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[Illustration: LAURA OVERTURNED THE FULL GLOBE, FISH AND ALL, UPON THE
FLAMES! _Page_ 28]




                               The Girls
                            of Central High

                                   OR

                         RIVALS FOR ALL HONORS

                                   BY
                          GERTRUDE W. MORRISON

              Author of the Girls of Central High on Lake
                   Luna, the Girls of Central High At
                            Basketball, Etc.

                             _ILLUSTRATED_

                                NEW YORK
                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
                               PUBLISHERS




                            BOOKS FOR GIRLS

                        BY GERTRUDE W. MORRISON

              12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume,
                          40 cents, postpaid.

                    THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH SERIES

              THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH
              Or, Rivals for All Honors

              THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON LAKE LUNA
              Or, The Crew That Won

              THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH AT BASKETBALL
              Or, The Great Gymnasium Mystery

              THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON THE STAGE
              Or, The Play That Took the Prize

              THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH ON TRACK AND FIELD
              Or, The Champions of the School League

                            GROSSET & DUNLAP
                          PUBLISHERS—NEW YORK

                          Copyright, 1914, BY
                            Grosset & Dunlap

                       The Girls of Central High




                                CONTENTS

          CHAPTER                                          PAGE
                I A blow at the High Cost of Living           1
               II Athletics—Pro and Con                      11
              III A Real Alarm                               21
               IV “Poor Bobby”                               31
                V Whom Do You Believe?                       38
               VI False Evidence                             46
              VII The Committee on Organization              54
             VIII Laura and the Principal                    62
               IX “The Day of the Touch”                     74
                X The Joke on Hester                         80
               XI The Man on the Spire                       86
              XII The M. O. R. Initiation                    95
             XIII The Haunted House                         104
              XIV The Test                                  112
               XV A Very Real “Ghost” Indeed                119
              XVI Where Is Laura?                           126
             XVII The Mystery                               135
            XVIII On the Eve of the Contest                 143
              XIX Hester Fouls the Game                     151
               XX The Eight-oared Shell                     159
              XXI The Finish of the Boat Race               166
             XXII Staging a Thunderstorm                    178
            XXIII The Unveiling of Hester                   186
             XXIV The First Field Day                       194
              XXV “Mother Wit”                              202




THE GIRLS OF CENTRAL HIGH




CHAPTER I—A BLOW AT THE HIGH COST OF LIVING


“Hey, Laura!”

The side window of James Belding’s jewelry store was open behind the
grillwork of strong steel bars. Laura had just finished dusting the
inside of the last show case in the row on that side of the wide shop,
and had replaced the trays. This was Laura Belding’s usual Saturday
morning task; her father would not trust Chet to do it, although the lad
often waited on customers.

Just now Mr. Belding was at the front of the store, showing a tray of
his most valuable rings to a customer. The shopper was a stranger to
both the jeweler and his daughter, who were alone in the place;
therefore Mr. Belding’s eyes did not leave the tray before him.

“Hey, Laura!”

The call was repeated in a loud “stage whisper”; the sound came from the
open window. Laura started and turned to look. She could see a fly-away
mop of flaxen hair, a line of forehead, and two sparkling brown eyes.

“Bobby Hargrew!” she cried, and went to the window.

“Oh, Laura! I want something,” whispered her friend, fairly dancing up
and down outside the window. “I’ve got _such_ a scheme!”

“What is it now?” asked Laura, sedately. “Bobby” Hargrew’s schemes were
often very crack-brained indeed. Everybody—except her grandmother—called
her “Bobby” instead of “Clara.” There were no boys in the Hargrew
family; but her father, Tom Hargrew, declared that Clara was just as
much fun as any boy. And she certainly was a “fly-away.”

“Get your father to let you have that big magnifying glass we were
looking at last week, and bring it along to the store,” whispered Bobby,
chuckling while she preferred the request.

“What for?”

“Never mind! I’ll show you when we get to the store. Dad’s about to shut
up. Hurry, now!”

Tom Hargrew’s grocery store was on the block just beyond the Belding
shop.

“I—don’t—know,” murmured Laura, glancing at her father and his customer.
“Pa’s busy.”

“Oh, come on!” cried the harum-scarum Bobby. “I won’t hurt the old
glass.”

Thus adjured, Laura put on her hat and walked slowly to the front of the
store with the magnifying glass in her hand.

“Father,” she said softly, touching his arm, “I want to borrow this for
a little while. I will bring it back.”

He nodded. He could not leave his customer then. So Laura walked out of
the store and joined her school friend in Market Street. The girls were
sophomores in Central High School of the city and they had always lived
in adjoining streets, so were very good friends. Bobby was so full of
mischief that it was hard to keep her out of trouble; but sometimes the
more quiet daughter of the jeweler had a restraining influence over the
younger girl.

“Oh, I’ve got the greatest scheme!” gasped Bobby, choked with laughter.
“Hurry up before Daddy closes.”

“What have you been doing now?” asked her friend, admonishingly.

“Just dressing one of the store windows—honest to goodness! that’s all
I’ve been doing.”

“But why the magnifying glass?”

“That’s it. You’ll see the joke. Hurry,” urged Bobby, pulling Laura
along the walk.

They came to Mr. Hargrew’s grocery store and Bobby halted her friend
before the first window. It was tastefully arranged with canned goods
and package products; but in the center, in a bed of different colored
tissue paper, was an ordinary loaf of bread of small size. Above it was
a freshly lettered card bearing the legend:

                            Why Worry About
                        THE HIGH COST OF LIVING?

                              ONLY 5 CENTS

“But I don’t see the joke,” murmured Laura, turning to her giggling
friend, curiously.

“Wait!” cried Bobby. “You’ll see. Give me that glass.”

She snatched the magnifying glass from her friend’s hand and whisked
into the store. In a moment she had set the glass in such a way before
the loaf of bread that anybody passing the window must look at the bread
through it—and the loaf certainly looked to be a huge one for the stated
price on the card above.

Laura had to laugh. And she knew it would make many other people laugh
before Monday morning. Such little jokes attracted trade, too, and Bobby
Hargrew was full of novel ideas. Her father came outside and viewed the
advertising display admiringly.

“Hasn’t that young one got a great head?” he said. Bobby’s capers
usually “tickled” her father. Having no son, he made her his companion
as though she were a boy.

Already pedestrians had begun to stop before the window and laugh over
the joke. Laura turned to go back to her father’s store.

“You’re coming up to the school this afternoon, Bobby?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” returned her friend, slowly. “I wanted to see the East
High boys beat the West High boys. First baseball game of the season,
you know; I just hope Central will win the pennant.”

“So do I,” murmured Laura. “But I think we girls should have some
interest in athletics besides our loyalty to the boys’ baseball and
football teams. I want the girls of Central High to organize for our own
improvement and pleasure. Don’t you?”

“Do you suppose anything will come of the meeting this afternoon?”
queried Bobby, doubtfully. “Old ‘Gee Gee’ is opposed to it.”

“How do you know Miss Carrington doesn’t like the idea?” asked Laura,
quickly.

“She told us if we did not stand well in deportment, as well as in our
studies, we could not belong to the new association—if it was formed.”

“Well, why should we? We’ve got to play the game, Bobby. It’s only
honest in us to do our work well if we want the fun of playing
basket-ball, and learning to dance, and row, and swim, and all the rest
of it.”

“Well, it’s little fun I’ll get out of it,” sighed Bobby. “Gee Gee is
forever putting black tally-marks down against me.”

“Miss Grace G. Carrington, whom you so impolitely term ‘Gee Gee,’”
laughed Laura, “is thoroughly familiar with you, Miss Bobby Hargrew. You
cannot fool her for one little minute—that’s why you don’t like her.”

The grocer’s daughter flushed; but she laughed, too.

“Perhaps you’re right,” she admitted. “She always _does_ catch me at
things.”

“Then don’t do ‘things,’” advised Laura Belding, with a smile.

“Can’t all be ‘Miss Prims,’ like you, Laura,” cried Bobby saucily.

“You’ll come to the meeting, just the same?” urged her friend.

“Oh, yes; I’ll come. I hope we’ll get a girls’ athletic association
formed, too. The boys won’t let us play with them if we want to, and I’d
like to learn how to play some game beside Puss in the Corner and Drop
the Handkerchief. We’re all getting so dreadfully lady-like and grown
up. I _hate_ to grow up. If I’ve got to be all stiff and starched all
the time, I’d rather be a boy. Why! Nellie Agnew looks so much like her
mother, back to, when she’s dressed up, that last Sunday I asked after
her rheumatism in my best-bred voice before I saw ’twas Nell!” and again
Bobby broke into one of her jolly laughs.

“You come to the meeting. Mr. Sharp approves, and maybe he’ll be there;
so will Mrs. Case, our gymnastic teacher.”

“I’ll come, Laura,” promised the harum-scarum, as the jeweler’s daughter
went on to her father’s shop. The customer had gone when she arrived and
Mr. Belding was putting up the grating at the door. The more valuable
articles of the stock had been put into the huge safe at the back of the
room, and the safe locked.

“We’ll go to Mostyn’s to lunch in a minute, Laura,” said her father.
“Your dusting is done, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Laura, smiling.

It was a regular Saturday treat to accompany her father to the
fashionable restaurant for luncheon. Laura did not begrudge the time she
spent helping in the store during that forenoon, when the treat
followed.

Most of the stores on Market Street closed for the Saturday half
holiday, even if, like Mr. Belding’s jewelry store, they opened again
for the evening trade. For the town was interested in athletics, and
Saturday afternoon in pleasant weather the year around was given up to
field sports of some kind.

Centerport was advantageously located for both land and water sports,
being situated on the level shore of a beautiful lake, many miles in
extent, with a range of low hills behind it to shelter the city from the
north.

The boys of the three High Schools of the city—East, West and
Central—were rivals in baseball, football, rowing, and track athletics;
and on this particular Saturday the first baseball game of the season
was to be played between East and West High School nines. Central High,
which Laura Belding and Bobby Hargrew attended, had a good team, too,
and the girls—loyal to their boy friends—would have “rooted” for the
home team had the Central club been playing.

However, the girls of Central High—especially the Sophomores and
Juniors—had a particular reason for attending no baseball game on this
afternoon. As soon as her luncheon was finished, Laura excused herself
and hurried away from Mostyn’s restaurant toward the schoolhouse.

Her route lay past Mr. Hargrew’s grocery—one window of which was the
scene of Bobby Hargrew’s latest practical joke. The sun was very hot for
so early in the year, and the grocery was on the sunny side of the
street. It was long enough past noon for the sun’s rays to pour into the
wide window.

Just before Laura reached Mr. Hargrew’s store she saw a tow-headed boy,
with a baseball cap stuck on the very back of his head, coming whistling
along the hot walk with his hands in his pockets.

“Billy Long might just as well not have any hat on at all,” thought
Laura, smiling as she beheld the freckled, good-natured face of the
towhead.

And then, quite suddenly, Billy Long’s actions amazed Laura Belding.

He halted, as though struck motionless by the sight of Bobby’s joke in
the store window. Then he leaped to the window, leaped back, turned to
look up and down the almost deserted street (there was nobody in sight
but Laura for two or three blocks) and then dashed toward the corner
which the girl had but a few seconds before passed.

“What’s the matter with you, Billy Long?” cried Laura.

“Fire!” bawled the boy. “Mr. Hargrew’s store’s afire! Fire!”

“Nonsense!” cried Laura, and ran forward. “Are you fooling me, Short and
Long?”

But in a moment she saw smoke rising from the very middle of the show
window—in the heart of the bed of tissue paper.




CHAPTER II—ATHLETICS—PRO AND CON


Billy Long (called “Short and Long” because of his diminutive stature)
galloped on to the street corner, shouting “Fire! Fire!” in an
astonishingly weak voice. Billy was so excited that it choked him!

On the corner was one of the city fire-alarm boxes. There was no place
of deposit of the key indicated upon the box; but it had a glass front.
Billy looked wildly about for a stick, or stone, with which to break the
glass. There appeared to be nothing of the kind at hand.

Down the side street, not half a block away, was the fire station; but
that fact never crossed Master Billy’s mind. Besides, the importance of
having a legitimate reason for sending in an alarm was the prominent
idea in Short and Long’s mind at that moment.

He glanced back once and saw the spiral of smoke rising behind the broad
plate glass window of the grocery store. Laura Belding stood before it
unable, as he had been for the moment when he first sighted it, to do a
thing. Indeed, what was there to do but turn in the alarm for the
department?

The loaf of bread nestling in its bed of tissue paper was already burned
to a cinder; the paper would soon be in flames.

Billy hesitated only a moment when he reached the box and found no
weapon with which to break the glass. He pulled out his handkerchief,
wrapped it about his knuckles, and splintered the glass with one blow.
At that he cut his hand a little; but he scarcely noticed this in his
eagerness.

Standing on his tiptoes he was just able to pull down the hook inside.
He could hear the alarm bell sound in the station half a block away at
almost the instant he set the telegraph to working.

By this time several citizens had run to the store front. They were all
quite as excited as Billy Long, the short boy.

“Tom’s locked up and gone!” cried one, shaking the latch of the store
door.

“Of course he has—gone to the ball game!” said another.

“This door’ll have to be smashed in.”

“No! break the window pane!”

“Lock will cost less than the glass,” cried another man.

“That burning glass is what did it,” said one more reflective man. “Fool
trick—that was.”

“That young one of his did it,” declared the first speaker. “Always up
to some trick or other.”

“Say! where’s the fire department? They must have all gone to the ball
game, too.”

“I’m going to break the glass in this door!” shouted the first man to
arrive.

“What good will that do?” cried his friend, mopping his brow. “There’s
the wire screen behind it. You can’t bust _that_ with your fist.”

“Break the big window, then!”

“No! Smash the lock of the door.”

But they had no tools with which to do this. Had there been a loose
paving block in the street the urgent man would surely have burst in the
big plate glass. Just then a man with a helmet on his head and an axe in
his hand rushed around the corner—the first fireman on the scene.

“Where is it, boy?” he demanded of Billy Long. “You rang in the alarm,
didn’t you?”

“Here it is, Ned!” yelled one of the men in front of the grocery store.
“You’ve got to break down this door to git to it.”

“You got to break the window—that’s quickest!” declared the insistent
man.

The fireman ran to the door. He poised his axe for a blow as the others
stood back. But suddenly Laura Belding halted the whole proceedings.

“Wait! wait a moment!” she cried, darting to the side of the window.

The fireman looked over his shoulder at her. The girl, with nimble
fingers, released the awning ropes. In half a minute the heavy awning
dropped over the walk and shut out the hot rays of the sun. The cinder
of bread stopped smoking. _The fire was out!_

“Well! don’t that beat all?” cackled one of the men.

The fireman grinned sheepishly and walked to the middle of the
show-window to make sure that the danger was really over.

“You’ve got a head on you—that’s what you’ve got!” he said to Laura.

“She’s Belding’s daughter—a smart little girl,” declared another of the
men.

The engine and hose carriage came tearing around the corner just then.
From up the street thundered the ladder-truck, three huge horses
abreast. A crowd came running to the scene.

Laura slipped away, and found Short and Long at her side.

“Huh!” he said, with a grimace. “I thought I was going to be a hero.
You’ve got me beat, Laura. You stole my laurel wreath right off my
head!”

“You ought to have used what’s in your head a little better, Billy,”
returned the girl, laughing. “What is your gray matter for?—as Professor
Dimple would say.”

“Huh! Old Dimple! That’s exactly what he would say. He certainly does
stick the gaff into us,” grumbled the short boy. “I’ve got a page of
Virgil extra to translate between now and Monday morning. He’s a mean
old hunks.”

“Such language!” sighed Laura. “I should think you needed extra work in
English, not Latin, Billy.”

“I don’t need extra work at all,” proclaimed Master Billy, with scorn.
“I’ve got too much work as it is. And he and Mr. Sharp between them
threaten to cut me out of the ball team altogether this season if I
don’t catch up. And what’s the team going to do for a short stop?”

“Well, Miss Carrington tells us girls that if we are going in for
athletics we have all got to have good marks, too. Only the girls who
stand high can join the new athletic association. Some of the lazy girls
will be disappointed, I fear.”

“Are you girls really going in for athletics?” demanded Billy.

“We are. Why shouldn’t we? It isn’t fair for you boys to have all the
fun.”

“And they say they are going to start girls’ branches in East and West
High, too?”

“Yes. We want to have inter-school matches. Inter-class matches are
forbidden right at the start. The doctor says there must be no rivalry
among classes.”

“Yah! but there will be,” said Billy. “There always is. Purt Sweet
pretty near broke up the ball team this season because he couldn’t
play.”

“Now we girls will show you how much nicer we can conduct affairs,”
laughed Laura. “We sha’n’t squabble.”

“Oh, no!” scoffed Billy. “What do you s’pose Hessie Grimes will do if
she isn’t allowed to boss everything? Didn’t she and that chum of hers,
Lil Pendleton, break up the class supper last year—when we were
freshmen? Oh, no!”

“Well, that won’t happen again,” said Laura, firmly.

“Why not?”

“Because the rest of us girls will not agree to follow her,” declared
Laura, confidently.

“You know she won’t play if she can’t be ‘it,’” grinned Billy.

“Now you see,” returned Laura, good naturedly, and a moment later she
parted from the short boy.

She had not walked another block toward the schoolhouse when she heard a
voice calling her name:

“Laura! Laura Belding!”

“Why, Jess!” exclaimed Laura, eagerly. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”

Josephine, or “Jess,” Morse was a taller girl than her friend, with
bright gray eyes, and hair of that “fly-away” variety that never _will_
look smooth. Despite Miss Morse’s bright eyes she often did the most
ridiculous things quite thoughtlessly. Her mind was of the “wandering”
variety. And almost always one could find an ink stain on her finger.
This marked her among her girl friends, at least, as being “literary.”
And, as the old folk say, “she came by it naturally.” Her mother, Mrs.
Mary Morse, had some little reputation as a writer for the magazines.

“Yes,” said Miss Morse, putting her arm around her chum’s waist as they
walked on together. “I just _had_ to come. If you are going in for
athletics, Laura, of course I’ve got to.”

“Too bad,” laughed her friend. “You’re just whipped into it, I suppose?”

“I just am.”

“Why, it will be fun, Jess!”

“Who says so? I’d lots rather go to the theater—or to a party—or even go
shopping. And you can’t dress up and play those horrid games the gym.
teacher tells about.”

“But you like to play tennis.”

“Er—well—— Yes, I play tennis. I like it because there aren’t many of
the girls—nor the boys, either—who can beat me at that. I’ve got such a
long reach, you see,” said the tall girl, with satisfaction.

“Then you’d like any athletic game in which you could excel?”

“Why—I suppose so,” admitted Miss Morse.

“That’s a poor attitude in which to approach school athletics,” said
Laura with a sigh.

“Why is it?”

“Because, as I understand it, we should play for the sport’s sake, not
so much to win every time. That’s the way to play the game. And that is
what Mrs. Case will tell us to-day, I know.”

“She will be at the meeting, I suppose?”

“And Miss Carrington.”

“Oh—Gee Gee! Of course. To keep us up in our deportment,” said Jess,
making a face.

“You all find her so strict,” observed Laura, seriously. “She treats me
nicely.”

“Why, you know very well, Laura, that you never in your life did
anything to get a teacher mad.”

“I don’t know what you mean by that. We don’t go to school to play
tricks on the teachers. I want them to respect me. And father and mother
would be disappointed if I brought home a bad report, especially in
deportment.”

“Oh, I know!” said Jess. “For a girl who likes fun as you do, you do
manage to keep concealed all your superabundance of spirits—in school,
at least. But some of us have just _got_ to slop over.”

“‘Slop over!’”

“Yes, Miss Nancy. Don’t be a prude in your English, too,” laughed Jess.
“Say! did you hear how Bobby got Gee Gee going yesterday in chemistry
class?”

Laura shook her head, seeing that it would be useless to take her chum
to task further on the topic of slang.

“Why, Gee Gee had been expatiating at great length on the impossibility
of really creating, or annihilating, anything—the indestructibility of
matter, you know.”

“I see,” said Laura, nodding.

“Oh, she brought up the illustrations in ranks and platoons, and
regiments. I guess she thought she had got the fact hammered home at
last, for she said: ‘You absolutely cannot make _anything_.’ And then
Bobby speaks up, just as innocent, and says: ‘But, Miss Carrington,
can’t we make a noise that didn’t exist before?’

“And what do you think?” cried Jess, giggling, “Poor Bobby got a black
mark for it. Gee Gee said she did it to make the class laugh.”

“And Bobby did, didn’t she?” said Laura, but laughing, too.

“Oh, we laughed all right. But the lesson was practically over. Gee Gee
ought to be glad if we can leave her class room in anything but a flood
of tears!” completed Jess, as they came to Central High School.




CHAPTER III—A REAL ALARM


A bevy of girls were lingering on the steps and in the portico of the
High School building. Mr. Sharp had given permission for the girls
interested in the formation of the athletic association to meet in the
small hall—“the music room” it was called,—on the third floor of the
building, next to the suite given up to the teachers’ offices and
studies.

Laura and her dearest friend, Josephine Morse, were welcomed
vociferously by many of the waiting girls. Among them was Bobby Hargrew,
but Laura did not tell her of the result of her practical joke in the
window of the grocery store. Indeed, there was no opportunity to speak
privately to Miss Harum-scarum. She came running to meet the chums just
as Dora and Dorothy Lockwood, who were twins, crossed their path, arm in
arm.

“There!” cried Jess Morse, “which of you two girls did I lend my pencil
to yesterday in chemistry class? I declare I meant to mark the one I
lent it to somehow; but you were dressed just alike then, and you’re
dressed just alike now. How do you ever tell each other apart?” she
added, shaking both twins by their arms.

“Only one way there’ll ever be to tell ’em apart,” broke in Bobby
Hargrew. “When they get good and old, mebbe one will lose her teeth
before the other does—like the twins back in the town my father lived
in.”

“How was that, Bobby?” asked Jess.

“Why, those two twins, Sam and Bill, were just like Dora and Dorothy.
Their own fathers and mothers didn’t know them apart. But Bill lost all
his upper teeth and wouldn’t buy store teeth. So folks that knew got to
telling them apart. You see, if you put your finger in Bill’s mouth and
he bit you, why ’twas Sam!”

A rather tall, stately looking girl—taller, even than Jess Morse—drew
near the group while the girls were laughing over Bobby’s story.

“Oh, Nellie!” cried Laura. “I’m glad to see you here. What does the
doctor say about the scheme of our forming an athletic association?”

“I don’t know what he thinks about the proposed association,” returned
the physician’s daughter; “but I’m sure he approves of athletics for
girls. He told mother only yesterday that I ought to do at least half
the sweeping, and so relieve mother and the maid,” and Nellie Agnew
laughed. “What do you think of that? Father says I am getting round
shouldered and flat chested. I do hope we’ll go in for athletics. I
don’t like housework.”

“Lazy girl!” said Laura. “That is the way it will be with lots of them—I
know. If it is play, they’ll like it; but anything like real work——”

“There goes Laura Belding again—telling us all how we should be good and
proper,” said a sneering voice behind Laura. “Really, I should think
you’d be tired of telling us all how to conduct ourselves. You ought to
run a ‘Heart to Heart Talks’ department in the _Evening Awful_.”

“Hessie Grimes! Mean thing!” hissed Jess in Laura’s ear. But the latter
turned an unruffled countenance upon the rather overdressed, red-faced
girl whose strident voice had broken in upon the good-natured
conversation of the group.

“Oh, no, Hester. I don’t think my forte is journalism. We’ll let Jess
take that position,” Laura said. “I see you and Lily Pendleton are both
here, so there is nobody else to wait for. We can go upstairs, I guess.”

“Oh, I don’t know as I want to join the silly old society,” giggled
Lily, who was a slender, white faced girl, who always clung to Hester
and instead of giving the more assertive girl the benefit of her
support, “clung like the ivy to the oak-tree’s branch.”

“Lil and Hessie expect to be ‘touched’ for the M. O. R.’s,” said Jess,
quickly.

“Huh!” exclaimed Bobby Hargrew. “Perhaps they’ve another guess coming.
The Middle of the Road Girls are not taking in many Sophs—we can make up
our minds to that.”

“And do Hessie and Lily wish to join such a solemn conclave as the
Mothers of the Republic,” demanded Nell Agnew, laughing, and making
another play upon the initials of the most popular society of Central
High. “I wouldn’t believe it.”

“You don’t know whether I wish to join or not, Miss!” snapped Hester
Grimes.

“Say!” cried Bobby. “Heard the latest? Know what Chet and Lance and
Short and Long call the M. O. R. girls?”

“What is it?” asked the twins, in chorus.

“The Mary O’Rourkes! And Mary O’Rourke is a member—she’s a senior, you
know, and just the nicest girl! But her initials are the same as the
society’s—and nobody knows what the initials stand for. That is, nobody
outside the society.”

There had begun a general advance into the school building and up the
broad stairway, ere this. Chattering and laughing, in little groups and
by couples, the girls mounted the two flights and advanced slowly into
the hall, or into the main office next to it. The windows of this office
were over the front entrance of the building, and although the room was
a very long one, it was brilliantly lighted, the windows reaching almost
from ceiling to floor.

A large globe of water with goldfish and some aquatic plants and coral
in it had the post of honor on a stand in the center of the bowed
windows. Before the window was Principal Franklin Sharp’s great
table-desk, and a big rubbish basket beside it. The janitor had not yet
dusted and cleaned these rooms for the week, knowing that the girls were
to hold their meeting there.

“Mrs. Case and Gee Gee are here already, girls,” whispered Bobby
Hargrew, after peering in somewhat cautiously at the door of the music
room.

Laura and her chum, with the doctor’s daughter and some of the older
girls, approached the hall where the meeting was to be held. There were
already fifty or more girls gathered in the music room and as many more
were strolling through the corridors, or in the office.

Suddenly a burst of half-stifled laughter arose from the office. A crowd
of the more mischievous girls were about Bobby Hargrew. Miss Carrington
stepped down from the platform at the end of the music room and marched
steadily toward the office.

“Oh! Bobby’s going to catch it again!” whispered Jess in Laura’s ear.

But there was no opportunity for her friends to warn the sprightly Clara
of the approach of her nemesis. And when Miss Carrington, otherwise Gee
Gee, came to the doorway and through her eye-glasses beheld the heinous
offense of Bobby the teacher was, indeed, very much horrified.

Bobby was perched on the corner of Mr. Sharp’s desk, in a most
unladylike attitude, and apparently just removing a burning cigarette
from her rosy lips! The blue smoke curled away from the horrid thing,
and Bobby was leaning back, with her roguish glance following the
smoke-rings, and apparently enjoying the weed immensely.

“Miss Hargrew!”

The awful voice startled everybody but Bobby herself. Perhaps the wicked
one had been expecting it.

“What do I see, Miss Hargrew?” demanded Gee Gee, in a tone of cold
horror.

“I really do not know, Miss Carrington,” replied Bobby, as the girls
shrank away from her vicinity, and she herself hopped down to the floor,
hiding her hands behind her. “I never did know just how far you could
see with your glasses.”

“Miss Hargrew, come here!” snapped the teacher, in no mood for
frivolity.

Bobby approached slowly. She held her hands behind her back like a
naughty child.

“Let me see what is in your hand, Miss!” commanded the teacher

Bobby brought forth her right hand—empty.

“Your other hand, Miss!”

Back snapped the culprit’s right hand and then her left hand
appeared—likewise empty.

“Miss Hargrew! I demand that you give me what you are hiding in your
hand, at once!” cried Miss Carrington.

Slowly, and with drooping mien, the culprit brought forth both hands. In
the fingers of one still smoked the brown object the teacher had spied.

“A vile cigarette!” she gasped.

“No, ma’am,” replied Bobby, quite bravely. “Only a piece of Chinese
punk-stick left over from last year’s Fourth of July celebration. I
wouldn’t smoke a cigarette, Miss Carrington. I don’t think they’re
nice—do _you_?”

It was impossible for the other girls to smother their laughter. A
ripple of merriment spread back to the music room. Now, Miss Carrington
was a very unfortunate woman. She had no sense of humor. There should be
a civil service examination for educational instructors in the line of
“sense of humor.” For those who could not “pass” would never make really
successful teachers.

“Clara Hargrew!” snapped Miss Carrington, her glasses almost emitting
sparks. “You will show me a five hundred word essay upon the topic
‘Respect to Our Superiors’ when you come to the classes, Monday morning.
And you may go home now. Until your standing in deportment is higher,
you can have no part in athletics, save those gymnastic exercises
catalogued already in the school’s curriculum. After-school athletics
are forbidden you, Miss Hargrew.”

Bobby at first paled, and then grew very red. Tears stood in her usually
sparkling eyes.

“Oh, Miss Carrington!” she cried. “I was only in fun. And—and this is
not a regular school session. This is Saturday.”

“You are in the precincts of the school, Miss.” said Gee Gee. “Do as you
are bid. And throw that nasty thing away.”

She swept back to the platform at the upper end of the music room, and
those girls who had not already gone ahead of her were quick to leave
the culprit to herself. Hester Grimes smiled sneeringly at poor little
Bobby.

“Got taken up that time pretty short, didn’t you, Miss Smarty?” she
jeered.

Miss Grimes had often been the butt of Bobby Hargrew’s jokes. And
then—Bobby was Laura Belding’s friend and eager supporter. The door was
closed between the music room and the office and Bobby was left alone.

Mrs. Case, the girls’ athletic instructor, was a very different person
from the hated Gee Gee. She was a fresh-colored, breezy woman, in her
thirties, whose clear voice and frank manner the girls all liked. And
then, in the present instance, her proposals anent the athletic
association fitted right into the desires and interests of most of the
pupils present.

“The work of the Girls’ Branch Athletic Association is spreading fast,”
Mrs. Case said. “Centerport must not be behind in any good thing for the
education and development of either her boys or girls. This is something
that I have been advocating before the Board for several years. And
other teachers are interested, too.

“An association will be formed among the girls of East High and West
High, as well. I understand that the school authorities of both
Lumberport and Keyport are to take up the subject of girls’ athletics,
too. So, although inter-class athletics is tabooed, there will be plenty
of rivalry between the girls of Central High and those of our East and
West schools, and those of neighboring cities. A certain amount of
rivalry is a good thing; yet we must remember to cheer the losers and
winners both. This is true sport.

“I want my girls,” continued Miss Case, with a smile, “to be all-round
athletes, as well as all-round scholars. You may be rivals for all
honors with those of your own age in other schools. There are most
fascinating games and exercises to take up, as well as Folk Dancing. The
boys have a splendid association in our school——”

Suddenly Miss Carrington sprang up, interrupting her fellow-teacher. She
stood upon the platform a moment, looking toward the office, and sniffed
the air like a hound on the scent.

“Wait!” she commanded. “I smell smoke!”

She was a tall woman, and she darted down the room with long strides.
She flung open the office door. Then she shrieked and fell back, and
half the girls in the music room echoed her cry.

Flames rose half way to the ceiling, right near the principal’s desk,
and the office itself was full of smoke!




CHAPTER IV—“POOR BOBBY!”


Ordinarily the girls of Central High were perfect in “fire drill.” But
then, when ever they practiced that manœuver, there was no fire. For a
hundred or more of them, however, to see the shooting flames and
blinding smoke, and to hear a teacher who had “lost her head” screaming
as loud as she could scream, was likely to create some confusion.

It was Mrs. Case who rang the fire alarm. This notified the janitor, if
he was in his basement quarters, of the situation of the fire, too. He
would come with an extinguisher to their rescue. But meanwhile the blaze
in the principal’s office was increasing.

“That reckless girl!” shrieked Miss Carrington. “She shall pay for
this!”

And Laura, who had run down the room until she, too, was at the door of
the office, knew whom the teacher meant. Poor Bobby Hargrew! She and her
piece of burning punk-stick must be at the bottom of the catastrophe.
But Miss Carrington really spoke as though she thought Bobby had
intentionally set the fire.

“Oh, she never could have meant to do it,” cried Laura, horrified.

The girls had run from the door into the corridor and nobody but Miss
Carrington and Laura were at the office door.

“What shall we do? What shall we do?” moaned the teacher, wringing her
hands.

“Can’t we put it out?” demanded the girl.

“No, no! You’ll be burned! Come back!” cried Miss Carrington.

But the smoke had cleared somewhat now and Laura could see just what
damage the fire was doing. It surely had started in the big wastebasket.
If Bobby had flung the burning punk into that basket she deserved
punishment—that was sure. Now the flames were spreading to the rug on
which the basket stood. And they were charring the corner of the desk.
Laura could smell the scorching varnish.

“Come back, Miss Belding!” commanded the teacher again.

But the girl thought she saw a chance to accomplish something. There was
no use in waiting for the janitor to come to put out the flames if they
could be quenched immediately. And no knowing how long before John would
reach the room. He was not very spry.

Besides, to allow the fire to spread was both reckless and foolish.
Laura saw just what should be done. She sprang into the room and passed
the flames in a single swift dash.

She reached the window and seized the heavy bowl of water in which the
gold fish swam. It was some weight for her, but she seized it firmly
with both arms, and staggered toward the burning basket.

The smoke was drawn away for a moment by the draught of an opening door
and she heard Miss Carrington scream again. But Laura shut both her eyes
tight and staggered on.

Her foot tripped on the edge of the rug, she felt the blast of fire in
her face, and then she overturned the full globe, fish and all, upon the
flames!

With a great hiss of steam, which rose in her face in a cloud, the water
struck the burning basket and the rug. There was enough water to
saturate the place where the fire had been burning the most briskly. Not
every spark was put out with this dash of water; but it took but a
minute to stamp out the remainder when the steam cleared away.

But the poor fish! All four lay dead upon the floor, either trampled
upon, or scorched by the flames.

“You are a very strong young girl, Miss Belding,” said Mrs. Case,
hurrying in. “And a quick witted one.”

Laura was thinking that it was the second fire she had put out that day!

Miss Carrington was still sputtering. She called Laura “a dear, good
girl—so bright and quick-witted!” And on the other hand she scolded
about Bobby Hargrew until one would have thought poor Bobby was a
monster of wickedness.

“Never mind the poor fish, Miss Agnew,” cried the teacher, as the
doctor’s tender hearted daughter expressed her sorrow over the fate of
those pretty creatures. “More fish can be bought—plenty more. And here
is the rug ruined—and Mr. Sharp’s desk injured. But it shall be paid
for—yes, indeed! Clara Hargrew’s father shall settle the bill. And Miss
Clara shall pay for it, too. Careless, reckless girl!”

“Oh, but Miss Carrington!” cried Laura. “Perhaps she didn’t do it.”

“Who could have done it, then?” demanded Gee Gee, almost tempted to be
angry with Laura for trying to defend the culprit.

“But nobody saw her——”

“I do not say she deliberately set the fire,” said Miss Carrington,
angrily. “But she had the lighted punk. Naturally she tossed it
thoughtlessly into the basket. Behold the result!” finished Gee Gee, so
dramatically that her glasses hopped off her nose.

“Oh, I can’t believe Bobby would have done so careless a thing,”
murmured Laura in the ear of her chum, Jess Morse, who appeared at this
juncture.

“But who else could be guilty?” demanded Jess, convinced against her own
will.

“It will just about finish Bobby for this half,” groaned Laura.

“I should say it would!” returned Jess, as Mrs. Case called them back to
their seats, while old John, who had now arrived, remained to clean up
the debris.

The excitement had come very near breaking up the meeting. And it was
some time before the athletic instructor could obtain the undivided
attention of the girls.

The meeting was advanced far enough for a committee to be appointed to
report on constitution, by-laws, and the like, and the government of the
new organization. It was the intention of those backing the organization
that the girls of Central High should govern their athletics as much as
possible themselves. Too much interference by the faculty always spoils
a school society.

Laura Belding and her chum were both appointed on this committee; and
Hester Grimes and her friend Lily were likewise members. The committee
was to report in a week, and Mrs. Case was to meet with them and advise
them.

Miss Carrington burst out in her tirade upon the absent Clara Hargrew
just as soon as the meeting was closed. She said to Mrs. Case:

“One of my pupils you cannot have in your association, Mrs. Case! I
shall veto Miss Hargrew’s entering into any sports, or taking any
‘extras,’ during the remainder of this term. And I shall take up the
matter with the principal, too. I am not at all convinced in my mind
that for such an offense a girl of her age should not be suspended.”

“Why, don’t you suppose it was entirely an accident, Miss Carrington?”
asked the athletic instructor, doubtfully.

“I don’t know whether it could be called wholly an accident. I shall
look into it very closely,” said the other teacher, shaking her head and
biting her lips.

“Poor Bobby!” repeated Laura Belding to her chum, as they went out of
the school building. “She is so enthusiastic over games and athletics,
too. It will be dreadful deprivation for her.”

“Do you suppose she really threw that burning punk into the papers?”
asked Jess.

“Why—I suppose so. Of course, she’ll be given a chance to say whether
she did or not. But how else could the fire have started?”

But Miss Morse had no answer to make to that.




CHAPTER V—WHOM DO YOU BELIEVE?


The Beldings lived in a nice house on Whiffle Street, with quite a big
plot of ground about it—room for a lawn in front, a tennis court at the
side, and a garden in the rear, out of which a rustic gate opened into
the street where the Hargrews lived. Mr. Belding owned the house and,
with his business as jeweler, was considered, as fortunes went in
Centerport, a wealthy man. But the family lived with old-fashioned
simplicity.

Mrs. Belding was, Laura knew, just the dearest mother who ever lived;
yet she had been brought up as a girl in a country community, had never
had interests any broader than her own home while her children were
small, and now that Laura and Chetwood were almost “grown up”—or, at
least, _felt_ they were—Mother Belding scarcely understood their plans
and aspirations. The new organization was “too much” for her, as she
frequently said.

“Why, how ridiculous!” Mrs. Belding once said, upon coming home from a
shopping tour. “They show me exactly the same style of garment both for
Laura and myself. No difference save the size, I declare! And at Laura’s
age I had not even begun to put my hair up, and my skirts had not been
lengthened.”

“Changes—changes! Don’t let them worry you, Mother,” said her husband,
comfortably.

“Well, Milly and Frank are left us, anyway—they’re still children,”
sighed the troubled lady. “But I must admit that Laura and Chet are too
much for me!”

Not that either of her older children gave her real cause for worriment
or complaint. Chet was his father’s chum and confidant; he could not go
far wrong under such guidance. And Laura was a very sweet tempered and
practical girl. Indeed, it was Laura’s shrewd outlook upon and her keen
appreciation of things that had never entered her mother’s mind as a
girl, that so startled Mrs. Belding.

At supper that night Chet was full of the ball game that his father and
he had attended that afternoon.

“Well, the East High fellows beat the West High boys, just as everybody
said they would. They’ve got the battery—Hanks and Doolittle—and
Merryweather and Ted Doyle are some punkins with the stick. Why, Ted is
a bear-cat! But I believe we Central High fellows can put up a game that
will hold them for a while. I want to see Central High win the pennant
this year.”

“What is a battery?” sighed his mother. “Why ‘punkins’ and ‘stick’? Is
this Ted you speak of really a subject for side-show exhibition, or are
you ‘nature-faking’ when you call him a ‘bear-cat’? And why should the
playing of you and your friends at baseball, Chetwood, ‘hold them’ for
any length of time? Please elucidate?”

Laura and the younger children burst out laughing, and the older
daughter said:

“English _is_ a funny language, isn’t it?”

“The American brand of it is,” said Mr. Belding, who was also smiling.

“That is not English,” remarked the mother, with scorn. “Such
expressions have no relation to good English. But I grant you that the
slang language is very funny, indeed.”

“Aw, mother, the trouble with you is you don’t understand athletics.
Every game has its own technical phrases, so to speak. You ask Laura to
explain. I hear Central High girls are going in for ’em. Going to
compete for all honors with the other schools, eh, Laura?”

“We hope to,” returned his sister.

“How did the meeting go, daughter?” asked Mr. Belding, with interest.

Laura recited the work accomplished. “Of course,” she said, “we shall
found our association on the constitution of the Girls’ Branch Athletic
Association. Then we can compete for trophies with inter-county and
inter-state teams, as well as with the local teams. Mrs. Case says that
there will be an association at both Lumberport and Keyport.”

“Do you approve of all this disturbance about girls’ athletics, James?”
asked Mrs. Belding.

“It’s for after-hours. It won’t interfere with their school work. It
can’t, in fact,” said the jeweler, “for only those pupils who stand well
in both their studies and in deportment can take part.”

“And poor Bobby!” cried Laura, suddenly. “It does seem as though she was
fated to have bad luck. She won’t be able to join, even if Miss
Carrington has her way,” and she told the family about the fire in the
principal’s office.

“A very careless girl,” said Mrs. Belding, yet not sternly, for she
loved jolly, harum-scarum Bobby Hargrew.

“You were a brave kid, Laura, to think of the water bowl,” said Chet,
with enthusiasm.

“I object, Chetwood!” exclaimed his mother. “Neither your father nor I
are caprine, hollow-horned ruminants. Your sister, therefore, cannot be
a ‘kid.’”

“Oh, Mother!” complained Chet. “You won’t let a fellow talk.”

“I would much prefer to hear a young gentleman converse,” returned Mrs.
Belding, though smiling. “And I agree with you that our Laura is both
brave and quick-witted.”

“She’ll get along in the world,” said Mr. Belding, with a satisfied
smile. “But I’m sorry Tom Hargrew’s girl is in trouble.”

“Of course, I haven’t seen her since Miss Carrington sent her home,”
Laura said. “Nobody has heard her side of the story.”

“Of course, she set the papers afire,” Chet observed.

“It seems impossible that it could be otherwise. Thoughtless child!”
said their mother.

“But I want to wait and hear Bobby’s story. If she says she didn’t, and
_knows_ she didn’t, I shall believe her,” spoke Laura.

“You will not take circumstantial evidence into consideration, then?”
laughed her father.

“Not against Bobby’s word,” returned Laura, confidently. “Bobby just
couldn’t tell a falsehood. It isn’t in her. That is why she so often
gets into trouble in school. She cannot even _act_ deceit.”

“Short and Long is like that,” said Chet. “And _he’s_ going to be barred
from athletics if he doesn’t have a care. We would be in a mess if we
lost our shortstop. Old Dimple——”

“Professor Dimp, you refer to?” interjected his mother.

“Oh, yes!” sighed Chet. “He can’t take a joke. And Billy is full of
them. Yesterday he got into trouble with Dimple—er—Professor Dimp. The
professor had written something on the board—I forget the sentence; but
it had the word ‘whether’ in it. Billy read it as though it was
‘weather.’ ‘Ha!’ snapped Dimple in his very nastiest way, ‘how do you
spell “weather,” Master Long?’

“Of course, Short and Long saw his mistake right off, and drawled:

“‘W-i-a-t-h-i-a-r.’

“‘Sit down! You’ve given us the worst spell of weather we’ve had this
spring. Recitation zero,’ snaps Dimple. Now, wasn’t that mean—for just a
little joke?”

“It seems to me,” said his father, “that the professor had the best of
the joke. There’s some wit to that Professor Dimp, after all. And your
friend, Billy, is too old for childish pranks, even if he is such a
little fellow.”

The topic of the girls’ athletics and the new association was discussed
in many homes in Centerport that evening. Nor was it tabooed from
conversation on Sunday. By Monday morning, when the pupils of Central
High gathered for classes, the girls, at least, were in a buzz of
excitement. But they had an added topic of interest, too. The fire in
the principal’s office on Saturday afternoon was much discussed.

Laura and Jess, with some of the other girls, surrounded Bobby Hargrew
the moment she appeared.

“Did you do it on purpose?”

“What are they going to do about it?”

“Is Mr. Sharp awfully mad?”

“Is Gee Gee going to have you expelled?”

These and other questions were fired at Bobby in a volley.

“Hold on! Wait! Help! I’m down!” squealed Bobby. “Give me a chance to
answer.”

“Well, tell us!” commanded Jess.

“I’ll tell you; but half of you won’t believe me,” said Bobby, rather
sullenly. “And that is the way it stands with the faculty. They don’t
believe me.”

“Why, Bobby! I shall certainly believe what you say if you are positive
in your statement,” declared Laura Belding.

“All right. I’ll put you to the test. _I did not set that fire!_”

The girls, for the most part, looked blank. Some of them whispered
together. Laura only said:

“You’re sure?”

“Pos-i-tive!”

“But the burning punk——?”

“Think I’d chuck it in that basket?” demanded Bobby, scornfully.

“Maybe you thought you put it out?”

“Maybe nothing! I know. I carried that punk out and threw it in the
gutter.”

“But a spark from it might have fallen in the basket?” said Jess,
weakly.

“No, ma’am! I wasn’t near the basket. I was at the other end of the desk
when Gee Gee caught me,” said Bobby, firmly. “Either I did, or I didn’t.
I say I didn’t set that fire.”

“Then I believe you, dear,” said Laura, suddenly hugging the smaller
girl.

“Thanks, Laura. You always were a good sport,” said Bobby, having hard
work to keep back the tears. “But Gee Gee won’t believe me, and if I
don’t own up to what I didn’t do, she says she will ‘take it up with Mr.
Sharp.’ You know what _that_ means. I’ll likely have to leave
school—although good old Dad has already paid for the damage done, and
bought new goldfish.”




CHAPTER VI—FALSE EVIDENCE


If there was anything of importance to be threshed out for the general
welfare of the school, Franklin Sharp, principal of Central High, took
the topic up at the Morning Assembly. The general standing and
deportment of the scholastic body as a whole, rules of conduct laid down
by the faculty, or news of importance to the scholars, both male and
female, were there detailed.

At 8:25 o’clock the pupils were expected to be in the various class
rooms. At 8:30 the gongs called the marching hosts to the great hall at
the top of the building. The boys filed in on one side, the girls on the
other. Many of the classes throughout the school were mixed classes; but
naturally in certain studies the girls and boys were divided, especially
the Junior and Senior years.

The High School course consisted of four years of study. Laura Belding
and most of her friends were Sophomores. Therefore they could join in
all the advanced athletics proposed by the Girls’ Branch Athletic
Association.

Mr. Sharp was a tall, scholarly looking man; but his seriousness of
countenance was belied somewhat by eyes that twinkled cordially behind
his spectacles. He had a quick apprehension of character. He understood
boys thoroughly—and most of his male pupils liked Mr. Sharp. But he gave
over a deal of the management of the girls to his female
assistants—especially to Miss Carrington.

The latter was unquestionably an able woman; she knew the science of
teaching and her marks in teachers’ examinations were always the highest
of any teacher in the Centerport schools. But her outlook upon life
_was_ awfully serious! Mr. Sharp could have endured better an assistant
with a character more lenient to the failings and weaknesses of
humanity.

Of course, however, the fire on Saturday could by no means be condoned.
In the first place it had come about through a flagrant piece of
impudence upon the part of a pupil. The pupils expected to hear from Mr.
Sharp about the fire, and they were not disappointed.

“I am compelled to call the attention of the classes to an accident
which occurred downstairs in my office on Saturday,” he began. “When we
are good-natured enough to allow the school property, entrusted to our
care, to be used for purposes aside from the regular class work, we have
a right to expect those pupils enjoying the privilege to be more than
usually careful of such property.

“I mean this for the attention of the boys as well as the girls,” he
continued. “The girls, however, are at fault in this instance. It was
their meeting that was held in the music room, and they had entrance to
my office. Now a new rug is to be bought and my desk repaired, to say
nothing of the purchase of four goldfish—four, I believe, is the number.

“Fire is a dangerous element to play with. I understand that the
accident arose out of a so-called joke that one of our brilliant young
ladies evolved—and evolved particularly for the disturbance of her
teacher. That was not a nice or lady-like thing to do. I believe the
culprit understands that fully now.

“But there is always a greater danger than the commission of such an
act. That is the denying of the act after it is committed. I hope you
all understand that. The old saw of ‘A fault confessed is half
redressed’ has no ‘bromide’ qualities. It is a fundamental truth.
Honesty above everything—that should be the motto of us all.

“To deny a fault committed, in short, makes the fault a double one. I
think I have said enough upon this topic. The faculty will, of course,
judge the guilty young woman in this instance as leniently as possible;
but we must be just as well as merciful. You are excused to your
classes.”

Not until the forenoon recess did the sophs, who were Bobby Hargrew’s
closest friends, have an opportunity of commiserating with her. She had
regained her composure by that time, however, and showed a plucky front.

“He intimated that I was untruthful,” Bobby said, angrily. “It isn’t
fair. There is no evidence against me but——”

“But the evidence of the fire itself, Bobby,” Nellie Agnew observed,
quietly.

“I realize that. It is a mystery. I was last in the office—I was there
alone, too. But I know what I did with that piece of punk, and I was not
near the basket at any time.”

“Don’t lose your temper,” advised Laura Belding. “That will not help
you.”

“It’s all right for you girls to talk,” said Bobby, sadly. “But Mr.
Sharp has left it to Gee Gee, and she believes I would tell a story
about it.”

“Have patience—and hope for the best,” said Laura. “The truth will
surely come out in the end.”

“But when will the end be?” demanded Bobby. “Oh! I think it is too mean
for anything!”

“It doesn’t pay to get Gee Gee down on you,” said Jess. “I’m going to be
very careful myself.”

“And we’ll all have to be careful if we expect to join in these
after-school athletics. Gee Gee doesn’t fancy the new association,
anyway,” said one of the Lockwood twins.

“I’m not so awfully eager myself to belong,” said Jess. “We’ve got to
wear those ugly suits——”

“And no furbelows,” laughed Laura. “Oh, Jess, we all know your failing.
Who is more devoted to the fashion magazines and the powder-puff than
Josephine Morse?”

“It is the duty of every girl to look her very best at all times,”
declared Jess, confidently. “My mother says so.”

“And that’s what makes the boys laugh at us,” remarked the other twin—no
use saying which one, for nobody knew Dora and Dorothy apart. Gee Gee
had long since put them on their honor not to recite for each other!

It was at noon that Miss Carrington called Clara Hargrew to her desk.

“Now, Miss Hargrew, I expect you to tell me the truth about this
matter,” the teacher said, very sternly.

“I never in my life told you an untruth, ma’am!” exclaimed the girl.

“I have always believed you truthful,” admitted the teacher. “But this
is a ridiculous claim you make——”

“I _did_ carry that piece of punk out and throw it in the gutter.”

“Did you look for it there?” asked Miss Carrington, quickly.

“Yes. I looked yesterday morning, even if it was Sunday. But the street
men had flushed out the gutters before I arrived.”

“That is curious, Miss Hargrew,” said the teacher, doubtfully.

“It is the truth. I did not set the fire——”

“Then how did it start?”

“I know no more about it than you do, ma’am.”

“Ahem! But you threw something into the basket?”

“I did not. I did not go near the basket.”

“You are determined to stick to that, are you, Miss?” asked the teacher,
sharply.

“I am determined to tell you nothing but the truth.”

“Wait!” commanded the teacher. Then she turned and sent one of the
lingering girls at the door of the classroom for Hester Grimes. When
Hester came she looked somewhat troubled, but she did not glance at
Bobby.

“Miss Grimes,” said the teacher, “I have called you to repeat what you
said to me before. You must say it before Miss Hargrew.”

“I—I don’t want to get Clara into any trouble,” muttered the red-faced
girl.

Bobby looked at her in surprise. “How long since, Hessie?” she demanded.
“You never were too tender of me before.”

“Be still!” commanded Miss Carrington, angrily. “Miss Grimes!”

“Well, I was the last to leave the office, and I saw Clara throw
something into the wastebasket.”

“Oo-h!” exclaimed the culprit.

“Yes, I did!” ejaculated Hester.

“You need not be so vociferous, Miss Grimes,” said Miss Carrington,
tartly. “You see, Clara, we have other evidence than the fire.”

“Do you mean to say you saw me throw that burning punk into the basket?”
cried Bobby, with flaming face and sparkling eyes.

“Well, you threw _something_ into it,” replied Hester, weakly.

“That is made up out of whole cloth,” began Bobby, but Miss Carrington
stopped her.

“That will do! Not another word. I shall take the matter up with Mr.
Sharp. You are unmanageable and—I fear—untruthful. Go to your seat. What
the outcome of this will be I cannot tell you now; but of one thing I am
sure, Miss Hargrew—you can expect no favors from the faculty of the
school after this date.”




CHAPTER VII—THE COMMITTEE ON ORGANIZATION


After school that day the committee appointed to organize the Girls’
Branch Athletic Association of Central High met in one of the offices.
There were fifteen of the girls, and they were all present. Mrs. Case
had seen to it that the natural leaders of the various classes among
Seniors, Juniors and Sophomores were appointed to membership in this
committee.

There were six Seniors, five Juniors and four Sophomores—the latter
being Laura and Jess and Hester Grimes and her chum, Lily Pendleton.
Although Laura was at least three years younger than the oldest Senior,
she was popular and was elected chairman of the committee on a single
ballot. Besides, the other girls knew that Laura was an enthusiast in
athletic matters and that she had studied the question of organization
thoroughly.

“Mrs. Case gave each of us a booklet relating to the formation of
associations of this character,” said Laura, when the meeting was called
to order. “I suppose you have all studied the little book. It gives us a
draft of the proper constitution and by-laws, and information on all
points likely to come before us. You all understand it, don’t you?”

“My goodness!” exclaimed Lily, yawning. “I haven’t even looked into
mine.”

“I’ve looked into it, and I see that the teachers have a lot to do with
the thing,” said Hester Grimes. “I don’t like such interference, and
right at the start I move we disregard the book and form our own society
in our own way.”

“Why, we can’t do that!” cried Celia Prime, one of the Seniors. “There
would be no association then.”

“I don’t see why not,” drawled Lily. “I think Hessie’s plan is just
grand!”

“It’s a grand way to go about not having athletics at all,” said Mary
O’Rourke, another Senior, laughing. “We can’t do business that way,
girls.”

“Nor would it be wise if we could,” Laura said, quickly. “Listen! This
is the rule that we have _got_ to comply with if we are going to form a
Girls’ Branch: Any girl to be eligible for membership, or to take part
in athletic events for trophies and pins, must have a physician’s
certificate of physical fitness, and the personal approval of Mrs.
Case.”

“A doctor’s certificate!” exclaimed Hester, with scorn. “What for?”

“A girl with a weak heart, for instance, will not be allowed to take
part in the games and events. You know that. Mrs. Case is dreadfully
particular about it.”

“And a good thing,” said one of the juniors. “I knew of a girl who
jumped rope so long that she dropped dead. It was awful.”

“Well, who wants to jump rope?” snapped Hester.

“I do,” admitted Jess, laughing. “It’s fun. And Mrs. Case says it is
good exercise under careful conditions.”

“I want to learn to dance,” said Lily. “And dancing is going to be part
of the athletic exercises, isn’t it?”

“Folk dancing,” said Miss Prime. “And very pretty some of those
old-world dances are. No one-steps or glides, Miss!” and she laughed
shortly.

“Well, we must make up our minds to follow the rules in the little
book,” Laura interposed. “You know, every girl must be approved by the
principal of the school as being in good standing both in deportment and
scholarship, including the usual work in physical training, or she can’t
belong.”

“That’s going to cut out your friend Hargrew, I guess,” laughed Lily.

“And we know who are doing their best to put Bobby out of the games,”
snapped Jess, looking angrily at Hester and her chum.

“Order!” exclaimed Laura, bringing down the gavel with a smack on the
desk. “No time for anything but business. Here is another thing, girls:
No girl who takes part in athletic competitions outside the school under
the auspices of any organization other than our Girls’ Branch, can take
part in events by the school. If you take part, too, in any sports
unsanctioned by our rules, you can be expelled.”

“There! I don’t like that a bit,” flared up Hester again. “I belong to
St. Cecelia’s Gymnasium Club. I am not going to give up my church club
for this public school association.”

“That’s foolish,” remarked Mary O’Rourke. “I belong to a ladies’
gymnastic class connected with my church, too; but I know that when we
get going in the High School it will be lots more fun to belong to this
association than the church club.”

Other matters were talked over, as well; but the opinion of the majority
was for bringing in a report recommending the new association to follow
exactly the line of organization of other Girls’ Branches in other
cities. Hester and Lily said they should offer a minority report; but
the others only laughed at that.

“You know that’s ridiculous, Hester,” said Mary O’Rourke. “We have to do
something besides merely report a form of organization. If we girls—and
those who follow us at Central High for years to come—are going to have
successful after-hour athletics, we must have equipment—and a field.
Just think of _that_, please. It is going to cost money—a heap of
money!—before we get through. And who is going to supply the money? If
we go against the opinions and desires of those who are helping us we
can’t expect them to supply funds.”

“Oh, I guess my father will give as much as anybody,” said Hester,
tossing her head. Henry Grimes was a wholesale butcher and was accounted
a very wealthy man in Centerport. He was a member of the Board of
Aldermen and wielded much political influence.

“I suppose we must interest more than our parents in the plan,” said
Laura, thoughtfully. “From what I read in that little book, some of the
girls’ athletic fields in the big cities have cost upwards of a hundred
thousand dollars to build and equip. Of course, that includes a
clubhouse, and swimming pool, and all that.”

“A nice time we’d have trying to get anything like that in Centerport,”
sneered Hester.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” spoke up Celia Prime. “We have some
very wealthy people here.”

“Just think what Colonel Richard Swayne might do with some of his
money—if he wanted to,” said Laura.

“My father says that of course the burden will come upon the parents who
are well-to-do. It’s always the way,” said Hester. “The rich have to do
for the poor.”

This was a tactless speech, to say the least, for Mary O’Rourke’s father
was merely a day laborer, and several of the other girls on the
committee were from poor families.

“I expect that the money part of it will not be within our
jurisdiction,” said Miss Prime, sharply.

“No, we haven’t got to worry about that,” laughed Laura.

“That’s all very well,” said Hester. “But my father will be called upon
to give more than yours, Laura. He always is.”

“He is better able to give, perhaps,” returned Laura, coolly.

“There will have to be some large donor, if we are to have a real,
up-to-date athletic field,” sighed Celia. “The boys have a good baseball
and football park. The railroad company gave the land, and public
subscription put it in shape. But we have just _got_ to interest some
rich person in our project.”

“Colonel Swayne, for instance?” laughed Mary.

“Well, why not?” demanded Laura, suddenly.

“Why, he just _hates_ boys and girls!” cried her chum.

“So they say.”

“You know he won’t allow one of us to step on his grounds—and it’s right
next to our bathing place, too,” said Jess, with a considerable show of
feeling.

“He doesn’t seem to love a soul but that married daughter of his—you
know, the widow. She’s a peculiar acting woman. I don’t believe she’s
quite right,” said Miss Prime. “And he certainly is wrapped up in her.”

“And with all that money—and his beautiful estate,” sighed Laura. “He
really ought to be interested in girls’ athletics.”

The others laughed. “We’ll appoint Miss Belding a committee of one to
try and separate Colonel Swayne from some of his wealth,” said Mary
O’Rourke.

“I accept!” declared Laura, suddenly, with flashing eyes. “I believe it
can be done.”

“Huh! you think you’re so smart, Laura,” drawled Lily Pendleton.

“But it would be just _great_ if we could get him interested,” sighed
Jess.

“Leave it to me,” said Laura, boldly. “I’m going to try!”




CHAPTER VIII—LAURA AND THE PRINCIPAL


It was two days later, during which time the two principal topics of
conversation among the girls of Central High had been athletics and
Bobby Hargrew’s trouble. All sorts of rumors sped from lip to lip
regarding Bobby’s fate. They had her dismissed, or suspended, a dozen
times, and reinstated again. But the only thing that was really known
about it was that Gee Gee had “taken up” with Mr. Sharp.

The girls had a great deal of faith in Mr. Sharp’s sense of justice. He
was a man who made up his mind leisurely, although once it was made up
he was not known to change it for any light reason. The girls liked him
very much indeed; but of course there were times when the principal, as
well as the rest of the teachers, was arraigned against the pupils upon
some topic. That will always be so as long as there are pupils and
teachers!

In the case of Bobby, some of the girls—especially those of her own age
and class, and more especially some who looked up to the harum-scarum
Hargrew girl as a leader in mischief—angrily upheld the culprit’s side
of the controversy, and declared that Gee Gee had no business to accuse
her of setting the fire at all. Bobby’s saying she didn’t do it was
enough!

The Central High students—girls and boys alike—were governed on honor. A
student’s word was supposed to be taken without his or her going before
a notary public and “swearing” to the truth of the statement. That was
Mr. Sharp’s own statement. So, why make a divergence from the accepted
rule in poor Bobby’s case? Why not believe her when she said she did not
throw the burning punk into the wastepaper basket?

Upon the score of Hester Grimes’s testimony against the accused girl
there was division, too. Some of Hester’s classmates were for
ostracizing her entirely—“sending her to Coventry.” She was a
“tattle-tale”—and some of the girls were quite warm over her case.

But they all knew Hester. She had a certain popularity among some of the
girls because of her father’s wealth, and the lavish way in which Hester
entertained those girls whom she wished to favor. Money will always
bring a certain kind of subservience. Although the general opinion was
adverse to Hester, nothing was really done about it.

Laura and Jess, with Chet and his chum, Lance Darby, were sitting on the
Beldings’ porch, for it was a warm evening.

“Something ought to be done to that Grimes girl,” drawled Chet,
reflectively. “She’s always doing something mean.”

“That’s the worst of you girls,” said Lance, with a superior air. “If
one of you gets into trouble, the others either stand off or pick on
her.”

“Isn’t that so?” cried Chet. “I saw Bobby walking home from school this
afternoon all alone.”

“You bet if she’d been a boy,” said Lance, importantly, “there’d been a
crowd of fellows with her.”

“Is that so?” flared up Jess. “Don’t you ever fight, you boys? And do
you always stand by one another when one gets into trouble? How about
what you did to Pretty Sweet last Saturday? Oh! I heard about it.”

Lance and Chet broke into loud laughter. Laura said, hurriedly:

“Stop! here he comes now. And I believe he is coming here.”

In the twilight they saw a rather tall boy, dressed in the height of
fashion, with brightly polished shoes and an enormously high collar,
coming down Whiffle Street.

“Won’t you come in, Purt?” called Laura, as this youth reached the gate.

Prettyman Sweet hesitated just a moment. Indeed, his hand was really on
the gate before he saw the two boys—his classmates—sitting beside the
girls on the porch.

“Oh-oo, no! I am afraid I can’t this evening, Miss Laura,” he said, in a
high, “lady-like” voice. “Thank you _so_ much! Good-evening,” and he
hurried away.

“See how he walks?” chuckled Darby.

“You needn’t have asked him in to sit down, Laura,” said her brother.
“He _can’t_ sit down.”

“Takes his meals off the mantelpiece, I understand,” pursued Lance.

“Hasn’t been to school this week. His mother sent a note to Dimple.
Pretty is all broken up.”

“_Do_ tell us all about it, boys!” urged Jess, laughing, too, now. “I
heard that he had some unfortunate accident up at the railroad fill
Saturday. What was it—really?”

The two boys exploded with laughter again, but finally Chet said:

“Some of us fellows were up there at the fill watching that big
‘sand-hog’ at work—the new steam shovel, you know; and Pretty Sweet was
along. However he came to walk clear over there in those toothpick shoes
of his, I don’t know. But he was there.

“On the old ‘dump’ where the city ashes used to be deposited, one of the
boys—Short and Long, I think it was, eh, Lance?”

“It was Billy,” said his chum, decidedly.

“I bet Billy was in it—if it meant mischief,” laughed Laura.

“Oh, the kid was innocent enough,” Chet declared. “He saw something
shining on the ground and pointed it out. It really looked just like a
lump of gold—didn’t it, Lance?”

“Something like. _I_ didn’t know what it was.”

“Two or three of us handled it. But it took Pretty Sweet to turn the
trick all proper. He slipped it in his hip pocket. You know, Pretty is
just as stingy as he can be—a regular miser despite all his fine
clothes. I expect he believed that shiny lump might be worth something.
Maybe he was going to bring it down to father, to see if was sure enough
gold,” laughed Chet.

“But what was it? What happened?” cried Jess.

“Why, nothing happened at first. Then, when we were half way back to
town, somebody saw smoke spurting out behind Pretty Sweet as though he
was an automobile. We yelled and went for him, rolled him in the
street——”

“In all those good clothes!” interposed Lance between bursts of
laughter.

“And we put the fire out. For he really _was_ afire,” said Chet, when he
got his voice again. “And he was burned some—so he said. He declared one
of the fellows had played a trick on him—set him afire, you know.

“So he got mad,” continued Chet, “and went off by himself. But going
through Laurel Street he burst into flames again, so to speak, and if it
hadn’t been that he was right near the fire station, I guess we’d have
had a bigger conflagration at that end of the town than there was in Mr.
Sharp’s office.”

“But I don’t understand!” cried Laura, puzzled.

“Neither did the fireman, who turned a chemical extinguisher on Pretty
Sweet and messed him all up again. It was a serious matter to Pretty, I
tell you. For this time the tails of his coat were burned off, as well
as a portion of his nether garments. Why, he wasn’t fit to be seen!”
roared Chet. “The firemen were for sending him home in a barrel; but
Pretty wouldn’t have it. He sent for a cab and paid a dollar to get
home.”

“But what made the fire? What did you boys do to him?” cried Jess.

“Nothing at all. We never touched him,” declared Lance Darby. “But when
we told Professor Dimp, on Monday, when he inquired about the absence of
Sweet, he seemed to suspect what had caused the fire. And he laughed,
too.”

“Do tell us what it was?” cried Laura.

“Why, it must have been a piece of phosphorus he picked up and put in
his pocket. Dimple says it is very active chemically, and when united
with oxygen, even at an ordinary temperature, emits a faint glow as if
it were gold. It got in its fine work on Pretty Sweet, however, and they
say he’s got a blister on him as big as your hat!” concluded Chet.

The girls could not fail to be amused at this ridiculous adventure of
the school exquisite. No other boy of their acquaintance was so dudish
or comic in dress and manner.

“You know what Bobby did to Purt at Hester Grimes’s party last winter,
don’t you?” said Jess, recovering from her paroxysm of laughter.

“The first time he wore his tall hat, you mean?” demanded Chet.

“Yes.”

“I know he had to have the hat blocked again after one wearing,” said
Lance. “But we fellows weren’t in on that joke.”

“And not many but Bobby knew about it. You see, that tall hat—think of a
stovepipe hat on a boy of seventeen!—made Purt the tallest person at the
party. Bobby is cute, now I tell you,” Jess giggled. “She measured his
height _with_ the hat on his head and then went out to the gate and hung
a flour bag of sand between the tall gateposts. She hung it so as to
clear everybody else’s head, you see; and it was dark there by the gate.

“Out comes Purt, beauing Celia Prime home. The bag was on his side of
the path and he got it good, now I tell you!”

“I know he got his new hat smashed,” agreed Lance.

“Great scheme,” chuckled Chet.

“But it was dangerous,” said Laura. “That sandbag was heavy. If any
taller person had been coming in, or going out, rapidly, a crack on the
crown from that bag would have done him harm.”

“All right, little Miss Fidget,” growled her brother. “But you see, it
didn’t do any harm.”

“Only to Pretty’s hat,” laughed Lance. “But the question is, did Bobby
set the fire?”

“Of course not!” declared Jess, promptly.

“If she did, she’s getting to be a regular little firebug,” said Chet.
“Did you hear about what happened at her father’s store Saturday?”

“No,” said Jess. “What was it? Not another fire?”

“Yes, another fire,” returned Chet, and he went on to repeat the story
of the burning-glass, and how Laura had beaten the fire department in
putting the blaze out.

“My, Laura! that was a smart idea,” declared Lance, with admiration.

“Isn’t that the greatest ever?” added Jess.

“And Bobby had less to do with setting the fire in Mr. Sharp’s office
than she had with starting that one in the store,” said Laura,
thoughtfully.

“I hope so,” Lance said.

“I know so! Bobby is strictly truthful.”

“But she can’t prove it,” said Chet, argumentatively.

“She ought not to have to prove it,” declared Laura, with heat. “Her
say-so should be enough for Mr. Sharp. I’ve a mind to——”

“You’ve a mind to what?” asked Jess, pinching her arm.

“Never you mind,” returned Laura, suddenly becoming uncommunicative.
“I’ve a scheme.”

“One of Laura’s brilliant ideas,” scoffed Chet, with brotherly scorn.
“We’ll hear about it later.”

Which was true enough, for none of them heard about it that evening. But
the very next morning Laura got to school early and went to Mr. Sharp’s
office. The principal chanced to be disengaged, and welcomed her kindly.
Besides, Mr. Sharp, like the other teachers, was fond of Laura Belding.
Without being a “toady”—that creature so hateful to the normal young
person—Laura was very good friends with all the instructors.

“Mr. Sharp,” said the girl, boldly, “one of my classmates is in
trouble—serious trouble. You know whom I mean—Miss Hargrew.”

Mr. Sharp nodded thoughtfully.

“I want you to be just as kind to her as you can, sir,” went on Laura.
“She is a good girl, if she _is_ mischievous. She never would do such a
wicked thing as to set that fire——”

“Not intentionally, I grant you, Miss Belding,” he returned.

“No. Nor did she do it involuntarily. When she said she took the burning
piece of punk out of the building, she _did_ so.”

“How do you know?” he asked, quickly.

“I know it,” said Laura, calmly, “because she tells me so. Bobby—I mean,
Clara—could not tell a lie. It is not in her to be false or deceitful.
That—that is why she is not liked in some quarters.”

“You mean, that is why she is doubted?” said the principal, gravely.
“Her careless course in school could not fail to gain her a bad
character with the instructors.”

“I presume that is so, sir,” admitted Laura, slowly.

“It is so. You cannot blame the teachers if they are harsh with her. She
has made herself a nuisance,” said the principal, yet smiling.

“She has never done a really mean thing——”

“It is mean to trouble the teachers,” said the principal, quickly. “You
must admit that, Miss Belding. They are here to instruct and help you
students. They should not be made the butt of foolish jokes.”

“I suppose that is true, sir. Bobby has been guilty there. But she would
never tell an untruth.”

“You seem very sure of your school friend, Miss Belding?” he questioned,
thoughtfully.

“As sure of her truthfulness as I am of my own, sir,” declared Laura,
firmly.

Mr. Sharp looked at her for a few moments, tapping the edge of his desk
thoughtfully meanwhile. Finally he said:

“Miss Belding, you almost succeed in convincing me against my better
judgment. I believe you are wrong, however. I believe Miss Hargrew,
frightened by the enormity of her careless act, has slipped in the path
of truth for once. But, wait!” he added, holding up his hand. “You may
be right; I may be wrong. I am willing, upon your representation, to
give the girl another chance. I will wait. Let time pass. If there is
another explanation of the fire—if there _can_ be such a mystery—we will
give it time to come to light.”

“Oh, Mr. Sharp! You will not suspend her, then?” cried Laura.

“She is very near expulsion, not suspension,” said the principal,
gravely. “But I promise you to do nothing until the end of the year. If
the mystery is not explained before she finishes her sophomore year,
however, I do not believe we can let her go into the Junior class. That
is final, Miss Belding.

“Nor can the culprit go scot-free now. None of the good times for her.
She must bear herself well in deportment, too. None of the after-hour
athletics for her, Miss Belding. And she will have to walk very
circumspectly to retain her place in the school.”

Laura went away from the principal’s office, after thanking him warmly,
in a much worried state of mind. They needed Bobby Hargrew in the
proposed athletics. Part of the girls of Central High were very much
interested in rowing. There was a good crew of eight in the sophomore
class, and they had practiced in one of the boys’ boats already. And for
that eight, Bobby Hargrew was slated to be coxswain.




CHAPTER IX—“THE DAY OF THE TOUCH”


The girls of Central High took hold of the regular physical exercises
with renewed eagerness these days. Although this work had always been
popular with the few, now the many began to show unwonted interest.
There was “fun” in prospect.

Mrs. Case was a fine physical instructor—the best, indeed, in
Centerport. In the beginning she had had to meet much opposition in her
work. Dr. Agnew, of the Board of Health, had been her efficient aid in
making parents see that the innovation of physical exercises in the
school work was a good thing. Now the majority of the girls’ parents
admitted the advisability and value of gymnasium training. But some
missionary work was still to be done in the homes regarding the
suggested “after-hour” athletics for girls.

A healthy interest in the sports allowed by the Girls’ Branch would aid
in keeping the girls themselves from a more questionable use of their
spare time. It was much more healthful and much more wise for them to
take part in sports and exercises calculated to build up muscle and
mind, than to parade the streets in couples, or cliques, or to attend
picture shows, or to idle their time through the big stores in emulation
of the adult “shopping-fiend.”

As boys are made more manly by physical exercise and sports, so girls
can be made more womanly by them. A healthy girlhood is the finest
preparation obtainable for the higher duties of life. As Dr. Agnew,
Nellie’s father, was fond of saying: “I don’t care how much of a
bookworm a girl is, if she swings a pair of two and a half-pound Indian
clubs, she’ll come out all right!”

The report of the organization committee was adopted at an enthusiastic
meeting on the following Saturday. Mrs. Case promised that money for
equipment of at least one basket-ball court, better swimming facilities,
and the preparation of a field for track athletics would be supplied.

The Board of Education would do some of this work. A field on the edge
of Lake Luna—right behind the school’s swimming pool, and adjoining
Colonel Swayne’s estate—had been obtained and in a few weeks track
athletics could be practised there. A fence was to be built to screen
the girls from too much publicity, and the paths for running laid out.
Tennis courts might be established here, too, if the money held out.

In the basement of the Central High building was a well equipped
gymnasium, open to the girls and boys on alternate days. But not many
games of skill could be played there. For one thing, the ceiling was not
high enough. And the girls—many of them—were eager to learn basket-ball,
captain’s ball, tennis, and other vigorous sports approved by the Girls’
Branch Association.

It was approaching that important day in the school year at Central High
when the M. O. R.’s “touched” those girls selected for membership. That
certain Friday afternoon was looked forward to by most of the sophs and
juniors with much anxiety. The freshmen had no part in it. The faculty
did not allow the freshmen to belong to the secret society; but it was
something for the sophs and juniors particularly to strive for.

Some of the girls passed through the entire four years’ course without
being chosen for membership in the M. O. R.’s. But a girl who was
popular in her class, stood well in her studies, was approved by the
teachers for her deportment, and displayed wit and skill in anything at
all, was quite sure of being chosen in either her third or fourth year;
but few sophomores were “called.” Therefore it was considered a
particular honor to become an M. O. R. in the second year at the school.

This Friday afternoon, known as “the day of the touch,” all the girls of
Central High gathered in the girls’ yard. The M. O. R.’s had a modest
club house—an old-fashioned three-story, narrow dwelling on the same
street as the school, and only a block away—and from that house the
committee of nomination marched to the crowded schoolyard.

The committee consisted of four of the seniors who had longest been
members of the secret society. They walked through the crowd of girls
and with the little be-ribboned baton each carried touched upon the
shoulder the girls selected for initiation.

Girls thus indicated were supposed to go home at once and wait for the
committee to call for them that evening. Then they would be introduced
to the club; but the initiation would come later. There was always
something of a novel nature connected with the yearly initiation of
candidates.

It was both an honor and a social privilege to be “touched” for the
M. O. R.’s. Both Laura Belding and Josephine Morse desired greatly to be
among the favored few of the sophomores to gain this boon. But nobody
could prophesy which girls would be chosen.

Of course, the freshmen remained to “see the fun” and swell the crowd.
And such girls as Bobby Hargrew hung about for the same reason, for
there was no more chance of Bobby’s obtaining the honor of a “touch”
than that she should go sailing around the moon!

As for Laura and her chum, however, their hearts beat high. They
_hoped_.

And when Celia Prime came toward them with her baton the chums almost
held their breaths. You could not tell by Celia’s face whom she intended
to touch. She weaved in and out among the girls, many of whom were
silent and watchful, others chattering away like magpies. But there was
little “fooling” and “carrying-on,” although Laura saw that Bobby
Hargrew was following Celia very closely and that the perfect gravity of
the mischief-maker’s countenance was sufficient to warn all who knew her
well that there was “something up.”

The next moment Laura was startled to feel a touch upon her
shoulder—right in the spot where she had been told the baton was always
placed. She turned swiftly. Mary O’Rourke had gone past. It was _she_
who had touched Laura instead of Miss Prime.

“Oh, Laura!” whispered Jess in her ear. “I’ve got it!”

“Got what?” demanded Laura.

“The touch. Celia gave it to me. And you?”

“Miss O’Rourke, I believe,” whispered Laura, just as eagerly. “Come on!
let’s go home.”

“Goody! Oh, I’m so glad!” gasped Jess.

As they went out of the school premises they saw Hester Grimes hurrying
out of the other gateway.

“Do you suppose _she_ is chosen, too?” asked Jess, doubtfully.

“I don’t know. I saw Celia going toward her. Ah! there’s Bobby Hargrew
right behind Hester. What’s that she’s got in her hand—a stick?”

“Hey, Bobby!” shouted Jess.

But Bobby, giving her chums one glance, began to laugh silently,
pointing at the unconscious Hester’s back, and then ran away, giggling.

“Now, what do you suppose that means?” demanded Jess.

“I really do not know. But Bobby is up to something. I wish she wouldn’t
act so,” said Laura, with a sigh.




CHAPTER X—THE JOKE ON HESTER


After all, Centerport was just a big, inland town. It was no metropolis.
Especially was the neighborhood of Central High mostly of that
comfortable residential quality that is the charm of most old towns.
Central High was the new school, East and West Highs being both smaller
and much older buildings.

This middle of the city was called “on the hill” and was really much
higher than the surrounding flatland where the business section of the
city had originally been built. Two railroads ran into the town and its
water freighting was considerable.

At the westerly end of beautiful Luna Lake Rocky River flowed into it at
Lumberport, another thriving city; at the easterly end of the lake the
waters flowed out through Rolling River at Keyport. These smaller cities
each supported a good High School, and the rivalry in boys’ sports among
the five schools of this district had always been keen.

Now it was proposed that the girls should strive for the honor of the
schools and it was reported from Lumberport and Keyport that the Girls’
Branches had been organized in the high schools of those towns with
great enthusiasm. Centerport’s East and West schools were slower to
respond. Central High usually led the way in most innovations.

The knoll on which Central High and the surrounding residences stood
sloped easily toward the shore of the lake. Along the lake shore,
although it was in the very heart of the city, lay several fine estates.
The city was slowly condemning some of these and turning them into
public parks and playgrounds. Here the three high schools had their
bathing pavilions, and it was also at this point that Central High had
been fortunate in obtaining the field to be devoted to the girls’
athletics.

This was a convenient location for all the scholars attending Central
High, a breezy piece of ground with a splendid outlook over the lake and
to Cavern Island, in its center. Cavern Island was an immensely popular
picnic ground, and in the summer season excursion boats that plied the
lake made landings at it. But a portion of the island was wild and woody
enough to please the most romantic.

Whiffle Street was shaded with great elm trees. Indeed, all that
vicinity of Central High was shady and quiet. Almost all the houses on
the street had lawns and well-kept gardens. Henry Grimes’s house—much
more ornate and imposing than the Beldings’ home—stood three or four
blocks along the street from where Laura and Chet lived.

The nominating committee of the M. O. R.’s appeared in Whiffle Street
just about dusk. They had already gathered most of the girls selected
for initiation, and quite a column of laughing young people walked, two
by two, behind their four sponsors.

They brought forth Josephine Morse from her mother’s little cottage at
the end of the street—“the poverty end” Jess always called it—and then
approached the Belding house. Laura was on the porch, eager enough; she
had noticed ere they arrived, however, an unaccountable gathering of
freshmen and other girls farther along the street—toward the Grimes
house. Bobby was with that crowd, and much laughter came from it.

“I wonder what those children can be up to?” wondered Laura.

But when the head of the procession of candidates for M. O. R. honors
appeared, Laura forgot the freshies and Bobby and ran down the walk to
join the older girls; Miss Prime had beckoned to her.

“Fall in line, Miss Belding,” commanded the senior, and Laura did so.

The procession continued along the street, followed by the laughing
comments of the adults who leaned upon the gates, or sat on the porches
of the houses it passed. At the Grimes’s gate the crowd of freshmen
opened solemnly to let the older girls through.

Upon the Grimes’s porch stood Hester and Lily. Indeed, Hester ran down
the steps when the head of the M. O. R. candidates reached the gate. But
the procession kept right on. Neither Miss Prime, nor Mary O’Rourke, or
the other two seniors looked Miss Grimes’s way.

“Why, I thought you said you were touched, Hessie?” cried Lily, in her
high drawl.

There was immense giggling on the part of the freshmen crew outside the
gate. But Bobby hushed it by a sharp:

“Attention!”

Silence followed among the crew. Bobby stepped forward, drew a baton
be-ribboned like those carried by the nominating committee of the
M. O. R. She raised it on high. It was noticeable that most of her
companions had bits of paper in their hands; from these papers they
proceeded to chant the following:

  “Where Bedelia wore her necklace
  Where the cow had tonsilitis
  Where the chicken got the hatchet
  Where the graceful swan’s delight is
      “Oh!

  “Where the fat man’s collar pinches
  Where the hangman ties the noose
  Where the lady wears the boa
  Where the farmer grabs the goose
      “Oh! Oh!

  “Where Napoleon received it
  When he fought at Waterloo,
  In that very same location
  Little Hester got it, too!
      “Oh! Oh! Oh-ho-ho!”

The procession of candidates passed on; but they heard, and the whole
street heard! And for fear anybody should fail to understand the trick
that had been played upon the unfortunate daughter of the wholesale
butcher, Bobby cried:

“Notice my baton? Don’t you want to be ‘touched’ with it, too, Lily? Oh,
my!”

Hester could not even speak. She ran into the house to escape the
laughter. Never had Bobby Hargrew played so cruel a joke. But she had
been stung pretty hard by the false testimony Hester had given against
her anent the fire at the school; and for once Bobby had not been above
“getting square.”

But had the girl known what would result from this practical joke of
hers—had she for a moment suspected how one of her very best friends
would be caused to suffer for _her_ sin, honest Bobby would have gone to
Hester Grimes there and then and most humbly begged her pardon.




CHAPTER XI—THE MAN ON THE SPIRE


Walking was included in the athletics approved by the Girls’ Branch and
the girls of Central High did not have to wait for the athletic field to
be put into condition before they took part in this most accessible and
perhaps wisest of all physical exercises.

Many a famous athlete has kept himself in perfect training for years by
little more than a straight-away walk of a few miles each day. Walking
brings into play more muscles than almost any other exercise—and muscles
that are of “practical” use, too. Mrs. Case had planned for eight walks
during each school year for both her elementary and advanced classes.
For the younger girls the longest walk was not over three miles. The
advanced girls, however, after training by much walking on Saturdays,
were advanced steadily from two, to three, then four, then six, then
eight, and finally to a ten mile walk. Only those girls of the
sophomores, juniors and seniors in the best physical condition were
allowed to take these longer walks.

On the Saturday after “touching day” of the M. O. R. came the first of
the two mile walks to be carried out that season. The girls gathered at
the schoolhouse at two o’clock and Mrs. Case looked them over carefully.

“Miss Morse, I cannot approve of those shoes. I have told you before
that any girl is foolish to wear high heels and attempt to keep up any
pace in walking,” was the athletic instructor’s comment.

“But, Mrs. Case! these are only Cuban heels,” cried poor Jess.

“That makes no difference. Some girls might be able to wear that heel
with comfort. Not you, Miss Morse. Your instep is not high enough. You
are cramping your foot. First thing you know your arches will begin to
fall. Then you will know what suffering is, young lady. It is bad
shoeing that makes so many people suffer from ‘flatfoot.’ Haven’t you a
pair of comfortable shoes in your locker?”

“Yes, ma’am,” admitted the girl who followed the fashions so
assiduously.

“And what’s that on your face, Miss?”

“P—p—powder!” stammered Jess, while some of the other girls giggled.

“Well, powder on one’s face may be all right if one has a greasy, coarse
skin. But I did not think your complexion was of that nature. Take a
little of it off, please. We don’t wish to attract any more attention
than possible going through the street. Next thing, I suppose, some of
you girls will begin to use rouge—pah!”

Some of the other girls rubbed their own cheeks and noses on the sly.
And some smiled knowingly at Lily Pendleton. Lily’s face to-day was
almost as highly colored as that of her chum, Hester. But Hester’s
complexion was naturally red and coarse, whereas ordinarily Lily had no
more color than the flower for which she was named.

Mrs. Case chanced to overlook Miss Pendleton’s rosy cheeks, however, and
they filed out of the school house, Mrs. Case walking with the last
girl.

Laura and Jess were ahead, for they knew the route selected. There was
no attempt in any of these walks to make fast time; nor did the
instructor allow them to stroll. The idea was to go at a comfortable,
straight-away pace, and to rest when tired. The pace was that at which
the least active girl could walk comfortably.

At the resting points Mrs. Case usually gave little lectures upon the
exercise, or discussed questions of athletics, or informed the girls
upon historical points or public buildings which they passed. This day
the route lay down the hill, across Market Street, and out through the
east end of the city.

At the corner of Rowan Street they passed a big open lot where boys were
flying kites. There was a brisk wind and one youngster was just putting
into the air a kite which the girls watched for a few moments. But there
was something much more interesting going on a couple of blocks beyond.

There had been a heavy thunderstorm during the week and lightning had
damaged the steeple of St. Cecelia’s Episcopal Church a few feet below
the apex. How much damage had been done the masonry could not easily be
learned without making a close examination and the fire insurance
adjuster had sent a professional steeple climber to make it.

Quite a crowd had gathered in the square to watch the work of this
expert, and as the girls came up the steeple-jack had just passed out at
the belfry at the foot of the spire. Two men came with him to set up and
hold a ladder which reached some distance up the steeple.

The man mounted this ladder very quickly. At the top he passed a rope
around his body and around the steeple, and then began to work upward.
It looked like a very dangerous feat, and the girls were all interested
in it. He mounted steadily and soon reached the place where the
lightning had struck. Here his progress ceased and he seemed to be
trying to adjust the rope.

“He’s stuck!” exclaimed Jess. “Don’t you see?”

“Oh, I guess not,” returned Laura.

But seconds grew into minutes, minutes slipped away, and still he seemed
unable to move, and the anxious spectators below became more and more
apprehensive.

Finally from his giddy height the man was seen to pause and wave his
hand, as if signalling to the men at the foot of the ladder. But they
were sixty feet below him and it was evident that they did not hear his
words at first. Finally they seemed to understand, and one of them came
down inside the belfry and joined a group of men in the porch of the
church.

The girls had crossed over to the porch and could hear all that was
said.

“I told you he was stuck,” said Jess, excitedly.

And it was a fact. They learned that the steeple-jack’s rope had caught
in a crevice where the lightning bolt had forced the stones apart, and
he was unable to move up or down. His signal was for help, but the men
did not know what to do. Many schemes were hastily suggested; but nobody
could climb the steeple to aid him, and how to get another rope up to
him was a problem that nobody seemed able to solve.

The man was in a serious predicament. One of the onlookers—a tall old
man with a flowing white beard, became much excited.

“That’s Colonel Swayne,” whispered Hester Grimes. “He is one of the
church wardens.”

“We must aid the man. He cannot stay in that position long,” declared
Col. Swayne. “He’ll fall out of that sling. Come!” he added, addressing
the crowd in the square. “I’ll give ten dollars to anybody who will
suggest a practical method of getting the man down.”

The girls were so interested that the walking exercise was forgotten for
the time being. They gathered around Mrs. Case, and some of them began
to cry.

“The man will fall! He’ll be killed!” was the general opinion.

But Laura had separated from the other girls and in a moment was running
across the square. Nobody noticed her departure. She disappeared around
the corner and in ten minutes returned with two or three boys in tow.
One of the boys carried an immense kite.

“Colonel Swayne!” cried Laura, from the outskirts of the crowd, “if you
will let us try, I believe we can get a line to that man on the
steeple.”

“What’s that, young lady?” demanded the old gentleman, quickly.

“You will pay the boys for their kite if it is lost, won’t you?” the
girl asked.

“Of course we will!” exclaimed the warden. “I see your scheme. You’re a
smart girl. Can you get that kite up here in the square, boys?”

The boys said they would try. But it was Laura who advised them upon the
direction of the wind, and how to raise the kite properly. She had flown
kites with Chet more than once.

They tested the wind, selected the point from which to fly the kite, and
the increasing crowd of spectators watched with breathless interest.
Slowly the kite left the ground and rose above the treetops. The wind
was steady and it rose faster and faster as they paid out the line.
Finally the kite was above the steeple.

The steeple-jack understood what they were attempting, and waved his
hand to them. The kite-string was manipulated so as to bring it within
the man’s reach. He grasped it, and a cheer went up from the crowd.

[Illustration: THE KITE STRING WAS MANIPULATED SO AS TO BRING IT WITHIN
THE MAN’S REACH.]

But there was more to follow. Laura had sent one of the boys to a store
for a hundred yards of clothes line. This was attached by one end to the
kite string, and the man on the steeple cut the kite loose and drew up
the clothes line.

When he held the heavier line a piece of stronger rope was attached to
the clothes line and that was raised, too. Down fell the coil of clothes
line, and they saw the steeple-jack rig himself a new sling, by which he
soon descended to the ladder, and by the ladder to the church roof and
safety.

The crowd cheered when this was accomplished, and Colonel Swayne broke
through the throng about Laura.

“You are certainly a quick-witted girl,” he said, shaking her by the
hand. “You are her teacher, are you?” he added to Mrs. Case. “Humph!
from Central High, are you? Well, if all your young ladies are as
quick-witted as she it must be a pleasure to teach them.”

He placed a ten dollar gold piece in Laura’s hand, and Laura whispered
to Mrs. Case that she wanted to get away quickly from the spot.

“Those other men are coming, too,” she whispered. “Let’s go before they
all want to shake hands. Do, do come away, Mrs. Case!”

The athletic instructor laughed and nodded, and Laura and Jess took up
the line of march again. But when they were well away from the crowd,
Jess began to laugh.

“Who says we can’t get money from Colonel Swayne for our Athletic
Association?” she cried. “What a smart girl you are, Laura!”

“I’m going to give this ten dollars into the treasury. And it won’t be
the last money I get from Colonel Swayne for the same object—now you
see!”




CHAPTER XII—THE M. O. R. INITIATION


Now there was one girl of that walking party, you may be sure, who did
not congratulate Laura Belding upon her happy thought in aiding the man
on the steeple of St. Cecelia’s Church. That was Hester Grimes.

Since the evening previous Hester had had little to say to anybody—even
to her chum. The fires of wrath always burned deeply in Hester; she
hugged an injury—or a supposed injury—to her, and made it greater
therefore than it was.

In the first place, she had hoped much that the M. O. R.’s would give
her the “touch.” For months—ever since she had become a soph at Central
High, indeed, she had been looking forward to that end. She wanted to
“make” the secret society more than she wanted anything else in her
school life.

And now it would be another year, at least, before she could stand her
chance again, while Laura Belding, whom she hated, was one of the
favored candidates. She could not understand it. Hester had toadied to
juniors and seniors alike—especially to those who were members of the
secret society. Of course, she had paid little attention to such girls
as Mary O’Rourke. She could not understand how the daughter of a
laborer, who had neither money nor influence, could have become a
prominent member of the M. O. R.’s. But by the girls of wealthy parents
Hester had tried to make herself noticed.

She could not understand her lack of popularity, when Laura, and Jess
Morse, and Dr. Agnew’s daughter and the Lockwood twins had received the
touch. And rage burned hotter in her heart.

Besides, Bobby’s impudent trick had made Hester appear ridiculous, she
could not forget that. And she insisted upon holding Laura responsible
for the joke. She told Lily she was sure that Laura Belding had put
Bobby up to it. And it was nothing that would pass over quickly.
Already, on this Saturday, she had heard some of the lines of the
doggerel repeated by giggling girls—and she hated them all for it!

“I’ll get square—you just see,” she whispered to Lily Pendleton. “No
girl like Laura Belding can treat me so——”

“But it was those freshies and Bobby Hargrew,” interposed her chum.

“Laura was back of it—believe me!” declared Hester, shaking her head. “I
should think you would feel the slight, too, Lily. For those stuck-up
M. O. R.’s to choose Belding, and Morse, and those other girls of our
class, and overlook _us_.”

“But the candidates had nothing to do with it,” said Lily, weakly.

“Belding and the others benefited, just the same—didn’t they?”

“Um—m. They’re in and we’re out.”

“Well!” said Hester, with flashing eyes.

“But what are you going to do about it? What _can_ we do?”

“Never mind. You’ll see,” promised the butcher’s daughter, darkly.

It would not have changed Hester’s attitude at all—for she was not one
to easily forgive—had she known that Laura Belding had taken occasion
that very morning to take Bobby Hargrew to task for what she had done
the evening before. Bobby came into Mr. Belding’s store while Laura was
dusting and re-arranging the show cases.

“Have a scrumptious time at the club house, Laura?” asked the
irrepressible.

“Oh, it is nice, Bobby!” cried Laura. “I wish you had been touched.”

“Me? Huh! I’d have about as much chance of ever being an M. O. R. as
Hester Grimes,” and she chuckled.

“Less chance than Hester, I fear,” said Laura, with sudden gravity.
“Especially after last evening. Bobby Hargrew, I never knew you to do so
mean a thing before.”

“Well, wasn’t she mean to me?”

“That does not excuse you. And I told Mr. Sharp that you had never done
a really mean thing within my knowledge——”

“Ah! Now I see why I have not been promoted to the outside of Central
High,” cried Bobby, quickly. “You have been interceding for me.”

“I—I—— Well, it was nothing much I said, dear,” said Laura.

“I’m grateful,” said Bobby, really moved. “But I can’t tell you how
much.”

“Show me, then,” urged Laura.

“How do you mean?”

“Give up this practical joking. Stop making trouble for the teachers——”

“I have! Gee Gee hasn’t had a chance to criticize me all this week. And
sometimes I feel as though I should burst,” cried the spirited girl.

“But I _did_ tell the principal that you never did anything mean—and see
what you have done to Hester!”

“And see what she has done to me,” snapped Bobby.

“Perhaps she _thought_ she saw you throw something into that basket.”

“No, she didn’t. She and I sassed each other,” declared Bobby, who was
plain if not elegant of speech at all times, “right there in the
principal’s office when Miss Gee Gee sailed out into the music room.
Hessie _was_ the last girl to leave me—true enough. But she did not see
me near that basket, for I started for the corridor when she was going
out of the room.”

“But she might have been mistaken——”

“You don’t more than half believe me yourself, Laura Belding!” accused
Bobby.

“I do. I believe just what you say about it.”

“Then you can take it from me,” said the emphatic Bobby, “that Hester
Grimes told that story to Miss Carrington for the sake of getting me
into trouble—and for no other reason.”

“I’d hate to think her so mean,” sighed Laura.

“I’d hate to be foolish enough to believe she was anything _but_ mean,”
growled Bobby, sullenly. “We’ve always known what she was. Why so tender
of her all of a sudden?”

“But she must be hurt dreadfully by that trick you played on her last
evening.”

“Serves her right, then. I’ve no love for her, I confess. But if you
don’t want me to I’ll let her strictly alone hereafter. I guess I’ve
squared things pretty well with her anyway,” and Bobby Hargrew laughed
lightly.

“I want you to be good, Bobby,” said Laura, yet smiling at the younger
girl. “Show them there is something in you besides mischief. The
teachers have a wrong idea of you. You want to change all that.”

“Gee! I couldn’t be a Miss Nancy,” chuckled the other.

“Just see how you are cut out of all our good times,” warned Laura. “And
we need you in athletics, Bobby! Our eight-oared shell will be without
its cox—and we hoped to have a boat of our own this season. You see,
Bobby, one girl can’t do wrong without hurting the rest of us. ‘All for
one and one for all’ is the motto of Central High, you know.”

“Oh, dear, Laura, I _didn’t_ set that fire,” cried Bobby, suddenly, and
almost in tears.

“I don’t believe for a minute that you did,” returned her friend. “But
you might use your superabundance of wit in finding out who did set it.
I’ve racked my brains, I am sure, and I can’t see the answer.”

“Then, how do you expect me to do so—and you always so ingenious?”
complained Bobby.

Laura’s ingenuity about the kite and the steeple-jack delighted most of
the girls who were with her on that Saturday afternoon tramp. And when
they knew she intended giving the gold eagle presented to her by Colonel
Swayne to the treasury of the Girls’ Branch they cheered her—all but
Hester and Lily.

The explanation of the fire in Mr. Sharp’s office eluded Laura, however,
as it did everybody else. But she gave considerable thought to the
problem as the days passed.

The Athletic Field was being put in shape as rapidly as possible.
Already the high board fence was being erected and a large shed with
lockers for the girls. As the field joined their old bathing pavilion
there were shower and plunge baths already at hand. Mrs. Case promised
the school that, other things being well, the girls should have an
exhibition field day for parents and friends before many weeks. The
indoor exercises were practiced assiduously, and most of the advanced
classes, at least, tried to stand well in these so as to take part in
the outdoor games.

With the regular school work, the physical instruction, and the
after-hour athletics, the girls of Central High found their time filled.
But Laura Belding and her close friends had the added excitement and
interest of the coming M. O. R. initiation.

A full week elapsed from the Day of the Touch to the hour when the
candidates were to be made full members of the secret society. This
initiation was usually a novel affair, and on this occasion it was
announced to the candidates that Robinson’s Woods was the scene and
Saturday at four o’clock the time of the exercises. Secrecy was
maintained—or should have been. No one but members of the M. O. R., or
the candidates, was to know the time and place; but events which
followed showed that there was a “leak” somewhere.

Robinson’s Woods was a fine picnicking ground, back among the hills. One
of the Market Street cars passed a road which led to the grove; one
needed to walk but half a mile, and through a pleasant byway. But once
at the Woods, it was as though the primeval forest surrounded the place.

There was a small hotel, tables and benches in the open, swings and a
carousel, and a dancing pavilion. But the M. O. R.’s did not propose to
hold their exercises in so exposed a place. Up from the regular grounds
devoted to entertainment led a narrow, rocky path through the thicker
wood. The goal to which this path led was a high, open plateau in the
midst of the forest, from which one could overlook a winding country
road and a more winding, tumbling, noisy brook which came down from the
heights.

Two special cars awaited the M. O. R. girls and the candidates for
initiation, and it was a merry party that debarked at the head of the
wood road. They marched straight away from the regular picnic grounds
and were soon on the plateau.

The sun was going down and the view over the valley, in which lay the
City of Centerport, was beautiful indeed. There were nearly a hundred
girls, and in their bright dresses they made a very pretty picture in
the open space in the forest.

They were far from human habitation. Indeed there was no house in sight,
save an abandoned farmhouse at the upper end of the clearing. Surrounded
by a straggling fence, with a gate hanging from one hinge, and the
out-houses behind it fallen in ruins, this old dwelling presented a
rather ghostly appearance. It did, indeed, go by the name of “Robinson’s
Haunted House”; but in the late afternoon sunlight none of the visitors
thought of the grewsome stories told of it.




CHAPTER XIII—THE HAUNTED HOUSE


Every girl had brought a box of luncheon, and besides, somebody had
“toted” two huge pots for chocolate and the little individual cups they
all carried made sufficient drinking vessels. Mary O’Rourke, with the
help of Laura and another girl who knew something about wood-lore, built
a campfire, while two other girls climbed down to the road and followed
it across the brook on the stepping-stones and up the hill to the
nearest farmhouse for milk. There was a spring of clear water in the
hillside at the edge of the plateau.

The red sun dropped behind the forest-clad hills upon the distant shore
of Lake Luna. They could see the rippling water sparkle in the last rays
of the sun. A white sail was set in this background of red and purple
glory, like a single, flashing diamond. The birds were winging homeward
to their nests in the hills behind the girls’ camp.

“What a quiet, soothing picture,” sighed one of the seniors.

“It might be altogether too quiet up here after dark if there weren’t
such a bunch of us,” said Josephine Morse. “Ugh!”

“The haunted house, eh?” suggested Laura.

“Don’t say a word! I bet there _are_ ghosts in it,” declared another
girl, with a shiver.

“I’ll guarantee there are rats in it,” laughed Laura.

“You’re so brave!” exclaimed Jess, with scorn. “But you wouldn’t want to
go into that house even in the daytime.”

“I don’t like rats,” admitted her chum.

“That’s all right,” put in Celia Prime. “But there really is a ghost
connected with the old Robinson house.”

“There always is,” laughed Laura.

“Mary will tell you about it,” said the senior, gravely. “You have been
brought here for that purpose, you candidates. Wait until after supper.”

“Oh!” squealed one of the Lockwood twins. “A real ghost story?”

“Just as real as any ghost story possibly can be,” said Mary O’Rourke,
laughing. “Gather around the fire, you infants. Never mind the smoke—it
will keep away the mosquitoes. Here come Jennie and Belle with the milk,
and we can make the chocolate. The table is spread—and we’ve got to
hurry so as to get our share away from the black ants.”

“Oh—o! Don’t!” begged somebody. “Don’t remind us of them. I feel them
crawling all over me _now_!”

“To say nothing of the spiders,” laughed the wicked Mary.

“Oo—h! That’s the only trouble with picnics. Somebody ought to go ahead
and sweep off the grass,” declared Dorothy Lockwood.

“That would surely be ‘adorning nature’—‘painting the lily’—and all
that,” laughed Mary.

The shadows were creeping up from the valley. The electric lights
flashed out all over the city and made a brilliant spectacle below them.
The night wind rustled the trees and the whip-poor-will began his
complaint from his pitch upon a dead branch.

A bell began to toll at intervals from somewhere far up the hillside.
Some wandering cow wore this bell, but it sounded ghostly.

“Listen!” commanded Mary O’Rourke, standing beyond the fire where she
could be seen and heard by all the candidates, at least, who were
grouped in one place. “And especially you infants who this night appear
before our solemn body for initiation into its ancient rites and
mysteries. Listen!

“Before it grew dark we could all see right down there beyond the
fording place in the brook, where the road crosses a ploughed field on
the other side. Not a year ago, this farmer from whom Bell bought the
milk, Mr. Sitz, was driving home just on the edge of the evening, with
his son and his father-in-law, in a spring wagon. He drove a pair of
young horses, and was giving them particular attention, so he says. But
as they came up the hill toward the brook he saw a light moving down the
road between them.

“In his opinion it was a lantern under a carriage. He saw the light
flash back and forth, low above the ground, as though a horse’s legs
were between the lantern and those approaching it.

“‘Here comes a carriage, Dad,’ said his son.

“‘It’s a top-buggy, Israel,’ declared the old gentleman on the other
side of Mr. Sitz.

“The young horses sprang forward nervously as they reached the ford. The
wagon splashed through the brook and out upon the hard road. The horses
had crowded over to the left hand, and Mr. Sitz knew that he was not
giving the coming carriage sufficient room to pass.

“But as he pulled his team back to the right hand side of the road he
glanced ahead again and saw that the light had disappeared. Black as the
night was he was confident there was no vehicle there—where he had
expected to see one.

“‘What’s come o’ that carriage, Father?’ he asked the old man.

“‘Why—why it went by, didn’t it?’ returned his father-in-law.

“‘I didn’t see it,’ declared the son.

“‘It did not pass us on the high side,’ Mr. Sitz declared.

“‘Must have turned into the ploughed field,’ suggested the boy again.

“Mr. Sitz stopped his horses and gave the lines to his son to hold. He
climbed down with his own lantern and searched for wheel tracks in the
field beside the road. He was positive no vehicle had passed his wagon
on the right hand side of the road. He could find no marks of the wheels
anywhere in the soft ground. But as he turned back to climb into his
wagon again he saw a light flash up for an instant in the windows of
that front room yonder—in the haunted house,” said Mary, with emphasis
and pointing dramatically.

“Mr. Sitz will tell you about it, if you ask him. He will also tell you
what the mysterious carriage and the mysterious light in the haunted
house meant.”

“Oh, dear!” murmured Jess in Laura’s ear. “Doesn’t she make you feel
creepy?”

“Not yet,” whispered Laura. “Lots of people have seen intermittent
lights on marshy ground, and the flare of light in the window of the old
house was the reflection of his own lantern, perhaps.”

“Silence!” commanded Mary, sternly. “No comments. Besides, those who try
to explain ghost stories have a thankless job on their hands,” and she
laughed. “We all are like the old woman who declared she didn’t believe
in ghosts, but she was awfully afraid of them!

“This is the weird tale: Years ago an old man named Robinson and his
unmarried sister lived in that house. They were the last of their
family, and both were miserly. For that reason they had never married,
for fear the other would get the larger share of the property here on
the side of the mountain. And they had money, too.

“Sarah Robinson,” pursued Mary, “was of that breed of misers who delight
in handling their gold, and worshipping it. She could not enjoy figures
in a bank-book as she enjoyed handling the actual money. But John
Robinson was of a more practical turn, and he banked his money as he
made it.

“One day a man who had borrowed of John paid him a large sum of
money—took up a mortgage, in fact. It was wild spring weather and the
stream yonder was running full. But although it rained so hard John
Robinson would not risk his money in the house over night.

“His sister and he quarreled about it. She said he was a fool to go to
town to bank his money on such a day. She would have been glad to sit up
all night and watch it—and every night, too. But John harnessed his
decrepit mare to his ramshackle buggy, and started for town.

“‘You put the lamp in the east window for me when it comes dark, and
I’ll get back all right,’ he told her.

“Sarah scolded all the time until he was gone. She even said she hoped
he’d be drowned in the river—he and his money together. Oh! she was
quite a savage old creature, they say.

“Along towards evening a dreadful tempest burst up in the hills—a
regular cloudburst. A thunderous torrent overflowed the banks of that
pretty brook yonder. It became dark and they say old Sarah did not set
the lamp in the window as she usually did when John was away from home.

“In the midst of the storm and darkness she must have seen his lantern
jogging along the road, under the hind axle of his carriage, just as Mr.
Sitz saw it,” continued Mary, in a solemn voice. “But the old woman
would not light her lamp. The old man came down to the brook in the
pitch darkness, missed the ford, drove into the deeper water below the
crossing, and was swept away, horse, carriage and all, by the flood!”

“Oh—oh!” was the murmured chorus.

“How awful!” cried one girl.

“What an old witch!” exclaimed Jess Morse.

“But Sarah ran to set her light in the window—when it was too late,”
pursued Mary, the story teller. “And every night for years thereafter,
while she lived alone here in the old house, Sarah Robinson put her lamp
in the window just after dark. And they say _she often puts it in the
window now!_ But usually the ghost light is preceded by the light and
carriage on the road beyond the ford.”

“I declare! I thought I saw a light flare up in the old house just
then!” cried one of the girls on the outskirts of the sitting crowd of
listeners.

“Very likely,” returned Mary O’Rourke, in a sepulchral voice; “for it is
on a night like this that the ghost of Sarah Robinson is supposed to
walk.”




CHAPTER XIV—THE TEST


The end of Mary’s story seemed to be a signal awaited by the M. O. R.’s,
for they all began to rise now and quickly surrounded the little group
of candidates for initiation. Some of these girls started to rise, too,
but Mary commanded:

“Wait! Candidates for the honors and the secrets of the M. O. R.’s must
show both bravery and obedience. The hour has arrived for those
candidates who desire to enter into the confidence and trust of the
older members of the society, to show such desire. Obedience and courage
are our watch words to-night. Those of the candidates who desire to go
back—who dare not submit to The Test—may now make final decision. But
she who puts her hand to the plough may not turn back after this
decision.”

“Well, I’m going to stick it out, ploughing and all!” giggled Jess in
her chum’s ear.

None of the candidates expressed a desire to back out in the silence
that ensued, although the mournful bell tinkled on the hillside and now
a “booby” owl added its mournful complaint to the note of the
whip-poor-will.

“We are ready for the test, then,” said Mary, still solemnly. “Let the
ballot-box be brought. In it have been placed the names of the
candidates, each on a separate slip of paper. They will be drawn in
quartettes, and each quartette will be given a task which will require
both courage and obedience.”

There was a little rustle among the girls as one of them brought forward
one of the lunch boxes.

“The first test,” said Mary O’Rourke, “will be for the first four
candidates drawn to take each three nails and this hammer and go
together to the haunted house, enter by the front door, go into the east
front room where Old Sarah is wont to show her light, and drive the
nails, one after another, in the floor of the room.”

“O—o—oh!” moaned the candidates, in a horrified chorus.

“Silence, infants!” commanded the president of the M. O. R.’s. “Each
girl must drive her own three nails. There must be no balking. The nails
will be examined—er—later—by daylight—to make sure that the test has
been honestly performed. I will now draw the slips and announce the
names of the first quartette.”

“How dreadful!” whispered one of the Lockwood twins. “I’ll faint if I
have to do that.”

“Dora Lockwood,” announced Mary the next instant.

“Oh!” squealed the twin named; but nobody save the twins themselves knew
which one spoke.

“Josephine Morse.”

Jess grabbed Laura by the arm. “I—I’m scared to death!” she whispered in
her chum’s ear.

“Helen Agnew.”

The doctor’s daughter grabbed Jess. “We’ve got to do it!” she murmured.
“Isn’t it awful?”

“Laura Belding.”

“Goody!” exclaimed Jess, aloud. “You’ve got to go, too, Laura.”

“The four candidates named will step forward and receive the nails and
the hammer,” said Mary, sternly; but a good many of the older girls were
laughing.

It was no laughing matter to the candidates in question, however. Only
three approached the president at first.

“Miss Lockwood!” commanded Mary.

“Which one?” giggled somebody in the background.

“Miss Dora Lockwood!”

“Both of them are ‘Dorothy’ now,” said Celia Prime. “This is one time
when either is willing that the other should take her place. They
declare that on Touch Day Dora was touched twice, once for herself and
once for her sister.”

“Then Dora is doubly called now,” said Mary O’Rourke, sternly.

One of the twins pushed the other forward suddenly.

“Oh!” cried the girl pushed. “I’m not Dora!”

“The right one had better come,” cried Mary. “The next Test may be a
good deal worse than _this_ one.”

“Oh, then I’ll take it!” cried the Lockwood twin who had been pushed.

“No, you don’t, Miss!” exclaimed her sister, elbowing her way to the
front. “_I’m_ Dora.”

“Well,” said Mary, “if I shut my eyes and you girls changed places I
couldn’t tell you apart. I wish one of you had a different dimple in her
cheek—or even a mole——”

“O—oh! How horrid!” chorused the Lockwoods.

“Then the right one must come forward. As Gee Gee says: ‘On your honor,
young ladies!’”

The twins finally decided to own up to their rightful names, and Dora
joined the other three candidates and accepted the three nails. To Laura
was given the hammer.

“Remember what you have been told. Each must drive her own nails. And
mark well where you drive them, for they will be examined—by daylight,”
finished Mary, with a chuckle.

The crowd of girls parted and left an open lane for the four candidates
to pass through. The owl hooted again and the cowbell tinkled upon the
hillside. The quartette started on their mission slowly. It was very
dark about the haunted house, for big trees overshadowed it.

“I’m scared clear down to the soles of my feet,” whispered Jess to
Laura.

“Never mind. Don’t let the rest of them know it,” was her chum’s reply.

They came to the ruined gate and pushed it open. The path was
weed-grown, and as they rustled through, keeping close together, the owl
hooted again—right over their heads.

“Ouch!” screamed Nellie Agnew.

A chorus of giggles answered from the crowd in the rear. But her
companions saw nothing to laugh at. The owl had startled all four.

“Oh, dear!” whispered Dora. “Let’s go back.”

“We can’t!” hissed Jess.

Laura marched straight on to the step of the porch. The boards creaked
under her feet as she mounted to the door. The door hung from one hinge
and when she pushed upon it, it creaked frightfully.

“Oh!” squealed Nellie again.

“Do come on!” muttered Jess. “I’m just as scared as you are; but don’t
let those girls know how bad we feel. They’re just enjoying themselves.”

“And of course there’s nothing, or nobody, here,” Laura added. “They are
just having fun with us. Even if something does startle us in this old
house, it will be nothing worse than rats.”

“But I don’t like ra—rats,” wailed Dora, under her breath.

“Does anybody?” snapped Jess. “Come on!”

They entered the house, Laura leading. The door of the east room was
open and some light entered through the broken windows—light enough to
show them the way. Laura stepped carefully over the floor, fearing that
some broken board might trip them.

But once in the big, empty, musty room, there seemed nothing to bother
them. Even the owl had flown away.

“Now we’ll drive the nails as quickly as possible and get out again,”
said Laura in a low, but perfectly even, tone.

She stooped and fumbled her first nail for a moment. Then she smote the
head of it a sharp blow with the hammer.

On the heels of that sound came a scream from Nellie.

“Look! Oh, look!” she shrieked.

She was standing erect, pointing through the east window.

“The light! The ghost light!” cried Jess.

Laura raised up a little and saw a light, dancing close to the ground,
and on the other side of the brook. It was just about where a lantern
under a carriage would have been.

“Come away!” gasped Jess, and she turned and ran. Nell and Dora ran with
her. And it must be confessed that Laura was heartily frightened
herself, and their panic was communicated to her.

She scrambled to her feet and tried to run. But something seized her
skirt and dragged her back to the floor!

Laura screamed aloud then, herself. She tried to get up once more, but
the ghostly hand again tugged at her garments and dragged her back upon
the floor of the haunted house.

[Illustration: SOMETHING SEIZED HER SKIRT AND DRAGGED HER BACK TO THE
FLOOR!]




CHAPTER XV—A VERY REAL GHOST INDEED


For a moment or two Laura Belding held to some shreds of courage. Of
course she did not believe in ghosts! It was no supernatural thing that
had either appeared as light to them, or had attacked her.

Yet when she essayed a third attempt to rise, she was cast to the floor
once more, seemingly by the same strong hand, and this time she turned
her ankle sharply. Her terror and pain made her cry out, and she lay
there for a moment, helpless, watching the moving reflection of the
ghostly lantern on the wall!

Suddenly between her and this reflected light, appeared a figure in
white. It seemed immensely tall. It glided out of the shadowy portion of
the room and came toward her.

_The figure of old Sarah Robinson!_

Outside the running girls shrieked appallingly. And their cries were
re-echoed by the larger number of their schoolmates down by the
campfire.

Laura closed her eyes for a moment. Consciousness left her.

The white-clad figure moved nearer. It stooped above the prostrate girl.
With swift hands it tied Laura’s hands together before her tightly. Then
a thick veil, doubled many times, was passed across the helpless girl’s
mouth and tied tightly so that her voice would be muffled should she
attempt to cry out.

It took less than a minute for this very palpable ghost to do this.
Then, as silently as it had appeared, it glided away and, a moment
later, a door might have been heard to bang at the back of the old
house.

But the girls without had been so terrified that none of them heard this
sound. The bobbing lantern light across the brook had been seen by those
around the campfire as well as by the girls who had entered the haunted
house. Mary O’Rourke’s story had made a strong impression upon the minds
of them all. Mary herself was startled by the appearance of the light.

Besides, panic is catching. And the three girls who ran from the house
were certainly panic-stricken. Their screams of horror started many of
the other girls off, and some of the waiting ones turned and ran from
the plateau and down the steep path before Jess, and Dora, and Nellie
reached the fire.

“The ghost! the ghost! It’s after us!” shrieked the doctor’s daughter,
and kept right on, following the girls who had already decamped.

It was useless for any of the braver ones to try to stop the stampede.
Nobody wanted to remain in the vicinity of the haunted house. They had
all seen enough.

An early rising moon cast a ghostly light on the path through the wood,
and the girls’ feet fairly flew over this way. Celia Prime and Mary
O’Rourke were among the last to run; but they did run finally, and never
had a hundred or more girls become so entirely panic-stricken as the
members of the M. O. R.’s and their candidates for initiation. The
ceremony was there and then, and without a dissenting voice, postponed
to a more favorable time!

“Where is Laura?” gasped Jess, running hard behind the Lockwood twins.

“Oh, yes! she’s so brave!” panted Dora. “She ran first of all, I
believe. I bet she’s ’way ahead of us.”

Jess knew that Laura could outrun most of the girls, whether they were
frightened or not. So she took this statement for the truth.

But when they arrived at the inn and the regular picnic grounds, Laura
was not there. But some of the girls who had started first had already
passed through the gates and were on the road to the cars.

Of course, most of them had stopped running now. They were ashamed of
their fright, and did not want to explain it to the people at the inn.
But you couldn’t have hired one of them to return to the plateau before
the haunted house just then.

“I think Laura is just too mean not to wait for us,” panted Nellie
Agnew.

“She’s ashamed, I expect,” said one of the twins.

“It isn’t like her,” Jess said.

“She was scared, all right,” said Nellie.

“Well! who wouldn’t be?” demanded Jess.

They went on to the car tracks at a slower pace. Some of the first girls
to arrive, however, had not waited for the two special cars that stood
upon the side track, but took a regular one back to town.

“I believe I saw Hester Grimes get aboard that car that just passed,”
said one of the twins. “I wonder what she was doing out here?”

“Lots of people ride out this way in the evening,” returned another
girl. “I suppose Hessie has a right to come, too.”

“Wish she’d been up there in that house to get scared.” muttered Jess.

“And Laura seems to have taken a car back to town, likewise,” said
Nellie.

Laura’s absence began to trouble Jess. She searched among the other
girls, but could get no word of her chum.

“She beat us,” laughed Mary O’Rourke, when Jess approached her with the
question. “She’s gone home.”

There was a deal of bustle and laughter as the girls climbed into the
special cars. They had recovered from their fright now, and some laughed
at it. But not a girl could say what the light was they had seen bobbing
over the ground. And the three who had been in the house were half
tempted to believe that they had seen something supernatural in that
uncanny east room.

“At any rate, I _felt_ there was something there the moment I went in,”
declared Nellie.

“It was an awfully spooky place,” agreed Dora.

“And it smelled—just like a tomb,” said Jess.

“I wouldn’t go into the house again for a farm!” declared Nellie.

“Not after dark, at any rate,” Jess said, more bravely.

“Never again—dark or light,” declared Dora. “And I guess the seniors and
juniors were scared just as much as we were. They can’t laugh at us.”

“My! I hope the rest of the initiation won’t be as bad as this,” said
Nellie.

“If it is, I’ll want to renig,” said Dora. “It costs too much to be an
M. O. R.”

“We certainly are a brave lot of ‘Mothers of the Republic,’” laughed
Mary, who heard the sophomores conversing.

“That’s all right!” spoke up Jess. “But you didn’t go into that house
yourself.”

“Quite true. It wasn’t my place. I was only sending you infants there,”
returned Mary.

But when the girls all left the cars on Market Street and Jess finally
separated from the others at the corner of Whiffle Street, she began to
worry about Laura again. It seemed strange that her chum should have run
right home.

There was the Belding house ahead. There were figures on the porch. Jess
halted at the gate.

“Hullo!” exclaimed Chet Belding. “Where’s Laura, Jess?”

He and Lance came down the walk hastily. Jess leaned weakly on the gate,
smitten now with the fear that something must have happened to her chum.

“Isn’t she here, Chet?” she asked.

“Of course not.”

“Didn’t she come home with you?” demanded Lance, hastily.

“No. Oh, oh! Something dreadful has happened. Tell me honest, boys—isn’t
she here?”

“No, she’s not,” they both assured her, and Chet opened the gate.

“Tell us what’s happened,” he said. “But speak low. Mother’s gone to bed
with a head-ache and father’s gone to the lodge. Why! Jess! you’re
crying!”

And Jess _was_ sobbing nervously. She could not help it. Her fear for
Laura’s safety had taken form now, and for a minute she could not answer
the boys’ excited question at all.




CHAPTER XVI—WHERE IS LAURA?


Launcelot Darby was rather impatient with Jess Morse. He would have
shaken her had not Chet interfered.

“Hold on! hold on!” said Laura’s brother, yet quite as anxious as his
chum. “You tell us your own way, Jess. But _do_ hurry. We’re dreadfully
anxious.”

“I—I mean to tell you,” sobbed Jess. “Something dreadful has
happened—and I ran away and left her.”

“Ran away and left who—Laura?” gasped Lance.

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“Up in Robinson’s Woods.”

“At the picnic place?”

“No.”

“Back in the woods, then?” demanded Chet.

“Up on the side of the mountain. You—you know that—that old house——”

“The haunted house!” exclaimed Lance.

“The old Robinson house?” cried Chet.

“Yes.”

“What under the sun were you doing there?”

“I—I can’t tell you. It—it was something about the initiation——”

“Those blessed Mary O’Rourkes!” cried Lance, smiting his hands together.

“The M. O. R.’s,” said Chet. “You girls were all up there?”

“Ye—es.”

“In the dark?”

“We had a campfire.”

“And what happened?”

“Well, Laura and two other girls and I had to go into the house.”

“That old wreck!” ejaculated Lance again.

“Ye—es.”

“Weren’t you afraid?” demanded Chet.

“That—that’s the trouble. We were frightened.”

“Somebody played a trick on you,” declared Chet.

“No, they didn’t!” gasped Jess. “It was a real ghost.”

At that both boys chuckled, and Chet said:

“Aw, say, now, Jess. How could there be a _real_ ghost?”

“Never mind. That’s not the point,” Lance interposed, eagerly. “We want
to know what’s become of Laura.”

“So we do,” admitted Chet.

“Was she scared, too?” asked Lance.

“Of course she was. _You’d_ have been——”

“Wouldn’t either!” snapped Lance. “No ghost would ever scare me. Some of
the other girls played a trick on you.”

“Of course, that’s it,” said Chet. “But that don’t explain why Laura——”

“That’s it!” interrupted Lance. “Tell us where she is.”

“She must be there,” declared Jess, in an awestruck voice.

“Where?”

“In the house.”

“In Robinson’s old house?” gasped Chet.

“That’s where we left her. I thought she got out ahead of us. But she
didn’t.”

“And none of you were brave enough to go back and look for her?”
demanded Lance, with scorn.

“We thought she was ahead. All the girls ran——”

“What made you run?” asked Chet, trying to soothe her.

“The light.”

“You saw a ghost light, eh?” demanded Chet. “I bet you’d been hearing
that old story they tell about the Robinsons.”

Jess nodded.

“And the ghost lantern appeared?”

“Yes. It _did_. It was really there, Chetwood.”

“All right. I didn’t think Laura would fall for a thing like that,”
scoffed the absent girl’s brother.

“Say!” demanded Lance, who admired Laura greatly and would not let even
her brother laugh at her. “All those other girls ran, didn’t they? Jess
ran. Why should Laura be any braver than the rest of the bunch?”

“Well! she ought to be,” grunted her brother. Then he turned again to
Jess, who was fast recovering her composure now. “And you didn’t see
Laura leave the house after your scare?”

“No.”

“How many of you girls were in the house?”

“Only four of us.”

“And three got away?”

“Yes.”

“Supposedly, then, the ghost got Laura?”

“She didn’t come out, Chet. You needn’t laugh. Something bad has
happened to her.”

“Of course, if you are sure she didn’t come out of the house——?”

“Just as sure as I stand here!” declared the girl, emphatically. “I
didn’t think so until just now. It seemed as though she must have run
ahead and taken one of the regular cars to town. But now I know that
wouldn’t have been Laura’s way, whether she was scared or not.”

“I should say not,” said Lance, in disgust. “You girls are all alike—all
but Laura! She wouldn’t have left you in such a mess.”

“Now, stop that!” commanded Chet. “Such talk won’t lead to anything but
angry feelings. Jess thought Laura was ahead. Now we’ll go back and find
her.”

“Oh, Chet! if you only would,” begged Jess, too miserable to even be
offended at Lance.

“We’ll get out the car. Father won’t mind. And I got my license to run
it only last month.”

“Bully!” ejaculated Lance.

“I’m going, too,” said Jess, wiping her eyes vigorously.

“Had you better?” returned Chet, doubtfully. “You’re all strung up
yourself over this, you know.”

“I won’t cry any more, Chet—don’t you fear,” declared the girl. “Let me
go.”

“Just as you say, only I thought you wouldn’t go back to that house
again.”

“I’ll go with you boys.”

“Ghosts and all?”

“If it’s a ghost it’s gone by now.”

“All right,” said Chet. “But it’s half after nine already. What will
your mother say?”

“She’s at the Academic Club, and won’t be home for ever so long,”
declared Jess. “Let me go with you to the garage.”

She followed the two boys to the rear of the Belding premises. Chet
unlocked and slid back the garage doors. The touring car which his
father owned was ready at a moment’s notice to be taken out. They kept
no chauffeur, for both Mr. Belding and Chet could manage the machine,
and had she been old enough to take out a license Laura could herself
have spun the car over the roads about Centerport.

“Hop in, Jess,” said Chet, kindly. “That is, if you are sure you won’t
be frightened. I’m going to drive her some.”

“I’m never scared when you are driving, Chet,” returned the girl.

“I guess I’ll get you to the inn at the picnic grounds in safety, at
least,” and the boy laughed. “You can wait there for us.”

“No!” cried Jess.

“No?”

“I’m not going to be left there to watch the car while you boys hunt for
Laura.”

“But we may have to get a party of neighbors there and beat up the
woods.”

“But I believe now she was left behind in the old house,” declared Jess.

“Not likely,” said Lance. “She ran out some other door. Got turned
around in those woods. That’s what happened.”

“You may be right,” Jess admitted. “But I have a feeling that it isn’t
so. Something happened to Laura right there in the haunted house.”

“You feel that way because you were so frightened there yourself,” said
Chet.

“I don’t know why I feel so; but it is a fact,” said Jess, confidently.

“Come on!” cried Lance, who was already in the front seat.

Chet helped Jess into the tonneau and closed the door. Then he hopped in
beside Lance, tried his various levers, and started the car. It slid
quietly out of the garage and they left the door open. The big car began
to purr almost at once, and running smoothly, soon left the hill section
and raced out along Market Street, now quiet save for the electric cars
and other automobiles at this hour of the evening.

It was not long after ten when the car turned into the quiet road, with
its few electric lights, leading to Robinson’s Woods. There were a few
other cars at the inn, and some people on the porch. Chet went at once
to the manager and told him of the absence of his sister.

“I saw those girls all going to the car; but they never said anything
about one of their number being lost,” said the gentleman.

“They didn’t know it then. They don’t all know it now, in fact. But when
Laura didn’t come home her chum was sure that she was left behind. And
she thinks she is in the old house up yonder,” explained Chet.

“In the haunted house?”

“Yes.”

“Nice place for girls to go!” exclaimed the man. “What did they want to
go into that old ruin for?”

“Well, that isn’t just the point,” said Chet. “I’d like to get all the
men you can raise to help us beat up the woods. She _may_ have wandered
into the wood at the back of the house——”

“But she’d know she was going the wrong way then, wouldn’t she?”
returned the manager of the hotel. “For it’s uphill, you know.”

“I suppose that’s so,” said Chet. “But something has happened to her and
we’re worried.”

“Don’t blame you. I’ll go with you myself. And there are some other men
here who will accompany us,” said the manager, and he bustled away.

In five minutes the party was ready, with lanterns and clubs—though why
the clubs, Chet could not imagine. Ghosts were not to be laid with such
carnal weapons!

Jess insisted upon going along. “I left her alone, and I am ashamed,”
she told Chet. “I want to hunt for Laura, too.”

She and Chet walked straight up the path to the plateau, Chet carrying
one of the car lanterns. The others, including Lance, beat up through
the wood, halloaing to each other, and shouting Laura’s name. The lost
girl’s brother and her chum came first to the haunted house, however.

“If you’re afraid to go in you stay here,” advised Chet, when they came
to the place.

“I’m not afraid to go anywhere with you, Chet,” declared the girl,
warmly.

That made Chet feel even more bold than before. He started right up the
steps, with Jess clinging slily to his coat-tail.

They entered the house. The lamp light was flashed into the east room.
It was empty!

Not quite empty, after all. On the floor was a three-cornered bit of
cloth—a piece of Laura’s skirt—nailed to the boards.




CHAPTER XVII—THE MYSTERY


And where was Laura herself all this time?

She had returned to consciousness almost at once. Indeed, the pulling of
the bonds upon her wrists and the veil tied so tightly across the lower
part of her face would naturally have aroused her.

But for a moment she could neither rise nor move. It seemed as though
she was paralyzed. Her ankle began to pain, then, and at the first throb
the girl came fully to her senses.

“Oh! where am I?” she thought.

But she couldn’t have spoken the words aloud. The muffler was too tight
across her lips.

The ghostly figure that had flitted out of the room had scarcely gone
when Laura opened her eyes. The frightened girl looked all around for
it. She remembered how awful it had looked. But nothing was in
sight—nothing but the wavering reflection of the ghost-light on the
wall.

To her ears, however, came the screaming of the frightened girls on the
plateau before the house. It was not alone her three comrades screaming;
but the chorus of the whole party of M. O. R.’s who had given voice to
their terror. And the sounds were swiftly receding. The girls were
leaving her alone, bound and helpless, in this awful house!

Never for a moment did Laura Belding believe that the thing was a trick,
or joke. It could not be part of the M. O. R. initiation. Mary O’Rourke
and Celia Prime and the other seniors governing the secret society were
not the girls to make up any such plan as this with which to frighten
new members of the order. Nor would the school authorities allow such
action by the M. O. R.’s.

Nevertheless, Laura knew that something strange had happened to her.
There had been no person in this big room when she and her three friends
had entered to drive the nails. Yet, when the fright occurred and she
had attempted to run, she was hauled back by the skirt.

Something seemed to have grabbed her. Was it a hand—the same hand that
had lashed her wrists and gagged her with this veil?

Yet, any person beside the four girls would have betrayed his
presence—for the room had never been wholly dark—only in the far
corners. And no arm would be long enough to reach out of those shadows
and seize the bottom of Laura’s skirt and pull her to the floor again
when she started to run.

The girl was still frightened—desperately frightened, indeed. But the
possibility of anything supernatural having happened to her had long
since departed from her mind. Even the flickering reflection of the
ghost-light did not trouble her.

No ghost could have bound her hands and gagged her.

The voices of the girls had died away into the distance ere this. With a
groan of pain because of her ankle, Laura rolled over and tried again to
rise. Something jerked her back!

She threw herself over and rolled away from the point of contact. There
was a tearing sound—and she was free!

She scrambled to her feet. Then she saw what manner of “ghostly hand”
had held her. In stooping to drive the first nail into the floor, she
had driven it through the hem of her skirt—that was what had jerked her
to the floor when she tried to run with her comrades.

“Well! I am silly!” mumbled the girl.

Instantly she heard somebody cry out, but outside of the house.

“What’s the matter mit you, Otto?” growled a deeper voice.

“I heard a voice, fader! Not nearer to dat house would I go—so hellup
me! It iss de ha’nt!”

Laura’s muffled voice was audible a few yards away, but she could not
tell them who she was, and how situated. She ran to the window. One sash
was gone. Boys had used the windows as targets in times past.

“Ouch!” yelled the younger voice, in a long-drawn wail. “Dere iss oldt
Sarah!”

“Be still! you are a fool!” commanded the gruffer voice.

Laura saw that a man and a boy were outside the fence. The man carried a
lantern. It had been this light coming along the road that had so
terrified the M. O. R.’s and the candidates for initiation.

The farmer raised his lantern so that the light fell full upon the face
of the girl in the house. He saw the veil-bandage, and her tied wrists.
In a moment he hopped over the broken-down fence and hurried to the
casement.

“Come here, Otto!” he commanded. “See your ghost—fool! It is a harmless
girl—and she is in trouble. What does this mean, eh?” he asked, in his
queer English. “Somebody been fooling you, no?”

Then seeing that Laura could not answer him save by a murmur from behind
the muffler, the farmer said:

“Run in there undt untie her, Otto! Do you hear?”

“But the ghost, fader!” gasped the fat boy, who had followed his parent
to the house, and seemed much the more cowardly of the two.

“Bah! Ghost indeed! There iss no ghost here——”

“But we know de house iss haunted. Are you sure dat iss not old Sarah?”
demanded Otto, in much fear.

“It is a girl—a _madchen_—I tell you! A mere child—yes!” cried the
father. “Go in there and unloose her hands—dolt!” and he boxed his son’s
ear soundly.

“Oh! I can come out myself!” Laura tried to say.

She darted away from the window, found the open door, and so staggered
out of the house to meet the farmer and his half-grown boy, with the
lantern, on the porch of the haunted dwelling.

“Ah-ha!” exclaimed the man. “We heardt de oder girls screeching—yah?
Undt dey tie you undt leave you here?”

He was fumbling with the knotted veil as he spoke, having passed the
lantern to Otto, and now unfastened it so that Laura could reply.

“No, no!” she said. “Something frightened us all. First your lantern
coming along the road. We thought it was the ghost light.”

“Ouch!” wailed Otto again. He was very much afraid of the ghost.

“And then—I nailed my skirt to the floor and could not get away quickly.
I—I am afraid I have been a dreadful fool,” admitted Laura, with some
chagrin.

“But you did not tie yourself—so,” growled the farmer, working on her
wrist bonds.

“No. I fell and something—_somebody_, I should say—came and tied my
wrists and put that veil over my face—give me the veil, please.”

“Some of your companions play a choke onto you—eh?” said the farmer.

“No. They would not be so cruel. And they were all as badly frightened
by your lantern as I was.”

“Den you haf an enemy—eh?” queried the man.

“I do not know who. I don’t know what it means. Oh!”

“You are hurt, Miss?”

“I can scarcely hobble on my foot. I turned my ankle,” explained Laura.

“Then Otto and I will help you home—to our house yet,” said the farmer.
“We were hunting a stray cow. My name iss Sitz. I lif’ back up de
road—yonder. Two of your girls friendts bought milk at my house
to-night.”

“Yes. I know who you are,” admitted Laura. “Do you suppose you could get
me to your house and then send word to the city so that my father or
brother will get it—without frightening mother?”

“Ach!” ejaculated the farmer. “We can carry you—Otto undt me; if he
_iss_ a fool-boy, he iss strong. Undt we haf de telephone. Sure we can
carry you.”

They made a “chair” with their four hands, in which Laura sat, leaning
back against their arms, and so maintaining her balance. She carried the
lantern to light the way, and very soon after her girl friends had left
the plateau in their stampede, she was being carried across the brook
and up the country road to the Sitz farmhouse.

Laura had recovered from her fright ere this; but the mystery of what
had happened to her continued to puzzle and amaze her.

Who had done this to her? What had been the object of the attack? And
why should anybody desire to so maltreat and frighten her? These
questions were repeated over and over in her mind, even while she was
talking with Mr. Sitz and Otto. And there seemed to be no sane and
sensible answer to them!

It surely was not any of the M. O. R.’s who had done this. They had all
been just as frightened as they could be by the light of Mr. Sitz’s
lantern. Of course, Mary’s foolish story of the ghost had started the
girls off on the stampede when Jess and Nellie and Dora had run from the
haunted house.

Laura remembered very vividly what she had seen in the room after her
friends had left her. The figure in white had tied her hands and
adjusted that veil across her mouth.

Surely, she must have some enemy—some person who really hated her. For
nobody else, it seemed to Laura Belding, could have done so cruel a
thing. She had no idea who this enemy could be, however.

Nevertheless, she had stuffed the veil into the front of her blouse and
intended to hold on to it. That veil might prove to be a clue to the
identity of the person who had bound and gagged her.




CHAPTER XVIII—ON THE EVE OF THE CONTEST


So, thus carried kindly by the Swiss farmer and his son, Laura Belding
came to the farmhouse on the hillside. It was a comfortable home, with a
big tile stove in the sitting room, and shining china arranged in long
rows on high shelves all around the kitchen. The Sitzes had kept up many
of their old-world customs and made a comfortable living upon a rocky
and hilly farm on which most Americans would have starved to death.

Mrs. Sitz was a comfortable looking, kindly woman, by her expression of
countenance; but she spoke little English. There was a girl about
Laura’s age, however, named Evangeline. She was a buxom, flaxen-haired,
rosy girl, who was delighted to see the strange girl whom her father had
found in the haunted house.

Evangeline took Laura into her own room, removed her shoe and stocking,
and bathed the twisted ankle in cold water, and then insisted upon
rubbing home-made liniment upon it, and bandaging the member tightly.
All the time she was doing this, she was exclaiming “Oh!” and “Ah!” over
Laura’s adventure as the latter related it.

“I think it was real mean of those other girls to run and leave you,”
said Evangeline, sympathetically.

“I don’t think it mean,” laughed Laura—for she could laugh now that the
adventure had ended so happily. “There were so many of them that I was
not missed, I suppose, in the general stampede.”

“But you might have remained there all night.”

“No! And that reminds me, your father says you have a telephone. I must
call up my father, or brother. And yet—I wonder if I won’t scare mother
by calling at this time of night? Let me think.”

“You can use the telephone if you want to,” said Evangeline, hospitably.
“It’s right here in the corner of the living room.”

But Laura had a bright idea about the telephoning. She knew that, by
this time, the girls must have arrived home. She did not believe Jess
would go right past her house without making inquiries for her. And by
this time the household might have been aroused, and her father, or
Chet, would be on the way to Robinson’s Woods to hunt for her.

So she first called up the hotel at the entrance to the picnic park and
told the people there that she was safe, and where she was to be found.
She learned that, already, a party of men, and one girl, were out
beating the woods for her.

In an hour a motor-car steamed up to the farmhouse door and Chet and
Lance, with Jess close behind them, ran into the house.

“Oh, Laura! Laura!” cried her chum, in tears again. “Do forgive me for
leaving you to the ghost. And what did it do to you? And how did you get
here? And how came your skirt nailed to the floor of that horrid house?
And——”

“Dear me! Wait and catch your breath,” laughed Laura, kissing her.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all right, Sis,” said Chet, pretty warmly for a
brother, for the big boy was proud of his sister.

Launcelot Darby squeezed Laura’s hand tightly, but could say nothing.
Lance admired Laura more than any other girl who went to Central High;
but he was not able to express his feelings just then.

The farmer and his family—especially Evangeline—invited the girl to
remain all night and rest her injured ankle. But Laura would not hear of
that, although she appreciated their kindness.

“I want Dr. Agnew to see my ankle. Why! we’ve got a basket-ball game on
for Friday afternoon, you know, Jess, with East High team—and I can’t
possibly miss that.”

“I’ll carry you out myself to the car,” declared Lance, gruffly. He
suddenly picked her up in his arms (and Laura was no light-weight) and
managed to place her in the tonneau very comfortably.

“Come again! Ach! Come again!” cried Mrs. Sitz, from the doorway,
bobbing them courtesies as they went down the walk.

Evangeline ran out to the car to kiss Laura good-night, and the latter
promised that she would ride over soon and see the farmer’s daughter
again. But Otto took the boys aside and assured them, with much
emphasis, that the Robinson house was actually haunted, and that he
wouldn’t go into it alone, at night or by day, for his father’s whole
farm!

“But how did you get nailed to the floor, Laura?” demanded Jess, in the
tonneau beside her chum, and when the car was speeding back to town.

“Why! foolish little me did that herself, of course,” laughed Laura.
“That’s what I did when I drove the first nail. Then, when you all ran,
squealing, and I tried to do the same, the nail held me and pulled me
back. I thought something had grabbed me by the skirt—I really did!” and
she laughed again.

But Laura was silent about the rest of her adventure—and none of her
young companions chanced to ask her why she had not screamed for help.
She hid the veil and determined to wait and watch, hoping to get some
clue to the owner of the article. She was sure that the figure she had
seen for a moment, and which had, of course, bound her wrists and gagged
her with the veil, was one of the girls—somebody who bore her a grudge.

“And who that can be, I don’t know—for sure,” thought Laura, after she
was in bed that night and the throbbing of her ankle and the fever in it
kept her awake. “But somebody must really hate me—and hate me hard!—to
have played such a trick on me.”

It was not that Laura was entirely unsuspicious; but she did not voice
the vague thought that ever and anon came to her mind regarding the
identity of the person who had so treated her. She did not believe it
was any trick that the members of the M. O. R. were cognizant of; but to
make sure she went to Mary O’Rourke that very Monday and asked her
point-blank.

Mary had no knowledge of the affair. She deeply regretted that such a
misfortune should have overtaken the candidate.

“No more haunted houses for us!” declared the senior. “We’ll hold the
initiation in the clubhouse—and it will be a tame one, I guess. The
girls were all pretty well scared. Of course, we shouldn’t have been
frightened—especially we older ones; but we _were_, and that’s all there
is about it.”

But the joke on the M. O. R.’s went the rounds of the school. Jess could
not keep still about it, and all the members of the secret society were
“ragged”—especially by the boys—over being scared by two farmers with a
lantern hunting for a strayed cow!

Chet took his sister to and from school for a couple of days in the car
and she walked as little as possible meantime; so that the ankle soon
recovered its strength. The basket-ball match, which was to come off on
the court belonging to East High, was the main topic of conversation
among the girls of Central High all that week.

“Just think! they’ve got a good court, and we haven’t such a thing,”
commented Josephine Morse to her chum. “I think it is too bad. We need
some philanthropist to come here and give us a big prize for our field.
When are you going to tackle Colonel Swayne again, Laura?” and she
laughed.

“Ah! you don’t believe a way to his heart can be opened?” asked her
friend, smiling.

“It’s a way to his pocket-book I’m speaking about.”

“Have patience. I feel that he will be a great help to us——?”

“You’ve got a ‘hunch,’ then, as Chet says?”

“I expect that is what they call it. But have patience.”

Jess was a member of the basket-ball team, as was Laura. And on the team
Hester Grimes played. Hester was a strong girl and could play well if
she chose; but her temper was so uncertain that Mrs. Case considered it
necessary to watch the butcher’s daughter very closely.

“And I wish you all to remember,” said the physical instructor, the day
before the match at East High, “that we must play fair. Play the game
for the game’s sake—not so much to win. If one desires, above all
things, to win, he or she may forget to be perfectly fair. No foul
playing. We are going to an opponent’s field. Let us win a name for
playing clean basket-ball, whether we win the game or not.”

“What’s the use of playing if we don’t play just as hard as we know
how?” demanded Jess.

“Play for all there is in you,” agreed Mrs. Case. “I will see that you
do not overexert yourselves. But do not lose your tempers. And do not
forget to cheer for the opposing team after the game, whether it wins or
loses. Be fair, and let the sport be clean.”

“Did you watch Hessie while Mrs. Case was talking?” whispered Jess in
Laura’s ear.

“No.”

“She looked so scornful! I hope she won’t make us unpopular with the
East High girls. But you know how mean she acts sometimes when we play
with some of the scrub teams.”

“It will be too bad if she makes a scene,” said Laura, thoughtfully,
“and shames us before our opponents. The girls of Central High will then
get a bad name for playing foul—and we can’t afford to have _that_
reputation.”




CHAPTER XIX—HESTER FOULS THE GAME


Basketball is not an easy game to learn, but it is both a splendid
exercise as played under the rules of the Girls’ Branch and a game of
skill.

Because of the many rules, and sub-divisions of rules, the players must
bring to the basket-ball court the quickest intelligence and a serious
desire to excel. No laughing or talking is allowed during play. The
success of the game is based upon the players giving to it their
undivided attention.

It can be played by from five to nine players on a side, and the time of
play is usually two halves of fifteen minutes each. Mrs. Case refused to
allow her pupils—the girls of Central High—to play more than thirty
minutes, and the younger girls could only play the game in three
“thirds” of ten minutes each, with five or ten minutes’ rest between
each two sessions of play.

It was a rule, too, that no girl could play without a physical
examination as to her fitness, and the Central High team—the champion
team of the school—was selected from among the strongest and best
developed girls. This team was now billed to play a similar team
selected from among the older girls of the East High of Centerport, and
as made up by the physical instructor, was as follows:

  Jess Morse, goal keeper
  Celia Prime, right forward
  Mary O’Rourke, left forward
  Hester Grimes, forward center
  Laura Belding, jumping center
  Lily Pendleton, back center
  Bertha Sleigel, right guard
  Nellie Agnew, left guard
  Roberta Fish, goal guard.

Besides the nine members of each team, the game called for nine other
assistants—a referee, two umpires, a scorer, a time keeper, and four
linesmen. Because of the possibility of so many foul plays, all these
assistants and watchers were necessary. The ordinary “basket-ball five”
was hardly known at Central High, as so many girls wanted to play.

On the Friday afternoon the hall in which the basket-ball court, or
ground, of the East High girls was situated, was well filled, in the
visitors’ part, with the parents and friends of both teams. This was
really the first occasion of any athletic trial between the girls of the
two schools, although the boys, in their sports, had long since become
rivals.

Naturally the girls of Central High were excited over the prospect. Mary
O’Rourke, the captain, as well as Mrs. Case, warned the players for the
last time in the dressing room to keep cool, play fairly, and to give
and take in the game with perfect good-nature.

“Good-nature wins more games than anything else,” said Mary. “Just as
soon as a girl gets flustered or ‘mad’ at her opponent, she begins to
lose ground—makes mistakes, and fouls the other player, and all that.
Remember that the referee and the umpires will be sharp on decisions
to-day. ‘Didn’t know’ will be no excuse. And by no means speak to the
officials. If you have anything to report, report to me.”

“My!” sneered Hester to Lily, “doesn’t she think she knows it all? Who
told her so much, I’d like to know? I guess there are others here who
know the game quite as well as she does.”

“But she’s captain,” said Roberta Fish, one of the juniors.

“And how did she get to be captain? Favoritism, Miss!” snapped Hester.

“Come on, now!” advised Nellie Agnew, good-naturedly. “We don’t want to
go into the game in this way. We’ve got to pull together to win.
Loyalty, you know!”

“Bah!” said Hester.

“That’s what the black sheep said,” laughed Nellie. “Don’t _you_ be the
black sheep of Cen-High, Hessie.”

The teams were called into the field and the referee put the ball into
play in the center. Laura and her opponent jumped for the ball and Laura
was fortunate in getting it. During the next few moments, upon signals
from their captain, the girls of Central High passed the ball back and
forth and suddenly tried for a goal. It was from the field and would
have counted two points; but Celia made a fumble, and the ball did not
reach the basket, but was stopped by the left forward of the East High
team.

The ball was in play immediately, but was in the hands of the home team.
When Hester Grimes’s opponent got the ball, Hester leaped before her and
raised her arms. But she over-guarded and instantly the warning whistle
sounded from the side lines.

“Foul!” proclaimed the referee.

In a moment the play went on, but again Hester had a chance at the girl
with the ball and once more the whistle blew sharply. Hester was
guarding round, with her arms spread and crooked, instead of straight.
And to be called down for a foul twice in succession stung Hester Grimes
sharply. Her face grew red and her eyes flashed angrily.

“You wait, Miss!” she whispered to the girl who held the ball.

“Silence on the field!” commanded the referee. “Play!”

Hester’s fouling put her team-mates out not a little, and the ball was
carried to their end of the field and their opponents scored.

“Get together, girls!” commanded Mary, in a low voice. “Don’t lose your
heads.”

But Hester had become thoroughly angry now, for she saw that she would
be blamed for the score against her team. She played savagely
thereafter, and suddenly one of the home team cried out in pain. Hester
had collided roughly with her.

Again the whistle. “I shall ask Captain O’Rourke to take that girl out
of the game if there is any further rough play,” declared the referee,
who was the physical instructor at West High.

The other girls of the Central High team were ashamed. The first half
ended with no further score on the part of the home team; but, on the
other hand, the visiting team had been held down to a “goose egg.” When
the girls went to their dressing room there were some murmurs against
Hester’s style of playing.

But Mrs. Case stopped this instantly. “If one of our team has shown
excitement, we must not blame her too harshly,” she said, seriously.
“This is our first time playing away from our own field. Be careful.
Take time to think, Hester——”

“That referee is unfair. They’ve given the game to East High, anyway. It
was all fixed beforehand,” snarled the culprit.

“Listen, Hester,” said the teacher, gravely. “That is neither
sportsmanlike nor truthful. You must restrain yourself. You are one of
the best players we have; but you are fouling the game, and if you do
not have a care we shall lose through your fault. Keep your temper.
Don’t make it necessary for me to remind you again.”

This did not soothe Hester’s feelings. Mrs. Case had spoken sharply at
last, and Hester went back to the field “just boiling inside,” as she
told her chum.

The second half began. Again Central High was quicker in getting away
with the ball. This time they kept it in play among themselves, too,
until a goal was made; but if was from a foul and counted only one
point.

Their friends cheered them, however, and as soon as the ball was put
into play again the girls of Central High went at it with their old
tactics and made splendid runs, finally getting another goal, this time
from the field. The visiting team was then ahead in the score.

But the very next minute, when Hester had a chance to get into the game
again, she snatched the ball from her opponent’s hands. It was so plain
a foul that the girls did not need the whistle to cease play. And when
the ball came back Hester’s team-mates were “rattled” again and East
High secured another clean goal.

Indeed, all through the two halves the playing of the East High girls
was perfectly clean, while that of Central High was spoiled by Hester.
Her rough work was noticeable. Mary O’Rourke tried to keep her out of
play as much as possible, and in doing this weakened her side. Before
the end of the second half East High scored again, and the score finally
stood, when the whistle was blown to cease playing, at seven to three in
favor of the home team.

The girls of Central High were both disappointed and chagrined. But they
cheered lustily for the winners (all but Hester) and were cheered fairly
in return. Yet Laura and her friends knew that their team had made a bad
impression upon the spectators and instructors because of Hester’s foul
playing.

“That girl spoils everything she gets into,” declared Jess Morse, to
Laura and Nellie. “I don’t see why Mrs. Case lets her play on the team.
We certainly have got a black eye here.”

“I’m sorry for Hester—she has such a temper,” sighed the doctor’s gentle
daughter.

“I do not know whether I am sorry for her or not,” said Laura, sternly.
“It will be a long time before these girls over here at the East End of
town will forget this game. It is bad enough to be beaten; but to be
beaten by a member of our own team is what hurts.”

“Is that so, Miss?” exclaimed Hester’s harsh voice behind her. “Didn’t
think I’d over-hear you, did you? You look out, Laura Belding, that you
don’t get beaten in another way. I should think you’d had lesson
enough——”

A sudden flush sprang into Laura’s face.

“What do you mean by that, Hessie?” she cried. “What lesson do you refer
to?”

But Hester merely tossed her head and went on. Laura was thoughtful for
the remainder of the way home. She was thinking of the veil she had
brought away with her from the haunted house.




CHAPTER XX—THE EIGHT-OARED SHELL


Laura Belding was not of a revengeful nature. She hadn’t even Bobby
Hargrew’s desire to “get even” with an enemy. But the mystery of what
had happened to her in the haunted house troubled her mind.

Once Jess had mentioned that she thought she had seen Hester Grimes take
an electric car for the city the night of the M. O. R. scare at
Robinson’s Woods. Laura could not help wondering what Hester had been
doing up there.

The auto veil Laura had brought back with her was ecru-colored, and was
an expensive one. It was strange that anybody should have left such a
thing up there in the old house. Not many girls, at least, could have
afforded to purchase such a costly veil and then throw it away.

The Grimeses often hired a car; but then, plenty of girls Laura knew
wore automobile veils who had never ridden in a car! It was merely a
fashion in apparel. So she kept silent about the veil—never even
mentioned it to her chum, or to her brother, or to Lance Darby—and bided
her time.

The basket-ball game had made the remainder of the team very angry with
Hester Grimes. Only Lily Pendleton stood by her. Hester declared to
everybody who would listen that the “game was fixed” and that the
Central High team had no chance of winning.

“I guess that’s so,” said Bobby Hargrew, who overheard Hester say this.
“You fixed it all right. I watched you. You’d queer anything you went
into. It’s lucky you’re not rowing in the eight-oared shell. We’d have
less chance of winning the girls’ boat race than we have, if you were!”

“Well, Miss, they certainly cannot accuse _you_ of harming their chances
of winning,” snapped Hester Grimes. “You’re out of it!”

And that was so! The girls’ eight-oared shell was without its little
coxswain. Bertha Sleigel could not manipulate the steering apparatus of
the long boat as Bobby had. And the boat races—rather an informal affair
preceding the mid-summer aquatic sports—would come on in a fortnight
now.

Bobby Hargrew had been very good in school for some weeks. Even Gee Gee
could find no fault with her behavior. But it was more on Laura’s
account than for any other reason that the irrepressible held herself
in. She did not forget that Laura had interceded with Mr. Sharp for her.

The eight-oared crew was to use a second-hand boat; they owned no boat
of their own, but hoped to purchase one, or have one presented to them,
before the mid-summer sports on Lake Luna.

Professor Dimp, who coached the boys, having been a famous stroke in his
own college, coached the girls as well. He was a very severe
disciplinarian; but he had picked the crew for the big shell with
judgment and skill.

And to make up a crew is no small matter. As far as physical
conformation goes in the choice of a crew for an eight-oared scull, tall
girls were preferable to short, well built to thin, and heavy girls to
“feather-weights.” Saving in the cox, the girls were all chosen for
their mature physique and long arms.

And Professor Dimp chose the crew and selected their positions with as
much care as he gave to his boys’ crew. One cannot take enthusiastic
girls hap-hazard and make a winning crew.

First of all the professor chose Celia Prime for stroke oar. Scores of
girls can follow time, or stroke, after practice; but some who make the
best rowers could never in this world “set the stroke” for a crew. Celia
proved herself to be an accomplished stroke, with first-rate form, great
pluck, and not easily confused. She could maintain the same number of
equally well rowed strokes, whether rapid, medium, or slow; and she
could spurt when necessary without throwing the rest of the crew into
disorder.

At Number 7 a well-tried oarsman is needed, too, and the professor
selected Laura Belding for that onerous position. Number 7 is supposed
to take up the stroke duly and to give finish to the action of the crew.
A crew that does not work in perfect unison cannot by any possibility be
a winning crew.

As selected by Professor Dimp, the girls’ crew was as follows:

  Celia Prime, stroke
  Laura Belding, No. 7
  Dora Lockwood, No. 6
  Nellie Agnew, No. 5
  Roberta Fish, No. 4
  Mary O’Rourke, No. 3
  Dorothy Lockwood, No. 2
  Jess Morse, bow.

They missed Bobby Hargrew dreadfully; but the crew practised as
frequently as possible, hoping to break Bertha in as coxswain, and get
her seat shifted to the best place possible for the balancing of the
boat. But Bertha was not like Bobby—and she was pounds heavier!

The eight-oared shell of the girls of Central High would compete with
similar boats from both of the other Centerport High Schools and with
boats from the Highs of Lumberport and Keyport. The three cities being
located upon this beautiful inland lake, the young folks were all more
or less familiar with aquatic sports. But never before the establishment
of the Girls’ Branch Athletic Association had the girls of the several
cities competed.

The newspapers of the three towns gave plenty of space to amateur
athletics, and the big men of the educational boards had taken up the
girls’ athletic work with vigor, too. Those interested looked forward to
many field days and exhibitions during the ensuing months. But outside
of their school work the crew of this particular eight-oared shell had
little thought for anything but the approaching race.

The boathouse and landing where the shell was kept was right beside the
girls’ bathing place and athletic field. Naturally, too, it was near
Colonel Richard Swayne’s handsome place. As the girls were rowing in one
afternoon after practice they saw the Colonel, with a veiled lady in a
wheel-chair, on the bank. They seemed to be watching the girls pulling
in so easily; but whether the Colonel approved of them, or not, they did
not know.

“And he’s got _oodles_ of money!” sighed Roberta Fish. “Wish he’d give
us some for our athletic field.”

“But he won’t,” said Dora Lockwood. “He says we make too much noise. We
disturb his daughter. She can’t sleep much, they say, and afternoons we
spoil her forty winks.”

“It is too bad if we really _do_ disturb her with our noise,” said
Laura, thoughtfully.

“You’ll never get any money out of the Colonel, Laura,” declared Jess.

“I will!” returned Laura, firmly. “You wait and see. Rome wasn’t built
in a day.”

“Huh! but it wouldn’t ever have been built at all if Romulus and Remus
hadn’t made a commencement,” scoffed her chum.

The races were held on Saturday afternoon of that week. There were
paddling races, four-oared shell races, and eight-oared shell races.
There were many classes of contestants; but interest centered mainly in
the events in which the high school boys and girls participated.

The girls’ eight-oared shell race was the last number on the program. It
was a straight-away half-mile race—not too long, or too short, for girls
of the age taking part in the sport.

The five boats got into position with some skill and they got a better
start than in the boys’ races. The crowds gathered on shore and on the
boats lining the course cheered the girls as they shot away over the
bright water.

It was a warm and beautiful day and the water was as calm as a millpond.
It was “fast water” indeed!

The crew of Central High were looking their best and “feeling fine.”
They caught Celia’s stroke instantly and, at the swinging pace she set,
their boat darted through the water, keeping well up at first with the
leading shell.

On so short a course the first few strokes, even, sometimes tell the
tale. The Keyport crew took the lead at the start, but both East High
and Central High of Centerport were close after the leader. The Central
crew, indeed, for some rods were only half a length behind the Keyport
shell.

It was a pretty fight, and the voices of the spectators grew in volume
as the five shells shot along the course.




CHAPTER XXI—THE FINISH OF THE BOAT RACE


Chetwood Belding and his chum, Lance Darby, were in a motor-boat and
that boat kept pace with the racing shells. The boat belonged to
Prettyman Sweet; but Purt could not run the craft and depended upon his
friends to run it for him. “Pretty Sweet” couldn’t do much of anything,
so it seemed, and therefore, as Chet remarked, things were made “pretty
soft for him.”

The boys in the launch cheered the girls of Central High vociferously.
Laura and her comrades rowed like veterans. They “kept their eyes in the
boat” and Celia pulled a stroke that was both quick and long. The shell
was driving through the water at increasing speed.

But the Keyport boat kept ahead. And she seemed to be gaining on Central
High, too, though that gain was very slow. The shell of the East High
girls crept up, nearer and nearer, its bow overlapping the stern of the
Central High shell.

But of a sudden West High of Centerport, coming up on the other side,
fouled East High. Their oars crashed together for an instant. It
scarcely cost the East High girls an inch; but the colliding boat fell
out of the race and dropped back behind the Lumberport shell.

This latter came up with a rush. East High kept ahead of Lumberport for
a few yards, and then fell back. The girls from the upper end of the
lake came on with increasing speed. Keyport was struggling to maintain
its place in the lead. The Central High girls were dropping back by
inches.

It was useless for the latter crew to strain further. Lumberport was
passing them. Yet Celia set the pace for a spurt and her comrades did
their level best. Bertha, in the stern, however, got excited, and
shifted her seat. It made the boat drag heavily, and the Lumberport
shell passed them with a rush.

Those last few yards all three of the head crews were under great
strain. But each held to its work as truly as had the boys’ crews
earlier in the day.

The Lumberport boat could not overtake the Keyport; but it came in
Number 2. Central High was Number 3, and East High fourth, while West
High had fallen out of the race entirely. The three leading boats,
however, crossed the line within lengths of each other—a close and
exciting finish.

But the girls of Central High were vastly disappointed. The race should
have been theirs, according to the time elapsed from start to finish.
Often they had done a straight-away half-mile at better speed when Bobby
Hargrew was there. There was something fundamentally wrong with the
eight-oared crew.

“We could have won—I know we could!—if Bobby had been in her place,”
wailed Jess Morse. “See how mean Gee Gee is!”

“See how unfortunate Bobby is,” returned her chum.

“See how unfortunate we _all_ are,” added Mary O’Rourke. “I believe if
that little scamp had been in our boat to-day we would have won.”

“We’ll never win without a better balanced boat—that is sure,” said
Laura, gravely, as she and Jess hurried through dressing so as to join
the boys for a trip to Cavern Island.

“And the mid-summer races coming on!” groaned Jess.

“We’ll have to get her back before that time,” declared her chum,
assertively.

“But suppose she has to leave school for setting that fire in Mr.
Sharp’s office?”

“She never set it!” exclaimed Laura, quickly.

“Who did, then?”

“That is what we must find out,” announced Laura, decidedly.

“How ridiculous you talk!” exclaimed Jess. “We can’t find out.”

“I believe one can explain almost any mystery if one only puts mind
enough to it.”

“That’s all right, Miss Sherlock Holmes. Put your great mind to it. Be
the greatest female detective of the age!” scoffed Jess. “You’re going
to do wonders, aren’t you? How about getting a big present from Colonel
Swayne for our new athletic field, too? Say! you’ve been promising a
whole lot that you’ll never perform, Laura.”

“I’ve been promising to _try_, my dear. And I can still try,” laughed
her friend.

But Laura was very much in earnest regarding three things just at this
time. First, was the discovery of how the fire started in the
schoolhouse; second was the mystery of the person who had bound her in
the haunted house in Robinson’s Woods; third was the interesting of the
wealthy Colonel Swayne in girls’ athletics.

This last would seem to be the hardest of all, for Colonel Swayne had,
on several occasions of late, complained to the school board that the
athletic field and bathing place adjoining his estate was a nuisance. He
complained of the shrill voices of the girls at play; but how did he
expect young folk to disport themselves and have a good time without
shouting and laughter?

The week following the boat race two eagerly contested doubles were
going on the courts next to Colonel Swayne’s line at the same time. The
girls _were_ making a great deal of noise, but they were doing so
innocently. Once a serving man had climbed a stepladder and, looking
over the hedge and fence, announced that his master “would be pleased if
the young ladies went to the further side of the field to play.”

“How ridiculous!” exclaimed Jess Morse, who happened to be one of the
contestants. “Does he think that we can pick up the courts and move them
about at will?”

So the girls went on enjoying themselves, and, it must be confessed, did
little to lower their voices. Laura had dressed and was coming to the
gate when she heard angry voices there. The keeper was saying:

“Very sorry, sir; you cannot come in without a ticket. This is not
visiting day.”

“I’ll show you whether I can come in or not!” roared the voice of
Colonel Swayne. “Think I’m going to brow-beaten by a lot of little snips
that had better be at home in their nurseries? Their parents ought to be
ashamed of themselves for bringing them up so badly. And as for this
idiotic school board of Centerport——”

His voice died away as Laura came modestly out of the gate. The old
gentleman, choleric as he was, could not face the young girl’s cool bow
and still bully the gate keeper.

“I—I——” he stammered. Then his eye lit up with recognition. “I say!” he
growled. “You’re the girl who saved that man on the steeple.”

“Yes, sir,” returned Laura, demurely. “I am Laura Belding, Colonel.”

“Look here! Can’t those girls in there keep better order? They sound
like a pack of wild Indians. I never heard such yelling.”

“Oh, Colonel! we are only having a little fun, mixed with physical
culture, after school hours,” said Laura.

“Call it fun?” gasped the Colonel. “Sounds more like a massacre!”

“I wish you could come in and see how the girls enjoy themselves, sir,”
said Laura. “But visitors are not allowed save on invitation. But I will
ask Mr. Sharp to send you tickets——”

“I don’t want to see ’em!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “Think I’m
hanging around here to see a parcel of girls be as unladylike as they
can? Let me tell you when _I_ was young, girls didn’t have athletics—and
yell like Indians while they were at it!”

“But don’t you think the girls to-day are a lot nicer than the girls
used to be?” asked Laura, demurely.

“No, I don’t, Miss!” But the Colonel had to smile a little now. Laura,
was so unruffled and smiling herself that he could not wholly maintain
his “grouch.” Besides, he had admired the girl immensely ever since she
had shown she had so good a headpiece.

“Why, even my mother says that we girls are much better physically than
the girls of her day. We work much harder in school, but we do not get
nervous and ‘all played out,’ as the saying is. She believes it is due
to our physical exercises and our outdoor lives. The games and exercises
we have in this athletic field are making us stronger and abler to meet
the difficulties of life. Don’t you believe so, sir?”

“I must confess I had never given it much thought,” admitted the old
gentleman, eyeing her curiously.

“Don’t you see how much healthier and stronger we are than even the
girls were ten years ago?” she persisted.

“I never gave much attention to girls—only to one girl,” he replied,
with a drop in his voice and a gloomy brow.

“You mean your daughter—Mrs. Kerrick?”

“Poor Mabel!” the old man sighed. “Yes. She never was given to
activities of any kind—save social activities. She has never been well.”

“But suppose she had ‘gone in’ moderately for athletics when she was my
age?” suggested Laura.

“There were no such things in either the private or public schools at
that time, my dear,” said the old gentleman, shaking his head. “They had
what they called ‘calisthenic drills’; but I guess they did not pay much
attention to them, after all. Poor Mabel was always nervous—little
things annoyed her so dreadfully. And that is why the screeching of
those girls annoys her now,” added Colonel Swayne, with a quickening
note of anger in his voice. “And it’s got to be stopped.”

“Oh, please don’t say that, Colonel!” begged Laura. “I—I hoped you would
be interested in our work in time, and help us. We need so many things,
you know!”

“Want my help, do you?” demanded the old gentleman, grimly. “And my
daughter not able to sleep for weeks!”

“But, Colonel! we are not on the field at night.”

“And she doesn’t sleep at all at night. Why, she hasn’t had a night’s
sleep in weeks upon weeks. But sometimes she is able to just lose
herself in the afternoon. I allow nobody to come to the house, and the
servants move about within doors in felt slippers. I do everything not
to disturb her—and here you crazy young-ones are raising particular Sam
Hill out there in that open lot!”

Under other circumstances Laura would have been tempted to laugh at the
old gentleman’s heat. But she knew that he felt for his daughter very
deeply—although Laura believed, with the other neighbors, that if Mrs.
Kerrick would rouse herself, she could shake off much of her nervous
disorder.

“Hasn’t she been attended by Dr. Agnew?” asked Laura patiently.

“Oh, the Doc doesn’t seem to realize how sick she is,” grunted Colonel
Swayne, “He does not give her enough of his attention. I feel sometimes
that she ought to have some younger and more up-to-date practitioner
attend her. Agnew thinks she makes her case out worse than it is.”

“But if she cannot sleep——”

“And that’s another thing. He will not give her anything to make her
sleep. Says her heart is too weak to stand it. But the truth is, Doc
does not believe in giving drugs much. You know how he is,” said the
Colonel, finding himself—to his secret surprise—talking to this young
girl as though she were grown up!

“But isn’t it because she sleeps in the daytime that she cannot sleep at
night?” asked Laura, thoughtfully.

“Great heavens! she can’t sleep in the daytime with you girls yelling
like fiends right next door,” cried the Colonel, going back to the
subject of his exasperation.

“Now, Colonel! we don’t yell like fiends,” declared Laura, in a little
heat herself. “You know we don’t. And we are only there after half past
three and until half past five—and sometimes from seven o’clock until
dark. And so far the athletic field has been open but four afternoons a
week.”

“By Jove, though! You make yourselves a nuisance when you _are_ there,”
declared the Colonel.

“We don’t mean to, I can assure you. And if your daughter cannot sleep
save during the hours when we can go to the field, I believe the girls
would all be willing to make concessions of their time. You surely mean
that Mrs. Kerrick is suffering from insomnia?”

“I should say she was,” sighed the Colonel. “The last time we had a
thunderstorm was—when?”

“Why, we have scarcely any this season. You know for weeks not a drop of
rain has fallen. Our lawn is suffering.”

“Mine, too,” grunted the Colonel. “But that isn’t the point. The last
night’s sleep she had was when we had that thunderstorm. The doctor told
us she would sleep better if she removed her bed to the top floor so
that she could hear the patter of rain on the roof. She has a big room
at the back of the house and not only is the roof right over her head,
but the tin roof of the extension is right under her windows. But, since
she moved up there, there hasn’t been a shower, either day or night! And
no prospect of one, so the papers say—what’s the matter with you?”

For Laura showed that she was startled and she looked up into his face
very earnestly. “Oh, Colonel Swayne!” she murmured.

“What’s the matter now?” he demanded.

“Do you really believe she could sleep naturally again if there were
thunderstorms at night? Do you really believe it?”

“Why—yes. I know it to be a fact, Miss Laura. And so does the doctor.
With my daughter it is a proven fact. Even when she was a girl she could
always sleep calmly if the rain pattered on the roof. There’s nothing
more soothing for the nervous patient.”

“Then, Colonel, I’ve got an idea!” gasped Laura.

“I hope it is as good an idea as that one you had the day the man got
caught on St. Cecelia’s steeple,” laughed the Colonel.

“It is as good a one,” declared Laura, very earnestly.

“Do you mean something about Mrs. Kerrick?” he asked, more eagerly.

“Yes, sir. Something to help her sleep.”

“Have you got influence enough with the weather bureau to bring a storm
when none is forecast?” he asked, rather whimsically.

“It will amount to the same, sir. I want to try. May I?”

“I don’t know what you mean, Miss Laura,”

“I know you don’t; but if you’ll just be patient and wait until this
evening—after supper—I’ll show you. Let my brother and me and—yes!—one
of his chums, come over to your house. We three will be enough. What
time does Mrs. Kerrick retire?”

“Why, she usually goes to bed early.”

“Then tell her nothing about our coming. _Can_ we come, Colonel?”

“Why—why—surely! But I don’t understand.”

“You will, sir, when we arrive. I’ll tell you all about it then. We’ll
be there about dark,” promised Laura, and she darted away through a side
street, running hard, she was so much in earnest and had so much to do
in preparation for the performance she had in mind.




CHAPTER XXII—STAGING A THUNDERSTORM


Somewhere Laura Belding had read of this very thing!

But the idea that Dr. Agnew approved of Mrs. Kerrick sleeping where she
could hear the patter of rain drops gave incentive to Laura’s thought
and set her about following out the idea that had first flashed across
her mind.

She found Chet and Lance hard at work cleaning the automobile. That was
as much fun for them as it would have been for Laura and Jess to go to a
party. Laura took her brother and Lance into her confidence instantly.

At first Chet was inclined to pooh-pooh the idea; but Lance, loyal to
Laura, fell in with her plan instantly. And by and by Chet came around,
and said he would aid his sister in carrying through what he termed “a
crazy idea.”

They had to take Mr. and Mrs. Belding into their confidence at the
supper table, for they had to get permission to use the car that
evening. Mrs. Belding was somewhat doubtful of Laura’s scheme, and
called it “an escapade.” But her father was always an easy captive to
his oldest daughter’s whimsies, and he cheered her idea
enthusiastically.

“And besides,” said Chet, slily, “Laura is trying to rope in the old
Colonel and make him cough up for the girls’ athletic field. I know
her!”

“Chetwood!” ejaculated his mother. “Is it proper to speak of your sister
as a ‘roper in’—as though she were a female cowboy? And why should the
Colonel contract a bronchial affection for the sake of the girls’
athletics?”

The family assembled had to laugh at this; but Chet was somewhat
abashed, too.

“Don’t be so hard on a fellow, Mother,” he begged. “I can’t remember to
shift languages when I come into your presence—it is just impossible. To
talk Americanese outside the house and stilted English within—well, it’s
just impossible. I’m sure to get my wires crossed—there I go again!”

“I really do not see why you send this boy to high school, James,”
sighed Mrs. Belding. “It seems to be a waste of time. ‘Stilted English,’
indeed!”

But Mr. Belding was inclined to laugh at her. And he was very much
interested in Laura’s plan for helping Mrs. Kerrick get a good night’s
sleep.

“I think,” said the father, “that the principal trouble with Mabel
Kerrick—and always has been—is she has never had any real object in life
worth living for. If Fred Kerrick had been a different sort of a man
while he lived—or if he _had_ lived more than three months after they
were married—Mabel might have amounted to something.”

“But she really is ill, Father,” said Laura.

“So she is ill—now. But it is nothing, I believe, that a vital interest
in life wouldn’t cure. The Colonel has ‘babied’ her all her life. When
she was a girl she could dance all night, and sleep most of the day, and
never took any healthful exercise. And now she is one of these nervous
women whom every little thing fusses. She leads the old Colonel a pretty
dance, I guess.”

“Nevertheless, if she cannot sleep she is in a very uncomfortable
state,” said Mrs. Belding.

“Let Laura try her magic, then,” laughed Chet. “Lance and I will help.
I’ll go down to the opera house and borrow that stuff all right. I know
Mr. Pence, and he’ll let us have it.”

“It seems to be carried by the majority,” said his mother. “I will not
object. But get back as early as possible, children. Late hours are
becoming prevalent in this family, and it must not continue.”

So after supper Lance came over and the three young people went off in
the automobile, first stopping at the stage entrance of the opera house
on Market Street. It was not quite dark when the car rolled into Colonel
Swayne’s grounds. The old gentleman was on the lawn waiting for them.

“Now, what sort of a play are you going to act, Miss Belding?” he asked
quizzically.

“You’ll see,” laughed Laura. “Is Mrs. Kerrick up yet?”

“She is just about to retire.”

“Then you will have to play a deceitful part, sir,” said Laura. “Go and
tell her that you think there will be a thunder storm. Put down the
shades at her windows so that the lightning will not frighten her.”

“You _must_ have a better hold on the weather department than anybody
else,” declared Colonel Swayne, looking up into the perfectly clear sky.
“There isn’t a sign of a storm.”

“That’s all right,” said Laura. “Is your gardener about?”

“You will find him at the back of the house. I told him you would need
him.”

“Then we will go right ahead with our plan,” said the girl, confidently.
“See that Mrs. Kerrick gets to bed with the idea firmly fixed in her
mind that a shower is approaching. That will help a whole lot.”

The car was run around to the rear of the big house. There the two boys
and Laura found the gardener, with a long ladder and the garden hose
already attached to one of the lawn hydrants. They raised the ladder
quietly to the roof of the ell, and when the light in Mrs. Kerrick’s
windows was dimmed by the shades, the boys and Laura climbed up the
ladder, dragging the hose and carrying some paraphernalia with them.

Chet put on a pair of rubber gloves and disconnected the telephone wire
which here was fastened to the side of the house. Chet knew a good deal
about electricity and was careful about putting the telephone out of
commission.

Meanwhile Lance began to work the sheet-iron “thunder machine” which
they had borrowed from the manager of the opera house.

“Bring the thunder on gradually, Lance,” whispered Laura, with a low
laugh. “Not too often. Chet has to rig his lightning machine. There!”

Chet had rigged his little box-like instrument quickly. He brought the
two ends of the charged wire into close contact and there was a
startling flash.

“Now the thunder—louder!” exclaimed Laura, in a whisper.

The thunder rolled convincingly. It sounded nearer and nearer. After
every flash of the stage lightning the explosion of sound became more
furious. Then Laura waved her hand to the gardener below. The man turned
on the water.

Laura turned the spray-nozzle of the hosepipe upon the tin roof and
against the side of the house. The water began pattering gently. Another
flash of lightning, and the thunder rolled as though the tempest had
really burst over the house.

It really was a convincing exhibition of stage mechanism. Colonel Swayne
climbed the ladder himself and stepped upon the roof.

“This is great,” he whispered. “I never saw a girl like this one. She’s
as full of novel ideas as an egg is of meat. Great!” he added as Chet
flashed the lightning again and Lance followed it up with a roar of
thunder that shook the house.

Laura gave the “rain storm” more force and the drops pattered harder and
harder upon the roof and against the windows. Soon a very convincing
shower was clashing against the panes, while the lightning became
intermittent, and the thunder rolled away “into the distance.”

But the gardener came up and relieved Laura at the hosepipe, and they
finally left the man alone on the roof to continue the shower for some
time longer while the young folks removed their paraphernalia, and Chet
connected up the telephone wires again.

When they were on the ground Colonel Swayne came back from a trip to his
daughter’s room. Her maid reported to him that her mistress was fast
asleep. The old fellow was really quite worked up over the affair.

“You young people have done me an inestimable service,” he declared,
shaking hands with them all around. But he clung to Laura’s hand a
little longer, and added: “As for you, young lady, you certainly are a
wonderfully smart girl! Perhaps it pays to make our girls more vigorous
physically—it seems to stimulate their mentality as well.

“I haven’t really thought much about your athletics; but the school
board has been at me, and I shall consider seriously their request that
I become one of a number of patrons who will give a foundation fund for
a really up-to-the-minute athletic field for your Girls’ Branch. We will
see.”

“Oh, that will be just scrumptious!” gasped Laura, “If you only knew how
much good the sports did us—and how we all enjoy them!”

“I can believe it,” agreed the old gentleman, as Lance helped Laura into
the car and Chet started the engine. “And I shall give it serious
thought. Good-night!”




CHAPTER XXIII—THE UNVEILING OF HESTER


                 “There was a girl in Central High
                   And she was wondrous wise,
                 When she wasn’t rigging thunderstorms
                   She was making strawberry pies!

“Gee, Laura! those tarts smell delicious! Do give a feller one?”

Black Jinny, the Belding’s cook, chuckled inordinately—as she always did
whenever Bobby Hargrew showed her face at the Belding’s kitchen window,
and shuffled two of the still warm dainties onto a plate and passed them
with a fork to the visitor.

“Now, Jinny, you’ll spoil the count. And Bobby’s getting in in advance
of the other girls. These are for my party to-morrow afternoon,”
complained Laura, but with a smile for the smaller girl.

“Party! Yum, yum!” said Bobby, with her mouth full. “I just love
parties, Laura. ’Specially your kind. You always have something good to
eat.”

“But you’ll eat your share of the tarts now.”

“I am no South American or Cuban. There is no ‘manana.’ To-morrow never
comes. ‘Make hay while the sun shines.’ ‘Never put off until to-morrow,’
and so forth. Oh, I’m full of old saws.”

“I’m glad,” said Laura. “Then there will not be so much of you to fill
up with goodies.”

“But it’s my mind that’s full of saws—not my ‘tummy.’”

“Same thing, I believe, in your case,” declared Laura, laughing. “Jinny
says the way to the boys’ hearts is through their stomachs; and I think
your mind has a very close connection with your digestive apparatus.”

“I believe it. They tell me that eating fish is good for the brain, so
all brains must be in close juxtaposition to people’s stomachs.”

“Wha’s dat ‘juxypotation,’ chile?” demanded Jinny, rolling her eyes. “I
never heerd the like of sech big wo’ds as you young ladies talks. _Is_
dere seech a wo’d as ‘juxypotation?’”

“There is not, Jinny,” chuckled Laura. “She’s fooling you.”

“I knowed she was,” said the cook, showing all her white teeth in the
broadest kind of a smile. “I be’lieb de men wot makes dictionaries
oughtn’t to put in ’em no wo’ds longer dan two syllabubs.”

“Great!” crowed Bobby, and then choked over a mouthful of Laura’s flaky
pie crust.

“Come out on the side porch,” said Laura, her face quite flushed. “I’ve
baked my complexion as well as the pies.”

“Your cheeks are as red as Lily Pendleton’s were last Tuesday at school.
Did you hear what Gee Gee did to her?” asked Bobby.

“No.”

“Real mean of Gee Gee,” chuckled Bobby, as the girls took comfortable
seats. “But Lily deserved it.”

“Tell me—Gossip!” said Laura.

Bobby merely made a grimace at her and finished the last crumb of pie.

“It was chemistry class. We had done simple tricks and Gee Gee had
explained the ‘wheres and whereofs’ in her most lucid manner. Lily had
laid it on pretty thick that day.”

“Laid what on?” demanded Laura.

“What she puts on her cheeks sometimes. You know, it isn’t a rush of
blood to her head that gives her that delicate cerise flush once in a
while. I think she tries to emulate Hester Grimes’s cabbage-rose cheeks.
However, Gee Gee came close enough to her to behold the ‘painted Lily’s’
cheeks. Wow! Gee was mad!” exclaimed the irrepressible. “You know she’s
as near-sighted as she can be—glasses and all. But this time she spotted
Lily.

“She comes up carefully behind her, with a clean damp sponge in her
hand.

“‘Young ladies,’ says she, ‘we will have one other experiment before
excusing you to your next class. Notice that!’ and she gave one dab of
the sponge to Lily’s right cheek. You never saw a girl change color so
suddenly!” giggled Bobby. “And only on one side!”

“Don’t you come into _my_ class, Miss, without washing your face,
another time!” exclaims Gee Gee. And you can bet she meant it. And Lily
carefully removed all the ‘penny blush’ before she went back to
recitation again.

“Foolish girl,” said Laura, softly.

“Nothing but a miracle will ever give that girl a natural blush,”
declared Bobby, reflectively. “You might work it on her, Laura.”

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you a miracle worker?” laughed Bobby.

“I guess not.”

“I hear you are. Colonel Swayne’s telling all over town what a head you
have got! You certainly have got him going, Laura——”

“Sh! You talk worse slang than Chet. Don’t let mother hear you.”

“I learned part of it from Chet,” declared Bobby, unblushingly. “But
that was certainly a great scheme about the stage thunderstorm. Some
folks laughed and said it was all nonsense. But Nellie’s father says it
was all right. And the Colonel has worked it himself once since, and
Mrs. Kerrick has got the habit of sleeping at night now, instead of
trying to do so in the afternoon, as she used.”

“Well, she’s not complaining about us girls making a noise in the
field—that’s one good thing,” said Laura, with a sigh of genuine
satisfaction.

“Lucky she is not. Think of the racket there will be there next Friday
afternoon. But, oh! I can only be there as a spectator,” groaned Bobby.

“Bobby, dear,” said Laura. “I wish I really was a magician—or something
like that. A prophetess would do, I guess—a seeress. Then I could
explain the mystery of the fire in Mr. Sharp’s office and your
troubles—for the time being, at least—would be over.”

“There’s the hateful cat that made me all the trouble!” exclaimed Bobby,
suddenly, shaking her clenched fist.

Laura peered around the vines which screened the porch and saw Hester
Grimes climbing into an automobile, which was standing before the gate
of the butcher’s premises.

“She _did_ testify against you,” sighed Laura. “But there really was a
fire.”

“Just the same, if Hester hadn’t said she saw me throw something into
the basket, Gee Gee would never have put it up to the principal so
strong.”

Hester was evidently waiting for her mother to appear from the house.
They were probably going shopping. Before Laura spoke again she and
Bobby heard—as did everybody else who might be listening on the
block—Mrs. Grimes shouting to Hester from an upper window:

“Hes! have you seen my veil?”

“No, Ma,” replied Miss Grimes.

“My ecru veil—you know, the big one—the automobile veil?”

“I haven’t got it, Ma,” shouted back Hester.

Laura leaped to her feet.

“What’s the matter, Laura?” demanded Bobby.

“Wait a minute, Bobby,” whispered the older girl.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve got an errand to do,” said Laura, evasively, and darted into the
house.

She ran up to her room, seized something from a bureau drawer, stuffed
it behind the bib of her big apron, and ran down the front stairway and
out of the house by that door.

The Grimes’s car was still waiting. Mrs. Grimes—a much overdressed woman
with the same natural bloom on her coarse face that Hester possessed—was
just coming out of the house.

Laura darted down the walk out at the gate. She flew up the street and
reached the automobile before Mrs. Grimes had stepped in. That lady was
saying to her daughter:

“Hester! I ’most know you took that veil and lost it. You took it the
night you went car-riding alone. You remember? When you said you had
been as far as Robinson’s picnic grounds——”

“Oh, Mrs. Grimes!” gasped Laura, “is this your veil?”

She flashed before the eyes of Hester and her mother the veil that had
been used to gag her when she was overcome by the “ghost” in the haunted
house in Robinson’s Woods.

“No! That isn’t her veil,” declared Hester, quickly, but growing redder
in the face than Nature, even, had intended her to be. “She never saw
that veil before.”

“Why, hold on, child!” exclaimed Mrs. Grimes. “That looks like mine.”

“No, it isn’t!” snapped her daughter.

“Yes it is, Hes,” said Mrs. Grimes, and she took the proffered veil from
Laura’s hand.

“’Taint, either, Ma!” cried Hester.

“I hope I know my own veil, Hessie Grimes. This is it. Where did you
find it, Laura?” asked the butcher’s wife.

“I found it where Hester left it,” said Laura, quietly, and looking
straight into the other girl’s face. “It was the night the M. O. R.’s
went to Robinson’s Woods.”

“There! what did I tell you, Hes?” exclaimed the unsuspecting lady. “I
knew you lost it that night. I’m a thousand times obliged, Laura. I
don’t suppose you would have known it was mine if you hadn’t heard me
hollering about it?” and she laughed, comfortably. “I _do_ shout, that’s
a fact. But Laws! it got me back my veil this time, didn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Laura, unsmilingly. “And Hester! Monday morning Miss
Carrington will want to speak to you before school.”

She turned back without any further explanation to the culprit. She knew
that she could make this unveiling of Hester’s meanness do Bobby Hargrew
a good turn. Hester must admit to Miss Carrington that she had told a
falsehood when she said she saw Bobby throw something in the principal’s
wastebasket. If Hester would not make this reparation Laura was
determined to make public what Hester had done to her in the haunted
house.




CHAPTER XXIV—THE FIRST FIELD DAY


The girls of Central High had looked forward to this open-air exhibition
of dancing and field athletics with great expectations. The pretty folk
dances were enjoyed by the girl pupils of Central High in assembly. All
of the girls who were physically able were expected to take part in such
exercises, and Mrs. Case had trained her classes, separately and
together, in several of the Morris dances, in the Maypole dance of
England, and in the Italian Tarantella.

Besides these general dances there was a special class that danced the
Hungarian Czardas and the Swedish Rheinlander as exhibition dances. The
gymnasium dresses of the girls of Central High were a dark blue with
white braid. In the special dances the class going through the exercises
changed costumes in the bath houses and appeared in Hungarian and
Swedish peasant costumes.

With these general exercises at this first field day of the school were
also relay races—a simple relay, shuttle relay and potato relay.
Following which the champion basket-ball team of the school would play a
scrub team, although the field was not a really first class place for a
basket-ball court.

For a finale the girls were to repeat the Maypole dance and then break
up into running and skipping groups over the greensward of the field,
the groups as a whole forming a picture pleasing and inspiring to the
eyes of the spectators, who could view the proceedings from the
grandstand that had been built along one side of the field.

Sprightly little Bobby Hargrew was a beautiful dancer, and enjoyed the
exercise more than she did anything else in athletics. She had been one
of Mrs. Case’s prize dancers before the unfortunate occurrence that had
cut her out of the after-hour fun.

Of course, she took the exercises the physical instructor put into the
regular work of the classes; but, forbidden by Mr. Sharp, she could not
hope to take part in any of the events on the field. She would be
obliged to sit in the stand and look on.

And this deprivation hurt the girl’s pride. She hated, too, to have it
said that of all the girls of Central High, she was the one singled out
for such punishment. It seemed hard, too, when she knew she was not
guilty of the offense of which she stood accused.

However, she needed nobody to point out to her that her own
thoughtlessness and love of joking had brought the thing about. Had she
not deliberately set out to annoy Miss Carrington, her teacher, by
appearing to smoke a cigarette, the Chinese punk would never have been
in Mr. Sharp’s office. Then they could not have accused her of setting
the fire.

It seemed to the fun-loving girl, however, that the punishment did not
“fit the crime.” The punishment was so hard to bear! She began this last
week before the Field Day in a very despondent mood, for her—for Clara
Hargrew was not wont to despond over anything.

To her surprise, on Tuesday morning, however, she was called to Miss
Carrington’s office. The teacher looked very seriously through her thick
spectacles at the girl, and her face was a little flushed, Bobby
thought.

“Miss Hargrew,” said Gee Gee, “you have proved to my satisfaction during
the last few weeks that you can behave yourself almost as well as any
other pupil in our school—if you so wish. Ahem!”

“Yes, ma’am,” said Bobby, demurely.

“And if you can behave so well for these weeks, why not all the time?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” admitted Bobby.

“Can’t you?”

“Sometimes I fear I shall burst, Miss Carrington,” said the girl,
bluntly.

“Well! you have improved,” admitted the teacher. “But you are not
willing to say anything further about the fire?”

“I didn’t set it,” said Bobby, doggedly.

“And you did not go near that waste basket?”

“I did not.”

“Well! it is perfectly ridiculous. The fire could have been set in no
other way. There was not a soul in the room but yourself. And the punk
was afire when we all left you. That is so; is it not?”

“Yes, ma’am,” admitted the girl, with a flash in her eye. “But I want to
repeat to you that Hester Grimes never saw me throw that match into the
basket——”

“Wait!” observed Miss Carrington, holding up her hand reprovingly. “Do
not say anything you would be sorry for about Hester.”

“I guess anything I’d say about her I’d not be sorry for,” declared
Bobby, bluntly.

“But you would. Hester has done a very brave thing. And she has helped
you in—er—Mr. Sharp’s estimation and—and in my own.”

“What’s that?” demanded the amazed Bobby.

“She has come to me and confessed that—out of pique—she made a
mis-statement,” said Miss Carrington, gravely. “She admits that she did
_not_ see you put anything in the basket. She said it because she was
angry with you——”

“Well! I declare!” burst forth Bobby. “Who ever knew Hessie to do a
thing like that before?”

“Why, Miss Hargrew, you seem to be ungrateful!” cried the teacher. “And
you do not appreciate what a sacrifice your school friend has made for
you. Her conscience would not let her remain silent longer. She had to
tell me. She came to me yesterday morning——”

“All her lonesome—by herself, I mean?” demanded Bobby.

“Certainly.”

“And nobody made her tell the truth?”

“Her conscience only.”

Bobby had been thinking hard, however. She was amazed at this outcome of
the matter, but she was not so glad that she could not see some reason
for the change of heart on the part of Hester Grimes. “I bet a cent,”
thought Bobby, to herself, “that Laura had something to do with it. She
ran out and spoke to Hessie and her mother Saturday. She _had_ something
on Hessie, and made her do this.”

But the girl saw it would not be wise to indicate her suspicions to Gee
Gee. Besides, Laura evidently wished to keep the matter a secret.

“Of course, Clara,” said the teacher, stiffly, “this does not reinstate
you in the school. It merely gives you a further chance. We have nothing
but circumstantial evidence against you. The fire must be explained,
however, before Mr. Sharp can pass upon your name as a member of the
junior class for next year.”

“Oh, dear, Miss Carrington!” cried Bobby. “He won’t suspend me?”

“He will have no choice,” said the teacher, rather hardly. “It will be
expulsion. You may take your place in the field exercises on Friday and,
later, you will have your part in the graduation exercises of your
class. He will make that concession. But unless the matter of that fire
is cleared up, you cannot return to Central High next fall.”

The decision gave poor Bobby little comfort. To be denied the privilege
of the high school—which Mr. Sharp would have a perfect right to do
considering the seriousness of the offense supposed to have been
committed by the grocer’s daughter—was an awful thing, to Bobby’s mind.
Perhaps her father would have to send her away to private school. All
the fun of Central High would be denied her. Worse still, she must go to
a strange school with the stigma of having been expelled from her local
school. Bobby did something that she seldom did—she cried herself to
sleep that night.

She could not help taking Laura into her confidence, and telling her all
about it. Laura saw that Hester Grimes had taken the opportunity of
putting her fault in the best light possible before Miss Carrington.
Indeed, Hester’s conduct really seemed to redound to her own credit in
that teacher’s opinion.

But Laura was not one to go back on her word. She had assured Hester
that if she told the truth about Bobby’s affair, she, Laura, would
remain forever silent about the mystery of the haunted house. And Laura
would keep faith.

She saw, however, that Mr. Sharp had conceded all he possibly could to
the girl under suspicion. Bobby might take part in the Field Day
exercises; but when the term was ended she would cease to be a member of
the school and therefore could not take part in any of the further
athletics of the girls of Central High.

“It’s a hard case, Bobby,” was all she could say to the troubled girl.
“Let us hope something may turn up to explain the mystery of that fire.”

“You try and turn it up, then, Laura,” begged Bobby. “I know you can
find out about it, if you put your mind to it. Do, _do_, DO!”

And Laura promised. But she had no idea what she could do, nor how she
should go about hunting down the clue which might lead to the
explanation of that most mysterious blaze.

The eventful Friday came, however, and Laura had made no progress in
poor Bobby’s trouble. It was a beautiful day, and the Central High girls
marched to the athletic field right after the noon recess. They carried
a banner, and were cheered along the short march by their neighbors and
friends.

So many people wished to get into the field to see the games that the
school authorities had to be careful about the distribution of the
tickets. But Laura noted that Colonel Swayne had a prominent seat in the
grandstand. She smiled as she saw the old gentleman, and she hoped with
all her heart that what the wealthy man saw of the athletics of the
Girls’ Branch that day would open the “way to his pocket-book,” as Jess
Morse had expressed it.




CHAPTER XXV—“MOTHER-WIT”


Whether Colonel Richard Swayne was an enthusiastic and interested
spectator of the sports Laura fielding did not know at the time. She was
too busy on the field herself.

She and her closest friends were in the relay races; and of course she
played in the basket-ball game. This time Hester Grimes managed to
behave herself. She was playing under the eyes of the instructors, her
own parents, and the parents of her schoolmates, and she restrained her
temper.

Besides, since Laura had caught her in the matter of the veil, and she
had been obliged to acknowledge that she had told a falsehood about
Bobby Hargrew, Miss Grimes was much subdued.

“Really, she acts like a tame cat. What do you suppose has happened to
Hester?” demanded Laura’s chum, Jess Morse, in the dressing room.

But Laura kept her own counsel.

The basket-ball game went off splendidly. So did most of the exercises.
The dancing, that was interspersed between the games, pleased the
parents immensely. And the final number—the dance around the Maypole
erected in the middle of the green—was as pretty an outdoor picture as
one could imagine, despite the fact that the girls wore dark gymnasium
suits.

At the end, the running and skipping on the grass delighted the parents.
To see these girls, so merry and untrammeled, with the natural grace of
healthy bodies displayed in their movements, was charming. At the end of
the afternoon Laura saw Colonel Swayne in close consultation with Mr.
Sharp and members of the Board of Education. But the girl heard no
particulars of that conference until she went to school the following
Monday morning.

Just before noon she chanced to have an errand in the principal’s
office. Mr. Sharp looked up at the young girl as she entered, nodded to
her, and said, with a smile:

“And how does Central High’s fairy-godmother do to-day?”

Laura looked astonished, but she smiled. “Do you mean me, Mr. Sharp?”

“Who else would I mean?” he asked, chuckling. “Haven’t you heard the
news?”

“Not that I was a fairy-godmother,” she returned, puzzled.

“Don’t you know that in the estimation of a certain gentleman you are
the very smartest and wittiest girl who goes to this school? Because you
made a thunderstorm for him, and saved a man from falling from a church
steeple, he believes that it is athletics for you girls that puts the
wit into your heads! But I tell him, in your case, it is ‘Mother wit.’”

“You mean Colonel Swayne?” whispered Laura, with sparkling eyes.

“I do, indeed.”

“And he has agreed to do something for us?”

“He says he will do a great deal for us,” said Mr. Sharp. “He agrees to
make Central High a gift of twenty-five thousand dollars for a proper
athletic field for you girls, if the Board of Education will find a like
amount. And it will be found, I believe. Before many months the girls of
Central High will have one of the finest athletic fields in the State.”

“Isn’t he a dear, good man?” cried Laura, with tears in her eyes. “But
it wasn’t _I_ who did it. It was because he saw us the other day, and
saw how happy we were. And—perhaps—because he wants us girls to grow up
and be different women from his own daughter.”

“Ah! perhaps that last is true, too,” said the principal, softly.

The sun shining in at the long window behind the principal almost
dazzled Laura, yet as she looked toward him through her tears she saw
something that made her dart forward.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Sharp.

“Oh! the poor fish!” cried the girl. “That sun is pouring right in upon
them.”

The four new goldfish in the principal’s bowl were swimming around and
around madly. Mr. Sharp saw the reason for these activities at once.

“I declare!” he said, with contrition. “I usually remember to pull down
the shade.”

“Oh! the water is almost hot!” cried Laura, putting her hand in the
bowl.

“Let me move that stand,” said the principal.

But Laura suddenly held up her hand with such a bright, yet amazed
expression on her face, that the principal was startled.

“Please! Please, Mr. Sharp, send for John! Tell him to bring a pail of
fresh water and the scoop net. Let him take the fish out of the water
here. I have a—a _tremendous_ idea.”

“What’s this? what’s this?” demanded the principal, with a puzzled
smile. “One of your great ideas, Miss Belding.”

“Don’t make fun of me, sir,” cried the girl, earnestly. “It is the very
greatest idea I ever had. And if it is a true idea, then it is bound to
make a certain person the happiest girl in Centerport to-day!”

Mr. Sharp picked up the desk telephone and called the janitor. In five
minutes the old man appeared and the struggling fish were scooped out of
the water.

“Now, young lady?” demanded the principal.

“Let the bowl of water stand just as it does. See! Look at the
‘spot-light’ on the floor. Why, the oil in the floor fairly smokes! See!
A great burning-glass!”

She swished the wastepaper basket, again almost full of scrap paper, so
that the rays of the sun, passing through window pane and water-filled
bowl, struck upon the loose papers. In a few minutes a light smoke began
to rise from the basket. A bit of the paper turned brown slowly, and
then curled up and broke into flame.

“Great Heavens!” gasped the principal. “John, put that out! The girl is
a regular little firebug! Is that what you have learned from your
dipping into physics and chemistry?”

He ran and pulled down the shade to shut out the sun. Then he turned
with both his hands held out to the trembling girl.

“I see! I see!” he cried. “I should have seen it before. ‘Mother wit,’
indeed! Colonel Swayne is right. You are an extraordinarily smart girl.
That is how the fire started before—and the fish were dead when you
emptied the bowl of water upon the burning basket.

“Your young friend is freed of suspicion, Miss Belding. I congratulate
her on having such a friend. I congratulate you—— Why, why! my dear
child! You are crying?”

“Because I am such a dunce!” gasped Laura, through her tears, and with
both hands over her face.

“Such a dunce?” demanded the amazed principal.

“Ye—yes, sir! I should have known what started the fire all the time. I
should have seen it at once!”

“Why, pray?”

“Because it was a burning glass that started another fire in Bobby’s
father’s store that very day—and I put it out by shutting out the sun. I
should have seen this right then and there, and saved poor Bobby all
this trouble. Don’t call me smart! I—I’m a regular dunce.”

But other people did not think just as Laura did about it. Indeed, the
principal’s statement that she possessed “Mother wit,” went the rounds
of the school and the neighborhood, and those who loved Laura
Belding—and they were many—began to call her from that time, in gentle
sportiveness, by that nickname—“Mother Wit.” And if you wish to read
more about Laura Belding, and her friends, and the athletic trials and
triumphs of the girls of Central High, they will be found narrated in
the second volume of this series, entitled, “The Girls of Central High
on Lake Luna; Or, The Crew That Won.”

Bobby Hargrew’s delight when she was called up publicly before the whole
school at Morning Assembly, and Principal Sharp told her that she was
freed from any taint of blame in connection with the fire in his office,
can scarcely be described. But she knew who to thank particularly for
her escape from expulsion, and if one would wish to find a more loyal
supporter of Laura Belding than Clara Hargrew, one must search “the hill
district” of Centerport well.

And the other girls were glad that Bobby was freed from suspicion, too.
Now the crew of the eight-oared shell hoped to make a better showing in
the forthcoming water sports. Bobby was active in other athletics. The
girls of Central High were out to win all honors, and in the future it
was hoped that the standing of the school in the Girls’ Branch League
would be high indeed.

And with that hope we will leave them.

                                THE END




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     Or The Castaways of Earthquake Island

  TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
     Or The Secret of Phantom Mountain

  TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
     Or The Wreck of the Airship

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
     Or The Quickest Flight on Record

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
     Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land

  TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
     Or Marvelous Adventures Underground

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
     Or Seeking the Platinum Treasure

  TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
     Or A Daring Escape by Airship

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
     Or The Perils of Moving Picture Taking

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
     Or On the Border for Uncle Sam

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON
     Or The Longest Shots on Record

  TOM SWIFT AND HIS PHOTO TELEPHONE
     Or The Picture that Saved a Fortune

Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York




THE BOYS OF COLUMBIA HIGH SERIES

By GRAHAM B. FORBES

Never was there a cleaner, brighter, more manly boy than Frank Allen,
the hero of this series of boys’ tales, and never was there a better
crowd of lads to associate with than the students of the School. All
boys will read these stories with deep interest. The rivalry between the
towns along the river was of the keenest, and plots and counterplots to
win the championships, at baseball, at football, at boat racing, at
track athletics, and at ice hockey, were without number. Any lad reading
one volume of this series will surely want the others.

  The Boys of Columbia High;
       Or The All Around Rivals of the School.

  The Boys of Columbia High on the Diamond;
       Or Winning Out by Pluck.

  The Boys of Columbia High on the River;
       Or The Boat Race Plot that Failed.

  The Boys of Columbia High on the Gridiron;
       Or The Struggle for the Silver Cup.

  The Boys of Columbia High on the Ice;
       Or Out for the Hockey Championship.


12mo. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in cloth, with cover design and
wrappers in colors.

Price, 40 cents per volume.

GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, NEW YORK




THE OUTDOOR CHUMS SERIES

By CAPTAIN QUINCY ALLEN

The outdoor chums are four wide-awake lads, sons of wealthy men of a
small city located on a lake. The boys love outdoor life, and are
greatly interested in hunting, fishing, and picture taking. They have
motor cycles, motor boats, canoes, etc., and during their vacations go
everywhere and have all sorts of thrilling adventures. The stories give
full directions for camping out, how to fish, how to hunt wild animals
and prepare the skins for stuffing, how to manage a canoe, how to swim,
etc. Full of the very spirit of outdoor life.

  THE OUTDOOR CHUMS
   Or, The First Tour of the Rod, Gun and Camera Club.

  THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE LAKE
   Or, Lively Adventures on Wildcat Island.

  THE OUTDOOR CHUMS IN THE FOREST
   Or, Laying the Ghost of Oak Ridge.

  THE OUTDOOR CHUMS ON THE GULF
   Or, Rescuing the Lost Balloonists.

  THE OUTDOOR CHUMS AFTER BIG GAME
   Or, Perilous Adventures in the Wilderness.


12mo. Averaging 240 pages. Illustrated. Handsomely bound in Cloth.

Price, 40 Cents per Volume

GROSSET & DUNLAP—NEW YORK




THE YOUNG REPORTER SERIES

BY HOWARD R. GARIS

The author is a practiced journalist, and these stories convey a true
picture of the workings of a great newspaper. The incidents are taken
from life.

12mo. Bound in Cloth. Illustrated.

Price, 40 Cents per Volume. Postpaid.

  FROM OFFICE BOY TO REPORTER
   Or The First Step in Journalism.

  LARRY DEXTER, THE YOUNG REPORTER
   Or Strange Adventures in a Great City.

  LARRY DEXTER’S GREAT SEARCH
   Or The Hunt for a Missing Millionaire.

  LARRY DEXTER AND THE BANK MYSTERY
   Or A Young Reporter in Wall Street.

  LARRY DEXTER AND THE STOLEN BOY
   Or A Young Reporter on the Lakes.




THE SEA TREASURE SERIES

BY ROY ROCKWOOD

No manly boy ever grew tired of sea stories—there is a fascination about
them, and they are a recreation to the mind. These books are especially
interesting and are full of adventure, clever dialogue and plenty of
fun.

12mo. Bound in Cloth. Illustrated.

Price, 40 Cents per Volume. Postpaid.

  ADRIFT ON THE PACIFIC
   Or The Secret of the Island Cave.

  THE CRUISE OF THE TREASURE SHIP
   Or The Castaways of Floating Island.

  THE RIVAL OCEAN DIVERS
   Or The Search for a Sunken Treasure.

  JACK NORTH’S TREASURE HUNT
   Or Daring Adventures in South America.

GROSSET & DUNLAP—NEW YORK




THE RISE IN LIFE SERIES

By Horatio Alger, Jr.

These are Copyrighted Stories which cannot be obtained elsewhere. They
are the stories last written by this famous author.

12mo. Illustrated. Bound in cloth, stamped in colored inks.

Price, 40 Cents per Volume, Postpaid.

THE YOUNG BOOK AGENT, Or Frank Hardy’s Road to Success

  A plain but uncommonly interesting tale of everyday life, describing
  the ups and downs of a boy book-agent.

FROM FARM TO FORTUNE, Or Nat Nason’s Strange Experience

  Nat was a poor country lad. Work on the farm was hard, and after a
  quarrel with his uncle, with whom he resided, he struck out for
  himself.

OUT FOR BUSINESS, Or Robert Frost’s Strange Career

  Relates the adventures of a country boy who is compelled to leave
  home and seek his fortune in the great world at large.

FALLING IN WITH FORTUNE, Or The Experiences of a Young Secretary

  This is a companion tale to “Out for Business,” but complete in
  itself, and tells of the further doings of Robert Frost as private
  secretary.

YOUNG CAPTAIN JACK, Or The Son of a Soldier

  The scene is laid in the South during the Civil War, and the hero is
  a waif who was cast up by the sea and adopted by a rich Southern
  planter.

NELSON THE NEWSBOY, Or Afloat in New York

  Mr. Alger is always at his best in the portrayal of life in New York
  City, and this story is among the best he has given our young
  readers.

LOST AT SEA, Or Robert Roscoe’s Strange Cruise

  A sea story of uncommon interest. The hero falls in with a strange
  derelict—a ship given over to the wild animals of a menagerie.

JERRY, THE BACKWOODS BOY, Or the Parkhurst Treasure

  Depicts life on a farm of New York State. The mystery of the
  treasure will fascinate every boy. Jerry is a character well worth
  knowing.

RANDY OF THE RIVER, Or the adventures of a Young Deckhand

  Life on a river steamboat is not so romantic as some young people
  may imagine, but Randy Thompson wanted work and took what was
  offered.

JOE, THE HOTEL BOY, Or Winning Out by Pluck.

  A graphic account of the adventures of a country boy in the city.

BEN LOGAN’S TRIUMPH, Or The Boys of Boxwood Academy

  The trials and triumphs of a city newsboy in the country.

GROSSET & DUNLAP—NEW YORK





End of Project Gutenberg's The Girls of Central High, by Gertrude W. Morrison