The bazaar was at its height. No one would have guessed that staid old Assembly Hall could lend itself to such levity.
At one end a band of gypsies had pitched their tents in true Romany fashion. There were dark-eyed gypsy maids in gaudy clothing, who gayly jingled their tambourines and wheedled good-natured sightseers into their main tent with extravagant stories of the wonderful Romany dancing girls whose unequaled dancing might be seen for the small sum of ten cents. While aged gypsies crouched here and there croaking mysteriously of their power to reveal the future, and promising health, wealth and happiness to those who crossed their out-stretched palms with silver.
In front of one of the tents several gypsy boys sat grouped in picturesque attitudes, industriously twanging guitars and mandolins. The whole encampment was lighted by flaring torches on the ends of long poles, and was the final touch needed to give the true gypsy effect.
The rest of the space in the hall had been given up to booths. There was, of course, a Japanese booth, while across from it several Mexican seniors and senoritas were doing an enterprising novelty and post-card business under the red, white and green flag of Mexico.
There was a cunning little English tea shop, where one could refresh one's self with tea, cakes and jam, not to mention the booth devoted to good old Ireland, presided over by Nora O'Malley who, dressed as an Irish colleen, sang the "Wearing of the Green" and "The Harp That Once Thro' Tara's Hall," with true Irish fervor, while she disposed of boxes of home-made candy tied with green ribbon that people bought for the pleasure of hearing her sing.
Next to the gypsy encampment, however, the feature of the evening was the booth entrusted to Eleanor Savelli. It was a veritable corner in Italy, and it may be said to Eleanor's credit that she had worked untiringly to carry out her idea. She had furnished the peasant costumes for herself and three of her friends, and knew exactly how they were to be worn, and had spared no expense in the matter of fruit and flowers which were to be sold at a good profit. There were little bags of home-made confetti that were sure to be popular and various other attractive features truly Italian that Eleanor had spent much time and trouble in procuring and arranging.
There had been a heated altercation, however, between Eleanor and Edna Wright on the day after Eleanor had astonished Grace and her friends by her fiery outburst, Edna having admitted that she had been responsible for the changes that had aroused Eleanor's ire.
A quarrel had ensued, in which Edna, having been worsted, had retired from the field in tears, refusing to have anything further to do with Eleanor or her booth. At this juncture Miss Tebbs had appeared on the scene, and peace was restored, although Edna was still taciturn and sulky, and displayed little interest in what went on around her.
From the moment the doors were opened the citizens of Oakdale looked inside, feeling particularly good-natured after their Thanksgiving dinners, and prepared to spend their money.
"It's perfectly wonderful what these children have managed to do on nothing whatever," Miss Thompson was saying, as she and Mrs. Nesbit, in the guise of sightseers, were strolling down the middle of the hall.
"It looks to me like a scene from an opera," replied Mrs. Nesbit.
"Yes, we are all very prosperous and clean comic opera gypsies, Mrs. Nesbit," said Hippy Wingate, who had come up just in time to hear Mrs. Nesbit's remark.
"Why, Hippy Wingate, I never should have recognized you. You look like the big smuggler in 'Carmen.' I have forgotten his name."
"I am a smuggler, Mrs. Nesbit," put in Hippy mysteriously. "But don't give me away. It's not lace goods I've brought over the border, nor bales of silk and such things. Isn't that what gypsies are supposed usually to smuggle?"
"I believe it is," answered Mrs. Nesbit. "At least they always appear in plays and pictures seated at the foot of a high, rocky cliff in some lonely spot, with bales and casks and strange looking bundles about. No one would be heartless enough to ask what was inside the bundles, but I have always had a strong suspicion that it was excelsior."
"What have you been smuggling, Hippy?" asked Miss Thompson. "I wonder you managed to get it past that line of watchful gipsy girls."
"I won't give it away," replied Hippy. "It's a surprise. You'll see, and I wager it will be the talk of the place before the evening is over."
"Is it animal, vegetable or mineral, Hippy?" demanded Mrs. Nesbit.
"Animal," replied Hippy. "Very much animal."
"Now, what in the world," the two women exclaimed, their curiosity piqued.
"Hippy, I wish you would come on and get to work," called Grace over her shoulder, as she hurried past, and Hippy darted after her, remembering that he had not done a thing that evening to assist the girls.
"How fine Grace Harlowe does look, Mrs. Nesbit," remarked Miss Thompson, "and how I shall miss her when she leaves the High School! The time goes too quickly to suit me, when all these nice girls leave us for college."
Miss Thompson still cherished a deep regard for Grace, although, since the circumstance of Grace's refusal to betray Eleanor, narrated in "Grace Harlowe's Junior Year at High School," the two had never returned to quite the same footing as formerly.
Grace was, indeed, the picture of a beautiful gipsy girl who in romance turns out not to be a gipsy at all, but a princess stolen in her youth. She wore a skirt of red trimmed in black and yellow, a full white blouse and a little black velvet bolero. Around her waist she had tied a gayly colored sash, while on her head was a gipsy headdress bordered with gold fringe.
"Hippy," commanded Grace, "will you please take this gong and announce that the auction is about to begin!"
"Certainly, certainly," answered Hippy. "Anything to oblige the ladies."
He mounted a chair and beat on the Japanese gong.
"This way, ladies and gentlemen. Come right this way! The 'Mystery Auction' will now commence. It is a sale of surprises. You never know what you are going to draw, but it's sure to be something nice. Everybody step this way, please. These interesting and mysterious packages are to be sold each to the highest bidder. But no man knoweth what he draweth. It is the way of life, ladies, but that's where the fun comes in, and it's sportsmanlike to take your chances, gentlemen."
By this time Hippy had drawn a crowd of curious people about the booth devoted to that purpose, in which were piled dozens of packages of various shapes and sizes, all done up in white tissue paper and tied with red ribbons.
Hippy picked up the first bundle.
"Is there anyone here who will make a bid on this interesting package?" he cried. "It may contain treasure. Who knows? It may contain fruits from the tropics, or the spices of Araby, or—"
"I'll bid ten cents," called a voice.
"Ten cents!" exclaimed Hippy in mock horror. "I ask you, dear friend, can our gymnasium be builded upon ten cents? Is there no one here who is thinking of our late, lamented gymnasium? Have we already forgotten that dear, departed hall of youthful pleasures, cut down in the flower of its youth so tragically?"
Hippy's voice rang out like an old-time orator's, and some one bid twenty-five cents. But the bidding ended there, and Farmer Benson got the package, which on being opened, was found to contain a beautiful little lacquer box. This was a lucky beginning. If the packages all held such treasures they were well worth bidding on. Then the fun grew fast and furious. Everybody began bidding, and a pound of sugar actually went for five dollars, to old Mr. McDonald, who had obstinately refused to give up to his opponent, Mr. Barber, in the bidding contest. Mr. Harlowe paid heavily for a cook book, while David Nesbit, for fifty cents, drew a splendid big fruit cake.
"It is so fortunate that that fruit cake fell into the hands of one of my friends," remarked Hippy, as David was about to walk off, his prize under his arm. "I adore fruit cake."
"That's no sign that you will ever get a chance at this one," replied David calmly.
"I shall, I know I shall," retorted Hippy, "You wouldn't betray my young confidence and dispel my fond hopes by eating it all yourself. You deserve an awful case of indigestion if you do."
"Children, children, stop squabbling," laughed Anne who, looking like a very demure little gypsy, had slipped up unnoticed. "Don't worry, Hippy, I'll see that you are remembered when the famous cake is cut."
"I feel relieved," said Hippy, giving her one of his Cheshire Cat grins. "I propose that you leave your treasure with this gypsy maid, David, for the time is flying and we have a great and glorious surprise to spring."
"See you later, Anne," said David, looking at his watch. Then taking Hippy by the arm the two young men hurried out of the hall, leaving Anne to wonder what the surprise might be.
Turning slowly she was making her way toward the gypsy camp when a voice called, "O Anne, wait a minute," and Marian Barber fluttered up accompanied by a tall, dark young man.
"Miss Pierson, allow me to present Mr. Hammond," she said.
The young man bowed rather too elaborately Anne thought, and a wave of dislike swept over her as she rather coldly acknowledged the introduction.
"Mr. Hammond has just come to Oakdale," Marian said eagerly. "He knows very few people as yet."
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Hammond, with a smile that was intended to be fascinating. "I am, indeed, a stranger. Miss Barber has kindly volunteered to introduce me to some of her charming friends, therefore I trust that in time they will be mine also."
Anne murmured some polite reply, and excusing herself walked away. "Horrid thing," she thought. "How cruel he looks when he smiles. I wonder where Marian met him. She seems to be delighted with him."
"Where have you been, Anne?" asked Grace, as Anne entered the tent where she and Miriam sat resting preparatory to beginning their dance, when enough people should gather outside to form a paying audience.
"Talking to Marian Barber and a young man who is trailing about with her."
"Did she introduce that man to you?" exclaimed Grace.
"Yes," replied Anne. "Did you meet him?"
"I did," was the answer. "Isn't he horrid?"
"That is precisely what I said," replied Anne. "There is something about his suave, silky manner that gives me the creeps."
"I hope Marian isn't seriously impressed with him," said Grace. "For there is something positively sinister about him."
Just then Hippy's voice was heard again above the crowd, and the three girls hurried to the opening in the tent.
"Ladies and gentlemen," cried Hippy. "We have a noble animal for sale here. He is tame and gentle. A lady could ride him without fear. He sees equally well out of both eyes and is neither lame nor spavined. If you will just stand back a little we will let you see his paces."
The crowd drew back on either side of the lane between the rows of tents and booths and from somewhere in the back there was heard a great pawing and trampling, with cries of "Whoa, there! Whoa, there, Lightning!"
Then down the aisle there dashed the most absurd comic animal that had ever been seen in Oakdale. A dilapidated old horse, with crooked legs and sunken sides through which its ribs protruded. He had widely distended nostrils and his mouth drawn back over huge teeth. One ear lay flat, while the other stood up straight and wiggled, and his glazed eyes stared wildly. On his wobbly back sat David, dressed like a jockey and flourishing a whip.
"Gentlemen," went on Hippy, "you here behold an animal of splendid parts. He is pasture-fed and as gentle as a lamb, never kicks—"
The strange animal here kicked out one of his hind legs so wildly that David was obliged to hold on with both arms to keep from falling off.
"He has a happy, sunny nature, ladies. Is there any one present who would like to try his gait? Ten cents a ride."
The horse crossed his front legs and sat down on his haunches with an air of patient endurance. There were roars of laughter and no one enjoyed the fun more than Miss Thompson.
"I declare, Hippy, I should like to have a ride on the back of that animal!" she exclaimed, producing ten cents.
David leaped to the ground and gallantly assisted the principal to mount, while Hippy whispered something into the ear of the horse.
The animal trotted gently up to one end of the room and back, depositing Miss Thompson safely on her feet.
Miriam Nesbit then took a trial ride and no bucking bronco ever exhibited such traits of character as did that battered-looking quadruped. Miriam was obliged to jump down amid the cheers of the company. Many people rode that night, and rides went up to twenty-five and even fifty cents, until finally the poor, tired animal lay flat on the floor in an attitude of complete exhaustion. Then Hippy undid several hooks and eyes along the imaginary line which divided Lightning in half, and there came forth, very warm and fatigued, Tom Gray and Reddy Brooks.
On the whole the bazaar was proving an unqualified success. People entered into the spirit of the thing and spent their money without a murmur.
Eleanor's confetti proved a drawing card, and young people and old wandered about, bestowing handfuls of it upon their friends whenever a good opportunity presented itself.
Long before the fair was over Grace and Anne retired to one end of the gypsy encampment to begin counting the proceeds of their labors. The girls in charge of the various booths turned in their money almost as rapidly as they made it, and by the time the crowd had begun to thin the girls had arrived at a tolerably correct estimate of what the bazaar had netted them.
"Is it possible that I have counted correctly, Anne!" exclaimed Grace to her friend, who was helping to sort small silver into various piles.
"I don't know," said Anne, "it looks like a lot of money. How much does it all come to?"
"Roughly speaking, nearly five hundred dollars. Just think of that."
"Splendid!" cried Anne, clasping her hands joyfully. "But what shall we put it in?"
"I shall put it in this iron box of father's. You see, it has a combination lock and he loaned it to me to-night just for this purpose. As soon as the rest of the money is in I'll lock it and he will take charge of it. Will you go and find him?"
Anne departed and Grace began to deposit the money in the box, smiling to herself at the success of their undertaking.
The few remaining people who were now taking leave of each other had concentrated in one spot. There was a loud buzz of conversation and laughter, when suddenly, without a moment's warning, the electric lights went out. The gasoline torches had burned down by now and the place was in utter darkness.
Somewhere in the hall there was a cry, the sound of scuffling and then absolute silence.
Many of the men began to strike matches and peer into the darkness, and at last David groped his way over to a corner of the hall where he remembered he had seen the switch. As he felt for the electric button his hand encountered another hand, that grasped his with an iron grip, gave his wrist a vicious twist, pushed him violently away and was gone. David gave an involuntary cry of pain as he felt for the switch again. In another moment he had found it and the hall was again flooded with light. Instantly he looked about for the vicious person who had twisted his wrist, but he was alone in that part of the hall.
The excitements of that evening, however, were not yet at an end. People began running toward the last booth. There were cries and exclamations, and David, who had followed quickly after them, arrived there just in time to meet Mr. Harlowe carrying the limp figure of his daughter Grace in his arms. He deposited her on four chairs placed in a row, a bottle of smelling salts was put to her nose, while Hippy and Reddy ran for water.
Grace opened her eyes almost immediately and sat up.
"I'm not hurt," she said. "I was only stunned. Some one hit me on the head from behind, but my cap softened the blow. They were trying to get the box of money. Oh, is it gone?" she cried anxiously.
David and Tom examined the booth.
The money was gone.
There was not the slightest clue to the thief who had stolen the iron box containing a little over five hundred dollars, for which the girls had worked so hard, but the loss was made good by Judge Putnam who, though on the bench at the state capital at the time the robbery occurred, had promptly sent Grace his check for the amount when Grace wrote him an account of it. For which generous act he became the idol of Oakdale High School.
"As for the thief," observed Mr. Harlowe, several mornings later at the breakfast table, after Grace had opened the letter and joyfully exhibited the check to her mother and father; "he'll have some trouble opening that box. It was the strongest box I have ever seen of the kind, made of iron reinforced with steel bands, with a combination lock that would baffle even your friend, Richards, Grace, who appeared to be a pretty sharp crook."
"How will the thief get at the money, then, father?" asked Grace.
"I can't imagine," answered Mr. Harlowe. "If he tries to blow up the box he runs the chance of blowing up all the money at the same time, and I don't believe there is an instrument made that would pry it open. He can't melt it and he can't knock a hole in it. Therefore, I don't just see what he can do, unless he finds some way to work the combination."
"It would be the irony of fate if the thief couldn't spend the money after all his trouble," observed Mrs. Harlowe.
"I hope he never, never can," cried Grace. "I hope he'll bruise all his knuckles and break all his finger nails trying to open the box, and still not make the slightest impression!"
"He certainly will if he tries to open the box with his finger nails and knuckles," replied her father, as he bestowed two kisses upon his wife and daughter, respectively, and departed to his business.
"Who is to be custodian of the fund, Grace? Are you to have charge of it?" asked Mrs. Harlowe.
"No, mother; Marian Barber was formally elected class treasurer last year. She likes to keep books and add up accounts and all those things. So I shall just turn the check over to her to put in the bank until we give our next entertainment. Then, when we have about a thousand dollars, we'll give it all to Miss Thompson as our contribution toward rebuilding the gymnasium. I hear that the juniors are going to give a dance, but I don't think they will make any large amount like this, because they will have to pay for music and refreshments."
Grace could not help feeling proud of the success of the bazaar now that the judge's check had arrived, although at first she had demurred about accepting it. However, as the judge absolutely refused to take it back, it was therefore duly presented to Marian Barber, who, with a feeling of extreme importance at handling so much money in her own name, deposited it in the Upton Bank, and was the recipient, for the first time in her life, of a small, neat-looking check book. Later she showed it with great glee to the Phi Sigma Tau, who were drinking hot chocolate in the Harlowe's sitting room, the day after school began.
"I feel just like a millionaire," she exclaimed, "even though the money isn't mine. I'd just like to write one check to see how my name would look signed at the bottom here."
"It does seem like a lot of money," observed Anne thoughtfully, "but I'm afraid the check book won't be of much use to you, Marian, as you will probably draw it all out in a lump when the time comes to hand it over to Miss Thompson."
"Oh, I don't know," answered Marian, "we may have to give a few checks for expenses and things, the next entertainment we get up, and then I'll have an opportunity."
The girls laughed good-naturedly at Marian's evident eagerness to draw a check.
"We'll certainly have to incur some kind of expense for the express purpose of allowing Marian to draw a check," said Nora. "By the way, Grace, which booth made the most money, outside the auction, of course?"
"Eleanor Savelli's," replied Grace promptly. "They made most of it on confetti, too, although they sold quantities of flowers. They turned in seventy-five dollars."
"Eleanor certainly did work," observed Anne. "One feels as though one could forgive her all her sins after the success she made of her booth. It is a shame that so much ability and cleverness is choked and crowded out by wilfulness and temper."
"Did you hear about the quarrel that she and Edna Wright had, after she attacked us?" asked Eva Allen.
"Yes," answered Grace. "I understand, too, that it has completely broken up their sorority. They carried their part of the bazaar through together and then Eleanor told Edna that she was practically done with her."
"You don't mean it! I hadn't heard that! Who told you so?" were the exclamations that followed this information.
"Daisy Culver told Ruth Deane, and Ruth told me," said Grace. "Ruth says that Edna feels dreadfully over it. She was really fond of Eleanor."
"Now I suppose that Miss Eleanor Vendetta de Savelli will be more impossible than ever," giggled Nora.
"Perhaps not," said Anne quietly. "I think it a very good thing that Edna and Eleanor have separated, for Eleanor Savelli is a far better girl at heart than Edna Wright. Eleanor is better off without her."
"I believe you are right, Anne," said Grace with conviction. "Although Eleanor's reformation is not for us. We've had experience."
"'Never too late to mend,'" quoted Jessica.
"True," retorted Nora, "but for my part I think the Phi Sigma Tau have done their share toward the mending process."
"Marian Barber!" exclaimed Grace. "Where in the world did you unearth that man you introduced us to, at the bazaar?"
"Yes, I should say so," echoed Nora. "I didn't like him one bit."
A flush overspread Marian Barber's plain face. She frowned, then said very stiffly:
"Really, girls, I can't see why any one should dislike Mr. Hammond. I think he is a remarkably nice young man. Father and mother like him, too. He has called to see me twice since the bazaar, and I am going to the theatre with him to-morrow night. I like him very much better than any of these silly Oakdale schoolboys," she added a trifle maliciously.
The girls listened, thunderstruck. Was this good-natured, easy going Marian Barber who had spoken? To their knowledge Marian had never before received attentions from even "silly schoolboys." She was well liked among girls, but had always fought shy of young men.
"Forgive me, Marian," cried Nora impulsively. "I didn't dream that you were interested in Mr. Hammond."
"I am not half as much interested in him as he is interested in me," retorted Marian, bridling. "He prefers me to any Oakdale girl he has met."
The girls exchanged astonished glances at Marian's complacent statement.
"Where did you first meet him, Marian?" asked Anne gently.
"At the bazaar," replied Marian promptly.
"Who introduced him to you?" asked Grace curiously.
Marian hesitated a moment, then burst forth defiantly. "I suppose you girls will think it perfectly dreadful when I tell you that he introduced himself. He came up and asked me to tell him about some of the features of the bazaar. I did, then he went away, and after a while he came back and talked to me a long time. He is in the real estate business, and is going to have an office here in Oakdale. He was very much interested in the things I said to him, and when I told him about our Phi Sigma Tau he asked to be introduced to you girls. I never supposed you'd take such a dislike to him. I think he is perfectly splendid," she added with emphasis.
"Well, I don't agree with you," said hot-headed Nora. "And I don't think you should have noticed him, beyond being merely civil, without an introduction. Do you, Grace?"
"I don't know," said Grace slowly. "That is a question that no one save Marian can settle. I don't wish to seem hateful, Marian, but to tell you the truth, I wasn't favorably impressed with Mr. Hammond. Besides, he is ever so much older than you are. He must be at least twenty-five years old."
"He is twenty-nine," replied Marian coldly. "And I am glad that he isn't as young and foolish as most of the boys I have met."
"Does your mother know how you happened to meet him?" asked Jessica unthinkingly.
But this was a little too much. Marian rose to her feet, her voice choking with anger. "I don't blame Eleanor Savelli for calling you busy-bodies," she said. "And I shall be infinitely obliged to you if you will in future look to your own affairs and stop criticizing me."
With these words she rushed from the room, seized her wraps and was out on the street before any of the remaining girls had fully comprehended what had happened.
"There is nothing like congenial company when one travels," remarked Hippy Wingate, favoring his friends with a patronizing smile. "Now, when I came home from college I was obliged to consort with such grouches as David Nesbit and Reddy Brooks, who made me keep quiet when I wished to speak, and speak when I fain would have slept. But, observe the difference, all these fresh and charming damsels—"
"Charming we are, beyond a doubt," interrupted Nora O'Malley, "but fresh—never. The only fresh person aboard is named Wingate."
"If you two are going to disagree we'll bundle you both into the baggage car and let you fight it out," warned David. "Hippy ought to be exiled to that particular spot for having reviled Reddy and me."
"Keep quiet, Nora," said Hippy in a stage whisper. "We are in the hands of desperadoes."
It was a merry party who were speeding along their way to the state capital, for a wonderful visit was to be paid and the Phi Sigma Tau and their friends were to pay it. In short, Judge Putnam had invited them to spend Christmas at his beautiful home in the capital city, and for eight happy days they were to be his guests.
It was in reality Grace's party. The judge had written her, asking her to select as many guests as she chose. She had also received a prettily worded note from his sister, who had chaperoned them the previous summer in the Adirondacks, and who had taken charge of the judge's home in the capital for years.
Grace had at once invited the Phi Sigma Tau, and dispatched special delivery letters to Hippy, David and Reddy, not forgetting Tom Gray and Arnold Evans.
In order to make an even number of boys and girls, Grace had invited James Gardiner, an Oakdale boy, and last of all, very reluctantly, had sent a note to Mr. Henry Hammond.
This she had done solely to appease Marian Barber's wounded pride. For a week after the day that Marian had rushed angrily out of Grace's house, she had refused to go near her sorority. But one afternoon the six girls, headed by Grace, waylaid her as she was leaving the school and after much coaxing Marian allowed herself to be brought to a more reasonable frame of mind.
Then Grace, who honestly regretted having hurt Marian's feelings, had made an extra effort to treat Mr. Hammond cordially when they chanced to meet, and her friends had followed her example.
In spite of their feeling of dislike for him, they were forced to acknowledge that he seemed well-bred, was a young man of apparently good habits and that Oakdale people were rapidly taking him up. Grace privately thought Marian entirely too young to receive the attentions of a man so much older than herself, but Marian's father and mother permitted it, therefore Grace felt that she had no right to judge or object.
The longest journey seems brief when beguiled by gay companions, and the time slipped by like magic. It was with genuine surprise that the little party heard their station called. There was a great scurrying about for their various belongings, and well laden with suit cases and traveling bags the party hustled out of the train and were met on the platform by the judge's chauffeur, who conducted them to two waiting automobiles.
Off they whirled and in an incredibly short time the two machines drew up before the judge's stately home, where lights gleamed from every window. The guests alighted with much laughter and noise, and in a twinkling the massive front door opened and Judge Putnam appeared.
"Welcome, welcome!" he cried. "Now I am sure to have a Merry Christmas. I don't see how your fathers and mothers could spare you, and I owe them a debt of gratitude. Come in, come in. Here, Mary, are your children again."
The judge's sister came forward and greeted the young people warmly, kissing each girl in turn and shaking hands with the boys. Mr. Hammond and James Gardiner were duly presented to the judge and his sister, and then the boys were shown to their rooms by one of the servants, while Miss Putnam herself conducted the girls to theirs.
"We usually dine between seven and seven-thirty, my dears," said Miss Putnam, as they ascended. "I will send my maid, Annette, to you. Will you have separate rooms, or do you wish to do as you did last summer?"
"Oh, let two of us room together," said Grace eagerly. "But still, that isn't fair, for it will leave an odd one. You know we had Mabel with us last summer."
"Dear little Mabel," said Miss Putnam. "I am sure you must miss her greatly. Her finding of her mother was very wonderful. I received a letter from her last week. She says she is very happy, but that she misses her Oakdale friends, particularly Jessica."
"She is coming east for commencement," said Jessica with a wistful smile. "No one knows how much I miss her."
"Let us settle the question of rooms at once," interposed Grace, who knew that whenever the conversation turned to Mabel, Jessica invariably was attacked with the blues. "Who is willing to room alone?"
"I am," replied Miriam Nesbit, "only I stipulate that I be allowed to pay nocturnal visits to the rest of you whenever I get too bored with my own society."
"Very well, then," replied Grace. "How shall we arrange it?"
"You and Anne take one room, then," said Nora rather impatiently, "Jessica and I another and that leaves Marian and Eva together. Do hurry up about it, for I want to get the soot off my face, and the cinders out of my eyes."
The question of roommates being thus settled, the girls trooped into the rooms assigned them and began to dress for dinner. The matter of gowns had been discussed by the girls when the judge's invitation had first arrived. As they were to remain for a week, they would need trunks, but for the first dinner, in case the trunks did not arrive on time, it had been agreed that they each carry one simple gown in their suit cases.
Grace and Anne had both chosen white, Jessica a dainty flowered organdie, and Nora a pale pink dimity. Eva Allen also had selected white. Marian Barber alone refused to give her friends any satisfaction as to what she intended to wear. "Wait and see," she had answered. "I want my gown to be a complete surprise to all of you."
"How funny Marian acted about her gown," remarked Grace to Anne, as she fastened the last button on the latter's waist. The maid sent by Miss Putnam had offered her services, but the girls, wishing to be alone, had not required them.
"Yes," responded Anne. "I don't understand her at all of late. She has changed a great deal, and I believe it is due to the influence of that horrid Henry Hammond. I simply can't like that man."
"Nor I," said Grace. "It requires an effort on my part to be civil to him. I think, too, that the boys are not favorably impressed with him, although they are too polite to say so."
"I believe in first impressions," remarked Anne. "I think that nine times out of ten they are correct. I may be doing the man an injustice, but I can't help it. Every time that I talk with him I feel that he is playing a part, that underneath his polish he has a cruel, relentless nature."
"Are you girls ready!" called Nora's voice just outside their door.
"In a minute," answered Grace, and with a last glance at the mirror she and Anne stepped into the hall, where Nora, Jessica and Eva Allen stood waiting.
"Where's Marian?" asked Grace, noticing her absence.
"Don't ask me," said Eva, in a tone bordering on disgust. "She won't be out for some time."
"Shall we wait for her?" inquired Anne.
"No," replied Eva shortly. "Let us go, and don't ask me anything about her. When she does finally appear you'll understand."
"This sounds very mysterious," said Miriam Nesbit, who in a white dotted Swiss, with a sprig of holly in her black braids, looked particularly handsome. "Come on, girls, shall we go down?"
The six girls descended to the drawing room, looking the very incarnation of youth and charming girlhood, and the judge's eyes brightened at sight of them.
"A rosebud garden of girls," he cried gallantly, "but I seem to miss some one. Where is the seventh rosebud?"
"Marian will be here directly," said Grace, as they gathered about the big fireplace until dinner should be announced.
But ten minutes went by, and Marian still lingered.
"Dinner is served," announced the old butler.
The girls exchanged furtive glances, the judge looked rather uncomfortable, while Mr. Henry Hammond frowned openly.
Then there was another ten minutes' wait, that the girls tried to cover with conversation. Then—a rustle of silken skirts and a figure appeared in the archway that caused those assembled to stare in sheer amazement.
Was this fashionably attired person plain every-day Marian Barber? Her hair was drawn high upon her head, and topped with a huge cluster of false puffs, which made her look several years older than she had appeared in the afternoon, while her gown of blue satin was cut rather too low for a young girl, and had mere excuses in the way of sleeves. To cap the climax, however, it had a real train that persisted in getting in her way every time she attempted to move.
For a full minute no one spoke. Grace had an almost irrepressible desire to laugh aloud, as she caught the varied expressions on the faces of her friends. Mr. Hammond alone appeared unmoved. Grace fancied that she even detected a gleam of approval in his eyes as he glanced toward Marian.
"Shall we dine!" asked the judge, offering his arm to Grace, while Tom Gray escorted Miss Putnam, the other young men following with their friends.
The dinner passed off smoothly, although there was a curious constraint fell upon the young people that nothing could dispel.
Marian's gown had indeed proved a surprise to her young friends, and they could not shake off a certain sense of mortification at her lack of good taste.
"How could Marian Barber be so ridiculous, and why did her mother ever allow her to dress herself like that?" thought Grace as she glanced at Marian, who was simpering at some remark that Mr. Henry Hammond was making to her in a voice too low for the others to hear.
Then Grace suddenly remembered that Marian's mother had left Oakdale three weeks before on a three months' visit to a sister in a distant city.
"That deceitful old Henry Hammond is at the bottom of this," Grace decided. "He has probably put those ideas of dressing up into Marian's head. She needs some one to look after her. I'll ask mother if she can stay with me until her mother returns, that is if I can persuade her to come."
"Come out of your brown study, Grace," called Hippy. "I want you to settle an argument that has arisen between Miss O'Malley and myself. Never before have we had an argument. Timid, gentle creature that she is, she has always deferred to my superior intellect, but now—"
"Yes," retorted Nora scornfully, "now, he has been routed with slaughter, and so he has to call upon other people to rescue him from the fruits of his own folly."
"I am not asking aid," averred Hippy with dignity. "I plead for simple justice."
"Simple, indeed," interrupted David with a twinkle in his eye.
"I see very plainly," announced Hippy, "that I shall have to drop this O'Malley affair and defend myself against later unkind attacks. But first I shall eat my dessert, then I shall have greater strength to renew the fray."
"Then my services as a settler of arguments are not required," laughed Grace.
"Postponed, merely postponed," assured Hippy, and devoted himself assiduously to his dessert, refusing to be beguiled into further conversation.
Dinner over, the entire party repaired once more to the drawing room, where the young people performed for the judge's especial benefit the stunts for which they were already famous.
Much to Grace's annoyance, Henry Hammond attached himself to her, and try as she might she could not entirely rid herself of his attentions without absolute rudeness. Tom Gray looked a trifle surprised at this, and Marian Barber seemed openly displeased. Grace felt thoroughly out of patience, when toward the close of the evening, he approached her as she stood looking at a Japanese curio, and said:
"I wish to thank you, Miss Harlowe, for inviting me to become a member of this house party. I appreciate your invitation more than I can say."
"I hope you will enjoy yourself, Mr. Hammond," replied Grace rather coldly.
"There is little doubt of that," was the ready answer. "How well Marian is looking to-night. I am surprised at the difference a really grown-up gown makes in her."
Grace glanced at Marian, who in her eyes looked anything but well.
"Mr. Hammond," she said slowly, looking straight at him. "I do not in the least agree with you. Marian is not yet eighteen, and to-night she looks like anything but the school-girl that she did this afternoon. If her mother were at home I am sure that she would never allow Marian to have such a gown made, and I cannot fully understand what mischievous influence prompted her to make herself appear so utterly ridiculous to-night."
"Miss Harlowe," said the young man, his face darkening ominously, "your tone is decidedly offensive. Do I understand you to insinuate that I have in any way influenced Miss Barber as to her manner of dress?"
"I insinuate nothing," replied Grace, rather contemptuously. "If the coat fits you wear it."
"Miss Harlowe," answered the young man almost savagely, "I cannot understand why, after having included me in this house party, you deliberately insult me; but I advise you to be more careful in the future as to your remarks or I shall be tempted to forget the courtesy due a young woman, and repay you in your own coin."
"Mr. Hammond," replied Grace with cold scorn, "I acknowledge that my last remark to you was exceedingly rude, but nothing can palliate the offense of your reply. As a matter of interest, let me state that I am not in the least alarmed at your threat, for only a coward would ever attempt to bully a girl."
With these words Grace moved quickly away, leaving Mr. Henry Hammond to digest her answer as best he might.
It was Christmas Eve, and the great soft flakes of snow that fell continuously gave every indication of a white Christmas. The north wind howled and blustered through the tree tops, making the judge and his young guests congratulate themselves on being safely sheltered from the storm.
The day had been clear and cold, and the entire party had driven on bob-sleds to the strip of woods just outside the town, where the boys had cut down a Christmas tree, and had brought it triumphantly home, while the girls had piled the sleds with evergreens and ground pine. On the return a stop had been made at the market, and great quantities of holly had been bought. Even the sprig of mistletoe for the chandelier in the hall had not been forgotten.
"We'll hurry up and get everything ready before the judge comes in," planned Grace. "We'll put this mistletoe right here, and Nora, you must see to it that you lead him over until he stands directly under it. Then we will all surround him. Miriam, will you tell Miss Putnam? We want her to be in it, too."
The young folks worked untiringly and a little before five the last trail of ground pine was in place, and the decorators stood back and reviewed their work with pride.
The great hall and drawing room had been transformed into a veritable corner of the forest, and the red holly berries peeping out from the green looked like little flame-colored heralds of Christmas. Here and there a poinsettia made a gorgeous blot of color, while on an old-fashioned mahogany what-not stood an immense bowl of deep-red roses, the joint contribution of the Phi Sigma Tau.
"It looks beautiful," sighed Jessica, "we really ought to feel proud of ourselves."
The entire party was grouped about the big drawing room.
"I am always proud of myself," asserted Hippy. "In the first place there is a great deal of me to be proud of; and in the second place I don't believe in hiding my light under a bushel."
"Now Jessica, you have started him," said David with a groan. "He'll talk about himself for an hour unless Reddy and I lead him out."
"I dare you to lead me out," defied Hippy.
"I never take a dare," replied David calmly, making a lunge for Hippy. "Come on, Reddy."
Reddy sprang forward and Hippy was hustled out, chanting as he went: