On the night of the flying machine exhibition, the four chums, for Anne had now been formally adopted by Grace and her friends, arrived somewhat early at the great arched doorway leading into the gymnasium.
They were all somewhat excited over this new experience. There had been many balloon ascensions at the State Fair, and once a dirigible airship had sailed over the town of Oakdale. But to see a real flying machine with all its grace and elegance and lightness was like stepping onto another planet where progress had advanced much faster than it had on this.
At least, so thought Anne as she followed her friends into the building. There was a sound of puffing and churning, during which David arrived in a cloud of smoke on his motor cycle.
"I mean to learn to ride one of those queer machines," exclaimed Grace from the doorway, never dreaming what an important part that very machine was one day to play in the history of Oakdale.
"All right, you're welcome to," replied David, jumping off as he stopped the motor. "Come over to the campus to-morrow afternoon, and I'll give you your first lesson."
"Is that really an invitation?" asked Grace. "For I shall accept it, if it is."
"It certainly is," answered the young man, "and I shall expect you to make a very excellent prize pupil, not like Reddy Brooks, who tumbled off and smashed his nose because he suddenly forgot how to manage the brakes."
A few other people gathered in the roomy gymnasium to see the exhibition, but the girls could see that it was a very exclusive company they had been invited to join. There were, in fact, no other girls, except Miriam Nesbit, who came late with her mother, a handsome, quiet woman to whom her son David bore a marked resemblance.
Grace and her friends spoke to Mrs. Nesbit cordially, while Miriam bowed coldly and confined all her attentions to Miss Leece, the unpopular teacher of mathematics. Miriam ignored Anne entirely.
"And now, ladies, if you will all be seated, the show will begin," announced David, leading them to the spectators' benches ranged against the wall. "Don't expect anything wonderful of mine," he added. "It's only in the first stages so far. I'm afraid she'll break down, but she's a great little machine, just the same. Isn't she, mother?"
"She is wonderful, I think, David," replied Mrs. Nesbit, who was a very shy, quiet woman, almost entirely wrapped up in her only son. Miriam had always been too much for her, and she had long since given up attempting to rule or direct her brilliant, willful daughter.
"Mrs. Nesbit," said Grace, "this is Anne Pierson, one of the brightest girls in the freshman class."
"How do you do?" said Mrs. Nesbit cordially, giving the girl her hand. "You are a newcomer, are you not? I haven't heard Miriam speak of you."
"She is a newcomer, mother, but I hear she's giving your daughter Miriam a stiff pull for first place," said David teasingly.
"I wish you'd keep quiet, David," exclaimed his sister angrily. "You always talk too much."
"Miriam!" remonstrated her mother.
"Miss Nesbit," said Miss Leece in a disagreeable, harsh voice, "will have no trouble, I think, in holding her own."
The teacher gave Anne such a glare from her pale blue eyes that the poor child shrank behind Grace in embarrassment.
"Dear, dear," murmured Mrs. Nesbit helplessly. She disliked exceedingly the scenes to which her daughter often subjected the family.
David only laughed good-naturedly.
"The exhibition is about to begin," he said, and disappeared into the room where the ships were to be put through their performances.
In a few moments six young airship builders appeared, each carrying in his arms the result of his summer's labors. There was vigorous applause from everybody except Miriam, who was too angry with her brother to enjoy the spectacle.
The aeroplanes were all copies of well-known models, except David's, which was of an entirely new and original design of his own invention. It looked something like a flying fish, the girls thought, with its slender, oblong body, gauzy fins at the sides and a funny little forked tail at the stern.
The models were too light for machinery, so rubber bands, secured cris-cross in the bows, when suddenly released with a snap gave the little ships the impetus they needed to fly the length of the gymnasium.
Only four of the six, however, were destined to fly that evening. They soared straight down the big room, as easily and gracefully as great white birds, and dropped gently when they hit the curtain at the other end, their builders running after them as eagerly as boys sailing kites. One of the models fluttered and settled down before it reached the other side, and David's machine, which had commanded most attention because it was different, started out bravely enough, its little propeller making a busy humming as it skimmed along. But it had gone hardly ten yards before it collapsed and ignominiously crashed to the floor.
"I'm glad of it," said Miriam above the din, for everyone had gathered about the young man to offer sympathy and congratulations at the same time.
"It's very, very clever, my boy," said Professor Blitz, "and you'll succeed yet, if you keep at it."
"She wouldn't go far, David," said Grace, stroking the little model, as if it had been a pet dog, "but she's the prettiest of all, just the same."
"Did it hurt it when it fell?" Anne asked him.
"I think it broke one of its little fins," laughed David. "It hurt me much more than itself, because it wouldn't be good and fly all the way."
"Anne," called Grace, "here is some one looking for you. It's a boy with a note."
Anne looked frightened as she opened a soiled looking envelope the boy handed her.
"Is anything the matter?" asked Jessica, seeing the expression of fear on her face.
"No—yes——," answered poor little Anne, undecidedly. "I must go home, or rather I mustn't go the way I came. Don't you think I could leave at a side entrance? I don't want to see the person who is waiting for me in front."
"Of course, child," spoke up Grace. "We'll see you home ourselves. Won't we, girls!"
"Wait until I lock up my motor cycle and I'll go along," called David. "We'll all protect Miss Anne."
"Tell him," said Anne to the boy, putting the note back in the envelope and giving it to him, "that what he asks is impossible."
"Couldn't you squeeze us into the carriage, mother?" asked David, returning presently with his hat.
"I have invited Miss Leece to drive home with us, mother," interrupted Miriam, giving her brother a blighting glance. "There is room for only one more person. Perhaps Jessica will take it."
"You are very kind," said Jessica coldly, "but I prefer to walk with the girls."
"You'dbetter walk, too, cross-patch, and learn a few manners from your friends," was David's parting advice to his sister.
"Children, children!" exclaimed Mrs. Nesbit, "don't, I beg of you, quarrel in public."
Presently the five young people had slipped out of a side door of the gymnasium and started down a back street in the direction of Anne's house. They had not gone far, however, before they became aware that they were being followed. Grace was the first to call the attention of Nora and Jessica to a long, slim figure stealing after them in the shadows.
"Here he comes," whispered Jessica. "What in the world do you suppose he wants with our poor little Anne?"
"I believe he's going to stop us," returned Grace. "He is coming nearer and nearer."
"Anne, I command you to wait!" called a voice from behind them.
They all stopped suddenly and Anne jumped as though she had received a shock.
A tall, theatrical-looking individual had come up to them. He wore a shabby frock coat and a black slouch hat, which he raised with an elaborate flourish when he saw the young girls.
"Pardon me, ladies," he said, "but I wish to speak with my daughter."
Anne controlled herself with an effort.
"I cannot see you now, father," she said. "It is quite late and I must get back."
"You shall not only speak to me but you shall come with me," exclaimed the man, with a sudden flare of anger. "I will not submit to disobedience again. Come at once!"
"Father, I cannot go with you," cried Anne, clinging to her friends. "I would rather be with mother and Mary. They need me more than you do and I want to go to school and study to be a teacher."
The man was now beside himself with theatrical rage.
"Miserable child!" he cried, waving his arms wildly. "I shall take you if I must by force." Breaking through the group, he seized the hand of his daughter and dragged her after him.
"Oh, save me!" cried the poor girl, struggling to release herself.
"I can't stand this! If she doesn't want to go with him, she shan't, father or no father," growled David, dashing after the pair.
"Stop, sir!" he cried, seizing Anne's other hand. "I must ask you to release this young lady at once."
"Insolent boy!" cried the other, giving each word an oratorical flourish, "are you not aware that this young lady, as you call her, is merely a child, and that she happens to be my daughter? I cannot see that you have a right to interfere in a family matter."
"But I have no proof that Miss Pierson is your daughter," retorted David. "It is enough that she doesn't want to go with you. I undertook to see her safely to her own home, this evening, and I mean to do it. After that you may settle your difficulties as you please."
"Miserable upstart!" cried the man, now so thoroughly angry that he let go Anne's hand, "I have a good mind to give you what you deserve. As for you, undutiful, wretched girl," he added, his voice rising to an emotional tremolo, "you shall be well punished for this!"
"Don't wait," whispered Anne. "If we run, we can get away, now, while he is so angry." At that they all took to their heels, David following after them, much relieved to have given Anne's father the slip without further disagreeable argument.
No one spoke until they had reached the Pierson cottage and had seen Anne safely to the front door.
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed at last, trying not to cry. "I wouldn't for anything have had it happen, and just when you were all beginning to like me a little. Will you forgive me?"
"Forgive you, Anne!" cried Grace. "It wasn't your fault. We are only awfully sorry for you."
"We will just forget all about it, and never speak of it to anyone," promised Jessica, taking the girl's hand kindly.
"But I want you to understand that I was right in not going," protested Anne. "Some day I will explain."
"Of course you were right," said David, "and I hope you will never be persuaded to go."
"Thank you, all, a thousand times!" came gratefully from Anne; "and good night." Then she disappeared into the cottage.
"Well, this was a night's adventure," observed Grace, as they started homeward.
"I am afraid Anne's father is a night's adventurer," muttered David. "He looks mightily like one of those strolling actors who go barnstorming through country towns."
"Poor Anne! Do you suppose he wants her to barnstorm?" asked Nora.
"I haven't a doubt of it," replied the young man. "I think you girls had better adopt that poor child and look after her."
"We have already," answered Grace. "Didn't Miriam tell you about it?"
"Miriam? No; she never tells me anything. Besides, what has she to do with it?"
The girls were silent.
"By the way," continued Grace, "speaking of barnstorming, we want to ask your advice, David. The sophomores played a mean trick on us the other day at the old Omnibus House."
"I heard something about the Black Monks of Asia," answered David, laughing.
"Can't your inventive brain devise a scheme of revenge?" went on Grace. "If we don't get even with them soon, the story will be all over town."
"Well," replied David, "I can tell you a secret I happened to have overheard when one of the sophomores was calling on Miriam. I was an eavesdropper entirely by accident, but what I heard might help some. The sophomores are going to give an initiation mask ball a week from Saturday night. Only the class and a few outsiders, among them Miriam, are to be present. Everybody is to be in fancy dress, and disguised out of all recognition. Can't you work up a scheme with that to go upon, girls?"
"We certainly can," cried Nora. "It's the chance of a lifetime."
"Just wait and see!" exclaimed Grace.
"By the way, David, you didn't happen to overhear the password, did you?" asked Jessica.
"I did," he replied. "Nothing escaped me, for I was caught in a trap. You know I don't care for that large, husky young damsel who leads the sophomores, and if I had made my presence behind the screen known, I should have had to speak to her. So I just sat still and said nothing. The password is 'Asia.'"
"They are trying to rub it in, I suppose," cried Grace. "But I think they won't be so ready to use that word after their old ball is over."
"If you want any help," offered David as he left Grace at her front door, "you know where to come for it, don't you?"
"You're a true brick, David!" said Grace. "Good night."
There was an undercurrent of excitement in the air on the day of the sophomore ball.
The sophomores themselves were full of secrets, whispering around in groups, their faces grave with self-important expressions. This was to be their annual Initiation Ball, and many new members, after receiving initiation into the various sophomore societies, were to be invited to the gymnasium, which had been turned over to the class for the evening.
There was no end to the fun of these balls, according to feminine gossip, for no male was ever admitted and only three invitations were issued to girls of other classes. It was, in fact, to be nothing but fun and frolic, and every costume had been planned weeks ahead.
One teacher was asked to be present to keep order in case of intrusion, for the gymnasium door, on that famous night, was always besieged by youths from the Boys' High School, who roared and jeered as each cloaked and masked figure rushed under the archway and disappeared.
The freshmen, all through the day, were unusually quiet. They kept to themselves and had little to say. Miriam and her three particular friends were carefully avoided by their classmates. Miriam, herself, felt the snub at once. Had she, after all, made a mistake, and was she losing ground in the class? But her vanity was like a life buoy to her sinking hopes. She refused to see that the other girls regarded her with growing dislike.
When school was over, that afternoon, six girls strolled down the High School walk arm in arm. They were Grace and her three chums and two other girls who were popular in the freshman class.
Anne's small figure seemed almost dwarfed next to Grace, who towered half a foot above her. Ever since Anne's trying scene with her father, Grace had been doubly tender and kind to her, until the young girl seemed to expand under the happy influence.
"Well, girlies, dear, we are the chosen six. I hope we shall be a credit to the class."
"Don't talk so loudly, Nora. I feel as if we were surrounded by spies to-day. Everybody has been so mysterious and queer."
"One thing is practically certain," whispered Grace: "I believe it was Miriam who told the sophomores about the Omnibus House. Why else did they invite her to their ball?"
"We can never prove it, though," said one of the others, "unless we get her up a tree some day and make her admit it."
"Remember, Anne," cautioned Grace, when they came to the cross street leading to the Pierson cottage, "eight o'clock sharp at my house! And don't bother about things. We shall have more than enough among us."
At half-past eight that night the sound of a stringed orchestra floated out on the breeze as the door of the gymnasium swung back and forth to admit disguised sophomores, who each whispered the countersign to the doorkeeper, after running the gauntlet of the waiting crowd, and slipped in.
The music was furnished by a troupe of women players especially engaged to play in this Adamless Eden. What would not the crowd of waiting boys have given for one glimpse of the ball room, where ballet girls, clowns and courtiers, Egyptian snake charmers, Mephistopholeses and Marguerites, priests and priestesses of the Orient, all whirled madly together?
Every door had been locked and bolted and every downstairs window securely closed. Ventilation was obtained through the half-open windows opening on the upper gallery, which ran around the four sides of the gymnasium. The doors to this gallery had also been locked and the only way to reach it was by steps leading up from the gymnasium.
Six masked and hooded figures swung down High School Street together, talking and laughing in low voices. The smallest of the six appeared to stumble over her feet, and once tumbled in the road. Her friends gayly helped her up, when it was disclosed that she wore a pair of boy's shoes much too large for her.
"If we don't break our necks stumbling over these brogans," whispered the tallest girl, "we'll be lucky."
As a matter of fact, each one of the six maskers was wearing a pair of men's shoes.
"I stuffed my toes with cotton," laughed another, "but even now they are hard to manage."
Just then a motor cycle shot past them, slowed down and stopped altogether.
The rider rested it against a tree and came back.
"I recognized you by your big feet," he said in a whisper. "Grace, here's the duplicate key to the laboratory. I had some trouble getting it, but no one knows, and you'll be safe enough. I'll let myself in with the other duplicate key and lock the door. They will be sure to try it at intervals. If you get into any trouble, early in the evening, make a dash for the steps and blow your horn loud. Now, that's all, I think. I'll be hidden in the laboratory until my turn comes. Good-bye and good luck!"
In another instant he was off on his motor cycle.
Six figures, well disguised in dominoes of as many hues, presently appeared on the ball room floor, just in time for the grand march. It was a pity no one, except the lone teacher, was permitted to look at the brilliant picture. But such was the tradition of the class. After the march, ten ballet girls in tarlatan skirts, their faces concealed by little black satin masks, gave a performance. Following this, a Spanish dancer, whom the six dominoes recognized at once as the treacherous Miriam Nesbit, gave an exhibition of her skill.
"I'm going to have some fun with her," whispered the blue domino to the red one. "Just follow me and see."
The last speaker joined the dancer as the music struck up a waltz.
"That was a good day's work you did for our class, not long ago," she whispered as they danced off together.
"What do you mean?" asked the Spanish dancer.
"I mean the Black Monks of Asia. Now, do you understand?"
"But I thought it was not to be told," exclaimed the dancer, flushing under her mask.
"Only to the committee so that you might be rewarded with an invitation," whispered the domino, as she slipped away.
"Shedid confess it, and every freshman in the class shall know it to-morrow!" the emissary exclaimed privately to her friend, the red domino.
"In spite of what her brother is doing for us to-night?" returned the red domino.
"You are quite right, child. I never thought of that. Perhaps that is the very reason he is helping us get even to-night."
"I think it is," added the other, quietly.
"Girls, we must hurry up and begin," whispered another of the six dominoes. "They are all going to unmask at half-past ten."
So the unrecognized intruders slipped away, stationing themselves about the room.
Pretty soon a rumor began to spread among the dancers that there were young men present. No one knew exactly how it started, but it grew and spread with such persistency that it finally reached the ears of the chaperon.
"Some of the girls saw their feet," said her informant, "and not only their feet but their trousers, too."
The teacher rose and rapped sharply for order.
"Young ladies," she called in a loud voice, "I am sorry to disturb the dancers, but we have every reason to believe there are some men in the room. Since it is not yet time for you to unmask, it will be simple to find out who does not belong here by having you file past me. I will lift each mask myself."
The dancers accordingly arranged themselves in a long line and walked single file past the teacher. She saw only girl's faces, however, as she peeped under the masks, and the dance proceeded.
The next disturbance came when the maskers had all taken their stand at one end of the room at the request of the six dominoes, who managed to whisper to each sophomore that there was presently to be a surprise.
An expectant hush fell over the company as the six dominoes filed out of a side room and stood, for a moment, in full view of the sophomores. Then the six deliberately lifted their dominoes, disclosing trouser legs and men's shoes. Instantly the place was in pandemonium; yet before the sophomores could rush upon the intruders six long horns were blown in unison, and immediately the lights went out. In the darkness the six dominoes made for the stairs, rushed along the gallery, and were admitted to the laboratory by the duplicate key. But, just before the blue domino disappeared, she called out in a loud voice from the gallery:
"The freshmen are avenged!"
When the doors were safely closed the lights were turned on again, disclosing the sophomores blinking foolishly at each other after the sudden startling change from darkness to light.
"They are in the laboratory!" cried one. "Let's cut off their escape!"
The angry sophomores made a rush for the door.
"Hurry girls!" urged David, who had just returned to the laboratory after manipulating the lights. "They'll catch us before we know it."
But the young fugitives were too late. Just then there was the sound of many feet running up the stairs from the other door.
"How about one of the gallery doors?" asked Grace.
"They are all locked," answered David. "There only remain the skylight trap-door and the roof. Do you think you could manage it if I helped you?"
"Of course; we could manage anything," protested the freshmen girls.
It was an easy matter to climb up the ladder, and clamber through the trap-door on to the roof.
"We're just in time," whispered David. "They have found the right key to the gallery door, and they'll be coming in both ways. Crawl carefully now, girls, for heaven's sake, and don't slip!"
The seven young people began slowly to draw themselves along the gymnasium roof on their hands and knees. Fortunately, it was not a very sloping roof, and their only danger lay in their movements being heard from below. Meanwhile the gymnasium had emptied itself, and parties of enraged sophomores were engaged in searching the adjoining class rooms and passages.
"Let's surround the building on the outside," cried one of the class leaders. "They can't escape, then, by any of the fire escapes, and we are sure to catch them!"
In a few moments, David peeping over the edge of the roof, saw figures stationed at every possible exit, waiting patiently.
"Lie low," he whispered, "and crawl on your stomachs, or you're surely caught."
Soon after the seven had reached the end of the hundred feet of gymnasium, where their flight was stopped short by a blank wall where the gymnasium joined the High School building.
"Here's a pretty pass," whispered David. "I forgot about this old school wall. The only thing to do, now, is to hide behind this chimney and wait for the row to quiet down."
There they lay, as flat as possible, listening with bated breath to the sophomores below. Presently there was a sound of footsteps on the gymnasium roof and they heard Miriam's voice saying:
"They must have escaped through the trap-door in the laboratory and come along here. Wait a minute, girls, and I'll see."
"O Grace, we're caught!" groaned Jessica. "What shall we do?"
"No we aren't yet," answered Grace. "Especially if she is coming alone, and that is what I am praying for."
"I'll come with you, Miriam," called the voice of the sophomore leader.
"Why don't you take the other side?" proposed Miriam. "And I'll go around and meet you."
"Very well," came the answer.
The freshmen clutched each other and waited.
Miriam ran lightly along the roof, and came upon the seven prostrate figures so suddenly that she almost lost her balance.
"Don't speak," said Grace, in a distinct whisper, "and don't give us away. If you do, you will regret it. Remember the blue domino who waltzed with you!"
She hoped Miriam would understand what she meant and so save her from further explanation. In this Grace was right. Miriam was trapped at last. She deliberately turned and walked away without a word.
"Come on, girls," they heard her call to the others, "let's waste no more time on them." When all was quiet the seven intriguers slipped down the fire escape and disappeared in the darkness—safely escaping discovery.
"Anne," called a chorus of boys' and girls' voices, "come out and have some fun. Have you forgotten it's Hallowe'en?"
The door of the Pierson cottage opened and Anne appeared on the threshhold.
"I can't," she answered; "I must study to-night."
"Oh, bother lessons!" exclaimed Grace Harlowe. "Skip them, for once, and join the crowd. We are going Hallowe'ening. Mother allowed it because David Nesbit and Reddy Brooks are along to look after us."
Anne looked longingly at the little company.
"I'll come," she sighed, "although it was my algebra I was working on. You know Miss Leece hates me, and, if I slip up, she'll be much harder than any of the other teachers."
"Hang Miss Leece!" said David promptly.
"Well, let's hang her, then," exclaimed Nora. "Let's dress her up and hang her on a limb of a tree."
"What do you mean by 'hang' her?" asked Grace, while Anne went in to put on her hat and coat.
"Don't you know?" replied Nora. "You stuff an old dress full of hay and paper, make a head out of any old thing, put a hat on it, and there you have her mighty fine."
"That's an old stunt, Nora," observed David. "Let's have something more improved and up-to-date. Suppose, for instance, we use Marian's Jack-o'-lantern for the head. I'll put some little electric bulbs in the eye holes and attach them to a battery so that we can turn her eyes off and on. And we'll ride her on a broomstick in good style."
"Only, nobody must know it's Miss Leece whose being effigied," urged Grace. "This must be merely for our own private satisfaction. Everybody promise not to tell."
Everybody promised; so, with Anne safely in tow, they started for Jessica's house to make the figure. Here they were not likely to be interrupted. Jessica's mother was dead and her father spent most of his evenings in his library.
Half a broomstick, with a small pumpkin attached to one end, formed the framework of Miss Leece's effigy. A cross beam gave a human touch to the shoulders and with the skeleton ready, the business of stuffing an old ulster and hanging it over the figure was simple. Tiny electric bulbs were placed in the eyes and a bonnet tied on the head with a green veil floating behind. Miss Leece, Nora insisted, always wore one growing out of her left ear. There was nothing left to do now, but to place the figure in a legless chair that had been nailed to two poles, and the procession was ready.
"She's a very fine lady," cried Grace, running ahead to get the effect of the absurd lopsided figure whose eyes glared and went out alternately. "I wish the real Miss L. could see herself now. She would know exactly what she looks like when she glares at poor little Anne in class."
"Yes, Anne," said David, "this shall be your party. We are going to give you satisfaction for your wrongs in the only way that lies in our power."
"Oh, I don't really mind her," replied Anne, "only I'm afraid she'll catch me unprepared, some day, and then Iwillget it in earnest."
"It's a perfect outrage," exclaimed Grace. "Miss Leece is so cruel to little Anne, David, that it makes my blood boil. I sometimes think she is trying to make Anne lose the freshman prize."
"The old Hessian!" cried David, who was on a sort of rampage that evening. "What shall I do to her, Anne? Give her an electric shock?" and he pressed the electric button rapidly up and down, which made the eyes glare hideously and go out several times in succession.
In a town the size of Oakdale strolling parties of boys and girls, on Hallowe'en night, made a not unusual sight, so when our young people paraded boldly down the main street, singing and blowing horns, nothing was thought of it. What they were doing might be considered exceedingly out of place by a few straightlaced persons, but boys and girls will have their fun, even if it must sometimes be at the expense of other people.
Certainly Miss Leece was the most unpopular teacher ever employed in the High School as far back as memory could reach. She was cruel, strict and sharp-tongued. Often her violent, unrestrained temper got the better of her in the class room; then she gave an exhibition that was not good for young girls to see. Anne, especially, was the victim of her rages—poor little Anne who never missed a lesson and studied twice as hard as the other girls. Miss Leece had but one weakness, apparently, and that was Miriam Nesbit.
Twice had the faculty convened in secret session to consider Miss Leece's case, but it had been decided to keep her through the year at least, since she was engaged by contract and was moreover an excellent instructor in mathematics.
So, it was no wonder that even this early in the school year, she was the object of dislike to the High School girls. But could our girls have foreseen what the evening's fun would bring forth, they would never have been so reckless in carrying the effigy about town.
"Suppose we take her across the square," cried Reddy; "then over the bridge to the old graveyard and hang her on the limb of the apple tree just outside the wall?"
Off they started, singing at the tops of their voices:
Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree,Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree.
Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree,Hang a mean teacher on a sour apple tree.
When they reached the center of the public square, where a big electric light shed its rays, who should spring out of the shadows, from nowhere apparently, but Miss Leece herself? Nothing escaped her sharp ears and her cold blue eyes; neither words of the song nor the figure in detail, green veil and all; nor Anne Pierson, who happened to be standing quite near the effigy at the moment.
And what was worse, and still more incriminating to the guilty merrymakers, the moment they caught sight of her they stopped singing. The eyes in the pumpkin suddenly lost their glare, and a silent procession wound its way hurriedly from the square.
"Good heavens!" cried Grace. "Why did we stop the song? If we had only gone right ahead, it wouldn't have looked half as bad."
"It was a mistake," admitted David, gravely, "especially as she seemed to have seen Anne first of all. Anne, if she walks into you to-morrow morning, you can just lay the blame on me, do you hear? I got up the whole party and I'm willing to stand for it."
"No, no," cried Anne. "That wouldn't be fair, David. I couldn't think of doing that."
"Well, you are not to get the blame, at any rate," said David, "if I have to go up and make a confession to the principal herself."
"Let's go and hang her now, anyhow," cried Reddy. "We'll take no half-way measures with old Queen Bess."
But somehow the spice of the adventure seemed to have gone out of it.
"It really would be dangerous now," said Grace. "She would be certain to hear of it and make it worse for all of us."
"Why not burn her," put in Nora, who was afraid of nothing and had often looked at the scolding teacher with such cold, laughing eyes, that even Miss Leece was disconcerted.
"Good!" cried several of the others. "We will take her down below the bridge and burn her as a witch."
No one objected to this, since the ashes of the effigy would tell no tales. Once more they started singing: "Merrily we roll along!" as they marched out of the village, crossed the bridge over the little river and finally paused on the bank below.
"Plant the pole in deep," said David, "so she won't topple, and fix her up to suit yourselves, girls, while we get the fagots."
The boys began to search about for dried sticks and twigs, while the girls were arranging the figure for her funeral pyre.
Suddenly, there was a wild war whoop. A crowd of boys dashed out of a thicket near by, each one carrying a lighted Jack-o'-lantern on top of a pole, and surrounded the effigy of the teacher.
"Help!" cried the girls, trying to defend the absurd thing from the attack, but they were too late. One of the boys seized the pole and rushed off in the darkness.
Miss Leece, in effigy, had been kidnapped in an instant, before David and his friends had had time to realize what had happened.
"Which way did they go?" he asked breathlessly.
"Through the thicket," cried Grace.
And the whole crowd dashed after the kidnappers. It was great fun for everybody except Anne, who was too tired to keep up the chase for long, and was soon lagging behind the others. David saw her and turned back.
"You are too little for all this junketing, Anne," he said kindly. "Suppose I take you home? Shall I?"
"I wish you would, David," answered the girl. "I'm just about ready to drop, I'm so tired."
Taking her arm, he helped her over the ruts and rough places, until they finally emerged from the wood and started on the road to town.
There were many other Hallowe'en parties out that night; singing and laughing was heard in every direction.
"It's like a play," said Anne, "only everything is behind the scenes. Don't think I haven't enjoyed it, David, just because I got tired. I never played with boys and girls of my own age before. What fun it is!"
"Isn't it?" replied the young man, "I love to get out, once in a while, and have a good time like this. I find I can work all the better after it's over."
Presently the others caught up with them, breathless and laughing.
"Miss Leece is stolen," cried Grace, "before ever she was hanged or burned. I do wonder what they'll do with her."
"Oh, leave her in the woods," responded Reddy, "to scare the birds away."
"Good night, Anne," continued Grace. "David will take you home. We go this way. Don't be frightened about to-morrow. I doubt if she says anything; and if she does, we are all implicated."
The young people separated, still singing and laughing; never dreaming of the storm brewing from their evening's prank.
"Anne," pursued David, as they strolled down River Street together, "when I make my flying machine will you be afraid to take a sail with me?"
"Never," replied Anne, "but I wish it had been made in time to carry me away from Miss Leece to-morrow morning."
And Anne's words had more meaning than either of them realized at the time.
Imagine the surprise and horror of the Hallowe'en party when, next morning, they discovered the effigy of Miss Leece planted right in front of the Girls' High School!
And the teacher herself was the first to see the impious outrage.
Yes, there stood the hideous, grotesque effigy just where her abductors had left her the night before, her green veil floating in the breezes. As a figure of fun and an object of ridicule, she might not have created more than a ripple with the faculty. But it was evident that Miss Leece's function, even in effigy, was to make trouble.
And trouble was certainly brewing that memorable morning. The figure itself might never have been recognized, but a placard which had been pinned on the front of the old ulster left no room for doubt. Across it had been inscribed in large printed letters:
"The Most Unpopular Teacher in School."
No one dared take the effigy away for fear of being implicated. Everybody had seen it, both men and women professors and the boys and girls of the two schools. But it was not until Miss Thompson, the principal of the Girls' High School, had arrived that the figure was removed.
"How could those boys have been so mean!" exclaimed Grace to her three friends just before the gong sounded. "They might have known what would happen."
There was an ominous quiet in the various class rooms all morning; but nothing was said or done to indicate just when the storm would burst. When the first class in algebra met, Anne trembled with fear, but Miss Leece, in a robin's egg-blue dress, which offset the angry hue of her complexion, was apparently too angry to trust herself to look in the direction of the young girl and the lesson progressed without incident.
However, she was only biding her time.
"Miss Pierson," she said, toward the end of the lesson, in a voice so rasping as to make the girls fairly shiver, "go to the blackboard and demonstrate this problem."
Then she read aloud in the same disagreeable voice, the following difficult problem:
"'Train A starts from Chicago going thirty miles an hour. An hour later Train B starts from Chicago going thirty-five miles an hour. How far from Chicago will they be when Train B passes Train A?'"
The girls looked up surprised. The problem was well in advance of what they had been studying and Miss Leece was really asking Anne to recite something she had not yet learned.
Anne hardly knew how to reply to the terrible woman who stood glowering at her as if she would like to crush her to bits.
"I'm sorry," said the girl. "I cannot."
"Miss Nesbit," said the teacher, "will you demonstrate this problem?"
Miriam rose with a little smile of triumph on her face and went to the blackboard, where she worked out the problem.
"Why, what on earth does the woman mean?" whispered Grace. "Are we expected to learn lessons we have never been taught and has that horrid Miriam been studying ahead?"
"I think I must be dreaming," replied Anne, looking sorrowfully at Miss Leece.
"Miss Pierson," thundered the teacher, "you are aware, I believe, that I permit no conversation in this class. Stupidity and inattention are not to be supported in any student, and I must ask you to leave the room."
Anne rose in a dazed sort of way, looking very small and shabby as she left the room.
But Miss Leece was not to come off so easily in the fight, and Anne had a splendid champion in Grace Harlowe, who could not endure injustice and was fearless where her rights or her friends' rights were concerned.
She rose quietly and faced the angry teacher, who already regretted having gone so far.
"If Miss Pierson is to be ordered from the room, Miss Leece, I shall follow her. I spoke to her first. I was naturally surprised that you gave out a problem so far in advance of our regular work. It is doubtful if any girl in the class could do it except Miriam, and she must have been prepared."
"Miss Harlowe," said Miss Leece, stamping her foot, and again giving way to rage, "I must ask you to take your seat at once and never interfere again with the way I conduct this class."
"You conduct this class with injustice and violence, Miss Leece," said Grace, turning very white, but holding herself in admirable control considering the conduct of the older woman.
"I am in no humor to be answered back this morning, Miss Harlowe, and I would advise you to be careful," continued the enraged woman. "I have had enough to try me since last night and this morning. Miss Pierson must answer to the principal for those insults, and her insubordination just now has only made matters worse."
"Miss Pierson has nothing to answer for which I have not, and I shall join her," replied Grace, and she left the room.
Miss Leece was about to continue the lesson when Jessica, pale and trembling, rose and followed her friend. Nora was next to go and in another moment there was not a girl left in the algebra class except Miriam and her four particular friends. The gong sounded as the last pupil closed the door behind her, but there was little doubt that the first class in algebra had gone on a strike.
The noon recess gong had sounded before the girls were able to meet and talk about the incident, and, during the time that intervened, Anne had received a summons in the form of a small note to meet the principal in her office at three that afternoon. She said nothing to her friends, however, and hid the envelope in her pocket.
The girls in IV. algebra gathered around their friends to hear the story. They were indignant and expressed their readiness to join the strike out of sympathy in case there was any more trouble.
"They have no right to put such a violent woman over us," said Grace, as she nibbled at a pickle and a cracker in the locker room. "I wish they would give me the opportunity. I should be more than willing to testify to her behavior before the entire faculty and the school board combined."
Anne, herself, the center of the whole affair was very quiet. This remarkable young girl seemed to possess some secret force that she was able to draw upon when she most needed it.
"Anne, you precious child," exclaimed the impetuous Nora, "you must not get scared. Whatever happens, the whole class means to stand by you. Don't we, girls?"
"Yes," came from all sides.
"I don't think anything in particular will happen," replied Anne. "I believe Miss Leece really wants to prevent my winning the prize. That's all."
"She has certainly adopted a pet," cried Marian Barber.
"What did Miriam Nesbit mean by studying ahead like that?" exclaimed another. "It was disloyal to the whole class."
"It looks very much as if they had fixed it up between them," continued Grace. "I'm sorry about the effigy, but I won't stand that kind of favoritism. It's mean and underhanded."
After school Anne lingered in the corridor until the other girls had gone. Then she made her way slowly to the office of the principal. "Come in," came the answer to her timid knock.
Miss Thompson, the principal, was a fine woman, much beloved by the people of Oakdale where she had served as principal of the Girls' High School for many years. She had adjusted numerous difficulties in her time, but never such a knotty problem as the present one. It was incredible that Anne Pierson, who stood so well in her classes that she had already been mentioned by the faculty, should have engaged in such an escapade as Miss Leece had accused her of.
"Sit down," she said kindly to the young girl, whose small, tired face appealed to her sympathies. "What is this trouble between you and Miss Leece, Miss Pierson?" she continued, plunging into the subject.
"I do not know myself, Miss Thompson," answered Anne quietly.
"But she accuses you of rather terrible things, Miss Pierson," went on the principal, picking up a slip of paper and reading aloud, "'inattention, insubordination, impertinence and a tendency to make trouble.' Have you any answer to make to these charges?"
"No," replied Anne.
"Have you nothing to say?"
"Only that they are untrue."
"Miss Pierson," continued the principal, opening a closet door, "do you recognize this figure."