it had ever received. She dreamed of its annihilation, and pictured herself always as the leader of its more popular successor.

Marjorie, too, was happy. For weeks she had felt a sort of unrest, as if she were standing still while the rest of the world progressed. Lily’s accounts of the Friday evenings in Miss Phillips’s room had deepened this feeling. But now that she had made her decision, the outlook before her seemed brighter.

On Wednesday evening, during dinner, it was whispered that Miss Allen was going to read the list of candidates for the troop very soon; and one of the seniors told Ruth that she had seen her carry a paper into the dining-room.

The girl was correct in her supposition; for as soon as dessert had been served, Miss Allen rose from her chair. The girls stopped eating, and waited in breathless attention.

“First of all,” she began, “I want to tell you that on Friday evening the Senior Patrol of the Boy Scouts from Episcopal Academy are coming over to give us a demonstration of Scouting. We will hold the meeting in the assembly room, and everybody is invited. But only the candidates whose names I read will be invited over to the gymnasium afterwards to serve refreshments with Miss Phillips.”

She paused for a moment, and the girls clapped in approval.

“I am sorry the list of candidates is so small,” she continued; “but you see we decided on such strict qualifications, there were only seven girls eligible. But this was partly due to the fact that the school swimming team hasn’t been made up yet—class teams don’t count—and we had only the hockey members to select from. And, of course, many of those girls were down in their studies. But Miss Phillips hopes to pick the swimming team soon, so we shall have more girls to choose from.”

Miss Allen put on her glasses, and reached for a paper on the table. Without further explanation, she read out the names—

“Senior Class—Dorothy Maxwell.

“Junior Class—-Edith Evans, Helen Stewart.

“Sophomore Class—Frances Wright, Ethel Todd, Marian Guard.

“Freshman Class—Lily Andrews.”

Miss Allen sat down. For a minute the girls could only gasp; then the room buzzed with animated voices.

Ruth turned to the senior next to her. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “Why, I started the whole thing!”

“You aren’t on the school hockey team, are you?” asked the other girl.

“No, that’s so,” admitted Ruth; “I guess I was counting on the class swimming team. But, believe me, I’ll make the school swimming team, you just see!”

Unlike Ruth, Marjorie said nothing about her disappointment. But she was surprised that her name was not on the list; for being a hockey team member, she had expected to be a candidate. “They have Girl Scouts, and I am not one!” she said over and over to herself. “Maybe I ought to have stayed in ΦΑΒ,” she thought. “It isn’t too late yet.”

But Marjorie was not a girl to go back on her word; she had resigned, though they had not accepted her resignation, and she would abide by her decision. It must have been her Latin that kept her out, she concluded, and she resolved to work harder in that branch in the future.

After supper, Ruth came over to Marjorie’s room and found her congratulating Lily.

“I don’t know how I ever did it,” said Lily. “But I’m so glad—if only Miss Phillips is our Captain. Do you think she will be?”

“You are allowed to elect whoever you want,” said Ruth. “And I guess it will be Miss Phillips or Miss Landis. They seem to be about the most popular teachers in the school.”

“They deserve to be!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Especially Miss Phillips—I think she’s wonderful!”

“I certainly am surprised you didn’t make it, Marj,” said Ruth. “Of course, when they decided on that team business, I knew I couldn’t,” she lied.

“I thought they’d count the class swimming team,” said Lily. “Why, we can’t really start till we have eight girls, for you need at least that number for a troop.”

“Miss Phillips expects to pick the swimming team to-morrow,” said Marjorie.

“How do you know?” asked Ruth.

“She told me.”

“Oh, I’m going in swimming before breakfast, if she’ll let me!”

Marjorie smiled. “You’ll make the team, Ruth,” she said. “But how are your lessons?”

“All right, I guess. Now would you rather belong to the Girl Scouts or ΦΑΒ, Marjorie?”

“I am resigning from ΦΑΒ on Friday, Ruth.”

“But you weren’t one of the candidates for the troop!”

“I know—but I want to help abolish the sorority.”

“Oh, Marj, you’re a peach!” exclaimed Ruth, with genuine admiration.

Friday evening came. The sorority girls had their meeting immediately after supper, and adjourned in time to see the Boy Scouts’ demonstration. The same six girls held to their resolutions to resign, and Marian Guard and Ethel Todd joined their ranks. Eight girls were left; if one more resigned, the sorority would have to dissolve.

According to her promise Miss Phillips came to the meeting; but she was late, and found that there was really nothing for her to do. Marjorie and the others had definitely made up their minds; so they contented themselves with asking the teacher a few questions about the troop, and adjourned early.

When the ΦΑΒ girls reached the assembly room, they found it already crowded. At two minutes of eight, a drum and a bugle sounded in march time, and a flag bearer, carrying the American flag, and followed by eight Boy Scouts, in double file, marched up the aisle to the platform. They held their heads high, and their shoulders back; and as they marched, they looked neither to the right nor to the left. One or two of the freshmen giggled, but the boys maintained the discipline of soldiers. Marjorie looked for John Hadley, and saw him at the head of the line.

They reached the platform, and halted at the command of their patrol leader. At the words: “Left, FACE!” they all turned to the front; the flag bearer and the color guards on each side stepped forward. Then the scouts pledged allegiance to the flag, after which the flag bearer and the guards returned to their places in the line.

At the signal from John, they all repeated the Scout oath and recited the twelve Boy Scout laws. Then all the other boys sat down, and John stepped forward. The girls rather expected him to be nervous, but he seemed to have complete control of himself. He looked straight into their eager faces, and told them what the Scouts were about to do.

“We are honored to be asked here by Miss Allen, and we are glad to welcome our sister Scouts in this school,” he said. “We look forward to lots of good times with you. We want you to enjoy our cabin in the woods, and we will be glad to teach you anything we know. We even hope to have a baseball game with the troop. And we promise to wear skirts, if you will lend them to us!”

He was rewarded with a laugh at his suggestion. “Now,” he continued, “we are here to-night to show you some of the ordinary things Scouts do. You saw our opening meeting and heard our promise and our laws. You know our salute. Now we will show you some signalling.”

Two of the boys stepped forward; one went down the steps.

“Will someone in the room please write Russell Henderson, the Scout on the platform, a message? Then he will signal it, and the Scout at the end of the room will receive it.”

Miss Phillips wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to John. He gave it to Russell, who signaled it in semaphore with two flags, which fairly seemed to fly from one position to the next; and in a minute, the Scout at the end of the room read out:

“We thank the Boy Scouts of Episcopal for their help.”

Miss Phillips said that the message was correct. Everyone clapped.

John then asked for another message, and Frances Wright handed him one. With the Scout still at the end of the room, Russell took out a tiny telegraph instrument and tapped out sounds which were meaningless to the girls, but which were evidently intelligible to David Conner, the Scout at the rear, for he read out:

“Girl Scouts want to learn signalling.”

“That is right,” said Frances.

“Now we will show you some First-Aid work.”

All the boys except John took part in this—four acting as doctors, and four serving as patients. They put on the head-cap, the spiral-reverse, the five-finger bandage, and the triangular arm-sling. After they had finished these, they demonstrated resuscitation, fireman’s-lift, and the making of a stretcher. The girls watched breathlessly, and clapped heartily when it was over.

Then two Scouts stepped forward and did what seemed to the girls a truly marvelous thing: they put down a big sheet of tin and made a fire without any matches. They did this by using the method of the Indians: a wooden bow-drill rotated until the friction produced heat sufficient to ignite the fuel. When finally it burst into flames, there was a great shout of applause.

John ended by thanking the girls for their attention, saying that he hoped all the girls present would eventually become Scouts.

Miss Allen thanked the boys, and invited them to the gymnasium to meet the girls who were candidates. The rest of the school were dismissed to return to their rooms.

It was a much envied little group that followed Miss Allen out of the room, and more than one girl resolved to perfect her studies or her athletics in order to be among the favored few in the future.

Ruth sought Marjorie, and the girls went out together, closer in spirit than they had been for several months, due probably to their common misfortune at being left out of the happy number.

“And to think,” said Ruth, “that Lily Andrews is inside the favored circle, and we are both outside!”

CHAPTER XIII

AFTER THE MEETING

AS soon as the opening ceremony was over, and John Hadley stepped forward to speak, he looked eagerly around the audience for Marjorie. But he was not able to locate her immediately; in fact, it was not until the boys had begun to semaphore, that he recognized her earnest, up-turned face.

Neither he nor Marjorie showed by their faces that they had ever seen each other before, but John waited impatiently for the meeting to be over, so that he might have a chance to talk with the girl who had occupied so much of his thoughts during the past days.

When Miss Allen had said that the Girl Scout candidates had already been chosen, and that they were to meet the Boy Scouts for a few moments after the demonstration, John felt sure that he would see Marjorie. For certainly she would be among those selected. Jack had often told him of his sister’s love of the out-of-doors; and the interest she had expressed in scout affairs at the dance assured him that she was just the type of girl to become a Girl Scout.

So, when Miss Allen introduced the seven girls on the way to the gym, it was with a feeling of keen disappointment that John realized that Marjorie was not one of them. Recognizing the ΦΑΒ sophomores that he had met at the dance, he went up and spoke to Ethel.

After they had exchanged the usual greetings, he tried to ask as casually as possible, “Where is Marjorie Wilkinson? Isn’t she a candidate for the scout troop?”

“No,” replied Ethel, “unfortunately she isn’t!”

“Why not?” asked John in surprise. “I thought she would be just the sort of girl to go in for a thing like this!”

“She is—she’s very athletic. She made the school hockey team, which is a big honor for a freshman. But Miss Allen made other qualifications.”

By this time, the party had reached the gymnasium, and their conversation was interrupted while Miss Phillips invited everybody to dance. Before John had a chance to ask Ethel for the dance, David Conner had claimed her, and he was forced to find another partner.

But they did not dance long, for Miss Phillips had some questions she wished to ask the Boy Scouts. During the brief intermission that followed, John again sought Ethel.

While he was turning over in his mind an easy way to bring the conversation back to Marjorie, Lily approached with ice-cream and cake.

“Miss Andrews is Marjorie’s room-mate,” said Ethel, while Lily was serving them. “She can tell you all about her.” Then turning to Lily, she explained, “Mr. Hadley was wondering why Marjorie isn’t a candidate for the troop, and I started to explain. But won’t you sit down here, so that I can see if Miss Phillips needs me?”

Lily took Ethel’s place, and explained about her room-mate’s Latin.

After the young people had finished their ice-cream, Miss Phillips asked everybody to move their chairs into a circle, so that the conversation might become general. She asked John all sorts of questions about the conducting of meetings, and troop affairs, and the girls listened with interest to his replies.

“We would like a spirit of friendly rivalry between the troops,” he said. “We might have contests in such things as signalling and knot-tying.”

“Not very soon!” laughed Miss Phillips. “I am afraid it will be a good while before we can compete with you!”

“Won’t you tell us about camping?” asked Frances. “What do we have to take with us, and about how much does it cost?”

John hesitated. “It would be easier to show you, Miss Wright, when you come out to our cabin for a visit. We’ll fix a date for a party, as soon as your troop is established.”

The girls exclaimed enthusiastically over the plan, and asked more questions about the cabin.

“Do you have qualifications to join your troop like we do?” inquired Lily.

“We certainly do!” said John emphatically; “but they’re a little different from yours; every three months we have what we call a B. S. Candidate test. To pass this a fellow has to make flower and leaf collections, and know how to identify a certain number of birds, and answer all sorts of questions besides. Then if he passes that test, he has to spend a night alone in the cabin. He’s allowed a gun, and as there really aren’t any tramps around to be afraid of, it’s pretty safe.”

“Except for the ghosts,” interrupted David. “Most all the boys report that they saw something mysterious.”

At this point, Miss Phillips invited the boys to inspect the swimming pool, and the conversation lost its general tone.

John walked with Lily.

“It must be terribly exciting to stay all night alone in that cabin,” she said, “but I’m afraid I’d be too scared to try it.”

“Oh, I guess most girls would!”

“I bet Ruth Henry wouldn’t, though! She’d try most anything!”

“Ruth Henry?” repeated John; “that name sounds familiar.”

“Most likely you have heard Marjorie speak of her. She’s a friend from her town.”

“No, but I have heard Jack Wilkinson mention her. But she can’t be a very intimate friend, for she wasn’t at the dance!”

“Neither was I,” said Lily, good-naturedly; “and I count myself a very intimate friend of Marjorie’s! But she only invited the ΦΑΒ girls to that house party!”

“Oh!” said John significantly. “And how is ΦΑΒ?”

“Dying; the Girl Scouts put it out of business.”

“I should think they would! What does Marjorie think of that?”

“She resigned long ago.”

“Good for her!” said John. “Well, I wish she was a Girl Scout. It’s my last year at Episcopal, and if I don’t see her this year, I guess I never will. Will you give her my regards?” he added, hesitatingly.

“Surely,” said Lily. “And what are you planning to do next year, Mr. Hadley?”

“Princeton, I think,” he said, “though I’m not quite sure.”

By the time the scouts had completed their tour of inspection, it was ten o’clock, and they said good-bye to the girls and hurried off to get their things. Lily ran up to her room as fast as she could, to tell Marjorie the news.

“Did he really ask about me?” asked her room-mate, trying to appear disinterested.

“Yes, and he seemed so disappointed that you weren’t in the troop!”

“Tell me all about it,” said Marjorie; and Lily complied with her request, carrying on one of those one-sided conversations about “what he said,” that girls all love to hold with each other.

“But I didn’t tell him how soon you would be a Girl Scout,” she concluded.

“If I only am!” sighed Marjorie. “It seems to me I never wanted anything so much in my life!”

“Well, keep on studying, and it won’t be long now till the next Latin test, and that will surely give you the chance you have been waiting for!”

CHAPTER XIV

PANSY TROOP MEETS

NOW that the girls had seen the Boy Scouts’ demonstration, they were more anxious than ever to get their own troop started. But they did not have long to wait, for the following afternoon Miss Phillips placed a typewritten list on the Bulletin Board in the main hall.

In a few minutes, a crowd began to gather. Ruth was the first to appear; to her great delight she saw her name at the bottom of the list.

“Who made it?” asked Marjorie, who was too far back in the crowd to read the paper.

Ruth read it out loud:

“School Swimming Team:

“Seniors—Margaret Williams, Martha Meyers.

“Juniors—Helen Stewart, Edith Evans, Violet Henderson.

“Sophomores—Ethel Todd.

“Freshmen—Ruth Henry.

“Substitutes—Rose Craig, Frances Wright.”

“Congratulations, Ruth!” said Marjorie, sincerely. “Now you’ll surely be a Girl Scout!”

“I hope so,” said Ruth, as she walked down the hall with her old friend. “My last marks were pretty good—but, you never can tell.”

“If I ever pull up my Latin, I’m going in harder for swimming. I want to learn fancy diving and life-saving,” said Marjorie.

“That would be nice,” agreed Ruth, “but for the present I’m going to be content with plain dives and long-distance swimming. Anyway, I can swim well enough to be a First Class scout, if I pass the other qualifications.”

The girls separated to dress for dinner. It hardly seemed possible that Miss Allen could announce the new Scout candidates so soon, and yet a decided air of expectancy prevailed during dinner that evening. Every few minutes, one or two girls would allow their glance to wander in her direction, and they were finally rewarded by seeing her rise from her chair.

“You have all seen the names of the girls on the swimming team,” she said. “You know, too, that out of that list of eight girls, four are already candidates for the Scouts.

“All this goes to prove,” she continued, “just what Miss Phillips and I have always thought—the same girls go out for athletics over and over again, and the rest of the school is content to let them do all the work. Now what we hope the Girl Scout organization will do, is to make interest more general.

“Of the remaining four girls on the swimming team, only one stands high enough in her lessons to be selected as a candidate. That girl is Ruth Henry!”

As soon as the girls had stopped clapping, Miss Allen went on with the announcements. “The eight candidates—Dorothy Maxwell, Edith Evans, Helen Stewart, Frances Wright, Ethel Todd, Marian Guard, Lily Andrews, and Ruth Henry are to meet in my office to-morrow afternoon at two o’clock to organize and to elect their Captain.”

After dinner was over, Marjorie sought Ruth. She was not jealous of her friend’s triumph; Ruth deserved it, and she did not.

So, with genuine pleasure, she said, “I’m awfully glad you made it, Ruth. Nobody deserves it more than you!”

Ruth thanked her, and Marjorie continued enthusiastically, “I think you have done a big thing for the school. And I mean to belong just as soon as possible. I’m going to give up everything else till I pull up my Latin mark!”

Ruth bit her lip. To her, half the fun of belonging to the Girl Scouts consisted in being able to write home and tell her parents and friends that she had succeeded where Marjorie had failed. But she said nothing to indicate her feelings to the other girl.

Promptly at two o’clock the next afternoon—which was Saturday—the scout candidates assembled in Miss Allen’s office.

“The first thing we will do,” said Miss Allen, “is to vote for a Captain. Then, if possible, we will invite the person you elect into the meeting, and she can take charge, for I won’t have time myself.”

She asked Ruth to come forward and give out the paper for voting. “Every Scout should be prepared with a pencil, but if any girl needs one this time, I will lend her one.

“Write the name of the person you want on the paper; if there isn’t a majority for any one candidate the first time, we will vote over again between the two or three highest.”

But there was no cause for a second vote; Miss Phillips was elected by an overwhelming majority. Lily was sent to the gymnasium to tell her of the result of the election, and returned with an invitation for the meeting to transfer its location to the gymnasium.

In a few words, Miss Phillips thanked the girls for the honor they had given her, and promised to live up to the Scout laws as faithfully as she could.

“Now,” she continued, “since we have eight girls, we will elect a patrol leader and a corporal.”

“What are their duties, Miss Phillips?” asked Lily.

Miss Phillips smiled. “Scout Andrews,” she replied, “after this when you wish to ask a question, rise, salute me, and say ‘Captain Phillips.’ If I return the salute, then you ask your question. Now—let’s try that!”

Lily did as she was requested, and Miss Phillips explained that the duties of these officers were to get the girls out to the meetings, lead the marching, conduct opening exercises, and so forth. Frances Wright was elected patrol leader and Lily Andrews was made corporal.

“Now,” said Miss Phillips, “open your handbooks to page 44, and you will see the different ceremonies to be used. We will begin with a simple one to-night.”

After she had read the instructions aloud, she blew a series of short whistles and the girls assembled in line—with Frances at the top, and Lily next. Lily was sent to the room next door for the flag, and at the command of the Captain, the girls pledged allegiance. Then they sang one stanza of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” standing at attention. After this, led by Miss Phillips, they took the Scout oath. With their right hands raised to their foreheads, they repeated:

“On my honor I will try

To be true to God and my country.

To help others at all times.

To obey the Scout laws.”

Their hands dropped to their sides.

“Patrol Leader Wright,” commanded Miss Phillips, “lead in the Scout Laws.”

Frances stepped in front of the group, saluted the Captain, and the girls repeated with her:

“A Girl Scout’s honor is to be trusted.

A Girl Scout is loyal.

A Girl Scout’s duty is to be useful and to help others.

A Girl Scout is a friend to all, and a sister to every other Girl Scout.

A Girl Scout is courteous.

A Girl Scout is a friend to animals.

A Girl Scout obeys orders.

A Girl Scout is cheerful.

A Girl Scout is thrifty.

A Girl Scout is clean in thought, word and deed.”

“What is your motto?” asked Miss Phillips.

“Be prepared,” they answered.

“What is your slogan?”

“Do a good turn daily.”

“Be seated!” commanded Miss Phillips. “After opening ceremony,” she continued, when the girls were seated, “comes Scout talk. To-night I am going to talk about your good turn. It will be harder for you girls than for the Scouts who live at home, but let me see what you can do. Make a list of the things you do, but do not sign it. Bring it next week to the meeting, and perhaps we shall read them aloud.” Then she suggested some good turns that might be done at the school.

“Business meeting is next in order. We must first of all have a secretary. I am ready for nominations.”

After a great deal of consideration, Ethel Todd was elected secretary; Ruth Henry was made treasurer.

“Now it is time to decide upon a name,” announced Miss Phillips.

“A name?” asked Ruth, without rising or saluting. “Can we have Greek letters—or something like that?”

The other girls smiled at her impetuosity, but Miss Phillips hastened to correct the false impression.

“No, not that,” she answered, “but each troop takes the name of a flower—rose, daisy, violet, and so on. And each patrol takes the name of a bird. Suppose some of you suggest the names you would like, and we can vote upon the three most popular.”

Frances suggested “Pansy,” and the girls decided to make it their choice. The selection of the patrol symbol was put off until a later time.

After dues had been discussed and agreed upon, Miss Phillips said, “I would like to suggest that we consider candidates only once a month. It is nearly February now—and we are just starting. It would make too much confusion if we take them in at every meeting. So I think the best plan would be to get the list of those eligible from Miss Allen at the end of each month, and take them in at the following meeting.”

This suggestion was voted upon and passed.

“When shall we have our first hike?” asked the Captain.

Frances Wright rose and saluted Miss Phillips. “Captain,” she said, “let’s wait until we get our uniforms.”

Helen Stewart’s face fell. She was one of the poorest girls in the school—her mother was a widow, and it was about all she could afford to do to pay the regular expenses. Helen did not know how she would ever get her uniform.

“All right,” agreed the Captain, “but you all know you have to earn the uniform. You aren’t allowed to write home and ask your parents for the money. And what is more, you are supposed to make it!”

Lily looked disappointed. She was thinking of having her uniform made by a Fifth Avenue tailor. Helen looked proportionately pleased.

“There are lots of things you can do to earn money—typewriting in the office, taking care of babies, running errands for people in the village, taking orders for knitting and sewing——”

“But we’ll be almost like servants!” exclaimed Lily, interrupting her Captain’s speech.

“It won’t hurt you, girls,” Miss Phillips said laughingly. “And to encourage you,” she added, “I’ll earn mine, aside from my salary.”

“And we’ll make it a kind of race to see who can earn theirs first. Let’s have a bank and a banker, and report each week on what we have made.”

The girls approved of the plan, and Ethel Todd, the secretary, was chosen banker.

“Now,” said Miss Phillips, “we will adjourn our business meeting for Scout work. Open your handbooks to page 60; we are going over the Tenderfoot test together.”

The test seemed comparatively easy, and Miss Phillips decided to give it the following week. “You may each bring a quarter,” she said, “and if everybody passes we will fill out our blank and send it to National Headquarters in New York.

“Now,” continued the Captain, “let’s have some games. Next week we’ll have military drill, but we won’t start that to-night. Let’s play ‘Boots without shoes.’ Does anybody know it?”

The girls shook their heads, and Miss Phillips requested all but Frances to go into her office.

She explained the game to Frances, and told her to go and bring one of the girls into the room. She returned with Lily.

“You want to belong to the Girl Scouts, don’t you, Lily?” asked Miss Phillips, with mock solemnity.

“Yes!”

“Then will you promise to do as I do, but to say just what I tell you to say?”

“I promise.”

Miss Phillips took three jumps. “Say ‘Boots,’ without shoes!”

Lily imitated the action, and repeated, “Boots, without shoes!”

“But that isn’t right!” protested Miss Phillips. “We’ll try over again.”

She gave her increasingly difficult gymnastic feats to perform, ending each with the same command of “Say ‘Boots,’ without shoes!”

Finally Lily saw through the trick, and cried triumphantly, “Boots!”

Miss Phillips sent her for the next girl, and they continued until all the girls were initiated.

Before they separated for the evening, Miss Phillips taught the girls the Scout yell—

“A-M-E-R-I-C-A

GIRL SCOUTS—GIRL SCOUTS—U.S.A”

and they yelled it joyfully, adding first “Miss Allen’s, Miss Allen’s,” on the end, and then giving it over again in honor of Miss Phillips.

Lily ran up to find Marjorie, who had spent the first Friday evening since Pledge-Day in her own room. Both girls were glad that there was no secrecy about the Girl Scout meeting, which would prevent them from discussing it together.

Ruth went over to her own room with equal haste, joyfully anticipating the letter she would write to the folks at home to tell them of her good fortune.

CHAPTER XV

THE LATIN TEST

BY the twentieth of February, the eight candidates had passed their Tenderfoot tests, and were registered at National Headquarters as regular members of the Girl Scouts. After the preliminary exercises of the meeting were over, Captain Phillips asked for a report from the banker.

“All the girls have handed in enough money for the khaki and buttons, Captain,” Ethel Todd announced, after she had given the usual salute. “And some have turned in more than was required. Shall I give that to the treasurer?”

“No,” answered Miss Phillips, “we will keep up our banking system, so that each girl can always have money on hand to purchase the necessary equipment. Now,” she continued, turning to the troop, “I want reports on how the individual Girl Scouts earned their money.”

The accounts that followed were both interesting and original. Ruth had made fudge, and sold it at a profit; Ethel Todd had addressed envelopes in Miss Allen’s office, and had helped with the school records; Frances and Marian had taken care of babies for some Alumnæ members of ΦΑΒ who lived in the village; Lily Andrews and Edith Evans had secured subscriptions for a well-known woman’s magazine; and Helen Stewart and Dorothy Maxwell had advertised their services for “odd jobs” among their school-mates, and had been rewarded with plenty of mending, pressing, darning, and even shoe-shining.

All the girls agreed that the experience had been fun; even Lily admitted that she did not mind it after she had once started.

“And what did you do, Captain Phillips?” she asked.

“I organized a dancing-class for the little tots of the village, which meets one afternoon a week, and I charge each child ten cents a lesson,” she replied.

“Good!” exclaimed Lily, “you lived up to your promise!”

“Girls,” said the Captain, “I am going into the city to-morrow, and I will order the uniforms—the kind that come cut out ready to sew. Then we ought to receive them before next Saturday, and if we do, we can meet up in the sewing-room and give up the day to making them.”

“And when will we go on our hike, Captain?” asked Frances, with the usual formality.

“The following Saturday, I hope. You see the marks come out the next Monday, and the Gym team will be selected; so new girls will be eligible to the troop after that. And I want one hike by ourselves—as a reward for the good work you have done.”

“How many new girls do you think we shall have?” asked Marian.

“There will be ten girls on the school Gym-team, but probably some of those are already Scouts. And then there is a possibility that some of the girls who are either hockey or swimming-team members may pull up their marks in their studies and qualify.”

Lily clapped her hands. “I do so hope Marjorie makes it,” she exclaimed with such enthusiasm that Miss Phillips did not have the heart to reprove her for her breach of discipline. “And she will,” she added, “if she makes 90% in her Latin test.”

Ruth looked annoyed. Half the fun of being a Girl Scout was the publicity of it—the fact that she was one of the eight distinguished members—that she belonged to something Marjorie could not join.

“As soon as we get more girls into the troop,” announced Captain Phillips, “we will give a play, to earn enough money to pay for our camping trip this summer.”

The girls were so interested that Miss Phillips was forced to go into details about the plans; they talked such a long time that it was necessary to adjourn without the customary games.

Marjorie’s evening had been spent in her own room, studying Latin. Although the test was not to be held until the following Tuesday, she felt that she had not a minute to lose. The hardest part to her was, of course, the English into Latin—“prose composition,” Miss White, the teacher, called it. It was in this that she had failed before; therefore, she directed all her effort to mastering it. There was not one construction of which she felt uncertain; she did not see how she could fail.

Just as she was gathering her books into a neat pile for the night, the door opened and Lily came in. She was full of the plans for the hike, the play, and the camp; and she poured her news into Marjorie’s eager ears.

When she stopped a moment for breath, the other girl exclaimed, “I simply must make it! I’d love to be in the play, and go camping! Just think of the fun! Of course, Miss Phillips will go with you this summer?”

“Certainly!” replied Lily. “Oh, Marj, you’ll surely be a Girl Scout before then. But keep on studying,” she urged.

When Marjorie laid her paper on Miss White’s desk on Tuesday, she felt that she had done exceedingly well in the examination. She had thought out each construction and had written carefully; she had gone over her paper twice to make sure that there were no corrections or omissions; and she was the next to last girl to leave the room.

Ruth Henry was the last girl to turn in her paper. This was not because she was slow or uncertain of her work, for she was an excellent Latin student; but she usually remained to walk over to the dormitory with Miss White, with whom she was a great favorite.

Just as she rose from her seat to hand in her paper, a messenger entered from the office.

“Miss White, here is a telegram for you,” she said, handing her a yellow envelope.

Ruth stood still, and the messenger withdrew. As Miss White read the telegram, her face grew pale.

“What is it, Miss White? Oh, I hope nothing is wrong?” said Ruth.

“My mother’s very ill—I must go home immediately.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” asked Ruth impulsively.

Miss White hesitated a moment. “Yes, dear, thank you—straighten up this room and my desk; put the papers in a neat pile in the bottom drawer; then lock it and bring me the key. And you can carry my suitcase to the station, if you wish.”

“Yes, indeed. Please don’t worry, Miss White—surely she’ll get better!”

Miss White smiled sadly, and handed Ruth the key. “You are a dear, good girl, Ruth,” she said, as she opened the door.

Ruth began to straighten the papers, which the girls had piled one by one on top of the teacher’s desk. As she picked them up, one from the top of the pile fell to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. It was Marjorie Wilkinson’s!

Suddenly, Ruth thought of the other girl’s house-party, and the dance which she had witnessed through the lighted windows; she remembered Marjorie’s indifference during the days that followed her pledging to the sorority; and heard Lily exclaim over again that if her room-mate made 90% in this Latin test, she would be a Girl Scout.

This was the opportunity she had been waiting for; if she had schemed and planned for it, it could not have been more perfect. If she let this chance go by, she would probably never have another like it. She would pay Marjorie back for what she had done in the past.

Taking a pen, and dipping it in Miss White’s inkwell, she turned to the questions marked “English into Latin.” With her knowledge, it was a simple matter to make little changes—adding letters here and there at the ends of words to make the gender, number, tense, or case of the word out of harmony with the rest of the sentence.

Once she thought she heard a sound at the door; she quickly dropped her pen, and pretended to straighten the papers. But no one came in, and she finished her work of deceit. To the casual observer, Marjorie’s paper looked no different; but to the Latin student, it proved to be like the poor twisted poem of “Father William” in “Alice in Wonderland,” “wrong from beginning to end.”

While she was locking Miss White’s desk, the risk of her act occurred to her. What if the teacher should decide to return the papers to the girls, contrary to her usual custom? What if Marjorie should not be satisfied with her mark, and should ask Miss White to go over the paper with her?

But it was too late now to think of the danger; the deed was done, and she must take the consequences.

She decided on the whole that she would stand less chance of detection if the teacher took the papers home with her to mark. Accordingly, she unlocked the desk again and took out the pile, and, leaving everything in good order, went over to Miss White’s room.

“I brought the test papers over to you, Miss White, instead of leaving them in your desk, because I thought you would want to take them home and mark them there, so you could mail the averages to Miss Allen before the term closes.”

“Thank you, Ruth, you are so thoughtful. Here—I will put them in my suitcase,” she said, taking them from the girl.

“Now I think I’m ready,” she concluded. “Here is a sweater for you to wear to the station—and I guess your hands won’t get lost in these gloves.”

Ruth put on the borrowed clothing, and picked up the suitcase.

After she came back from the station, she began to dress for dinner, but said nothing to Ethel of the incident, lest in some way it might throw suspicion on her.

All the rest of the week Marjorie felt the satisfaction of a person whose task was well done. She looked eagerly forward to Monday when her success would be announced, and the troop would claim her as a candidate. She knew her Tenderfoot test already, and she thought constantly of possible ways to earn money for her uniform.

The Friday evening before the term closed, ΦΑΒ girls met for the last time. Two Juniors who had been chosen for the gym team, and who were practically sure of making the Girl Scout troop, resigned; and with only six members left, the sorority had to disband.

As Marjorie sat alone in her room that evening while Lily attended the Scout meeting, she occupied herself by writing a long letter home. And in this letter, she told her mother to expect a splendid report from the school—with a mark in Latin that she would be proud of. “And I think,” she concluded, “that this is the last Friday evening I shall have to spend in my room alone—for by this time next week, I hope to be a Girl Scout!”

CHAPTER XVI

A WINTER HIKE

IT was indeed an attractive group of girls who met on Saturday morning, dressed in their new Scout uniforms, with their packs strapped to their backs. Perhaps they felt a trifle self-conscious, but they had no need to be ashamed of their appearance, for their suits could not have fitted them more neatly if they had been made by a fashionable dressmaker.

As soon as they left the building, they formed in a line—two abreast—and swung along in step. Miss Phillips told them that when they left the village and struck the open country, they might sing as they marched.

“And that reminds me,” she said, “I want some Scout songs of our very own, and I happened to mention the matter to Miss Allen, and she offered a canteen as a prize for the best song submitted before June first. So get to work, girls. You needn’t attempt to write the music—unless you want to—but take some familiar tune and make up new words.”

The day was clear and just cold enough to make the walk bracing. The girls had gone to bed early the night before, and were in perfect trim for the hike. And they were very happy. They would be glad to welcome the new girls the following week, and make them their “Scout sisters”; but for the present they were content to enjoy this last intimate little adventure alone.

Miss Phillips had secured copies of the Nature Calendar of the Buffalo Society of Natural Sciences; and the girls had made a list of some of the February birds to look for. They had noted the characteristics of the hemlock, the spruce, and the red and white cedars, and were anxious to put their knowledge to a test.

Ruth and Ethel had been given two dollars from the treasury, with the instructions to purchase wholesome food. “We shall have our first lesson in out-door cooking,” Miss Phillips had said, “so be sure to buy something that we can cook over a camp fire. But don’t get anything like raw beans,” she had laughingly instructed them, “for they require twelve hours’ baking, and we don’t expect to make it an overnight hike this time!”

So Ruth and Ethel had done their purchasing, and had wrapped their articles into eight packages; they gave each girl a bundle to carry, but refused to tell what they had bought. And, of course, everybody tried to find out by feeling her package, but in most cases this failed to reveal the identity of the contents.

After ten minutes’ walk, the Scouts had left the town, and struck the woods. Miss Phillips blew a series of short whistles and called the girls together for instructions.

“We are going to lay a trail,” she said. “Frances, Ethel, Dorothy, and Ruth are to go ahead, and put down the signals; the rest of us will wait here ten minutes and then follow.

“Lay your trail until you come to a good place to make a fire and eat lunch. Choose a spot somewhere near good water, and be sure that you are well protected from the wind. If you can find a flat rock, so much the better; but be sure that the ground is dry.”

“I’ve never eaten around a camp fire,” said Lily. “It’s going to be such fun!”

“How will we know what signals to lay?” asked Ruth.

“I am going to tell you some of the simple ones: perhaps we shall learn those more difficult later on from the Boy Scouts. Has anybody a pen-knife?”

“I have, Captain,” said Marian, producing one.

“Will you lend it to Ethel? Now, Ethel, you can blaze a trail by cutting off a piece of bark from a tree along a path which you are following.

“But that is not to be the only signal. You can break a twig, and leave it hanging, or you can set a small stone on top of a larger one to mark the trail.

“Now for the turns—if you want us to follow the path to the right, put a long mark on the right of the tree trunk beneath the blaze; or bend your twig out straight to the right; or when you put your little stone on top of your big one, place another small stone beside them to the right—and, of course, vice versa for the left. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” cried the girls.

“One thing more—has everybody matches in her knapsack?”

Fortunately everybody did have, for Miss Phillips had especially warned the girls to be provided with them.

“Now,” she continued, “I want you to try to keep together; and always remember this: no fewer than two girls must travel together in the woods; but if anything ever should happen to separate one of you from your companions, and you find that you are lost, select a high, open spot and make two fires—carefully piling on lots of leaves and grass to make smoke; for Girl Scouts have adopted the signal that two smokes arising together mean ‘I am lost—help.’

“Now run along, girls, before you get cold!”

While the remaining girls—Edith, Marian, Lily, and Helen waited the ten minutes, Miss Phillips instituted a game to keep them from becoming cold.

When the time was up, they started off, looking carefully for signals of the trail. Miss Phillips told them to call out when they discovered a trail and instructed each girl to keep count of the signs she discovered first. Once or twice, everybody missed a mark, and went straight ahead; then, failing to see any evidences of the trail, they all turned back and discovered they had missed the turn.

Finally Dorothy spied a smoke in the distance. “Can that be our girls?” she asked.

“I guess so,” replied Miss Phillips. “One smoke means ‘We are camping here.’”

The girls ran as fast as they could, and soon reached the spot. Ethel had spread the big blanket on the ground, and the other girls had succeeded in starting a good fire. Ruth had filled her canteen from a spring not far distant, and offered the girls water. Frances was trying to fasten branches into the ground from which to suspend the kettle for hot water.

“It’s pretty hard to dig a deep enough hole without a spade, Frances,” said Miss Phillips, after she had laid down her pack. “Let your fire die down a little, and put two green logs on each side of it; then we can set the kettle across them right over the fire.”

She turned to Ruth. “Now what have you for lunch?” she inquired.

“Doggies, rolls, cocoa (we have that in the thermos bottle), and baked beans; and a surprise for dessert!”

“Baked beans!” exclaimed Lily, “what did Captain tell you?”

“Oh, they’re not that kind,” laughingly explained Ethel; “they’re all cooked—by Mr. Heinz; we only have to heat them!”

The girls dropped the can in the hot water in the kettle, and each proceeded to get a stick on which to toast the sausages. Soon they were eating hungrily.

“Tell us how you liked our trail,” said Ruth.

“It was great!” said Miss Phillips. “By the way—who found the most signs?”

“I believe Edith did, didn’t you?” asked Dorothy.

“Well, I found eight; did anybody get more than that?”

No one had; and Edith was congratulated.

“Now guess, girls, what we’ve got for dessert?”

“Apples?”

“No—better than that!”

“Cake?”

“No—still better!”

“Pie?”

“Yes!”

“What kind?”

“Hot mince pie! We covered it up, and put it among the coals. But you’ve got to eat it with your fingers.”

“That’s easy!” exclaimed Dorothy, as Ethel handed two pies to Miss Phillips to cut with Marian’s pen-knife.

“Ruth, you and Ethel are certainly dandies,” said Helen; “but do tell us how you ever got all this wonderful feed for two dollars!”

“Well, we didn’t,” replied Ruth. “Mother sent me the pies this morning.”

“And that accounts for the reason they are so good!” exclaimed Lily. “I thought you couldn’t get pies like these at the village bakery.”

“Girls,” suggested Frances, “let’s write Mrs. Henry a note of thanks when we get back to school, and all sign it.”

“Now Captain,” said Marian, after they had finished eating, “do tell us about some of your plans for the troop.”

“Yes, do!” the others urged.

“Well, next Friday we admit our new members. From then until spring vacation, we will practice for our play and work for the second class test. During spring vacation, we are to go to a big party at the Boy Scout cabin.”

“How perfect!” exclaimed Ruth enthusiastically.

“After vacation,” the Captain continued, “we will give our play and study for merit badge examinations, and take some hikes—maybe one over-night hike—learning about trees and flowers. And, if any of you girls want to go out for the Pioneer badge, the Boy Scouts said they would show us how to build a cabin.”

“It would be wonderful to have our own cabin!” said Ethel.

“And, of course, you know, after that comes vacation and our week of camping. But nobody can go camping who is not at least a second-class scout.”

“Oh, it’s all so exciting!” exclaimed Ruth. “I’m so glad I’m a Girl Scout!”

“I’d be perfectly happy if Marjorie were in it, too!” sighed Lily.

“Perhaps she will be soon,” said Frances, encouragingly. “Let’s hope so!”

Ruth blushed self-consciously at this remark, but no one noticed her embarrassment. She hastily changed the subject. “Tell us a story, Captain,” she suggested.

“What kind of story would you like?” asked Miss Phillips.

“Oh, one about the out-of-doors,” answered Ruth.

“Well, we mustn’t sit here long—the fire is beginning to die; but I’ll tell you a story of Ernest Thompson Seton’s—it’s in his book called ‘Two Little Savages,’ a boy’s book, but one which I think you girls would enjoy.

“This story is about an Indian squaw, who was taken prisoner by some tribe way up north. They marched her five hundred miles away, but one night she escaped and set out, not on the home trail, for she knew they would follow that way and kill her, but to one side. She didn’t know the country and got lost. She had no weapons but a knife, and no food but berries.

“She went as fast as she could for several days till a rainstorm came, and then she felt safe, because she knew her enemies could not trail her now. But winter was approaching, and she could not get home before it came. So she set to work right where she was.

“Can you girls imagine yourselves in such a position? All alone in the woods—no shelter, no food, no extra clothing, and the cold weather coming on fast?”

Frances shuddered. “I guess most of us would soon give up and die!” she said.

“We probably would—though maybe not after we have learned the principles of Scouting.

“Well, anyway, she made a Wigwam of birch bark and a fire by rubbing sticks together, as you saw two of the Boy Scouts do, only she used the lace of her moccasin for a bow-string. She made snares of the inner bark of the willow and of spruce roots, and deadfalls, too, for rabbits. She was starving sometimes, at first, but she ate the buds and inner bark of birch trees till she found a place where there were lots of rabbits. And when she caught some she used every scrap of them. She made a fishing-line of the sinews, and hook of the bones and teeth lashed together with sinew and spruce gum.

“She made a cloak of rabbit skins, sewed with needles of rabbit bone and thread of rabbit sinew, and a lot of dishes of birch bark sewed with spruce roots.

“She spent the whole winter there alone, and when the spring came she was found by Samuel Hearne, the great traveler. Her precious knife was worn down, but she was fat, and happy, and ready to set out for her own people.”

“And is that a true story?” asked Ruth, after a silence of a minute or two.

“Yes,” replied Miss Phillips, “wasn’t she wonderful?”

The girls thanked their Captain for the interesting tale and Frances led in the Scout yell.

They sang one or two of their favorite songs, as they put out the fire, and buried the tin cans and refuse they could not burn. Miss Phillips congratulated them on the appearance of the spot. “A Scout leaves the place in perfect order after she has camped there,” she said approvingly.

It was a happy, weary crowd that trudged into school that night. But after they had bathed and dressed for dinner they felt better, though, as Lily remarked, “glad that the next day was Sunday.”

“And the day after is Monday,” said Marjorie, excitedly—“and we’ll know our marks!”

CHAPTER XVII

MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT

MORNING exercises at Miss Allen’s always began with the singing of a hymn, followed by reading from the Bible by one of the teachers. No matter what events were to come after, this custom was never altered.

Once in two months the students received their reports with due formality when everyone was in the assembly room. Miss Allen’s secretary carried the pile of white envelopes on to the platform; and, after the religious exercises were concluded, the Principal read the names of the girls in the order of their averages, and they came forward to receive the reports.

Up to this time, Marjorie had never been particularly interested in the ceremony. She always wanted to pass, but she rather regarded those girls whose marks ranged from eighty to ninety per cent as a little “queer”; they must be abnormal if they were more interested in mathematics and Latin than in hockey and cocoa-parties.

But this Monday morning after the Latin test, she felt that she had never cared about anything so much before as she cared for her term average. She was so nervous that she could have cried out while the girls droned through four stanzas of the hymn the music teacher had selected. She glanced apprehensively at the secretary, but failed to see the usual pile of white envelopes on the chair beside her; then resolutely putting her doubts aside, she attempted to join in the singing.

Finally it was over; Miss Allen rose and walked to the front of the platform. But, contrary to her usual custom, the secretary kept her seat. Something was wrong; Marjorie sensed it even before Miss Allen began to explain.

“Girls,” she said slowly, fingering her watch-chain, “I am very sorry to say that you will not receive your marks until to-morrow. We received Miss White’s list of Latin test averages only to-day; so, even though Miss Smith will work on them all day in the office, we can’t have them ready before late this afternoon. But as soon as she has them made up, she will give the list of girls eligible for the Scout troop to Miss Phillips, and perhaps we can announce the new candidates at dinner to-night. But you may come to assembly to-morrow prepared to receive your reports.”

When Miss Allen stopped speaking, Marjorie discovered that she was literally shaking all over. “Why, I never cared half so much about making the sorority,” she said to herself. “I wonder if Ruth felt that way over it—and Lily, too! Poor girls! I wish I had been more sympathetic. But I didn’t understand.”

No day ever seemed so long to Marjorie; but it went all too quickly for Ruth, who was glad to have the moment postponed when Marjorie learned of her disappointment. Once or twice she was inclined to regret her action, and her conscience told her that she had broken the Scout’s first law—that “her honor is to be trusted;” but she always succeeded in justifying herself by thinking: “Marjorie was glad I didn’t make the sorority, and probably would have done the same thing to me if it had been necessary!” She remembered the house-party, and the dance, and Marjorie’s indifference during the past months; and she gritted her teeth, and said she was glad for what she had done.

She tried to avoid Marjorie, but as so often happens, she met both Lily and Marjorie in the pool. Miss Phillips was sitting on the bench, superintending the hour.

“In about a month,” said Miss Phillips to the girls at the deep end, “after spring vacation, basket-ball season starts. And then we play Miss Martin’s school; and if you girls don’t beat them this time—I believe I’ll resign!”

Ruth was sitting on the edge of the diving-board, dangling her feet; and Lily and Marjorie were making attempts to tread water, but every few minutes they reached for the side-rail. All the while they were listening to Miss Phillips.

Marjorie looked frightened. “Oh, don’t do that, Miss Phillips—why, we’d do anything to prevent that! I do believe the whole school’d turn out every day to practice, if they thought that would prevent you from leaving!”

“Thanks for the compliment,” said Miss Phillips. “But I really do think the girls have a different spirit now from last fall—not about me, but athletics and lessons; and it’s all because we have substituted a splendid, democratic, American organization for that sickly, snobbish, thing that used to exist—I mean ΦΑΒ—to take the girls’ hearts, and their time and their money, and give them nothing in return!”

“In other words,” said Ruth, proudly, “thanks to me!”

“Yes, thanks to you, Ruth, and to Miss Allen, and to Mrs. Juliette Lowe—the founder of the Girl Scouts!”

Noticing that Marjorie had seemed somewhat embarrassed at her arraignment of the sorority, and was swimming off in the opposite direction, Miss Phillips added hastily:

“And we’re all hoping, Marjorie dear, that by this time to-morrow night you’ll be among the candidates. I’m only waiting for the list now.”

Marjorie flushed with pleasure. It was something to be called “dear” by Miss Phillips even if she never made the troop.

“Marjorie’s going to make it,” said Lily. “Why, with the way she’s studied, she couldn’t help it.”

Before the teacher could say anything further, a messenger from the office entered and handed her an envelope. Glancing hastily at its contents, she rose, and issued the command: “All out of the pool!” and stood until the girls had filed out; then she extinguished the light, and went into her office.

“And in five minutes she will know my fate,” whispered Marjorie to Lily, as the girls opened their lockers.

Everybody was in high spirits at dinner that evening; the girls were happy with expectation. And this feeling was greatly increased when Miss White entered in the middle of the meal with her coat and hat on, and showed plainly by her happy smile that everything was right at home.

It was indeed a fitting time for Miss Allen to inform the lucky candidates of their election to the Girl Scout troop.

“Before I announce the names of the new candidates,” she said, “let me tell you that Miss Martin’s school is watching our Girl Scout troop carefully, and from our success will decide whether or not to start one of their own next year! It is a big responsibility, girls! I would like every student in my school to be a scout, if she would try to live up to the pledge and laws; but at the same time, I want to keep the standard very high. So we are going slowly.

“I am glad to announce to-night that eight girls—another whole patrol—have qualified; and as I read the names I would like the girls to stand.

“Senior—Lucy Graham.

“Juniors—Elsie Lorimer, Emily Rankin, Mary Ridgeway.

“Sophomores—Vivien VanSciver, Ada Mearns.

“Freshmen—Anna Cane, Doris Sands.”

Everybody clapped except Marjorie. She sat perfectly still. The room seemed to go around and around; and she thought she was going to faint.

The girls all got up and pressed over to their friends to congratulate them. Somehow Marjorie realized that she should not sit any longer, and she stood up. But in a second Lily was by her side, her arm linked in hers.

“Come on out,” she said. “Don’t worry, Marj—surely there has been a mistake! Wait till you get your report.”

She literally led Marjorie to their room. When they reached it, and Lily had closed the door, the unhappy girl threw herself on her cot, weeping. Lily was unable to console her.

“It’s no use,” sobbed Marjorie. “I have failed in my Latin. I guess I tried too hard; I must have been nervous, and put down the wrong things.” She hid her face in the pillow.

In a few minutes, a knock sounded at the door, and Lily opened it, preparing to say that Marjorie had a headache, and to ask the guest to call again. But it was Miss Phillips.

“Come in,” said Lily quietly. Approaching her room-mate’s cot, she leaned over and said, “It’s Miss Phillips, Marjorie, to see you. Please excuse me,” she added discreetly, “I must go to the library.”

The next half-hour was one of those short but important times that always stood out in Marjorie’s memory. Miss Phillips sat down beside her, and taking her hand, told her it was not a mistake—that her Latin mark was so low that she had all but failed. And then she related an instance in her own life, when she had wanted so much to succeed in an undertaking—it was the passing of a physical training exam;—she had failed, and her money had given out; she had been forced to give up her plans and go to work in an office.

“But it was my Sunday-School teacher,” she said, “who made me hold on to my ideal, and succeed at last; and I guess I was better equipped in the end.”

Marjorie seemed calmer now, so Miss Phillips continued in her soft voice:

“I shall never forget that poem of Edwin Markam’s—do you know his work, Marjorie?—that my teacher read to me at the time:

“‘Defeat may serve as well as victory

To shake the soul and let the glory out.

When the great oak is straining in the wind,

The boughs drink in new beauty, and the trunk

Sends down a deeper root on the windward side.

Only the soul that knows the mighty grief

Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come

To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy.’

“And I believe sometimes that defeat is just the thing we need.”

Miss Phillips talked a long time with Marjorie, and held before her a new race to pursue; so that when Lily came back from the library and the teacher rose to go, Marjorie seemed quite happy, and promised to try again.

The next day she received her report with sixty-six in Latin; but she never saw her paper, for Miss White had burned it with the others after she had copied the marks and sent them to Miss Allen.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SECOND-CLASS TEST

THE new Scout candidates soon passed their Tenderfoot test, and registered at National Headquarters as regular members of Pansy troop. Lucy Graham, the senior, was elected patrol leader of the new patrol, and Doris Sands received the office of corporal.

The last meeting before spring vacation was held. After the usual preliminary business had been concluded, Captain Phillips said that she had several interesting announcements to make.

“To-morrow,” she said, “instead of our usual outing, we are going down in the village to Mrs. Burd’s house to cook our own supper. You know every girl has to cook something satisfactorily as a part of her second-class test; and I wasn’t quite sure how to give you the opportunity, when my friend Mrs. Burd came to the rescue, and offered us her kitchen for to-morrow night, while she and the rest of her family are away.

“Now,” she continued, after the girls had discussed her proposition for several minutes, “I have something to tell you that I know will interest you all. I have chosen the play we are going to give after spring vacation!”

“Oh, what is it?” cried Ruth informally, forgetting the usual ceremony of address.

But Miss Phillips did not notice the departure from discipline. Perhaps too, she was too much interested in her subject to be aware of it.

“‘Everygirl,’” she replied, holding up a copy of the play. “I think you are going to like it; and if you do well with it, it will surely bring credit to the whole school!”

She opened the pamphlet she was holding, and read off a list of symbolic characters. “Of course the play is an allegory; ‘Everygirl’ just represents any girl, who meets with good and evil, and who has to choose her companions and her course through life. There are a good many parts to the play, so I hope you will all be able to be in it. Of course, the main part is that of Everygirl, the heroine.”

“Captain,” said Frances, rising and saluting, “please tell me how you are going to select the girls for the parts, and whether we shall be able to study them over spring vacation.”

“I am going to select the characters at a try-out to-morrow afternoon; so will everybody please come to the Gym right after lunch?”

“I used to be in plays at home,” remarked Ruth. “I suppose that will help, won’t it?”

“We’ll see to-morrow,” replied Miss Phillips. “Now, one thing more before we take our second-class tests: I want to arrange about our cabin party with the Boy Scouts. School reopens April fifteenth, which is on Wednesday; so all the Girl Scouts are to come back here on Tuesday morning. Get here before twelve o’clock. The housekeeper, Mrs. Rock, is going to give us a light lunch, and we are to change into our scout uniforms, take a trolley to Bear’s Hill and hike to the cabin. Each girl is to bring her own mess-kit, and wear warm clothes; the Boy Scouts prepare the rest.”

Ruth’s eyes danced. “How many Boy Scouts are there?” she asked.

“I think they have a full troop—four patrols—thirty-two boys—but they are going to take only the sixteen with the highest standing. Their Scoutmaster, Mr. Remington, told me all the boys were crazy to go; but he didn’t want their numbers to overwhelm us. Now, girls, unless there are some important questions, we will not talk about these things any longer, but will prepare to take the written part of the second-class test. And before I forget it, will you bring your samples of sewing, crocheting, and knitting over to the Gym to-morrow afternoon for me to examine. Then after supper to-morrow night, I ought to be able to announce the names of the girls who have passed the test.”

Ethel arose excitedly. “Captain,” she said, “the handbook says we need submit either knitting or crocheting; so we don’t have to bring both, do we?”

“Scout Todd,” answered Miss Phillips, “if you remember correctly, I announced several months ago, that no girl in Pansy troop could become a second-class scout without submitting samples of both knitting and crocheting. You all know our standards are very high, and Miss Allen and I both agreed that in all the cases where the handbook gave a choice of two alternatives, we would require both. It is entirely fair, because it is the same for everybody. Do you understand?”

Ruth sat perfectly still; but she saw her hopes of wearing the green clover badge home at vacation fading, for though she knit splendidly, she had never done a stitch of crocheting in her life.

Miss Phillips distributed the paper, and the girls gave their attention to the written part of the test.

As they were getting ready for lunch the next day, Ethel asked Ruth whether she could crochet.

“Yes,” replied Ruth, after a slight hesitation.

“And have you something ready to take this afternoon?”

Ruth opened her drawer, and took out a square of filet. “I haven’t done much of it, but I guess it’s enough to show Captain Phillips what I can do!”

“How pretty,” said Ethel admiringly. “Oh, Ruth, couldn’t you teach me; I do so want to get that second-class badge!”

“I’d love to,” replied Ruth; “but I can’t before to-night, because it’s pretty hard to learn, and I want to practice for the play. I think I stand some chance of getting the heroine’s part, if I read it over several times. But I wouldn’t if Marj Wilkinson were in the troop. She’s a peach at dramatics!”

Ethel was disappointed, but decided to wait until spring vacation to learn. She was not, however, the only girl to fail to win the second-class badge for this reason. When the scouts met a few hours later in the Gym, it transpired that Ruth and two others were the only ones to produce samples of their work.

“May I have my crocheting back as soon as you have inspected it, Captain?” asked Ruth. “I want to work on it.”

“Certainly,” replied Miss Phillips, “you can have it now, for that matter.”

The try-outs for the play lasted all afternoon; after each girl read a number of different parts, Miss Phillips excused them; but most of the girls preferred to wait to hear the results of the Captain’s decisions. Finally, a little before five o’clock, she read the characters as she had selected them, and Ruth was disappointed to hear that Helen Stewart was awarded the part of “Everygirl.” Her companions crowded around her with congratulations; and Ruth, who had resolutely put her own feelings aside, remembering that “a scout is cheerful,” was among them.

In less than half an hour’s time, the girls re-assembled to accompany Miss Phillips to Mrs. Burd’s home. They found it charming, just the sort of house a girl dreams of having some day—with everything bright, and shining, and new. The kitchen was small, but several of the girls took their work into the shed or the dining-room, so that all of the sixteen scouts were never in it at once.

Miss Phillips had very cleverly prepared a menu that required many extras; there was soup, two vegetables, cream sauce and gravy, salad, salad-dressing, muffins, cocoa, and dessert; so that all the girls had the opportunity to show their skill in cooking. Miss Phillips directed the work, which was fortunate for such inexperienced cooks, and everything turned out splendidly. The dinner was a great success.

As soon as the soup was on the table, the girls took off their aprons and sat down; each course was served by the girls who had prepared it. The appetizing smell of the food, and the excitement of the experiment, made them all hungry; they laughed and chatted gaily as they ate, their flushed faces testifying the joy of their success.

When dessert had been served, Miss Phillips said, “I certainly want to congratulate you all on your splendid dinner. I can see already that no man who marries a Girl Scout of Pansy troop ever need worry about his future happiness.”

The girls laughed, and Ethel looked significantly at Doris, as if to indicate that she would probably be the first to have the chance to prove this fact.

“I wish I could pass you all on every part of your second-class test,” continued Miss Phillips, “as easily as I can on your cooking. But unfortunately, I can award only three green clovers to-night: to Helen Stewart, Ruth Henry, and Doris Sands!”

She paused while the girls clapped. Producing three badges from the pocket of her uniform, she requested the three girls to stand up.

“We will have the formal ceremony the first Friday after spring vacation; but I know that you girls are anxious to wear your badges at the cabin party, so I am going to give them to you now. Sew them on your left sleeve,” she concluded.

After the dishes had been cleared away, and the dining-room and kitchen made spotless, the girls sang some songs around the piano in the living-room, and then proceeded to get ready to go back to the school.

“The plays will be here by Monday,” said Miss Phillips, as she bade the girls good night. “Be sure to get your copies to take home with you.”

The next morning Ruth told Ethel that she had a headache, and intended to ask for permission to stay away from church.

“Too much party, I guess,” said Ethel, as she put on her hat. “You better lie down till noon!”

But it was not the result of the party that was keeping Ruth at home; she had an important errand to perform, for which she needed the desertion of Sunday morning.

She waited until all was quiet in the hall; then taking a small article out of her bureau drawer, she walked quickly over to Marjorie’s room. She was so sure that the latter would be at church, that she opened the door without knocking. To her great surprise, Marjorie suddenly sat up in bed.

“Hullo, Ruth!” she exclaimed. “What time is it? I guess I must have overslept! Lily went over to stay all night with Helen Stewart, so I hadn’t anybody to waken me.”

Ruth was extremely taken back by Marjorie’s presence, but concealed her embarrassment, and took advantage of the other girl’s sleepiness to drop, unnoticed, the article she held in her hand behind one of the pillows on Lily’s cot.

“It’s after eleven o’clock! You’ll never make church now!” she said.

“Eleven o’clock!” cried Marjorie, jumping out of bed. “Oh, my goodness, another unexcused absence!”

“Marj,” said Ruth slowly, “can I borrow your ‘Tales from Shakespeare’? I got permission to stay home for a headache; but I’m better now, and I want to look up something.”

“Surely—it’s down on the bottom shelf. You don’t mind if I hurry?”

“No, indeed; I have to go anyhow. Good luck to you! Good-bye!”

When Marjorie and Lily returned together from church at noon, the first thing that struck Lily’s eye after she sat down on her cot was Marjorie’s lost crocheting.

“Here’s your square of filet, Marj!” she exclaimed, picking up the piece. “It was behind the pillow! I wonder how long it’s been there—and we never saw it!”

“But I did look there, before,” protested Marjorie. “Anyway,” she added, putting it into her work bag, “I’m glad to have it to take home with me.”

CHAPTER XIX

THE BOY SCOUTS ENTERTAIN

WHEN the girls were ready to take the train which was to carry them home for the spring holidays, it was Ruth who desired to avoid Marjorie’s company. But she was not so successful as the latter had been on their last journey; probably this was due to the fact that she was not foresighted enough to secure an early dismissal.

The girls boarded the train together; but Marjorie sat with Lily as far as the Junction. When, however, the time to change trains arrived, Ruth found herself alone on the station platform with Marjorie. There was nothing to do but be sociable; besides, Marjorie must not suspect that anything had happened in their relationship to alter their friendliness.

The coach they entered was comparatively empty; Marjorie chose a seat by the window, and Ruth sat down beside her.

“I believe I’ll do my crocheting,” said Marjorie, opening her velvet hand-bag, and taking out a square of filet that was all too familiar to Ruth. “I lost it last week behind Lily’s cot, and I haven’t done nearly so much as I wanted to. I’m making a camisole top for Miss Phillips for her birthday; do you think she’ll like it?”

Ruth’s face became scarlet. Fortunately for her, the other girl was too busy with her work to notice. She leaned over, and pretended to button her spat.

“Yes, it’s lovely, Marj,” she replied. “When is her birthday?”

“It’s the sixteenth of April; I want to give it to her the day we get back. Would you buy the silk and make it up, or give it to her just as it is?”

The girls discussed the matter, and Ruth suggested a way of making it.

“If I come over next week,” asked Ruth, “will you show me that pattern? I’d like to make it for mother.”

“Certainly; I never knew you could crochet till Lily told me you and Helen and Doris were the only ones in the troop who won their second-class badges on that account.”

“Yes,” said Ruth, quite composed by now, “I learned the last time I was home. You see I didn’t have any house-party to keep me busy, so I thought I might as well do something useful!”

The conversation drifted to swimming, and basket-ball, and finally to the Girl Scout troop. Ruth could not refrain from telling Marjorie all about the good times that were in store for her.

“But maybe you’ll be a scout before the play comes off, Marj,” she suggested.

“How many more times do you think the troop will take in new members this year?”

“Only once, I guess—but then I’m not sure. But of course nobody can go camping who isn’t at least a second-class scout.”

“Don’t worry about that! If I ever get in, I won’t stop till I’m a first-class scout!” said Marjorie emphatically.

“It would be fun to race to see who won it first, if you were only in the troop,” observed Ruth.

Marjorie folded up her crocheting and looked dismally out of the window. “Sometimes I think I’ll never make it; I don’t know how to work any harder than I did for that last Latin test.”

“Oh, I guess you must have been nervous. I’ll bet you know as much as I do now about prose composition. But you simply lost your head.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Be a sport, and try again—get Jack to help you; he ought to be able to, he’s a year ahead of you.”

“Here we are at last!” cried Marjorie, jumping up and reaching for her bag. “And here are our families to meet us!”

Mrs. Wilkinson was obviously glad to see the girls together again; and Mrs. Henry tried to conceal the feeling of pride she experienced at the thought of her own daughter’s success compared with the other girl’s failure.

“A good deal has happened since Christmas, hasn’t it, Marjorie?” said Mrs. Wilkinson, after they were comfortably seated in the machine.

“Yes,” answered Marjorie, “I’m no longer a sorority girl.”

“So I understand—but are you a Girl Scout?”

“Not yet; my Latin——”

“Oh, yes, I know; you’ll surely be able to pull that up soon if——”

“Did Ruth make the troop?” interrupted Jack.

“Yes; she’s a second-class scout already.”

“Good for her!” said Jack. “I got my pin on Friday night,” he added proudly.

“Oh, Jack, I’m so glad! Did Roger make it, too?”

“Yes—we’re both in the troop now.”

“So is Doris,” laughed Marjorie.

The holidays passed rather quietly for Marjorie; she studied from a Latin book she had brought home with her, and worked on her crochet. True to her promise, Ruth came over to copy her pattern, and proved her ability in the new accomplishment.

Ruth and Jack discussed the party at the cabin; but Jack regretted that both he and Roger were too new to be included among the lucky participants.

It was with a very heavy heart that Marjorie watched Ruth pass her house the Tuesday before school re-opened, bound for the cabin party of the scouts. Jack rushed out to carry her suitcase to the station; and Marjorie wiped away a tear as she turned again to her Latin grammar.

The Girl Scouts met in the dining-room, and made a pretence at eating the lunch Mrs. Rock had provided. But they were all too impatient to get started to care to waste any unnecessary time; so after fifteen minutes had elapsed, Miss Phillips announced her intention of starting.

When the girls got off the trolley at the foot of Bear’s Hill, they found two of the Boy Scouts waiting for them. As they came forward, the girls of the first patrol identified them as David Conner and Russell Henderson.

After the usual ceremony of greeting, David said:

“Our boys have laid a trail for you to follow; if you don’t miss any of the signals, we ought to reach the cabin in fifteen minutes’ time!”

The girls were glad of their former experience in following a trail, and succeeded in discovering all the signs and keeping on the path indicated. Once or twice they found little notes of direction; but aside from these, the signals were identical with those Miss Phillips had taught them.

Part of the way, David walked with Ethel. “Isn’t Miss Wilkinson a scout yet?” he asked.

“No,” replied Ethel; “she lost out again!”

“Somebody’s going to be disappointed,” remarked David, beginning to whistle.

“Somebody else I know never gets left when there’s a girl around!” exclaimed a voice behind them, which David identified as Russell’s without looking around.

In a few minutes, the party came in sight of the cabin. Before they could distinguish it from the trees that surrounded it, they saw two red and white flags sending a message of “Welcome Girl Scouts!”

“Hadley’s on the job, as usual,” muttered Russell, as the girls who knew the code interpreted the message to the others.

The cabin was built of logs, and surrounded by tall trees. The brush had been cleared away, leaving an open space in front large enough for the scouts to build an oven, and to arrange an out-door eating place. The spring ran below the cabin.

The other boys who had visited Miss Allen’s came forward and greeted the girls, and introduced the rest of the scouts and Mr. Remington, the Scoutmaster. Several of the boys conducted their guests to the inside of the cabin, where they removed their heavier wraps.

The interior of the cabin, which had a stone fireplace and a wooden floor, was fixed up attractively with box furniture made by the boys themselves. Several shelves in one corner held the supplies.

“It’s lovely!” exclaimed Ethel enthusiastically, as she sat down on the bench in front of the fireplace.

“Where do you sleep?” asked Lily, with a puzzled look. “Surely sixteen boys couldn’t all find room on the floor!”

“We sleep in tents, when we stay here all night,” said John. “Except, of course, when a candidate is sent out here on probation; then he sleeps on that cot!”

Mr. Remington appeared at the doorway. “As soon as you get rested, we want to play some scout games,” he said.

All the scouts, except the squad who were preparing the dinner, played games until almost dusk; then a whistle signal sounded which John interpreted as “get ready for mess,” and the girls followed Miss Phillips to the stream to wash and make themselves presentable for supper.

The supper was a splendid one—much more pretentious than that which represented the girls’ usual idea of a camp mess. There was broiled steak, baked potatoes, baked beans, cocoa, rolls, and chocolate cake.

“I never knew boys could cook like this!” said Frances. “Why, it’s wonderful!”

The girls wanted to help clear things away, but their offer was refused. Two or three of the boys built up the fire, and in a few minutes everyone was grouped around it, singing and talking.

John Hadley came over and sat beside Doris.

“It’s too bad Roger couldn’t be here to-night,” he said, “but you see he’s one of the newer members of the troop. I daresay you’ll see him at the next party.”

Doris laughed gaily. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Hadley,” she said. “I’m having a wonderful time.”

But with her naturally sympathetic disposition, she was quick to realize that John was not so happy, and she tactfully turned the conversation in the direction in which he was interested—namely, to Marjorie. She explained as well as she could about Marjorie’s failure; but as she never had been able to understand it herself, she was not very successful in convincing John of the cause.

About eight o’clock, Mr. Remington called for “stunts,” and started by telling a funny story himself; Miss Phillips followed with a negro song in dialect; Ruth and Ethel gave a dialogue; and several of the boys performed gymnastic feats.

At nine o’clock, Miss Phillips reluctantly rose to go. She thanked the boys and invited them to the play. “And some day,” she added, “we want to entertain you.”

“Our boys wish to offer the Girl Scouts of Pansy troop the use of our cabin and its equipment for a week this summer,” said Mr. Remington, after he had acknowledged Miss Phillips’s invitations.

The girls all clapped; it seemed too wonderful to be true.

“The nicest time I ever had in my life!” said Lily, as they were riding home on the trolley. But she added the phrase which Ruth had come to hate: “If only Marjorie could have come along!”

CHAPTER XX

MARJORIE’S SUSPICIONS

WHEN the scouts reached the school, they found a number of the other girls back from their holidays. But the halls seemed strangely quiet and deserted; and when Lily reached her room, she was overcome by a feeling of loneliness.

“I wish Marjorie were here,” she thought. “I’d love to tell her all about the party, and John’s disappointment at not seeing her.”

And then she began to wonder how it would feel to have a boy really crazy about her; she had always been too fat and unattractive to make many friends among the opposite sex; and being an only child, without any brothers to introduce other boys to her, she always spent much of her holidays alone. And, for the first time in her life, she realized what she had missed; she felt that other girls were enjoying privileges that she had never known. She had scarcely spoken more than six words to any boy at the party, and yet she noticed Doris and Ruth chatting and laughing with almost all the boys as if they had known them all their lives. What was the secret? Marjorie must know; she had a brother—she would be able to tell her what interested them.

Marjorie did not return to the school until the next morning, just in time for opening assembly. Lily did not, therefore, have a chance to talk with her until lunch, and then she suddenly discovered that she was too shy, or perhaps too proud, to ask such a question.

“I thought you’d be back yesterday,” she said, as she was getting ready for lunch.

“I would have, only I knew all my friends would be away at the party,” said Marjorie. “Besides, I wanted to finish Miss Phillips’s camisole.”

“Oh, let me see it,” cried Lily. “When will you give it to her?”

“To-morrow morning, I guess, before breakfast, if I can catch her in time. I would like to wish her a happy birthday the very first thing!”

The girls linked arms, and went into the dining-room together, glad of the opportunity to talk with each other again. Ethel Todd, who sat at the same table with them, leaned towards Marjorie. Lowering her voice, and glancing in the direction of Miss Phillips’s table, she said:

“The scouts are going to give Miss Phillips a surprise party to-morrow night, in honor of her birthday; and, Marj, we want you in it, too. We got permission from Miss Allen. Meet at half-past eight in our room. You can bring a birthday present if you want, but you don’t have to. Then we’re all going over and sing a little song Frances wrote in her honor—a parody on ‘Perfect Day’—and go into her room with our presents and refreshments. Ruth and Doris are buying everything; the tax will be about a quarter apiece. You’re both in for it?”

“Yes, indeed!” answered Lily.

Marjorie hesitated. “I’d love to,” she said, “but it doesn’t seem exactly right. I’m not a Girl Scout!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ethel. “If there is anything that isn’t right about it, it’s that you aren’t a Girl Scout. I’d like to have seen that Latin paper! I’ll bet Miss White was all fussed about her mother being sick, and marked it wrong, or else got it mixed up with some other girl’s paper!”

“You know I have sometimes wondered about that myself,” said Marjorie. “And especially since I went over the past lessons during spring vacation. I can’t remember putting the wrong things down. But it is too late now, of course, even if there had been a mistake.”

“Why don’t you ask for another test?” asked Ethel.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that! I’ll just have to wait till the end of the year now.”

“And lose out on the camping trip!” exclaimed Lily resentfully. “It just doesn’t seem fair!”

“Well, go to the party anyway,” pleaded Ethel; “thank goodness, Latin can’t keep you away from that!”

The girls had difficulty in keeping their secret from Miss Phillips, but with a great deal of effort, they managed to do it. It was fortunate, however, that there was no scout meeting before the event, or somebody would have been sure to give the plan away. But, as it was, she was completely surprised.

She was sitting alone at her desk writing a letter, when, as the scouts had arranged, one of the maids knocked at her door and handed her a box. Miss Phillips wrinkled her brows. “Who sent it?” she asked.

“Some friends who would like to come in to see you,” she answered. “What shall I tell them?”

“I’ll be delighted, of course. Are they some of my girls?”

At this moment, the girls jumped out from around the corridor and rushed up to Miss Phillips, congratulating her and wishing her many happy returns of the day. While she untied the box, Ethel closed the door, and Frances led in the parody of the song, which the girls sang softly, but distinctly.

“Roses!” exclaimed Miss Phillips, lifting them out of the box. “My favorite flowers!”

After the girls had seated themselves, Miss Phillips was handed her presents. She received candy, gloves, handkerchiefs, and fancy collars. Noticing the particular package which Marjorie had given her, she left it till last to open.

“Just what I wanted!” she said, delighted, as she examined the camisole closely. “Did you do all that for me?”

Marjorie nodded, and Ruth began to look after the refreshments, in order to hide her embarrassment.

“That certainly is a pretty pattern,” continued Miss Phillips. “Why, I believe it is the same one Ruth has been making, isn’t it?”

Ruth flushed, but answered unconcernedly, “Yes, I am making a night-gown yoke for mother. Marjorie let me copy it.”

“Yes, I remember, that was the piece I examined for your second-class test.”

Marjorie opened her mouth in speechless amazement. What did all this mean? Ruth had only begun this pattern while she was at home for the holidays—and yet she had passed the test several days before she left! She glanced at Ruth, who was handing around the cake in a most indifferent manner. There must be some mistake—Miss Phillips must have forgotten.

After the girls had eaten, they sang once more the song to Miss Phillips, and went out quietly.

When Marjorie reached her room, she asked as casually as she could, “Do you remember when I first missed my crocheting, Lily?”

Lily tried to think. “It must have been Saturday before we went home, Marj; for you were doing it Friday night while we were at scout meeting. Why?”

“Oh, nothing—I just wondered. And you found it Sunday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, when we came home from church. Aren’t you glad, though? I think Miss Phillips liked your present best of all, Marj!”

“Thank you, Lily,” said Marjorie absently. But over and over in her mind she repeated:

“And a Girl Scout’s honor is to be trusted!”

CHAPTER XXI

THE BASKET-BALL GAME

IT is natural for the younger girls of a school to look up to those in the upper classes—for the freshmen to make one of the juniors or seniors her ideal; and it is likewise usual to find the younger girl admiring the older boys she happens to meet. Partly for this reason, perhaps, and partly because he was both genial and attractive, Ruth conceived a violent admiration for John Hadley. She had considered him the best-looking scout at the demonstration in January; now, after the party at the cabin, she admitted to herself that she was really “crazy about him.” True, she had not seen much of him at the party, for he sat beside Doris after the games were over; but she knew that Doris was pretty well smitten with Roger Harris, and did not allow the possibility of her interference to worry her. She had never heard Marjorie speak of him, and she had no idea that his interest lay in that direction.

She knew that this year was John’s last at the academy, so she planned to see more of him before it was too late.

“Why don’t you ask Jack to go over to Miss Martin’s to our basket-ball game with them, and take some of his friends?” asked Ruth of Marjorie, a week before the date for which the event was scheduled. “Miss Allen said the boys would be allowed to attend.”

“Oh, I don’t know; I’ve been too busy to think about it!”

Marjorie, because she was both tall and quick, had been chosen for the position of jumping-center on the school team. She had been going out regularly to the practices in the field (the girls at Miss Allen’s played out-door basket-ball), and she was in splendid trim for the game. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled while she played; had she been a vain girl, she would have realized that under no other circumstance could she appear so attractive.

“Go on—write to Jack!” pleaded Ruth. “Why, he’d love to see you play. Ask him to bring some of the other scouts!”

“But I wouldn’t be able to look after them! I’m in the game!”

“Of course—that’s why he ought to be allowed to come. I’ll entertain them, and ask Doris to help.”

“All right,” agreed Marjorie. “Who else shall I suggest?”

“Roger Harris, of course, for Doris, and anybody else. How about the senior patrol leader—what was his name?”

Marjorie blushed. “John Hadley?”

“Yes; why not?”

“All right; but I guess I’ll tell Jack to take whoever he wants.”

The game was scheduled for the second Saturday in May. All of the girls on the team, except Marjorie, were Girl Scouts—Ethel Todd and Edith Evans played forward, Ada Mearns and Dorothy Maxwell were the guards, and Frances Wright acted as side center. Incidentally, Marjorie was the only freshman on the team, although one other girl of her own class served as a substitute.

Jack accepted his sister’s suggestion gladly; he wrote that he would arrive at Miss Martin’s school with John and Roger immediately after lunch.

Marjorie took the letter to Ruth. “It’s your party,” she said. “I won’t even be able to meet them. Miss Phillips is going to take us over early to get a chance to try the field; and then Miss Martin’s team is giving us a special lunch in their gym.”

“All right,” agreed Ruth; “I’ll look after them. By the way, is there any girl Jack specially likes, so I could invite her to go with Doris and me?”

Marjorie laughed. “I think he always ‘specially liked’ you, Ruth!”

“No, I mean somebody else. He met some of the girls at your dance.”

Marjorie tried to think. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m afraid there isn’t, Ruth; ask whoever else you please to sit with you. All I know is, I can’t!”

Ruth decided to ask Evelyn Hopkins. The latter had not made the Girl Scout troop; and in fact she had been left out of almost everything lately. Ruth felt sorry for her, and hoped by this invitation to make up for neglecting her during the past month or two.

Miss Martin sent over the request that the Girl Scouts wear their uniforms. Ruth was somewhat annoyed at the idea. “Who wants to dress up in a hot khaki suit this time of year?” she complained. But Miss Phillips had issued the order, and all the scouts had to obey.

Ruth, Doris, and Evelyn got permission to leave the rest of the students while they went in search of the boys. They met them at the gate, and Ruth introduced Evelyn.

Ruth had tried to arrange matters so that Jack would walk with Evelyn, and Roger with Doris, so that John Hadley would be left to accompany her. But her plans went wrong. John immediately attached himself to Doris, who had started on with Roger, so Evelyn and Ruth were both forced to walk with Jack.

When the party reached the basket-ball field, Ruth decided to take matters in her own hands.

“Mr. Hadley,” she said, laughing, “I am afraid I shall have to scold you. Can’t you see that Roger and Doris want to be together?”

“Oh, I beg their pardon!” said John apologetically. “I really forgot.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Doris. “Please don’t be silly!”

But they discovered that they could not all sit together, and Ruth saw to it that Doris and Roger took the seats ahead, and she and Evelyn sat between Jack and John. She smiled happily. At last she was with him.

All the Girl Scouts except Ruth and Doris, and those taking part in the game, occupied a bench together; in their neat, trim uniforms they presented an attractive appearance. John remarked about it, and Ruth saw him looking closely at the girls.

“Is Marjorie Wilkinson a member of the troop now?” he asked.

Ruth laughed. “No, poor girl, she isn’t! It’s a shame, too, for she tries so hard. But she’s hopeless in Latin!”

John sighed, thinking of his remaining month at Episcopal. “I’ll never see her again,” he kept thinking to himself, “unless I suddenly develop a violent friendship with Jack!”

The referee blew the whistle and the contestants appeared. The forwards grouped themselves around the baskets, and practiced throwing for goals; the rest of the girls gathered in separate spots to go over a few last points.

Marjorie realized that she was a different girl from the one who had played forward on the hockey-team last fall. She came to this game with Miss Martin’s in perfect physical condition, and with the consciousness of good practices behind her. And, added to this, she felt a new love for Miss Phillips; she knew how much her teacher cared for the victory, and she meant to do all in her power to win it.

John regarded her all the while intently; he scarcely listened to the conversation Ruth and Evelyn were holding with Jack.

In a few moments the game started. Marjorie had the advantage of being taller than the opposing center; besides this, she had arranged for signals with Frances and her forwards, so that her efforts in getting the ball to her team immediately after the toss-up were almost always successful.

With this advantage, the audience thought the game was going to prove to be a walk-over for Miss Allen’s team. But such was not the case. The guards who played against Ethel and Edith were splendid; they succeeded in keeping the forwards from scoring for nearly five minutes, at the end of which time they finally sent the ball to the other end of the field.

But if the guards on Miss Martin’s team had been good, those on Miss Allen’s proved equally efficient. Again, these forwards were powerless. The only real chance that was given to Miss Martin’s side to score was when Dorothy Maxwell made a foul, and gave the forward a free throw; but the girl missed the basket, the whistle blew, and the score remained 0–0.

During the intermission, the spectators cheered loudly for both sides, and the Gym teachers encouraged and coached their girls. Each team went back to the field with the grim determination to win.

The forwards put even more energy into their playing; but the guards on both sides opposed them the more zealously. During the first ten minutes each side threw a successful foul, so that the score now stood at one all.

When Marjorie realized that the time was almost up, she grew desperate. Giving Frances a new signal, which she had agreed to use only in case of the greatest necessity, she made a quick dodge away from the opposing center, and, at the very edge of the line, made a wild throw at the goal. But she missed it, and stepped slightly over the line; the referee called a foul, and Miss Martin’s girls scored a point on the ensuing free throw. The home team was ahead. A wild shout arose from the enthusiastic spectators.

But Marjorie was not to be daunted by one failure; her forwards had proved themselves unable to dodge their guards and score; she would try a second time. Accordingly, she gave the same signal to Frances again, and, quick as a flash, leapt away from her opponent. Keeping her eye on the line that she might not overstep it, she made another flying shot. The ball sped high over the heads of the girls who rushed to defend the basket; for an instant a hush came over the field as all eyes watched it describe a graceful arc and fall straight through the goal,—a perfect shot. Then the silence was broken—not only Miss Allen’s girls; everyone on the benches clapped; it was a spectacular play, and it brought victory. In less than a minute, the whistle blew; and the score-board registered 3–2, in favor of Miss Allen’s team.

Ruth breathed a long sigh, and John wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “By George!” he exclaimed, “that was the most exciting game I ever saw! Wasn’t Marjorie wonderful?”

At this moment a yell arose for Marjorie, and it was then that Ruth realized her mistake in having John Hadley asked to attend the game. But it was too late now to regret her action. Instead, she discreetly joined in the other girl’s praises.

Her party followed the crowd across the campus to the gym where tea was being served. John looked anxiously for Marjorie, but she had been too much exhausted to appear. Everyone was clamoring for her—the heroine of the day.

“And they say she isn’t even a Girl Scout!” Ruth heard one of Miss Martin’s girls remark to her companions. “She’s such a peach, too! I wonder why!”

Ruth frowned. “Yes, everybody else wonders why, too!” she thought. “Oh, I’m sick of hearing the praises of Marjorie Wilkinson. But I’m even with her!”

Ruth was relieved to hear Miss Martin ask the Girl Scouts to give a demonstration; she stepped forward proudly, glad of the chance to assume again the center of attraction.

But Ruth was not happy as she rode home that evening. Outwardly, her plans had all succeeded; but she was not at peace. She knew that she was as much of a thief as the common burglar who breaks into the house at night and steals the silverware; she had stolen Marjorie’s happiness, and she was paying for her act—she had lost her own.

CHAPTER XXII

THE GHOST AT THE CABIN

MISS PHILLIPS had promised to take the first eight girls who qualified as second-class scouts on an overnight hike. She had decided to limit the number for two reasons—first, because the ground was still too damp to risk sleeping out of doors, and she had accepted the use of the boys’ cabin; and second, because she wanted to reward the more energetic scouts.

It was not until the last Friday in May that the required number finally qualified, and the Captain read the names and announced the hike for the first week end in June, which was only two weeks before school closed for the term. Besides Ruth, Doris, and Helen, who had all passed their test before the Spring holidays, Dorothy Maxwell, Lucy Graham, Ethel Todd, Edith Evans, and Ada Mearns were finally added to the number.

Miss Phillips dismissed the other scouts and dictated a list of articles for the girls to take with them. Then she divided the group into pairs, and assigned them their especial duties. Ruth was glad to be coupled with Doris, for whom she possessed a great admiration.

“Will we be allowed to go in swimming?” asked Ruth, after most of the arrangements had been concluded.

“If it is warm enough,” replied the Captain. “There is a creek just beyond the cabin, and the swimming is good all the way down to the dam—where Episcopal Academy is located, you know. So you can take your suits if you care to, and then we will test the water and see. If it’s as warm as it has been this week, I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t—unless, of course, your parents would object to your going in on Sunday.”

“Do you suppose,” asked Doris a little timidly, “that we will see the ghost the boys talk about?”

Miss Phillips laughed. “Hardly!” she answered. “I thought of the possibility of the boys playing some sort of trick on you to scare you, so I mentioned the matter to Mr. Remington, and he promptly offered to take the whole troop over to visit another troop of scouts who have the use of a barn in a little town just outside of New York.”

“No, Captain, I meant a real ghost! Of course I don’t believe in them, but——”

“But if you saw anything at night in the woods,” interrupted Ethel, “you wouldn’t just care about being alone?”

“Yes,” admitted Doris, “you know there might be something spooky!”

“I wish something would happen!” exclaimed Ruth. “But I guess Captain Phillips killed any chance we had of that!”

Immediately after lunch the following Saturday, the girls met with their packs strapped in blanket-rolls and swung over their shoulders.

“Has anybody ever camped out before?” asked Miss Phillips as they started on their long hike.

“About eight of my Sunday School class crowded into one little cottage at the seashore,” said Ethel, “but that was the nearest I ever came to it.”

“Of course this won’t exactly be camping, for we shall not use tents. But everything else will be the same,” said the Captain, after some of the others had related experiences similar to Ethel’s.

Instead of first taking a train and then hiking the rest of the distance, the girls decided to hike the entire way. If they had been obliged to construct a lean-to, or even put up tents to sleep under, Miss Phillips would not have allowed it; but since the cabin was all ready for them, and there was even a fireplace to use for cooking, she thought that by this time they should be able to do it. And although they were somewhat tired when they finally arrived at their destination, no one considered the distance too far.

After each girl had unfastened her pack, and deposited her equipment in the section or corner to which she was assigned, Dorothy and Edith began to get supper.

“Who’ll go for water?” asked the latter, holding up two pails.

The girls groaned; everybody was too tired. But in a moment Ruth jumped up. “I will,” she said pleasantly.

“Thanks awfully,” said Edith, gratefully. “Do you want anybody to go with you?”

“No; it’s still light; and even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t mind meeting Doris’s ghost!”

Ruth ran out lightly, humming a song as she went. It was already twilight, and the gradual deepening of the shadows made the trees seem taller, and the absolute stillness increased the loneliness of the spot. “It is a spooky place,” she thought as she looked about her. “I wonder who’ll come down to the spring to-night for water?”

The girls, who in accordance with scout principles, had refrained from eating while they were hiking, felt that they were almost starved; nothing ever tasted quite so good as the meal their cooks prepared for them. They ate hungrily, talking little at first; gradually, as their appetites were appeased, and their bodies became rested, they became more talkative. It was dark when they had finished.

After the mess-kits had been washed and put away, and the food stored in the closet, the girls stepped out of the cabin to take a look at their surroundings. But, unlike the night of the boys’ party, there was no moon, and the trees cut off so much of the sky that very few stars were in view. Everything looked black and forbidding.

Doris shuddered. “I’m glad I’m not here alone!” she whispered, afraid to break the deep silence of the woods. “Those Boy Scouts must be pretty brave.”

Suddenly a screech sounded from a distant tree. The girls started fearfully. “What was it?” asked Doris.

“Only an owl,” replied Miss Phillips, laughing.

They turned and entered the cabin, feeling that the light of the lanterns, though somewhat dim and ghostlike, was more reassuring than the darkness.

“Somebody will have to go for more water,” remarked Edith as the girls were sitting around the fire again, toasting marshmallows. “We used what we had for the dishes.”

“I’d rather go without a drink all night,” said Doris, “than go down to that spring!”

“How about getting washed?” asked Ruth.

“I’d rather go dirty!”

The girls discussed the proposition for several minutes until Miss Phillips interrupted them by saying:

“It is my fault, girls, for not appointing water-carriers; but I thought that since the spring is so near, it wouldn’t be necessary. So I’ll go myself!”

“Indeed, you won’t,” declared Ruth; “I’m not afraid a bit; I’ll go.”

“I don’t think you ought to go again, Ruth,” said Edith. “It doesn’t seem fair! But so long as you have offered, I’ll go with you. Only, I won’t pretend I’m not afraid. I am!”

“Then I’ll go alone!”

“I dare you to!” said Ethel.

“All right—I’ll take you up! I’ll go down with two pails, and when I get back, you do the same!”

“What is that queer noise?” asked Dorothy suddenly. “Listen!”

The girls sat perfectly silent, and a low singing and sighing, which at times sank almost to a moan, could be heard in the woods close by.

“Could it be two boughs rubbing each other?” asked Ruth. “I read about that happening once, and scaring some boys out of their wits.”

“No,” replied Miss Phillips, “there would have to be wind for that, and it’s perfectly still to-night. It sounds to me like some animal in distress.”

“A wild animal?” asked Doris, fearfully. “Oh, let’s bolt the door, Captain!”

“No, no; probably a cat or a dog, whining. Let’s forget all about it. Suppose we sing a while.”

The girls did try to put aside all their fears, but Ruth and Ethel, although they would not admit it, dreaded for the time to come when the party should break up.

But the moment came all too soon. “Nine o’clock,” announced Miss Phillips, rising from her pillow on the floor. “Time for taps!”

The girls got up reluctantly and Edith brought Ruth her pails. The latter laughed gaily. “And now for the great adventure,” she said, as she opened the cabin door and stepped out into the darkness.

She took half a dozen steps, when she suddenly heard that weird sound from the direction toward which she was approaching. She stopped, breathless, and looked all around her. But, seeing nothing, she walked on, trying bravely to whistle.

Just as she was out of sight of the cabin, she saw a tall figure glide from one tree to another, and in an instant she heard the sound again. Her heart stood still. No mortal being had ever produced a sound like that. The boys were right: the spot was haunted.

Ruth felt that, although she could now plainly see the spring, she could not go a step farther. She looked around again. The figure had vanished, and except for the occasional hoot of an owl or the croak of a frog, absolute silence prevailed. “It must have been my imagination,” she thought. She was naturally a brave girl, and added to this fact, she longed for the admiration of her companions; so she forced herself to press on and fill her buckets at the spring.

But she had hardly taken another step, before she heard the weird sound and saw the figure again. This time she saw it distinctly: it was perfectly white; even its face had the deathly pallor of the ghost. It did not seem to possess eyes, only hollow sockets; and by this Ruth was convinced that it was no earthly being.

By this time the girl was thoroughly frightened; she cared no longer for her water, or the approval of the other girls; she thought only of her safe return to the cabin. Seeing the figure approach noiselessly in her direction, she dropped her pails and ran as fast as she could to the cabin. She reached the door and flung it open.

The girls started forward in alarm.

“What is it, Ruth?” asked Doris, trembling.

As soon as Ruth could get her breath, she described her adventure. Suddenly she stopped. “Listen—there!” The sounds became fainter and fainter, and finally died in the distance.

Miss Phillips would not permit Ethel to go to the spring by herself; she and Dorothy both accompanied her. But when they got back, Doris and Edith testified that through the one window of the cabin, they had seen the figure flit by.

“The only thing we can do,” said Ruth, the last thing before she fell asleep, “is to compare notes with the boys who have seen the ghost—or whatever it is!” she added.

CHAPTER XXIII

RUTH’S ADVENTURE

WHEN the sun poured into the cabin the following morning, and Ruth was awakened by the happy laughter of her companions, the incident of the night before seemed like a dream. If she had been a nervous or timid girl the others would have had occasion to attribute her story to an over-wrought imagination; but Ruth was the last girl in the world to be frightened without a cause. Besides, Doris and Edith had testified to the presence of the ghost, and everybody—even Miss Phillips had heard the unearthly sound.

The girls breakfasted out of doors; the day was lovely and warm, and they all felt rested and happy.

“After everything has been put in order,” said Miss Phillips, as she finished her coffee, “we are going to have a simple little service over in that spot under the trees. Then, after that, all of you who want to, can go in swimming.”

The girls prepared to go about their duties. “How shall we know when it is time for service?” asked Ethel.

“I do so wish we had a bugler to blow church-call, and all the other calls for that matter, too,” said Miss Phillips. “But maybe Pansy troop will have one by next year! In the meanwhile, I’ll have to use the whistle signals. So listen for a succession of short whistles.”

The religious service held on that Sunday in June by the little band of Girl Scouts in the silence of the woods was simple in form, but probably out-ranked many a more pretentious one in sincerity and earnestness. Miss Phillips, with her clear voice, led in the singing of several familiar hymns, and the girls recited the first Psalm together. With the exception of the Lord’s Prayer, the prayers were silent ones, but the girls felt deeply moved; and after it was all over, several of them told the Captain that it was the most impressive service they had ever attended.

Everybody except the Captain, and Ethel and Ada, who were cooks, decided to go swimming. It was almost noon when they gathered in front of the cabin, dressed in their swimming suits, covered by sweaters or raincoats.

“It’s rather late,” said Miss Phillips. “Don’t go too far.”

“What time is dinner?” asked Doris.

“Half-past one,” replied Ethel; “and if anybody is more than five minutes late, she doesn’t get any!”

The girls ran off in high spirits. Ruth was the first to plunge into the creek. “It is cold,” she admitted to Doris, who was sitting on the bank dipping one toe in at a time.

Ruth began to swim rapidly in order to get warm. “I’m going around the bend,” she called as she disappeared from view.

The other girls turned their attention to “getting wet all over,” and dismissed Ruth from their minds. She was undoubtedly the best swimmer of the party, so even when she failed to appear after many minutes had passed, no one expressed concern.

After Ruth had passed the bend, and felt thoroughly warmed by the exercise, she decided to swim farther. It would be such fun to go all the way to the dam. Of course there was no chance of seeing John Hadley or any other of the scouts, since Mr. Remington had taken them all on the excursion; but she would have the satisfaction of telling them later of her feat. She began to wonder how far the dam was. She did not feel in the least tired, for she was swimming downstream. It would be an easy matter to run along the shore back to the cabin—and if she should be late for dinner, Ethel’s admiration for her act would surely cause her to pardon the delay.

As she neared the dam, she distinguished two figures walking side by side, and she wondered whether they would see her; she dipped her head into the water, using the crawl stroke, which was the most spectacular one she knew. When she brought her head out a second time, one of the figures had vanished; the other person was alone: it was a girl. Yes, and she was watching her!

The persons that Ruth saw, but did not recognize because of the distance, were Jack and Marjorie Wilkinson. Jack had not gone on the Boy Scout outing, for his father and mother, who were visiting relatives living not far from the Academy, telegraphed to him on Friday that they would get Marjorie and drive over to his school to spend Sunday with him; so he had obtained permission to remain there for the week-end, instead of accompanying the rest of the scouts.

Marjorie was delighted at the prospect of the visit. She had been looking forward to a dull Sunday; Lily had gone home with Lucy Graham, and most of her other friends were at the cabin. She was glad to see her parents again, and the day was so lovely that she enjoyed every minute of the ride.

When they arrived at the Academy, Mr. Wilkinson announced his intention of looking up one of the teachers who was an old friend of the family. “You can do whatever you like for an hour,” he said to Jack and Marjorie; “either come with your mother and me, or go off by yourselves.”

Jack looked at Marjorie doubtfully, as if he had no desire to spend a whole hour cooped up with his English teacher when it was not necessary. So he suggested an alternative to his sister.

“How would you like to see our swimming-hole?” he asked.

“Fine!” answered Marjorie. “It’s too nice a day to be inside. Besides, I’m tired of sitting still.”

They took the path back of the school which led down to the creek, and in less than five minutes they reached the dam.

It was on the upper side of the dam that the stream was widest, both banks sweeping out and almost meeting again at the waterfall in a horseshoe curve, which gave it the appearance of a lake. Trees grew to the water’s edge, their branches mirrored with a gentle shimmering reflection in the quiet water along the shore. Farther out, toward the middle, the current was swift; it seemed to gather force as it rushed foaming over the dam to the rocks below. Marjorie went into ecstacies, impressed by the beauty of the spot.

“I wish I could paint it,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

“I tell you what I will do,” said her brother, after he had thought for a minute or two; “I’ll take a picture of it!”

“What with?”

“My camera’s up in my room, and I’ve got two exposures left on the film. If you’ll wait here, I’ll run back and get it.”

As soon as he was gone, Marjorie sat down on a stone, and gazed idly into the water. She watched the water-bugs gliding over the smooth surface, and wondered how deep it was at this spot, and whether it was still cold. Jack had told her that the boys had already gone swimming here; but then, boys would try anything!

For a minute she watched the water falling over the dam, and noted the swiftness of the current; she turned her head in the other direction, and caught a glimpse of the swimmer, rapidly approaching her. As the latter came nearer, Marjorie identified her as a girl by the blue rubber cap she wore on her head. When she was only a dozen yards away, but still unrecognizable from the fact that her face was usually under the water, Marjorie saw her suddenly raise an arm and wave in her direction, choke, and finally go under. She came up, and went down a second time before Marjorie saw that it was Ruth, and realized that she must have been seized with a cramp, and was unable to resist the force of the current.

The frightened girl cast a wild glance back toward the school. “Jack, oh, Jack!” she shrieked, as loud as she could; but she got no answer.

In a panic she turned again toward the water. Ruth had come up again, but Marjorie could see by her face that she was unconscious. Already, the current had carried her several yards further down towards the dam.

There was not a moment to be lost; if Ruth went down the third time, it would be too late. Kicking off her pumps, she plunged into the water, and struck out for her friend.

Although Marjorie had been swimming in the pool almost every day for the past three months, the water gave her a shock. It was still much colder than that to which she had been accustomed, and the weight of her clothes dragged her down. Nevertheless, with only a few bold strokes, she reached the unconscious girl.

Breathing a sigh of thankfulness for Miss Phillips’s efficient instruction in life-saving, she took hold of Ruth and made for the shore. Her burden seemed heavy, but she did not have far to go; in another minute she reached the shallow water, and carried Ruth to the shore.

But her battle was only half over; she had only a vague idea of what to do to revive her. She had heard Lily talk about learning the measures of resuscitation at one of the scout meetings, but she had not gone into detail. “Oh, if I were only a Girl Scout,” she groaned, “I’d know what to do!”

She began to work Ruth’s arms back and forth in an aimless fashion, which did not produce results. She looked around desperately for her brother, and to her great relief, saw him coming along the path.

“Jack, Jack, hurry!” she screamed wildly. “Help!”

Jack ran as fast as he could, and in a moment stood beside her. He did not ask for an explanation, but knelt over the prostrate girl and set to work at once.

“Hold her tongue out,” he commanded, “to keep her from choking while I get the water out of her! Now, then, young lady,” he said, addressing the unconscious girl, “we’ll fix you up in no time.”

He worked tirelessly for ten minutes before he was rewarded by seeing Ruth open her eyes. Consciousness slowly returned, but it was several minutes before she realized where she was.

“Ruth!” said Marjorie tremulously, “are you all right?”

Ruth blinked two or three times, and looked from one to the other of her companions.

“Speak, Ruth!” urged Marjorie.

“Marj!” said Ruth, with a puzzled air. “Yes, I’m all right, but——”

“Do you think you can sit up, Ruth?” asked Jack. “Then we’ll carry you up to the school.”

“Yes, I guess so,” she answered; “but what has happened?”

Jack and Marjorie made a seat with their hands, and raised her from the ground. Marjorie explained what had just taken place.

Ruth’s eyes suddenly lighted up. “I remember,” she said. “Oh, maybe I wasn’t scared! I guess I got a cramp in my leg! I surely thought I was going to die!”

“It must have been awful!” said Marjorie, with feeling. “I was scared to death myself.”

They carried her to the matron of the infirmary who promised to get her dry clothes and give her something hot to drink. Jack volunteered to get the machine and take the news to the cabin, while Marjorie went in search of her parents.

While Ruth was dressing, she reviewed the whole situation in her mind. The experience had been ghastly—if dying was like that, she shuddered at the prospect. And yet, she realized that one thing only had made it terrible: in that short space of time, when she had seemed on the verge of eternity, she thought only of her dishonest act toward Marjorie. Everything else faded from her consciousness; that alone assumed gigantic proportions: it seemed black, and terrifying. Even at this moment, when safety was assured, she almost cried out at the terror of her memory. “I will confess it all,” she exclaimed, “before I am a day older!”

In a few moments Marjorie joined her, and invited her to go with the family to the hotel for dinner.

“I will if you promise I can have a few minutes alone with you afterwards, Marjorie,” she said. “I’ve got something I must confess!”

Marjorie smiled, thinking of the crocheting. “All right, Ruth, if you like. But come now.”

When they were all seated in the machine, Ruth thanked both of her rescuers profusely. “It certainly was brave of you,” she said.

“Brave of Marj—but not me,” protested Jack. “I was scared to death for fear something would happen to you, after I played that awful trick on you last night!”

“What trick?”

“The ghost at the cabin!”

“Oh!” gasped Ruth, in a tone that expressed volumes. “So it was you!”

Jack explained why he had remained home from the excursion. “And I was sort of lonely last night—all the other scouts were away, you know; so I decided to give you girls a scare. And I did especially want to get you, because I knew you never were nervous and it wouldn’t upset you like it would some girls.”

“I was scared, all right. But how did you ever make that awful noise? I suppose a sheet was fixed up for the disguise?”

“Yes; and the noise was a violin. I heard Bill Mackintosh practicing on his new violin on Saturday night, making the most unearthly sounds you ever heard. That put the idea into my head. I went over and asked him to go out with me to give the Girl Scouts a scare. Of course he was tickled to death to go.

“We slipped away right after supper, and watched you through the cabin-window. Maybe I wasn’t glad when I saw you were the one to go after the water!”

“You horrid, mean thing!” said Ruth.

“I admit it. Punish me any way you like!”

But Ruth could not think of any return for his act. During the rest of the ride, and all through dinner, her mind was on her own affairs. Absently, she answered the questions that were put to her, and entered but occasionally into the conversation. The rest of the party attributed her mood to the experience through which she had just passed, and left her alone with her thoughts.

They rode all afternoon, so that she had no opportunity to be alone with Marjorie; but when the latter said that Lily would be away until the next morning, she asked to be allowed to visit her right after supper. “I have something I must tell you before I go to bed to-night!” she added.

“All right,” said Marjorie. “But I wish you would forget it!”

“I wish I could,” said Ruth, as she left Marjorie to go to her room.

CHAPTER XXIV

RESTITUTION

WHEN Ruth reached her own room, she found Ethel already there untying her pack and putting away her scout equipment. Ruth explained that she had been with the Wilkinsons—that they had brought her and Marjorie both back to the school.

“Now tell me all about the accident,” said Ethel. “Of course we got the story from Jack, but he wasn’t there the whole time so he couldn’t tell us everything.”

Ruth went into detail about the adventure, but she omitted to describe her own feelings when she thought she was drowning. That was too personal, and too humiliating; it was bad enough to have to tell Marjorie, but she could not bear the thought of a public acknowledgment.

And then, for the first time, she realized something of what the consequences of her confession would be. It would be only fair to allow Marjorie to tell Miss White, Miss Allen, and Miss Phillips, so that she might be given another opportunity to join the troop. This would necessitate an explanation to the other scouts, and they, in turn, would undoubtedly tell all the girls in the school. A confession would doom her to the lasting contempt of her companions and her teachers; she would probably be put out of the troop and be shunned by her former friends.

Even now it was not too late to change her mind; no one was suspicious. It was true that she had hinted of a confession to Marjorie; but she could tell her about the crochet, and she would probably laugh and forgive her.

While these thoughts were going through her mind, Ethel was talking about the ghost incident, and laughing at Jack’s cleverness. “It was funny,” she said, “to think that he put one over on you, Ruth; for you’re not easily scared. But you were scared when you thought you were drowning?”

“Was I!” exclaimed Ruth. “Dying is a good deal worse than I ever thought it would be!”

“Maybe you had a guilty conscience,” suggested Ethel.

“I guess most people have,” answered Ruth, “unless they’re nuns or ministers, or something like that.”

“Maybe they have, too,” said Ethel, as she left the room.

The conversation brought Ruth back to her dilemma. It recalled to her again, vividly, that dreadful sensation of terror that had overwhelmed her in the water. Ethel had said she was never afraid of anything! She smiled bitterly. Probably no girl in the school had ever been so frightened, so terrified to the very depths of her soul as she had been. But she would not risk a second experience. She dreaded the consequences of her confession; but she dreaded to a much greater degree, the consequences of the omission of that confession. She had made up her mind—she would not change it; she would tell Marjorie that night!

As they were dressing for dinner, she announced to Ethel her intention of spending the night with Marjorie. “I’ll get Miss Allen’s permission,” she added.

Ethel looked at Ruth suspiciously. “There must be some reason,” she thought, “for this sudden desire for Marjorie’s company.” But her suppositions were far from the truth: she attributed the attraction to the other girl’s brother.

After supper Ruth gathered her books and her toilet articles and started for Marjorie’s room. She found two or three other girls visiting her friend, and for some time had no chance to talk with her alone. Finally they all left. Ruth opened her book; but she could not study.

“You know I said I had something to tell you, Marj,” she said slowly, with her eyes fastened to the pattern of the rug. “It’s a confession!”

Marjorie drew down the corners of her mouth, in her effort to keep from smiling. The incident of the crochet had seemed big at the time, but now it appeared as only a trifle. “Maybe I know already,” she suggested.

“About your filet, you mean?”

“Yes—Miss Phillips gave it away at that surprise party.”

“I thought so; she never guessed, of course. But I knew you’d put two and two together, Marj.”

“Well, I don’t mind, Ruth. I was mad at the time, but after all it didn’t hurt me. And you’d have been a second-class scout soon anyhow.”

“Perhaps,” said Ruth. “You’ve been too good to me, Marj. But wait till you hear the rest!”

“The rest?”

“Yes; that isn’t nearly all. I’m a real criminal. Oh, Marj, if you hadn’t saved me to-day, and I’d died, what would have become of me?”

Ruth suddenly burst into tears. She had been under too great a strain in the last twenty-four hours, and she lost control of herself completely. After all, she was only fifteen—and the rôle of criminal was new to her. Aside from the little white lies that most of us tell sometimes, she had up to this time been upright in character.

Marjorie jumped up and put her arms around her. She forgot about the Ruth she had known during the past year; she saw only her old playmate, as she used to cry when she was hurt.

“What is it, Ruth?” she asked with concern. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

But Ruth pushed her aside, and wiped her eyes. “Sit down, Marj,” she said, as calmly as she could, “I don’t deserve your sympathy. Listen!”

Marjorie sat opposite her, and Ruth told her story. She told it exactly as it had happened, omitting none of the details, and making no effort to excuse her motive. She called herself names—she was a traitor, a thief, and a liar. She deserved no mercy; she wanted none. Marjorie could do whatever she wanted with her; but now she could die with a clear conscience.

Marjorie listened in amazement. The story seemed too dreadful to be true; and yet, the facts linked together and explained all her former doubts. Suddenly the realization of what she had missed came over her—the party at the cabin, the overnight hike, the play rehearsals, and all the good times; the fellowship with Miss Phillips, and Doris, and the rest of her friends, and the opportunity to be with John Hadley—four months of happiness that she had lost. She had been cheated out of her rights; she felt bitter; she could not forgive Ruth. She turned to her sharply.

But before she could utter a word, a knock sounded at the door. It was Miss Phillips.

“Come in,” said Marjorie, as naturally as she could. Ruth stood up as the teacher entered, but she could not bear to salute.

“I just wanted to see whether Lily is back yet,” said Miss Phillips.

“I am sorry; but she isn’t, Miss Phillips. But won’t you sit down?”

“Only for a minute. I wanted to tell Lily—and I’ll take this chance to tell you, Ruth—that the scouts decided to-day to give up next Saturday to doing a good turn for somebody else. So I have Miss Allen’s permission to invite the twenty-four little orphans from the Mynfield Home for an outing.”

“How lovely,” said Marjorie, absently.

“Poor children; they don’t have much pleasure in their lives,” continued Miss Phillips, not noticing the girls’ preoccupation. “So when Frances suggested giving them a party next Saturday, I jumped at the idea. It’s our last Saturday together—except for the one of the play—but the girls want to use it for their troop good turn.”

Miss Phillips stayed for a few minutes and told the girls more about the little orphans. And when she rose to go, they had almost forgotten, for the time, their own tragedy.

Neither girl said anything for several minutes after Miss Phillips had gone. Marjorie sat down at her desk and started to write; Ruth turned the pages of her book, but she did not look at the contents.

“What are you going to do about it, Marj?” she asked.

“Nothing,” replied Marjorie, indifferently.

Ruth’s hopes rose, but she shook her head. “I can’t allow that,” she said. “You ought to be a Girl Scout.”

“But most of the good times are over now.”

“Not this summer’s camping trip. And if we tell Miss Phillips the reason, she’ll probably let you take the second-class test with the others next Friday night.”

Marjorie’s face brightened. It was the dream of her heart to become a Girl Scout! But then she thought of the disgrace this would necessitate bringing upon Ruth. Miss White and Miss Phillips would both have to know the story—and perhaps even Miss Allen and some of the scouts. Ruth had not treated her as a scout should treat anyone, let alone a former friend; but that would not excuse Marjorie, if she disregarded the other girl’s feelings. She thought of the scout slogan that Miss Phillips had just been speaking about—“Do a good turn daily.” “And if I start my career as a Girl Scout by disregarding that law, it would be to begin all wrong. Better stay out of the troop forever,” she reflected.

“I’m not going to do a thing, Ruth,” she said aloud. “It would be too hard on you!”

Ruth jumped up with characteristic impulsiveness. “I’m going straight to Miss White this very minute,” she said, “and lay the whole thing before her. Then I’ll do whatever she advises.”

Before she could protest, Ruth was gone. Marjorie turned to her writing, but she could think of nothing but the present complication. She felt sorry for Ruth, but she could not help hoping that Miss White would insist upon a confession.

She pictured herself in the Girl Scout uniform, marching along with the other girls, helping them with the play, and accompanying them on their camping trip; she thought of the pleasure of telling her father and mother and Jack,—yes, and John Hadley—of her final triumph. Miss Phillips, too, would be genuinely glad of her good fortune.

She waited impatiently for Ruth to return. She got up and straightened the room, took out some crocheting, put it down, and finally sat down on the couch to dream of the fulfillment of her cherished hope.

In about fifteen minutes, Ruth came back, accompanied by Miss White. The older woman looked sad as she took Marjorie’s hand, and spoke softly.

“I am so sorry, my dear, that this had to happen: that Ruth was tempted and fell, and you had to suffer. But she has done right to confess.”

“Oh, Miss White, I didn’t want her to tell any body else.”

“Yes, I know; she told me how noble you have been about it. But you have some rights, Marjorie. I shall tell Miss Allen to-morrow that there has been a mistake, and ask her permission to give you a special examination.”

“Tell her the truth!” exclaimed Ruth. “It isn’t fair for you to take the blame, Miss White.”

“I will tell her if she asks. Marjorie, can you come to my room at three to-morrow afternoon?”

“Certainly,” replied Marjorie.

Miss White opened the door. “Leave the matter in my hands, girls, and don’t worry about it any more.”

After she had gone, the girls went to bed, but said nothing more about the thing that was uppermost in their thoughts. It was Miss Allen and her attitude toward the matter that caused the most conjecture in the minds of both girls as they laid their heads upon their pillows that night.

CHAPTER XXV

THE VERDICT

“AND what makes you think you made a mistake in Marjorie Wilkinson’s paper?” asked Miss Allen, after Miss White had requested for permission to give the girl a second test. “You aren’t in the habit of doing your work carelessly.”

“Well—mother was ill, you know; and Marjorie’s subsequent work has been so good, that I felt there must be some explanation.”

Miss Allen shut her lips tightly. “I am sorry to refuse to grant your request, Miss White,” she said, “but if I allowed a second test for no more reason than you suggest, it would establish a precedent: every girl who fails in any examination will demand another opportunity. The final examinations are less than two weeks off; Marjorie will have the chance to show her ability in them.”

“I see your point of view, Miss Allen,” said Miss White. “I had hoped you would grant my request without further explanation; but, as you say, it would not be right, for such an insignificant reason. So I will tell you the whole story.”

She repeated to the Principal the facts of Ruth’s confession; she told how cleverly the girl had spoiled the paper; she recalled the fact that the papers had been marked at home, destroyed, and the averages mailed to the school. Everything, indeed, had seemed to play into Ruth’s hands in order to help her to escape detection.

Miss Allen listened with increasing anger as the narrative progressed. The whole thing was inconceivable—a disgrace to her school. “Ruth Henry must be expelled at once!” she declared emphatically.

“No, no,” pleaded Miss White. “Remember that she confessed it herself; if someone had told on her, it would be different. Suppose we send for her—and for Miss Phillips, too, since it is a matter which so intimately concerns the scouts.”

Ruth and her Captain entered the office together. In a few words, Miss Allen reviewed the situation to Miss Phillips, while Ruth sat motionless, with downcast eyes.

“I am of the opinion,” said Miss Allen coldly, “that a girl who would do such a contemptible trick as that should be expelled from the school.”

Ruth started; that was one calamity she had not thought of. Then her mother and father would know—yes, and all the people at home.

But Miss White and Miss Phillips both pleaded in her behalf. She had done wrong, they said; but it was her first offense, and she had confessed. Such a punishment would be too severe.

“Then at least she must be put out of the troop! She has not acted like a Girl Scout; she should not be permitted to wear the uniform.”

Ruth rose, white to the lips. “I am ready to resign, Captain Phillips,” she said unsteadily. “I did not expect to be allowed to remain.”

Miss Phillips put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Wait, Ruth,” she said quietly; “we must think everything over carefully.” Then turning to Miss Allen, she said, “It isn’t fair to torture Ruth in this fashion; suppose we let her go out, and talk the matter over, and then give her our decision.”

Tears came to Ruth’s eyes, but she looked gratefully at Miss Phillips. “Oh, thank you,” she stammered; “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“You may go, Ruth,” said Miss Allen.

The teachers talked for a long time over the affair, but finally Miss Phillips triumphed. Ruth’s case was to be put up to the Girl Scouts, while she remained away from the meeting; they were to decide whether or not she was to stay in the troop. And each scout was to pledge “on her honor as a Girl Scout” never to mention the matter outside.

That afternoon Marjorie took her Latin test, and passed with flying colors; as soon as she learned of her success, she went straight to Miss Phillips.

“I will give you the Tenderfoot test to-night, if you wish,” said the Captain. “Then, if you are prepared, I will waive the usual custom, and you may take the second-class test on Friday with the eight girls who have not yet passed it.”

Lily was wild over the good news. Of course, Marjorie said nothing about the cause of her incorrect mark; she simply stated that Miss White had given her a second chance, and that Miss Phillips had arranged a special scout test.

“And I am to be taken in on Friday,” she said, hugging her room-mate joyfully. “Think of it, Lil, a Girl Scout at last!”

Every girl in the troop was genuinely glad to welcome Marjorie into their ranks. She had waited so long for her happiness; she trembled now lest something should happen to destroy it. She made a supreme effort to calm herself sufficiently to take the second-class test.

But before the candidates were given their papers, Miss Phillips announced that she had a matter of serious importance to bring to their consideration.

“It concerns one of your sister scouts,” she said.

The girls looked questioningly from one to another. Ruth, only, was missing; but no one had thought anything of that after her adventure on Sunday; they all attributed her absence to the cold she had contracted. Several of the girls thought of Marjorie; her entrance into the troop had been out of the usual order of things; perhaps Miss Phillips meant her.

The Captain, however, hastened to tell the story as impersonally as she could. Consternation seized the group; they listened breathlessly.

“And now it is for you, Girl Scouts of Pansy Troop, to decide what must be done with Ruth Henry. Shall we expel her from the troop? I would like to hear some arguments on both sides of the question.”

Ethel, who probably disliked Ruth more intensely than any other girl in the troop, and who had originally been the cause of her failing to make the sorority, spoke against her. The girl had broken the first law of the scouts; she was a menace to the welfare of the troop; the sooner they got rid of her, the better.

Before the speech was finished, Marjorie rose to her defense. “I have known Ruth a long time,” she said, “and I think I understand her. She is dreadfully ambitious—always has been—but girls, I think she has learned her lesson. And I have forgiven her—so can’t you do it, too? Oh, please let her stay in the troop! Honestly, she’s suffered an awful lot already!”

Frances also spoke in her behalf. When the vote was finally taken, the Ayes carried it, twelve to four. Miss Phillips promised to take the news to Ruth; the scouts pledged on their honor to drop the incident from their minds.

All the candidates who took the second-class test that night passed with honor, but Marjorie’s mark was highest of them all.

“Be up early to-morrow morning to get ready for our orphans,” said Miss Phillips, as the troop separated; “we want to make them the happiest girls in the world.”

“We couldn’t do that,” said Marjorie to Lily; “because I’m the very happiest! Oh, Lil, I’m really going camping this summer!”

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PLAY

“GOOD-BYE! good-bye!” shouted the twenty-four happy little girls, leaning out of the windows and waving their handkerchiefs, as the train pulled out of the station the following afternoon. The scouts watched it until it was out of sight; then they turned towards the school.

Marjorie took Doris’s arm. “I never had such a good time in my life before,” she said. “Oh, didn’t they enjoy themselves, though! And wasn’t that tiny little one cute?”

Before they had taken many steps, they met Dorothy Maxwell, coming from the school.

“Where is Miss Phillips?” she asked, with concern.

“Back with Lily, I think,” answered Marjorie. “But what is the matter, Dot? You look as if something dreadful has happened!”

“Well, it has! Helen’s pretty badly hurt!”

“Helen Stewart? When she fell off the swing?”

“Yes; I guess her ankle’s sprained, at least; maybe it’s something even worse!”

By this time Miss Phillips and the rest of the scouts had reached the spot where the girls had stopped, and they all crowded around, asking questions.

“I will go to her at once,” said Miss Phillips, hurrying off with Dorothy.

The girls resumed walking. “Suppose she can’t take part in the play,” suggested Ethel. “She’s leading lady, you know!”

“I think that is what Miss Phillips thought of first, but of course she wouldn’t say anything,” said Ruth.

“Nobody else could ever take her place at this late date,” said Doris; “besides, we all have our own parts. What would we do?”

“Oh, maybe she’ll be all right by then,” said Marjorie. “Don’t let’s worry till we hear what the doctor says.”

But the doctor’s diagnosis proved worse than any of their fears. Helen was suffering from a complicated fracture; it would be necessary for her to be taken home on a stretcher and kept flat on her back for several weeks; any participation in the play was, of course, out of the question.

Miss Phillips called a special meeting of the scouts that night. She was more disturbed than the girls had ever seen her.

“It’s all my fault,” she said, “for not having appointed an understudy. Why was I so thoughtless?”

“Couldn’t you take the part yourself, Captain?” suggested Ethel. “You must pretty nearly know it already!”

“I do; but I’m too tall. And I wouldn’t mind that if it were to be given just for our own school. But think of the outsiders who will be here! With commencement in the morning, Miss Allen says almost all the visitors are planning to stay over for the play. And Miss Martin’s whole school are coming especially to see it!” She covered her eyes with her hands, and uttered a long sigh.

“Captain,” said Ruth, suddenly, “I have the solution! Let Marjorie take it! She’s splendid at dramatics.”

Miss Phillips raised her head quickly. Marjorie blushed as all eyes were turned upon her.

“Will you do it?” asked Miss Phillips.

“I can try.”

Miss Phillips’s face expressed blissful relief: she could rely upon Marjorie, who always did things well; she need worry no longer.

All that week, Marjorie studied and rehearsed. When the dress-rehearsal came, on Friday evening, the girls praised her performance; but she herself was not satisfied: she realized that her acting was stilted, and Miss Phillips was forced to agree with her when she asked for her opinion.

“But it’s all right, Marjorie,” the Captain added; “you can’t expect to do as well as Helen could, after she had practiced it for weeks.”

But Marjorie did expect to do as well as Helen, and she made up her mind to surpass her. She put the play aside from her thoughts, played a game of cribbage with Lily, and went to bed early.

Miss Phillips had planned to give the play in the outdoor theater if the day were fine. When Marjorie opened her eyes that morning and saw the bright sunlight, it was naturally the first thing she thought of. It would be so much prettier to have a background of real trees; and she felt that with such perfect surroundings she could do greater justice to the part.

Soon after breakfast, visitors began to arrive. The Wilkinsons did not especially care to attend the commencement exercises, but promised to get Jack, and drive over in the machine in time to see the play. Ruth’s father and mother were coming by train.

The programs had already been printed with Helen Stewart’s name as leading lady, and Marjorie had not told her family of her part in the play. It was enough for them to know that she was at last a Girl Scout; and she did not wish to have them disappointed if her acting did not equal their expectations.

Marjorie accompanied Ruth to meet the train on which her father and mother would arrive. They passed groups of visitors at frequent intervals on the path, and they saw the seniors, in their white dresses, many of them carrying American Beauty roses, here and there on the campus. Off under the trees, near the library, was the out-door auditorium; they distinguished Miss Phillips, directing the workmen in the final decoration of the stage.

Marjorie was not nearly so nervous as she had been the day before. Everything had turned out so well that she felt that she must succeed now; the weather, the gayety of the occasion, and her own calmness reassured her.

“So you’re a Girl Scout at last!” said Mrs. Henry to Marjorie, as they walked from the train. Her tone was a trifle condescending, as if to call attention to the fact that she had just attained a distinction which her own daughter had long since gained. Ruth noticed it and hastened to dispel her feeling.

“You might say Marj is the Girl Scout!” she exclaimed. “She’s leading lady in the play this afternoon!”

“Really! Your father and mother didn’t tell me.”

“They don’t know it yet,” said Marjorie. “It’s to be a surprise!”

“They have a surprise for you, too, if I’m not mistaken,” said Mrs. Henry mysteriously.

Marjorie’s curiosity was aroused, but she did not have long to wait. In less than an hour, the Wilkinsons’ machine drove up to the school. Marjorie rushed down the stairs to meet it. And she had not one, but two surprises. John Hadley sat on the front seat beside Jack; in his arms he held a huge box which he handed shyly to Marjorie.

“I may not be on hand when you graduate,” he said, “so I brought you some roses to wear to-day.”

Blushingly, she thanked him, and opened the box. “I will wear one this afternoon,” she thought, but said nothing about the play; she wanted to reserve her surprise till later. She hunted Ruth, and Mr. and Mrs. Henry, and the party went in to luncheon together.

Both girls excused themselves soon afterwards to see whether they could help Miss Phillips. Jack and John hunted seats for the older people, and they watched the crowd gather.

Mrs. Wilkinson glanced at the names on the program. “I see Ruth is in the play,” she said, addressing Mrs. Henry.

“Yes,” replied the latter, remembering Marjorie’s desire to keep the knowledge of her participation from her parents.

Jack was impatient for the play to begin; but he did not conceal the fact that his interest was centered in Ruth. His enthusiasm, however, failed to find a response in John, who hoped that since Marjorie was not in the play, she might come and sit with them. For some minutes he tried to save a seat beside him, but as the theater became more crowded, he abandoned the idea.

Finally, the school orchestra began to play, and soon after that the play commenced. There was no curtain; the characters entered from behind the platform.

When Mrs. Wilkinson saw Marjorie, she exclaimed aloud, “Look, Sam! Can that be our Marjorie?”

John also leaned forward intently. Mrs. Henry watched him, smiling.

“By George, it is!” cried Jack. “And she looks ripping, too!”

Marjorie did more than look “ripping,” as her brother expressed it. The culmination of events, the recent successes, the gratification of her dearest wishes, and the excitement of the moment, so inspired her that she entered, for the time, into the peculiar state of mental detachment which actors sometimes experience. From the instant she came upon the stage until the end, she ceased to exist as Marjorie Wilkinson, so completely did she enter into the spirit of Everygirl; and yet, subconsciously, she seemed to realize that this was to be the final, crowning achievement. Strangers exclaimed at her ability, and the whole audience again and again applauded the talent she displayed in her acting. Once more Marjorie was the heroine of the day; but, unlike the time of the basket-ball game, Ruth was not jealous. It was she who had suggested her for the part, and she rejoiced in her triumph. The old friendship was revived with a new meaning; Ruth had profited by her experiences.

After the play was over, and everyone had congratulated Marjorie, Jack turned to Mrs. Henry and asked whether Ruth might not be allowed to ride home in their machine.

“If she wants to,” agreed Mrs. Henry. And it was plain to be seen from the girl’s expression that she needed no second invitation.

The girls changed into their suits, and came out again. The baggage had been sent by train. Miss Phillips, Doris, and Lily accompanied them to the machine.

“A month from to-day!” said Miss Phillips, as she kissed the girls good-bye. “I’ll write you the details.”

Marjorie leaned back in the machine and smiled dreamily; she was very happy. She had been made a Girl Scout; she was now going home for vacation—with Jack, and John Hadley, and Ruth to help her to enjoy it; and the week of camping during the following month loomed bright in anticipation.

“Remember going away last fall, Marj?” asked Ruth, interrupting her reverie. “It has all turned out different from what we expected, hasn’t it?”

“Different, and better!” said Marjorie, with a deep sigh of contentment.

How the Troop spent their vacation will be told in the next volume of this series, “THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP.”

THE END

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Transcriber’s Note:

The table of contents was added by the transcriber.

Punctuation has been standardised; spelling retained as in the original except as follows:

- Page 19

four most elegible freshmen changed to

four most eligible freshmen

- Page 39

“Helloa!” greeted Ruth changed to

“Hulloa!” greeted Ruth

- Page 72

That evening the freshman pledged became changed to

That evening the freshmen pledged became

- Page 89

Lavendar, green, yellow, pink, changed to

Lavender, green, yellow, pink,

- Page 129

“Now,” said Miss Philips, “we will adjourn changed to

“Now,” said Miss Phillips, “we will adjourn

- Page 193

the heads of of the girls changed to

the heads of the girls

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Table of Contents

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

Contents

CHAPTER I OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

CHAPTER II MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

CHAPTER III THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

CHAPTER IV THE STOLEN MEETING

CHAPTER V THE SORORITY PARTY

CHAPTER VI PLEDGE-DAY

CHAPTER VII OUTSIDERS

CHAPTER VIII THE HOCKEY MATCH

CHAPTER IX MARJORIE’S HOUSE-PARTY

CHAPTER X THE DANCE

CHAPTER XI THE GIRL SCOUT TROOP

CHAPTER XII THE BOY SCOUTS’ DEMONSTRATION

CHAPTER XIII AFTER THE MEETING

CHAPTER XIV PANSY TROOP MEETS

CHAPTER XV THE LATIN TEST

CHAPTER XVI A WINTER HIKE

CHAPTER XVII MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT

CHAPTER XVIII THE SECOND-CLASS TEST

CHAPTER XIX THE BOY SCOUTS ENTERTAIN

CHAPTER XX MARJORIE’S SUSPICIONS

CHAPTER XXI THE BASKET-BALL GAME

CHAPTER XXII THE GHOST AT THE CABIN

CHAPTER XXIII RUTH’S ADVENTURE

CHAPTER XXIV RESTITUTION

CHAPTER XXV THE VERDICT

CHAPTER XXVI THE PLAY

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