Alec seemed a bit embarrassed. To dine among so many girls was not as alluring as it sounded.

"Oh, do, Alec—please!" Blue Bonnet insisted.

Blue Bonnet was invited to sit at Miss North's table for the occasion. The Seniors sat at Miss North's table, so Alec had Blue Bonnet next to him, and Annabel opposite—an embarrassment of riches.

The girls seemed overwhelmed with such unexpected good fortune. They acted as if they had suddenly been struck dumb. Miss North and Blue Bonnet took turns breaking the silence with trivial generalities.

To Alec it seemed as if the meal would never end. He answered the questions put to him mechanically, owing to his extreme embarrassment; but he found courage toward the end of the meal to cast a sly glance in Annabel's direction—a glance not unobserved by Annabel.

Out in the hall, away from Miss North's watchful eye, he said to Blue Bonnet:

"If you ever get me into a deal like that again, you'll know it! It was worse than busting my first broncho."

And, although it was January, and the thermometer registering freezing weather, he took out his pocket handkerchief and mopped the perspiration from his neck and brow.

He made his adieux to Miss North very charmingly, however, thanking her for her hospitality; and Blue Bonnet left him at the reception-room door, conscious that broncho busting, and other things incident to ranch life, had not made any serious inroads on his native good breeding.



CHAPTER IX

WOODFORD

"Now, Carita, tell me all of it—everything you heard. Come on, I think I ought to know."

Blue Bonnet and Carita had been interrupted in the packing of their suitcases for a week-end at Woodford, by Annabel Jackson, who had stepped in Blue Bonnet's room to return a dress. Her presence had caused Carita to let slip a bit of gossip prevalent in the school.

Carita squeezed a waist into the last bit of space her suitcase afforded, and turned to Blue Bonnet.

"Oh, what do you ask me for, Blue Bonnet? I don't like to tell you—really I don't! What's the use? Oh, dear, I wish I hadn't dropped that hint. I didn't mean to—it just slipped out."

"Go on. Tell me."

Carita sighed deeply.

"It's just gossip. Like enough there isn't a word of truth in it."

"Never mind. Tell me."

"All right, then: Mary Boyd says that Annabel Jackson is a perfect little toady—that she always finds out if a girl has money and nice clothes and things, before she has anything to do with her. She says Annabel has found out that you have a great deal of money, and that's one reason she's so nice to you."

"But I haven't a great deal of money—not to spend here, anyway. I haven't any bigger allowance than Annabel has—or Sue, for that matter!"

"Yes, but it's got out about your ranch; that you have a lot coming to you some day—and—and that you brought me here—that you're paying my way—"

Blue Bonnet turned sharply.

"Who told that? That's my business and Uncle Cliff's—entirely!"

"You said something about being responsible for me when I was sick. I reckon the girls put two and two together and started the story. I can't think how else it got out."

Blue Bonnet put her arms round Carita and gave her a swift hug.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Carita. It must make you feel—horrid!"

"Not a bit," Carita answered cheerfully. "Everybody knows that a poor clergyman's daughter would never get in a school like this without some help. It was splendid of you to do it. I don't mind any one's knowing. Honestly I don't, Blue Bonnet. Don't be angry."

Blue Bonnet sat down limply in a chair and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet! Why did you make me tell you? I knew it would only make you unhappy. What difference does it make, anyway?"

"Just this difference: I like Annabel—for herself—and she likes me for what I've got. I suppose that's the way all those girls feel—Sue and Wee, and Ruth—"

Carita was down at Blue Bonnet's side in an instant, her arms about her.

"You know that isn't true, Blue Bonnet. Everybody loves you for yourself. Why, I have the loveliest 'trade last' for you, right this minute. I'll give it to you now, and you can save mine till you hear it. Mary Boyd says—"

Blue Bonnet shrank away, and shook her head.

"Never mind," she said, "it isn't compliments I want. It's friends!"

"Well, you've got 'em—loads! Look at the We Are Sevens! They perfectly adore you. Now, don't they?"

"Well, I reckon they like me," Blue Bonnet acknowledged, and her face brightened.

"I shouldn't have told you all this, Blue Bonnet, only you made me. I wouldn't have dropped the hint about Annabel, only I think she's so awful nervy about wearing your clothes. Why, your Peter Tom's a sight—and that yellow dress—"

"Oh, I don't care about the clothes, Carita. Uncle Cliff will get me some more. Annabel hasn't hurt them any. The Peter Tom will clean. You know how white wool soils, yourself."

Indeed there was no excuse that Blue Bonnet would not have made for Annabel. She had grown very fond of the little Southern girl in the five weeks past. Annabel had a way of ingratiating herself into the affections of her associates. She had the charm that is an inheritance of the South; the musical softness of speech, the daintiness of person, the warmth of heart; and—although Blue Bonnet had it yet to learn—a genius for friendship.

In Annabel Jackson's veins flowed the bluest of Southern blood. Her grandfather—the old General, known throughout the length and breadth of Tennessee—was an aristocrat of the old school. He boasted of an ancestry that defied criticism. Annabel was not a snob—but she was a sybarite; she loved the soft things of life, the luxuries, the pleasures: she turned toward them as naturally as a flower turns to the sun. This tendency had earned for her the reputation of "toady" by those who did not understand her, or were inclined to judge from the surface. She gave—was in a position to give—- as much as she got, always, and her affections were sincere and lasting.

Blue Bonnet finished packing her suitcase.

"Well, I'm not going to worry over what Mary says," she announced after a few minutes' deliberation. "I think Mary is apt to take snap judgment. She put me on the wrong track altogether about Doctor Giles. She said he was a regular old fogy—too slow for words, and—why, he's a man with a big reputation—Cousin Tracy's own doctor."

"Mary is a dear, though," Carita said loyally. "She's apt to be a little opinionated, maybe. Peggy Austin thinks she is—though Peggy dotes on her."

"Most smart people are," Blue Bonnet admitted. "Mary is as sharp as tacks. We've just three-quarters of an hour to get the train. I wonder if Mrs. White is ready to take us to the station."

* * * * *

A thick glittering mantle of snow lay over Woodford. Blue Bonnet had never before arrived in the winter, and the snow was not as inviting as the green hills and leafy swaying elms of the early autumn; but the sight of old Denham, with Solomon at his heels, put aside all thought of gloom.

Denham was pacing up and down the platform swinging his arms back and forth briskly to ward off the cold. Solomon paced with him, alert and expectant.

Miss Clyde had not ventured to the station because of the cold; but she and Grandmother were at the parlor window when the carriage drove up, watching for the visitors.

It was, as always, a happy home-coming. There was no gloom inside the stately old house. Cheerful fires blazed on the hearths, the little brass kettle steamed and sang on the tea-table, and Grandmother's eyes shone with joy. She held Blue Bonnet in a close embrace, while she scanned her face for any change that five weeks might have brought there.

"Why, how well you look, dear," she said, turning her to the light. "How very well! You are as plump as can be. You have rounded out wonderfully."

Blue Bonnet laughed and patted her Grandmother's cheek affectionately.

"Yes, that's the only difficulty, Grandmother. Boarding-school has a tendency to round people out—too much! I wish you could see Wee Watts—one of the girls. She's huge! Poor Wee, she hates it so."

Mrs. Clyde was small and thin, and she never could understand why any one objected to being stout. In her eyes flesh was becoming.

Nor was Carita forgotten. She shared with Blue Bonnet in Grandmother's caresses and attention. Mrs. Clyde's warm heart went out to the slender, pale young girl, so far from her own relatives and friends.

Miss Clyde was busy serving tea, but she cast covert glances in Blue Bonnet's direction. There was something beside the "rounding out" that interested her. There was a different air, a decided improvement in her niece. What was it? Not poise—yet! It was too soon to expect that.

Blue Bonnet and Carita chatted as they drank their tea.

Miss Clyde listened attentively. Yes, there was a change. Blue Bonnet was growing up. But what made such a difference? Suddenly she knew! It was Blue Bonnet's hair. It was put up.

"How long have you been putting up your hair, Blue Bonnet?" she asked.

Blue Bonnet started and colored.

"Not so very long, Aunt Lucinda. The girls made so much fun of hair-ribbons—the girls I go with. They thought I was much too old to wear them, and after I took them off, it was so hard to go back to them again. Don't you like it this way? The girls liked it parted. They said—they seemed to think my nose suited it."

Aunt Lucinda could not resist a smile. She hesitated before she spoke—she was eminently truthful. Much as she disliked the idea of Blue Bonnet's putting up her hair, she could not deny the becomingness of it.

"It's very pretty," she said slowly. "I don't think you need to cover your ears so completely, do you? The style is too old for you, though. You look—much older."

Blue Bonnet drew a sigh of relief. This was so mild to what she had expected. She glanced in Grandmother's direction.

There was a far-away expression in Mrs. Clyde's eyes, as if she were looking beyond Blue Bonnet—back into the shadowy past. She was: Blue Bonnet with her brown hair coiled low, curling about her neck and brow, was her mother over again—a perfect replica.

Miss Clyde noticed it, also, and when Blue Bonnet and Carita went up-stairs she spoke of it.

"How Blue Bonnet grows to resemble her mother. Do you remember, Elizabeth wore her hair that way when she first began putting it up? The child grows to be more of a Clyde every day."

"We're going out to see Chula," Blue Bonnet announced, coming back after she had put her things away.

"Chula? Why, dear, didn't Aunt Lucinda write you that Chula is out at pasture? She was eating her head off in the barn, and with no one to exercise her—"

Blue Bonnet looked disappointed.

"Of course," she said, "she must have just gorged. I can quite fancy; but I did want to see her."

She laid the apples she had begged from Katie on the tea-table.

"Suppose you take Solomon for a run over to the General's," Mrs. Clyde suggested. "Alec is at home. You must make the best of your visit; he is leaving on Monday."

"Where's he going?"

"To Washington, to school. He prepares there for West Point. He has a trying period before him, and much hard work. Be sure to put on rubbers and big coats. It is very cold to-day."

Blue Bonnet and Carita were off in a trice.

Alec met them at the stile.

"Was just coming over to see you," he said, shaking hands.

"All right. We'll go back."

"No, come along. Grandfather is expecting this visit."

The General was comfortably ensconced before the fire. He greeted the girls with real delight. Blue Bonnet was one of his special favorites.

It was dinner-time before Blue Bonnet had finished with half her news of school, and she seemed surprised when she looked at her watch.

"Oh, my, we must run," she said, flying out the door and pulling Carita after her. "Aunt Lucinda will be serving dinner. Come over, Alec—to-night if you can."

"Perhaps," he called after her. "I'm up to my ears in work just now. Preparing for the Point's no joke, you know."

Aunt Lucinda was serving dinner, and the girls scrambled into their places hastily.

"I wish we could see the We Are Sevens to-night," Blue Bonnet said as she began the meal. "It seems like a year since I last saw them. Sometimes I can hardly remember how they look."

"You will have plenty of time to refresh your memory," Miss Clyde promised. "They have planned for every hour of your visit—almost."

After dinner there was a cosy chat around the fire. There was so much that Aunt Lucinda and Grandmother wanted to know about the school, and so much to tell.

About eight o'clock there was a terrific pull at the door bell—then another—and still another!

Blue Bonnet looked startled. Then she jumped up from her chair.

"It's the We Are Sevens," she said. "I know it is! I'll go."

She opened the door to admit—not only the We Are Sevens, but a number of the We Are Sevens' friends, boys, mostly—Alec in the lead.

"Oh, it's a party! A surprise party! Come quick, Carita."

There was a great stamping of snow from many pairs of feet, glad greetings of welcome, mingled with shouts of laughter. The old house rang with merriment.

Mrs. Clyde and her daughter did not act as if they were greatly surprised. Indeed they had been taken into the secret some days before. So had Katie, who at that moment was preparing all sorts of good things in the kitchen, to be served the young people later.

Blue Bonnet gave each of the We Are Sevens an extra hug, and looked into their faces long and eagerly.

"Why, you haven't changed a bit!" she remarked.

One might have thought the separation had covered five years, rather than five weeks.

"But you have, Blue Bonnet—lots! What is it?" Kitty asked.

"It's her hair," Debby discovered. "She's put it up! And her dresses are longer, too."

There was a general inspection, during which the boys looked on disinterestedly.

The evening passed like a dream to Blue Bonnet. It was so good to be at home again, among one's friends; people who loved you for yourself.

"Haven't we had a heavenly time to-night, Carita," Blue Bonnet asked between yawns, after they had retired. "Didn't Kitty Clark look pretty? I'm going to get after her hair to-morrow and do it like mine. Won't it be sweet? She has such loads."

By noon the next day, each of the We Are Sevens were wearing their locks parted, and coiled in a knot—regardless of the adaptability of noses.

Saturday was quite as busy as Friday had been. There was another gathering at Alec's in the evening; a farewell party, for very soon Woodford was to know Alec no more.

The General seemed a bit sad as he watched the young people in their frolics. He was facing a long separation from his grandson: the old home was going to be very lonely without him. Many times he had wished that Boyd Trent's record would permit of his bringing him back again, but fresh grievances had followed in Boyd's wake, and reports of him were disappointing in the extreme. And yet the General was happy—very happy. Alec's health had been restored, and he had his appointment; two things for which the General was devoutly thankful.

Sunday there was the service in the little church. Blue Bonnet did not have to be urged to go as on that first occasion. She and Carita were dressed and waiting when Denham drove round, exactly at a quarter before eleven, as he had been in the habit of doing for almost a quarter of a century.

"That was a very nice sermon," Blue Bonnet remarked on the way home. "I think Doctor Blake is growing. Don't you, Aunt Lucinda?"

Miss Clyde smiled.

"Or Blue Bonnet is," she said quickly.

"Perhaps that is it, Aunt Lucinda. Anyway he's more interesting."

* * * * *

It was five o'clock on the Friday afternoon that Blue Bonnet and Carita had left for Woodford, that Joy Cross entered the room which she and Blue Bonnet occupied jointly. She glanced about, a look closely akin to joy lighting her plain features. Joy Cross was a recluse by nature, and the thought of having the room solely to herself for three days gave her infinite pleasure.

She laid an armful of books on the table by the window, then drew up a comfortable chair and sat for awhile looking out into the gathering twilight. The pleased expression which she had worn when she entered the room gradually died from her face, and in its place came one of discontent.

Between Blue Bonnet Ashe and Joy Cross there was no love lost. They disliked each other with the utmost cordiality. Blue Bonnet disliked Joy on general principles—possibly because she could not approach her, understand her; and Joy disliked Blue Bonnet because Blue Bonnet stood for everything that she herself wanted to stand for, and couldn't.

This evening as she sat looking out into the dusk, her figure, usually so apathetic and lifeless, took on an animated line, and stiffened into something that suggested a smothered, half-dead temperament breathing into life. She took her arms from the back of her neck, where they had been supporting her head, and digging her elbows into her knees made a place for her chin to rest in the palms of her hands. She sat this way for a long time, thinking, and her thoughts, for the most part, were occupied with her room-mate.

She wished she could get rid of her—be alone. She was tired of the running in of the girls who had taken Blue Bonnet up; their incessant gabble; their whispered conversations during the visiting hour. To be sure, Blue Bonnet had tried, time and time again, to draw her into these conversations, but she had no desire to be drawn in. She hated Annabel Jackson—the little snob—and Ruth Biddle's impertinences were beyond endurance. These girls had snubbed her since her entrance as a Sophomore, three years before, leaving her out of their festivities,—ignoring, scorning her, just as on the other hand they had taken up this new room-mate, deluging her with devotion, showering their gifts and attentions upon her.

Joy Cross was a scholar—so reputed, and justly; but one of life's most important lessons had passed her by. She had never learned that to receive, one must give; to be loved, one must love; to attain, one must reach out. It never occurred to her to weigh her own shortcomings and throw them into the balance with those of her enemies. She spent no time in introspection, self examination. She set a high standard on her own virtues, and, like most persons of this character, was oblivious to her faults.

Her three years in the school had been marked by no serious difficulties. She had been able to hide most of the unpleasant things in her nature, by her very aloofness. She had no close friends. She was judged by her work, her attention to duty, her obedience to rules; all of which were apparently beyond criticism. Her teachers, though they respected her, never grew fond of her. She led her classes through assiduous application, rather than brilliancy of mind.

She was an omnivorous reader. The only rule she ever thought of breaking, was to rise in the dead of night, when the house was still, and taking a secreted candle, lock herself in the bathroom—which had an outside window to give back no tell-tale reflection—and read until the dawn.

She changed her position after awhile, and getting up went to the door and locked it, listening for footsteps down the hall. None passed, evidently, for she went over to her bed and turning back the mattress brought out a book which had been carefully hidden. Then she drew up the comfortable chair again, placing it by a table which stood near Blue Bonnet's bureau. Adjusting the reading lamp to a proper angle, she was soon lost in the book, the leaves of which she turned with eager haste.

She had been reading but a short time when a knock at the door startled her. Reaching over, she pulled out one of Blue Bonnet's bureau drawers stealthily, and laid the book inside, carefully covering it with some underwear. Then she opened the door.

Miss Martin, assistant to the house-mother, stood outside.

"I began to think you were not here, Miss Cross," she said. "May I come in?"

Joy opened the door.

"I was busy," she answered, dropping her eyes. "I came as quickly as I could."

Miss Martin was not long in making her business known.

"I am inspecting drawers, and I am late to-day. Things seem to have piled up so this week. Shall I begin with yours? It is quite unnecessary; they are always immaculate—but rules are rules."

She smiled pleasantly, and glancing through the drawers found them neat and orderly. She then turned to Blue Bonnet's bureau.

Under the usual pallor of Joy Cross's face a dull red mounted, dying out quickly, leaving it whiter than before.

"Miss Ashe is away, isn't she? Gone home for the week-end. She seems to be an unusually sweet, attractive girl—so unaffected and genuine. You must count yourself very lucky, Miss Cross—Why, what is this?"

She drew from its hiding-place the book that had been placed there only a moment before, and held it closer to the light.

"To whom does this belong, Miss Cross, do you know? I am amazed to find such a book in this room. French literature of this kind is expressly forbidden."

Joy shook her head slowly. Her lips refused to speak.

"You have never seen it before?"

Again the head shook slowly.

"Have you seen Miss Ashe reading it at any time?"

"No, Miss Martin."

"This is her drawer, is it not?"

"Yes—it is her drawer."

Miss Martin finished the inspection of the bureau rather hurriedly, and book in hand, left the room.

Joy went over to the window and stood looking out. The color had come back into her face, but her hand trembled as she put it up to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

She had not really meant to incriminate Blue Bonnet Ashe, but circumstances were against her. It had all happened so quickly—she hadn't had time to think clearly. There had been but one thought in her mind; she, a Senior, could not afford to be found with a book of that character in her possession. It might mean defeat after three years' struggle—struggle to graduate with the highest honor. She had been cheated out of so much in Miss North's school—that should not escape her, now! No, her record must go on, clear to the end.

She took a few steps round the room and then came back to the window. She was frightened. Her heart beat like a trip hammer and her face was hot, burning, as if with fever. She threw the window open and let the cold air fan her face—her hot hands. What should she do? What could she do, without bringing down upon herself the gravest consequences?

A Senior in Miss North's school stood for something—was supposed to stand for all that was honorable, above board. She was trusted, looked up to—privileged. Anything that touched her honor touched the school,—lowered the standard of the class. A Senior stood as an example—a pattern for juniors and younger girls, and she ... well, she had blundered—terribly! If it became known that she was the owner of the book—that she had lied to Miss Martin—

Visions of her father—old, silent, unforgiving—passed before her eyes; her mother—patient, long-suffering—who had made one sacrifice after another to keep her in this school, far beyond her means. The vision of those faces settled Joy's mind—made a coward of her. Her disgrace should not touch them. She would not acknowledge the book, no matter what came! Blue Bonnet Ashe could disclaim any knowledge of it. She was innocent—could prove that she was. If she, herself, kept still, the storm would soon blow over. No one could prove the book was hers. No one had seen it in her possession. She could not explain—now. She had incriminated herself by telling an untruth. A lie, in the eyes of Miss North, was a serious offence, and in a Senior—intolerable—unforgivable—a malicious, willful lie that injured another....

The gong sounded for dinner. Joy hesitated. She hated to meet Miss Martin, at whose table she sat. She thought she would not go to dinner. On second thought she knew she must—that she was in a difficult position and must play the game to the end.

She went into the bathroom and bathed her flushed face in cold water, straightened her tumbled hair, resumed her usual attitude of indifference to the world in general, and going down to the dining-room slipped into her place quietly.



CHAPTER X

UNDER A CLOUD

Directly across the hall from Blue Bonnet Ashe roomed two girls—Angela Dare and Patricia Payne, the latter better known to her schoolmates as "Patty."

Angela Dare was the pride and hope of the school. She was unusually gifted in English, and gave promise of doing something brilliant in verse. She had the face and temperament of a poet—even the name—if names count for anything; for, as Ruth Biddle once said, "a lovely poem wouldn't look half so good with Susie Simpkins signed to it as Angela Dare!"

Angela had large blue eyes, as serene as a summer's day, and oddly translucent. Her head with its crown of yellow hair was charming in contour, and her face, ivory in coloring, gave her an ethereal, lily-like appearance, distinctive and unusual. She lived in a world of her own, which was satisfying and all absorbing.

It was Deborah Watts, practical and efficient, who one day found Angela in the heart of the Boston shopping district, wending her way through the busy throng, eyes heavenward, her gaze transfixed and rapturous.

"Angela—Angela Dare!" Deborah Watts said, "what are you doing? You'll be killed in all this traffic. Look where you're going. Have you any money? Do you know where you are?"

To all of these questions Angela shook her head in a dazed fashion and burst into tears, because Deborah had spoiled a poem upon which she had been working for hours.

"I almost had it, Deborah, and it was so good. Quite the best thing I've done this year. It went like this:"

Again the gaze sought the skies but the lips faltered.

"Oh, Deborah; now see what you've done! I can't get it! I never shall be able to again—not just that way, and it was so pretty—a sonnet. The lines were in three quatrains and a couplet, with the climax in the octave—you—oh, I'm so annoyed at you."

And it is recorded that the next minute Angela was steeped in regret—- not for the lost verse, but because of her ingratitude and rudeness to Wee, by which it will be seen that she had all the eccentricity of genius, combined with rare kindness of heart, a combination that endeared her to teachers and pupils.

Patty Payne was Angela's balance wheel—a rudder that safely steered her through tides and winds. Patty was the complement of Angela; a perfect foil in every way. To begin with, Patty was dark. She had snapping black eyes that could grow as soft and luminous as stars under the right conditions. She had cheeks like a winter apple, so soft and ruddy were they, and she was the president of the athletic association. She adored Angela in a splendid wholesome way; respecting her talent, her amiability, her spiritual nature—qualities negligible in Patty's own make up.

Angela's and Patty's room was known, for some reason, possibly because of Angela's name and temperament, as the "Angel's Retreat."

It was in the "Angel's Retreat" at four-thirty o'clock in the afternoon after Blue Bonnet's return from Woodford, that a number of girls were gathered. The room was filled with them. They sat on the bed, on the couch, on the floor, and the topic of conversation was personal characteristics.

Sincerity had been discussed; truthfulness disposed of; jealousy and temper aired to the satisfaction of all, and courage was now under discussion.

"I haven't very many virtues," Deborah Watts was saying, trying to assume a modest attitude, and failing; "but I think I am fairly courageous—that is, I meet big things rather well: sickness and accidents and—"

"You don't look as if you'd ever been sick in your life," Blue Bonnet said.

"I haven't," Wee admitted, "but I have absolutely no fear of it—"

"Were you ever in an accident?" Patty inquired.

"No, I can't say that I ever was—but—what I mean is, I am not nervous. I haven't any fear of things happening when I'm riding, or train wrecks or—"

"How about a mouse?" Sue Hemphill inquired. "You said the other night—"

Wee stiffened perceptibly.

"Oh, how absurd, Sue—a mouse! Nobody is afraid of a mouse—really afraid—they're just so horrid, that's all. They're such squirmy things—ugh! No, what I mean is—I guess I'm not very clear, but I hardly know what fear is. I'm never afraid of being out nights—"

"I'm not either," Angela Dare said, "that is, not if my muse is along. I'm so absorbed—"

A laugh went round the room. Angela's muse was the signal for merriment.

"I think intuition is my long suit," Annabel Jackson said. "Sometimes it's perfectly uncanny. I can almost read people's thoughts and know what they are going to say and do."

"How?" Sue inquired.

"Oh, I don't know how. No one can account for those things."

"I thought you might help Mary Boyd—she's short on intuition—just at present."

"What's Mary done now?" a half dozen voices inquired.

Sue laughed.

"Mary's furious," she said. "She's preparing for one of her monthly flights to Chicago. She's packing up."

The girls roared with laughter. Mary's flights home were too funny. She packed up several times a month, but she never got as far as the station.

"What's the matter this time?"

"Same old story. Fraulein! I think it is a shame those children have to have her all the time. She's ruining their dispositions. They all just hate her."

"What did Mary do, Sue?"

It was Blue Bonnet who asked this time.

"Oh, you'll have to get the particulars from her. It's as good as a vaudeville stunt to hear Mary tell it. They were having an orgy of some kind last night—"

"Was Carita in it?" Blue Bonnet asked rising, all the anxiety of a mother hen for a lost chicken in her attitude.

"I think she was. There was a room full."

Blue Bonnet started for the door.

"I must go and see," she said. "I hope Carita isn't in trouble."

"Come back again," the girls called after her. "We've something to discuss later."

Mary's room was in a state of confusion. In a corner Carita sat, weeping softly.

"Mary's going home," she said, and a sob shook her. "She says she's going to-night. Oh, I'll miss her so, Blue Bonnet."

"Going home?"

Blue Bonnet turned to Mary.

"Well, I should say I am," Mary announced, dragging out one garment after another from her closet. "I wouldn't stay in this school another day for anybody. Fraulein has acted perfectly outrageously. I think she's crazy!"

Blue Bonnet stared in amazement.

"What's she done, Mary?"

"Done! Well, she's done enough to drive me out of this school—that's all!"

She pounded a cork in a bottle of hair tonic she was getting ready to pack. The cork refused to stay in the bottle. Mary gave it another jab—the bottle broke and the contents spilled over the dresser. She tried to rescue an ivory-handled brush and mirror, but it was too late.

"There," she cried, the tears springing to her eyes; "see what I've done—perfectly ruined Peggy Austin's brush! Well, she shouldn't have left it in here."

Blue Bonnet took the brush and tried to wipe off the spots. She pushed Mary into a chair and drew one up for herself.

"Now," she said, "tell me all about it. What has Fraulein done?"

At first Mary was silent.

"Tell me," urged Blue Bonnet.

"Well, we were having a party in here last night—a sort of feast. It was Peggy's birthday and her mother sent her a box. Peggy's room is so near Fraulein's she never can have anything there, so we had it here. We waited till all the lights were out, and it was as still as could be. We were having a dandy time, when Peggy said she'd forgotten a box of candy in her room and went to get it. We waited for her, and after a while there was a knock on the door—just a little timid knock, as if Peggy were trying to fool us. She knew a knock like that would scare us to death, so we thought we'd fool her. I happened to have a pitcher of water on the stand there, so we opened the door a little way—it was pitch dark—and let her have it, full force!"

"Well?"

"Well—it wasn't Peggy—it was Fraulein! Didn't you hear her scream? It was enough to wake the dead. Miss North came running and Miss Martin—she's on this floor too, now, and—"

Carita's grief had suddenly turned to mirth. She rocked back and forth in her chair shaking with laughter.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet, you couldn't have helped laughing to save you—it was perfectly killing. Fraulein was so angry she just tore round. She threatened to have us all expelled—disgraced—everything you could think of! At least we took it for that—it was all in German—every word."

"And Miss North has taken away all my privileges for two weeks—two whole weeks! That means that I can't go to the party the girls are getting up for the twenty-second, or anything, and I'm just not going to stand it. I'm going home! You see if I don't—this time!"

She got up and began hauling more things from the closet.

"No, you're not," Blue Bonnet said gently, putting her arm round her. "You're not going to do anything of the kind, you know you're not. You'd be ashamed to. It would look as if you were afraid to face the music—and you can—you must!"

It was Mary's turn to look amazed.

"That's not why I'm going," she said. "I'm not afraid of punishment."

"That's the way it would look."

"I don't care how it would look. I wouldn't be here to see anyway."

"Then you haven't any pride."

"I guess I have as much pride as you have, or any one else!"

"Not if you're going to run away, you haven't. Besides, I can't blame Fraulein so very much for being angry. It isn't so funny to be drenched like that. She was doing her duty, wasn't she?"

"Oh, she's always snooping round, if that's what you mean. Get her on your own hall for awhile and see how you like it."

"I shouldn't like it. Not at all; but that's not the point."

"What is the point?"

"That you've made a mistake and you aren't big enough to take the blame. My uncle says that making a mistake isn't such a very grave thing in itself, it's human nature. The trouble comes in not trying to correct it."

Mary looked out of the window, a frown on her face.

"You'd better not be so preachy," she said. "Everybody hates a goody-goody—here!"

Blue Bonnet laughed.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll never be called that by any one who knows me! I've done nothing but make mistakes and get in hot water all my life. Wasn't I doing penance last week myself?"

"Then I should think you would know how other people feel."

"I do. That's why I'm trying to advise you. I reckon it's a mighty selfish way to look at it, Mary, but you'll be a heap happier yourself to do the square thing. It gives you such a comfy sort of feeling."

"I'm perfectly comfortable now," Mary said obstinately. "I wish it had been a hose instead of a little pitcher—"

Blue Bonnet put her hand over Mary's mouth and gave her a little hug.

"You don't wish anything of the kind. You're angry. When people are angry they aren't responsible. I'm going to tell you something I did last summer to one of my very best friends when I was angry."

She told Mary of how she had almost let Kitty Clark drown in the swimming pool of the Texas stream; how Kitty had cut her head on the rock, and of the consternation that followed.

Mary listened almost unbelievingly.

"You did—that, Blue Bonnet?"

"I did, Mary, and it was a dear lesson. I've had a line on my temper ever since—sometimes it gets away, for a while, but not so often. Now come on, be a thoroughbred! Go and talk to Fraulein."

Mary shrank away protesting.

Blue Bonnet shrugged her shoulders and started to pick up the room.

"All right, Mary, if you've got a damp cotton cord for a back bone—"

Mary got up out of her chair instantly.

"That's something I haven't got. I'll just show you, Miss Blue Bonnet Ashe."

She flew out of the room and Carita ran to the door to watch her.

"She's knocking on Fraulein's door, as sure as you live," she announced, coming back.

"Of course," Blue Bonnet said, hanging a couple of dresses back in the closet. "Mary's all right. She doesn't mean half she says."

A few of the girls were waiting for Blue Bonnet in the "Angel's Retreat."

"Hurry up," Ruth Biddle said, as she entered the room. "We've a lot to say to you—too much for ten minutes."

"Go ahead, then, I'm listening."

"You are about to have a great honor conferred upon you," Ruth continued.

"'Some achieve greatness—some have it thrust upon them,'" Blue Bonnet quoted. "This is the thrusting kind, I suppose—"

"We want you to join our club, Blue Bonnet," Annabel said. "We haven't time to be frivolous. I have a lesson in exactly seven minutes with Mrs. White. Will you?"

Blue Bonnet looked stunned.

"A club!" she said. "What kind of a club?"

"Oh, just a club—something like a sorority. I'm the president, if that's any inducement."

"It certainly would be, Annabel, but—you see I belong to one club—a little one in Woodford. I don't know how the girls would feel about my joining another."

"You won't be in Woodford much from now on," Annabel said. "You'd better take the 'good the gods provide,'—it's some club!"

"I don't doubt that—but—what do you do?"

"We don't give our private affairs to the public," Sue said, laughing to take the edge off the rather bald statement. "Do you, in your club?"

"Well—there isn't much to tell."

"There is, in ours. We have a serious purpose—sometimes."

"Who's in it?"

Ruth counted on her fingers.

"Annabel, Sue, Wee, Angela and Patty—myself, of course, and you, if you'll come."

"Why, it would be another We Are Sevens," Blue Bonnet said. "That's the name of our club. Isn't that odd?"

"Sleep over it, Blue Bonnet, and let us know to-morrow. It'll keep," Wee Watts suggested.

"All right, suppose I do. I'll try to let you know to-morrow if I can. I'd really like to write to the girls—"

A knock at the door interrupted the sentence.

"Is Miss Ashe here?" Martha inquired. "If she is, Miss North would like to see her in the office."

"Mercy, how popular some people are!" Ruth remarked. "What is it, Blue Bonnet? More trouble?"

"Not this time," Blue Bonnet said, her head up, her eyes shining. "My conscience is clear anyway."

Miss North, as usual, was busy. She motioned Blue Bonnet to a chair and went on with her work. When she had finished, she unlocked a drawer in her desk and taking out a book, handed it to Blue Bonnet.

"Is this your property, Miss Ashe?" she inquired.

Blue Bonnet took the book, opened it, looked it over from cover to cover and handed it back.

"No," she said, "it isn't mine. It's French. I couldn't translate it."

"You are quite sure that it is not your book, or one that you borrowed?"

Blue Bonnet glanced at the book again.

"Perfectly sure, Miss North. I never saw it before."

"That is very strange, Miss Ashe. The book was found in your drawer while you were at home for the week-end. Miss Martin found it covered with some underwear."

The puzzled expression on Blue Bonnet's face would have cleared her in any court of justice; but Miss North had dealt with consummate actresses in her time. She was on her guard.

Blue Bonnet took the book again in her hands and turned over a few leaves, her face still surprised and bewildered.

"In my drawer! Who do you suppose could have put it there?"

She looked Miss North clearly in the eyes.

"That is what I am trying to find out. It is the kind of book that is expressly forbidden in the school, Miss Ashe. This is a very serious matter."

Blue Bonnet laid the book on the desk instantly, giving it a little push as if contaminated by the touch.

"And you think, Miss North, that I would have a book like that in my drawer?"

"I should not like to think it, Miss Ashe, but—"

Blue Bonnet did not let her finish the sentence.

"Doesn't my word count for anything? I am in the habit of telling the truth."

Miss North hesitated. She believed the girl innocent, but she had had so many experiences—boarding-school was a hotbed for them, she sometimes thought. Her position was a trying one.

"I want to believe that you are telling the truth. Miss Ashe, but—I am sorry to say that I have known girls, who thought they were truthful, to dissemble—to—"

"I am not one of those girls, Miss North. I give you my word of honor that I never saw that book, or one like it, in my life, until this minute. That is all I can say—you may believe me or not."

She started to leave the room, her head held a trifle higher than usual, her eyes bright and snapping.

"One moment, Miss Ashe. There is no need for anger. This, as I stated before, is a serious matter. It is possible that the girl who brought this book into the school did not realize its full import; its true significance. No girl could read it without taking away much of the bloom that it is our privilege to guard and preserve. Even I, at middle age, should find this book—obnoxious."

"And you think that I would secrete a book of that kind in my drawer? That I would touch it any more than you would?"

Blue Bonnet's eyes were appealing now, almost pathetic in their mute inquiry.

"Do you know of any one who would be likely to put the book in your drawer, Miss Ashe?"

Miss North had ignored Blue Bonnet's question for a moment.

"No, Miss North, I do not. I don't believe any of the girls I know would have done it."

"Very well. You may go now. The matter will be thoroughly investigated."

"And in the meantime I remain under suspicion?"

Blue Bonnet looked as if she had been struck a blow. It was the first time in her life that her word had ever been doubted in the slightest particular. She had a great reverence for the truth. It was an inheritance. "Straight and true like an Ashe, Honey"—the words rang in her ears now—would always—like an armor they wrapped themselves about her—protected her....

"We have many of us rested under an injustice, Miss Ashe, but right always triumphs. I am old fashioned enough to believe that. The matter will be sifted to the bottom."

Blue Bonnet went up to her room feeling that a cloud had settled upon her—a cloud black and ominous.

Joy Cross sat in her accustomed seat by the window, reading. She did not glance up as Blue Bonnet entered, but, if anything, turned her face farther away.

Blue Bonnet sat down listlessly. Her first thought was to question Joy in regard to the book, but she hated to mention it; to have any one know that she was mixed up in such an unsavory affair. Who could have done such a thing—such a contemptible, cowardly thing? Who, in school, disliked her enough to put her in such a position? How had it happened?

Round and round in a groove went her thoughts, bringing no solution. She got up after a while, and opening her top bureau drawer, took out a small box safely guarded in one corner. From the box she drew a miniature which she gazed at long and tenderly.

Joy Cross put away her book and left the room.

Blue Bonnet took the miniature to the light. Her throat ached with the sobs that she had suppressed in Joy's presence. Now the torrent broke.

"Oh, Mother, Mother!" she cried, sinking into a chair, "why can't I have you to tell me what to do?—why did you have to leave me when I needed you so?—other girls have mothers—fathers, too—"

So violent was her grief that she did not hear the door open softly, nor see the gentle, sweet-faced woman who came swiftly toward her and knelt beside her.

"Why, Miss Ashe! Blue Bonnet, dear—what is all this about? What is the matter? Can I help you?"

The girl raised her face and struggled with her tears.

"I just wanted my mother—for a minute," she said slowly. "Sometimes I need her so—want her—nobody knows how much! I suppose girls never do get used to being without a mother, do they, Mrs. White—no matter how kind and dear one's friends and relatives may be?"

"Couldn't you tell me what the trouble is? Perhaps I could help you?"

Blue Bonnet shook her head.

Mrs. White lifted the girl's wet face and held it between her cool, firm hands.

"Did you know," she said after a moment, "that I was a mother once—for ever so short a while—a little daughter, dear. She would have been almost your age if she had been spared to me. I, too, know how terrible death is—how it robs us—"

"Oh, were you—were you?" Blue Bonnet cried, her own sorrow for the moment forgotten in another's grief. "It must have been awful to give her up—awful! I'm so sorry."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Blue Bonnet thrust the miniature into Mrs. White's hands.

"Did I ever show you this? It's my mother. I got it last year on my sixteenth birthday. I love it better than anything in the world."

Mrs. White gazed at the likeness for some minutes.

"It is a lovely face," she said, handing it back. "A lovely face—better than lovely—womanly. One feels the spirit back of it. When you are lonely again, think what a gift such a mother has been. What a privilege to follow in her footsteps—carry out her hopes of you—her ideals."

She was gone, her own cup overflowing, before Blue Bonnet could reply. Just before the gong sounded for dinner she came back for a moment, smiling and serene.

"I brought you this," she said. "I tore it off my calendar a few moments ago. It has a little message for you. Let's pin it up here in your mirror for a day or two, so you will see it every time you dress."

And over Mrs. White's shoulder Blue Bonnet read:

"Life is mostly froth and bubble, One thing stands like stone: Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in one's own."

Under the "courage in one's own," a faint line had been drawn.



CHAPTER XI

THE CLOUD LIFTS

"What's the matter with Blue Bonnet?" Annabel Jackson asked Sue Hemphill. "She looks sick—or worried to death. What's happened?"

"I don't know," Sue said, shrugging her shoulders. "I thought myself she looked awfully upset this morning, but when I asked her if anything was wrong, she said—I can't remember what she did say—but I took it that she wasn't going to tell, if there was."

"There's something the matter. That look she's got on her face doesn't spell happiness—not by a long ways."

"Why don't you use your Sherlock Holmes talent on her," Sue inquired flippantly.

"My what, Sue?"

"This intuition business you were telling us about yesterday. You said you could read people's thoughts."

"I didn't say I was a mind reader, did I?"

"Well—something like that."

"Oh, Sue, how perfectly ridiculous! Tell that to one or two more and I'll be a spiritualistic medium holding seances in my room."

Sue laughed, starting the dimples dancing in her cheeks. Those dimples saved Sue many a scolding. They defended her sharp tongue—exonerated malice. They pointed like a hand on a sign post to mirth and pure good nature. "You can't be angry with Sue when those dimples pop out," more than one girl had said.

The morning had been a trying one for Blue Bonnet. She had great difficulty in keeping her mind on her studies. Even Professor Howe had to ask for closer attention—an unheard of thing.

"Are you ill, Miss Ashe?" she had asked, calling Blue Bonnet to the desk after the class adjourned. "You don't look well. Better go up and show your tongue to Mrs. Goodwin or Miss Martin."

"It isn't my tongue—that is—I'm not at all ill, thank you, Professor Howe," Blue Bonnet replied absently.

She passed on to her Latin class, a little droop in her usually straight shoulders showing listlessness. She sat down by Wee Watts and opened her book, but her gaze wandered to the window.

"You may translate, Miss Ashe," Miss Attridge said for the second time and Blue Bonnet did not hear.

A titter went round the room. Blue Bonnet's gaze rested on the housetops. She was miles and miles away from the small recitation room.

"Come, Miss Ashe, the third oration, please; begin where Miss Watts left off—Cicero attacks Catiline, saying:"

Blue Bonnet came back with a start, and with Wee's assistance found the line.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Attridge. Where Deborah left off, you say?"

It was the same with French and with Algebra. Blue Bonnet's mind was busy with but one theme—one thought—that revolved round and round again, hemming her in with despair: Who had secreted the book in her drawer? To whom did it belong? How could she establish her innocence?

"Cheer up, cheer up," Sue Hemphill said, as she passed Blue Bonnet in the hall after lunch. Sue was executing a fancy step down the hall and her whole manner betokened the utmost excitement.

"You look cheerful enough for all of us, Sue," Blue Bonnet answered. "What's happened to you?"

"Billy's coming—going to be here for dinner; so is his room-mate, Hammie McVickar."

"Hammie! What a funny name!"

"Hamilton! Funny little chap, too. Wait till you see him."

Sue giggled as she pirouetted back and forth.

"Decided about the club yet, Blue Bonnet?"

"Not yet," Blue Bonnet said. She wondered if her face betrayed lack of interest. The thought of the club had entirely passed out of her mind.

"What do you call this club, Sue?"

Sue took a whirl and a glide and stopped at Blue Bonnet's side.

"The Ancient Order of Lambs," she said, and darted off again.

Blue Bonnet ran after her and brought her to a standstill.

"Sue! tell me. What is it?"

"That's it, of course. Why not?"

"The Ancient Order of Lambs! Really?"

"Really.

"We amble and we gamble, We frolic and we bleat; Something new in lambkins Rather hard to beat!"

"Dear me, is that from Angela's pen?"

"Angela! Mercy, I should hope not! Angela doesn't write doggerel—she writes verse."

"Oh, I beg your pardon," Blue Bonnet said meekly.

"Blue Bonnet, you'd make such a love of a lamb. Do join us."

"I reckon I would," she said, her natural humor coming to the surface. "I'm always being led to slaughter—if that helps any. I can't say I'm a willing sacrifice, however."

"You'll do," Sue said, taking up the step again. "I'll tell the girls you've about made up your mind—and—Blue Bonnet, come here, listen! Put on that white dress to-night; the one with the pink under it, will you? I want you to meet Billy and Hammie, if I can arrange it. Don't forget!"

The day wore on wearily. Blue Bonnet had seen nothing of Miss North; no word came from the office.

At five o'clock she started to dress for dinner. She got out the white dress half heartedly. Only because she wanted to please Sue did she consider it at all.

She tried to talk with Joy as she dressed, but Joy was unusually silent. Her monosyllables were low and indistinct. Twice Blue Bonnet turned to catch a word and Joy's face startled her: it was white and lifeless, almost expressionless save for the eyes—they were troubled.

"Are you ill, Joy?" Blue Bonnet asked kindly; but Joy turned her face away and answered "No," quickly.

Much to her surprise, Blue Bonnet found herself a guest at Miss North's table. She slipped into the place assigned her next to Annabel. In a moment Sue came in with her guests. They found their places just opposite.

As soon as she could gather courage after the introductions Blue Bonnet looked across the table at her neighbors. She remembered Sue's remark about Hammie McVickar, and laughed outright. Sue had said he was a "funny little chap." Perhaps he was, but he towered six feet two, if an inch; a magnificent, big, clean-limbed fellow with brown eyes and a nice face that attracted Blue Bonnet.

Billy was interesting, too. He was very much like Sue. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and dimples, less prominent than Sue's, showed when he laughed.

These young men showed none of Alec's embarrassment. They chatted and joked, making the best of their opportunity—they considered it such; indeed quite a lark to invade seminary walls.

Blue Bonnet learned before dinner was over that Billy was the illustrious half-back on the Harvard team; had contributed much to the game she had seen in the autumn; that Hammie McVickar also shared honors.

The meal passed all too quickly, and Annabel and Blue Bonnet left the dining-room reluctantly. They had barely reached the gymnasium for the half hour of dancing, when Sue caught up with them breathlessly.

"Come back," she called. "Miss North has given you permission to come to the reception-room and meet Billy and Hammie. Hurry, they can only stay a half hour."

It is needless to say the girls hurried, slowing down modestly before reaching the reception-room door.

It was a pleasant half hour. Blue Bonnet felt as if some one had lifted a curtain and given her a glimpse into another world. It was her first experience in entertaining college men. She enjoyed the good-natured banter—the give and take that passed between them; the college stories. She settled down in her chair and listened to the others talk; wide-eyed, keenly alert, but quiet as a mouse. Sue and Annabel kept up a chatter, and Billy and Hammie were entertaining in the extreme.

"Isn't Billy a dear?" Sue said, running into Blue Bonnet's room to say good night. "And isn't Hammie McVickar splendid? I think he's the best-looking man I know. Billy says he's a prince—the fellows at college all swear by him. So glad you could meet them. Good night. Sleep well."

Strange to say, Blue Bonnet did sleep well. She was worn out with the day's worry and anxiety; but she awoke the next morning with a depression that manifests itself even before the eyes open, sometimes.

"What is wrong with me?" she thought, and, in an instant, she knew. The book—the terrible book! Would she be able to straighten it all out to-day?

But another day was to pass, and yet another before the cloud lifted.

It was on the fourth day after the visit to Miss North's office that Blue Bonnet felt she could no longer endure the strain, and decided to take Annabel Jackson into her confidence. She had thought it all out carefully, and realized that she must unburden to some one. Carita was too young to be helpful—besides, she didn't wish to worry Carita.

"May I see you for a minute after school, Annabel?" she asked.

"Of course," Annabel answered. "I think it is about time you saw me—or somebody! You look as if you had the weight of the universe on your shoulders lately. Are you going to tell me what it is all about?"

"Yes."

"All right. Where shall I meet you?"

"In my room after the walk. Joy practises then. We can be alone."

Strictly on time, Annabel appeared at Blue Bonnet's door, was ushered in and the door locked.

Blue Bonnet laid the whole story before Annabel—all she knew of it.

Annabel listened attentively, her eyes narrowing occasionally, her breath coming quick and sharp. There was a dead silence when Blue Bonnet finished, and then Annabel jumped up from her seat and took a few turns about the room. She was thinking something over, Blue Bonnet knew.

"I think—I believe I have a clue. In fact I know I have. Leave this to me for a day or two. I wish you had come to me sooner. There was no need of your suffering like this. I think I know the young person—"

She stopped abruptly and stooping kissed Blue Bonnet lightly on the cheek. She came back after she had left the room and inquired quite casually where Joy Cross was practising at this hour.

"In number six, I think, Annabel. She used to, anyway."

"Thank you. I want to see her a minute."

In number six Joy Cross was pounding out an exercise. She looked up as Annabel opened the door and went on with her practising.

"May I speak with you a minute?" Annabel said.

Joy wheeled on her stool.

"For a minute," she said. "I'm busy."

"It will only take a minute, I fancy. When do you intend to acknowledge the book you hid in Blue Bonnet Ashe's drawer while she was away?"

The shock was so sudden—so unexpected—that Joy Cross grew faint. Every vestige of color died out of her face.

"I don't know what you mean," she said slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about, all right. Do you remember the day two weeks ago when we were out walking and stopped in that queer little book shop? One of the girls wanted to get her Quatre-vingt-treize. You went to another part of the shop—alone. I came up behind you—something had attracted my attention—you didn't see me. I heard you ask for the book—I will not mention the name. I saw the clerk hand it to you—give you your change. Saw the whole transaction with my own eyes! This is no hearsay."

Joy Cross turned round to the piano and hid her face in her hands.

"I haven't words to express my opinion of you, Joy Cross," Annabel went on. "A girl who would put another girl in the position you have put Blue Bonnet Ashe—as honest and innocent a girl as ever drew the breath of life. You're a coward—a miserable—"

Joy turned and threw out her hand beseechingly.

"Wait," she said, "please wait! I want to tell you. I'm all you say, perhaps—but—if you would only listen—"

Annabel had turned away impatiently.

"I didn't mean to hurt Blue Bonnet Ashe—please believe that, Annabel. It was all a mistake—an accident. I thought it would right itself, and I kept still. I did buy the book—I was reading it in my room; some one knocked at the door—I was sitting by Blue Bonnet's bureau—I reached over and laid it in her drawer—just until I opened the door. I meant to take it right out again—but—it was Miss Martin. She was inspecting drawers—she found the book—she—I—oh, can't you see how it was—how it all happened—so quickly? I couldn't think of anything but the disgrace. I wanted to save myself. I wouldn't have cared so much if I hadn't been a Senior. I thought it might keep me from graduating—from some of the honors that I have fought for. I never dreamed it would go so far. I thought—oh, I don't know what I thought—why I did it. I suppose I'm ruined utterly."

She burst into the wildest weeping. Tears sprang to Annabel's own eyes. She was a sympathetic girl. She wished she could bring herself to put her arm round Joy—to give her a word of encouragement—but she couldn't. There was something that repelled her in the convulsed form; the thin body with its narrow, heaving shoulders; the unattractive blond head.

"Well, there is only one thing to do now, of course you understand that, Joy. You must go to Miss North immediately."

Joy raised her head; her eyes wide with terror.

"Oh, no, not that! I can't do that. I can't! I can't!"

"You will," Annabel said sternly. "Stop that crying! Haven't you any nerve at all? You will go to Miss North at once! Immediately, do you understand? or I will. An innocent girl has suffered long enough."

Annabel had drawn herself up to her full height. Her cheeks blazed. She was a fair representative of her illustrious grandsire as she stood there, her fighting blood up.

"You understand? You go at once—this minute!"

Joy staggered to her feet. Annabel watched her as she started for the door; followed her as she crossed the building to her own room and paused.

Annabel paused too, but only for a second.

"Miss North is in her office at this hour," she said. "Go immediately"—and Joy went, her limbs almost refusing to bear her to the floor below.

What transpired in that office will never be known to any one save Miss North and Joy Cross. The gong had sounded for dinner before Joy emerged, white and silent, and neither she nor Miss North appeared at the evening meal.

Blue Bonnet felt better after she had confided in Annabel. She scarcely knew why, except that Annabel seemed to see a way out of the difficulty, and she had the reputation of being reliable and level headed.

With a lighter heart than she had known for several days, she dressed for dinner and entered the dining-room with a smile on her lips.

"Praise be!" Sue said, when Blue Bonnet laughed at one of her jokes. "I thought you had given up laughing, Blue Bonnet. You haven't even smiled since Tuesday. Coming down to the Gym to dance to-night?"

"I think I will. I've got to run up-stairs first and get a clean handkerchief."

She ran up-stairs lightly, and, entering her room, switched on the light. She started for the bureau, but the sight of her room-mate, stretched face downward on her bed, arrested and changed her course.

"Why, Joy," she said, "what on earth's the matter? Haven't you been to dinner?"

Joy Cross sat up. She was as pitiable a looking sight as one could imagine. Her face, always white and expressionless, was ashen, and she shook with nervousness.

Blue Bonnet was horrified at her appearance and started for the door to call Mrs. Goodwin or Miss Martin.

"Wait," Joy called, her eyes burning into Blue Bonnet's. "Wait!"

She pulled herself together, struggling for self control.

"I want to tell you—" the words came with painful effort—"I must tell you. I've been a coward long enough. I put that book in your drawer."

The utter hopelessness in the voice swept all thought of anger from Blue Bonnet's heart, and flooded it with pity. She could not find voice to speak for a moment.

"You, Joy? You! I can't believe it!"

A look of pride flashed over Joy's face. In that brief second she stood once more on her old ground—trusted, respected.

"I suppose not," she said dully, and the flush died from her face. "No one would have believed me so wicked! They don't know me as I am."

Tears welled in her eyes.

"Tell me about it, Joy, please. I know you didn't do it on purpose. You couldn't have. I never did anything to make you hate me like that."

She went over to the grate and stirring the embers into a ruddy glow drew up a chair and coaxed Joy into it.

"Now we can talk better," she said, sitting down on the hearth rug beside her. "Tell me how it happened. It's been such a mystery to me."

Joy glanced down into the face upturned in the firelight and almost gasped at its serenity. There was not a trace of anger in the eyes lifted to her own—nothing but kindness—and that look, somehow, made it harder to proceed than any torrent of words.

Between long pauses Joy told Blue Bonnet all that she had told Annabel Jackson and Miss North; and Blue Bonnet listened breathlessly, a little sigh escaping her lips as Joy finished the story.

There was tense silence for a minute, and then Blue Bonnet reached up shyly and took Joy's hand in her own.

"I suppose I ought to be awfully angry at you, Joy, for letting me suffer as I have the past few days—but—somehow—I'm not—at all. I feel so sorry for you that there isn't any room for anger. I think I can understand how it happened."

"You can! It doesn't seem possible that any one could see my side."

Blue Bonnet gazed into the fire and spoke slowly.

"Oh, yes, they could. All but the untruth, Joy—that was the worst, of course—but then—maybe you haven't been brought up on the truth as I have. The truth is a sort of religion in our family. That and 'do unto others.'"

Joy was quick to come to the defence of her family.

"No—I can't find excuse in that. My people are truthful. They're queer, maybe, but they are truthful and honest."

Perhaps it was the gentle pressure of Blue Bonnet's hand, the sympathy in her eyes, that gradually brought forth the story of Joy's life. Before she had finished, Blue Bonnet's tears mingled with Joy's, and the grasp tightened on the hand held in her own.

In that half hour Joy poured out her heart in a way she would have thought impossible an hour before. She told Blue Bonnet of her cold, indifferent father; of the patient, long-suffering mother who had planned and saved, and sacrificed to keep her in school, and of how she had longed to repay the devotion with the highest honors the school could give.

"It was the thought of my mother's awful disappointment that tempted me to lie to Miss Martin," she said. "It all happened so quickly I scarcely had time to think clearly. I was so afraid of being expelled—I will be now, of course. Miss North is going to bring the whole thing before the Faculty to-morrow."

"Oh, no—surely she won't do that!" Blue Bonnet cried. "Did you tell her what you've just told me, Joy?"

"No. I'm not playing for sympathy. I'll take what's coming, if—if only the girls didn't have to know."

"They don't," Blue Bonnet said determinedly. "Nobody knows it but Annabel Jackson and myself. Annabel won't tell, and nobody ever knows what goes on in Faculty. Now, what is that?"

A knock had startled both girls. Blue Bonnet went to the door.

"Oh, dear," she said, "I forgot all about going to study hour. I just know that's Fraulein."

Fraulein it was.

"You were not in the study hall, Miss Ashe," she said, craning her neck to see into the room.

Blue Bonnet stepped outside and closed the door.

"No, I wasn't. I was engaged."

"You were excused?"

"No—I was not."

"Then I shall haf to report to Miss North."

The color came into Blue Bonnet's cheeks and her eyes flashed.

"Do," she said. "I don't mind giving you that little treat."

"I perfectly abominate that woman," she said, going back to the hearth rug. "She can anger me quicker than any one I ever knew. I was terribly rude to her; but she is so aggravating. She adores getting something on me."

When the gong sounded for bed Blue Bonnet had drawn a tub of hot water for Joy's bath, and urged her into it.

"It will make her sleep better," she said to herself as the door closed between them. "Poor girl; my heart aches for her. If she stays here the girls have just got to be nicer to her—that's all! And she's going to stay—she must, even if I have to send for Uncle Cliff to help straighten things out."



CHAPTER XII

INITIATED

It was the next afternoon after Blue Bonnet's interview with Joy Cross that she ran up to Carita's room to chat a moment during visiting hour.

"Whew!" Mary Boyd said, blowing into the room breezily and tossing an armful of books into the middle of her bed, "what's up? There's been a Faculty meeting. The seats of the mighty were filled to overflowing. I just saw every teacher in the building filing out. You should have seen Fraulein! She had Madam de Cartier buttonholed in the hall talking to her like mad. She dropped her voice as I passed, so I couldn't get a word."

"Mary!" Carita exclaimed, "you wouldn't have listened, would you?"

"Oh, I don't know. Yes, I think I should if I'd had the chance. I'd like to know what's the matter—there's something, all right."

"Mary, you're so curious," remarked Peggy Austin from the couch. "It was a regular meeting, wasn't it?"

"Indeed it wasn't. Faculty's met on Tuesday since time began. Guess I ought to know. I've just escaped being up before it twice."

Blue Bonnet was silent. She could have enlightened Mary; but she guarded the secret of Joy Cross's trouble. Blue Bonnet had been called to Miss North's office just before Faculty convened, but not a word as to the outcome of Joy's difficulty had been mentioned. Miss North had merely told her what she already knew; that Joy had put the book in the drawer and that Blue Bonnet was exonerated from all blame. Miss North complimented her on her patience, as well as her silence. She wished the matter to be kept as quiet as possible.

Blue Bonnet had gone out of the office with a lighter heart than she had known in some days—and yet she was troubled for Joy. She hoped Joy would not be sent home—hoped it with all her heart; and once while Miss North was talking, she had almost ventured to speak with her about it; but it seemed rather presumptuous—as if Miss North might not quite understand her own business.

She was wondering as Mary spoke how it would all end, and a little frown wrinkled her brow.

"What's the matter with you, Blue Bonnet?" Mary asked. "You're as sober as a judge. They weren't discussing you in the meeting, were they?"

Blue Bonnet started. Mary had come so close to the truth that it brought the color to her cheeks.

"Oh, I just wager they were! Look how she's blushing."

Carita was indignant.

"The very idea, Mary. What's Blue Bonnet done? You are the worst—"

"I know what's the matter with Blue Bonnet," Peggy Austin said. "She's scared pink! She had better be, too. She's going to be initiated into the Lambs to-night. They won't do a thing to her! Why, when they took Angela Dare in, she had hysterics. They had to get a doctor for her. It nearly broke up their club. Miss North said it came near ending sororities for all time in the school."

"Oh, pooh," Mary scoffed. "Angela has no business in one anyhow. She's too emotional. One never knows what she's going to do. She has high strikes over exams—and just anything. Angela's only half human. She's like that Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe—or somebody who was so frail in body—"

"Mrs. Stowe!" Blue Bonnet exclaimed.

"She means Mrs. Browning," Peggy said loftily. "English isn't Mary's long suit."

"No, but I can add two and two," Mary returned sharply.

Peggy was as weak in mathematics as Mary was in English.

Blue Bonnet finished her visit with Carita and went back to her room. She opened her desk and getting out an invitation looked it over carefully. At the top of the note-paper reposed a tiny golden lamb, and underneath, the letters A. O. O. L. formed a monogram in blue and gold. A skull and cross-bones had been drawn in ink and a message followed:

"The presence of Miss Blue Bonnet Ashe is demanded at twelve o'clock to-night, February the nineteenth, at number fifteen Fifth Avenue: the said Miss Ashe to appear in a winding sheet, noiseless shoes and a bath-robe. Miss Ashe has the privilege of bringing refreshments with her if inclined; the committee suggesting that they be in keeping with the shades of night: skeleton salad, ghost sandwiches, assorted spooks or witches' delight. A roasted hobgoblin will be served soon after the meeting opens. Please be on time, and hold your honorable body in readiness for this or any other sacrifice that may be demanded by the Order.

"Fraternally yours, "COMMITTEE ON INITIATION."

Blue Bonnet laughed as she folded up the invitation and put it back in the desk. Her mind reverted to the time, a day or two back, when Sue Hemphill had fastened a little enameled sprig of mint—the pin of the Order—on her dress with the remark:

"This means that you are now pledged to our Order. Mint is our emblem. You'll get the roast at the initiation."

She stood for a moment looking out the window, her thoughts on the event before her. She wondered about the little golden lamb at the top of the note-paper—what its significance was. In regard to the refreshments she wished she had known about those sooner. If she could have had a day's notice, Huyler's could have prepared a witches' delight—ghost sandwiches that the girls would not have forgotten in a week. She remembered some April fool's candy Kitty Clark once got—the most delectable looking stuff imaginable—but, ugh! Her mouth burned yet when she thought of it.

She ran across the hall and knocked softly at Annabel's door. Annabel was some time in answering. When she did, she poked her head out the tiniest bit, and Blue Bonnet saw a flash of white sheets which seemed, from her brief glance, to cover the room.

"Sorry to be inhospitable, Blue Bonnet, but I can't let you in. You see you aren't expected until to-night. At twelve, remember; and, for goodness' sake, take a look down the hall before you venture out. We don't want Fraulein to spoil things. I reckon Sue had better fix up your pillow before you come."

"Fix up my pillow!" Blue Bonnet said, a bit mystified.

"Yes. She'll show you. She's an artist at it."

Blue Bonnet's amazement deepened and Annabel explained.

"She'll get some of Wee Watts' hair. She's got a Jane, and a switch, too—it's about the color of yours—and she'll pin it on your pillow—fix it up so that if Fraulein suspects anything and takes a peek in your room she'll swear you're sleeping like a baby."

Blue Bonnet fairly gasped.

"Oh, we haven't been here three years for nothing, let me tell you," Annabel confessed. "You need all your wits."

"How am I going to wake up?" Blue Bonnet asked. "I know I never can without an alarm of some kind. I'm an awfully good sleeper."

"That's easy. Tie a string round your wrist and put the string outside the transom—let it hang down the wall. Nobody will see it after the lights are out. Some of us will pull it and waken you about a quarter to twelve. Don't wake Joy. She might go to Miss North, or do something."

"No, she wouldn't. Joy isn't so bad as we all thought, Annabel. I want to tell you about her sometime. We must try to be nicer to her if she stays here."

"Oh, she'll stay, never fear. They aren't expelling any graduates—especially a student like Joy Cross. She's made a wonderful record. Miss North's got to admit that, whatever else Joy's done. Good-by. See you later. I'm in an awful hurry. You'll excuse me, won't you?"

About five minutes before time for the lights to be put out, there was a gentle knock at Blue Bonnet's door. Sue Hemphill put her head in and glanced round.

"Where's Joy?" she asked, drawing something in after her.

"In the bathroom."

"Good! Here, turn down your bed quick, Blue Bonnet."

Blue Bonnet complied, and Sue swiftly deposited a pillow underneath the sheet, leaving only a brown head gracefully exposed to view.

Blue Bonnet clapped her hand over her mouth to prevent a shriek. The thing so resembled a human head that it convulsed her for a moment.

"Sue! How ever did you do it? Why, from the back it looks just like me. I always braid my hair that way at night. It's wonderful!"

"Practice makes perfect. Get in on the other side and don't disturb it. Cover it up a bit more till Joy gets to bed. Don't forget the string on your arm, and, whatever you do, don't get scared and scream when I yank it. Remember! Good night."

She was off before Blue Bonnet could say a word, even ask a question.

Blue Bonnet got out her night-dress and threw it over the brown head on the pillow, loitering about her undressing. Joy finished her toilet and got into bed quickly. A moment more and the lights were off.

Blue Bonnet tied the string to her arm, but she had to wait until Joy fell asleep before she could put it through the transom, and Joy was unusually wakeful. Blue Bonnet heard her tumble and toss upon her bed while she tried to ward off sleep herself. She gave up in despair finally. It would never do to get up on a chair and put the string through with Joy awake. She fell into a doze thinking what she should do, and the next thing she knew she was being shaken rudely while a voice in her ear whispered:

"Get up, quickly! You're late. We couldn't find the string anywhere."

Blue Bonnet got into the sheet and bath-robe and sped across the hall to number fifteen.

Number fifteen presented a weird appearance. Heavy black cloth had been tacked over the transom to shut out all light and two or three candles burned about the room dimly. On the wide couch six ghostly figures rocked back and forth mumbling an incantation.

"Is the candidate ready for initiation?" a voice from the couch asked. "If so, let her speak."

Blue Bonnet nodded.

"The master of ceremonies will then conduct her to the middle of the room and blindfold her."

The ghost in the centre of the group rose, and stretching out her arms, gave forth an edict of some kind in a stage whisper. Blue Bonnet couldn't catch it all—it was purposely jumbled—but it began:

"Oh, spirits of all departed lambs, attend! attend! Hear me call! Hear me call!"

When the last note of the incantation had faded into silence, a strange stillness settled upon the room. This lasted for several minutes. Blue Bonnet stood quietly, wondering what was to happen next. She had not long to wait. A slender little ghost slid from the couch and pattering about the room softly, extinguished each light. Then came a command.

"Conductor, advance the candidate. Let her extend the hand of fellowship to her sister lambs."

Blue Bonnet was marched forward a few steps. She extended her hand. The thing that met hers caused her to drop it instantly, and the cold chills passed up and down her spine. If she had only known that it was but a rubber glove filled with cold water, she could have breathed more easily. She stifled a cry.



"The candidate is warned not to scream," came a stern voice from out the darkness, and Blue Bonnet struggled for better self control. Something soft and woolly was next thrust into her arms—something that said "bah-bah" a bit mechanically, and Blue Bonnet cuddled it warmly. It was suspiciously like the old Teddy bear that she used to take to bed with her on lonely nights at the ranch. Somebody proclaimed it a mascot.

Then followed a succession of pranks numerous and frivolous; and when the fun grew too riotous for discretion the master of ceremonies requested order.

"Is the candidate now ready to take the oath of allegiance?" was asked the conductor, who stood guard over Blue Bonnet.

"She is ready," the guard answered.

It would hardly be fair to go too deeply into the ritual of a secret organization. It is sufficient, therefore, to say that during the next fifteen minutes Blue Bonnet learned more of the character and habits of the girls she had chosen as friends than she had dreamed of in two months' association. She learned, among other things, that the lamb which they had chosen as their emblem, signified sacrifice: that these girls gave one-tenth of their allowances monthly for settlement work. She found a new meaning in friendship; a new impetus for service.

It was after the serious part of the ceremony that the real fun began. The bandage, which had been removed for a little time, was again bound about Blue Bonnet's eyes securely, and she stumbled forth into the darkness, upheld by two ghosts who shook with suppressed mirth as they guided her uncertain footsteps. Blue Bonnet had a suspicion that she was being led over the same ground times without number as the journey progressed, but she went forward without a murmur. When they had at last reached the sky parlor, where the feast was to be held, the bandage was once more removed and congratulations were in order, Annabel was the first to extend them.

"Welcome, sister lamb," she said, squeezing Blue Bonnet's hand. "You're game, my dear. Our hats are off to you. You didn't balk once."

The sheets were quickly changed for heavy bath-robes, for the sky parlor was cold and draughty. Japanese fashion the girls sat on the floor around the food, which had been gathered from different quarters for several days. Deborah Watts' suitcase had, as usual, played an important part. Delicious cake, home-made bread, generous slices of ham for sandwiches, testified gloriously to her mother's housekeeping. The other girls had added their full quota. One might have imagined that Huyler's and Pierce's had been raided, from the candies and other delicacies that greeted the eye; but the initiation of the Lambs was always an "Occasion."

"Remember the time the Proctortoise caught us up here?" Sue Hemphill asked, helping herself to her sixth sandwich. "Proctortoise" was one of Fraulein's many appellations. "I never was so scared in my life. That was my first midnight feast, and I thought for some time it would be my last."

"I reckon I do remember," Annabel said. "I lost my privileges for a month because I owned I got it up. It was the time Mother sent me that huge box of good things on my birthday. Wasn't that the grandest box, Wee? Remember how sick you got from eating so much of Mammy Jane's fruit cake and mince pie?" Mammy Jane was Annabel's old nurse, who regarded Annabel as the apple of her eye.

Wee rolled her eyes heavenward and laid her hand on her stomach tenderly.

"Remember! Well, I guess I do. I've never touched a piece of fruit cake since."

"I'm the same way about lemon pie," Sue admitted. "I ate a whole one up here at a feast once, and I've never been able to stand the sight of one since."

"This old room could tell some great tales if it could speak, couldn't it?" Patty Paine said, looking about. "It's a barren hole, but I adore it. I've had some great times here. Remember the night we thought we heard some one coming and we got into the trunks? That was the time Angela fell down-stairs and had hysterics. It was initiation night, too, wasn't it? My, but wasn't Miss North furious! I thought she'd freeze into an icicle. It took her weeks to thaw out."

"Had you a suspicion that she had thawed out?" Ruth inquired.

"Oh, she isn't so bad, Ruth," Patty defended. "I've got a right soft spot in my heart for Miss North—"

"Girls! what was that noise?" Angela Dare interrupted in a whisper. "I'm sure I heard some one walking."

A hush fell over the room. The girls strained their ears.

"Oh, Angela! You're always hearing things. Your imagination is worse than your conscience. They're both ingrowing," Ruth declared. "I don't think you heard a blessed thing!"

"Yes, she did, Ruth," Blue Bonnet insisted. "I heard it, too."

"You did?"

"Yes—shh—there! You heard it then, didn't you?"

All admitted that they did hear some sort of a sound and sat with bated breath.

"It's a rat or a mouse! Oh, see—there it goes—look, behind that big brown trunk!"

The appearance of Fraulein accompanied by Miss North could scarcely have caused greater confusion. The girls scattered in every direction. Wee Watts made an attempt to climb the wall in her anxiety to escape, turning over an old chair that fell with dreadful clatter.

"Wee Watts," Annabel said sternly, "stop acting so silly. Get down off that old box instantly. It's going to break with you. We'll every one be caught here in another minute. Exercise some sense!"

But Wee, her limbs shaking with fright, clung helplessly to the rough beams in the old attic wall, beseeching the girls to let her alone.

"I'll faint if it comes near me—I know I shall," she wailed, her teeth chattering. "Oh—oh—there it goes again—oh, oh, don't scare it this way—don't—don't, Annabel! Please—please—"

Blue Bonnet climbed up beside Wee and put her hand over her mouth.

"Hush!" she said. "Do you want to get us all in trouble? I thought you had such courage—met big things so well—"

"Oh, I do, Blue Bonnet—I really do—but this is a little thing—such a horrid little thing—oh, oh—it's under this box—oh—" A piercing scream rent the air.

At the same instant seven girls darted for the door. They tumbled over each other in a mad effort to escape. Blue Bonnet found herself alone in a dark hall not knowing which way to turn. She stood still a moment, her heart beating violently. It was not a pleasant situation. The other girls knew the building perfectly—every nook and cranny—just where to go. She felt against the wall and a knob met her fingers. A second later she was in a room lit by a dim moon. Feeling her way along the wall to the window she threw up the blind. In the nearest corner a form huddled.

"Who is in this room?" Blue Bonnet whispered.

"Oh, Blue Bonnet," came the answer, "is it you? I was going back to find you. I thought you'd be scared to death. Isn't this the worst ever? Who would have thought Wee could have been such a fool! Take hold of my hand; I know every step of the way."

"Do you think any of the girls have been caught, Annabel?"

"I don't know. If they haven't it's good luck, not good management. Look out—there ought to be a step here—yes, there is, walk carefully. No sprained ankles to-night."

Just how they reached their rooms Blue Bonnet never quite knew. She trusted Annabel and followed meekly as a newly born lamb should. When they parted at Blue Bonnet's door Annabel gave Blue Bonnet a swift hug.

"You're game clear through," she said. "I think everything is all right. I can't hear a sound anywhere."

Somewhere down the length of the hall a clock struck. Annabel and Blue Bonnet both counted: one—two—three!

"Three o'clock and all is well!" Annabel said. "Good night. Don't worry."

* * * * *

It was at breakfast the next morning that Madam de Cartier remarked to one of the girls at the French table:

"I fancied I heard a scream last night—or this morning, rather. It sounded down Commonwealth Avenue. A piercing scream, as though some one were in great distress. Did any one else hear it?"

"Yes, Madam de Cartier," Sue Hemphill said, equal to the occasion. "It was dreadful, wasn't it? As if some one were horribly frightened. It was about three o'clock, I think. I was awake and heard the clock striking on the lower corridor. What could it have been?"

"I really don't know, Miss Hemphill, though I have a theory. I may be quite wrong, however. It seems strange, doesn't it? This street is so eminently respectable and quiet."

Sue met Madam de Cartier's eye unflinchingly. There was an unfathomable twinkle in Madam's that meant much or little. Madam was naturally merry. Nevertheless, Sue, for all her bravado, was worried. She changed the subject immediately.

"Sue's perfectly furious at Deborah," Annabel said, catching up with Blue Bonnet on the way to chapel. "She won't speak to her this morning. I ran in to borrow a tie a minute before breakfast, and Wee had been crying. Poor old Wee! I feel sorry for her. She's such a good sport generally. I reckon she can't help being afraid of mice. Some people are, you know—awfully!"

"Do you think anybody knows about what happened?" Blue Bonnet asked.

Annabel laughed.

"I don't know. Miss North acted awfully queer this morning. One of the girls asked if anybody heard that scream in the night, and the funniest look came over Miss North's face. To tell the truth, I think the teachers know all about it and the joke's on us. I haven't been so scared in an age. It's pretty risky for a Senior to be up to such high jinks."