“Yes, and he seemed so disappointed that you weren’t in the troop!”

“Tell me all about it,” said Marjorie; and Lily complied with her
request, carrying on one of those one-sided conversations about “what
_he_ said,” that girls all love to hold with each other.

“But I didn’t tell him how soon you would be a Girl Scout,” she
concluded.

“If I only am!” sighed Marjorie. “It seems to me I never wanted
anything so much in my life!”

“Well, keep on studying, and it won’t be long now till the next Latin
test, and that will surely give you the chance you have been waiting
for!”

CHAPTER XIV

PANSY TROOP MEETS

Now that the girls had seen the Boy Scouts’ demonstration, they were
more anxious than ever to get their own troop started. But they did not
have long to wait, for the following afternoon Miss Phillips placed a
typewritten list on the Bulletin Board in the main hall.

In a few minutes, a crowd began to gather. Ruth was the first to
appear; to her great delight she saw her name at the bottom of the list.

“Who made it?” asked Marjorie, who was too far back in the crowd to
read the paper.

Ruth read it out loud:

“School Swimming Team:

“Seniors--Margaret Williams, Martha Meyers.

“Juniors--Helen Stewart, Edith Evans, Violet Henderson.

“Sophomores--Ethel Todd.

“Freshmen--Ruth Henry.

“Substitutes--Rose Craig, Frances Wright.”

“Congratulations, Ruth!” said Marjorie, sincerely. “Now you’ll surely
be a Girl Scout!”

“I hope so,” said Ruth, as she walked down the hall with her old
friend. “My last marks were pretty good--but, you never can tell.”

“If I ever pull up my Latin, I’m going in harder for swimming. I want
to learn fancy diving and life-saving,” said Marjorie.

“That would be nice,” agreed Ruth, “but for the present I’m going to
be content with plain dives and long-distance swimming. Anyway, I
can swim well enough to be a First Class scout, if I pass the other
qualifications.”

The girls separated to dress for dinner. It hardly seemed possible that
Miss Allen could announce the new Scout candidates so soon, and yet a
decided air of expectancy prevailed during dinner that evening. Every
few minutes, one or two girls would allow their glance to wander in her
direction, and they were finally rewarded by seeing her rise from her
chair.

“You have all seen the names of the girls on the swimming team,” she
said. “You know, too, that out of that list of eight girls, four are
already candidates for the Scouts.

“All this goes to prove,” she continued, “just what Miss Phillips and I
have always thought--the same girls go out for athletics over and over
again, and the rest of the school is content to let them do all the
work. Now what we hope the Girl Scout organization will do, is to make
interest more general.

“Of the remaining four girls on the swimming team, only one stands high
enough in her lessons to be selected as a candidate. That girl is Ruth
Henry!”

As soon as the girls had stopped clapping, Miss Allen went on with the
announcements. “The eight candidates--Dorothy Maxwell, Edith Evans,
Helen Stewart, Frances Wright, Ethel Todd, Marian Guard, Lily Andrews,
and Ruth Henry are to meet in my office to-morrow afternoon at two
o’clock to organize and to elect their Captain.”

After dinner was over, Marjorie sought Ruth. She was not jealous of her
friend’s triumph; Ruth deserved it, and she did not.

So, with genuine pleasure, she said, “I’m awfully glad you made it,
Ruth. Nobody deserves it more than you!”

Ruth thanked her, and Marjorie continued enthusiastically, “I think you
have done a big thing for the school. And I mean to belong just as soon
as possible. I’m going to give up everything else till I pull up my
Latin mark!”

Ruth bit her lip. To her, half the fun of belonging to the Girl Scouts
consisted in being able to write home and tell her parents and friends
that she had succeeded where Marjorie had failed. But she said nothing
to indicate her feelings to the other girl.

Promptly at two o’clock the next afternoon--which was Saturday--the
scout candidates assembled in Miss Allen’s office.

“The first thing we will do,” said Miss Allen, “is to vote for a
Captain. Then, if possible, we will invite the person you elect into
the meeting, and she can take charge, for I won’t have time myself.”

She asked Ruth to come forward and give out the paper for voting.
“Every Scout should be prepared with a pencil, but if any girl needs
one this time, I will lend her one.

“Write the name of the person you want on the paper; if there isn’t a
majority for any one candidate the first time, we will vote over again
between the two or three highest.”

But there was no cause for a second vote; Miss Phillips was elected by
an overwhelming majority. Lily was sent to the gymnasium to tell her
of the result of the election, and returned with an invitation for the
meeting to transfer its location to the gymnasium.

In a few words, Miss Phillips thanked the girls for the honor they had
given her, and promised to live up to the Scout laws as faithfully as
she could.

“Now,” she continued, “since we have eight girls, we will elect a
patrol leader and a corporal.”

“What are their duties, Miss Phillips?” asked Lily.

Miss Phillips smiled. “Scout Andrews,” she replied, “after this
when you wish to ask a question, rise, salute me, and say ‘Captain
Phillips.’ If I return the salute, then you ask your question.
Now--let’s try that!”

Lily did as she was requested, and Miss Phillips explained that the
duties of these officers were to get the girls out to the meetings,
lead the marching, conduct opening exercises, and so forth. Frances
Wright was elected patrol leader and Lily Andrews was made corporal.

“Now,” said Miss Phillips, “open your handbooks to page 44, and you
will see the different ceremonies to be used. We will begin with a
simple one to-night.”

After she had read the instructions aloud, she blew a series of short
whistles and the girls assembled in line--with Frances at the top, and
Lily next. Lily was sent to the room next door for the flag, and at the
command of the Captain, the girls pledged allegiance. Then they sang
one stanza of “The Star-Spangled Banner,” standing at attention. After
this, led by Miss Phillips, they took the Scout oath. With their right
hands raised to their foreheads, they repeated:

  “On my honor I will try
   To be true to God and my country.
   To help others at all times.
   To obey the Scout laws.”

Their hands dropped to their sides.

“Patrol Leader Wright,” commanded Miss Phillips, “lead in the Scout
Laws.”

Frances stepped in front of the group, saluted the Captain, and the
girls repeated with her:

  “A Girl Scout’s honor is to be trusted.
   A Girl Scout is loyal.
   A Girl Scout’s duty is to be useful and to help others.
   A Girl Scout is a friend to all, and a sister to every
       other Girl Scout.
   A Girl Scout is courteous.
   A Girl Scout is a friend to animals.
   A Girl Scout obeys orders.
   A Girl Scout is cheerful.
   A Girl Scout is thrifty.
   A Girl Scout is clean in thought, word and deed.”

“What is your motto?” asked Miss Phillips.

“Be prepared,” they answered.

“What is your slogan?”

“Do a good turn daily.”

“Be seated!” commanded Miss Phillips. “After opening ceremony,” she
continued, when the girls were seated, “comes Scout talk. To-night I
am going to talk about your good turn. It will be harder for you girls
than for the Scouts who live at home, but let me see what you can do.
Make a list of the things you do, but do not sign it. Bring it next
week to the meeting, and perhaps we shall read them aloud.” Then she
suggested some good turns that might be done at the school.

“Business meeting is next in order. We must first of all have a
secretary. I am ready for nominations.”

After a great deal of consideration, Ethel Todd was elected secretary;
Ruth Henry was made treasurer.

“Now it is time to decide upon a name,” announced Miss Phillips.

“A name?” asked Ruth, without rising or saluting. “Can we have Greek
letters--or something like that?”

The other girls smiled at her impetuosity, but Miss Phillips hastened
to correct the false impression.

“No, not that,” she answered, “but each troop takes the name of a
flower--rose, daisy, violet, and so on. And each patrol takes the name
of a bird. Suppose some of you suggest the names you would like, and we
can vote upon the three most popular.”

Frances suggested “Pansy,” and the girls decided to make it their
choice. The selection of the patrol symbol was put off until a later
time.

After dues had been discussed and agreed upon, Miss Phillips said, “I
would like to suggest that we consider candidates only once a month.
It is nearly February now--and we are just starting. It would make too
much confusion if we take them in at every meeting. So I think the best
plan would be to get the list of those eligible from Miss Allen at the
end of each month, and take them in at the following meeting.”

This suggestion was voted upon and passed.

“When shall we have our first hike?” asked the Captain.

Frances Wright rose and saluted Miss Phillips. “Captain,” she said,
“let’s wait until we get our uniforms.”

Helen Stewart’s face fell. She was one of the poorest girls in the
school--her mother was a widow, and it was about all she could afford
to do to pay the regular expenses. Helen did not know how she would
ever get her uniform.

“All right,” agreed the Captain, “but you all know you have to _earn_
the uniform. You aren’t allowed to write home and ask your parents for
the money. And what is more, you are supposed to _make_ it!”

Lily looked disappointed. She was thinking of having her uniform made
by a Fifth Avenue tailor. Helen looked proportionately pleased.

“There are lots of things you can do to earn money--typewriting in
the office, taking care of babies, running errands for people in the
village, taking orders for knitting and sewing----”

“But we’ll be almost like servants!” exclaimed Lily, interrupting her
Captain’s speech.

“It won’t hurt you, girls,” Miss Phillips said laughingly. “And to
encourage you,” she added, “I’ll earn mine, aside from my salary.”

“And we’ll make it a kind of race to see who can earn theirs first.
Let’s have a bank and a banker, and report each week on what we have
made.”

The girls approved of the plan, and Ethel Todd, the secretary, was
chosen banker.

“Now,” said Miss Phillips, “we will adjourn our business meeting for
Scout work. Open your handbooks to page 60; we are going over the
Tenderfoot test together.”

The test seemed comparatively easy, and Miss Phillips decided to give
it the following week. “You may each bring a quarter,” she said, “and
if everybody passes we will fill out our blank and send it to National
Headquarters in New York.

“Now,” continued the Captain, “let’s have some games. Next week we’ll
have military drill, but we won’t start that to-night. Let’s play
‘Boots without shoes.’ Does anybody know it?”

The girls shook their heads, and Miss Phillips requested all but
Frances to go into her office.

She explained the game to Frances, and told her to go and bring one of
the girls into the room. She returned with Lily.

“You want to belong to the Girl Scouts, don’t you, Lily?” asked Miss
Phillips, with mock solemnity.

“Yes!”

“Then will you promise to do as I do, but to say just what I tell you
to say?”

“I promise.”

Miss Phillips took three jumps. “Say ‘Boots,’ without shoes!”

Lily imitated the action, and repeated, “Boots, without shoes!”

“But that isn’t right!” protested Miss Phillips. “We’ll try over again.”

She gave her increasingly difficult gymnastic feats to perform, ending
each with the same command of “Say ‘Boots,’ without shoes!”

Finally Lily saw through the trick, and cried triumphantly, “Boots!”

Miss Phillips sent her for the next girl, and they continued until all
the girls were initiated.

Before they separated for the evening, Miss Phillips taught the girls
the Scout yell--

  “A-M-E-R-I-C-A
   GIRL SCOUTS--GIRL SCOUTS--U.S.A”

and they yelled it joyfully, adding first “Miss Allen’s, Miss Allen’s,”
on the end, and then giving it over again in honor of Miss Phillips.

Lily ran up to find Marjorie, who had spent the first Friday evening
since Pledge-Day in her own room. Both girls were glad that there was
no secrecy about the Girl Scout meeting, which would prevent them from
discussing it together.

Ruth went over to her own room with equal haste, joyfully anticipating
the letter she would write to the folks at home to tell them of her
good fortune.

CHAPTER XV

THE LATIN TEST

By the twentieth of February, the eight candidates had passed their
Tenderfoot tests, and were registered at National Headquarters as
regular members of the Girl Scouts. After the preliminary exercises of
the meeting were over, Captain Phillips asked for a report from the
banker.

“All the girls have handed in enough money for the khaki and buttons,
Captain,” Ethel Todd announced, after she had given the usual salute.
“And some have turned in more than was required. Shall I give that to
the treasurer?”

“No,” answered Miss Phillips, “we will keep up our banking system, so
that each girl can always have money on hand to purchase the necessary
equipment. Now,” she continued, turning to the troop, “I want reports
on how the individual Girl Scouts earned their money.”

The accounts that followed were both interesting and original. Ruth had
made fudge, and sold it at a profit; Ethel Todd had addressed envelopes
in Miss Allen’s office, and had helped with the school records;
Frances and Marian had taken care of babies for some Alumnæ members of
ΦΑΒ who lived in the village; Lily Andrews and Edith Evans had secured
subscriptions for a well-known woman’s magazine; and Helen Stewart and
Dorothy Maxwell had advertised their services for “odd jobs” among
their school-mates, and had been rewarded with plenty of mending,
pressing, darning, and even shoe-shining.

All the girls agreed that the experience had been fun; even Lily
admitted that she did not mind it after she had once started.

“And what did you do, Captain Phillips?” she asked.

“I organized a dancing-class for the little tots of the village,
which meets one afternoon a week, and I charge each child ten cents a
lesson,” she replied.

“Good!” exclaimed Lily, “you lived up to your promise!”

“Girls,” said the Captain, “I am going into the city to-morrow, and I
will order the uniforms--the kind that come cut out ready to sew. Then
we ought to receive them before next Saturday, and if we do, we can
meet up in the sewing-room and give up the day to making them.”

“And when will we go on our hike, Captain?” asked Frances, with the
usual formality.

“The following Saturday, I hope. You see the marks come out the next
Monday, and the Gym team will be selected; so new girls will be
eligible to the troop after that. And I want one hike by ourselves--as
a reward for the good work you have done.”

“How many new girls do you think we shall have?” asked Marian.

“There will be ten girls on the school Gym-team, but probably some of
those are already Scouts. And then there is a possibility that some of
the girls who are either hockey or swimming-team members may pull up
their marks in their studies and qualify.”

Lily clapped her hands. “I do so hope Marjorie makes it,” she exclaimed
with such enthusiasm that Miss Phillips did not have the heart to
reprove her for her breach of discipline. “And she will,” she added,
“if she makes 90% in her Latin test.”

Ruth looked annoyed. Half the fun of being a Girl Scout was the
publicity of it--the fact that she was one of the eight distinguished
members--that she belonged to something Marjorie could not join.

“As soon as we get more girls into the troop,” announced Captain
Phillips, “we will give a play, to earn enough money to pay for our
camping trip this summer.”

The girls were so interested that Miss Phillips was forced to go into
details about the plans; they talked such a long time that it was
necessary to adjourn without the customary games.

Marjorie’s evening had been spent in her own room, studying Latin.
Although the test was not to be held until the following Tuesday, she
felt that she had not a minute to lose. The hardest part to her was,
of course, the English into Latin--“prose composition,” Miss White,
the teacher, called it. It was in this that she had failed before;
therefore, she directed all her effort to mastering it. There was not
one construction of which she felt uncertain; she did not see how she
could fail.

Just as she was gathering her books into a neat pile for the night, the
door opened and Lily came in. She was full of the plans for the hike,
the play, and the camp; and she poured her news into Marjorie’s eager
ears.

When she stopped a moment for breath, the other girl exclaimed, “I
simply _must_ make it! I’d love to be in the play, and go camping!
Just think of the fun! Of course, Miss Phillips will go with you this
summer?”

“Certainly!” replied Lily. “Oh, Marj, you’ll surely be a Girl Scout
before then. But keep on studying,” she urged.

When Marjorie laid her paper on Miss White’s desk on Tuesday, she felt
that she had done exceedingly well in the examination. She had thought
out each construction and had written carefully; she had gone over her
paper twice to make sure that there were no corrections or omissions;
and she was the next to last girl to leave the room.

Ruth Henry was the last girl to turn in her paper. This was not because
she was slow or uncertain of her work, for she was an excellent Latin
student; but she usually remained to walk over to the dormitory with
Miss White, with whom she was a great favorite.

Just as she rose from her seat to hand in her paper, a messenger
entered from the office.

“Miss White, here is a telegram for you,” she said, handing her a
yellow envelope.

Ruth stood still, and the messenger withdrew. As Miss White read the
telegram, her face grew pale.

“What is it, Miss White? Oh, I hope nothing is wrong?” said Ruth.

“My mother’s very ill--I must go home immediately.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” asked Ruth impulsively.

Miss White hesitated a moment. “Yes, dear, thank you--straighten up
this room and my desk; put the papers in a neat pile in the bottom
drawer; then lock it and bring me the key. And you can carry my
suitcase to the station, if you wish.”

“Yes, indeed. Please don’t worry, Miss White--surely she’ll get better!”

Miss White smiled sadly, and handed Ruth the key. “You are a dear, good
girl, Ruth,” she said, as she opened the door.

Ruth began to straighten the papers, which the girls had piled one by
one on top of the teacher’s desk. As she picked them up, one from the
top of the pile fell to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. It was
Marjorie Wilkinson’s!

Suddenly, Ruth thought of the other girl’s house-party, and the dance
which she had witnessed through the lighted windows; she remembered
Marjorie’s indifference during the days that followed her pledging to
the sorority; and heard Lily exclaim over again that if her room-mate
made 90% in this Latin test, she would be a Girl Scout.

This was the opportunity she had been waiting for; if she had schemed
and planned for it, it could not have been more perfect. If she let
this chance go by, she would probably never have another like it. She
would pay Marjorie back for what she had done in the past.

Taking a pen, and dipping it in Miss White’s inkwell, she turned to
the questions marked “English into Latin.” With her knowledge, it was
a simple matter to make little changes--adding letters here and there
at the ends of words to make the gender, number, tense, or case of the
word out of harmony with the rest of the sentence.

Once she thought she heard a sound at the door; she quickly dropped her
pen, and pretended to straighten the papers. But no one came in, and
she finished her work of deceit. To the casual observer, Marjorie’s
paper looked no different; but to the Latin student, it proved to
be like the poor twisted poem of “Father William” in “Alice in
Wonderland,” “wrong from beginning to end.”

While she was locking Miss White’s desk, the risk of her act occurred
to her. What if the teacher should decide to return the papers to the
girls, contrary to her usual custom? What if Marjorie should not be
satisfied with her mark, and should ask Miss White to go over the paper
with her?

But it was too late now to think of the danger; the deed was done, and
she must take the consequences.

She decided on the whole that she would stand less chance of detection
if the teacher took the papers home with her to mark. Accordingly, she
unlocked the desk again and took out the pile, and, leaving everything
in good order, went over to Miss White’s room.

“I brought the test papers over to you, Miss White, instead of leaving
them in your desk, because I thought you would want to take them home
and mark them there, so you could mail the averages to Miss Allen
before the term closes.”

“Thank you, Ruth, you are so thoughtful. Here--I will put them in my
suitcase,” she said, taking them from the girl.

“Now I think I’m ready,” she concluded. “Here is a sweater for you to
wear to the station--and I guess your hands won’t get lost in these
gloves.”

Ruth put on the borrowed clothing, and picked up the suitcase.

After she came back from the station, she began to dress for dinner,
but said nothing to Ethel of the incident, lest in some way it might
throw suspicion on her.

All the rest of the week Marjorie felt the satisfaction of a person
whose task was well done. She looked eagerly forward to Monday when
her success would be announced, and the troop would claim her as a
candidate. She knew her Tenderfoot test already, and she thought
constantly of possible ways to earn money for her uniform.

The Friday evening before the term closed, ΦΑΒ girls met for the last
time. Two Juniors who had been chosen for the gym team, and who were
practically sure of making the Girl Scout troop, resigned; and with
only six members left, the sorority had to disband.

As Marjorie sat alone in her room that evening while Lily attended the
Scout meeting, she occupied herself by writing a long letter home. And
in this letter, she told her mother to expect a splendid report from
the school--with a mark in Latin that she would be proud of. “And I
think,” she concluded, “that this is the last Friday evening I shall
have to spend in my room alone--for by this time next week, I hope to
be a Girl Scout!”

CHAPTER XVI

A WINTER HIKE

It was indeed an attractive group of girls who met on Saturday morning,
dressed in their new Scout uniforms, with their packs strapped to
their backs. Perhaps they felt a trifle self-conscious, but they had
no need to be ashamed of their appearance, for their suits could not
have fitted them more neatly if they had been made by a fashionable
dressmaker.

As soon as they left the building, they formed in a line--two
abreast--and swung along in step. Miss Phillips told them that when
they left the village and struck the open country, they might sing as
they marched.

“And that reminds me,” she said, “I want some Scout songs of our
very own, and I happened to mention the matter to Miss Allen, and
she offered a canteen as a prize for the best song submitted before
June first. So get to work, girls. You needn’t attempt to write the
music--unless you want to--but take some familiar tune and make up new
words.”

The day was clear and just cold enough to make the walk bracing. The
girls had gone to bed early the night before, and were in perfect trim
for the hike. And they were very happy. They would be glad to welcome
the new girls the following week, and make them their “Scout sisters”;
but for the present they were content to enjoy this last intimate
little adventure alone.

Miss Phillips had secured copies of the Nature Calendar of the Buffalo
Society of Natural Sciences; and the girls had made a list of some of
the February birds to look for. They had noted the characteristics of
the hemlock, the spruce, and the red and white cedars, and were anxious
to put their knowledge to a test.

Ruth and Ethel had been given two dollars from the treasury, with the
instructions to purchase wholesome food. “We shall have our first
lesson in out-door cooking,” Miss Phillips had said, “so be sure to buy
something that we can cook over a camp fire. But don’t get anything
like raw beans,” she had laughingly instructed them, “for they require
twelve hours’ baking, and we don’t expect to make it an overnight hike
this time!”

So Ruth and Ethel had done their purchasing, and had wrapped their
articles into eight packages; they gave each girl a bundle to carry,
but refused to tell what they had bought. And, of course, everybody
tried to find out by feeling her package, but in most cases this failed
to reveal the identity of the contents.

After ten minutes’ walk, the Scouts had left the town, and struck the
woods. Miss Phillips blew a series of short whistles and called the
girls together for instructions.

“We are going to lay a trail,” she said. “Frances, Ethel, Dorothy, and
Ruth are to go ahead, and put down the signals; the rest of us will
wait here ten minutes and then follow.

“Lay your trail until you come to a good place to make a fire and eat
lunch. Choose a spot somewhere near good water, and be sure that you
are well protected from the wind. If you can find a flat rock, so much
the better; but be sure that the ground is dry.”

“I’ve never eaten around a camp fire,” said Lily. “It’s going to be
such fun!”

“How will we know what signals to lay?” asked Ruth.

“I am going to tell you some of the simple ones: perhaps we shall
learn those more difficult later on from the Boy Scouts. Has anybody a
pen-knife?”

“I have, Captain,” said Marian, producing one.

“Will you lend it to Ethel? Now, Ethel, you can blaze a trail by
cutting off a piece of bark from a tree along a path which you are
following.

“But that is not to be the only signal. You can break a twig, and leave
it hanging, or you can set a small stone on top of a larger one to mark
the trail.

“Now for the turns--if you want us to follow the path to the right, put
a long mark on the right of the tree trunk beneath the blaze; or bend
your twig out straight to the right; or when you put your little stone
on top of your big one, place another small stone beside them to the
right--and, of course, vice versa for the left. Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” cried the girls.

“One thing more--has everybody matches in her knapsack?”

Fortunately everybody did have, for Miss Phillips had especially warned
the girls to be provided with them.

“Now,” she continued, “I want you to try to keep together; and always
remember this: no fewer than two girls must travel together in the
woods; but if anything ever should happen to separate one of you from
your companions, and you find that you are lost, select a high, open
spot and make two fires--carefully piling on lots of leaves and grass
to make smoke; for Girl Scouts have adopted the signal that two smokes
arising together mean ‘I am lost--help.’

“Now run along, girls, before you get cold!”

While the remaining girls--Edith, Marian, Lily, and Helen waited the
ten minutes, Miss Phillips instituted a game to keep them from becoming
cold.

When the time was up, they started off, looking carefully for signals
of the trail. Miss Phillips told them to call out when they discovered
a trail and instructed each girl to keep count of the signs she
discovered first. Once or twice, everybody missed a mark, and went
straight ahead; then, failing to see any evidences of the trail, they
all turned back and discovered they had missed the turn.

Finally Dorothy spied a smoke in the distance. “Can that be our girls?”
she asked.

“I guess so,” replied Miss Phillips. “One smoke means ‘We are camping
here.’”

The girls ran as fast as they could, and soon reached the spot. Ethel
had spread the big blanket on the ground, and the other girls had
succeeded in starting a good fire. Ruth had filled her canteen from a
spring not far distant, and offered the girls water. Frances was trying
to fasten branches into the ground from which to suspend the kettle for
hot water.

“It’s pretty hard to dig a deep enough hole without a spade, Frances,”
said Miss Phillips, after she had laid down her pack. “Let your fire
die down a little, and put two green logs on each side of it; then we
can set the kettle across them right over the fire.”

She turned to Ruth. “Now what have you for lunch?” she inquired.

“Doggies, rolls, cocoa (we have that in the thermos bottle), and baked
beans; and a surprise for dessert!”

“Baked beans!” exclaimed Lily, “what did Captain tell you?”

“Oh, they’re not that kind,” laughingly explained Ethel; “they’re all
cooked--by Mr. Heinz; we only have to heat them!”

The girls dropped the can in the hot water in the kettle, and each
proceeded to get a stick on which to toast the sausages. Soon they were
eating hungrily.

“Tell us how you liked our trail,” said Ruth.

“It was great!” said Miss Phillips. “By the way--who found the most
signs?”

“I believe Edith did, didn’t you?” asked Dorothy.

“Well, I found eight; did anybody get more than that?”

No one had; and Edith was congratulated.

“Now guess, girls, what we’ve got for dessert?”

“Apples?”

“No--better than that!”

“Cake?”

“No--still better!”

“Pie?”

“Yes!”

“What kind?”

“Hot mince pie! We covered it up, and put it among the coals. But
you’ve got to eat it with your fingers.”

“That’s easy!” exclaimed Dorothy, as Ethel handed two pies to Miss
Phillips to cut with Marian’s pen-knife.

“Ruth, you and Ethel are certainly dandies,” said Helen; “but do tell
us how you ever got all this wonderful feed for two dollars!”

“Well, we didn’t,” replied Ruth. “Mother sent me the pies this morning.”

“And that accounts for the reason they are so good!” exclaimed Lily. “I
thought you couldn’t get pies like these at the village bakery.”

“Girls,” suggested Frances, “let’s write Mrs. Henry a note of thanks
when we get back to school, and all sign it.”

“Now Captain,” said Marian, after they had finished eating, “do tell us
about some of your plans for the troop.”

“Yes, do!” the others urged.

“Well, next Friday we admit our new members. From then until spring
vacation, we will practice for our play and work for the second class
test. During spring vacation, we are to go to a big party at the Boy
Scout cabin.”

“How perfect!” exclaimed Ruth enthusiastically.

“After vacation,” the Captain continued, “we will give our play and
study for merit badge examinations, and take some hikes--maybe one
over-night hike--learning about trees and flowers. And, if any of you
girls want to go out for the Pioneer badge, the Boy Scouts said they
would show us how to build a cabin.”

“It would be wonderful to have our own cabin!” said Ethel.

“And, of course, you know, after that comes vacation and our week of
camping. But nobody can go camping who is not at least a second-class
scout.”

“Oh, it’s all so exciting!” exclaimed Ruth. “I’m so glad I’m a Girl
Scout!”

“I’d be perfectly happy if Marjorie were in it, too!” sighed Lily.

“Perhaps she will be soon,” said Frances, encouragingly. “Let’s hope
so!”

Ruth blushed self-consciously at this remark, but no one noticed her
embarrassment. She hastily changed the subject. “Tell us a story,
Captain,” she suggested.

“What kind of story would you like?” asked Miss Phillips.

“Oh, one about the out-of-doors,” answered Ruth.

“Well, we mustn’t sit here long--the fire is beginning to die; but I’ll
tell you a story of Ernest Thompson Seton’s--it’s in his book called
‘Two Little Savages,’ a boy’s book, but one which I think you girls
would enjoy.

“This story is about an Indian squaw, who was taken prisoner by some
tribe way up north. They marched her five hundred miles away, but one
night she escaped and set out, not on the home trail, for she knew they
would follow that way and kill her, but to one side. She didn’t know
the country and got lost. She had no weapons but a knife, and no food
but berries.

“She went as fast as she could for several days till a rainstorm came,
and then she felt safe, because she knew her enemies could not trail
her now. But winter was approaching, and she could not get home before
it came. So she set to work right where she was.

“Can you girls imagine yourselves in such a position? All alone in the
woods--no shelter, no food, no extra clothing, and the cold weather
coming on fast?”

Frances shuddered. “I guess most of us would soon give up and die!” she
said.

“We probably would--though maybe not after we have learned the
principles of Scouting.

“Well, anyway, she made a Wigwam of birch bark and a fire by rubbing
sticks together, as you saw two of the Boy Scouts do, only she used
the lace of her moccasin for a bow-string. She made snares of the
inner bark of the willow and of spruce roots, and deadfalls, too, for
rabbits. She was starving sometimes, at first, but she ate the buds
and inner bark of birch trees till she found a place where there were
lots of rabbits. And when she caught some she used every scrap of them.
She made a fishing-line of the sinews, and hook of the bones and teeth
lashed together with sinew and spruce gum.

“She made a cloak of rabbit skins, sewed with needles of rabbit bone
and thread of rabbit sinew, and a lot of dishes of birch bark sewed
with spruce roots.

“She spent the whole winter there alone, and when the spring came she
was found by Samuel Hearne, the great traveler. Her precious knife was
worn down, but she was fat, and happy, and ready to set out for her own
people.”

“And is that a true story?” asked Ruth, after a silence of a minute or
two.

“Yes,” replied Miss Phillips, “wasn’t she wonderful?”

The girls thanked their Captain for the interesting tale and Frances
led in the Scout yell.

They sang one or two of their favorite songs, as they put out the
fire, and buried the tin cans and refuse they could not burn. Miss
Phillips congratulated them on the appearance of the spot. “A Scout
leaves the place in perfect order after she has camped there,” she said
approvingly.

It was a happy, weary crowd that trudged into school that night. But
after they had bathed and dressed for dinner they felt better, though,
as Lily remarked, “glad that the next day was Sunday.”

“And the day after is Monday,” said Marjorie, excitedly--“and we’ll
know our marks!”

CHAPTER XVII

MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT

Morning exercises at Miss Allen’s always began with the singing of a
hymn, followed by reading from the Bible by one of the teachers. No
matter what events were to come after, this custom was never altered.

Once in two months the students received their reports with due
formality when everyone was in the assembly room. Miss Allen’s
secretary carried the pile of white envelopes on to the platform;
and, after the religious exercises were concluded, the Principal read
the names of the girls in the order of their averages, and they came
forward to receive the reports.

Up to this time, Marjorie had never been particularly interested in
the ceremony. She always wanted to pass, but she rather regarded
those girls whose marks ranged from eighty to ninety per cent as a
little “queer”; they must be abnormal if they were more interested in
mathematics and Latin than in hockey and cocoa-parties.

But this Monday morning after the Latin test, she felt that she had
never cared about anything so much before as she cared for her term
average. She was so nervous that she could have cried out while the
girls droned through four stanzas of the hymn the music teacher had
selected. She glanced apprehensively at the secretary, but failed to
see the usual pile of white envelopes on the chair beside her; then
resolutely putting her doubts aside, she attempted to join in the
singing.

Finally it was over; Miss Allen rose and walked to the front of the
platform. But, contrary to her usual custom, the secretary kept her
seat. Something was wrong; Marjorie sensed it even before Miss Allen
began to explain.

“Girls,” she said slowly, fingering her watch-chain, “I am very sorry
to say that you will not receive your marks until to-morrow. We
received Miss White’s list of Latin test averages only to-day; so, even
though Miss Smith will work on them all day in the office, we can’t
have them ready before late this afternoon. But as soon as she has them
made up, she will give the list of girls eligible for the Scout troop
to Miss Phillips, and perhaps we can announce the new candidates at
dinner to-night. But you may come to assembly to-morrow prepared to
receive your reports.”

When Miss Allen stopped speaking, Marjorie discovered that she was
literally shaking all over. “Why, I never cared half so much about
making the sorority,” she said to herself. “I wonder if Ruth felt
that way over it--and Lily, too! Poor girls! I wish I had been more
sympathetic. But I didn’t understand.”

No day ever seemed so long to Marjorie; but it went all too quickly for
Ruth, who was glad to have the moment postponed when Marjorie learned
of her disappointment. Once or twice she was inclined to regret her
action, and her conscience told her that she had broken the Scout’s
first law--that “her honor is to be trusted;” but she always succeeded
in justifying herself by thinking: “Marjorie was glad I didn’t make the
sorority, and probably would have done the same thing to me if it had
been necessary!” She remembered the house-party, and the dance, and
Marjorie’s indifference during the past months; and she gritted her
teeth, and said she was glad for what she had done.

She tried to avoid Marjorie, but as so often happens, she met both
Lily and Marjorie in the pool. Miss Phillips was sitting on the bench,
superintending the hour.

“In about a month,” said Miss Phillips to the girls at the deep end,
“after spring vacation, basket-ball season starts. And then we play
Miss Martin’s school; and if you girls don’t beat them this time--I
believe I’ll resign!”

Ruth was sitting on the edge of the diving-board, dangling her feet;
and Lily and Marjorie were making attempts to tread water, but every
few minutes they reached for the side-rail. All the while they were
listening to Miss Phillips.

Marjorie looked frightened. “Oh, don’t do that, Miss Phillips--why,
we’d do anything to prevent that! I do believe the whole school’d turn
out every day to practice, if they thought that would prevent you from
leaving!”

“Thanks for the compliment,” said Miss Phillips. “But I really do think
the girls have a different spirit now from last fall--not about me,
but athletics and lessons; and it’s all because we have substituted a
splendid, democratic, American organization for that sickly, snobbish,
thing that used to exist--I mean ΦΑΒ--to take the girls’ hearts, and
their time and their money, and give them nothing in return!”

“In other words,” said Ruth, proudly, “thanks to me!”

“Yes, thanks to you, Ruth, and to Miss Allen, and to Mrs. Juliette
Lowe--the founder of the Girl Scouts!”

Noticing that Marjorie had seemed somewhat embarrassed at her
arraignment of the sorority, and was swimming off in the opposite
direction, Miss Phillips added hastily:

“And we’re all hoping, Marjorie dear, that by this time to-morrow night
you’ll be among the candidates. I’m only waiting for the list now.”

Marjorie flushed with pleasure. It was something to be called “dear” by
Miss Phillips even if she never made the troop.

“Marjorie’s going to make it,” said Lily. “Why, with the way she’s
studied, she couldn’t help it.”

Before the teacher could say anything further, a messenger from the
office entered and handed her an envelope. Glancing hastily at its
contents, she rose, and issued the command: “All out of the pool!” and
stood until the girls had filed out; then she extinguished the light,
and went into her office.

“And in five minutes she will know my fate,” whispered Marjorie to
Lily, as the girls opened their lockers.

Everybody was in high spirits at dinner that evening; the girls were
happy with expectation. And this feeling was greatly increased when
Miss White entered in the middle of the meal with her coat and hat on,
and showed plainly by her happy smile that everything was right at home.

It was indeed a fitting time for Miss Allen to inform the lucky
candidates of their election to the Girl Scout troop.

“Before I announce the names of the new candidates,” she said, “let me
tell you that Miss Martin’s school is watching our Girl Scout troop
carefully, and from our success will decide whether or not to start
one of their own next year! It is a big responsibility, girls! I would
like every student in my school to be a scout, if she would try to live
up to the pledge and laws; but at the same time, I want to keep the
standard very high. So we are going slowly.

“I am glad to announce to-night that eight girls--another whole
patrol--have qualified; and as I read the names I would like the girls
to stand.

“Senior--Lucy Graham.

“Juniors--Elsie Lorimer, Emily Rankin, Mary Ridgeway.

“Sophomores--Vivien VanSciver, Ada Mearns.

“Freshmen--Anna Cane, Doris Sands.”

Everybody clapped except Marjorie. She sat perfectly still. The room
seemed to go around and around; and she thought she was going to faint.

The girls all got up and pressed over to their friends to congratulate
them. Somehow Marjorie realized that she should not sit any longer, and
she stood up. But in a second Lily was by her side, her arm linked in
hers.

“Come on out,” she said. “Don’t worry, Marj--surely there has been a
mistake! Wait till you get your report.”

She literally led Marjorie to their room. When they reached it, and
Lily had closed the door, the unhappy girl threw herself on her cot,
weeping. Lily was unable to console her.

“It’s no use,” sobbed Marjorie. “I have failed in my Latin. I guess
I tried too hard; I must have been nervous, and put down the wrong
things.” She hid her face in the pillow.

In a few minutes, a knock sounded at the door, and Lily opened it,
preparing to say that Marjorie had a headache, and to ask the guest to
call again. But it was Miss Phillips.

“Come in,” said Lily quietly. Approaching her room-mate’s cot, she
leaned over and said, “It’s Miss Phillips, Marjorie, to see you. Please
excuse me,” she added discreetly, “I must go to the library.”

The next half-hour was one of those short but important times that
always stood out in Marjorie’s memory. Miss Phillips sat down beside
her, and taking her hand, told her it was not a mistake--that her Latin
mark was so low that she had all but failed. And then she related an
instance in her own life, when she had wanted so much to succeed in an
undertaking--it was the passing of a physical training exam;--she had
failed, and her money had given out; she had been forced to give up her
plans and go to work in an office.

“But it was my Sunday-School teacher,” she said, “who made me hold on
to my ideal, and succeed at last; and I guess I was better equipped in
the end.”

Marjorie seemed calmer now, so Miss Phillips continued in her soft
voice:

“I shall never forget that poem of Edwin Markam’s--do you know his
work, Marjorie?--that my teacher read to me at the time:

  “‘Defeat may serve as well as victory
    To shake the soul and let the glory out.
    When the great oak is straining in the wind,
    The boughs drink in new beauty, and the trunk
    Sends down a deeper root on the windward side.
    Only the soul that knows the mighty grief
    Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come
    To stretch out spaces in the heart for joy.’

“And I believe sometimes that defeat is just the thing we need.”

Miss Phillips talked a long time with Marjorie, and held before her a
new race to pursue; so that when Lily came back from the library and
the teacher rose to go, Marjorie seemed quite happy, and promised to
try again.

The next day she received her report with sixty-six in Latin; but she
never saw her paper, for Miss White had burned it with the others after
she had copied the marks and sent them to Miss Allen.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE SECOND-CLASS TEST

The new Scout candidates soon passed their Tenderfoot test, and
registered at National Headquarters as regular members of Pansy troop.
Lucy Graham, the senior, was elected patrol leader of the new patrol,
and Doris Sands received the office of corporal.

The last meeting before spring vacation was held. After the usual
preliminary business had been concluded, Captain Phillips said that she
had several interesting announcements to make.

“To-morrow,” she said, “instead of our usual outing, we are going
down in the village to Mrs. Burd’s house to cook our own supper. You
know every girl has to cook something satisfactorily as a part of
her second-class test; and I wasn’t quite sure how to give you the
opportunity, when my friend Mrs. Burd came to the rescue, and offered
us her kitchen for to-morrow night, while she and the rest of her
family are away.

“Now,” she continued, after the girls had discussed her proposition
for several minutes, “I have something to tell you that I know will
interest you all. I have chosen the play we are going to give after
spring vacation!”

“Oh, what is it?” cried Ruth informally, forgetting the usual ceremony
of address.

But Miss Phillips did not notice the departure from discipline. Perhaps
too, she was too much interested in her subject to be aware of it.

“‘Everygirl,’” she replied, holding up a copy of the play. “I think you
are going to like it; and if you do well with it, it will surely bring
credit to the whole school!”

She opened the pamphlet she was holding, and read off a list of
symbolic characters. “Of course the play is an allegory; ‘Everygirl’
just represents any girl, who meets with good and evil, and who has to
choose her companions and her course through life. There are a good
many parts to the play, so I hope you will all be able to be in it. Of
course, the main part is that of Everygirl, the heroine.”

“Captain,” said Frances, rising and saluting, “please tell me how you
are going to select the girls for the parts, and whether we shall be
able to study them over spring vacation.”

“I am going to select the characters at a try-out to-morrow afternoon;
so will everybody please come to the Gym right after lunch?”

“I used to be in plays at home,” remarked Ruth. “I suppose that will
help, won’t it?”

“We’ll see to-morrow,” replied Miss Phillips. “Now, one thing more
before we take our second-class tests: I want to arrange about our
cabin party with the Boy Scouts. School reopens April fifteenth, which
is on Wednesday; so all the Girl Scouts are to come back here on
Tuesday morning. Get here before twelve o’clock. The housekeeper, Mrs.
Rock, is going to give us a light lunch, and we are to change into our
scout uniforms, take a trolley to Bear’s Hill and hike to the cabin.
Each girl is to bring her own mess-kit, and wear warm clothes; the Boy
Scouts prepare the rest.”

Ruth’s eyes danced. “How many Boy Scouts are there?” she asked.

“I think they have a full troop--four patrols--thirty-two boys--but
they are going to take only the sixteen with the highest standing.
Their Scoutmaster, Mr. Remington, told me all the boys were crazy to
go; but he didn’t want their numbers to overwhelm us. Now, girls,
unless there are some important questions, we will not talk about these
things any longer, but will prepare to take the written part of the
second-class test. And before I forget it, will you bring your samples
of sewing, crocheting, and knitting over to the Gym to-morrow afternoon
for me to examine. Then after supper to-morrow night, I ought to be
able to announce the names of the girls who have passed the test.”

Ethel arose excitedly. “Captain,” she said, “the handbook says we need
submit _either_ knitting _or_ crocheting; so we don’t have to bring
both, do we?”

“Scout Todd,” answered Miss Phillips, “if you remember correctly, I
announced several months ago, that no girl in Pansy troop could become
a second-class scout without submitting samples of _both_ knitting and
crocheting. You all know our standards are very high, and Miss Allen
and I both agreed that in all the cases where the handbook gave a
choice of two alternatives, we would require both. It is entirely fair,
because it is the same for everybody. Do you understand?”

Ruth sat perfectly still; but she saw her hopes of wearing the green
clover badge home at vacation fading, for though she knit splendidly,
she had never done a stitch of crocheting in her life.

Miss Phillips distributed the paper, and the girls gave their attention
to the written part of the test.

As they were getting ready for lunch the next day, Ethel asked Ruth
whether she could crochet.

“Yes,” replied Ruth, after a slight hesitation.

“And have you something ready to take this afternoon?”

Ruth opened her drawer, and took out a square of filet. “I haven’t done
much of it, but I guess it’s enough to show Captain Phillips what I can
do!”

“How pretty,” said Ethel admiringly. “Oh, Ruth, couldn’t you teach me;
I do so want to get that second-class badge!”

“I’d love to,” replied Ruth; “but I can’t before to-night, because it’s
pretty hard to learn, and I want to practice for the play. I think I
stand _some_ chance of getting the heroine’s part, if I read it over
several times. But I wouldn’t if Marj Wilkinson were in the troop.
She’s a peach at dramatics!”

Ethel was disappointed, but decided to wait until spring vacation
to learn. She was not, however, the only girl to fail to win the
second-class badge for this reason. When the scouts met a few hours
later in the Gym, it transpired that Ruth and two others were the only
ones to produce samples of their work.

“May I have my crocheting back as soon as you have inspected it,
Captain?” asked Ruth. “I want to work on it.”

“Certainly,” replied Miss Phillips, “you can have it now, for that
matter.”

The try-outs for the play lasted all afternoon; after each girl read a
number of different parts, Miss Phillips excused them; but most of the
girls preferred to wait to hear the results of the Captain’s decisions.
Finally, a little before five o’clock, she read the characters as she
had selected them, and Ruth was disappointed to hear that Helen Stewart
was awarded the part of “Everygirl.” Her companions crowded around her
with congratulations; and Ruth, who had resolutely put her own feelings
aside, remembering that “a scout is cheerful,” was among them.

In less than half an hour’s time, the girls re-assembled to accompany
Miss Phillips to Mrs. Burd’s home. They found it charming, just the
sort of house a girl dreams of having some day--with everything bright,
and shining, and new. The kitchen was small, but several of the girls
took their work into the shed or the dining-room, so that all of the
sixteen scouts were never in it at once.

Miss Phillips had very cleverly prepared a menu that required many
extras; there was soup, two vegetables, cream sauce and gravy, salad,
salad-dressing, muffins, cocoa, and dessert; so that all the girls had
the opportunity to show their skill in cooking. Miss Phillips directed
the work, which was fortunate for such inexperienced cooks, and
everything turned out splendidly. The dinner was a great success.

As soon as the soup was on the table, the girls took off their aprons
and sat down; each course was served by the girls who had prepared it.
The appetizing smell of the food, and the excitement of the experiment,
made them all hungry; they laughed and chatted gaily as they ate, their
flushed faces testifying the joy of their success.

When dessert had been served, Miss Phillips said, “I certainly want to
congratulate you all on your splendid dinner. I can see already that no
man who marries a Girl Scout of Pansy troop ever need worry about his
future happiness.”

The girls laughed, and Ethel looked significantly at Doris, as if to
indicate that she would probably be the first to have the chance to
prove this fact.

“I wish I could pass you all on _every_ part of your second-class
test,” continued Miss Phillips, “as easily as I can on your cooking.
But unfortunately, I can award only three green clovers to-night: to
Helen Stewart, Ruth Henry, and Doris Sands!”

She paused while the girls clapped. Producing three badges from the
pocket of her uniform, she requested the three girls to stand up.

“We will have the formal ceremony the first Friday after spring
vacation; but I know that you girls are anxious to wear your badges
at the cabin party, so I am going to give them to you now. Sew them on
your left sleeve,” she concluded.

After the dishes had been cleared away, and the dining-room and kitchen
made spotless, the girls sang some songs around the piano in the
living-room, and then proceeded to get ready to go back to the school.

“The plays will be here by Monday,” said Miss Phillips, as she bade the
girls good night. “Be sure to get your copies to take home with you.”

The next morning Ruth told Ethel that she had a headache, and intended
to ask for permission to stay away from church.

“Too much party, I guess,” said Ethel, as she put on her hat. “You
better lie down till noon!”

But it was not the result of the party that was keeping Ruth at home;
she had an important errand to perform, for which she needed the
desertion of Sunday morning.

She waited until all was quiet in the hall; then taking a small article
out of her bureau drawer, she walked quickly over to Marjorie’s room.
She was so sure that the latter would be at church, that she opened the
door without knocking. To her great surprise, Marjorie suddenly sat up
in bed.

“Hullo, Ruth!” she exclaimed. “What time is it? I guess I must have
overslept! Lily went over to stay all night with Helen Stewart, so I
hadn’t anybody to waken me.”

Ruth was extremely taken back by Marjorie’s presence, but concealed
her embarrassment, and took advantage of the other girl’s sleepiness
to drop, unnoticed, the article she held in her hand behind one of the
pillows on Lily’s cot.

“It’s after eleven o’clock! You’ll never make church now!” she said.

“Eleven o’clock!” cried Marjorie, jumping out of bed. “Oh, my goodness,
another unexcused absence!”

“Marj,” said Ruth slowly, “can I borrow your ‘Tales from Shakespeare’?
I got permission to stay home for a headache; but I’m better now, and I
want to look up something.”

“Surely--it’s down on the bottom shelf. You don’t mind if I hurry?”

“No, indeed; I have to go anyhow. Good luck to you! Good-bye!”

When Marjorie and Lily returned together from church at noon, the
first thing that struck Lily’s eye after she sat down on her cot was
Marjorie’s lost crocheting.

“Here’s your square of filet, Marj!” she exclaimed, picking up the
piece. “It was behind the pillow! I wonder how long it’s been
there--and we never saw it!”

“But I did look there, before,” protested Marjorie. “Anyway,” she
added, putting it into her work bag, “I’m glad to have it to take home
with me.”

CHAPTER XIX

THE BOY SCOUTS ENTERTAIN

When the girls were ready to take the train which was to carry them
home for the spring holidays, it was Ruth who desired to avoid
Marjorie’s company. But she was not so successful as the latter had
been on their last journey; probably this was due to the fact that she
was not foresighted enough to secure an early dismissal.

The girls boarded the train together; but Marjorie sat with Lily as far
as the Junction. When, however, the time to change trains arrived, Ruth
found herself alone on the station platform with Marjorie. There was
nothing to do but be sociable; besides, Marjorie must not suspect that
anything had happened in their relationship to alter their friendliness.

The coach they entered was comparatively empty; Marjorie chose a seat
by the window, and Ruth sat down beside her.

“I believe I’ll do my crocheting,” said Marjorie, opening her velvet
hand-bag, and taking out a square of filet that was all too familiar
to Ruth. “I lost it last week behind Lily’s cot, and I haven’t done
nearly so much as I wanted to. I’m making a camisole top for Miss
Phillips for her birthday; do you think she’ll like it?”

Ruth’s face became scarlet. Fortunately for her, the other girl was too
busy with her work to notice. She leaned over, and pretended to button
her spat.

“Yes, it’s lovely, Marj,” she replied. “When is her birthday?”

“It’s the sixteenth of April; I want to give it to her the day we get
back. Would you buy the silk and make it up, or give it to her just as
it is?”

The girls discussed the matter, and Ruth suggested a way of making it.

“If I come over next week,” asked Ruth, “will you show me that pattern?
I’d like to make it for mother.”

“Certainly; I never knew you could crochet till Lily told me you
and Helen and Doris were the only ones in the troop who won their
second-class badges on that account.”

“Yes,” said Ruth, quite composed by now, “I learned the last time I
was home. You see I didn’t have any house-party to keep me busy, so I
thought I might as well do something useful!”

The conversation drifted to swimming, and basket-ball, and finally to
the Girl Scout troop. Ruth could not refrain from telling Marjorie all
about the good times that were in store for her.

“But maybe you’ll be a scout before the play comes off, Marj,” she
suggested.

“How many more times do you think the troop will take in new members
this year?”

“Only once, I guess--but then I’m not sure. But of course nobody can go
camping who isn’t at least a second-class scout.”

“Don’t worry about that! If I ever get in, I won’t stop till I’m a
_first_-class scout!” said Marjorie emphatically.

“It would be fun to race to see who won it first, if you were only in
the troop,” observed Ruth.

Marjorie folded up her crocheting and looked dismally out of the
window. “Sometimes I think I’ll never make it; I don’t know how to work
any harder than I did for that last Latin test.”

“Oh, I guess you must have been nervous. I’ll bet you know as much as I
do now about prose composition. But you simply lost your head.”

“Maybe I did.”

“Be a sport, and try again--get Jack to help you; he ought to be able
to, he’s a year ahead of you.”

“Here we are at last!” cried Marjorie, jumping up and reaching for her
bag. “And here are our families to meet us!”

Mrs. Wilkinson was obviously glad to see the girls together again; and
Mrs. Henry tried to conceal the feeling of pride she experienced at the
thought of her own daughter’s success compared with the other girl’s
failure.

“A good deal has happened since Christmas, hasn’t it, Marjorie?” said
Mrs. Wilkinson, after they were comfortably seated in the machine.

“Yes,” answered Marjorie, “I’m no longer a sorority girl.”

“So I understand--but are you a Girl Scout?”

“Not yet; my Latin----”

“Oh, yes, I know; you’ll surely be able to pull that up soon if----”

“Did Ruth make the troop?” interrupted Jack.

“Yes; she’s a second-class scout already.”

“Good for her!” said Jack. “I got my pin on Friday night,” he added
proudly.

“Oh, Jack, I’m so glad! Did Roger make it, too?”

“Yes--we’re both in the troop now.”

“So is Doris,” laughed Marjorie.

The holidays passed rather quietly for Marjorie; she studied from a
Latin book she had brought home with her, and worked on her crochet.
True to her promise, Ruth came over to copy her pattern, and proved
her ability in the new accomplishment.

Ruth and Jack discussed the party at the cabin; but Jack regretted
that both he and Roger were too new to be included among the lucky
participants.

It was with a very heavy heart that Marjorie watched Ruth pass her
house the Tuesday before school re-opened, bound for the cabin party of
the scouts. Jack rushed out to carry her suitcase to the station; and
Marjorie wiped away a tear as she turned again to her Latin grammar.

The Girl Scouts met in the dining-room, and made a pretence at eating
the lunch Mrs. Rock had provided. But they were all too impatient to
get started to care to waste any unnecessary time; so after fifteen
minutes had elapsed, Miss Phillips announced her intention of starting.

When the girls got off the trolley at the foot of Bear’s Hill, they
found two of the Boy Scouts waiting for them. As they came forward, the
girls of the first patrol identified them as David Conner and Russell
Henderson.

After the usual ceremony of greeting, David said:

“Our boys have laid a trail for you to follow; if you don’t miss any of
the signals, we ought to reach the cabin in fifteen minutes’ time!”

The girls were glad of their former experience in following a trail,
and succeeded in discovering all the signs and keeping on the path
indicated. Once or twice they found little notes of direction; but
aside from these, the signals were identical with those Miss Phillips
had taught them.

Part of the way, David walked with Ethel. “Isn’t Miss Wilkinson a scout
yet?” he asked.

“No,” replied Ethel; “she lost out again!”

“Somebody’s going to be disappointed,” remarked David, beginning to
whistle.

“Somebody else I know never gets left when there’s a girl around!”
exclaimed a voice behind them, which David identified as Russell’s
without looking around.

In a few minutes, the party came in sight of the cabin. Before they
could distinguish it from the trees that surrounded it, they saw two
red and white flags sending a message of “Welcome Girl Scouts!”

“Hadley’s on the job, as usual,” muttered Russell, as the girls who
knew the code interpreted the message to the others.

The cabin was built of logs, and surrounded by tall trees. The brush
had been cleared away, leaving an open space in front large enough for
the scouts to build an oven, and to arrange an out-door eating place.
The spring ran below the cabin.

The other boys who had visited Miss Allen’s came forward and greeted
the girls, and introduced the rest of the scouts and Mr. Remington, the
Scoutmaster. Several of the boys conducted their guests to the inside
of the cabin, where they removed their heavier wraps.

The interior of the cabin, which had a stone fireplace and a wooden
floor, was fixed up attractively with box furniture made by the boys
themselves. Several shelves in one corner held the supplies.

“It’s lovely!” exclaimed Ethel enthusiastically, as she sat down on the
bench in front of the fireplace.

“Where do you sleep?” asked Lily, with a puzzled look. “Surely sixteen
boys couldn’t all find room on the floor!”

“We sleep in tents, when we stay here all night,” said John. “Except,
of course, when a candidate is sent out here on probation; then he
sleeps on that cot!”

Mr. Remington appeared at the doorway. “As soon as you get rested, we
want to play some scout games,” he said.

All the scouts, except the squad who were preparing the dinner, played
games until almost dusk; then a whistle signal sounded which John
interpreted as “get ready for mess,” and the girls followed Miss
Phillips to the stream to wash and make themselves presentable for
supper.

The supper was a splendid one--much more pretentious than that which
represented the girls’ usual idea of a camp mess. There was broiled
steak, baked potatoes, baked beans, cocoa, rolls, and chocolate cake.

“I never knew boys could cook like this!” said Frances. “Why, it’s
wonderful!”

The girls wanted to help clear things away, but their offer was
refused. Two or three of the boys built up the fire, and in a few
minutes everyone was grouped around it, singing and talking.

John Hadley came over and sat beside Doris.

“It’s too bad Roger couldn’t be here to-night,” he said, “but you see
he’s one of the newer members of the troop. I daresay you’ll see him at
the next party.”

Doris laughed gaily. “Don’t worry about me, Mr. Hadley,” she said. “I’m
having a wonderful time.”

But with her naturally sympathetic disposition, she was quick to
realize that John was not so happy, and she tactfully turned the
conversation in the direction in which he was interested--namely, to
Marjorie. She explained as well as she could about Marjorie’s failure;
but as she never had been able to understand it herself, she was not
very successful in convincing John of the cause.

About eight o’clock, Mr. Remington called for “stunts,” and started by
telling a funny story himself; Miss Phillips followed with a negro song
in dialect; Ruth and Ethel gave a dialogue; and several of the boys
performed gymnastic feats.

At nine o’clock, Miss Phillips reluctantly rose to go. She thanked the
boys and invited them to the play. “And some day,” she added, “we want
to entertain you.”

“Our boys wish to offer the Girl Scouts of Pansy troop the use of our
cabin and its equipment for a week this summer,” said Mr. Remington,
after he had acknowledged Miss Phillips’s invitations.

The girls all clapped; it seemed too wonderful to be true.

“The nicest time I ever had in my life!” said Lily, as they were riding
home on the trolley. But she added the phrase which Ruth had come to
hate: “If only Marjorie could have come along!”

CHAPTER XX

MARJORIE’S SUSPICIONS

When the scouts reached the school, they found a number of the other
girls back from their holidays. But the halls seemed strangely quiet
and deserted; and when Lily reached her room, she was overcome by a
feeling of loneliness.

“I wish Marjorie were here,” she thought. “I’d love to tell her all
about the party, and John’s disappointment at not seeing her.”

And then she began to wonder how it would feel to have a boy really
crazy about her; she had always been too fat and unattractive to make
many friends among the opposite sex; and being an only child, without
any brothers to introduce other boys to her, she always spent much of
her holidays alone. And, for the first time in her life, she realized
what she had missed; she felt that other girls were enjoying privileges
that she had never known. She had scarcely spoken more than six words
to any boy at the party, and yet she noticed Doris and Ruth chatting
and laughing with almost all the boys as if they had known them
all their lives. What was the secret? Marjorie must know; she had a
brother--she would be able to tell her what interested them.

Marjorie did not return to the school until the next morning, just in
time for opening assembly. Lily did not, therefore, have a chance to
talk with her until lunch, and then she suddenly discovered that she
was too shy, or perhaps too proud, to ask such a question.

“I thought you’d be back yesterday,” she said, as she was getting ready
for lunch.

“I would have, only I knew all my friends would be away at the party,”
said Marjorie. “Besides, I wanted to finish Miss Phillips’s camisole.”

“Oh, let me see it,” cried Lily. “When will you give it to her?”

“To-morrow morning, I guess, before breakfast, if I can catch her in
time. I would like to wish her a happy birthday the very first thing!”

The girls linked arms, and went into the dining-room together, glad of
the opportunity to talk with each other again. Ethel Todd, who sat at
the same table with them, leaned towards Marjorie. Lowering her voice,
and glancing in the direction of Miss Phillips’s table, she said:

“The scouts are going to give Miss Phillips a surprise party to-morrow
night, in honor of her birthday; and, Marj, we want you in it, too.
We got permission from Miss Allen. Meet at half-past eight in our
room. You can bring a birthday present if you want, but you don’t have
to. Then we’re all going over and sing a little song Frances wrote in
her honor--a parody on ‘Perfect Day’--and go into her room with our
presents and refreshments. Ruth and Doris are buying everything; the
tax will be about a quarter apiece. You’re both in for it?”

“Yes, indeed!” answered Lily.

Marjorie hesitated. “I’d love to,” she said, “but it doesn’t seem
exactly right. I’m not a Girl Scout!”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ethel. “If there is anything that isn’t right
about it, it’s that you aren’t a Girl Scout. I’d like to have seen that
Latin paper! I’ll bet Miss White was all fussed about her mother being
sick, and marked it wrong, or else got it mixed up with some other
girl’s paper!”

“You know I have sometimes wondered about that myself,” said Marjorie.
“And especially since I went over the past lessons during spring
vacation. I can’t remember putting the wrong things down. But it is too
late now, of course, even if there had been a mistake.”

“Why don’t you ask for another test?” asked Ethel.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that! I’ll just have to wait till the end of the
year now.”

“And lose out on the camping trip!” exclaimed Lily resentfully. “It
just doesn’t seem fair!”

“Well, go to the party anyway,” pleaded Ethel; “thank goodness, Latin
can’t keep you away from that!”

The girls had difficulty in keeping their secret from Miss Phillips,
but with a great deal of effort, they managed to do it. It was
fortunate, however, that there was no scout meeting before the event,
or somebody would have been sure to give the plan away. But, as it was,
she was completely surprised.

She was sitting alone at her desk writing a letter, when, as the scouts
had arranged, one of the maids knocked at her door and handed her a
box. Miss Phillips wrinkled her brows. “Who sent it?” she asked.

“Some friends who would like to come in to see you,” she answered.
“What shall I tell them?”

“I’ll be delighted, of course. Are they some of my girls?”

At this moment, the girls jumped out from around the corridor and
rushed up to Miss Phillips, congratulating her and wishing her many
happy returns of the day. While she untied the box, Ethel closed the
door, and Frances led in the parody of the song, which the girls sang
softly, but distinctly.

“Roses!” exclaimed Miss Phillips, lifting them out of the box. “My
favorite flowers!”

After the girls had seated themselves, Miss Phillips was handed her
presents. She received candy, gloves, handkerchiefs, and fancy collars.
Noticing the particular package which Marjorie had given her, she left
it till last to open.

“Just what I wanted!” she said, delighted, as she examined the camisole
closely. “Did you do all that for me?”

Marjorie nodded, and Ruth began to look after the refreshments, in
order to hide her embarrassment.

“That certainly is a pretty pattern,” continued Miss Phillips. “Why, I
believe it is the same one Ruth has been making, isn’t it?”

Ruth flushed, but answered unconcernedly, “Yes, I am making a
night-gown yoke for mother. Marjorie let me copy it.”

“Yes, I remember, that was the piece I examined for your second-class
test.”

Marjorie opened her mouth in speechless amazement. What did all this
mean? Ruth had only begun this pattern while she was at home for the
holidays--and yet she had passed the test several days before she
left! She glanced at Ruth, who was handing around the cake in a most
indifferent manner. There must be some mistake--Miss Phillips must have
forgotten.

After the girls had eaten, they sang once more the song to Miss
Phillips, and went out quietly.

When Marjorie reached her room, she asked as casually as she could, “Do
you remember when I first missed my crocheting, Lily?”

Lily tried to think. “It must have been Saturday before we went home,
Marj; for you were doing it Friday night while we were at scout
meeting. Why?”

“Oh, nothing--I just wondered. And you found it Sunday, didn’t you?”

“Yes, when we came home from church. Aren’t you glad, though? I think
Miss Phillips liked your present best of all, Marj!”

“Thank you, Lily,” said Marjorie absently. But over and over in her
mind she repeated:

“And a Girl Scout’s honor is to be trusted!”

CHAPTER XXI

THE BASKET-BALL GAME

It is natural for the younger girls of a school to look up to those
in the upper classes--for the freshmen to make one of the juniors or
seniors her ideal; and it is likewise usual to find the younger girl
admiring the older boys she happens to meet. Partly for this reason,
perhaps, and partly because he was both genial and attractive, Ruth
conceived a violent admiration for John Hadley. She had considered him
the best-looking scout at the demonstration in January; now, after
the party at the cabin, she admitted to herself that she was really
“crazy about him.” True, she had not seen much of him at the party,
for he sat beside Doris after the games were over; but she knew that
Doris was pretty well smitten with Roger Harris, and did not allow
the possibility of her interference to worry her. She had never heard
Marjorie speak of him, and she had no idea that his interest lay in
that direction.

She knew that this year was John’s last at the academy, so she planned
to see more of him before it was too late.

“Why don’t you ask Jack to go over to Miss Martin’s to our basket-ball
game with them, and take some of his friends?” asked Ruth of Marjorie,
a week before the date for which the event was scheduled. “Miss Allen
said the boys would be allowed to attend.”

“Oh, I don’t know; I’ve been too busy to think about it!”

Marjorie, because she was both tall and quick, had been chosen for the
position of jumping-center on the school team. She had been going out
regularly to the practices in the field (the girls at Miss Allen’s
played out-door basket-ball), and she was in splendid trim for the
game. Her cheeks glowed and her eyes sparkled while she played; had
she been a vain girl, she would have realized that under no other
circumstance could she appear so attractive.

“Go on--write to Jack!” pleaded Ruth. “Why, he’d love to see you play.
Ask him to bring some of the other scouts!”

“But I wouldn’t be able to look after them! I’m in the game!”

“Of course--that’s why he ought to be allowed to come. I’ll entertain
them, and ask Doris to help.”

“All right,” agreed Marjorie. “Who else shall I suggest?”

“Roger Harris, of course, for Doris, and anybody else. How about the
senior patrol leader--what was his name?”

Marjorie blushed. “John Hadley?”

“Yes; why not?”

“All right; but I guess I’ll tell Jack to take whoever he wants.”

The game was scheduled for the second Saturday in May. All of the girls
on the team, except Marjorie, were Girl Scouts--Ethel Todd and Edith
Evans played forward, Ada Mearns and Dorothy Maxwell were the guards,
and Frances Wright acted as side center. Incidentally, Marjorie was the
only freshman on the team, although one other girl of her own class
served as a substitute.

Jack accepted his sister’s suggestion gladly; he wrote that he would
arrive at Miss Martin’s school with John and Roger immediately after
lunch.

Marjorie took the letter to Ruth. “It’s your party,” she said. “I won’t
even be able to meet them. Miss Phillips is going to take us over early
to get a chance to try the field; and then Miss Martin’s team is giving
us a special lunch in their gym.”

“All right,” agreed Ruth; “I’ll look after them. By the way, is there
any girl Jack specially likes, so I could invite her to go with Doris
and me?”

Marjorie laughed. “I think he always ‘specially liked’ you, Ruth!”

“No, I mean somebody else. He met some of the girls at your dance.”

Marjorie tried to think. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m afraid there isn’t, Ruth; ask whoever else you please to sit with
you. All I know is, I can’t!”

Ruth decided to ask Evelyn Hopkins. The latter had not made the Girl
Scout troop; and in fact she had been left out of almost everything
lately. Ruth felt sorry for her, and hoped by this invitation to make
up for neglecting her during the past month or two.

Miss Martin sent over the request that the Girl Scouts wear their
uniforms. Ruth was somewhat annoyed at the idea. “Who wants to dress
up in a hot khaki suit this time of year?” she complained. But Miss
Phillips had issued the order, and all the scouts had to obey.

Ruth, Doris, and Evelyn got permission to leave the rest of the
students while they went in search of the boys. They met them at the
gate, and Ruth introduced Evelyn.

Ruth had tried to arrange matters so that Jack would walk with Evelyn,
and Roger with Doris, so that John Hadley would be left to accompany
her. But her plans went wrong. John immediately attached himself to
Doris, who had started on with Roger, so Evelyn and Ruth were both
forced to walk with Jack.

When the party reached the basket-ball field, Ruth decided to take
matters in her own hands.

“Mr. Hadley,” she said, laughing, “I am afraid I shall have to scold
you. Can’t you see that Roger and Doris want to be together?”

“Oh, I beg their pardon!” said John apologetically. “I really forgot.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Doris. “Please don’t be silly!”

But they discovered that they could not all sit together, and Ruth saw
to it that Doris and Roger took the seats ahead, and she and Evelyn sat
between Jack and John. She smiled happily. At last she was with _him_.

All the Girl Scouts except Ruth and Doris, and those taking part in
the game, occupied a bench together; in their neat, trim uniforms they
presented an attractive appearance. John remarked about it, and Ruth
saw him looking closely at the girls.

“Is Marjorie Wilkinson a member of the troop now?” he asked.

Ruth laughed. “No, poor girl, she isn’t! It’s a shame, too, for she
tries so hard. But she’s hopeless in Latin!”

John sighed, thinking of his remaining month at Episcopal. “I’ll never
see her again,” he kept thinking to himself, “unless I suddenly develop
a violent friendship with Jack!”

The referee blew the whistle and the contestants appeared. The forwards
grouped themselves around the baskets, and practiced throwing for
goals; the rest of the girls gathered in separate spots to go over a
few last points.

Marjorie realized that she was a different girl from the one who had
played forward on the hockey-team last fall. She came to this game with
Miss Martin’s in perfect physical condition, and with the consciousness
of good practices behind her. And, added to this, she felt a new love
for Miss Phillips; she knew how much her teacher cared for the victory,
and she meant to do all in her power to win it.

John regarded her all the while intently; he scarcely listened to the
conversation Ruth and Evelyn were holding with Jack.

In a few moments the game started. Marjorie had the advantage of being
taller than the opposing center; besides this, she had arranged for
signals with Frances and her forwards, so that her efforts in getting
the ball to her team immediately after the toss-up were almost always
successful.

With this advantage, the audience thought the game was going to prove
to be a walk-over for Miss Allen’s team. But such was not the case. The
guards who played against Ethel and Edith were splendid; they succeeded
in keeping the forwards from scoring for nearly five minutes, at the
end of which time they finally sent the ball to the other end of the
field.

But if the guards on Miss Martin’s team had been good, those on Miss
Allen’s proved equally efficient. Again, these forwards were powerless.
The only real chance that was given to Miss Martin’s side to score
was when Dorothy Maxwell made a foul, and gave the forward a free
throw; but the girl missed the basket, the whistle blew, and the score
remained 0-0.

During the intermission, the spectators cheered loudly for both sides,
and the Gym teachers encouraged and coached their girls. Each team went
back to the field with the grim determination to win.

The forwards put even more energy into their playing; but the guards
on both sides opposed them the more zealously. During the first ten
minutes each side threw a successful foul, so that the score now stood
at one all.

When Marjorie realized that the time was almost up, she grew desperate.
Giving Frances a new signal, which she had agreed to use only in
case of the greatest necessity, she made a quick dodge away from the
opposing center, and, at the very edge of the line, made a wild throw
at the goal. But she missed it, and stepped slightly over the line; the
referee called a foul, and Miss Martin’s girls scored a point on the
ensuing free throw. The home team was ahead. A wild shout arose from
the enthusiastic spectators.

But Marjorie was not to be daunted by one failure; her forwards had
proved themselves unable to dodge their guards and score; she would try
a second time. Accordingly, she gave the same signal to Frances again,
and, quick as a flash, leapt away from her opponent. Keeping her eye on
the line that she might not overstep it, she made another flying shot.
The ball sped high over the heads of the girls who rushed to defend the
basket; for an instant a hush came over the field as all eyes watched
it describe a graceful arc and fall straight through the goal,--a
perfect shot. Then the silence was broken--not only Miss Allen’s girls;
everyone on the benches clapped; it was a spectacular play, and it
brought victory. In less than a minute, the whistle blew; and the
score-board registered 3-2, in favor of Miss Allen’s team.

Ruth breathed a long sigh, and John wiped the perspiration from his
forehead. “By George!” he exclaimed, “that was the most exciting game I
ever saw! Wasn’t Marjorie wonderful?”

At this moment a yell arose for Marjorie, and it was then that Ruth
realized her mistake in having John Hadley asked to attend the game.
But it was too late now to regret her action. Instead, she discreetly
joined in the other girl’s praises.

Her party followed the crowd across the campus to the gym where tea was
being served. John looked anxiously for Marjorie, but she had been too
much exhausted to appear. Everyone was clamoring for her--the heroine
of the day.

“And they say she isn’t even a Girl Scout!” Ruth heard one of Miss
Martin’s girls remark to her companions. “She’s such a peach, too! I
wonder why!”

Ruth frowned. “Yes, everybody else wonders why, too!” she thought. “Oh,
I’m sick of hearing the praises of Marjorie Wilkinson. But I’m even
with her!”

Ruth was relieved to hear Miss Martin ask the Girl Scouts to give a
demonstration; she stepped forward proudly, glad of the chance to
assume again the center of attraction.

But Ruth was not happy as she rode home that evening. Outwardly, her
plans had all succeeded; but she was not at peace. She knew that she
was as much of a thief as the common burglar who breaks into the
house at night and steals the silverware; she had stolen Marjorie’s
happiness, and she was paying for her act--she had lost her own.

CHAPTER XXII

THE GHOST AT THE CABIN

Miss Phillips had promised to take the first eight girls who qualified
as second-class scouts on an overnight hike. She had decided to limit
the number for two reasons--first, because the ground was still too
damp to risk sleeping out of doors, and she had accepted the use of
the boys’ cabin; and second, because she wanted to reward the more
energetic scouts.

It was not until the last Friday in May that the required number
finally qualified, and the Captain read the names and announced the
hike for the first week end in June, which was only two weeks before
school closed for the term. Besides Ruth, Doris, and Helen, who had all
passed their test before the Spring holidays, Dorothy Maxwell, Lucy
Graham, Ethel Todd, Edith Evans, and Ada Mearns were finally added to
the number.

Miss Phillips dismissed the other scouts and dictated a list of
articles for the girls to take with them. Then she divided the group
into pairs, and assigned them their especial duties. Ruth was glad to
be coupled with Doris, for whom she possessed a great admiration.

“Will we be allowed to go in swimming?” asked Ruth, after most of the
arrangements had been concluded.

“If it is warm enough,” replied the Captain. “There is a creek just
beyond the cabin, and the swimming is good all the way down to the
dam--where Episcopal Academy is located, you know. So you can take
your suits if you care to, and then we will test the water and see. If
it’s as warm as it has been this week, I don’t see any reason why you
shouldn’t--unless, of course, your parents would object to your going
in on Sunday.”

“Do you suppose,” asked Doris a little timidly, “that we will see the
ghost the boys talk about?”

Miss Phillips laughed. “Hardly!” she answered. “I thought of the
possibility of the boys playing some sort of trick on you to scare you,
so I mentioned the matter to Mr. Remington, and he promptly offered to
take the whole troop over to visit another troop of scouts who have the
use of a barn in a little town just outside of New York.”

“No, Captain, I meant a _real_ ghost! Of course I don’t believe in
them, but----”

“But if you saw anything at night in the woods,” interrupted Ethel,
“you wouldn’t just care about being alone?”

“Yes,” admitted Doris, “you know there _might_ be something spooky!”

“I wish something would happen!” exclaimed Ruth. “But I guess Captain
Phillips killed any chance we had of that!”

Immediately after lunch the following Saturday, the girls met with
their packs strapped in blanket-rolls and swung over their shoulders.

“Has anybody ever camped out before?” asked Miss Phillips as they
started on their long hike.

“About eight of my Sunday School class crowded into one little cottage
at the seashore,” said Ethel, “but that was the nearest I ever came to
it.”

“Of course this won’t exactly be camping, for we shall not use tents.
But everything else will be the same,” said the Captain, after some of
the others had related experiences similar to Ethel’s.

Instead of first taking a train and then hiking the rest of the
distance, the girls decided to hike the entire way. If they had been
obliged to construct a lean-to, or even put up tents to sleep under,
Miss Phillips would not have allowed it; but since the cabin was all
ready for them, and there was even a fireplace to use for cooking,
she thought that by this time they should be able to do it. And
although they were somewhat tired when they finally arrived at their
destination, no one considered the distance too far.

After each girl had unfastened her pack, and deposited her equipment
in the section or corner to which she was assigned, Dorothy and Edith
began to get supper.

“Who’ll go for water?” asked the latter, holding up two pails.

The girls groaned; everybody was too tired. But in a moment Ruth jumped
up. “I will,” she said pleasantly.

“Thanks awfully,” said Edith, gratefully. “Do you want anybody to go
with you?”

“No; it’s still light; and even if it weren’t, I wouldn’t mind meeting
Doris’s ghost!”

Ruth ran out lightly, humming a song as she went. It was already
twilight, and the gradual deepening of the shadows made the trees seem
taller, and the absolute stillness increased the loneliness of the
spot. “It _is_ a spooky place,” she thought as she looked about her. “I
wonder who’ll come down to the spring to-night for water?”

The girls, who in accordance with scout principles, had refrained from
eating while they were hiking, felt that they were almost starved;
nothing ever tasted quite so good as the meal their cooks prepared for
them. They ate hungrily, talking little at first; gradually, as their
appetites were appeased, and their bodies became rested, they became
more talkative. It was dark when they had finished.

After the mess-kits had been washed and put away, and the food stored
in the closet, the girls stepped out of the cabin to take a look at
their surroundings. But, unlike the night of the boys’ party, there was
no moon, and the trees cut off so much of the sky that very few stars
were in view. Everything looked black and forbidding.

Doris shuddered. “I’m glad I’m not here alone!” she whispered, afraid
to break the deep silence of the woods. “Those Boy Scouts must be
pretty brave.”

Suddenly a screech sounded from a distant tree. The girls started
fearfully. “What was it?” asked Doris.

“Only an owl,” replied Miss Phillips, laughing.

They turned and entered the cabin, feeling that the light of the
lanterns, though somewhat dim and ghostlike, was more reassuring than
the darkness.

“Somebody will have to go for more water,” remarked Edith as the girls
were sitting around the fire again, toasting marshmallows. “We used
what we had for the dishes.”

“I’d rather go without a drink all night,” said Doris, “than go down to
that spring!”

“How about getting washed?” asked Ruth.

“I’d rather go dirty!”

The girls discussed the proposition for several minutes until Miss
Phillips interrupted them by saying:

“It is my fault, girls, for not appointing water-carriers; but I
thought that since the spring is so near, it wouldn’t be necessary. So
I’ll go myself!”

“Indeed, you won’t,” declared Ruth; “I’m not afraid a bit; I’ll go.”

“I don’t think you ought to go again, Ruth,” said Edith. “It doesn’t
seem fair! But so long as you have offered, I’ll go with you. Only, I
won’t pretend I’m not afraid. I am!”

“Then I’ll go alone!”

“I dare you to!” said Ethel.

“All right--I’ll take you up! I’ll go down with two pails, and when I
get back, you do the same!”

“What is that queer noise?” asked Dorothy suddenly. “Listen!”

The girls sat perfectly silent, and a low singing and sighing, which at
times sank almost to a moan, could be heard in the woods close by.

“Could it be two boughs rubbing each other?” asked Ruth. “I read about
that happening once, and scaring some boys out of their wits.”

“No,” replied Miss Phillips, “there would have to be wind for that,
and it’s perfectly still to-night. It sounds to me like some animal in
distress.”

“A _wild_ animal?” asked Doris, fearfully. “Oh, let’s bolt the door,
Captain!”

“No, no; probably a cat or a dog, whining. Let’s forget all about it.
Suppose we sing a while.”

The girls did try to put aside all their fears, but Ruth and Ethel,
although they would not admit it, dreaded for the time to come when the
party should break up.

But the moment came all too soon. “Nine o’clock,” announced Miss
Phillips, rising from her pillow on the floor. “Time for taps!”

The girls got up reluctantly and Edith brought Ruth her pails. The
latter laughed gaily. “And now for the great adventure,” she said, as
she opened the cabin door and stepped out into the darkness.

She took half a dozen steps, when she suddenly heard that weird sound
from the direction toward which she was approaching. She stopped,
breathless, and looked all around her. But, seeing nothing, she walked
on, trying bravely to whistle.

Just as she was out of sight of the cabin, she saw a tall figure glide
from one tree to another, and in an instant she heard the sound again.
Her heart stood still. No mortal being had ever produced a sound like
that. The boys were right: the spot _was_ haunted.

Ruth felt that, although she could now plainly see the spring, she
could not go a step farther. She looked around again. The figure had
vanished, and except for the occasional hoot of an owl or the croak of
a frog, absolute silence prevailed. “It must have been my imagination,”
she thought. She was naturally a brave girl, and added to this fact,
she longed for the admiration of her companions; so she forced herself
to press on and fill her buckets at the spring.

But she had hardly taken another step, before she heard the weird sound
and saw the figure again. This time she saw it distinctly: it was
perfectly white; even its face had the deathly pallor of the ghost. It
did not seem to possess eyes, only hollow sockets; and by this Ruth was
convinced that it was no earthly being.

By this time the girl was thoroughly frightened; she cared no longer
for her water, or the approval of the other girls; she thought only of
her safe return to the cabin. Seeing the figure approach noiselessly in
her direction, she dropped her pails and ran as fast as she could to
the cabin. She reached the door and flung it open.

The girls started forward in alarm.

“What is it, Ruth?” asked Doris, trembling.

As soon as Ruth could get her breath, she described her adventure.
Suddenly she stopped. “Listen--there!” The sounds became fainter and
fainter, and finally died in the distance.

Miss Phillips would not permit Ethel to go to the spring by herself;
she and Dorothy both accompanied her. But when they got back, Doris and
Edith testified that through the one window of the cabin, they had seen
the figure flit by.

“The only thing we can do,” said Ruth, the last thing before she fell
asleep, “is to compare notes with the boys who have seen the ghost--or
whatever it is!” she added.

CHAPTER XXIII

RUTH’S ADVENTURE

When the sun poured into the cabin the following morning, and Ruth was
awakened by the happy laughter of her companions, the incident of the
night before seemed like a dream. If she had been a nervous or timid
girl the others would have had occasion to attribute her story to an
over-wrought imagination; but Ruth was the last girl in the world to be
frightened without a cause. Besides, Doris and Edith had testified to
the presence of the ghost, and everybody--even Miss Phillips had heard
the unearthly sound.

The girls breakfasted out of doors; the day was lovely and warm, and
they all felt rested and happy.

“After everything has been put in order,” said Miss Phillips, as she
finished her coffee, “we are going to have a simple little service over
in that spot under the trees. Then, after that, all of you who want to,
can go in swimming.”

The girls prepared to go about their duties. “How shall we know when
it is time for service?” asked Ethel.

“I do so wish we had a bugler to blow church-call, and all the other
calls for that matter, too,” said Miss Phillips. “But maybe Pansy troop
will have one by next year! In the meanwhile, I’ll have to use the
whistle signals. So listen for a succession of short whistles.”

The religious service held on that Sunday in June by the little band
of Girl Scouts in the silence of the woods was simple in form, but
probably out-ranked many a more pretentious one in sincerity and
earnestness. Miss Phillips, with her clear voice, led in the singing of
several familiar hymns, and the girls recited the first Psalm together.
With the exception of the Lord’s Prayer, the prayers were silent ones,
but the girls felt deeply moved; and after it was all over, several of
them told the Captain that it was the most impressive service they had
ever attended.

Everybody except the Captain, and Ethel and Ada, who were cooks,
decided to go swimming. It was almost noon when they gathered in front
of the cabin, dressed in their swimming suits, covered by sweaters or
raincoats.

“It’s rather late,” said Miss Phillips. “Don’t go too far.”

“What time is dinner?” asked Doris.

“Half-past one,” replied Ethel; “and if anybody is more than five
minutes late, she doesn’t get any!”

The girls ran off in high spirits. Ruth was the first to plunge into
the creek. “It _is_ cold,” she admitted to Doris, who was sitting on
the bank dipping one toe in at a time.

Ruth began to swim rapidly in order to get warm. “I’m going around the
bend,” she called as she disappeared from view.

The other girls turned their attention to “getting wet all over,” and
dismissed Ruth from their minds. She was undoubtedly the best swimmer
of the party, so even when she failed to appear after many minutes had
passed, no one expressed concern.

After Ruth had passed the bend, and felt thoroughly warmed by the
exercise, she decided to swim farther. It would be such fun to go all
the way to the dam. Of course there was no chance of seeing John Hadley
or any other of the scouts, since Mr. Remington had taken them all on
the excursion; but she would have the satisfaction of telling them
later of her feat. She began to wonder how far the dam was. She did
not feel in the least tired, for she was swimming downstream. It would
be an easy matter to run along the shore back to the cabin--and if she
should be late for dinner, Ethel’s admiration for her act would surely
cause her to pardon the delay.

As she neared the dam, she distinguished two figures walking side by
side, and she wondered whether they would see her; she dipped her head
into the water, using the crawl stroke, which was the most spectacular
one she knew. When she brought her head out a second time, one of the
figures had vanished; the other person was alone: it was a girl. Yes,
and she was watching her!

The persons that Ruth saw, but did not recognize because of the
distance, were Jack and Marjorie Wilkinson. Jack had not gone on
the Boy Scout outing, for his father and mother, who were visiting
relatives living not far from the Academy, telegraphed to him on Friday
that they would get Marjorie and drive over to his school to spend
Sunday with him; so he had obtained permission to remain there for the
week-end, instead of accompanying the rest of the scouts.

Marjorie was delighted at the prospect of the visit. She had been
looking forward to a dull Sunday; Lily had gone home with Lucy Graham,
and most of her other friends were at the cabin. She was glad to see
her parents again, and the day was so lovely that she enjoyed every
minute of the ride.

When they arrived at the Academy, Mr. Wilkinson announced his
intention of looking up one of the teachers who was an old friend of
the family. “You can do whatever you like for an hour,” he said to
Jack and Marjorie; “either come with your mother and me, or go off by
yourselves.”

Jack looked at Marjorie doubtfully, as if he had no desire to spend
a whole hour cooped up with his English teacher when it was not
necessary. So he suggested an alternative to his sister.

“How would you like to see our swimming-hole?” he asked.

“Fine!” answered Marjorie. “It’s too nice a day to be inside. Besides,
I’m tired of sitting still.”

They took the path back of the school which led down to the creek, and
in less than five minutes they reached the dam.

It was on the upper side of the dam that the stream was widest, both
banks sweeping out and almost meeting again at the waterfall in a
horseshoe curve, which gave it the appearance of a lake. Trees grew
to the water’s edge, their branches mirrored with a gentle shimmering
reflection in the quiet water along the shore. Farther out, toward the
middle, the current was swift; it seemed to gather force as it rushed
foaming over the dam to the rocks below. Marjorie went into ecstacies,
impressed by the beauty of the spot.

“I wish I could paint it,” she said. “Wouldn’t it be lovely?”

“I tell you what I will do,” said her brother, after he had thought for
a minute or two; “I’ll take a picture of it!”

“What with?”

“My camera’s up in my room, and I’ve got two exposures left on the
film. If you’ll wait here, I’ll run back and get it.”

As soon as he was gone, Marjorie sat down on a stone, and gazed idly
into the water. She watched the water-bugs gliding over the smooth
surface, and wondered how deep it was at this spot, and whether it was
still cold. Jack had told her that the boys had already gone swimming
here; but then, boys would try anything!

For a minute she watched the water falling over the dam, and noted the
swiftness of the current; she turned her head in the other direction,
and caught a glimpse of the swimmer, rapidly approaching her. As the
latter came nearer, Marjorie identified her as a girl by the blue
rubber cap she wore on her head. When she was only a dozen yards away,
but still unrecognizable from the fact that her face was usually under
the water, Marjorie saw her suddenly raise an arm and wave in her
direction, choke, and finally go under. She came up, and went down a
second time before Marjorie saw that it was Ruth, and realized that she
must have been seized with a cramp, and was unable to resist the force
of the current.

The frightened girl cast a wild glance back toward the school. “Jack,
oh, Jack!” she shrieked, as loud as she could; but she got no answer.

In a panic she turned again toward the water. Ruth had come up again,
but Marjorie could see by her face that she was unconscious. Already,
the current had carried her several yards further down towards the dam.

There was not a moment to be lost; if Ruth went down the third time, it
would be too late. Kicking off her pumps, she plunged into the water,
and struck out for her friend.

Although Marjorie had been swimming in the pool almost every day for
the past three months, the water gave her a shock. It was still much
colder than that to which she had been accustomed, and the weight
of her clothes dragged her down. Nevertheless, with only a few bold
strokes, she reached the unconscious girl.

Breathing a sigh of thankfulness for Miss Phillips’s efficient
instruction in life-saving, she took hold of Ruth and made for the
shore. Her burden seemed heavy, but she did not have far to go; in
another minute she reached the shallow water, and carried Ruth to the
shore.

But her battle was only half over; she had only a vague idea of what to
do to revive her. She had heard Lily talk about learning the measures
of resuscitation at one of the scout meetings, but she had not gone
into detail. “Oh, if I were only a Girl Scout,” she groaned, “I’d know
what to do!”

She began to work Ruth’s arms back and forth in an aimless fashion,
which did not produce results. She looked around desperately for her
brother, and to her great relief, saw him coming along the path.

“Jack, Jack, hurry!” she screamed wildly. “Help!”

Jack ran as fast as he could, and in a moment stood beside her. He did
not ask for an explanation, but knelt over the prostrate girl and set
to work at once.

“Hold her tongue out,” he commanded, “to keep her from choking while I
get the water out of her! Now, then, young lady,” he said, addressing
the unconscious girl, “we’ll fix you up in no time.”

He worked tirelessly for ten minutes before he was rewarded by seeing
Ruth open her eyes. Consciousness slowly returned, but it was several
minutes before she realized where she was.

“Ruth!” said Marjorie tremulously, “are you all right?”

Ruth blinked two or three times, and looked from one to the other of
her companions.

“Speak, Ruth!” urged Marjorie.

“Marj!” said Ruth, with a puzzled air. “Yes, I’m all right, but----”

“Do you think you can sit up, Ruth?” asked Jack. “Then we’ll carry you
up to the school.”

“Yes, I guess so,” she answered; “but what has happened?”

Jack and Marjorie made a seat with their hands, and raised her from the
ground. Marjorie explained what had just taken place.

Ruth’s eyes suddenly lighted up. “I remember,” she said. “Oh, maybe I
wasn’t scared! I guess I got a cramp in my leg! I surely thought I was
going to die!”

“It must have been awful!” said Marjorie, with feeling. “I was scared
to death myself.”

They carried her to the matron of the infirmary who promised to get her
dry clothes and give her something hot to drink. Jack volunteered to
get the machine and take the news to the cabin, while Marjorie went in
search of her parents.

While Ruth was dressing, she reviewed the whole situation in her mind.
The experience had been ghastly--if dying was like that, she shuddered
at the prospect. And yet, she realized that one thing only had made it
terrible: in that short space of time, when she had seemed on the verge
of eternity, she thought only of her dishonest act toward Marjorie.
Everything else faded from her consciousness; that alone assumed
gigantic proportions: it seemed black, and terrifying. Even at this
moment, when safety was assured, she almost cried out at the terror of
her memory. “I will confess it all,” she exclaimed, “before I am a day
older!”

In a few moments Marjorie joined her, and invited her to go with the
family to the hotel for dinner.

“I will if you promise I can have a few minutes alone with you
afterwards, Marjorie,” she said. “I’ve got something I must confess!”

Marjorie smiled, thinking of the crocheting. “All right, Ruth, if you
like. But come now.”

When they were all seated in the machine, Ruth thanked both of her
rescuers profusely. “It certainly was brave of you,” she said.

“Brave of Marj--but not me,” protested Jack. “I was scared to death for
fear something would happen to you, after I played that awful trick on
you last night!”

“What trick?”

“The ghost at the cabin!”

“Oh!” gasped Ruth, in a tone that expressed volumes. “So it was you!”

Jack explained why he had remained home from the excursion. “And I was
sort of lonely last night--all the other scouts were away, you know; so
I decided to give you girls a scare. And I did especially want to get
_you_, because I knew you never were nervous and it wouldn’t upset you
like it would some girls.”

“I was scared, all right. But how did you ever make that awful noise? I
suppose a sheet was fixed up for the disguise?”

“Yes; and the noise was a violin. I heard Bill Mackintosh practicing
on his new violin on Saturday night, making the most unearthly sounds
you ever heard. That put the idea into my head. I went over and asked
him to go out with me to give the Girl Scouts a scare. Of course he was
tickled to death to go.

“We slipped away right after supper, and watched you through the
cabin-window. Maybe I wasn’t glad when I saw you were the one to go
after the water!”

“You horrid, mean thing!” said Ruth.

“I admit it. Punish me any way you like!”

But Ruth could not think of any return for his act. During the
rest of the ride, and all through dinner, her mind was on her own
affairs. Absently, she answered the questions that were put to her,
and entered but occasionally into the conversation. The rest of the
party attributed her mood to the experience through which she had just
passed, and left her alone with her thoughts.

They rode all afternoon, so that she had no opportunity to be alone
with Marjorie; but when the latter said that Lily would be away until
the next morning, she asked to be allowed to visit her right after
supper. “I have something I must tell you before I go to bed to-night!”
she added.

“All right,” said Marjorie. “But I wish you would forget it!”

“I wish I could,” said Ruth, as she left Marjorie to go to her room.

CHAPTER XXIV

RESTITUTION

When Ruth reached her own room, she found Ethel already there untying
her pack and putting away her scout equipment. Ruth explained that she
had been with the Wilkinsons--that they had brought her and Marjorie
both back to the school.

“Now tell me all about the accident,” said Ethel. “Of course we got the
story from Jack, but he wasn’t there the whole time so he couldn’t tell
us everything.”

Ruth went into detail about the adventure, but she omitted to describe
her own feelings when she thought she was drowning. That was too
personal, and too humiliating; it was bad enough to have to tell
Marjorie, but she could not bear the thought of a public acknowledgment.

And then, for the first time, she realized something of what the
consequences of her confession would be. It would be only fair to allow
Marjorie to tell Miss White, Miss Allen, and Miss Phillips, so that
she might be given another opportunity to join the troop. This would
necessitate an explanation to the other scouts, and they, in turn,
would undoubtedly tell all the girls in the school. A confession would
doom her to the lasting contempt of her companions and her teachers;
she would probably be put out of the troop and be shunned by her former
friends.

Even now it was not too late to change her mind; no one was suspicious.
It was true that she had hinted of a confession to Marjorie; but she
could tell her about the crochet, and she would probably laugh and
forgive her.

While these thoughts were going through her mind, Ethel was talking
about the ghost incident, and laughing at Jack’s cleverness. “It was
funny,” she said, “to think that he put one over on you, Ruth; for
you’re not easily scared. But you were scared when you thought you were
drowning?”

“Was I!” exclaimed Ruth. “Dying is a good deal worse than I ever
thought it would be!”

“Maybe you had a guilty conscience,” suggested Ethel.

“I guess most people have,” answered Ruth, “unless they’re nuns or
ministers, or something like that.”

“Maybe they have, too,” said Ethel, as she left the room.

The conversation brought Ruth back to her dilemma. It recalled to her
again, vividly, that dreadful sensation of terror that had overwhelmed
her in the water. Ethel had said she was never afraid of anything!
She smiled bitterly. Probably no girl in the school had ever been so
frightened, so terrified to the very depths of her soul as she had
been. But she would not risk a second experience. She dreaded the
consequences of her confession; but she dreaded to a much greater
degree, the consequences of the omission of that confession. She had
made up her mind--she would not change it; she would tell Marjorie that
night!

As they were dressing for dinner, she announced to Ethel her
intention of spending the night with Marjorie. “I’ll get Miss Allen’s
permission,” she added.

Ethel looked at Ruth suspiciously. “There must be some reason,” she
thought, “for this sudden desire for Marjorie’s company.” But her
suppositions were far from the truth: she attributed the attraction to
the other girl’s brother.

After supper Ruth gathered her books and her toilet articles and
started for Marjorie’s room. She found two or three other girls
visiting her friend, and for some time had no chance to talk with her
alone. Finally they all left. Ruth opened her book; but she could not
study.

“You know I said I had something to tell you, Marj,” she said slowly,
with her eyes fastened to the pattern of the rug. “It’s a confession!”

Marjorie drew down the corners of her mouth, in her effort to keep from
smiling. The incident of the crochet had seemed big at the time, but
now it appeared as only a trifle. “Maybe I know already,” she suggested.

“About your filet, you mean?”

“Yes--Miss Phillips gave it away at that surprise party.”

“I thought so; she never guessed, of course. But I knew you’d put two
and two together, Marj.”

“Well, I don’t mind, Ruth. I was mad at the time, but after all it
didn’t hurt me. And you’d have been a second-class scout soon anyhow.”

“Perhaps,” said Ruth. “You’ve been too good to me, Marj. But wait till
you hear the rest!”

“The rest?”

“Yes; that isn’t nearly all. I’m a real criminal. Oh, Marj, if you
hadn’t saved me to-day, and I’d died, what would have become of me?”

Ruth suddenly burst into tears. She had been under too great a strain
in the last twenty-four hours, and she lost control of herself
completely. After all, she was only fifteen--and the rôle of criminal
was new to her. Aside from the little white lies that most of us tell
sometimes, she had up to this time been upright in character.

Marjorie jumped up and put her arms around her. She forgot about the
Ruth she had known during the past year; she saw only her old playmate,
as she used to cry when she was hurt.

“What is it, Ruth?” she asked with concern. “Is there anything I can do
to help you?”

But Ruth pushed her aside, and wiped her eyes. “Sit down, Marj,” she
said, as calmly as she could, “I don’t deserve your sympathy. Listen!”

Marjorie sat opposite her, and Ruth told her story. She told it exactly
as it had happened, omitting none of the details, and making no effort
to excuse her motive. She called herself names--she was a traitor, a
thief, and a liar. She deserved no mercy; she wanted none. Marjorie
could do whatever she wanted with her; but now she could die with a
clear conscience.

Marjorie listened in amazement. The story seemed too dreadful to be
true; and yet, the facts linked together and explained all her former
doubts. Suddenly the realization of what she had missed came over
her--the party at the cabin, the overnight hike, the play rehearsals,
and all the good times; the fellowship with Miss Phillips, and
Doris, and the rest of her friends, and the opportunity to be with
John Hadley--four months of happiness that she had lost. She had been
cheated out of her rights; she felt bitter; she could not forgive Ruth.
She turned to her sharply.

But before she could utter a word, a knock sounded at the door. It was
Miss Phillips.

“Come in,” said Marjorie, as naturally as she could. Ruth stood up as
the teacher entered, but she could not bear to salute.

“I just wanted to see whether Lily is back yet,” said Miss Phillips.

“I am sorry; but she isn’t, Miss Phillips. But won’t you sit down?”

“Only for a minute. I wanted to tell Lily--and I’ll take this chance
to tell you, Ruth--that the scouts decided to-day to give up next
Saturday to doing a good turn for somebody else. So I have Miss Allen’s
permission to invite the twenty-four little orphans from the Mynfield
Home for an outing.”

“How lovely,” said Marjorie, absently.

“Poor children; they don’t have much pleasure in their lives,”
continued Miss Phillips, not noticing the girls’ preoccupation. “So
when Frances suggested giving them a party next Saturday, I jumped at
the idea. It’s our last Saturday together--except for the one of the
play--but the girls want to use it for their troop good turn.”

Miss Phillips stayed for a few minutes and told the girls more about
the little orphans. And when she rose to go, they had almost forgotten,
for the time, their own tragedy.

Neither girl said anything for several minutes after Miss Phillips had
gone. Marjorie sat down at her desk and started to write; Ruth turned
the pages of her book, but she did not look at the contents.

“What are you going to do about it, Marj?” she asked.

“Nothing,” replied Marjorie, indifferently.

Ruth’s hopes rose, but she shook her head. “I can’t allow that,” she
said. “You ought to be a Girl Scout.”

“But most of the good times are over now.”

“Not this summer’s camping trip. And if we tell Miss Phillips the
reason, she’ll probably let you take the second-class test with the
others next Friday night.”

Marjorie’s face brightened. It was the dream of her heart to become a
Girl Scout! But then she thought of the disgrace this would necessitate
bringing upon Ruth. Miss White and Miss Phillips would both have to
know the story--and perhaps even Miss Allen and some of the scouts.
Ruth had not treated her as a scout should treat anyone, let alone a
former friend; but that would not excuse Marjorie, if she disregarded
the other girl’s feelings. She thought of the scout slogan that Miss
Phillips had just been speaking about--“Do a good turn daily.” “And if
I start my career as a Girl Scout by disregarding that law, it would
be to begin all wrong. Better stay out of the troop forever,” she
reflected.

“I’m not going to do a thing, Ruth,” she said aloud. “It would be too
hard on you!”

Ruth jumped up with characteristic impulsiveness. “I’m going straight
to Miss White this very minute,” she said, “and lay the whole thing
before her. Then I’ll do whatever she advises.”

Before she could protest, Ruth was gone. Marjorie turned to her
writing, but she could think of nothing but the present complication.
She felt sorry for Ruth, but she could not help hoping that Miss White
would insist upon a confession.

She pictured herself in the Girl Scout uniform, marching along with
the other girls, helping them with the play, and accompanying them on
their camping trip; she thought of the pleasure of telling her father
and mother and Jack,--yes, and John Hadley--of her final triumph. Miss
Phillips, too, would be genuinely glad of her good fortune.

She waited impatiently for Ruth to return. She got up and straightened
the room, took out some crocheting, put it down, and finally sat down
on the couch to dream of the fulfillment of her cherished hope.

In about fifteen minutes, Ruth came back, accompanied by Miss White.
The older woman looked sad as she took Marjorie’s hand, and spoke
softly.

“I am so sorry, my dear, that this had to happen: that Ruth was tempted
and fell, and you had to suffer. But she has done right to confess.”

“Oh, Miss White, I didn’t want her to tell any body else.”

“Yes, I know; she told me how noble you have been about it. But you
have some rights, Marjorie. I shall tell Miss Allen to-morrow that
there has been a mistake, and ask her permission to give you a special
examination.”

“Tell her the truth!” exclaimed Ruth. “It isn’t fair for you to take
the blame, Miss White.”

“I will tell her if she asks. Marjorie, can you come to my room at
three to-morrow afternoon?”

“Certainly,” replied Marjorie.

Miss White opened the door. “Leave the matter in my hands, girls, and
don’t worry about it any more.”

After she had gone, the girls went to bed, but said nothing more about
the thing that was uppermost in their thoughts. It was Miss Allen and
her attitude toward the matter that caused the most conjecture in the
minds of both girls as they laid their heads upon their pillows that
night.

CHAPTER XXV

THE VERDICT

“And what makes you think you made a mistake in Marjorie Wilkinson’s
paper?” asked Miss Allen, after Miss White had requested for permission
to give the girl a second test. “You aren’t in the habit of doing your
work carelessly.”

“Well--mother was ill, you know; and Marjorie’s subsequent work has
been so good, that I felt there must be some explanation.”

Miss Allen shut her lips tightly. “I am sorry to refuse to grant your
request, Miss White,” she said, “but if I allowed a second test for no
more reason than you suggest, it would establish a precedent: every
girl who fails in any examination will demand another opportunity. The
final examinations are less than two weeks off; Marjorie will have the
chance to show her ability in them.”

“I see your point of view, Miss Allen,” said Miss White. “I had hoped
you would grant my request without further explanation; but, as you
say, it would not be right, for such an insignificant reason. So I
will tell you the whole story.”

She repeated to the Principal the facts of Ruth’s confession; she told
how cleverly the girl had spoiled the paper; she recalled the fact that
the papers had been marked at home, destroyed, and the averages mailed
to the school. Everything, indeed, had seemed to play into Ruth’s hands
in order to help her to escape detection.

Miss Allen listened with increasing anger as the narrative progressed.
The whole thing was inconceivable--a disgrace to her school. “Ruth
Henry must be expelled at once!” she declared emphatically.

“No, no,” pleaded Miss White. “Remember that she confessed it herself;
if someone had told on her, it would be different. Suppose we send
for her--and for Miss Phillips, too, since it is a matter which so
intimately concerns the scouts.”

Ruth and her Captain entered the office together. In a few words,
Miss Allen reviewed the situation to Miss Phillips, while Ruth sat
motionless, with downcast eyes.

“I am of the opinion,” said Miss Allen coldly, “that a girl who would
do such a contemptible trick as that should be expelled from the
school.”

Ruth started; that was one calamity she had not thought of. Then her
mother and father would know--yes, and all the people at home.

But Miss White and Miss Phillips both pleaded in her behalf. She had
done wrong, they said; but it was her first offense, and she had
confessed. Such a punishment would be too severe.

“Then at least she must be put out of the troop! She has not acted like
a Girl Scout; she should not be permitted to wear the uniform.”

Ruth rose, white to the lips. “I am ready to resign, Captain Phillips,”
she said unsteadily. “I did not expect to be allowed to remain.”

Miss Phillips put her hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“Wait, Ruth,” she said quietly; “we must think everything over
carefully.” Then turning to Miss Allen, she said, “It isn’t fair to
torture Ruth in this fashion; suppose we let her go out, and talk the
matter over, and then give her our decision.”

Tears came to Ruth’s eyes, but she looked gratefully at Miss Phillips.
“Oh, thank you,” she stammered; “I’ll do whatever you say.”

“You may go, Ruth,” said Miss Allen.

The teachers talked for a long time over the affair, but finally Miss
Phillips triumphed. Ruth’s case was to be put up to the Girl Scouts,
while she remained away from the meeting; they were to decide whether
or not she was to stay in the troop. And each scout was to pledge “on
her honor as a Girl Scout” never to mention the matter outside.

That afternoon Marjorie took her Latin test, and passed with flying
colors; as soon as she learned of her success, she went straight to
Miss Phillips.

“I will give you the Tenderfoot test to-night, if you wish,” said the
Captain. “Then, if you are prepared, I will waive the usual custom, and
you may take the second-class test on Friday with the eight girls who
have not yet passed it.”

Lily was wild over the good news. Of course, Marjorie said nothing
about the cause of her incorrect mark; she simply stated that Miss
White had given her a second chance, and that Miss Phillips had
arranged a special scout test.

“And I am to be taken in on Friday,” she said, hugging her room-mate
joyfully. “Think of it, Lil, a Girl Scout at last!”

Every girl in the troop was genuinely glad to welcome Marjorie into
their ranks. She had waited so long for her happiness; she trembled now
lest something should happen to destroy it. She made a supreme effort
to calm herself sufficiently to take the second-class test.

But before the candidates were given their papers, Miss Phillips
announced that she had a matter of serious importance to bring to
their consideration.

“It concerns one of your sister scouts,” she said.

The girls looked questioningly from one to another. Ruth, only, was
missing; but no one had thought anything of that after her adventure on
Sunday; they all attributed her absence to the cold she had contracted.
Several of the girls thought of Marjorie; her entrance into the troop
had been out of the usual order of things; perhaps Miss Phillips meant
her.

The Captain, however, hastened to tell the story as impersonally as she
could. Consternation seized the group; they listened breathlessly.

“And now it is for you, Girl Scouts of Pansy Troop, to decide what must
be done with Ruth Henry. Shall we expel her from the troop? I would
like to hear some arguments on both sides of the question.”

Ethel, who probably disliked Ruth more intensely than any other girl in
the troop, and who had originally been the cause of her failing to make
the sorority, spoke against her. The girl had broken the first law of
the scouts; she was a menace to the welfare of the troop; the sooner
they got rid of her, the better.

Before the speech was finished, Marjorie rose to her defense. “I have
known Ruth a long time,” she said, “and I think I understand her. She
is dreadfully ambitious--always has been--but girls, I think she has
learned her lesson. And I have forgiven her--so can’t you do it, too?
Oh, please let her stay in the troop! Honestly, she’s suffered an awful
lot already!”

Frances also spoke in her behalf. When the vote was finally taken, the
Ayes carried it, twelve to four. Miss Phillips promised to take the
news to Ruth; the scouts pledged on their honor to drop the incident
from their minds.

All the candidates who took the second-class test that night passed
with honor, but Marjorie’s mark was highest of them all.

“Be up early to-morrow morning to get ready for our orphans,” said Miss
Phillips, as the troop separated; “we want to make them the happiest
girls in the world.”

“We couldn’t do that,” said Marjorie to Lily; “because I’m the very
happiest! Oh, Lil, I’m really going camping this summer!”

CHAPTER XXVI

THE PLAY

“Good-bye! good-bye!” shouted the twenty-four happy little girls,
leaning out of the windows and waving their handkerchiefs, as the train
pulled out of the station the following afternoon. The scouts watched
it until it was out of sight; then they turned towards the school.

Marjorie took Doris’s arm. “I never had such a good time in my life
before,” she said. “Oh, didn’t they enjoy themselves, though! And
wasn’t that tiny little one cute?”

Before they had taken many steps, they met Dorothy Maxwell, coming from
the school.

“Where is Miss Phillips?” she asked, with concern.

“Back with Lily, I think,” answered Marjorie. “But what is the matter,
Dot? You look as if something dreadful has happened!”

“Well, it has! Helen’s pretty badly hurt!”

“Helen Stewart? When she fell off the swing?”

“Yes; I guess her ankle’s sprained, at least; maybe it’s something even
worse!”

By this time Miss Phillips and the rest of the scouts had reached the
spot where the girls had stopped, and they all crowded around, asking
questions.

“I will go to her at once,” said Miss Phillips, hurrying off with
Dorothy.

The girls resumed walking. “Suppose she can’t take part in the play,”
suggested Ethel. “She’s leading lady, you know!”

“I think that is what Miss Phillips thought of first, but of course she
wouldn’t say anything,” said Ruth.

“Nobody else could ever take her place at this late date,” said Doris;
“besides, we all have our own parts. What would we do?”

“Oh, maybe she’ll be all right by then,” said Marjorie. “Don’t let’s
worry till we hear what the doctor says.”

But the doctor’s diagnosis proved worse than any of their fears. Helen
was suffering from a complicated fracture; it would be necessary for
her to be taken home on a stretcher and kept flat on her back for
several weeks; any participation in the play was, of course, out of the
question.

Miss Phillips called a special meeting of the scouts that night. She
was more disturbed than the girls had ever seen her.

“It’s all my fault,” she said, “for not having appointed an understudy.
Why was I so thoughtless?”

“Couldn’t you take the part yourself, Captain?” suggested Ethel. “You
must pretty nearly know it already!”

“I do; but I’m too tall. And I wouldn’t mind that if it were to be
given just for our own school. But think of the outsiders who will be
here! With commencement in the morning, Miss Allen says almost all the
visitors are planning to stay over for the play. And Miss Martin’s
whole school are coming especially to see it!” She covered her eyes
with her hands, and uttered a long sigh.

“Captain,” said Ruth, suddenly, “I have the solution! Let Marjorie take
it! She’s splendid at dramatics.”

Miss Phillips raised her head quickly. Marjorie blushed as all eyes
were turned upon her.

“Will you do it?” asked Miss Phillips.

“I can try.”

Miss Phillips’s face expressed blissful relief: she could rely upon
Marjorie, who always did things well; she need worry no longer.

All that week, Marjorie studied and rehearsed. When the dress-rehearsal
came, on Friday evening, the girls praised her performance; but she
herself was not satisfied: she realized that her acting was stilted,
and Miss Phillips was forced to agree with her when she asked for her
opinion.

“But it’s all right, Marjorie,” the Captain added; “you can’t expect to
do as well as Helen could, after she had practiced it for weeks.”

But Marjorie did expect to do as well as Helen, and she made up her
mind to surpass her. She put the play aside from her thoughts, played a
game of cribbage with Lily, and went to bed early.

Miss Phillips had planned to give the play in the outdoor theater if
the day were fine. When Marjorie opened her eyes that morning and saw
the bright sunlight, it was naturally the first thing she thought of.
It would be so much prettier to have a background of real trees; and
she felt that with such perfect surroundings she could do greater
justice to the part.

Soon after breakfast, visitors began to arrive. The Wilkinsons did not
especially care to attend the commencement exercises, but promised to
get Jack, and drive over in the machine in time to see the play. Ruth’s
father and mother were coming by train.

The programs had already been printed with Helen Stewart’s name as