"You are a burglar," she said, "a wretched, common thief. 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 Hippy searched the bulging pockets of the thief's coat and waistcoat, and brought forth a quantity of jewelry, 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; but now let us all go to our beds and forget this horrid episode. To-morrow 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 gayety. 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 we'll 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 Hippy 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 sunburned, 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 aunty 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 haven't inconvenienced me, my boy, except for a slight loss of sleep, and a fright and a narrow of 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 a whole roomful 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. You're a Gray, every inch of you; and, thank God, you're a fine fellow! If you had come down here with an English accent and no 'h's' and a monocle, I should have shut the door in your face. I should, indeed."

"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 Hippy, 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 quieted down a little.

"Tom," replied his aunt, "did you tell anyone you were coming to Oakdale for Christmas to visit me!"

"Why, yes," answered 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 propose to celebrate the return of the real Tom Gray," announced Mrs. Gray, "by sending my boys and girls off on a sleighing party this afternoon. The big old sleigh holds exactly eight. Reddy, you may drive, since the roads are so familiar to you. You must all be back at six o'clock, for, remember, to-night we decorate the Christmas tree and every girl freshman in 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 sleigh, 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 'tis 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 aloud, 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.

"Miriam, I do wish you would let one of the boys drive," said her mother, who had come to the door to see her off.

"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 staid 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 Hippy gathered some branches of evergreen growing on the edge of a wood, just over the bridge.

Suddenly the 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 is a brave girl," thought Tom Gray, as he leaped at the nearest rearing, plunging animal, while David seized the other. Far down the road came the sound of a faint halloo.

"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 wilful 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?

Did you feel a thrill of pleasure when the last hook and eye was fastened and you surveyed yourself in the longest mirror in the house?

So it was with Anne in her pink crepe de Chine. Or was it really Anne, this little vision in rose color with glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes? She stood spellbound before the glass on that memorable Christmas night, and no one disturbed her for awhile. 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 color 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 all ready."

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 honor, 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. Some one 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 doll theater 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 Leece'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 life-like 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 step-sisters were those of Nora and Hippy. Anne 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 fairy 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 sat 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 life-like 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 smilax. 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 titters 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 step-sisters 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 bore a strong resemblance to Oakdale High School. The fairy 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 bore a printed inscription that could be seen by the audience. It read:

"A MERRY CHRISTMAS TO THE FAIRY 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 stools 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 step-sisters ugly by giving them putty noses. Hippy 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 whirled 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 Nesbit, who was lingering in the doorway, watching the scene with an expression that the circumstances and holiday surroundings hardly seemed 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 presents 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?" some one 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 anyone 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 Hippy.

Untying 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 arms' 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. The face had been cleverly changed with paint and putty, and pinned on the head was a black felt hat, constructed out of the crown of an old one evidently, in which had been sewn some lank black hair.

A card was tied around the doll's neck, and some one 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 leaped 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 lighted candles fell to the floor.



CHAPTER XVII

AFTER THE BALL

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 guest 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 odor of burning pine.

Suddenly, some one 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 roomful 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 thence to the table that the crowd had pushed against her as it ran. Anne was about to leap to the floor when Grace and Tom Gray 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. Gray, "and, if you have all finished eating, I think you had 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. Gray, 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. Gray, 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. Gray 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. Gray," 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. Gray, "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. Gray's freshman Christmas ball ended as gayly 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 and curtsey 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. Anne 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. Gray!"

The old lady was very happy. She waved her small, wrinkled hands at them and called out over the din:

"Three cheers for my dear freshmen boys and girls!"

At length, when the hands of the clock pointed to two, and the last of the dancers had departed, Mrs. Gray 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. Gray's servants, but also must have some way or other raked up Anne's secret. It was evidently some one 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 Nesbit's!"

"Sh-h-h!" 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 have seen it, I am 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 dickey, 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 groping in the dark.

"I'll tell you this much," said Jessica, who loved a mystery; "It just matches a certain veil——"

"Miss Leece!" 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 Leece and Miriam had combined forces against poor little Anne!



CHAPTER XVIII

A WINTER PICNIC

"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. I want to give a picnic."

Mrs. Gray groaned.

"A picnic, boy? Whoever heard of a picnic in mid-winter. What mad notion is this?"

"But you have given your consent, aunty, and no honorable 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 camp-fire at noon, for food, warmth and rest, and then a tramp back again."

"And can I trust to 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 honor, 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 Hippy 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 Hippy. "There are several animals that can turn their heads all the way around, 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 gayly 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 under cover?" added David.

"It's partly that," said Tom, "and partly the cold weather that is responsible for my good behavior two thirds of the year. If I lived in a warm climate all the year around, 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 winter 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 is like a great cathedral. I could almost kneel and pray at one of these 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 Reddy. "They have been seen in these parts."

"Worse than bears," said Hippy. "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 wildcats, and we have to take old Jean's word for it about the wolves. He claimed to have seen wolves in these woods three years ago. As a matter of fact they chased him out, and he was obliged to turn civilized for three months."

"Who is old Jean?" asked Tom, much interested.

"He is a French-Canadian hunter who has 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 motor cycle."

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.

"Reddy, 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 Reddy. "My compass tells me. We go due north till we want to start home and then we can either turn around and go back due south or turn west and go home by the road."

"I have neither compass nor watch," said Hippy, "but nature's timepiece tells me that it's lunch time. 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."

"Who told you so?" demanded Hippy.

"Never mind," said David. "It's an old story in Oakdale."

"Let's feed the poor soul," interposed Grace. "It would be wanton cruelty to keep him waiting any longer."

"He'll have to make the fire, then," said Reddy. "Make him pay for his dumplings if he wants 'em so early."

"All right, Carrots," cried Hippy. "I'll gather fagots and make a fire, just to keep you from talking so much."

"I'll help you, Hippy," 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 labor," 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.

Anne 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 Hippy. "The food is better and there are no gnats."

"Gnats are very fond of fat people," said Reddy. "They drink down their blood like—circus lemonade."

"Get busy and give me some coffee, Red-head," said Hippy, who sat on a stump and ate energetically, while the others were broiling their slices of bacon.

"Here, Hippy," 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.

"A very good method, if your stick doesn't burn up," replied Anne. "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 is not a breath stirring."

"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 crackling 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."



CHAPTER XIX

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, Reddy," 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 Anne 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 Harlowe could out-run 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, this running after a heavy meal," muttered Hippy, gasping for breath as he stumbled along in the track of his friends. "I'll make a nice meal for 'em 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 Hippy was quite winded. Another five minutes of this and at least three of the party would be food for wolves, unless 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 Jean'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 wondered 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 glowered 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. Hippy, 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 around the house, leaping against the door and windows and occasionally giving a blood-curdling howl.

"Suppose you feed me to them?" groaned Hippy. "You could get almost to Oakdale before they finished me."

The suggestion 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 bearskin 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 Jean's, we shall be eaten alive, and if we stay in it we shall starve."

"You won't starve for a while yet, child. You have 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 Hippy.

"Are we such poor company as all that, Fatty!" laughed Reddy.

"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 snow shoes can help us out of our present predicament."

"Nobody here knows how to use them," continued Reddy, "and even if he did, he couldn't out-run 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 Jove!" exclaimed David, "I thought they had us then. Another blow like that and 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 boughs and skins.

"I wonder how there happens 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."

"Now, Hippy Wingate, don't tell us such a romance as that," warned Grace, "when you were so winded you could hardly look in front of you, much less behind you."

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 council 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 Jean'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 heels?

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. "Reddy, 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 surer 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 Reddy 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, Reddy 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 awhile, 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 Reddy.

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 Reddy watched the famished animals gorge themselves with the blood and fresh meat of their comrade.

Reddy 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 at it 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.

Reddy gave a loud exclamation and jumped down from the bench.

"They have 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 Hippy 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 Grace fastened the latch and returned to the fire where her three friends sat silent, afraid to speak for fear of giving way to tears.



CHAPTER XX

THE GRAY BROTHERS

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.

Grace piled 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 preparations 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 is 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 Jean'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 under way when he heard 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 gray 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 Gray 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 lopped 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.



"So I fooled you, did I, you gray rascals?" he said aloud. "You think you'll keep me here all night, do you, old hounds? Well, we'll see who wins out in the long run."

Meanwhile, the wolves ran about howling disconsolately 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. "Go back!" he yelled, waving a red silk muffler. "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-do," said Tom to himself. "Four boys treed by wolves and night coming on."

Yet he swung his legs and whistled thoughtfully, while 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 Bon Dieu, mademoiselle, who have preserve you. Do not t'ank ole Jean. It was the Bon Dieu who put it in ole Jean's haid to set rabbit trap to-night."

He would accept neither money nor thanks for shooting the wolves.

"I will skin them. It is sufficient."

It was not long before eight very tired and very happy young people were seated around Mrs. Gray's dinner table. Grace was a little choky 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 andirons. They looked into each others' eyes and smiled sleepily.

Had it all been a dream, their winter picnic, or was old Jean at that very moment really nailing wolf skins to his wall?



CHAPTER XXI

THE LOST LETTER

Spring was well advanced, full of soft airs and the sweet scents 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 cow bell in a distant meadow and the songs of the birds brought to her the nearness of the glorious summer time.

She chewed the end of her pencil impatiently, endeavoring to withdraw her attention from the things she liked so much better than Latin grammar and algebra. Examinations were coming, those bugbears 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 and 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 grandmother's 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 Leece were "thicker" than was good for Miriam, considering that teacher's peculiar disposition to flatter and spoil her. However, that was none of Grace's business, and certainly Miss Leece 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 Leece 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 schoolroom, 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 janitress 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 schoolroom 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 some one else. If that some one else should read the contents, she felt it would mean nothing lees than disgrace.

"You look exhausted, child," said Anne's sister Mary, who was weary herself, having worked hard all day on a pile of spring sewing Mrs. Gray had ordered. "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 awaken 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 janitress 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 object. But would it have swerved her from her present purpose, even if she had noticed Miss Leece following her?

The High School was still open, although Anne could not find the janitress. 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 freshmen class room 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 class rooms, 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 to-morrow, 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 Leece mingling with the principal's cool, well-modulated tones. Anne paused a moment, watching the two figures below. Miss Leece 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 heard footsteps running along a small passage that crossed the corridor. Leaning far over the rail 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 mischief, 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

DANGER AHEAD

MY DEAR GRACE:

Will you come and see me at my office after school to-day? 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 in exams to-morrow, although I am not so studious as Anne Pierson 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 favorite. "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 freshman."

"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 wandering about the building."

"Who were the people?" demanded Grace incredulously.

"The janitress, who saw her from the window of another room, and—Miss Leece."

"I thought so," exclaimed Grace, with a note of triumph in her voice. "It is Miss Leece, is it, who is trumping up all this business? I tell you, I don't believe a word of it, Miss Thompson. 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 Leece 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 Leece 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 wandering 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 address 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 Leece again," replied Miss Thompson, hesitatingly.

"There, you see," exclaimed Grace excitedly, "that woman is determined to ruin Anne before the close of school. I tell you, I won't believe Anne is guilty. It has taken just this much to make me certain that she is entirely innocent. 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 freshmen 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 cambric handkerchief with a narrow hemstitched border, a handkerchief such as anyone 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 friends' handkerchiefs to recognize this one."

"No," replied Grace, "I haven't the least idea whose 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 Leece, 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 Leece, 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. You are a young girl," she continued, taking Grace's hand and gazing full into her honest eyes, "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 save Anne, whose life would be utterly ruined by such a false accusation as this. And I feel convinced that it is false."

"Well, I can tell you one thing, Miss Thompson," returned Grace as she opened the door, "and that is Anne Pierson 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 drugstore.

"Mr. Gleason," she demanded of the clerk in charge, "could you tell me what perfume this is?"

The druggist sniffed thoughtfully at the handkerchief for some seconds.

"It's sandalwood," he said at last. "We received some in stock a week ago."



CHAPTER XXIII

IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT

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 save the scratching of pens on foolscap 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.

"What a shabby, slow little creature she is!" Miriam murmured. "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 Harlowe house, to discuss matters before going to Miriam Nesbit's.

"Here's a list of the people in Oakdale," said Nora, "who have bought sandalwood perfume. I have been to four drug stores and all the dry goods stores."

Grace took the list and read:

"'Mrs. I. Rosenfield, Miss Alice Gwendolyn Jones, Mr. Percival Butz, 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 Butz," 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 favorite 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 Sallie Moore yesterday afternoon. Neither of them use perfume. Sallie 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 Nesbit lawn Jessica said:

"Have you inquired Miriam's favorite perfume?"

"Oh, yes," answered Grace. "She said she liked them all and had no favorites."

"Why are all these strange young women breaking into my premises?" demanded a voice behind them.

"David Nesbit," 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've 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 workroom," 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 mulle, 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 chums 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 to-day."

"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 workroom 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 workroom. "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 soar to 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 Nesbit, 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. Nesbit 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. Nesbit's bedroom, while the good-natured woman whipped together the jagged edges of the rent.

"What a beautiful box you have, Mrs. Nesbit," 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 traveling 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. Nesbit, opening the lid, "and I have always kept my handkerchiefs in it, you see——"

"Mother!" called David's voice from the hall, and Mrs. Nesbit 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 Pierson 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."

But, as her eyes ran over them, she shook her head dubiously. 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 Leece would certainly have managed to find a flaw 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 Leece knew that a perfect examination paper would tell more against the young girl than for her.