"It certainly is cold for April," remarked Ethel.

"Yes; it's an east wind, too," observed Miss Phillips. "And in this part of the country, that means rain."

"How do you know it's an east wind, Captain?" asked Marjorie.

"Well, I happen to know that we are walking towards the north, and since I can feel it blowing against me on the right side, I naturally know it to be an east wind," explained the Captain. "If I didn't know which direction is north, I couldn't tell an east wind from a west wind. But I can tell you how to determine which quarter the wind is from when it is not blowing strong enough to feel it against you. There are several simple ways: one is to watch the way smoke travels; another is to note the movement of the treetops. But sometimes you have neither smoke nor trees at hand; then the best method is to put your forefinger in your mouth and moisten it, and hold it up in the air: the side which feels coolest is the side the wind is blowing on. I've never known that way to fail, in my own experience, even when there did not seem to be a breath of air stirring."

All the girls who heard this description, immediately stuck their fingers into their mouths and then held them in the air, to try it.

"Mine feels the same temperature all the way around," observed Ruth.

"Oh, that is because there is too much wind to-day," replied Miss Phillips. "You can really tell better by that method when the wind is just perceptible, than when it is strong."

They reached the trolley line, upon which they rode for several miles, and then hiked the remaining distance. It was not yet three o'clock when they arrived at the cabin.

"Hurray for the Girl Scouts!" shouted a familiar voice, and Dick Roberts and Marjorie's brother Jack flung open the wooden door. Mr. Remington, behind them, echoed a more dignified welcome.

"Did you bring the axe?" asked Marjorie.

The Scoutmaster pointed to a leather sheath, fastened to his belt.

"Here's my Plumb," he said; "it's the official Boy Scout axe. I always carry it when we go into the woods."

"But, Captain Phillips," protested Doris, "you surely don't expect us to wear those things in our belts, do you?"

"Not at teas and on shopping expeditions!" laughed Miss Phillips; and the girls smiled at the idea of dainty Doris Sands decorated with such a deadly weapon on her person. A bunch of violets seemed more appropriate for her adornment.

Mr. Remington asked the girls to pay close attention while he explained the general rules and precautions in the use of the axe. At intervals during his talk, he called for demonstrations, first by Jack and then by Dick, until all the important points had been emphasized.

"And now for volunteers!" he called, when his brief discourse was finished.

Ruth Henry stepped forward bravely.

"It's pretty sharp," said Jack, handing the axe to her carefully.

Ruth picked it up, and lifted it boldly to her shoulder. Keeping her eye on a certain spot in the log at which Mr. Remington directed her to aim, she swung the axe too quickly. Her effort was good, but her grasp not sufficiently tight; the tool slipped from her hand and fell swiftly to the ground, missing her foot by only an inch or two.

"Ruth! Do be careful!" shrieked Doris. "Oh, I know we'll kill ourselves!"

"No, you won't," said Mr. Remington, reassuringly. "Now, rest a minute, and then try again."

This time, although she wielded the axe awkwardly, she managed to hit her mark.

All that afternoon the Girl Scouts resolutely stuck to their task, until their hands became sore and blistered, and their shoulders ached from the exercise. Finally, Mr. Remington called to them to stop, complimenting them upon their perseverance.

"But you will need a great deal more practice before you attempt to build the shack and the fireplace," he concluded.

"I thought we would go out the next two Saturdays and practice what you have taught us," said Miss Phillips; "and in the meantime, I will give the rest of the Pioneer test. Then, the last Saturday in April, I will bring all of the girls that have successfully passed the other requirements, to try out in this."

"Very good," replied Mr. Remington. "The plan suits me. Let me know how many girls you expect to have, and I'll bring the same number of boys, and we'll make a picnic of it."

"And you girls all work hard!" said Jack, "for we want a big crowd. The more the merrier!"

And, indeed, the Girl Scouts meant to work hard, for the passing of the Pioneer test carried with it such a wonderful reward. Even the new girls, who had all successfully passed their second-class tests by that time, threw themselves wholeheartedly into the effort. The days flew swiftly by; all too soon, it seemed to the girls who did not consider themselves sufficiently prepared, the time for the announcement of those eligible for the final test arrived. Of the twenty-four girls in the troop, there were a number who had no expectation of being included among the list, for one reason or another. Among this group were several of the seniors, who expected to work during the summer, and, therefore, did not try to pass the test; and several of the newer girls had found the effort beyond them.

Miss Phillips felt, however, that she had reason to be proud of the number of candidates who had qualified thus far. She read the list at the Scout meeting on the Friday evening preceeding the final hike and picnic with the Boy Scouts.

"I wish that we might include everybody," she said; "but I realize that would be impossible. However, I congratulate the following girls:

"Edith Evans, Helen Stewart, Frances Wright, Ethel Todd, Marian Guard, Ada Mearns, Lily Andrews, Ruth Henry, Doris Sands, Marjorie Wilkinson, Anna Cane, Evelyn Hopkins, Florence Evans, Alice Endicott, Mildred Cavin.

"Of course," added Miss Phillips, "this does not mean that you will all fifteen pass the Pioneer test. Indeed, the worst is yet to come. But the final decision rests with Mr. Remington."

The following day was mild and warm, and the girls were all in the highest spirits. Arriving at the cabin, fifteen Boy Scouts greeted them noisily, asking them provoking questions about the shack they intended to build, vainly endeavoring to catch them. But the girls were well prepared, and more or less confident of success.

"I never saw such progress," commented Mr. Remington, as he set the girls to work. "Why, with a hundred years' practice, they might turn out to be as good as my boys!"

"Mr. Remington," said Ruth, as she paused for a moment after putting a stick in position, "won't you please remove these troublesome insects? They retard my progress!"

"Insects!" repeated the Scoutmaster; "do you mean ants?"

"No," laughed Ruth; "big insects! Boys!"

"All right! Suppose you boys all go and collect stones for the fireplace, so that the girls can set to work at that as soon as they finish their lean-tos!"

"And won't we get a minute to rest?" asked Ada, lazily. She was beginning to be tired already.

"Rest!" exclaimed Mr. Remington; "you surely didn't come here for that! But you can take it easy at supper, for the boys are going to prepare the whole meal for you."

It was almost dark when the weary Girl Scouts gathered about the fireplace where the supper was to be eaten. Never did a meal taste so good, for the girls thought they had never been so tired or so hungry before. They talked little, but they were quite content. The lean-tos and the fireplace were all finished; they were now enjoying not only the satisfaction of achievement, but the anticipation of their great reward: the summer's canoe trip. No wonder they were happy!

"Can't you tell us who passed?" begged Ruth, as they were finishing their cookies.

But Mr. Remington shook his head.

"I don't know myself, Ruth," he replied. "I gave certain marks for certain things. I shall have to add the averages up at home, and send the list to Miss Phillips."

"Then we'll know to-morrow?" pursued Ruth.

"You'll know at Scout meeting next Friday!" declared Miss Phillips, in the tone which everyone knew to be final.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE TRIP TO TRENTON

When Marjorie thought of what the passing of the Pioneer test would mean to her, she felt that nothing could bring her more happiness than to hear her own and Lily's name read from the list by their Captain at Scout meeting that night. But when she perceived an attractive little envelope in her mail that evening, and when she saw upon examination that the postmark was Princeton, she experienced an even greater thrill of anticipation.

The envelope proved to contain an invitation from John Hadley for his club dance at Princeton. Marjorie uttered a little squeal of joy, and wished that Lily were there to hear of her good fortune.

She turned around quickly, for someone was entering the office. It was Ruth Henry!

"You look as if you'd struck a gold mine, Marj!" said the other girl. "Whatever has happened?"

"Just a dance invitation. But a very nice one!"

"I seem to have a letter, too!" exclaimed Ruth, always anxious for mail. "I wonder who from!"

"Why, it's the same shape as mine!" cried Marjorie, in astonishment. "Could it possibly be from Princeton?"

"Very likely!" said Ruth, proceeding to open it.

"Do you suppose Harold Mason belongs to the same club as John Hadley?" asked Marjorie.

Laughingly, they put the invitations together. They were identical—the only dissimilarity being the boys' visiting cards.

"What fun!" said Ruth. "It will be so much nicer to go together."

"But how can we go?" demanded Marjorie, her face suddenly sobering. "Miss Allen would never let us."

"We won't ask Miss Allen!" declared Ruth, boldly. "We'll just go home over the week end—it's the second Saturday in May, you know—and ask either of our mothers to chaperone us!"

The girls discussed the plan as they went in to supper. So excited were they that they almost forgot that the list of those who had passed the Pioneer badge would be read at Scout meeting.

But the other girls had not forgotten, and when Miss Phillips realized their nervousness she decided not to delay the proceeding any longer than necessary. Accordingly, as soon as the opening ceremony and preliminary business was over, she made the announcement.

"I am afraid there will be some disappointments," she said, "but it could not be helped. You have all been marked fairly, and I am sure you would not want to pass too easily.

"And for the benefit of the girls who can't go on the canoe trip, I want to say that the next summer I intend to take the troop to a big organized camp where there are other Scout troops. And I shall include everyone who wants to go, provided, of course, that she is at least a second-class Scout.

"I congratulate the following girls, and request that they come forward to receive the Pioneer badge:

"Edith Evans, Helen Stewart, Frances Wright, Ethel Todd, Marian Guard, Lily Andrews, Ruth Henry, Marjorie Wilkinson, Doris Sands, Florence Evans, Alice Endicott, Mildred Cavin, Evelyn Hopkins."

Amid the shouts of their companions, the girls stepped up to receive their badges. None of the girls whose names had not been called seemed really disappointed; probably they had all realized that they stood no chance of passing the test. The successful Scouts had earned their reward faithfully; there was no jealousy or envy among the less fortunate.

Marjorie, therefore, was perfectly satisfied with the results. She had lost her own canoe, but she had it back again, and now she was to have a glorious trip during the vacation, accompanied by Lily and Doris, and her beloved Captain. She was thankful, too, that Ruth had received the badge; for, had she been left out, she might have made things uncomfortable for the girls who had passed.

While Marjorie was waiting for an answer to her letter from her mother, she was surprised to receive a letter from Jennie Perkins. It was just another friendly letter, telling little about herself, and much about her troop and its activities. Marjorie looked immediately for the postmark, and was disappointed to find it again Trenton, and not New York.

"We are going to hike to Princeton next Saturday," she wrote, "and perhaps go through the college. Some of us have uniforms," she added; "and some of us just have to wear our plain clothes. I am in this class for I have not saved enough money yet to buy mine. But I want to get it by June first, as that is my birthday."

Marjorie opened her eyes wide as she read these words; Jennie Perkins would be at Princeton the same day she would—at least if her mother let her go! What should she do? Tell her, and try to meet her? But now that she was almost convinced that Jennie was not Frieda Hammer, she was not so anxious to meet her; and if she were Frieda, under the assumed name, the latter would probably avoid such a meeting.

"I don't believe I'll say anything," she finally decided; "for, even if I were sure I wanted to meet her, how could I tell when I'd get to Princeton? And a misunderstanding might spoil a very pleasant correspondence."

Much to Marjorie's joy, Mrs. Wilkinson wrote that she and Mr. Wilkinson would drive the girls to Trenton the afternoon of the dance, and make arrangements to stay at some hotel there over night; and that the boys could call for them there. The plan suited Marjorie perfectly; the arrangement of staying in Trenton meant another hope of meeting Frieda—or, rather, Jennie.

When Saturday came, and Marjorie and Ruth left the school together, it seemed quite like old times; for recently they had not spent much time together. Marjorie and Lily had become inseparable, while Ruth spent her time with many different girls.

When they reached their destination, both girls were surprised to be met, not by members of their own families, but by Harold Mason.

"And when did you come home?" asked Ruth, nevertheless beaming a welcome.

"This morning; and John's with me. We mean to drive you girls over!"

"Isn't it pretty far?" inquired Marjorie, doubtfully. She could hardly take in Harold's words—that John Hadley was actually visiting him. Why had he not driven over to the station to meet them?

Reading Marjorie's thoughts, Harold explained that John was expecting a long-distance call from Trenton.

"His mother is staying there with a friend, and as she is one of the patronesses of the dance she will chaperone you girls. We thought we'd drive over this afternoon and have supper with Mrs. Hadley's friend, and then all go to the dance. And we'll all drive back here afterward—Mrs. Hadley and John are to stay at our house."

"Lovely!" cried Ruth; for this program stretched the party over a longer period than they had anticipated.

Marjorie had not seen John since the previous Thanksgiving and she realized that she was becoming rather excited. When the machine drove up to Mason's, he was on the porch to meet them.

"By George! this is great!" he cried, running down and opening the door of the car. "I'm so glad to see you—both!"

He shook hands with Ruth and Marjorie, and the girls got out of the car, Ruth running in next door to find her mother.

"It was lovely of you to invite me," said Marjorie, a little at a loss regarding what to say after so many months.

"It was wonderful of you to come," he replied, sincerely. A sudden pang of jealousy seized him. What had Marjorie been doing all this time? Had another fellow cut him out? They had exchanged only two or three letters during the whole year, and all of these had been very impersonal.

"If you don't mind," said Marjorie, turning to Harold, "I'd like to go see mother. For I'll be with you people all afternoon and evening."

"Certainly," assented Harold; and John flushed at his own egotism in expecting Marjorie to prefer his society to that of her own family.

A little after two o'clock the Ford sedan again drove up to Wilkinsons', and Marjorie, with her little bag in her hand, appeared. Ruth was already in the front seat with Harold, and John got out and assisted Marjorie into the back seat beside him.

If John Hadley hoped for a tete-a-tete with Marjorie, he was greatly disappointed, for both girls seemed to be plotting to keep the conversation general. They asked all about college, and the club, and the dance; Marjorie wanted to hear something about the towns of Trenton and Princeton; and both girls talked animatedly about the summer's canoe trip.

"And we both passed the Pioneer test!" explained Ruth, triumphantly.

"Great!" exclaimed John; and a minute description of the hike and the test followed.

It was not long before they reached Trenton, but before the machine crossed the bridge, it passed a certain dingy little boat-house, and Ruth and Harold exchanged significant glances, unobserved by the occupants of the back seat.

As the car continued along the principal business street, slowing down for traffic, Marjorie noticed a big building at the corner, from which a great crowd of girls were pouring. As they approached, she realized that some of the costumes were strangely familiar; then in a moment it dawned upon her that they were Girl Scouts!

"Oh, wait, wait!" she demanded, greatly excited. "Please stop! They're Girl Scouts!"

"What if they are?" asked Ruth, coolly, regarding her in disdain. Was Marjorie crazy?

"I want to get out! Oh, please stop!" begged the frantic girl.

Harold obediently pulled up to the curb, although he, too, shared Ruth's opinion. It seemed silly—but it was beyond him to understand a girl.

"Aren't you going to get out, Ruth? Remember our fourth law!"

"Marj, that's silly. Just because we're 'sisters to every other Girl Scout' is no reason why we should get out and make friends with a pack of mill girls!"

"Well, then wait for me!"

And in a flash she was out of the machine and up the steps. Venturing the Girl Scout salute, she asked the girls politely,

"Can anyone tell me whether Jennie Perkins belongs to this troop?" Her voice trembled so that she could hardly speak.

"Yes—she's in the office, waiting for her pay envelope," replied one of the girls. "Turn to the left once you're inside."

Marjorie needed no second invitation; in a second she had pushed open the half-closed door. She stood face to face with Frieda Hammer!

"Frieda!" she cried, rushing to her, and throwing her arms about her neck.

"Marjorie!" sobbed the girl, completely breaking down, and hiding her head upon the other girl's shoulder.

In the brief glimpse that Marjorie had of Frieda, she saw how the girl had changed. Her clothes were neat, and her hair was arranged attractively. Moreover, she looked happy; the old, sullen, distrustful look was gone. She was a real Girl Scout now, and the transformation was marvelous. The miracle was accomplished, though by a far different method from any Marjorie ever dreamed of.

Little by little Frieda told Marjorie the story of her struggle; then of her work here, the Girl Scout troop which she had really started herself, the saving of the money for Marjorie's canoe, which she had had mailed in New York in order to mislead the latter, and finally of her progress at night school.

"Why, it sounds just like a fairy tale," said Marjorie. "Now when will you come back to us?"

"I want to work this summer, and then—if Pansy troop still wants to help me—to go to full-time school in the fall."

"Indeed, we do want to help," said Marjorie passionately. "But you must fulfill one condition: come to Miss Allen's before May first. After that we were to give you up as lost."

"I will!" agreed Frieda. "Could I come next Saturday afternoon?"

"Yes; it's the day of the Scouts' out-door musical comedy. Promise me?"

"I promise!"

"Need any money for carfare?"

"No, thanks," replied Frieda, laughing. "And I expect to have my uniform by that time. But don't tell a soul that you've seen me, till then!" she entreated.

"Not a soul!" answered Marjorie.

Then, kissing her good-bye, she was gone as suddenly as she had appeared.

"Did you have a nice time, Marj?" asked Ruth, rather disagreeably, as Marjorie climbed into the car again. "You stayed long enough!"

"The best time I ever had in my life!" replied the happy girl, emphatically and truthfully.



CHAPTER XXIV

MARJORIE'S TRIUMPH

When Mrs. Hadley afterwards spoke of Marjorie Wilkinson, she called her "the girl with the shining eyes." For when the machine stopped in front of the house in Trenton where she was visiting, and the young people ran up the steps to greet her, Marjorie was still radiant from her great discovery. For a time John's mother, who immediately took a tremendous liking to the girl, attributed her joy to anticipation of the pleasure that awaited her. But later she realized that the cause for it was something deeper, something within Marjorie's heart.

John, too, admitted reluctantly to himself that he was not a part of her happiness. It had, he realized, something to do with the Girl Scouts, and especially with her brief visit at that factory. But what it could possibly be, he had not the slightest idea.

The girls soon became entirely at home in their hostess's house, singing and playing the piano until it was time to dress for dinner.

When Marjorie came downstairs again, dressed in the pale blue georgette which she had worn at the sophomore reception, John Hadley thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful. Suddenly he realized, although he was only nineteen years of age, how tremendously he cared for this girl. Working hard all year, partially earning his way through college, he had little time to write to her; again he wondered what she had been doing, and whether any of the other Boy Scouts had claimed her attention. With a pang of jealousy, he became aware of the fact that she did not care for him as he did for her—to the exclusion of all others of the opposite sex. But John Hadley forgot that Marjorie was only sixteen—three years younger than himself.

Neither of the girls had ever attended a college function of any kind before, and they were thrilled with the experience. In spite of the fact that many of the other girls wore bobbed hair, and all had short skirts, they felt exceptionally youthful. Marjorie felt shy, too, and at the end of almost every dance she brought her partner over to Mrs. Hadley's corner, as if seeking her protection. The woman was subtly flattered; if Marjorie had tried to win her affection, she could not have chosen a more direct method. But she was all unconscious of the impression she was making.

Although the affair was not to be over until twelve, the boys had not filled out the girls' programs for the last dances. So, in accordance with Mrs. Wilkinson's wishes, they started for home in the machine by half eleven. To her surprise, Marjorie found that she was sleepy; and making no attempt at conversation, she leaned back against the cushions. In a few minutes she was fast asleep, her head resting against Mrs. Hadley's shoulder.

Sunday passed quickly for the girls, for they were both tired out, and their parents let them sleep late. At three o'clock they took the train for school.

"Nothing but rehearsals!" yawned Ruth. "Don't you wish the operetta were over?"

"Yes—and no," replied Marjorie, thinking of Frieda's promise. "I don't mind rehearsing much. But, then, I haven't a big part."

"No; neither you nor I can sing wonderfully, can we? But didn't it make you feel the least bit badly, Marj, after being heroine last year, to have to take a back seat this time?"

Marjorie regarded Ruth with curiosity. This, in a nutshell, summed up Ruth's character. She could never bear to "take a back seat."

"Not a bit! With basket-ball and everything, I was glad not to have to work so hard. And then I've got my canoe again, you know!"

"Thanks to me!" said Ruth, proudly.

"Thanks to father!" returned Marjorie, a little sharply. It was tiresome the way Ruth was always fishing for compliments.

"I say, though," observed Ruth, "I wish I could earn that medal for locating Frieda Hammer. It would be the first medal of merit in the troop!"

"Medal!" exclaimed Marjorie. "Goodness, I had forgotten all about it!"

"And had you forgotten all about her, too?"

"No, indeed," replied Marjorie, warmly. "She'll turn up some day. And if she does, Ruth, you've got to forget that she ever stole anything. For she's made it up, you know!"

Marjorie looked straight into Ruth's eyes, and seemed to pierce into the hidden motives of her life. Ruth lowered her lids under the penetrating gaze, and answered, somewhat doggedly,

"All right! Whatever you say!"

"Thanks, Ruth!"

The train arrived just on time and the girls went directly to their rooms. Marjorie proceeded to tell Lily all about the dance.

"Is that what makes you look so happy, Marj?"

"Partly; but there's something else, too."

"Don't you want to tell me about it?" This softly, without curiosity.

"I'm dying to, Lil; but I'm so afraid it won't come true, I just don't dare. It's too wonderful!"

"It's about Frieda."

"Lily Andrews!" cried Marjorie, aghast. "How did you ever guess it?"

"From your expression. I know you pretty well now, Marj!"

But Marjorie would not permit herself to tell even Lily; she had given her word to Frieda that she would keep it a secret, and she meant to keep her promise.

Saturday came with weather clear, warm, and beautiful. The operetta, which was really a spring festival, was to be given in the open-air amphitheater of the school, with the natural scenery of the woods and the lake for a background. The Scouts, in their filmy white and green costumes and flowing hair, looked like the fairy and wood-people they were to represent. Ethel Todd had the leading part; Ruth and Marjorie were merely in the chorus.

Marjorie dressed early, and, slipping a cape over her costume, went to meet each train. Finally, on the last one to arrive before the play was to begin, she was rewarded. A neat-looking Girl Scout in khaki uniform stepped from the train and hurried towards her.

It was Frieda Hammer!

The girls kissed each other and went up the walk arm in arm. Marjorie knew that Miss Phillips and most of the Scouts would be behind the scenes at that time, so she took Frieda straight to her mother and father. She merely introduced her as a "Girl Scout from Trenton," placed her beside her mother and Jack, and went back of the scenes.

"May we have a little meeting after the play?" she begged Miss Phillips. "Right here—it will only take a second! Oh, please!"

The Captain consented, for she was too busy to argue.

The operetta was charming, and splendidly performed; it was pronounced the prettiest thing ever given at Miss Allen's. During the intermission the Principal told the audience about the Scout canoe trip, stating that the proceeds from this play would be used to buy food, and that an anonymous friend had offered to supply the canoes.

After the final chorus was over, Marjorie appeared immediately—almost miraculously, it seemed to Frieda—among the audience, and sought her family. She was delighted to find Jack and Frieda laughing and chatting pleasantly, quite as if they had known each other all their lives. Could this be the same girl who had uttered such harsh words to Mrs. Johnson last fall, and slammed the door in their faces? She had changed utterly; suffering, responsibility, kindness, work, and the influence of the Girl Scout principles in her life had all helped to accomplish it.

"I want you to come back and meet the members of our troop," she said, taking Frieda's hand. "They are waiting—but they won't wait long."

She found the girls gathered around Miss Phillips, intoxicated with their success, but impatient of the delay that kept them from joining their friends in the audience.

"Captain! Girls!" interrupted Marjorie, out of breath from her haste and excitement. "I want to introduce a Girl Scout from Pine Cone troop of Trenton. But," she added,—"first of all she belongs to Pansy troop. Miss Frieda Hammer!"

The girls could only gasp at these words; for it was not until after a second look that they recognized the country girl their troop had tried to adopt. The transformation was wonderful, the triumph complete! And they all realized that it was Marjorie's!

"And you're a second-class Scout!" cried Ethel, noticing the clover on her sleeve.

"And—own—a—pioneer—badge!" said Ruth, in amazement. "Why, you can go on the canoe trip!"

"I only won it last Saturday," said Frieda. "Oh, I should love to go on your canoe trip—but—I don't belong to Pansy troop!"

"You certainly do!" protested Lily.

"I tell you what I could do!" cried Frieda, with a flash of inspiration. "Do you need a cook?"

"Indeed we do," answered Miss Phillips. "I said only yesterday that we must get some one. Can you cook?"

"I think so!"

"Then you're hired!"

"Hurray for our new Scout!" they all cried, linking arms in a great chain.

"And for our 'Good Turn!'" exclaimed Ruth. "It's done at last."

"By Marjorie Wilkinson!" added Miss Phillips. Then, under her breath, "The Truest Girl Scout!"

The next volume in this series will tell of the Girl Scouts' Canoe Trip.

THE END



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THE GIRL SCOUTS' RIVALS

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THE END