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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




[Illustration: 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_.”

  [Illustration]

  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, and other
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




_SAVE THE WRAPPER!_


_If_ you have enjoyed reading about the adventures of the new friends
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_Orders for these books, placed with your bookstore or sent to the
Publishers, will receive prompt attention._




The Girl Scouts Series

BY EDITH LAVELL

[Illustration]

  A new copyright series of Girl Scouts stories by an author
  of wide experience in Scouts’ craft, as Director of Girl
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  Clothbound, with Attractive Color Designs.
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  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    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
    THE GIRL SCOUTS ON THE RANCH
    THE GIRL SCOUTS’ VACATION ADVENTURES
    THE GIRL SCOUTS’ MOTOR TRIP
    THE GIRL SCOUTS’ CAPTAIN
    THE GIRL SCOUTS’ DIRECTOR

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
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[Illustration]

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Marjorie Dean High School Series

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    MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN
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    MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR
    MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




Marjorie Dean College Series

BY PAULINE LESTER.

[Illustration]

Author of the Famous Marjorie Dean High School Series

Those who have read the Marjorie Dean High School Series will be eager
to read this new series, as Marjorie Dean continues to be the heroine
in these stories.

  All Clothbound.      Copyright Titles.
  PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE FRESHMAN
    MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE SOPHOMORE
    MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE JUNIOR
    MARJORIE DEAN, COLLEGE SENIOR

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY. 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




MARJORIE DEAN POST-GRADUATE SERIES

By PAULINE LESTER

[Illustration]

Author of the Famous Marjorie Dean High School and College Series.

  All Cloth Bound.      Copyright Titles.
  _With Individual Jackets in Colors._

  PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    MARJORIE DEAN, POST GRADUATE
    MARJORIE DEAN, MARVELOUS MANAGER
    MARJORIE DEAN AT HAMILTON ARMS
    MARJORIE DEAN’S ROMANCE
    MARJORIE DEAN MACY

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




THE MERRY LYNN SERIES

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

  Cloth Bound.      Jackets in Colors.

The charm of school and camp life, out-door sports and European travel
is found in these winning tales of Merilyn and her friends at boarding
school and college. These realistic stories of the everyday life, the
fun, frolic and special adventures of the Beechwood girls will be
enjoyed by all girls of high school age.

    MERILYN ENTERS BEECHWOLD
    MERILYN AT CAMP MEENAHGA
    MERILYN TESTS LOYALTY
    MERILYN’S NEW ADVENTURE
    MERILYN FORRESTER, CO-ED.
    THE “MERRY LYNN” MINE

  A. L. BURT COMPANY, _Publishers_
  114-120 EAST 23rd STREET      NEW YORK




Princess Polly Series

By AMY BROOKS

[Illustration]

  Author of “Dorothy Dainty” series, Etc.
  Stories of Sweet-Tempered, Sunny,
  Lovable Little “Princess Polly.”
  For girls 12 to 16 years.
  Each Volume Illustrated.

  Cloth Bound
  _With Individual Jackets in Colors._
  PRICE, 75 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    PRINCESS POLLY
    PRINCESS POLLY’S PLAYMATES
    PRINCESS POLLY AT SCHOOL
    PRINCESS POLLY BY THE SEA
    PRINCESS POLLY’S GAY WINTER
    PRINCESS POLLY AT PLAY
    PRINCESS POLLY AT CLIFFMORE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




THE Ann Sterling Series

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

[Illustration]

  Stories of Ranch and College Life
  For Girls 12 to 16 Years

  _Handsome Cloth Binding with Attractive Jackets in Color_

  ANN STERLING
    The strange gift of Old Never-Run, an Indian whom she
    has befriended, brings exciting events into Ann’s life.

  THE COURAGE OF ANN
    Ann makes many new, worthwhile friends during her first
    year at Forest Hill College.

  ANN AND THE JOLLY SIX
    At the close of their Freshman year Ann and the Jolly
    Six enjoy a house party at the Sterling’s mountain
    ranch.

  ANN CROSSES A SECRET TRAIL
    The Sterling family, with a group of friends, and a
    thrilling vacation under the southern Pines of Florida.

  ANN’S SEARCH REWARDED
    In solving the disappearance of her father, Ann finds
    exciting adventures, Indians and bandits in the West.

  ANN’S AMBITIONS
    The end of her Senior year at Forest Hill brings a
    whirl of new events into the career of “Ann of the
    Singing Fingers.”

  ANN’S STERLING HEART
    Ann returns home, after completing a busy year of
    musical study abroad.

  A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers,
  114-120 EAST 23d STREET      NEW YORK




Books for Girls

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of THE VIRGINIA DAVIS SERIES

[Illustration]

  All Clothbound.      Copyright Titles.
  _With Individual Jackets in Colors_

  MEG OF MYSTERY MOUNTAIN
    This story tells of the summer vacation some young
    people spent in the mountains and how they cleared up
    the mystery of the lost cabin at Crazy Creek Mine.

  RILLA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE
    “Rilla” had lived all her life with only her
    grandfather and “Uncle Barney” as companions, but
    finally, at High Cliff Seminary, her great test came
    and the lovable girl from Windy Island Lighthouse met
    it brilliantly.

  NAN OF THE GYPSIES
    In this tale of a wandering gypsy band, Nan, who has
    spent her childhood with the gypsies, is adopted by a
    woman of wealth, and by her love and loyalty to her,
    she proves her fine character and true worth.

  SISTERS
    The personal characteristics and incidents in the lives
    of two girls--one thoughtless and proud, the other
    devoted and self-sacrificing--are vividly described
    in this story, told as it is with sympathy and
    understanding for both.

  A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers,
  114-120 EAST 23rd STREET      NEW YORK




The Greycliff Girls Series

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

[Illustration]

  Stories of Adventure, Fun, Study and Personalities of
  girls attending Greycliff School.
  For Girls 10 to 15 Years

  PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA
  Cloth bound, with Individual Jackets in Color.

    CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF
    THE GIRLS OF GREYCLIFF
    GREYCLIFF WINGS
    GREYCLIFF GIRLS IN CAMP
    GREYCLIFF HEROINES
    GREYCLIFF GIRLS IN GEORGIA
    GREYCLIFF GIRLS’ RANCHING
    GREYCLIFF GIRLS’ GREAT ADVENTURE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




The Virginia Davis Series

By GRACE MAY NORTH

[Illustration]

  Clean, Wholesome Stories of Ranch Life.
  For Girls 12 to 16 Years.

  All Clothbound.
  _With Individual Jackets in Colors._
  PRICE, 75 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH
    VIRGINIA AT VINE HAVEN
    VIRGINIA’S ADVENTURE CLUB
    VIRGINIA’S RANCH NEIGHBORS
    VIRGINIA’S ROMANCE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




The Radio Boys Series

BY GERALD BRECKENRIDGE

[Illustration]

  A new series of copyright titles for boys of all ages.

  Cloth Bound, with Attractive Cover Designs
  PRICE, 50 CENTS EACH
  POSTAGE 10c EXTRA

    THE RADIO BOYS ON THE MEXICAN BORDER
    THE RADIO BOYS ON SECRET SERVICE DUTY
    THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE REVENUE GUARDS
    THE RADIO BOYS’ SEARCH FOR THE INCA’S TREASURE
    THE RADIO BOYS RESCUE THE LOST ALASKA EXPEDITION
    THE RADIO BOYS IN DARKEST AFRICA
    THE RADIO BOYS SEEK THE LOST ATLANTIS
    THE RADIO BOYS WITH THE BORDER PATROL
    THE RADIO BOYS AS SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

A. L. BURT COMPANY, 114-120 E. 23d St., NEW YORK




_The Boy Allies With the Army_

(Registered in the United States Patent Office)

BY CLAIR W. HAYES

[Illustration]

  For Boys 12 to 16 Years.
  All Cloth Bound      Copyright Titles

In this series we follow the fortunes of two American lads unable to
leave Europe after war is declared. They meet the soldiers of the
Allies, and decide to cast their lot with them. Their experiences and
escapes are many, and furnish plenty of good, healthy action that every
boy loves.

  THE BOY ALLIES AT LIEGE; or, Through Lines of Steel.

  THE BOY ALLIES ON THE FIRING LINE; or, Twelve Days’
    Battle Along the Marne.

  THE BOY ALLIES WITH THE COSSACKS; or, A Wild Dash Over
    the Carpathians.

  THE BOY ALLIES IN THE TRENCHES; or, Midst Shot and
    Shell Along the Aisne.

  THE BOY ALLIES IN GREAT PERIL; or, With the Italian
    Army In the Alps.

  THE BOY ALLIES IN THE BALKAN CAMPAIGN; or, The Struggle
    to Save a Nation.

  THE BOY ALLIES ON THE SOMME; or, Courage and Bravery
    Rewarded.

  THE BOY ALLIES AT VERDUN; or, Saving France from the
    Enemy.

  THE BOY ALLIES UNDER THE STARS AND STRIPES; or, Leading
    the American Troops to the Firing Line.

  THE BOY ALLIES WITH HAIG IN FLANDERS; or, The Fighting
    Canadians of Vimy Ridge.

  THE BOY ALLIES WITH PERSHING IN FRANCE: or, Over the
    Top at Chateau Thierry.

  THE BOY ALLIES WITH MARSHAL FOCH; or, The Closing Days
    of the Great World War.

For sale by all booksellers, or sent on receipt of price by the
Publishers

  A. L. BURT COMPANY
  114-120 EAST 23d STREET      NEW YORK




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