"My Dear Anne:"Will you come up to my house before going to the hall? I wish to give you something to wear in the play."Yours affectionately,"Rose R. Gray."
"Will you come up to my house before going to the hall? I wish to give you something to wear in the play.
"Yours affectionately,"Rose R. Gray."
"Why, how unlike Mrs. Gray to send for you at the eleventh hour," said Grace in a puzzled tone. "No wonder you were late. What did she give you?"
"Nothing," replied Anne. "It was a trick. She never wrote the note, although the writing looks like hers, and so does the paper. She was very indignant over it and sent me back in the carriage, telling the coachman to return for her, for of course she will be here to-night. I would have arrived much later if I had been obliged to walk. I ran almost all the way up there. You know Chapel Hill is quite a distance from my house."
"I should say so," replied Grace. "Who could have been so mean? Anne, why do you suppose——" Grace stopped suddenly and stared at Anne. "Anne do you think that Eleanor could have written it?" she said slowly, as though reluctant to give voice to her suspicion.
"I am afraid so," replied Anne. "She is the only one who could profit by my being late. Yet if she did write the note, she should have realized that going to Mrs. Gray's would scarcely keep me away long enough to miss my first entrance. You know I don't come on until the second scene."
"There is something more behind this," said Grace, "and I'm going to find out, too." She darted to the door and opened it upon Nora and Jessica, who were on the threshold.
"We can't find them," they cried in alarm, "but we told Miss Tebbs and she'll be here in a minute."
"We didn't say a word to any one else," said Nora, "because they must be somewhere about, and there is no use in stirring up a lot of unnecessary excitement."
"Wise little Nora," said Grace, patting her on the shoulder. "Here comes Miss Tebbs now." She stepped courteously aside to allow the teacher to enter the dressing room, then, following her, closed the door.
"What is this I hear about losing your costumes, Anne?" asked Miss Tebbs rather impatiently. "I cautioned the girls last night about taking care of their things."
Anne flushed at the teacher's curt tones.
"I put them all in that corner, plainly marked, before I left here last night," she answered. "When I came here to-night they were gone."
"That is strange," said the elder woman. "Have you made a thorough search for them in the other room?"
"We've gone over every inch of the ground," exclaimed Jessica, "and we can't find a trace of them. We didn't ask any of the girls about them, because if we couldn't find them we feel sure the others couldn't. So we just kept quiet."
"I don't know what is to be done, I'm sure," said Miss Tebbs in an anxious tone. "It is eight o'clock now and the curtain is supposed to run up at 8.15. I can hold it until 8.30, but no longer. The house is already well filled. You might get through the first act in a borrowed gown, Anne, but what can you do in the second? You know how that costume had to be altered to fit you. If it can be found before the second act, all will be well, but suppose you go on in the first act, and it can't be found, what then? You will spoil the whole production byappearing in an incorrect or misfit costume, besides bitterly disappointing the two girls who will have to give up their costumes to you. It is doubly provoking, because Mr. Southard is here to-night, and is particularly anxious to see your work."
"Miss Tebbs," exclaimed Grace, "Eleanor Savell has a complete 'Rosalind' outfit. She had it made purposely. One of the girls told me so. You know she understudies Anne. Couldn't Anne use that?"
"Impossible, Grace," said Miss Tebbs. "Eleanor is taller than Anne. Anne's lack of height is her one drawback. If she had not shown such exceptional talent, 'Rosalind' would have certainly fallen to Miss Savell or yourself. I am very sorry, but it looks as though Miss Savell will have to play Rosalind after all, and she must be notified at once."
The three chums turned to Anne, who was biting her lip and trying hard to keep back her tears. Nora and Jessica looked their silent sympathy, but Grace stood apparently wrapped in thought.
Miss Tebbs moved toward the door, but as she placed her hand on the knob Grace sprang eagerly forward.
"Miss Tebbs," she cried, "don't ask Miss Savell. I believe I can find those costumes yet.Wait here and in five minutes I'll tell you whether I have succeeded. Please don't ask me what I am going to do. Just trust me and wait. You will let me try, won't you?" she pleaded.
"Certainly, my child," said Miss Tebbs, "but remember time is precious. I'll give you five minutes, but if——"
"I'll be back in that time," cried Grace, and was gone, leaving Miss Tebbs and the three chums mystified but faintly hopeful.
Across the stage she flew and into the other dressing room. The object of her search was not there. Out she rushed and collided with a girl who was about to enter.
"Pardon me," said Grace, glancing up, then seized the girl by the arm. "Eleanor Savell," she exclaimed sternly. "You know where Anne's costumes are. Don't attempt to deny it."
Eleanor looked contemptuously at Grace and tried to shake herself free, but Grace's grasp tightened.
"Answer me," she said. "Where are they?"
"Where Are Anne's Costumes?" Cried Grace."Where Are Anne's Costumes?" Cried Grace.
"Let me go," said Eleanor angrily. "You are hurting my arm. What do I care about Miss Pierson's costumes?"
"You will care," replied Grace. "For if you don't instantly tell me where they are, I shall call the whole cast and expose you."
"If you do, you will merely make yourselfridiculous," hissed Eleanor, her eyes blazing. "What grounds have you for such an accusation?"
"I can't prove that you are responsible for their disappearance, but I do know that you shall not play 'Rosalind,' if the costumes are never found."
"How can you prevent me!" asked Eleanor in insolent tones. "You are not running this production."
"I have no time to waste in arguing the matter," returned Grace with admirable self-control. "What I want is the truth about the costumes and you must answer me."
"'Must,'" repeated Eleanor, raising her eyebrows. "That is putting it rather strongly. No one ever says 'must' to me."
"I say it to you now, Eleanor, and I mean it," said Grace. "I am fully convinced that you have hidden Anne's costumes and I am equally certain that you are going to produce them at once."
"Then you are laboring under a delusion," replied Eleanor, with a disagreeable laugh, "and I should advise you to devote that tireless energy of yours, to minding your own business."
"This is my business," replied Grace evenly, "and if you wish to avoid any unpleasantness you will make it yours."
"Your threats do not alarm me," sneered Eleanor. "I am not easily frightened."
"Very well," replied Grace, looking steadily at her enemy. "I see that I shall be obliged to call Miss Thompson back here and tell her who destroyed her essay. Knowing that, do you suppose you can make her believe that you did not hide Anne's costumes?"
Eleanor's insolent expression turned to one of fear. "No," she gasped, "don't call Miss Thompson. You know she hates me, and will disgrace me in the eyes of the girls."
"And you richly deserve it, Eleanor," replied Grace, "but if you produce Anne's costumes at once, I'll agree to say nothing. Hurry, for every second is precious."
"I can't get them," wailed Eleanor. "What shall I do?"
"Where are they?" asked Grace, with compressed lips.
"At—'Heartsease,'" said Eleanor, and burst into tears.
"Oh, what a mess," groaned Grace. "It will take an hour to go there and back. Oh, I must act quickly. Let me think. Mrs. Gray's coachman would drive me out, but those horses are so slow. Eleanor," she exclaimed, turning to the weeping girl, "is your runabout outside?"
"Yes," sobbed Eleanor.
"Then that settles it," cried Grace. "I will go after the things. Tell me where to find them. Have you a latch key? I can't bother to ring after I get there."
"I'll go and get my key," said Eleanor, wiping her eyes. "They're in the wardrobe in my bedroom."
"All right, wait for me at the door and don't say a word. Here come some of the girls."
Though the time had seemed hours to Grace, her interview with Eleanor had lasted barely five minutes. She hurried back to where Miss Tebbs and the three chums awaited her, followed by the curious eyes of a number of the cast, who wondered vaguely why Grace Harlowe was rushing around at such a rate.
"Borrow a gown for Anne, Miss Tebbs, for the first act," she cried. "I'll have the missing costumes here in time for the second. Only I can't play Orlando. Miriam will have to play it; she's my understudy, you know. Ethel Dumont can play Miriam's part. They've rehearsed both parts, and will be all right. Please don't refuse me, Miss Tebbs, but let me go. It's for Anne's sake. Nora, please bring me my street clothes."
As she spoke, Grace began rapidly divesting herself of her costume.
"Very well, Grace, have your own way," replied the teacher reluctantly. "I'll go at once and get a gown for Anne. But don't dare to fail me."
"Thank you, Miss Tebbs. I'll not fail." Slipping into her long coat and seizing her fur hat, Grace made for the street, stopping for an instant to take the key from Eleanor, who stood waiting at the door.
"Can you manage the machine?" faltered Eleanor.
"Yes," said Grace curtly. "Go in at once. If you are seen, the girls are apt to ask questions that you may find hard to answer truthfully."
"Thank goodness, David and Tom taught me something about automobiles last summer," thought Grace as she prepared to start, "or I should have been powerless to help Anne to-night. I am going to exceed the speed limit, that's certain." A moment later she was well into the street and on her way to "Heartsease." It was a memorable ride to Grace. It seemed as though the runabout fairly flew over the ground.
"I've only been ten minutes on the way," she breathed as she neared her destination. Leaving the runabout outside the grounds, she ran up the drive, and, inserting her key in the door, opened it softly and entered the wide, old-fashioned hall. Up the steps she hurried, meeting no one, for Miss Nevin was at Assembly Hall and the servants' quarters were at the back of the house. Knowing the house as she did, Grace went straight to Eleanor's room and to the wardrobe. Sure enough, Anne's missing costumes were lying in a neat heap on the floor. Assuring herself that everything was there, Grace piled them up in her arms and sped softly down the stairs, opened the door, and in a twinkling was down the drive and into the runabout.
She drove back even faster than she had come. As she passed the city hall clock she drew a breath of relief. It was ten minutes of nine. The first act was hardly half over. Leaping from the machine with the lost costumes she ran triumphantly into the dressing room.
"Here she is," shrieked Nora in delight. "I knew she'd make good."
"Are they all there, Grace," anxiously inquired Miss Tebbs. "You dear, good child. Where did you find them?"
"That is a mystery which even Sherlock Holmes can never solve," replied Grace, laughing. "Where's Anne?"
"She's on just now with Celia," replied Miss Tebbs, "and is playing up to her usual form, but she is very nervous and almost broke down after you left. She feels that you made too great a sacrifice for her in giving up your part."
"Nonsense," said Grace. "Why should I have sacrificed the star to my own personal vanity? Miriam Nesbit can play Orlando as well as I, and makes a more striking appearance at that."
"I don't agree with you, Grace, for you were an ideal 'Orlando,'" replied Miss Tebbs. "However it's too late for regret, and the best I can do now is to make you assistant stage manager. Some of those girls need looking after. Miss Savell had a bad case of stage fright and almost had to be dragged on. She forgot her lines and had to be prompted. She's all right now, but I am devoutly thankful she didn't play 'Rosalind,' for she certainly would not have done justice to it."
Grace smiled grimly as she listened to Miss Tebbs. She could not feel sorry at Eleanor's recent agitation. Now that the excitement was over, Grace felt her anger rising. Eleanor's thirst for glory and revenge had been the means of losing Grace the part that she had so eagerly looked forward to playing, not to mention the narrow escape Anne had run. Still, on the whole, Grace felt glad that so far no one knew the truth.
"I think I'll go into the wings. It's almost time for the curtain," she said to Miss Tebbs. But before she could reach there, the curtain hadrung down and the audience were calling for Celia and Rosalind, who took the call hand in hand. Then Rosalind took two calls and bowed herself into the wings and straight into Grace's arms.
"O Grace, how could you do it?" said Anne, with a half sob. "You gave up your part for me. It's too much. I shan't——"
"You shall," replied Grace, hugging her. "Run along and put on male attire. I found your stuff and some time I'll tell you where, but not now."
The play progressed with remarkable smoothness, and the various actors received unstinted applause from the audience, but from first to last Anne was the star. Her portrayal of Rosalind left little to be desired. Time after time Mr. Southard led the applause, and was ably seconded by Hippy, Reddy, David and Tom, who fairly wriggled with enthusiasm.
Next to Anne, Nora, perhaps, came second. Her delivery of Touchstone's lines was delightful and she kept the audience in a gale of mirth whenever she appeared.
It was over at last. The closing line of the Epilogue had been spoken by Rosalind, and she had taken five curtain calls and retired with her arms full of flowers. The principal actors in the play had been well remembered by friends,and the dressing rooms looked like a florist's shop.
"I'm so sorry. I'd like to begin all over again," said Nora, as she rubbed her face with cold cream to take off her make-up.
"There's an end to all things," said Jessica practically, "and really I'm glad to get back into everyday clothes."
"Hurry up, slowpokes," said Grace Harlowe, popping her head in the door. "Tom Gray is here. He and David are waiting outside with their cars. We are all going up to Nesbit's for a jollification given in honor of Rosalind, who is at present dressed in everyday clothes and shaking hands with the great Southard. He and Miss Tebbs are going, too, and so is Mrs. Gray."
"Come in, Grace, and tell us where you found Anne's costumes," said Nora, giving her cheeks a final rub. "We're devoured with curiosity."
"'Thereby hangs a tale,'" replied Grace, "but I refuse to be interviewed to-night. I'll see you outside. If you're not there in three minutes, I'll put Hippy on your trail."
Closing the door, Grace walked slowly toward the entrance. The majority of the girls had gone. Anne still stood talking with Mr. Southard and Miss Tebbs.
"Grace, come here and speak to Mr. Southard," called Miss Tebbs. "Has Nora gone? Mr. Southard wishes to congratulate her and you, too."
"She'll be out in a couple of minutes," said Grace, as she advanced to greet the great actor. "But I am not in line for congratulations, as I was not in the play."
"I am very sorry that you could not play Orlando to-night. I remember your work at the try-out," said Mr. Southard in his deep, musical voice. "Miss Tebbs has told me of the sacrifice you made. You deserve double congratulations for the part you played behind the scenes."
"It was nothing," murmured Grace, her color rising. "If you are ready, suppose we go. Mrs. Gray wishes you and Mr. Southard to go in her carriage, Miss Tebbs. The rest of us will go in the two automobiles."
As they moved toward the door, Grace left them. Going back to the dressing room, she rapped sharply on the door. "Last call! Look out for Hippy!" she cried, then hurried to catch up with the others. But before she reached them she was confronted by Eleanor.
"I've been waiting to see you ever since the play was over," said Eleanor sullenly.
Grace looked at her in silence. "Well?" she said coldly.
"What are you going to do about to-night—and everything?" asked Eleanor. "Are you going to tell Miss Thompson?"
"So far I have told nothing, Eleanor," said Grace sternly. "You deserve no clemency at my hands, however, for you have repeatedly accused myself and my friends of carrying tales. Something we are above doing. You have refused our friendship and have been the means of estranging Miss Thompson and myself.
"When first you came to High School, I promised Mrs. Gray that I would help you to like High School life. For that reason I have overlooked lots of things, but to-night caps the climax, and I tell you frankly that I thoroughly despise your conduct, and if ever again you do anything to injure myself or my friends, I shall not hesitate to bring you to book for it."
Eleanor stood clenching her hands in impotent rage. Grace's plain speaking had roused a tempest in her.
"I hate you, Grace Harlowe, fifty times more than ever before," she said, her voice shaking with anger. "I intended to leave this miserable school at the end of the year, but now I shall stay and show you that you cannot trample upon me with impunity."
Without answering, Grace walked away, leaving Eleanor to stare moodily after her.
With the first days of spring, the longing to throw down her books and fairly live in the open returned to Grace Harlowe with renewed force.
"I do wish school were over," she said with a sigh to her three chums, as they strolled home one afternoon in May. "I don't mind studying in the winter, but when the spring comes, then it's another matter. I long to golf and play tennis, and picnic in the woods and——"
"That reminds me," said Nora, interrupting her, "that last fall the juniors talked about giving a picnic instead of a ball. We didn't give the ball, so it's up to us to go picnicking."
"That's a fine suggestion, Nora," said Jessica. "I move we post a notice in the locker-room and have a meeting to-morrow after school.
"I can't be there," said Anne regretfully. "To-morrow is one of my days at Mrs. Gray's, but whatever you do will suit me."
"Awfully sorry, Anne," said Grace. "We might call it for the day after to-morrow."
"No, no," protested Anne. "Please don't postpone it on my account."
The notice was duly posted in a conspicuous place in the locker-room the next day, and the entire class, with the exception of Anne, met in one of the smaller rooms off the gymnasium at the close of the afternoon session.
"Esteemed juniors and fellow-citizens," said Grace, after calling the meeting to order. "It is true that no one has particularly requested me to take charge of this meeting, but as I posted the notice, I feel that I am responsible for your presence here to-day. We have before us two matters that need attention. One is the annual entertainment that the junior class always gives, the other the election of class officers. Last year we gave a ball, but this year so far we have done nothing. I move that we proceed at once to elect our president, vice president, secretary and treasurer, and then decide what form of entertainment would be advisable."
"Second the motion," said Nora.
"All those in favor say 'aye,' contrary, 'no.'"
"Carried," said Grace, as no dissenting voices arose. "Nominations for president are now in order."
"I nominate Grace Harlowe for president," exclaimed Miriam Nesbit, springing from her seat.
"Second the motion," said Eva Allen.
It was carried with enthusiasm before Grace had time to protest.
"I nominate Miriam Nesbit for president," said Grace.
This was also seconded and carried. Then Edna Wright rose and nominated Eleanor Savell. This closed the nominations for president, and the matter when put to vote resulted in Grace's election by a majority of ten votes over Miriam, Eleanor having received only five. It was plain to be seen that in spite of the rival faction, Grace held first place in the hearts of most of her class. Miriam Nesbit was elected vice president, Marian Barber treasurer, and, rather to Grace's surprise, Eleanor was chosen as secretary, Edna Wright again nominating her after doing some vigorous whispering among the two back rows of girls. The only other girl proposed being one who was not particularly popular in the class.
"I always suspected Edna Wright's lack of sense," whispered Nora to Jessica. "The idea of nominating Eleanor for secretary when she knows how Eleanor hates the Phi Sigma Tau, and doesn't speak to any of us. I certainly didn't vote for her."
"Nor I," responded Jessica. "Funny Grace would never tell us about that costume business. I know Eleanor was mixed up in it."
"Of course," nodded Nora, and turned her attention to the meeting just in time to hear Grace put the motion for the picnic and say "aye" with the others.
The date for the affair was set for the following Saturday, the weather permitting, and it was generally agreed that Forest Park, a natural park about twelve miles from Oakdale, would be an ideal place to picnic. A refreshment committee was appointed, also a transportation committee. The girls were requested to pay fifty cents apiece to the treasurer.
"If we find that this is not enough, we will levy another tax," Grace announced.
"I'm not positive about the first collection," muttered Nora. "I'm perpetually broke."
"So am I," said Jessica. "My allowance lasts about two days, and then I am penniless for the rest of the month."
The details having been disposed of, the members decided to meet in front of the High School the following Saturday morning at nine o'clock. The transportation committee was to have two big picnic wagons in readiness and the juniors went home with pleasant anticipations of a day in the woods.
"Won't it be fun?" exclaimed Grace joyously, as she walked down the street, the center of the Phi Sigma Tau.
"Great," said Miriam Nesbit. "I suppose we could all squeeze into David's automobile."
"I believe we'd better not," replied Grace. "It might create bad feeling among the girls. We don't want them to feel that we think ourselves too exclusive to ride with them."
"I'll wager anything Eleanor and Edna won't go with the crowd," said Eva Allen.
"I don't know about that," remarked Nora O'Malley. "Eleanor has just been elected secretary, therefore it behooves her to keep on the right side of those who elected her."
"She owes her office to Edna Wright," said Marian Barber, "and also to the fact that her opponent, Miss Wells, is not popular. For my part, I think Miss Wells would have been a better secretary. We could at least have gotten along peaceably with her. I can't see why Eleanor accepted, knowing she would have to act with us in class matters."
"I have noticed that ever since the play she has been trying to gain a footing in the class," said Miriam Nesbit thoughtfully. "She has gone out of her way to be nice to girls that she used to snub unmercifully. We are the only ones she keeps away from. I believe she will try to influence the rest of the class against us."
"She'll have to hurry up if she does it this term," said Nora.
"Perhaps she won't come back to school next year, she is so changeable," said Jessica hopefully.
"Yes, she will," said Grace, taking part in the discussion for the first time since it had touched on Eleanor.
"How do you know?" was the question.
"She told me so the night of the play," was Grace's answer. "Girls, I have never told you about what happened that night. Anne knows, but, you see, it particularly concerned her. I was too angry at the time to trust myself to tell any one else. As members of the same sorority, I know that you can be trusted not to repeat what I shall tell you."
In a few words Grace told the story of Eleanor's treachery, omitting, however, the part concerning Miss Thompson. She had decided to reveal that to no one.
"Well, of all things," said Nora O'Malley. "I knew she was to blame. So she threatened revenge, did she?"
"Yes," replied Grace. "That is why I have told you this. Be careful what you do. Never give her a chance to take advantage of you in any way, for she is determined to make mischief. Now let us forget her, and talk about the picnic."
With the talk of the picnic, Grace's warning soon passed from the girls' minds. They hadno knowledge of the trials that their senior year was to bring them or how fully the truth of Grace's words was to be proved.
The day of the picnic dawned fair and cloudless. By nine o'clock a merry party of laughing, chattering girls had gathered in front of the High School, where the two immense wagons generally used by Oakdale picnickers, each drawn by four horses, awaited them. For a wonder every one was on time, and the start was made with a great fluttering of handkerchiefs, accompanied by enthusiastic cheers and High School yells. As they rattled down the street people paused and looked smilingly after them. Oakdale was very proud of her High School boys and girls, and enjoyed seeing them happy.
The Phi Sigma Tau were seated in one end of the second wagon, with the exception of Grace, who had perched herself on the driver's seat, and was holding an animated conversation with the driver, old Jerry Flynn, whom every one knew and liked. Grace always cultivated old Jerry's acquaintance whenever she had the chance. To-day he was allowing her to drive, while, with folded hands, he directed her management of the lines. Grace was in her element and gave a sigh of regret as they sighted thepark. "I could go on driving four horses forever, Mr. Flynn," she exclaimed. "Do let me drive going back?"
"Sure yez can, miss," said the good-natured Irishman, "and it's meself'll hellup yez, and show yez how to do it."
The committee on entertainment had provided a series of races and contests for the morning. After lunch there would be a tennis match, and then the girls could amuse themselves as they chose; the start home to be made about six o'clock.
Grace and Nora decided to enter the hundred-yard dash. "The prize is a box of stationery bought at the ten-cent store, so I am anxious to win it," Nora informed them. "In fact, all the prizes came from that useful and overworked place. I was on the purchasing committee."
"I shall enter the one-legged race. I always could stand on one foot like a crane," announced Jessica, "and hopping is my specialty."
There was an egg and spoon race, a walking match, an apple-eating contest, with the apples suspended by strings from the low branch of a tree, to be eaten without aid from the hands, and various other stunts of a similar nature.
The morning passed like magic. Each new set of contestants seemed funnier than the preceding one. Nora won the coveted box of stationery. Jessica ably demonstrated her ability to outhop her competitors, while Eva Allen covered herself with glory in the apple contest.
Grace, after losing the hundred-yard dash, laughingly refused to enter the other contests. "I mean to win at tennis this afternoon," she said, "so I'm not going to waste my precious energy on such little stunts."
After the midday luncheon had been disposed of, the entire class repaired to the tennis court at the east end of the park. A match had been arranged in which Grace and Miriam Nesbit were to play against Ruth Deane and Edna Wright, who was an indefatigable tennis player, and therefore figured frequently in tennis matches held in Oakdale. At the last minute, however, Edna pleaded a severe headache and recommended Eleanor in her place.
"But I never have played with her," protested Ruth Deane, "and how do I know whether she can play?"
"Try her," begged Edna. "I have played with her and she is a wonder."
It was with considerable surprise and some misgiving that Grace discovered that Eleanor was to play. "I seem fated to oppose her," Grace thought. "I wonder at her consenting to play against us. I'll keep my eye on her, at any rate, for I don't trust her."
Grace's fears were, in this instance, groundless, for Eleanor played a perfectly fair game from start to finish, and proved herself a powerful antagonist. Her serves were as straight and accurate as a boy's, and she played with great spirit and agility. Indeed, the sides were so evenly matched that junior excitement rose high and numerous boxes of Huyler's were wagered against the result. The game stood forty-all. Two vantages scored in succession were needed by one side to win. Grace forgot everything but the fact that she desired the victory. With her, going into a game meant winning it. Five minutes later the match was over. She and Miriam had won against worthy opponents.
"That was an evenly matched game," exclaimed Nora, as Grace and Miriam strolled to where their friends were seated upon the grass. "You played like professionals."
"Eleanor is a better player than Edna Wright," said Grace. "Her serves are wonderful. We had all we could do to hold our own."
"There's a trout brook over there," said Nora, "and I had forethought enough to borrow a fishing rod and line from Hippy. It is jointed, so it didn't get in any one's way. I left it with the lunch baskets. Therefore, as I'm not afraid of angle worms, I'm going to dig some bait and fish. Want to come?"
"Not I," laughed Anne. "Miriam and I are going up under the trees and read Browning."
"The idea of going to a picnic and reading!" exclaimed Jessica. "Come on, girls, let's go with Nora." She hastily rose, brushed off her gown and followed in Nora's wake, accompanied by Eva and Marian.
"Come with us, dear," said Anne to Grace, who stood looking dreamily toward a patch of woods to the left.
"No indeed," replied Grace. "I'm going to explore a little in those woods yonder."
"Don't go far," called Anne anxiously, as Grace turned to go.
"I won't," she answered. "See you later."
As she reached the cool shadows of the little strip of woods she drew a long breath. How delightful it was to hear the rustle of the leaves over her head, and tread upon Nature's green carpet of soft, thick moss. Forgetful of her promise, Grace wandered farther and farther on, gathering the wild flowers as she went. She found plenty of trilliums and violets, and pounced with a cry of delight upon some wild pink honeysuckle just opening. After stripping the bush, she turned into a bypath that led straight up a little hill which rose before her. Scrambling up the hill, Grace reached the top and looked about her. Nestling at the foot of the elevationon the side opposite to the one she had climbed stood a small one-story cottage.
"How funny," thought Grace. "I didn't know there was a house anywhere near here. I'm going down there for a drink of water. I'm awfully thirsty."
Suiting the action to the words, Grace hurried toward the cottage. As she neared it she noticed that the door was wide open. "Some one is at home, that's certain," she said to herself. "I hope they won't be cross at my asking for a drink. Why," she exclaimed, "there's no one living here at all. I think I'll venture in, perhaps there's a well at the back of the house."
Entering, she found that the cottage consisted of but two rooms. The front one was absolutely bare, but the back one contained an old stove, a broken-down sink and a rickety chair. At one side was a good-sized closet. Opening it, Grace found nothing save a dilapidated old coat. Just then she caught the sound of rough voices just outside the cottage.
"I tell ye, Bill, we've got to do the job to-night and hike for the West on that train that goes through Oakdale at 3.15 in the morning," said a voice that was almost a growl.
"I'm wid yer, Jim," answered another voice in correspondingly savage tones. "Even to layin' a few out stiff if dey gets in de way."
Grace listened. She heard heavy footsteps, and, peeping into the room, she saw a burly figure outlined in the front door in the act of entering. She glanced toward the back door. It was closed and fastened with a bolt. If she could slip out that way, she could make a run for the picnic grounds, but she dared not try to pass the two men who had just appeared. The few words of their conversation proved them to be lawless. Noiselessly she slipped into the closet and drew the door almost shut. She would hide until they had gone. They were not likely to linger long in the cottage.
Minute after minute went by, but the intruders showed no signs of leaving.
"What shall I do?" Grace breathed, wringing her hands. "They're real, downright burglars of the worst sort, and they're planning a robbery. It's getting late, too, and the girls will soon be going back. Oh, I must get out of here, but I won't try to go until I find out whose house they're going to rob."
The men talked on, but, listen as she might, Grace could get no clue.
"There ain't a soul on the joint except the judge and one old servant," growled Bill. "The rest o' the bunch'll be at the weddin' of one o' the girls. I laid low and heard 'em talkin' about it to-day. The judge's got money in thehouse, too. He always keeps it around, and that old Putnam place is pretty well back from the road."
Grace waited to hear no more. She had obtained the information she sought. They were going to rob and perhaps murder good old Judge Putnam.
Slipping quietly out of the closet, she approached the back door and cautiously took hold of the bolt. To her joy it moved easily. Exercising the greatest care in sliding it back, she lifted the latch. It made no sound, and, holding her breath, she softly swung open the door and ran on tiptoe around the corner of the house. Throwing away her bouquet as she ran, she made for a clump of underbrush at one side of the cottage. Here she paused, and hearing no disturbance from inside, she continued her flight. But she had lost her sense of direction, and after fifteen minutes' wandering was about to despair of finding her way, when she espied the honeysuckle bush that she had stripped earlier in the afternoon. This put her on the right track, but she was farther away from the picnic grounds than she had supposed, and when tired and breathless she at last reached them, it was only to find them deserted. The party had gone back to town without her.
Grace stood staring about her in blank dismay. It was nearing seven o'clock, and she was twelve miles from Oakdale. Why hadn't the girls waited? Grace felt ready to cry, then the vision of the poor old judge, alone and at the mercy of the two ruffians, flashed before her.
"I'll walk to Oakdale," she said, with a determined nod of her head. "And I'll not stop for an instant until I notify the police."
Grace never forgot that lonely walk. The darkness of a moonless night settled down upon her before she had gone three miles, but she would not allow herself to think of fear. She stumbled frequently as she neared her journey's end, and her tired body cried out for rest, but she pushed resolutely on, almost sobbing with relief as she entered the suburbs of the town. It was nearly eleven by the city hall clock when she hurried up the steps of the police station.
"Well, well!" said Chief Burroughs, as Grace rushed unceremoniously into his office. "Here's the lost girl now. I just received word that you were missing. Your father and one of my men left here not five minutes ago. They went to the livery to hire a rig."
"Oh, try and stop them, Mr. Burroughs," cried Grace excitedly. "'Phone the livery and tell them that I'm here. Then listen to me, for I've walked all the way from Forest Park and there's no time to lose."
"Walked from Forest Park?" exclaimed the chief, as he turned to the 'phone. "Why that's a good twelve miles and——"
"I know," interrupted Grace, then was silent, for the chief had begun talking to the livery.
"It's all right," he said, hanging up. "They'll be here directly. Caught them just in the nick of time, however. Now what's on your mind, Grace?"
"They're going to rob old Judge Putnam," Grace burst forth incoherently. "He's all alone. Oh, do send some one out there quickly, or it may be too late. Isn't there a telephone in the judge's house? He ought to be warned."
"Who's going to rob the judge? What are you talking about, my child?" asked the chief. "No, the judge has no 'phone. He thinks them a nuisance."
Grace rapidly told of her adventure in the woods, and her escape from the cottage. Before she had finished Chief Burroughs had begun to act. Summoning three special policemen, he narrated briefly what he had just heard, and five minutes later Grace had the satisfaction of knowing that, fully armed, they were well on their way to the Putnam estate.
"I can't understand why the girls didn't miss me," she said to the chief, as she sat awaiting her father's appearance.
"Miss Bright and Miss O'Malley, who were in the second wagon, thought you were in the first with Miss Pierson and Miss Nesbit, and vice versa," replied the chief. "The second wagon broke down when about half way home. It took over half an hour to get it fixed, so when it did arrive the girls in the head wagon had all gone home. Your mother grew uneasy when ten o'clock came, so she telephoned your friends, and on comparing notes you were found to be among the missing."
"What a mix-up," laughed Grace. "No wonder I wasn't missed. I'm sorry mother was uneasy, but she'll forgive me when she hears my tale. Oh, I hope nothing has happened to the poor old judge."
"Well, we'll soon know," replied the chief. "Now, you just take it easy and rest until your father comes. You need it after a twelve-mile walk. Of all the brave little girls——"
The ringing of the telephone cut the chief short.
Grace gave a long sigh and leaned back in the big chair. She was so tired. Her eyelids drooped——
"Well, I declare!" said the chief, as he turned from the telephone, for Grace was fast asleep.
The special policemen sent out to the Putnam estate were not doomed to disappointment. After an hour's waiting, their patience was rewarded, and the two housebreakers appeared upon the scene. Before they could do any damage they were apprehended and a bag containing a complete outfit of burglar's tools was taken away from them. They fought desperately, but without avail, and were marched to jail to await their hearing.
Judge Putnam was greatly agitated over the affair. He had a large sum of money in the house, not to mention old family silver and other valuables.
"I realize I've had a narrow escape," he exclaimed to the chief the next day. "I might have been murdered in cold blood. I'll have a burglar alarm put in at once and a telephone, too. I had no business to let all the servants except old James go for the night. Who did you say brought the news? Tom Harlowe's little girl? She always was a wide awake youngster. I wonder what I can do for her to show her that I appreciate her bravery?"
"I don't believe she'd accept anything, Judge," replied the chief. "She's not that sort."
"We shall see. We shall see," said the judge, rubbing his hands. "I have a plan I think she'll listen to."
In the meantime, on reaching home Grace had been cried over by her mother and put to bed as though she were a baby. The story had been told by her chums throughout the school the next day, and Grace found herself the "observed of all observers."
"Any of you would have done the same," she said when surrounded by a bevy of admiring schoolmates.
"That's what you always say," exclaimed Nora. "But let me tell you I should have been in hysterics if I had been left alone in the dark twelve miles from nowhere."
Judge Putnam did not at once make his plan known to Grace. He called, thanking her and complimenting her on her bravery and presence of mind.
"I shall have something to ask you when school closes, my dear child," he said as he rose to go. "Something that concerns you and your friends, and you mustn't say 'no' to an old man."
"What on earth does he mean?" said Grace toher chums, as she repeated the judge's words. "I shall be eaten up with curiosity until school closes."
"Wish to goodness it was over now," growled Nora O'Malley. "I don't believe the last of June will ever come."
The morning after commencement, eight highly excited girls gathered on the Harlowe's veranda. Grace had received a note from Judge Putnam requesting that the Phi Sigma Tau call upon him at ten o'clock that morning.
"Do hurry," said Jessica, as they neared the judge's beautiful home. "The sooner we get there the sooner we'll know."
"Good morning, young ladies," said the judge, bowing with old-time gallantry as James ushered the eight girls into the library. "You look like a garden of roses. There's nothing like youth; nothing like it. Sit down and make yourselves comfortable while I tell you why I asked you to come and see an old man."
"You are just like Mrs. Gray, Judge," said Grace, "always imagining yourself old, when you knowyou'rejust a great big boy."
"Very pretty, my dear," chuckled the judge. "But if I am as young as you say, then I must do something to keep young. Now, the way I propose doing it is this: I have a camp up in the Adirondacks that needs attention, so I wrotemy youngest sister about it and she agrees with me. She is going up there this week with a couple of servants to open the bungalow and put it in readiness for eight girls who call themselves the Phi Sigma Tau, providing their fathers and mothers can spare them for a few weeks. Do you think they will care to go?"
"Oh-h-h-h! How lovely!" breathed the eight girls in concert.
"Care to go? Well I should say so. It will be the greatest lark ever," cried Grace.
"If you know any young men who can make themselves useful, we might invite them. I don't like the idea of being the only boy, you know."
"David and Tom," said Grace and Anne.
"Hippy can go, I'm sure," said Nora.
"Not to mention Reddy and Arnold Evans," murmured Jessica, with a glance at Miriam.
"It looks as though I shall not lack masculine company," remarked the judge, with twinkling eyes. "Tell your parents that my sister will write them."
"I move that we give three cheers and the High School yell for Judge Putnam, and then go straight home and get proper permission," cried Grace.
The cheers were given with a will, and after shaking hands with the judge, the girls said good-bye.
"How did Judge Putnam know about the Phi Sigma Tau; even to its name?" asked Marian Barber curiously.
"Lots of people know of it," remarked Eva Allen.
"Girls," said Grace earnestly, "don't you think our society has been a success so far?"
"Yes, indeed," was the united answer.
"Our sorority has made us fast friends, loyal to each other, through good and evil report," she continued. "Let us resolve now, that during our senior year we will stand firmly together, and make the Phi Sigma Tau represent all that is best and most worthy in High School life."
When next we meet Grace Harlowe and her girl chums, they will have entered upon their senior year at High School. In "Grace Harlowe's Senior Year at High School; Or, The Parting of the Ways," we shall learn how the Phi Sigma Tau kept their sorority pledge. Eleanor Savell will again seek revenge, and Grace Harlowe will once more prove herself equal to the occasion. Those who have followed the "High School Girls" through three years of school life cannot fail to be interested in what befell these lovable everyday girls during their senior year.