Chapter 12 For weeks Miriam Nesbitt had felt a sullen resentment toward her brother, David, because he persisted in being friends with at least two of the girls in Oakdale High School, whom she disliked most. When he announced one morning at breakfast, that he had been included in Mrs. Gray's house-party, his sister suddenly burst into tears of passionate rage. "'Please don't cry, Miriam, old girl,' said David, who was not of a quarrelsome disposition. "'I'm awfully sorry if I hurt you, but, you know, Mrs. Gray was one of my earliest sweethearts.' Which was perfectly true, when David was a little boy he used to crawl through the garden hedge and call on the charming old lady nearly every day. David had hoped that Miriam would laugh at this, but she stormed all the more while poor Mrs. Nesbitt looked wretched. "'It isn't Mrs. Gray,' sobbed Miriam, but to think that my own brother would associate with Grace Harlow, who is always working against me, and that common little Pearson girl whose sister takes in sewing.' "'Miriam, Miriam,' exclaimed Mrs. Nesbitt, "'I am shocked to hear you say such things. Because the girl is poor she is not necessarily common. Your grandfather was a poor man, too. He started his career as a machinist.' You would never have had the money and position you have now if he had not become an inventor. Is it possible you would try to keep someone else from rising in life when your own family struggled with poverty years ago?' Miriam was silenced for a moment. She had seldom heard her mother speak so forcibly, but Mrs. Nesbitt had seen, with growing misgivings, the innate snobbishness in her daughter's character, and for a long time she had been looking for an opportunity like the one that now presented itself. David had risen during Miriam's contemptuous speech, and had turned very white, which was always a signal that his slow wrath had been kindled at last. But since he was a child he had had such admirable control of his feelings that it had often been remarked by older people. Miriam, however, knew the sign, and resorted again to tears to draw attention to her own sufferings. "'You and mother have turned against me,' she cried. "'Mother, you have always loved David best anyhow.' "'Nonsense,' replied David.  Jealous because a poor girl is getting ahead of you in your classes, and because you are not included in the house-party. Do you think Mrs. Gray would ask you to join those four nice girls in her house after that misleased business? If you had learned to be polite and agreeable, you would never have gotten into this state now.' Having delivered himself of his opinion, and spent his rage, David walked out of the room and quietly closed the door after him. "'You see what you have done, Miriam,' exclaimed Mrs. Nesbitt. "'You have made your brother angry. I have seldom seen him like that before, not since the stable man beat his dog. But don't cry, my child, it's all over now.' And Mrs. Nesbitt drew her daughter to her and stroked her hot forehead.  "'Would it give you any pleasure, or help to heal your hurt feelings?' "'Oh, Mother!' exclaimed Miriam, looking up quickly. "'I believe I will invite four girls and boys to spend Christmas week with me. Wouldn't it be fun?' And it was in this manner that a plan for an opposition house-party sprang into existence, although the son of the house had joined the other side. All through her preparations, Miriam carefully guarded the secret that she was bitterly hurt at having been left out of Mrs. Gray's party, and she meditated a revenge that was still only a half-formed idea. In the first place she chose Julia Crosby as one of the guests of the Christmas house-party. Julia Crosby, the tall mischievous sophomore who had originated the Black Monks of Asia. Surely the two together could work out some scheme which would bring her enemies to her feet, and humble little Mrs. Gray who had dared to slight her. Meanwhile the holidays were approaching. The crisp cold air resounded with the jingle of sleigh bells, while snow had fallen the first week in December, and all the sleighs in Oakdale were taken from their summer quarters. The four chums were full of secret preparations. Gray's had devised a scheme of entertainment which, in the town of Oakdale, would be unique, but it required much work and practice to perfect it. In the meantime Nora O'Malley had decided to entertain her friends at a bobbing-party to start the Christmas holidays, and it was at this party that Miriam seized her first opportunity to make trouble. Anne, you are learned in many things, but not in outdoor fun, said Grace, as the young people in mufflers and sweaters started to climb the long hill where the coasting was best. Do you mean to say you have never been coasting, Anne? demanded David. I'm afraid I'll have to admit it, replied Anne. To tell the truth I never did have any fun except reading, until I started in the high school and met all of you. You see, little city-children are denied all these nice things unless they go to the parks, but it's no fun going alone. Well, you won't be alone now, said hippy wind-gate. There are four to a sled, and we'll put you in the middle to keep you from getting lost in the snow.  They ought not to have done that, exclaimed David. We couldn't see them over the knob of the hill, and they might have run us down. By this time they had reached the top of the hill, and Anne's heart bounded at the sight of the long white track made by the sled which had just passed them, and disappeared far below across a flat meadow now smooth and hard as a tabletop. Don't be frightened, Anne, said David, who sat behind her on the sled. He pinioned her arms with his own, and with a wild whoop the four young people skimmed down the hill. There was no time to be frightened, no time even to think, as they shot through the fine bracing air like a ball from a cannon. Before they knew it, they were landed at the bottom. Oh, hippy cried Grace, her cheeks glowing like winterberries, I feel as if I were riding the Comet. But look out for the others, for the remaining sleds followed in quick succession, and the air resounded with the whoops of the boys and girls as they shot past. Is there any sport in the world that can touch it, she demanded, of the world in general. Three or four more such rides, and Anne felt an exhilaration she had never before known. She was climbing the hill for a final trip before the party returned to Norris for hot chocolate and sandwiches, when she heard someone cry out just behind her. She had lingered a little to watch the sleds past, and had failed to notice a small sled with a single occupant come over the brow of the hill well out of the beaten path, and make straight for her. It was Miriam Nesbitt riding flat on her stomach and going like the wind. Jump to the left, Anne cried Grace's voice, or you'll be hurt. Anne looked up and saw the sled. It all happened in a flash, and how David managed to get there first she never knew, but the next instant the two were rolling over and over in the snow, with Miriam on top of them, and a broken sled skidding on its back down the hillside. It was Miss Pearson's fault exclaimed Miriam as she pulled herself out of the snow, and the others came running to the scene of the accident. Why didn't she get out the way, inexperienced people ought not to come to bobbing parties, they always get hurt. David was binding up a cut in his wrist, which was sprinkling the snow with blood. He was too angry to trust himself to answer his sister, before the others just then. They had pulled Anne out of a snow drift, and she was leaning limply against Jessica, trying to collect her senses. It seemed to her that she had been walking well out of the sled track, out of everybody's way, but it didn't make any difference since nobody was killed. All I can say now, Miriam, said Grace, is that you are entirely mistaken. If you hadn't hit Anne, you'd have knocked me over. I was walking just ahead of her, and nobody can say I am inexperienced. Grace Harlow, do you think I did it on purpose? demanded Miriam furiously. I haven't insinuated anything, Miriam, replied Grace. I simply wanted to disabuse your mind of a mistake, that was all, and she turned away from the angry girl. All this time the other young people had said nothing. It was really an embarrassing situation, considering that David had not said a word either for or against his sister. I think we had better not coast any more tonight, said Nora, after a pause. David has hurt his hand, and Anne is so shaken that it would be well to give her something hot to drink. Come on, everybody. David, are you much hurt? asked Grace uneasily. Nothing but a little cut, he said shortly, so shortly that Grace flushed. Perhaps he was angry with her for having spoken out to Miriam. I hope you aren't hurt much, David, said Miriam. David made no reply. David, she repeated, in a louder voice. But her brother had started down the hill, his hands in his pockets. Nobody took much notice of Miriam as the young people followed after him. Ready Brooks was secretly congratulating himself that he hadn't been riding behind her on the sled as she had wished, insisting that she wanted to do the guiding herself. It was curious, he thought, and might have resulted in a serious accident, at least to Anne, if David hadn't pulled her away. If Miriam had only thought to throw herself to the right when she saw Anne in the way, girls had no heads anyway, that is, most girls. Grace, he decided, was almost equal to a man for coolness and good judgment, but there were few girls who could touch Grace Harlow, and he did a series of cartwheels in the snow to emphasise his feelings, to the relief of everybody present, for the silence was becoming uncomfortable. Nora, said Anne, when they had reached town, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go home, I'm a little tired. I'll take you home, Anne, said David, who had heard her remark. I don't feel much like partifying either after this jolt.  All my party is leaving before the party cried Nora in despair. No, not all, replied Hippie Wingate. There are still a few of us left, and I promise to drink any extra chocolate you may happen to have. Don't give the animals sweets, Nora, exclaimed Reddy, especially the hippopotamus. He has a delicate stomach. You see, his keeper used to feed him chocolate drops three times a day. Hippie grinned, good-naturedly. He was a round, rolly-poly boy, famous for his appetite. Get away from here, red curls, he cried, hitting Reddy in the back with a snowball. Oh, you coward, cried Reddy, talking in a high falsetto voice. To hit a man when his back is turned, I'll slap you for that. And he landed a snowball on Hippie's chest. Hippie crouched behind the girls. I was a fool to throw out a pitcher, he cried. He'll be sending me one of his curves in a minute. Hiding behind the ladies, Hey! returned Reddy, beginning to pitch snowballs at the girls. Let's wash his face, cried Nora, to the other boys and girls coming up just then. They chased Reddy all the way to Nora's house and rolled him in the snow until he cried, enough. Once inside Nora's cosy home, the coasters were soon doing ample justice to the good things to eat which Nora's sister had prepared for them. Although all three of Anne's chums regretted deeply the unpleasant affair on the hill, it was not mentioned again during the evening. Still, each girl felt in her heart that poor little Anne had, in Miriam Nesbit, a dangerous enemy. CHAPTER XIII. Christmas Holidays Here's the Tac Hammer Hippie, and don't fall off that adder, please, cautioned Grace, as she assisted Hippie Wingate to tack up an evergreen garland in Mrs. Gray's drawing-room. Not in twenty years had the old house taken on such holiday attire, great bunches of holly and cedar filled the vases and bowls and decorated the chandeliers, fires blazed on every half, and the warm glow from many candles and shaded lamps brightened the final rooms. My dear young people, exclaimed Mrs. Gray, coming in just then, how happy you make me feel. I do wish you were all really my children, and could forever stay just the ages you are now. This house would be like the palace of everlasting youth, then, wouldn't it, Mrs. Gray, suggested Anne. Until some meddlesome little Pandora came along, opened the box and let all the troubles out, interposed David, who was still feeling very bitter towards his sister Miriam, and glad to leave home for a time until his anger had cooled. Ah, well, we have no Pandoras here, answered Mrs. Gray, smiling on the young guests. You are all girls and boys after my own heart, and I trust we shall have a beautiful time together. But here comes that nephew of mine, Tom Gray. I wonder if he's grown out of all recollection. While she was speaking, one of the town hacks had driven up to the steps, and there was a violent ring at the bell. Mr. Thomas Gray announced the old butler at the door, and Tom Gray, who had been the subject of endless speculation and conjecture, entered the room.  Neither had the boys felt inclined to be pre-possessed in Tom Gray's favour. He was a stranger, from New York, older than themselves, and in college.  They had pictured him as a sort of dandy, with needle-toed patent leather shoes, and a coat cut in at the waist and padded over the shoulders. Even David had voiced a few thoughts on the subject of Tom Gray. I'll bet he's an English dude, he said, for Mrs. Gray's nephew had spent most of his life in England. He'll probably carry a cane and wear a monocle. They were not surprised, therefore, when a young man entered the room who bore out somewhat the picture they had conjured. He was tall and slender, very dapper, and rather ladylike in his bearing. His alert, dark eyes were set too close together, and his face had a narrow, sinister look that made them all feel uncomfortable. He spoke with a decided English accent, in a light, flippant voice, which sent a quiver of dislike up and down David's spine, and made ready Brooks give his right arm a vigorous twirl as if he would have liked to pitch something at the young man's head. Mrs. Gray was the most surprised person in the room. It must be remembered that she had not seen her nephew since he was a child, and she had hoped for better things than this. However, always the most courteous and loyal of souls, she now made the best of the situation and greeted the newcomer cordially, though she did not bestow upon him the motherly kiss she had been saving. Tom Gray bowed low over his aunt's hand. You are so much changed, Tom, I should hardly have known you, exclaimed the old lady, trying to conceal her disappointment and dismay. England has weened you away from your own country. You look as if you had just stepped out of Piccadilly. And so I have, aunt, replied the young man, using a very broad a. I have been in this country only a few months. England is the only place in the world for me, you know. I can't bear America." Hippy Wingate gave himself an angry shake, which made all the ornaments on the mantelpiece rattle ominously. You must let me introduce you to my young friends, Tom, said Mrs. Gray, changing the subject quickly. The introductions having been accomplished, she took his arm and led the way back to dinner. Do you think we can stand him for a week, whispered David to Grace, as they followed down the hall? We'll have to, replied Grace, or hurt Mrs. Gray's feelings, but isn't he the limit? As a nine dandy, hissed Hippy. I knew he'd be a Miss Nancy, exclaimed Reddy.  How did you leave your cousins in England, Tom? asked Mrs. Gray, trying to keep the ball rolling and inwardly wishing she had never asked her nephew down. Quite well, thank you aunt, replied Thomas Gray. I expect to leave this beastly country and join them very soon. Indeed, answered Mrs. Gray, flushing, and with difficulty keeping back the tears of disappointment, to think a nephew of hers could have turned out like this. Do you play football, demanded Hippy abruptly? Really, I don't care for the game, answered Thomas. It's awfully rough, don't you know? Perhaps you prefer baseball, suggested Grace. No, continued the young man. I can't say I do. The truth is, I don't like outdoor games at all. What do you like then, demanded Nora, giving him a glance of ineffable scorn? I like afternoon tea, he answered, and bridge. Reddy almost groaned aloud, but he remembered his manners and choked his outburst of disgust. It is a pity, said Tom's aunt, turning her nearsighted blue eyes on him in amazement and displeasure. Our Oakdale boys are all athletes. Even David here, the scholar and inventor, I'll venture to say, knows football and baseball as well as his friends. I'm not much of an inventor, Mrs. Gray, protested David. You know, my airship tumbled down before I got halfway across the gym, but I shall never lose hope.  Mrs. Gray raised her lawn yet and looked at her nephew. Thomas, she said sternly, don't wear that thing here. It's not the custom in this town or in this country, for that matter, if you are nearsighted, buy yourself a pair of spectacles. Certainly aren't, certainly, it shall be as you wish, replied Thomas, without a tinge of embarrassment. I am so unused to America, you know. Then Nora relieved the painful situation by laughing. She was taken with the giggles, and she laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks. The others laughed, too, even Mrs. Gray, who felt that she might give way to hysterics at any moment. After dinner, Thomas Gray detained his aunt in another room, while the girls and boys returned to the parlour. The two were closeted together for some time, and when they finally appeared, Mrs. Gray looked strangely flushed and nervous. But there was a smile on her nephew's thin lips, and a dangerous flicker in his crafty eyes.  He's just the kind to do it. Poor Mrs. Gray exclaimed, Grace, I am so sorry for her. You can't think how she's been planning this party for months. Why did she ever ask down that wretch of a nephew? David do try and make friends with him. Maybe there's something good in him, after all, and it will help things along if Mrs. Gray feels that we want to like him. All right, promised David. It goes against my grain to talk with a Miss Nancy Dandy like that. It gives me a feeling in my chest like indigestion and bronchitis combined, but I'll make the effort. So he went over and joined the Anglo-American, and began to talk with him in an easy, friendly sort of way. Won't you come over by the fire, he said? I think we're going to play some games the girls have planned. Thanks, no, said the other, stifling a yawn. I think I'll retire. I've had a long journey, and I'm awfully knocked out. By the way, old chap, he continued, coming closer to David and whispering in his ear, which made that sensitive young man draw back with a quiver of dislike. You couldn't fave me with a few dollars, could you? I left my checkbook in my Portmanteau, which is still on the way, and I find I haven't a cent. I'll return it to-morrow." David regarded him with amazement. Here was a man whom he had met only an hour before, already trying to borrow money from him. Schoolboys are not likely to have money about them, but David did happen to have five dollars in his pocket. Certainly was all he said, as he handed over the money. The transaction had only taken a moment, and when David drew out the five-dollar bill, he was careful not to let anyone see him do it. However, a Mrs. Gray, who had been out of the room, returned at the very moment the money was changing hands. In a flash, she saw what her nephew had done, without stopping to think she made straight for the two young men. Tom Gray, she said, speaking too low for anyone except her nephew and David to hear, how dare you ask me for money, and then borrow from one of my guests.  I am ashamed of you, and I command you to give that money back to David instantly." Tom Gray was as angry as his aunt. His face went from red to white, and he looked as if he would like to break a vase or tear something to pieces. Evans' aunt, don't make a scene. I wouldn't ask him if I hadn't needed more money. I'll pay him to-morrow. Mrs. Gray and David were too surprised to speak. It was plain that, when Tom Gray was angry, he dropped his H's. David looked at him curiously, then he drew the old lady's arm through his. Don't bother, Mrs. Gray, he said. It was only a small loan, and I was glad to be of service. I believe Mr. Gray wants to go to bed now. He just said he was very tired. Shall I take him up? If you will, replied Mrs. Gray, quieting down. His room is next to yours, David. Will you show him the way? Young people, she said, going across to the boys and girls who had gathered around the fire and were laughing and talking in low voices. Would you mind if we all went up early to-night? I feel a little out of sorts, bewildered. I don't know what. Children change so as they grow up, she added, sighing.  She slipped her arm around Anne's waist.  You will all grow into fine men and women, I feel certain, and be devoted citizens of this splendid country of ours, which has always been good enough for our mothers and fathers, and ought to be quite good enough for us. Three cheers for America, cried Hippie Wingate, giving his plump figure a twist like a whirling dervish. Mrs. Gray laughed. Yes, indeed, my dears, America is a splendid country, and every American should be proud to say so. And Oakdale is one of the nicest places in America, piped her pan. Hurrah for Oakdale, cried Hippie again. And Oakdale High School, added Anne. And hurrah for the sponsor of the Freshman Class, exclaimed Grace, whereupon they formed a circle with Mrs. Gray in the middle, and danced about her laughing and singing. Hurrah for Mrs. Gray! The pretty little old lady beamed happily upon her adopted family, as she called them.  CHAPTER XIV. A MIDNIGHT ALARM. The dry cold air of the outdoors and the warm fires inside the old house certainly had the effect of making a very sleepy crowd of boys and girls, who were not sorry, after all, to turn in early. Grace and Anne occupied a room together so large, that it could easily have been turned into two apartments, and each have been the size of ordinary bedrooms. I'm glad our beds are close together, anyway, said Grace. The rest of the furniture in this room seems to be miles apart. Mrs. Gray's room was just in front, Nora and Jessica were in a smaller one, back of theirs, and across the hall were the boys' rooms. Isn't it a wonderful old house, replied Anne. I have never slept in such a big room in all my life, and how kind Mrs. Gray is. There is nothing she hasn't remembered. Each girl had found on her bed a pretty dressing gown of silk and wool, and beside it a pair of bedroom slippers.  Dear, sweet Mrs. Gray, continued Anne, as she curled upon a rug before the fire to sip the warm drink. She has planned so many things for this party. I am so sorry she has been disappointed. He's not a bit like her, Anne, replied her friend, not caring to mention names. I do wish she had never asked him. My only hope, said Anne, is that we will all seem so young and childish to him, that he will get bored and leave. Well, just strictly between us, and as man to man, as David is always saying, don't you think he is horrid? He has no manners at all, and it's hard to believe he's a product of the Gray family. He has such shifty eyes, said Anne, and I had a feeling that his dislike for America was all put on to shock us. I feel so warm and sleepy, she continued drowsily when the lights were put out, and they had snuggled down in the soft, comfortable beds. I heard him drop an H once, whispered Grace, in a sleepy voice, but there was no reply, and was already dreaming of her four beautiful new dresses. It might have been midnight, perhaps a little later, when Grace awoke with a start, not a sound disturbed the peace of the old house, except the ticking of the clock on the mantle, and the occasional crackling of dying embers in the fireplace. Yes, there was one sound, and it aroused her. A loose board creaked in the floor, or was it a door which opened and closed softly? Perhaps it was nothing after all, and she closed her eyes and drew the eyedor down quilt close about her shoulders. No, there it was again, a distinct footfall. She raised herself on her elbow and peered into the shadows. Far over at the other side of the chamber, it seemed an infinite distance just then, stood a figure. Grace looked at it calmly. She had never been a coward, and she was not frightened now, only she wondered who could be invading their room at this hour. Perhaps Mrs. Gray, perhaps one of the servants. No, it was neither. Of course it couldn't be, because it was the figure of a man. She saw him now plainly enough hovering over the dressing-table. A small, cold hand slipped into hers, and was awake too. She had seen the figure, and lay quite still, watching it. Grace silently returned the pressure, then the two lay watching the man's stealthy motions for a moment, while Grace's mind was busy devising a plan by which the robber might be caught. Oakdale was a quiet, prosperous place, and burglars were unusual. Occasionally the hands in the silk mills made a disturbance, and there had been a few highway robberies, but an actual housebreaker seldom troubled the law-abiding town. The two girls, as they lay watching him from under the covers, guessed that this man was a real burglar.  Once he turned the light towards the beds, instantly the girls' eyelids dropped, and they lay as still as mice. Having satisfied himself that all was well, the prowler went on with his work, finally tiptoeing into the front room where Mrs. Gray was sleeping. Evidently he had made a circuit of the three bedrooms on that side of the house. As he slipped out, Grace leapt from the bed. Now was the time for action. Putting on her dressing-gown and slippers, she dashed to the door leading into the hall, only to come upon the burglar again, who had probably been frightened in his last venture, and had retired to the hall for safety. Fortunately he was standing with his back to her while he closed the door, and feeling that she was safe for the moment, she crouched in the shadow of the doorway. The thief evidently thought he also was safe, for he seized a large, heavy-looking valise from the floor, and made straight for the steps without looking to right or left. Now a door across the hall opened, and another figure appeared. Grace trembled for a moment, fearing it might be another thief. She had always heard they travelled in pairs, but it was David, wrapped in a long gray dressing-gown, looking for all the world like a monk. He glanced up and down the hall for a moment, then tapped on the door of the next room, and without waiting for an answer, walked in. In an instant he was out again, and had started swiftly down the stairs, Grace following him. She had intended to speak to him, but it had all taken place so quickly there was no time. David made straight for the dining-room, opening the heavy door. The room was brightly lighted. In a flash, Grace saw on the table a pile of the beautiful gray silver, brought over from England by past generations of Grace. Grace never knew what instinct prompted her to enter the dining-room by the butler's pantry at the very end of the long hall. As she pushed the swinging door, she heard David say, You low blackguard, what do you mean by stealing your aunt's silver? Grace started at the mention of the word aunt. It was, then, the wretched Tom Gray, who was robbing his own relative. Get out, return the other coldly, and attend your own business. You are only a kid. Give up those things you have stolen, or I'll pound you to a jelly, cried David, making a rush at the burglar who dodged nimbly. Then Grace had an inspiration, which assuredly saved David from very disagreeable consequences. Real burglars, like rattlesnakes, are not likely to be dangerous, except when they are disturbed. It is then that they become dangerous characters. Grace slipped back into the pantry, swiftly opened one of the linen drawers, and drew forth what turned out later to be a breakfast cloth, which was lucky because it was small and easy to manage. When, in the next instant, she had pushed the door open, what she saw made her blood run cold. Tom Gray had whipped out a small pistol, and pointed it straight at David's head.  A pistol shot rang out, but David had dodged in time, and the bullet was buried in the mahogany-wainscote back of him. The astonished burglar dropped the weapon, and began to struggle violently to release himself. Instantly, David pinioned his arms from the back, but the fellow might even then have struggled free if Reddy Brooks and Hippie Wingate had not burst into the room, followed by Anne, who had roused them after Grace had gone. The three boys swiftly overpowered Tom Gray, and tied him to a chair with cord Grace had found in the pantry. But now what was to be done? Undoubtedly the noise would awaken Mrs. Gray, and she would have to be told that her nephew was a burglar about to make off with the family silver. Perhaps the loss of the silver would hurt less than family disgrace. In the midst of their council, Mrs. Gray herself appeared. What in the world is the matter, she demanded. No one replied for a moment. It was a very uncomfortable situation for the young guests of the house-party, if only the burglar had not been a member of the Gray family. Then Tom Gray himself spoke. I must say this is a nice, auspitable way to treat a guest and a relation. Here I am, taken by a lot of silly children for a burglar, I, your own nephew-aunt, who had come down the stairs on the innocent errant of finding some ice-water. Mrs. Gray looked from one to another of the silent group. Her eyes took in the silver piled on the table, the pistol on the floor, and the burglar's tools and lantern.  I knew it as soon as you entered my house last night. I could not then explain the feeling of repugnance I had, but I know now what it meant. I shall not offer hospitality to a coward, for all thieves are cowards. Boys, take what he has stolen from his pockets. Reddy and hippie searched the bulging pockets of the thief's coat and waistcoat, and brought forth a quantity of jewellery, watches, and purses. Now David, continued Mrs. Gray firmly, be kind enough to give me that pistol. David obeyed her, wondering if she meant to shoot her own nephew. Mrs. Gray pointed the pistol at the thief with as steady a hand as if she had been shooting at targets all her life. Untie the cords, she commanded. They cut the cords with a carving-knife. Now go, said the old lady, still pointing the pistol at his head. Leave my house quickly. I shall not punish you, because a thief is always punished sooner or later. Tom Gray looked immensely relieved, Grace thought, in spite of his crestfallen hangdog air. They followed him down the hall, Mrs. Gray in the lead, until he slammed the front door after him, and disappeared in the night. Then, turning with her old sweet manner, she continued, My dear children, I want to thank you for helping me rid my house of this man. I know I can depend on all of you never to mention it to anyone. It would have been a great blow to me if I had not been so angry.  Tomorrow we shall be as happy as ever. I am determined it shall not interfere with our good time. CHAPTER XV Tom Gray The company which met around the breakfast-table next morning was entirely restored to its old gaiety. There was not one member of the house-party, including Mrs. Gray herself, who did not feel unbounded relief that the place was so well rid of Tom Gray. David was glad there had been no arrest, and that the mistress of the house had, with so much dignity and spirit, turned out the culprit. It would have been a bad business, testifying in court against Mrs. Gray's nephew, when he had been visiting in her house. Mrs. Gray suggested, Grace, if you haven't made any plans this morning for us, I think we had better spend an hour or so rehearsing our surprise. Very well, my dear, you may spend as much time as you like at it, but if I peep over the transom or listen through a crack in the door, you mustn't scold. I don't know that I can wait much longer to find out what it is. No, no, you're not to come near the third story, protested Grace. We shall nail down the transom and stuff the keyhole with soap, if you do. I never could stand suspense, exclaimed the old lady, shaking her head until her lace breakfast cap, with its little bows of lavender ribbon, quivered all over. I fear I shall be tempted to break into the room before Christmas night and unearth the whole business, but tell me this much, who is in the surprise? All of us, declared Nora, but now will have to get somebody to take the place of—she paused and blushed scarlet. Mr. Thomas Gray announced the old butler at the door, with a peculiar expression on his countenance. There was a dead silence. Mrs. Gray sat as if turned to stone, while David half-rose from his seat, and hippie seized a bread-and-butter knife to plunge into the heart of his enemy, if necessary. Aunt Rose cried a voice outside. Aren't you glad to see me? A broad-shouldered, well-built young man walked into the room and kissed the old lady right in the mouth before she could say a word. He had a sun-burned, wholesome face, kindly gray eyes, light brown hair, and wore a heavy suit of rough, blue cloth. He carried no cane, neither were his shoes pointed at the toes, and there wasn't a tinge of English in his accent, except that his enunciation was unusually good. Mrs. Gray rose from her chair and examined the young man long and carefully. The very image of your uncle, she cried at last, and gave him a good hug. The very image, my dear Tom, your old auntie has been a most egregious fool. Why didn't you come last night? Didn't you get my telegram? I sent it in good time. I was delayed and had to take the night-train up. I am awfully sorry if it inconvenienced you. You have an inconvenience, me, my boy, except for a slight loss of sleep, and a fright and a narrow escape from losing the family silver, which David and Grace here prevented. Then Mrs. Gray sat down and burst out, laughing. The others joined in, and for a few minutes the breakfast table was in an uproar. The real Tom Gray, who was the image of his uncle's portrait over the sideboard, looked from one to another of the strange faces, and then began to laugh too, since it seemed to be the proper thing to do. He had one of those delightful, hearty laughs that ring out in the whole room full of voices. When Mrs. Gray heard it, she stopped short, patting her nephew on the cheek, for he was sitting beside her now in a place hastily arranged by the butler. Exactly your uncle's laugh. It's good to hear it again.   Who me demanded her nephew, forgetting his grammar in his surprise at such a state of affairs? Not me, dear aunt, America's good enough for me. I've had lots of good times with my English cousins, but America's my home and country. Hurrah! cried Hippie, dashing around the table and seizing the young man's hand. We're glad to know you. We're proud and happy to make your acquaintance. There was such an uproar of fun and laughter at this, that Tom Gray began at last to see that something had really happened, and that his sudden and unheralded appearance had brought immense relief to the assembled company. Don't you think it's time somebody put me on, he asked finally, when the noise had quietened down a little? Tom replied his aunt, did you tell anyone you were coming to Oakdale for Christmas to visit me? Why yes, aunt said Tom after a moment's thought. I believe I did. In fact, I know I did. I was staying for a week in New York with an English friend, Arthur Butler. I told him all about it. It was on his account that I stayed over one night. I sent the telegram by his servant, Richards. Ah-ha! cried Mrs. Gray, and pray tell us what that wretch of a servant looked like. Tom laughed. Richards is quite an unusual fellow—a good servant, I believe, but rather effeminate and a kind of a dandy. That's the man. He's the one—the very fellow. Half a dozen voices interrupted at once. Then Mrs. Gray explained the rather serious adventure of the night before. She ended by saying, I never in my heart of hearts really believed he was you, Tom dear. The scoundrel exclaimed the young man. Can't we set the police on him? The police in Oakdale are slow, Tom replied his aunt. Slow from lack of occupation. Robbers do not flock here in great numbers. At least I'll telegraph to Arthur Butler, said Tom, and warn him. They may catch him from that end. The telegram was accordingly sent. Likewise, the police were notified, but Richards, who turned out to be a well-known English crook, made good his escape and was heard from no more. It did not take our young people long to make the acquaintance of the real Tom Gray, nor to decide he was a fine fellow, and one they could admit to their circle without regret. He's like a breath of fresh air, thought Grace, and indeed it was disclosed later that he intended to study forestry, because he loved the country and the open air, and spent all his vacations camping out and taking long walking trips. But there was nothing of the gypsy in him. He was full of energy and ambition, and infused such a wholesome vigor into whatever he did that the young people felt a new enthusiasm in his presence. I proposed to celebrate the return of the real Tom Gray, announced Mrs. Gray, by sending my boys and girls off on a slaying party this afternoon. The big old slay holds exactly eight. Ready, you may drive, since the roads are so familiar to you. You must all be back at six o'clock, for remember tonight we decorate the Christmas tree, and every girl, freshman, and Oakdale High School must have a present on it. Just after lunch, therefore, after a hard morning's work over Mrs. Gray's surprise, the young people bundled into the big side-seated slay and tucked the buffalo robes tightly around them. The horses snorted in the crisp dry air. There was a jingle of merry sleigh bells, as off they started down the street toward the open country. Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way. Oh, what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh! They sang as they bowled over the well-beaten track, and Tom Gray breathed a sigh of pure delight. Isn't this great, he exclaimed? Wouldn't you rather do this than write an essay, or study Latin prose composition? Next to riding in an airship and skating, it's the finest thing I know of, answered David. Have you ever ridden in an airship? demanded Tom. No, but I intend to, replied the other. For David had never, for a moment, relinquished his pet scheme, but worked on his experiments whenever he had a spare moment, little dreaming that one day he was to become the talk of the town. As the sleigh passed the Nesbit house, Miriam and some of her friends were just entering her front gate. She saw the party, and a shadow of black jealousy darkened her face. Why don't we do the same thing, she exclaimed loud, and in another twenty minutes she had bundled her own guests into the Nesbit sleigh, while she herself took the reins and guided the pair of spirited black horses.  I prefer to do the driving mother, replied the spoiled girl, and with a crack of the whip, the second sleighful was off after the first. It was not long before the Nesbit sleigh had met and passed the other, which was not going at a very great rate of speed. Mrs. Gray's carriage horses were much older and more stade than Miriam's pair of young blacks. Who is the girl in front? asked Tom as the sleigh flashed past. My sister answered David shortly. She must be a pretty good driver, observed Tom. David made no reply. He knew perfectly well that Miriam was not strong enough to hold in the black team once the horses got the upper hand, but he hoped one of the boys would take the reins if they showed any symptoms of running away. The early twilight was just falling when the Gray House party came to a narrow rickety old bridge spanning the bed of a creek. Here they stopped the horses for a time, while Grace and Hippie gathered some branches of evergreen growing on the edge of a wood just over the bridge. Suddenly this stillness was broken by the sound of bells ringing so violently that it seemed as if all bedlam had broken loose. Around a curve and down the road in front of them loomed Miriam's blacks, making straight for the other group. They were going like the wind, and the empty sleigh lying on its side was clattering behind them. Jump girls, cried Tom, while with the other boys he started to cross the bridge to intercept the horses. If Grace had paused to reflect, she might never have attempted accomplishing the daring deed that suggested itself to her. Quickly snatching off her scarlet cape, she dashed into the middle of the road, waving it before her. Perhaps the horses also thought bedlam had been let loose. At sight of the terrifying apparition, they slackened up, snorted, and reared backward. She's a brave girl, thought Tom Gray as he leapt at the nearest rearing, plunging animal, while David seized the other. Far down the road came the sound of a faint hello. I'll pick up the others. I suppose they are in a drift, said Reddy, as he drove off, and in a few minutes returned, carrying Miriam and her party. Miriam herself looked white and frightened, although she pretended to treat the affair lightly. A rabbit scared the horses, was all she said. I'll let one of the boys drive us home. Indeed, I shan't go back in that sleigh, cried Julia Crosby. Perhaps you'll accept a ride in the freshman sleigh, Miss Crosby suggested Nora, and the other girl, somewhat ashamed, was obliged to place herself at the mercy of her enemies. All of you girls get into Mrs. Gray's sleigh, commanded David, and Tom and I will drive the other sleigh back. No one ever cared to disobey David when he spoke in this tone. Even his willful sister took her seat between Grace and Anne without a word, and never spoke during the entire drive back, except to say good night at her own front gate. But Grace could not refrain from one sharp little thrust. You seem to be unlucky with sleighs and sleds, both, Miriam, she said. CHAPTER XVI. THE MARIONETTE SHOW Do you remember your first party dress, how it gave a glimpse of the throat and neck, and seemed to sweep the ground all around, although it merely reached your shoe-tops?  So it was with Anne in her pink crepe-de-chine?  She stood spellbound before the glass on that memorable Christmas night, and no one disturbed her for a while. Mrs. Gray and the girls had stolen out, so as not to embarrass the young girl, who, for the first time, saw herself in a beautiful new silk dress, exactly the colour of pink rose petals, which hung in soft folds to the tips of her small pink satin slippers. Give her a chance, girls! whispered Mrs. Gray. We mustn't be too enthusiastic about the difference. It might hurt her tender little feelings, but she does look sweet, doesn't she? As pretty as a picture, Mrs. Gray answered Grace, kissing the old lady's peach-blossom cheek. But they are coming. I hear them on the walk. We must get behind the scenes and see that everything is already. The big drawing-room of the Gray House was soon full of young people watching the folding doors leading into the library with expectant faces. In the hall a string orchestra was discoursing soft music, and the place was filled with the hum of conversation and low laughter. Mrs. Gray, seated on the front row in the place of honour, occasionally looked about her and smiled happily. Why didn't I do this long ago? she said to herself. But then, were there ever before such nice girls as my four adopted daughters? Miriam sat near with the other members of her house party. It had been a source of much discussion whether or not to admit Julia Crosby to the freshman party, but since she was Miriam's guest, what else was there to do? We shall be only heaping coals of fire on her head at any rate, hinted Jessica, and that certainly ought to make her feel worse than if she had been left out. After everyone was comfortably seated, three loud raps were heard from behind the folding doors. Someone began to play the funeral march of a marionette on the piano, and the doors slid slowly back. There was a murmur of surprise and wonder. Two curtains had been stretched across the door-opening, above and below, and two hung down at each side, leaving an oblong space in the middle, in which stood a little dull theatre, nearly a yard and a half long and a yard high. A row of footlights across the miniature stage presently blossomed into light, and the freshman girls smiled as they recognized some of those same little bulbs that had served to illuminate the pumpkin face of Miss Lisa's effigy. The music ceased, and the curtains rolled back. There sat Cinderella by the kitchen fire, very stiff and straight, but weeping audibly with her little fists in her eyes. She was ten inches high, and on careful examination it could be seen that two threads attached to her arms, and another to the back of her neck, made it possible for her to move about and use her hands in a remarkably lifelike manner. Wild applause from the audience—well, there might be, for the scene was perfect, from the old brick fireplace with an iron pot steaming on the coals, to the rows of shining pans and blue dishes on a shelf at the side, all of which came from a toy shop, along with a little kitchen bench and chairs. The cruel sisters swept in, dressed for the ball, when they spoke there were convulsive titters among the guests, for the voices of the cruel stepsisters were those of Nora and Hippie, and read the lines of Cinderella so plaintively that Mrs. Gray shed a secret tear or two when Cinderella was left alone in the gloomy old kitchen. When the furry godmother appeared, in a peaked red hat and a long red cape, it was Jessica who spoke the lines in a sweet musical voice. How Cinderella rolled out the pumpkin and displayed six white mice in a trap, and how, after a brief interval of total darkness, could be seen through the open door a coach of gold in which that Cinderella in a silken gown need not be related here. It all took place without a single slip, and the dolls went through their parts with such funny lifelike motions that the boys and girls forgot they were not watching real actors. It was the scene of the ballroom, however, which was the real triumph of the evening. How did those clever children ever do it? exclaimed Mrs. Gray aloud, when the curtain rolled back and disclosed the ballroom of the palace, with a drop curtain at the back showing a vista of marble columns and pillars. A gilt chandelier was suspended in the middle, from which stretched garlands of real smile-axe. There were rows of little gilt-chairs against the walls, filled with dolls in stiff satins and brocades. And one large throne-chair with a red velvet cushion in it, on which sat the prince, who spoke with the voice of David Nesbit, and entertained his guests in royal state. After the exciting arrival of Cinderella, Nora played a minuet on the mandolin, the tinkling music of which seemed best suited to the doll-drama, and the prince and Cinderella executed a dance of such intricate steps and low bows that the audience was convulsed with laughter. There were even suppressed hitters from behind the scenes. This dance, which had been devised by Tom Gray and Grace, necessitated two extra threads to manipulate the feet. It was most difficult and had required long and tedious practice, but the results were quite worth all the time and trouble. Mrs. Gray laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks, and made a personal appeal for an encore, which was given. But there was a mishap this time. Cinderella's threads became entangled, and she came near to breaking her china nose. Audiences are invariably most pitiless when they are most pleased, and have no mercy on exhausted actors. At the cry of speech, speech, the prince stepped forward and made a low bow. Ladies and gentlemen, he said, We thank you for your approval, and if strength and breath permitted us, and the lady had not injured her nose, we would gladly dance again for you. Then came the last scene. The stepsisters made desperate efforts to wear the slipper. Cinderella finally retired triumphantly on the prince's arm, and the curtains closed, only to open again a few moments later, upon a scene which brought a strong resemblance to Oakdale High School. The furry godmother occupied the center of the stage, while the entire company of dolls were lined up on either side. Cinderella and the prince each held the end of an open scroll, which brought a printed inscription that could be seen by the audience. It read, A merry Christmas to the furry godmother of the freshman class. A scene of wild enthusiasm followed. The young people gave three cheers for Mrs. Gray, and ended with the high school yell. The actors came out, and were cheered each in turn. Grace, Tom Gray, and Reddy had worked the marionettes, it seemed, standing on the back of the table where the theater was placed, while the others, sitting on low stalls at the sides where they could see and not be seen, read their lines which had been composed by Anne. It wasn't so hard as you might think, said Grace, explaining the marionettes to a group of friends. Dressing the dolls was easy, we glued on most of their clothes, and we made the stepsisters ugly by giving them putty noses. Hippie painted the scenery, and David supplied the electric lights. The threads that moved the arms and bodies were tied to little cross-sticks, something like a gallows, so that they could be held from above without being seen. But the marionette show was only the beginning of the party. There was to be feasting and dancing, and lastly, a big Christmas tree loaded with presents. The floors were cleared, the notes of a waltz rang out, and away, well, the happy boys and girls. Anne and David, who did not dance, retired to a sofa in the library to look on. Are you happy, Anne, in your beautiful pink dress? asked David, regarding her with open admiration. How can I help being happy? she replied. This is the first pretty dress that I have ever had, and I never went to a party before, either. I never enjoyed a party before, said David, but I'm enjoying this one. I hope, for Mrs. Gray's sake, it goes off without a hitch. Just then, Tom Gray waltzed by with Grace. They stopped when they saw their friends and came back. Our efforts are certainly crowned with success, exclaimed Grace. It's the most beautiful ball ever given in Oakdale. Everyone says so. By the way, she added, get your partners and fall in line for the grand march to supper. I already have mine all right, declared Tom Gray. And I think I have mine, observed David. She's wearing a pink dress, and is just about as tall as a marionette. Anne laughed and stood on tiptoe to make herself look taller. Suddenly she caught the eye of Miriam Nesbitt, who was lingering in the doorway, watching the scene with an expression that the circumstances and holiday surroundings hardly seem to justify. I wonder if the party will go off without a hitch, thought Anne, as they joined the grand march into the dining-room. When the beautiful illuminated tree had been disburdened of all its presence, and the guests were well advanced on their supper, Mrs. Gray approached Anne, carrying an oblong box, neatly done up in white tissue paper tied with red ribbons. Pinned to the ribbon with a piece of holly was a Christmas card on which was printed in fancy lettering, a Christmas thought. Why, what is this, Mrs. Gray, demanded Anne rather excited, while many of the boys and girls gathered around her, and some stood on chairs in order to see what the mysterious box contained. I know no more than you, dear, replied the old lady. A man left it at the door a moment ago, and one of the servants gave it to me. Why don't you open it and see? Anne hesitated. Something told her not to open the box, but how could she help it with dozens of her friends waiting eagerly to see what was in it? Hurry up, Anne, aren't you curious to see what it is? Someone called. It looks like flowers, said another. Or candy, observed a third. And still Anne's fingers lingered on the bow of red ribbon. Was there any one in the world who could be sending her a box that night? Certainly not her mother nor her sister, nor any of her friends who had exchanged presents in the morning. Mrs. Gray evidently had not sent it, and there was no one else in her small list of friends who would have taken the trouble. Anne, you funny child, don't you see we are all waiting impatiently, said Grace at last. Anne slipped off the ribbons and opened the package. In the box was some object carefully done up in more tissue paper. It looks like a mummy exclaimed hippie. Untieing the wrappers, Anne held up to the curious view of the others a large doll. At first she hardly comprehended what it was, and held it out at arm's length, looking at it wonderingly. It was dressed as a man in a black suit, with a long Prince Albert coat, very crudely made on close inspection, but still cut and fitted to give the right effect.  A card was tied around the doll's neck, and someone looking over Anne's shoulder read aloud the following inscription written upon it. Why have imitation actors when you can get real ones? Anne gave a gasp. Who could have played this cruel trick upon her? She knew her four friends had never spoken of the happenings of Thanksgiving night, but such secrets would leak out in spite of everything, and there may have been others in the audience who had recognized her. Moreover, her father himself would not have hesitated to tell who she was, so that it was not difficult to understand how the story had spread. But who would have the heart to hold her father up to ridicule in this way, and to cause her such secret pain and unhappiness? While her thoughts were busy, David had seized the doll and wrapped it up again. He was very angry, but it was wiser to keep silent. What was it dear? demanded Mrs. Gray, who had not been able to hear the message written on the card. Just a silly trick on Anne, Mrs. Gray replied David, for Anne was too near to tears to trust the sound of her own voice. Something about actors, wasn't it? Asked Julia Crosby, who was hovering near, and before she could be stopped, she had snatched the doll from Anne's lap. The covers fluttered to the floor, and the others pressed eagerly around to get a glimpse of it. David leapt to his feet so vigorously that he upset a chair. Give that back, he commanded, it is not yours. I will not, answered Julia Crosby, neither is it yours. I say you will, cried David furiously, losing his temper completely. Get it if you can, challenged the girl darting through the crowd with David at her heels. Suddenly there was a crash, a startled cry, and the great fir tree, with all its ornaments and lit candles, fell to the floor. CHAPTER XVII. Yes, here was the hitch that Anne had secretly dreaded, and which the other girls had anxiously hoped to avoid. She had not dreamed what it would be, but she had felt it coming all evening, ever since she had seen Miriam hovering near the library door. And in a way, Miriam was connected with the disaster. Had not Miriam's guests and chum exceeded all bounds of politeness by prying into other people's affairs? No doubt, as she fled from David, her dress had caught in one of the branches of the tree, and so pulled it over. All this darted through Anne's head as she stood leaning against the wall, while the room was fast-filling with smoke, and the pungent odour of burning pine. Suddenly, someone at her elbow deliberately called, fire, fire! These were the same ominous words she had heard Thanksgiving night, only they seemed now more alarming, more threatening. Who could be so foolish, so ill-advised, as to scream those agitating words in a room full of girls and boys already keyed up to a high pitch of excitement? Anne turned quickly and confronted Miriam. Don't do that, exclaimed Anne. You will only make matters worse. Miriam looked at her scornfully, although it was evident she had not noticed her before. Be quiet, spy, she hissed, and don't make trouble. I suspect you of making a great deal, returned Anne calmly. She was not afraid of this passionate, spoiled girl, and only the fact that Miriam was the sister of David, her devoted friend, kept Anne from saying more. In another moment the entire Christmas tree was in a bright blaze. Anne had climbed up to a chair, and thenced to the table that the crowd had pushed against her as it ran, and was about to leap to the floor when Grace and Tom Grey dashed in with an armful apiece of wet blankets. With the help of the others they spread the blankets over the burning tree, and the blaze was extinguished almost as soon as it was born. No harm has been done, said Tom. The canvas covering saved the floor, and, fortunately, all the furniture has been taken out anyhow. It's all right, Aunt Rose, nobody hurt, nothing damaged. I never heard of a more accommodating fire in my life. Open the windows now, and let out the smoke, ordered Mrs. Grey. And if you have all finished eating, I think you'd better come into the drawing-room while the servants clear out this debris. Tom, please tell the musicians to play a waltz. I do not want my guests to carry away any unpleasant impressions of this house. The music struck up, and the dance began again. Well said Grace, no one need feel badly about the fire, because a Christmas tree generally has to be burned anyway, and nothing of value but the ornaments was destroyed, so everything is all right. It was all my fault, exclaimed David, in a contrite voice. Mrs. Grey, you will have to forgive me before I can enjoy a clear conscience again. If it hadn't been for that lumbering sophomore Julia Crosby, I should never have lost my temper the way I did. My dear David, cried Mrs. Grey, patting him affectionately on the arm. You couldn't do anything I would disapprove of. If you wanted to rescue Anne's doll, I am sure you had some excellent reason for it. Mrs. Grey had not heard the history of Anne's father, for Grace and her friends had kept the secret well, and Anne herself had never cared to tell the story. She was a quiet, reserved girl who talked little of her own affairs. He did have a good reason, Mrs. Grey, put in Grace, and it was enough to make him lose his temper. Julia Crosby is everlastingly playing practical jokes and getting people into trouble. However, I don't suppose she upset the tree on purpose, she added thoughtfully. Well, well, exclaimed Mrs. Grey, let us forget all about it and wind up the party with a Virginia reel. Tom and Grace must lead it off, and Anne, you and David, watch the others, so that when it comes your turn you will be able to dance it yourselves. So it was that Mrs. Grey's freshman Christmas ball ended as gaily as it had started, with a romping, joyous Virginia reel. There was not a soul, except the little old lady herself, who did not join the two long lines stretching from one end of the rooms to the other, and when it came Anne's turn she was not afraid to bow in curtsy as the others had done, for she had quickly mastered the various figures of the dance. Moreover, was she not wearing a beautiful dress of pink crepe-de-chine? After all, a pretty dress does make a great difference, and felt she could never have danced so well in the old black silk. When the reel was over the boys and girls joined hands and formed an immense circle about their charming hostess, whirling madly around her as they cried, three cheers for Mrs. Grey. The old lady was very happy.  At length, when the hands of the clock pointed to two, and the last of the dancers had departed, Mrs. Grey sank into a chair exhausted. I am tired, she said, but I never in my life had such a good time. Was there ever a girl in the world who did not want to exchange confidences with her best friends after a party? Grace and Anne therefore were not surprised when two figures in dressing gowns and slippers stole into their room, crouching on the rug before the fire. We've all sorts of things to say, exclaimed Nora, else we wouldn't think of keeping you up so late. In the first place, wasn't it perfectly delightful? Grand, sighed the others. Everything except that one accident and the thing that caused it, answered Grace. By the way, Anne, where is the doll? asked Jessica. Anne produced it from its box. Here it is, she said sadly, but it was a cruel joke. Can you imagine who could have done it? I have several suspicions, answered Grace, but I make no accusations without grounds. The four girls examined the doll carefully. My poor father, exclaimed Anne, her eyes filling with tears. I'll tell you what, girls, cried Nora, suddenly. There's more to this than just Anne's secret. How did anyone know we were going to have a marionette show? Didn't we keep it dark? Yes, they answered. Perhaps it got out through the servants, suggested Jessica. It certainly is rather an underhanded business, cried Grace, for whoever did this not only must have bribed one of Mrs. Grace's servants, but also must have somewhere or other raked up Anne's secret. It was evidently someone who had a grudge against you, poor dear, she added, patting Anne on the cheek. Girls, exclaimed Jessica, who all this time had been looking the doll over carefully. Where have you seen this material before? She pointed at the fancy red waistcoat the doll was wearing. It has a familiar look, answered Nora. It looks to me very much like a red velveteen suit I saw somewhere once upon a time, observed Grace. You did see it, Grace, but it was how long ago, two or more years, wasn't it? I know, cried Nora, Miriam Nesbitts. Shhh! warned Grace, remember David, he's just across the hall. And he must never know, added Anne, not if she sent me a dozen dolls. But I haven't finished, continued Jessica. I feel exactly like a detective on the scent. This doll is wearing something else that is familiar to us all. Anne, you've seen it, I'm sure. They scanned the doll eagerly. The shabby black suit was made of some indescribable material that might have come from anywhere. The red velveteen waistcoat they had already identified. Then came a little white cotton dickie, with a high-standing collar. And then, the tie, cried Nora. The green tie. Is that it, Jessica? You are right, answered Jessica. Have you never seen that green silk before? Grace was in a brown study. Anne could not recall it, and Nora was griping in the dark. I'll tell you this much, said Jessica, who loved a mystery. It just matches a certain veil. Miss Lease exclaimed Grace. It's a piece of the trimming on an old dress she sometimes wears. Exactly, said Jessica. Who, having once seen it, could ever forget it. And so Miss Lease and Miriam had combined forces against poor little Anne. CHAPTER XVIII Aunt Rose exclaimed Tom Gray several mornings after the Christmas dance. I have a scheme, but before I ask your permission to carry it out, I want you to grant it. Why do you ask it at all, then, Tom dear? answered his aunt. Because we want your seal and sanction upon the undertaking, replied Tom, giving the old lady an affectionate squeeze. Is it granted, little Lady Gray? he asked. I am merely groping about in the dark, my boy, but I trust to your good sense not to ask me anything too outrageous. Tell me what it is quickly, so that I may know exactly how deeply I am implicated. Well, said Tom, here's the scheme in a nutshell.  Mrs. Gray groaned. A picnic, boy! Whoever heard of a picnic in midwinter? What mad notion is this? But you have given your consent, auntie, and no honourable woman can go back on her word. So I have child, but explain to me quickly what a winter picnic is, so that I may know the worst at once. A winter picnic is a glorious tramp in the woods, with a big campfire at noon, for food, warmth, and rest, and then a tramp back again. And can I trust you to take good care of my four girls? Anne and Jessica are not giants for strength. You must not walk them too far, or let them get chilled, and if you find they are growing tired, you must bring them straight back. On my word of honour, as a gentleman and a gray, I promise, said Tom solemnly. And you will all be in before dark, continued Mrs. Gray. We promise, continued the young people, wear your stoutest shoes and warmest clothing, she went on. We promise, they cried. And we want a lot of lunch, aunt, said Tom coaxingly, and some nice raw bacon for cooking and eating purposes. You shall have everything you want, said Mrs. Gray, but who will carry the lunch? We will distribute it on the backs of our four pack mules, replied Grace, but Hippie must carry the coffee pot, he's not to be trusted with food. Now, wouldn't it be a remarkable sight to see a pack mule eating off his own back, observed Hippie? There are several animals that can turn their heads all the way round, I believe, but not the human animal. We had better start as soon as possible, broke in, Tom. Hurry up, girls, and get ready while the servants fix the lunch. In half an hour, eight young people, well muffled and mittened, started off toward the open country. It was a clear cold day, and the snow-covered fields and meadows sparkled in the sunshine. If I were a gypsy by birth, as well as by inclination, declared Tom as they trudged gaily along, I should take to the road in the early spring, and never see a roof again until cold weather. But being a member of a respectable family and about to enter college, you have to sleep in a bed undercover, added David. It's partly that, said Tom, and partly the cold weather that is responsible for my good behaviour two-thirds of the year. If I lived in a warm climate all the year round, every respectable notion I had would melt away in a week, and I'd take to the open forever. I have never been in the woods in the wind-time, said Anne. Are they very beautiful? One of the finest sights in the world, cried Tom enthusiastically, his wholesome face glowing from his exercise. Just then, they climbed an old stone wall, and entered a forest known as Upton Wood, which covered an area of ten miles or more in length, and several miles across. It is beautiful, said Anne, as she gazed up and down the wooded aisles carpeted in white. It's like a great cathedral. I could almost kneel and pray at one of those snow-covered stumps. They are like altars. The fault I find with the woods in winter, observed Grace, is that there is nothing to do in them, no birds and beasts to make things lively, no flowers to pick, no brooks to wade in, just an everlasting stillness. I admit there's not much social life, replied Tom. The inhabitants either go to sleep or fly south, most of them, but don't forget the rabbits and squirrels, and—and an occasional bear, interrupted ready. They've been seen in these parts. Worse than bears, said hippie, wolves. Goodness, ejaculated Tom, you are doing pretty well. I didn't know this country was so wild, but that's going some. Oh, well, as to that, said David, nobody has ever really seen anything worse than wild cats, and we have to take Old John's word for it about the wolves. He claimed to have seen wolves in the woods three years ago. As a matter of fact, they'd chased him out, and he was obliged to turn civilized for three months. Who is Old John? asked Tom, much interested. He is a French-Canadian hunter, who's lived somewhere in this forest for years. He comes into town occasionally, looking like Daniel Boone, dressed in skins with a squirrel cap, and carrying a bunch of rabbits that he sells to the butchers. He's a great sight, said Grace. I saw him on his snowshoes one day. He was coming down Upton Hill, where we coasted, you know, Anne, and he sped along the fields faster than David's motorcycle. They had been walking for some time over the hard-packed snow, and were now well into the forest, which hemmed them in on every side, and seemed to stretch out in all directions into infinite space. Ready, are you perfectly sure we won't get lost in this place? demanded Jessica at last. They had been walking along silently intent on their own thoughts. Perhaps it was the grandeur of the great snow-laden trees that oppressed them. Perhaps the vast loneliness of the place where nothing was stirring, not even a rabbit. We're all right, returned ready. My compass tells me. We go due north till we want to start home, and then we can either turn round and go back due south, or turn west and go home by the road. I have neither compass nor watch, said hippie, but nature's timepiece tells me that it's lunchtime. This cold air gives me an appetite. Gives you one, cried David. You old Anaconda. You were born with an appetite. You started eating boiled dumplings when you were two years old.  Never mind, said David. It's an old story in Oakdale. Let's feed the poor soul into posed grace. It would be wanton cruelty to keep him waiting any longer. He'll have to make the fire, then, said ready. Make him pay for his dumplings if he wants them so early. All right, carrots, cried hippie. I'll gather faggots and make a fire, just to keep you from talking so much. I'll help you, hippie, said Nora. I'm not ashamed to admit that I am very hungry, too. It's the people who are never able to eat at the table, and then go off and feed up in the pantry, who always manage to shirk their work. The others all laughed. Let's make a fair division of labour put in grace, so as to prevent future talk. While some of them gathered sticks and dried branches, the others began clearing away the snow in an open space, where the fire could be built. Ann and Jessica unpacked the luncheon, and poured some coffee from a glass jar into a tin pot to be heated, while Tom peeled several long switches and impaled pieces of bacon on the ends to be cooked over the fire, which was soon blazing comfortably. How do you like this, girls? He asked presently when the broiling bacon began to give out an appetizing smell, and the hot coffee added its fragrance to the air. How's this for a winter picnic? I like it better than a summer picnic, interposed hippie. The food is better, and there are no gnats. Gnats are very fond of fat people, said ready. They drink down their blood like circus lemonade. Get busy and give me some coffee, redhead, said hippie, who sat on a stump and ate energetically, while the others were broiling their slices of bacon. Here, hippie, said Nora, pouring out a steaming cupful. If it wasn't interesting to watch you store it away, perhaps I wouldn't wait on you hand and foot like this. This is the best way in the world to cook bacon, said Tom, holding his wand over the fire, with several pieces of bacon stuck on the forked ends.  There, mine fell into the fire, I knew it would. Meantime, Jessica and Grace were frying the rest of the slices in a pan. That's good enough, but this is better and quicker, said Grace. There's no reason for dispensing with all the comforts of a home just because you choose to be a woodsman, Tom. They never forget how they enjoyed that luncheon, devouring everything to the ultimate crumb and the final drop of hot coffee. Although it was bitterly cold, they did not feel the chill, the brisk walk, the warm fire, and their hearty meal had quickened their blood, and even Anne, the smallest and most delicate of them all, felt something of Tom's enthusiasm for the deep woods. At last, it was time to start again. The boys were trampling down the fire while the girls began stowing the cups and coffee pot into a basket. The woods seemed suddenly to have grown very quiet. How still it is, whispered Anne. I feel as if everything in the world had stopped. There's not a breath staring. Perhaps it has, answered Grace, but we mustn't stop, even if everything else has, now that the fire is out, or we'll freeze to death. She was just about to call the others briskly for the air was beginning to nip her cheeks when something in the faces of the four boys made her pause. They were standing together near the remains of the fire and seemed to be listening intently. Not a sound, not even the cracking of a branch disturbed the stillness for a moment, and then from what appeared to be a great distance came a long, howling wail, so forlorn, so weird, it might have been the cry of a spirit. What is it, whispered the other girls, creeping about Grace? I think we'd better be hurrying along now, girls, said David, in a natural voice. It's getting late. You can't deceive us, David, replied Grace calmly. We know it's Wolves. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Of Grace Harlow's Plebeia at High School This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Christine Blashford. Grace Harlow's Plebeia at High School by Jesse Graham Flower. Chapter 19 Wolves Wolves, the name was terrifying enough, but their cry, that long, drawn-out, hungry call, gave the picnickers a chill of apprehension. We must take the nearest way out of the wood, ready, exclaimed Tom. They are still several miles off, and if we hurry, we may reach the open before they do. All started on a run, David helping Ann to keep up with the others, while Reddy looked after Jessica. Nora and Grace were well enough trained in outdoor exercise to run without any assistance from the boys. Indeed, Grace Harlow could outrun most boys of her own age. Go straight to your left, called Reddy, consulting his compass as he hurried Jessica over the snow. Again they heard the angry howl of the wolves, and the last time it seemed much nearer. It's a terrible business, there's running after a heavy meal, muttered hippie, gasping for breath as he stumbled along in the track of his friends. I'll make a nice meal for him if they catch me," he added, and it looks as if I'd be the first to go. Reddy, are you sure you're right, called Tom? The woods don't seem to be thinning out as they are likely to do toward the edge. Keep going, called Reddy, confident of the direction. You see we had gone pretty far in, but I believe the open country is about a mile this way. A mile? Good heavens! Jessica and Anne were already stumbling from exhaustion, while hippie was quite winded. Another five minutes of this, and at least three of the party would be food for wolves, and less something could be done. So thought David, who breathless and light-headed, was now almost carrying Anne. Hurrah! cried Grace, who had been running ahead of the others. Here's John's hut! There, sure enough, right in front of them, was a little house built of logs and mud. Had it been put in that particular spot years ago, just to save their eight lives now, Anne wandered vaguely as she blindly stumbled on. As Grace lifted the wooden latch of the door, she looked over her shoulder. Not three hundred yards away, loped five gaunt gray animals. Their tongues hung limply from the sides of their mouths, and their eyes glowed with a fierce hunger. Hurry! she cried in an agony of fear. Oh, hurry! Tom and David were carrying Anne now, while Jessica was half-staggering, assisted by Nora and Reddy. Hippie, the perspiration pouring from his face, brought up the rear, and they had scarcely pulled him in and barred the door before the wolves had reached the hut, and were leaping against the walls howling and snarling. Nobody spoke for some time. Those who were not too tired were busy thinking. What was to be done? Eight young people, on a bitter cold winter afternoon, shut up in a hut in the middle of a forest, while five half-starved wolves besieged the door. Presently, Tom Gray began to look about him. There was a fireplace in the hut, which, by great good luck, contained the remains of a large backlog. More fuel was stacked in the corner, chiefly brushwood and sticks. He made a fire at once, and the others gathered around the blaze, for they felt the penetrating chill now, after their rapid and exhausting flight through the forest. Here's a rifle, exclaimed Grace, who was also exploring, while Tom kindled the fire. Good! cried Tom. Let's see it. It may be our salvation. He seized the gun and examined the barrel, but alas there was only one shot left in it. They searched the hut for more cartridges, but not one could they find. In the meantime, the wolves, which might have been taken for large collie-dogs at a little distance, were trotting round the house, leaping against the door and windows, and occasionally giving a blood-curdling howl. Suppose you feed me to them, groaned hippie. You could get almost to Oakdale before they finished me. The suggestions seemed to break the apprehensive silence that had settled down upon them, and they burst out laughing, one and all, even Anne, who was lying on a bear-skin in front of the fire. I suppose the beasts were driven down from the hills by hunger, and when they smelled the fat bacon frying, the woods couldn't hold them, observed David. I have always heard that a hungry wolf could smell something to eat on another planet. Well, what are we going to do, demanded Nora? If we leave this charming abode of genres, we shall be eaten alive, and if we stay in it, we shall starve. You won't starve for a while yet, child, you've only just eaten. You remind me of the story of the people who were locked up in a vault in a cemetery. They divided the candle into notches, and decided to eat a notch apiece every day. They had just finished the last notch, and were expecting to die at any moment of starvation when somebody unlocked the door, and how long do you suppose they had been shut up? Several days, I suppose, answered Nora, since they appeared to have eaten several notches. Not at all, replied David, only three hours. I'd rather be in a vault with the dead than out here, observed Hippie. Are we such poor company as all that fatty, laughed ready? I've made a great find, announced Tom Gray, in the midst of their chatter. He was standing on a bench, examining something on a shelf, suspended from the ceiling. What demanded the others in great excitement? A pair of snowshoes, he answered. There was a disappointed silence. Well, don't all speak at once, said Tom at last. Don't you agree with me that it's a great find? We are sorry we can't enthuse, answered David, but we fail to see how snowshoes can help us out of our present predicament. Nobody here knows how to use them, continued Ready, and even if he did, he couldn't outrun a pack of wolves. I know how to use them, exclaimed Tom. I learned it in Canada a few winters ago, but I will admit I couldn't beat the wolves in a race. However, the shoes may come in handy yet. Just then, one of the wolves threw his body against the door, and the small cabin shook with the force of the blow. By Job, exclaimed David, I thought they had us then. Another blow like that in the old latch might give way. They looked about them for something to place against the door, but there was not a stick of furniture in the room. Even the bed in one corner was made of pine-bows and skins. I wonder how there happened to be only five wolves, said Anne. I thought they went about in large packs. They are probably Mama and Papa, and the whole family replied hippy. The smallest friskiest ones, I think, are young ladies. By the way, they switched along behind the others and hung back kind of shy-like.  At that moment there was another crash against the door, while two gray paws and the tip of a pointed muzzle could be seen on one of the window-sills. It's almost three o'clock, said Tom Gray, looking at his watch. I think we'll have to do something, or we shall be penned here all night. Now, what shall it be? Suppose we have a friendly counsel and consider. All right, said David, the meeting is open for suggestions. What do you advise, Anne?" Anne smiled thoughtfully. I have no advice to offer, she said, unless you shoot one of the wolves and let the others eat him up, perhaps that would take the edge off their appetites. No, that would only serve as an appetizer, answered David. After they had eaten one member of the family, they would be still hungrier for another. And yet that isn't a half-bad idea, said Tom, and for two reasons. Did you notice a path which began at the hut and which was evidently John's trail? I saw it from the corner of my eye as I ran. No, the others had not noticed anything of the sort, but who would stop to think of trails with a pack of hungry wolves at his heel? Tom's training in the woods had taught him to take in such details, and consequently he had noticed it particularly. Moreover, the trail led straight to the left, presumably toward the west. Now, this is what I propose to do, he continued, taking down the snowshoes and looking over their straps and fastenings carefully. Ready, who I hear is a good shot, must climb up at one of the windows and shoot the first wolf he sees. Eating the dead wolf would probably occupy the attention of his brothers for some ten minutes or so, perhaps longer. While they are busy, I shall make off on the snowshoes. With that much of a start, and with plenty of tasty human beings close at hand, I doubt if they even follow me. If they do, why, I'll just shin up a tree. But I believe I can beat them. I'm pretty good on snowshoes. Tom Gray, you shan't do it, cried Grace. It may mean sure death. How do you know the wolves won't seize you the moment you open the door? Besides, you don't know the way. Suppose you should get lost? No, no, insisted Tom. None of these things will happen. I know positively that a hungry wolf will stop chasing a human being and eat up a dead wolf, or a shoe, or a rug, or anything that happens to be thrown to him. I never was sure of anything in my life than that I can get away from here before the beasts know it. There was a storm of protestation from the others, but Tom Gray finally overruled every objection, and they reluctantly consented to let him go. It was arranged that Ready should stand on a bench by one of the small windows and attract the attention of the wolves by throwing out a rabbit skin that was nailed to one of the walls. While the beasts were tearing this to pieces, he was to shoot one of them. Furthermore, the instant the live wolves had finished devouring the dead one, Ready was to pitch out another skin, of which there were many about the hut, of foxes, rabbits, and other small animals, which the trapper had collected. This, they agreed, would probably keep the wolves occupied for a while until Tom had got a good start down the trail. Tom slipped his feet in the snowshoes and stood by the door waiting, while the wolves howled and fought over the rabbit skin bang went the rifle. I got him, cried Ready. In an instant, Tom Gray had flung open the door and was off down the trail. As he had expected, the live wolves were hungrily eating the dead one, and had not apparently even noticed his departure. The boys and girls in the hut sat breathlessly waiting, while Ready watched the famished animals gorge themselves with the blood and fresh meat of their comrade. Ready had rolled up a fox skin into a small bundle and was prepared to pitch it out to them the moment they had finished. Just as they had lapped the last drop of blood he cast out the skin, they sniffed it at a moment, gave a long, disapproving howl that sent the cold chills down the spines of the prisoners and then made off down the trail after Tom Gray. Ready gave a loud exclamation and jumped down from the bench. They followed Tom, he cried, in a high state of excitement. There was a long pause. We'll have to go then, said David finally. Girls, you are safe as long as you stay inside the hut, and some of us at least will be able to bring help before long. With that, all three of the boys, for Hippie was no coward in spite of his size and appetite, rushed out of the hut and disappeared in the wood. The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen when Gray sparsened the latch and returned to the fire where her three friends sat silent, afraid to speak for fear of giving way to tears. The Four Girls never knew how long they waited that afternoon in the hunter's cabin. It might have been only minutes, but the minutes seemed to drag themselves into hours. The uncertain fate of the boys, the tragedy that surely awaited perhaps all of them, made the situation almost unbearable. Gray spiled the fireplace high with the remaining wood, but the blaze could not keep away the chill that crept over them as the sun sank behind the trees. They shivered and drew nearer together for comfort. Should they ever see their four brave friends again, and David, Anne could endure it no longer. She rose and began to move about the hut, there lay her coat and hat. Almost without knowing what she did, she put them on, pulled on her mittens, and tied a broad knitted muffler around her ears. Girls, she said suddenly, she had gone about her preparation so quietly, the other three had not even turned to see what she was doing. I'm going. I don't want any of you to go with me, but I would rather die than stay here all night without knowing what has happened to David and the others. Wait a moment, cried Grace, and I'll go too. It would be unbearable not to know, and if we meet the wolves, why then, as Tom said, we can climb a tree? Poor Tom, she added sadly. I wonder where he is now? Nora and Jessica rose hastily. Do you think I'd stay, cried Nora, not in a thousand years? Anything is better than this, exclaimed Jessica, as she drew on her wraps and prepared to follow her friends into the woods. Grace opened the door, peering out into the gathering darkness. There's not a living thing in sight, she said. We'd better hurry, girls, it will soon be dark. Then the four young girls started down the trail and were soon out of sight. When Tom Gray left old John's hut, with nothing between him and the ravenous wolves, except the angle of a wall, he took a long gliding step, his body swinging gracefully with the motion, and was off like the wind, under a broad avenue of trees. But he had not gone far before one of the straps loosened and his foot slipped. He fell headlong, but was up instantly. It took a few moments to tighten the strap, and it must have been then that the wolves caught the scent, and after hurriedly finishing the meal in hand, galloped off for another without taking the slightest notice of the fox skin that Reddy had tossed to them. Tom made a fresh start, feeling more confident on his feet than he had at first, and he was well underway when he had the howl of the wolves behind him. Gathering all his energies together, he managed to keep ahead of them, until the woods became less dense, and he saw through the interlacing branches the open meadows and fields. They are too hungry to leave off now, he said to himself, as he hurriedly searched the valley below for the nearest farmhouse. In front of him was a very high, steep hill, that same hill, in fact, where Nora's coasting-party had taken place. Glancing behind him, he caught a glimpse of the Grey Brothers trotting through the forest. I'll take the hill, he thought, it's quickest, and there must be some kind of a refuge below. With long, swift glides, he reached the knob which had hidden Miriam's sled from view, as she bore down on Anne the night of the coasting-party. The wolves were right behind him now, and unless something turned up, he hardly dared think what would happen. But Tom Grey had always possessed an indomitable belief that things would turn out all right. It seemed absurd to him that he was to be food for wolves when he had still a long and delightful life before him, certainly he would not give up without a struggle. Perhaps it was this fine confidence that his destiny was not yet completed, that gave him the strength which now promised to save him. As he fled down the hill he saw below an old oak tree whose first branches had been locked off, exerting every atom of strength in him just as he reached the bottom Tom gave a leap. He caught the lowest limb with one hand, pulled himself up, and calmly took his seat in the crotch of the tree. He was just in time. The wolves were at his heels, snarling and snapping like angry dogs. The boy regarded them from his safe perch, and burst out laughing.  You think you'll keep me here all night, do you, old hounds, while we'll see who wins out in the long run. Meanwhile the wolves ran about howling disconsolently, while Tom sat in the branches of the tree, rubbing his hands and arms to keep warm. He had removed the snowshoes, and was just contemplating climbing to the top of the tree to keep his blood circulating when three figures appeared on the brow of the hill. As I live it's the boys, he said to himself.  Climb a tree quickly. They had seen and heard him, and making for the nearest tree, each shinned up as fast as he could. Here's a howdy-doo, said Tom to himself. Four boys, treed by wolves, and night coming on. Yet he swung his legs and whistled thoughtfully, whilst the others shouted to him, but he could not hear what they said, for the wind was blowing away from him. In the meantime the wolves did not all desert him, and he could only wait patiently with the others for something to turn up. What did turn up was a good deal of a shock to all of them. Grace, Jessica, Nora, and Anne suddenly emerged from the forest, standing out in bold relief on the brow of the hill. The three boys at the top of the hill all jumped to the ground at once. Run for the trees, cried David, for the wolves had caught the new scent and had started toward them on a dead run. Crack, crack! went a rifle. Instantly the first wolf staggered and fell backward. How was it that the boys had not noticed before that the girls were not alone? Another shot, and a second wolf, ran almost into their midst, gave a leap and fell dead. One more dropped, and the sole surviving wolf beat a frenzied retreat. We found Old Jean, cried Grace. Wasn't it the most fortunate thing in the world? And now nobody is killed, and we are all safe, and I'm so happy! She gave the old hunter's arm a squeeze. Old Jean, enveloped in skins from top to toe, smiled, good-naturedly. It was the bonjour, ma mouselle, who have preserved you. Do not thank Old Jean. It was the bonjour who put it in Old Jean's head to set rabbit trap to night. He would accept neither money nor thanks for shooting the wolves. I was skinned, and it is sufficient. It was not long before eight very tired and very happy young people were seated around Mrs. Grace's dinner table. Grace was a little chokey and homesick for her mother, now that all the danger was over, but the week of the house party was almost up, so she concealed her impatience to be home again. The softly shaded candles shed a warm glow over their faces, and the logs crackled on the brass and irons. They looked into each other's eyes and smiled sleepily. Had it all been a dream, their winter picnic, or was Old Jean at that very moment really nailing wolfskins to his wall. CHAPTER XXI. THE LOSS LETTER Spring was well advanced, full of soft airs and the sweet sense of orchards in full bloom. Through the open windows of the schoolroom, Grace could hear the pleasant sounds of the out-of-doors, the tinkle of a cowbell in a distant meadow, and the songs of the birds brought to her the nearness of the glorious summertime. She chewed the end of her pencil impatiently, endeavouring to withdraw her attention from the things she liked so much better than Latin grammar and algebra. Examinations were coming, those bug-bears of the young freshman and then-vacation. A vision of picnics crossed her mind, of long days spent out of doors with luncheon under the trees and tramps through the woods. Yet before all these joys must come the inevitable final test, the race for the freshman prize. Although, after all, only two would really enter the race, Miriam and Anne. Nobody else would think of competing with these two brilliant students. How tired Anne looked! She had done nothing but study of late. No party had been alluring enough to beguile her from her books. She had even discontinued her work with Mrs. Gray and early in late toiled at her studies. She will tire herself out, Grace thought, and made a resolution to take Anne with her on a visit to her grandmothers in the country just as soon as the high school doors were closed for the summer. Miriam was not studying so hard, but then she never did anything hard. She simply seemed to absorb without taking the trouble to plod. She had been very defiant of late, Grace thought, and more insolent than ever before. She and Miss Lease were thicker than was good for Miriam, considering that teachers peculiar disposition to flatter and spoil her. However, that was none of Grace's business, and certainly Miss Lease had been careful since the sound rating Miss Thompson had given her. Just then the gong broke in upon Grace's reflections. With a sigh of relief, she closed her book and strolled with her friends down to their usual meeting-place in the locker-room. There was, but one topic of conversation now, the freshman prize. Anne predicted Nora, you just can't help winning it. I don't believe it's in you to make a mistake. Miss Lease always gives you the hardest problems too, but she can't stump little Anne. Anne smiled wearily. It was well examinations were to begin in two days. In her secret soul she felt she could not hold out much longer. Moreover, Anne was worried about family affairs. She had received a letter that morning which had troubled her so much that she had been on the point a dozen times of bursting into tears. However, if she won the prize, not the small one, but the big one, the difficulty would be surmounted. Another worry had crept into her mind. She had lost the letter. A little wayward breeze had seized it suddenly from her limp fingers and blown it away. She knew the letter was lurking somewhere in a corner of the school-room, and she had hoped to find it when the class was dismissed, but the missing paper was nowhere in sight when she had searched for it during recess. Perhaps it had blown out the window, in which case it would be brushed up by the janitoress and never thought of again. Not for worlds would Anne have had anyone read that letter. It was during the afternoon session in the middle of one of the school-room recitations that she caught sight of her letter again, but after the class was dismissed and she had made haste to the corner of the room where she thought she had seen it under a desk, it was not there. Disappointed and uneasy, Anne put on her hat and started home. All afternoon she worried about it. Perhaps it was because she was so tired that she was especially sensitive about the letter being found by someone else. If that someone else should read the contents, she felt it would mean nothing less than disgrace.  Why don't you take a walk and not try to do any studying this afternoon? I think I will, sister, replied Anne, and pinning on her hat she left her small cottage and started toward High School Street. Turning mechanically into the broad avenue shaded by elm trees, she strolled along, half dreaming and half waking. She was so weary she felt she might lie down and sleep for twenty years, and like Rip Van Winkle, awakened old and gray. It was foolish of her to be so uneasy about that letter. Was it a premonition that compelled her to return to the schoolroom and search again for it? Perhaps the old janitoress might have found it. The young girl quickened her pace. She must hurry if she wanted to catch the old woman before the latter closed up for the night. Anne had not thought of looking behind. Her mind, so trained to concentration, was now bent only upon one subject. But would it have swerved her from her present purpose, even if she had noticed Miss Lease following her? The High School was still open, although Anne could not find the janitoress. Perhaps the old woman was asleep somewhere. On several occasions she had been found sleeping soundly when she should have been brushing out schoolrooms and mopping floors. Anne was determined, however, to give one good, thorough search for her letter, and she accordingly mounted to the floor where the freshman classroom was situated and entered the large, empty recitation room. She looked long and carefully under the desks and benches, even going through the scrap baskets, but there was no sign of the letter. Then she went into some of the other classrooms, but her search was unrewarded. What's the use, she asked herself at last? It's sure to have been destroyed. I think I'll just have to give it up and try to rest a little before tomorrow, or I'll never be fit to try for that prize. As she started down the broad staircase, she heard the rasping voice of Miss Lease mingling with the principal's cool, well-modulated tones. Anne paused a moment, watching the two figures below. Miss Lease looked up and caught her eye, but Miss Thompson was engaged in unlocking the door and did not see the little figure lingering on the steps. Just as the door opened, another door slammed violently, and the next moment Anne had footsteps running along a small passage that crossed the corridor. Leaning far over the rails, she caught a glimpse of a figure. It was—no, Anne could not be certain of the identity, but it looked like—well, never mind whom. Anne meant to keep the secret, for it was evident that the person had been bent on Miss Chief, else why slam a door and run at the approach of Miss Thompson? And now Anne heard the door open again, and Miss Thompson's voice calling, Who is there? But there was no answer. Deep down in Anne's heart there crept a vague suspicion. CHAPTER XXII My dear Grace, will you come and see me at my office after school today? I have something very important to discuss. Sincerely yours, Emma Thompson. Grace read the letter over twice. What in the world could Miss Thompson want to discuss with her? Perhaps she had not been doing well enough in her classes, but Grace rejected the idea. She always kept up to the average, and it was only those who fell below who ever received warnings from the principal. Perhaps it was—well, never mind—she would wait and see. As soon as school was over, she hurried to the principal's office and tapped on the door. Well, Grace, my dear, said Miss Thompson as the young girl entered. Did my note frighten you? No, indeed, replied Grace. I had a clear conscience, and I don't expect to fail an exams tomorrow, although I am not so studious as Anne Pearson or Miriam. Of course you don't expect to fail, my dear, said the principal kindly, for of all the girls in the school, Grace was her favourite. I didn't bring you here to scold you, but I have something very serious to talk about. While I have threshed out the matter with myself, I believe I might do better by talking things over with one of my safest and sanest freshmen. Why, what has happened, Miss Thompson? asked Grace curiously. First, let me ask you a few questions, answered the principal. Tell me something about the competition for the freshman prize. Which girl do you think has the best chance of winning it? I know whom I want to win, replied Grace innocently. Anne, of course, and I believe she will, too, while Miriam is more showy in her recitations. Anne is much more thorough, and she studies a great deal harder. The fact is, I am afraid she is making herself ill with studying, but she is determined to win not the little prize, but the big one, which is more than even Anne can do, I believe. Whoever heard of having every examination paper, perfect. It has not been done so far, admitted Miss Thompson, but why is Anne so bent on winning the prize? Is it all for glory, do you think? Anne is very poor, you know, Miss Thompson, said Grace simply. So she is, replied the principal, and the child needs the money. Miss Thompson paused a moment, looking thoughtfully out over the smooth green lawn. Grace, she resumed finally, I have something very serious to tell you. Two days ago, I made a discovery that may change the fate of the freshman prize this year considerably. You know, I keep the examination questions here in my desk, that is, the originals. A copy is now at the printers. So you see, I have only one set of originals. I had occasion to come back to my office quite late the day of the discovery, and as I let myself in at that door, she pointed to the door leading into the corridor. What I thought was a gust of wind slammed the door leading into the next room, which I usually keep shut and bolted on this side. My desk was open, and the freshman examination papers undoubtedly had been tampered with. I could tell because they are usually the last in the pile, and they were all on top and quite disarranged. Whoever had been here had heard my key in the lock, and without waiting to close the desk, had fled by the other door. I feel deeply grieved over this matter. I should never think of suspecting any of my fine girls of such trickery, and yet who else could it have been except one of the freshmen? Oh, Miss Thompson, this is dreadful, exclaimed Grace, distressed and shocked over the story. I don't believe there's a girl in the class who would have done it. There must be some mistake. That is why I sent for you, Grace, said the principal. I want your advice. Now, Anne. Anne interrupted Grace, horrified. You don't suppose for a minute Anne would be dishonest? Never. I won't stay and listen any longer, and she rushed to the door. Miss Thompson followed, placing a detaining hand on her arm. You are right, Grace, to be loyal to your friend, said the principal, always just and kind under the most trying circumstances. But Anne, I must tell you, is under suspicion. Why demanded Grace almost sobbing in her anger and unhappiness? The afternoon of the discovery, Anne was here long after school hours. She was seen by two people wondering about the building. Who were the people demanded Grace incredulously? The janitoress, who saw her from the window of another room, and Miss Lease. I thought so, exclaimed Grace, with a note of triumph in her voice. It is Miss Lease, is it, who is trumping up all this business.  Anne would no more do such a thing than I would, and I am going to fight to save her if it takes my last breath. Do you know how hard she has worked to win this prize? Simply all the time. I believe if she knew what you suspected, it would kill her. I believe it's some tale Miss Lease has made up. And besides, why shouldn't she have come back to the building? Perhaps she forgot a book or something. I'd just like to know what Miss Lease was doing here at that time of day. She came here to meet me on business, answered Miss Thompson. That is why she knows something of the unfortunate affair. She was with me when I found my desk had been broken open and the papers disturbed. She also heard the other door slam, and it was then she told me of having seen Anne wondering about the building, for which, as you say, there might have been a dozen reasons. I believe, as firmly as you do, that the child is incapable of cheating, and I intend to leave no stone unturned to get at the truth. But there is still another fact against Anne that is very black. The speaker took from a drawer a slip of folded paper. This was found in the building, she continued, and since it was an open letter, without a dress, and under the circumstances, so important, it was read, and the contents reported to me. I have since read it myself, and I now ask you to read it. Dear Anne, I must have one hundred dollars at once, or go somewhere for a long time. I foolishly signed a friend's name to a slip of paper. I didn't know he would be so hard, but he threatens to prosecute unless I pay up before the end of next week. I know you have rich friends. I have been hearing of your successes. Perhaps the old lady, Mrs. G., will oblige you. I trust to your good sense to see that the hundred must be forthcoming, or it will mean disgrace for us all—your father, J.P. Grace limply held the letter in one hand. Oh, poor, poor Anne, she groaned, wiping away the tears that had welled up into her eyes, and were running down her cheeks. I feel just as you do, my child, went on Miss Thompson. I am deeply, bitterly sorry for this unfortunate child, but you will agree with me that she has had a very strong motive for winning the prize. Grace nodded mutely. By the way, she asked presently, when she had calmed herself, who was it that found the letter? Miss Lease again, replied Miss Thompson, hesitatingly. There, you see, exclaimed Grace excitedly, that woman is determined to ruin Anne before the close of school.   Is there no clue whatever to the person who copied the papers? Yes, answered Miss Thompson, there is. This had been shoved back in the desk under the papers. It does not belong to me, and it could not have gotten into my desk by any other means. I suppose in her hurry to copy the freshman's sheets, whoever she was, laid it down and forgot it. Miss Thompson produced a crumpled pocket handkerchief. Grace took it and held it to the light. There were no marks or initials upon it, whatever. It was simply a cambrick handkerchief with a narrow hemstitch border, a handkerchief such as any one might use. It was neither large nor small, neither of thin nor thick material. There's nothing on it, said Grace. I suppose the stores sell hundreds of these. That's very true, answered the principal. But I hoped you would be familiar enough with your friend's handkerchiefs to recognize this one. No, replied Grace, I haven't the least idea who's it is. Wait a moment, she added quickly, smelling the handkerchief. There is a perfume on it of some sort. Did you notice that? I did, replied Miss Thompson. It was one of the first things I did notice. I am very sensitive to perfumes, perhaps because I dislike them on clothing. But I waited for you to find it out for yourself. In fact, my dear, this will be the only means of trapping the person. Now what perfume is it, and who in the class uses it? I am not familiar with perfumes, but I thought perhaps you were. And now I will tell you that this is the reason I sent for you, the reason I showed you this letter, which has only been seen by one other person besides myself, Miss Lease, of course. I do not wish to tell anyone else about this matter. I do not care to put the subject before the school board for discussion. I do not believe any more than you that Anne is guilty, and I have taken you into my confidence because I believe you are the one person in the world who can help me in this predicament. Miss Lease, of course, intends to do everything in her power to bring the child to justice. But until I give her permission, she will hardly dare to speak of it. So far, we three are the only people who know what has happened. In the meantime, I shall turn over this handkerchief to you, keep it carefully, and be very guarded about what you do and say.  But I have a great respect for your judgment and discretion, and that is the reason I am asking for your help in this very delicate matter. You may rest assured that I shall do nothing whatever, at least not until after examinations. I have an idea that we may get a clue through them. We must say Van, whose life would be utterly ruined by such a false accusation as this, and I feel convinced that it is false. While I can tell you one thing, Miss Thompson returned Grace as she opened the door, and that is, Anne Pearson never used any perfume in her life, she hasn't any to use. Miss Thompson nodded and smiled. I was sure of that, she called. Grace had little time to lose. The examinations, which took place the next day and the day after, would undoubtedly bring matters to a crisis. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and sniffed at it. Neither was she familiar with perfumes, and this odor was new to her. Suddenly an idea occurred to her, and she made straight for the nearest drug store. Mr. Gleason, she demanded of the clerk in charge. Could you tell me what perfume this is? The drugist sniffed thoughtfully at the handkerchief for some seconds. It's Sandalwood, he said at last. We received some in stock a week ago. End of CHAPTER XXII. How examinations loom up on the fatal day, like monstrous obstacles that must be overcome, how the hours slip past with nothing to break the stillness saved the scratching of pens on full-scat paper, while each student draws upon the supply of knowledge stored up during the winter months. A fly buzzes on the window-pane, a teacher rises, tiptoes slowly about the room, and sits down again. She can do nothing now, but keep watch on the pairs of drooping shoulders and the tired, flushed faces. Anne was so absorbed in her work that she was oblivious to everything about her. Her pen moved with precision over her paper, and her copy was neat and clear. It was the second day of the examinations, and she felt that her fate would soon be decided, but she was too tired now to worry. She worked on quietly and steadily. She had almost finished, and as she answered one question after another, she was more and more buoyed up by the conviction that she would win the prize. Miriam had finished her work. Her impatient nature would not permit her to do anything slowly. As she gave a last flourishing stroke with her pen, she leaned back, looking about her. She smiled contemptuously, as her eyes rested on Anne.  It would be a disgrace for a girl like me to be beaten by her. I'll never endure it in the world. It was not long before the girls had all finished and turned in their papers to the teacher in charge. Oh, glorious, happy day, cried Nora, as she sped joyously down the corridor. Examinations are over, and now for a good time. A dozen or more of the freshman class had been invited to Miriam's to a tea to celebrate the close of school. Anne, of course, was not invited, but Grace and her friends had received invitations and promptly accepted them. Grace had taken Nora and Jessica into her confidence to some extent. She needed their help, but she had not mentioned the letter from Anne's father. The three girls met early by appointment at the Harlow House to discuss matters before going to Miriam Nesbitt's. Here's a list of the people in Oakdale, said Nora, who have bought sandalwood perfume. I have been to four drugstores and all the dry goods stores. Grace took the list and read. Mrs. I. Rosenfield, Miss Alice Gwendolyn-Jones, Mr. Percival Butts, etc. Good heavens, she cried. There's not a single person on this list who has anything to do with Oakdale High School. Mr. Percival Butts, she laughed, the idea of a man buying perfume. Really, girls, she added in despair. We've been wasting our time. I can't see that any of us has made the least headway. I have called on almost every freshman in the class and inquired what her favourite perfume is, and I know some of them thought I was silly. Anyway, not one of them claimed to use sandalwood. The stupidest girls would be the ones who would be most likely to want to copy the papers, observed Jessica. But those girls are much too nice to believe such horrid things about. I went to see Ellen Wiggins and Sally Moore yesterday afternoon. Neither of them used perfume. Sally Moore told me she had an Orris Root sachet that had almost lost its scent. Which reminds me, she continued, why couldn't this handkerchief have been scented by some other means than just perfume? Perhaps it was put into a mouchoir case with sandalwood powder. Why, of course, exclaimed Grace. Jessica, I never thought of asking who had been buying sachet powders. You have a great head. Must I go back and ask all those storekeepers for more lists? demanded Nora. No child, replied Grace. Just give us time to think first. It's time to go to Miriam's anyhow, observed Jessica. Perhaps some sort of inspiration will come on the way, and the three girls set out for the tea-party. As they paused to admire the beautiful flower beds on the Nesbitt lawn, Jessica said, Have you inquired Miriam's favourite perfume? Oh yes, answered Grace. She said she liked them all and had no favourites. Why are all these strange young women breaking into my premises? demanded a voice behind them. David Nesbitt cried Grace, Where have you been all this time? You never seem to find the time to come near your old friends any more. I have been busy, girls, replied David, Never busier in my life, but I believe I have struck it at last. It will not be long now before I turn into a bird. Oh, do show it to us, cried Grace, where is the model? In my work room, he replied, If you are very good and will promise to say nothing to the others, I'll give you a peep this afternoon. When I signal to you from the music room, by sounding three bass notes on the piano, start upstairs and I'll meet you on the landing. You may ask why this mystery, but I know girls, and if all those chattering freshmen are allowed to come into my room, they are sure to knock over some of the models, or break something, and I couldn't stand it. The three girls entered the large and imposing drawing-room, where Miriam, in a beautiful pink mull, trimmed with filmy lace insertions, received them with unusual cordiality, and presently they all repaired to the dining-room, where ice cream and strawberries were served, with little cakes with pink icing. It was, as a matter of fact, a pink tea, and Miriam's cheeks were as pink as her decorations. She looked particularly excited and happy. Each of the three terms had just swallowed her last and largest strawberry, saved as a final relish, when three low notes sounded softly on the piano in the adjoining room. In the hum of conversation, nobody had noticed David's signal, except Grace and her friends, who strolled into the music-room where he was waiting. Come along, he said, leading the way up the back stairs, and please consider this as a special mark of attention from the great inventor who has never yet made anything go. Where's Anne? I suppose she is resting, answered Grace. She had just about reached the end of her strength today. But she'll win the prize, I hope, continued David. We are all sure of it, answered Grace, in emphatic tones. David opened the door into his own private quarters, which consisted of a large work-room with a laboratory attached, where he had once worked on chemical experiments until he had become interested in flying machines. Here they are, he exclaimed, walking over to a large table in the work-room. I have three models, you see, and each one works a little better than the other. This last one, I believe, will do the business. He pointed to a graceful little aeroplane made of bamboo sticks and rice paper. Isn't it sweet, exclaimed the girls in unison? And it has a name, too, continued David Unabashed. I've called her Anne, because, while she's such a small, unpretentious-looking little craft, she can sort as such heights. There is not room here to show you how good she is, but we'll have another gymnasium seance some day soon. Anne must come and see her namesake. There, cried Grace, in a tone of annoyance, I have jagged a big place in my dress, David Nesbitt, on a nail in your table. Why do you have such things about to destroy people's clothes? But nobody who wears dresses ever comes in here, protested David, except Mother and the Maid, and they know better than to come near this table. Can't I do something, glue it together, or mend it with a piece of sticking plaster? No indeed, answered the girl. Just get me a needle and thread, please. I don't want to go downstairs with such a hideous rent in my dress. Why, of course, assented David. Why didn't I think of it sooner? Mother will fix you up." And he opened the door into the hall and called, Mother! Mrs. Nesbitt came hurrying in. She never waited to be called twice by her son, who was the apple of her eye. My dear Grace, she exclaimed when she saw the tear. This is too bad. Come right into my room, and I'll mend it for you. So it happened that Grace was presently seated in an armchair in Mrs. Nesbitt's bedroom, while the good-natured woman whipped together the jagged edges of their rent. What a beautiful box you have, Mrs. Nesbitt, said Grace, pointing to a large carved box on the dressing table. Do you like it? replied the other. I'm fond of it, probably because I was so happy when I bought it years ago, while travelling abroad with my husband. It smells as sweet as it did when it was new, she added, placing the box in Grace's lap. Nora and Jessica, who had been hovering about the room, now came over to see the sweet-scented box. How strangely familiar was that pungent perfume which floated up to them? Where had they smelled it before? It is made of carved sandalwood, continued Mrs. Nesbitt, opening the lid. And I have always kept my handkerchiefs in it, you see? Mother, called David's voice from the hall, and Mrs. Nesbitt left the room for a moment. Sandalwood gasped Grace. Yes, it was the same perfume that now faintly scented the famous handkerchief. There was a pile of handkerchiefs in the box. Grace lifted the top one and sniffed at it. She examined the border carefully and the texture. It looks like stealing, she whispered, but I must have this handkerchief. I'll return it afterwards. And she slipped the handkerchief into her belt. Nora and Jessica had exchanged significant glances while Nora's lips had formed the words exactly like the other one. In the meantime, Miss Thompson had been closeted with Anne Pearson for half an hour in the principal's office. By special request, she had arranged to have Anne's examination papers looked over immediately and sent to her. The papers were therefore the first to receive attention from each teacher, and were then turned over to Miss Thompson who hurried with them into her office and locked the door behind her. It would be a pity if they were too perfect, she said to herself, that would tell very much against Anne, I fear.  They were marvels of neatness, and not one cross or written comment marred their perfection. At the foot of each sheet the word perfect had been written. Some of the teachers had even added notes stating that no errors of any sort had been found, while one professor had paid Anne the very high compliment of stating that the perfection of her examination papers had not been a surprise. Never in that teacher's experience had he taught a more brilliant pupil. Miss Thompson looked with interest at the algebra papers. If this had not come up, she thought, Miss Leese would certainly have managed to find a floor somewhere, even if she had had to invent one. But under the circumstances, it was more to that wily woman's purpose to give Anne her due. For Miss Leese knew that a perfect examination paper would tell more against the young girl than for her. It was after this that Miss Thompson had her talk with Anne, a very kindly interested talk in which the young girl's prospects, her work, and health had all come under consideration. And then, in the gentlest possible way, Miss Thompson had produced the letter. Is this yours, Anne, she asked? Anne started violently. Oh, Miss Thompson, she cried, making a great effort to keep back her tears. Where did you find it? I spent one entire afternoon here looking for it. It was the very day you and Miss Leese were here. Oh, you saw us, then, replied the principal. And where were you? I was outside on the steps, replied Anne. Didn't Miss Leese mention it? She looked up and saw me just as you unlocked the door, then the other door slammed and someone hurried down the passage. I saw her too, but— But what, Anne? asked the principal slowly. But I am not sure who it was. Have you an idea? I could only guess from the outline of her figure, replied Anne, and it wouldn't be fair to tell her name unless I had seen her plainly. It might have been someone else. Anne had a suspicion that something had happened, and that Miss Thompson had brought her here to find out what she knew, but she never dreamed that she herself was under suspicion. One thing had struck Miss Thompson very forcibly. Miss Leese had known all along that Anne was on the staircase at the very moment the other person was slamming the door in their faces, and yet Miss Leese was determined to condemn Anne to the faculty that very night. She had said so, in as many words, in defiance of the principal's arguments against such a course. Well, good night, my child, she said at last, giving Anne a motherly kiss. You have done a good winter's work, and I am proud of you. Anne hurried away, clutching the letter in her hand. She wondered if Miss Thompson had read it, and somehow she didn't mind so much after all. The principal seemed to her the very embodiment of all that was good and kind. Miss Thompson was destined to have several callers that afternoon. In a few moments Grace hurried in, breathless and excited. Look at that, Miss Thompson, cried the girl, thrusting a handkerchief into her hand. Look at it, and smell it. Well, replied the principal, I've seen it before, and smelled it before too. Only you've had it washed and ironed, haven't you? Grace took a crumpled handkerchief from her pocket. Here's the real one, she cried triumphantly. The two handkerchiefs were certainly identical in shape and material, and both were perfumed with sandalwood. Where did you get this one demanded the principal? From Mrs. Nesbit's sandalwood handkerchief box, whispered Grace slowly. You think it was, then? Yes, replied Grace. I'm certain of it. It's as plain as daylight. She borrowed her mother's handkerchief. Dear, dear, explain the principal, how very foolish, how very unnecessary, and all because she couldn't endure to be beaten. Do you know, she continued presently, that Miss Lease intends to denounce Anne before the faculty to-night, my authority can't stop her, and I don't believe the similarity of these two handkerchiefs will either. Miss Thompson exclaimed Grace, I tell you I know perfectly well that woman is going to try to ruin Anne for the sake of Miriam. I have known it for months. Why, at Mrs. Grace's Christmas party, she did a thing that is too outrageous to believe, and here Grace opened a bundle she had brought with her, and produced the marionette of James Pearson. Miss Thompson was shocked at the recital of the story. She too recognized the green silk tie, although she had no recollection of Miriam's red velveteen suit, a piece of which formed the waistcoat. But there was something about that green silk which stuck in the memory, probably because it was so ugly, having a semi-invisible yellow line running through it. Yes, she said, I remember it very well. It was the trimming on a blouse Miss Lease wore last autumn. I do not believe anyone could forget such a hideous piece of material. Miss Thompson paused a moment and considered, my dear, she continued presently, I believe this is all I shall need to confront Miss Lease with. Your bringing it to me at this moment shows most excellent judgment. It may prevent a painful scandal in the school, as well as saving Anne from disgrace. As for the two handkerchiefs, the evidence is too slight to make any open accusations, but at any rate you may leave both with me. I may need them in my interview with Miss Lease. I may as well tell you I am anticipating a pretty stiff battle with her. I don't believe I should have won with only the handkerchiefs. Oh, I hope we can save Anne Miss Thompson, cried Grace. I earnestly hope so too, replied the principal. It would be too heartbreaking to have the child go down under this false accusation, and aside from that, such scandals are bad for the school, and I would rather deal with them privately than have them made public. But run along now, dear, you have done nobly and deserve a prize yourself." A knock was heard, and as Grace departed through one door, Miss Lease opened the other. If Miss Thompson only wins this battle, the young girl exclaimed to herself, I want to believe she will, but I know that terrible Miss Lease will make a tremendous fight. She joined her friends who were waiting for her outside. Girls, she cried, pray for Anne to-night. Nora, good little Catholic that she was, went straight to her church and burned two candles before the altar of the Holy Virgin, while she offered up a humble petition for Anne's deliverance, while Grace and Jessica in their own bedrooms that night prayed reverently, and earnestly that Anne might be saved from her enemies. Thus were Anne's three devoted friends working and praying for her, while she slept the sleep of exhaustion.