dreadful HAS happened to us."

"But I can't tell you, Miss Allen. If I did I should have to leave
dear old Wellington and this--opportunity means so much to me," and
again she sobbed convulsively, while Jane put an affectionate arm
around the little stranger.

Clapping of hands and calling out foolish warnings from below
checked Jane's flow of sympathy, and presently she stumbled back to
the recreation room propelling a mountain of blankets and
comfortables.

"There. Just see what you have done," she charged the students who
were instantly struggling for the blankets to the extent of
practically disrobing the accommodating Jane. "Leave me my blouse,
please do. It's the only real Jersey I possess. But aren't you
ashamed to treat juniors this way?"

"Dreadfully!" drawled a girl already rolled like a cocoon in a
pretty blue "wooley" and coiling up on a rug in the farthest corner.
"Jane Alien, you're a perfect lamb, and I hope you'll stay with us
forever."

"I am sure I have a congestive chill," chattered a fraud of a girl
who almost upset Jane in the blanket rush. "Give me the pink one.
It's my color," and another tug freed "the pink one" from its
company of neatly folded coverlets.

"It is a shame," confessed someone else. "Come on upstairs, girls.
Let's defy the ghosts. I have always heard they shun a crowd.
Where's the crowd? Let's make them shun us."

"Second the motion and hurrah!" added Nellie Saunders. "Also we
should put a price on that ghost's head--offer a reward for the
capture. I'm willing to chip in, although as usual I'm a little
short this week."

Dozia had been going over the house with Miss Gifford and just then
both returned to the recreation room.

"Does anyone know where Miss Duncan is--Miss Shirley Duncan?" asked
the matron, keeping her pencil at that name on her report pad.

Jane started involuntarily at the question. She had been secretly
wondering where the rebellious Shirley was during all the
excitement.

"Oh, yes," spoke up Margie Winters. "She is outside visiting with
her folks. She told me this afternoon she had obtained permission."

"Not from me," declared Miss Gifford. Then as if fearing
complications she added more tactfully, "But of course I might not
have been within reach and someone else may have given permission.
Will you just step in here, dear?" to Margie. "I want to note what
you say of Miss Duncan's absence," and while the reclaimed mutineers
were being actually driven up the stairs by Jane, Dozia and the
braver element, Miss Gifford was obtaining what clue she might as to
Shirley Duncan's whereabouts.

Herded successfully to second floor the visiting juniors set about
distributing their charges into beds--any beds in any rooms but
"under covers" was the order.

"I can just about picture the parade trooping into the infirmary
tomorrow," said Dozia. "Here, Betty, this solo cot for yours. It is
just your cute little size. And those tosies," with a playful thrust
at a pair of shivering feet, "I think nervous freshies should wear
slippers about their necks at night--like we used to have our
mittens on a tape, you know. There," finished the querulous Dozia.
"You would have to roll down stairs if another alarm sounded. You're
a perfectly sealed packet." Just the tip of Betty's head stuck out
of the package.

Somehow all were finally settled and it was Sally--Sarah Howland,
who came to the rescue of the visitors.

"But you must rest," she insisted, only a tell-tale pink rim around
her blue eyes betraying the hysterical collapse she had so lately
experienced.

"We are not the least bit afraid," declared Dozia. "In fact, we are
rather anxious to meet said spook. Which room might be one in
proximity? Where does the big noise seem to come from?"

"No more shows tonight, Dozia," spoke Jane before Sally could
answer. "How much do you want for your money? Isn't a fire and a
volunteer fireman's comedy enough?"

"But I am dreadfully keen on spooks," she was pinching Jane's arm
cruelly, "and I thought it was--something weird that set off the
original alarm."

Sally winced. "Here is a nice big bed," she told them nervously,
pushing back a door and disclosing a tranquil untrammelled room, all
neat and orderly as if nothing unusual had happened in old Lenox.
"We call it the guest room but rarely have company to occupy it. I
am sure Miss Gifford will want you two juniors to make yourselves at
home in it," finished Sally with a quaver. She could not entirely
hide the fact of her anxiety to get Jane and Dozia behind a closed
door. Jane might have understood but Dozia was perplexed.

"It's a lovely room," faltered Dozia, "but I feel more like camping
out. What time is it, anyhow?"

"About two-thirty A. M.," said Jane, "and since the youngsters are
safely tucked in, I believe we should take Sally's advice. This is
quite sumptious," folding down the extra white shams and coverlet.
"Rather a pity to spoil it for such a sliver of sleep."

Miss Gifford was at the door when Sally glided off. "I am so glad
you girls are getting to bed," she commended. "What a night we have
had? And what a mercy you happened to be within call? I'm sure I
don't know how you got here but I am not worrying about the details.
Sufficient unto the day is the evil, etc., and"--with a readjustment
of her glasses and a closer fold into the soft night shawl--"this
condition is dreadful. I have tried to fathom the mystery without
troubling the office, but I know now I should have reported it
before." (She referred to the nocturnal disturbances, of course.)
"Don't fear any further alarm, midnight is always the chosen hour."

"Yes," blurted Dozia, "we know about it, Miss Gifford, and my friend
Jane inveigled me into this midnight raid. That is really how we got
over here, but I can't say we have to report progress--'stampede'
would be more accurate."

"But this is only one night," Jane insisted, "and our fire brigade
spoiled every possibility of investigation. But, Miss Gifford, since
we have undertaken the task, I should like to propose that you give
us an opportunity to try our skill at it. Suppose" (Jane had in mind
the tearful face of little Sally) "you give us one more night before
you turn the alarm in to Miss Rutledge? I am sure we can control
your girls and get them to agree to our plan. In spite of
everything, you know, they just adore the fun and sensation of it
all."

"Well," faltered Miss Gifford, weakening, "of course I could not
risk a repetition of this night's experience; at the same time I do
like to keep my records free from appeals to headquarters. It is so
much more efficient to manage each cottage independently, subject to
a general system. Well, go to bed children and thank you for your
moral and physical support. We shall discuss future plans on the
morrow," she said sweetly. Truth to tell Miss Agnes Gifford was a
very sweet girl--woman, and at the moment both Jane and Dozia fell
loyally under the spell of her charms.

"Say, Dinks!" whispered Dozia from her side of the big double bed,
"what do you think Judy will say to all this?"

"Judy had her own fun and shouldn't complain. Wasn't she all nicely
arrested and tried at a regular police court? What's a spook and a
fire to that!"

But Jane knew better. That night at Lenox was a "thriller" indeed,
and Judith Stearns might well envy her chums its experiences.

Then while Dozia slept Jane wondered.

What did little Sally Howland mean about taking a room at the attic
stairs? And how was that charming little thing implicated with the
ghost of Lenox Hall?

The plot was thickening. Sally did not in any way answer to the
deceitful type, but some mysterious force seemed to overshadow her.

"Pretty little thing, with such appealing eyes and so honest--"

Jane slept.

CHAPTER XIV

PLEADING FOR TIME

It's a very large order, Jane, but you're the merchant. How on earth
do you expect to obtain permission to stay at Lenox without giving
the whole thing away?"

"I haven't an idea, but depend on old friend Circumstances to bob
something up. It is wonderful how very simple it is to flim-flam a
philosopher. They never seem to suspect intrigue and walk right into
the trap. I've tried it before with Rutledge! she's a lamb if you
watch your ba-as."

It was "the morning after" and that trite phrase surely fitted the
occasion. Jane had dragged Dozia from her dreams in spite of threats
and defiance, and now both juniors were on their way back to the
dining hall at Madison.

"Rather different from the last tramp we took over this prairie,"
said Jane, "but as a thriller you can't beat midnight moonlight."

"Not that I'd care to," Dozia answered witheringly. "I can't see
that the adventure 'got us anywhere' as brother Tom would say. I
haven't any brother, you know, Jane dear, but it always sounds
better to blame one's slang on him, don't you think?"

"I'm positive," said Jane, "but I have a trick of blaming mine on
Judy. Wonder will she sleep all day because I, the faithful alarm
clock, did not go off at her ear. There's the bell! I'm not very
hungry. As an appetiser I think a night such as the last rather a
flivver."

"Isn't it? I have that widely advertised gone feeling myself. Here's
a chance to duck in without being noticed."

"We were out for early exercise," prompted Jane significantly, "and
don't be too intelligent about that fire when they ask."

"'Deef' and dumb," quibbled Dozia. "Thank you for the party, Jane. I
had a lov-el-ly time."

"Don't mention it," whispered Jane, as the line of students
swallowed the two adventurers.

But the day was "fraught with questions," as Judith Stearns put it,
deploring her own inability to obtain any "intelligent account of
the whole performance." It became known early that the two juniors
who had been searched for during the night, were not others than
Jane and Dozia, but even a veritable grilling at the hands of a
picked corps of sophs brought nothing more definite from the
wayfarers than "they were over visiting Lenox and the 'fire' was a
false alarm."

"And of course we couldn't put our heads out, for fear of panic,"
grumbled Nettie Brocton.

The day passed somehow, and it was conspicuous by an entire absence
of freshmen from the usual intermingling between periods. Even to
Jane the reason for this was not clear until, in a burst of
confidence with Judith, she outlined her plan of staying over at
Lenox "until the ghost business was disposed of."

"Oh, I know," she explained while Judith pondered. "Miss Gifford is
keeping them home to prevent them gabbing. That's darling of her.
She wants to give me--the newly discovered spook sleuth--a decent
chance. Are you coming over with me tonight, Judy?"

"Cables couldn't hold me back. Dinksy, you bribed me into staying
home last night but I'll never again 'list' to your blarney. But it
wasn't goblins I believe; however, we'll decide that when we trap
'em. Your benign influence has worked well thus far. I promised to
help a freshie with some Latin prose and she never came to collect.
Now I suppose I have to spoil my pretty hands with basket ball.
Don't you wonder how it was we used to love that unladylike game?"
Judith assumed a most sedate attitude, but did not succeed in hiding
a forlorn rent in her skirt even with a very broad palm plastered
over it.

"'Ye strangers on my native sill tread lightly for I love it
still,'" quoted Jane. "Seems to me you take about as much pleasure
in the big game as you ever did, Judy. But let's away! We need it.
I'm all stiffened up with--"

"Your night of terror," finished Judith. "I don't wonder. Anyone
might be sore and achey from running that Bingham Fire Brigade. I
would love to have seen Dozia at the spigot," and Judith went
through some fire antics. "Come along, Jane; we'll give the recruits
a try-out," she decided the next moment, "but don't ask me to put
them through the paces again tomorrow, for that's to be an afternoon
off, if I can arrange it."

"Oh," said Jane tritely.

"Yes, oh," repeated Judith most impressively and with a grimace that
supplied more than mere punctuation.

Jane laughed and pushed the big girl ahead of her with sudden
playful force.

"Choo-choo! the fire is out and we're going home," she laughed.
"This is just about the speed of the little red hose cart."

"Wait a minute!" called Judith, halting so suddenly she almost threw
Jane. "I would rather be the driver if you don't mind."

"Young ladies!" protested one of the faculty, Miss Roberts, she who
taught English and looked the part. "Is not that rather boisterous
for indoor play?"

The culprits choked an appropriate reply and resumed the usual
"indoor" behavior.

"One thing I hate knowledge for," remarked Jane, "it makes one so
inhuman."

"Yes, doesn't it? We may break our precious necks in the gym and be
buried with military honors but we 'dassent' skin a shin anywhere
else. System, of course," witheringly from Dozia.

"Quick!" exclaimed Jane. "There are Nettie and Janet heading this
way. They'll want me to tell the whole of last night's experience
over again. Let's get at practice and preclude the recitation. I
feel like singing the story to the tune of the 'Night Before
Christmas,' it's getting so monotonous."  "You have no appreciation
for thrills, Jane Alien," eluded Judith. "That yarn will stand
telling for months to come. I've noticed your variations, however,
and can see the effort wearies you. But say, Dinksy, tonight is the
night and Lenox is the place. After that, if you like, I'll take up
the thread of your famous ghost story, and you may refer all
inquiries to me." The last word of this peroration was all but lost
on stone walls, for the oncoming horde seized Jane and, exactly as
she feared, demanded further details of the big night.

"And did you really see a ghost?" begged Winifred Ayres with a
perfectly flagrant relish of the sordid details.

"Packs of 'em," evaded Jane.

"Safety in numbers," remarked Nettie Brocton. "That's my mother's
argument for large gatherings. All right, Jane, we'll let you off,
but we have our opinion of such utter selfishness. There's the scrub
team all lined up outside the gym. I suppose they also are waiting
to hear the story."

"Save me from my audience!" wailed Jane, falling into convenient
arms. "Why not install a ghost in Madison if you are all so keen on
it? I can't see how you expect one paltry spook to cover the entire
campus."

"Oh, Jane! Miss Allen, Jane!" called the girls from that basketball
line. "We've decided to beg off from practice this afternoon, if you
don't mind. We all want to go to the village to see the sights." It
was Inez Wilson who acted as spokesman and Inez was quite capable of
organizing "a lot of fun" in seeing the village sights.

"What's new?" demanded Judith.

"Oh, something," insinuated Mabel Peters.

"Are we debarred? Too old and cranky or something like that?" teased
Jane. Her hair was bursting from her cap like an over-ripe thistle,
and her cheeks were velvety in a rich glow of early winter tints.
She hardly looked too old even for skipping rope just then.

"Of course everyone may come who wants to," Inez condescended, "but
juniors usually don't enjoy henning (shopping)."

"I adore it," insisted Jane. "Do let us tag on and we'll buy the
peanuts. But this really was to be an important afternoon at the
baskets. However do you children expect to maintain the honor of
Wellington if you do not keep fit? Now when I was center--"

"Hear! Hear! Hear!" interrupted Mabel. "Remember that famous song,
'I know a girl and her name was Jane'!"

"A rebold ribald rowdy!" shouted a chorus.

But Jane was escaping--running down the walk with hands clapped over
her ears to shut out the memories of her earlier years when that
refrain was quite too popular to be enjoyable.

Outside the big gate an auto horn honked, and the students drew back
to give the big car approaching full sweep of the country roadway.
Then another horn sounded, and from the opposite direction a smart
little run-about was seen cutting in at high speed. Both drivers saw
their danger and both jammed brakes. The big car rolled to the
gutter while the runabout picked up speed and shot by safely. This
brought the touring car to the curb where the Wellingtons stood
watching, and a glance at the seats showed these occupants:

Dol Vin driving, Shirley Duncan at her side, and a rather elderly
country couple spread over the big back seat.

"Shirley's folks!" whispered Inez. "We heard they were in town
seeing the sights, and hoped we would run across them." This was
evidently the "something" hinted at in the soph's outline of the
"henning" party.

Dolorez Vincez was too clever to show embarrassment, and Shirley
Duncan was too cruel to hide it. She plainly was urging the driver
on.

"That's your college, darter, ain't it?" the girls could hear the
elderly woman ask Shirley, but they did not hear the latter's
answer. Dolorez called, "Hello, girls," as she swung her car out
again in the dusty roadway, and the "darter" deprived that little
woman of her coveted information.

"She said hello!" announced Judith.

"Sweet of her," remarked Jane, but she was thinking of Shirley's
absence from Lenox on the night of the fire, and wondering if the
indifferent freshman had been absent during all the day as well?

"Hurry, hurry!" begged Mabel Peters. "What a lark to meet them at
the drug store. They'll be sure to want hot chocolate."

"I would guess at tea," drawled Judith, "but it's sure to be some
sort of drink. Come along and we may get a chance to return that
cordial hello."

"I'm not going," suddenly determined Jane. "All go along if you like
but I'm not going to lap up any more of that sickening chocolate.
I've taken the pledge until next allowance day," and she turned back
to Wellington entrance.

Judith, quick to interpret Jane's moods, knew the excuse covered a
more serious consideration and stepped back to ask "why?"

"That daughter is ashamed of those country parents," Jane made
chance to answer Judith, "and it would be horrid to spoil their
opinion of us. Delay the girls a while and Dol will have gone
through town safely."

"But isn't it dreadful she has such influence over that rebel
freshman?" commented Judith, slowly following the flock of students
headed for the village. "How are we going to stop it?"

"I don't know," confessed Jane, "but we must stop it some way. Just
because she has a claim on my--patronage is no reason why she should
disgrace Wellington. You go along with the youngsters, Judy, and
I'll go right up to the office now and unburden my conscience."
Jane's red haired disposition was asserting itself. "Think of the
hair bleaching, then the police farce, and now out riding with that
traitor. I'm going to tell Miss Rutledge the whole thing!" and no
argument of Judith's could dissuade her.

She turned back into the college grounds and struck a gait
calculated to bring her up to that office in short order, and was
more than half way through the campus when a small voice called out
her name.

"Miss Allen!"

She turned to a side path, following the call, and faced Sally
Howland.

"Just a minute, Miss Allen, please," pleaded the strange little
freshman. Jane waited till she reached her, then smiled into the
serious face of Sally.

"Hello, girlie," Jane greeted her. "What's the excitement?"

"You were so splendid last night, Miss Allen," panted Sarah Howland,
"and I am so ashamed to have to deceive you as you must see I am
doing." A flush suffused her pale face and she dropped her eyes in
pained self-consciousness. "But just--now--for this little while--I
can't see what else I am going to do!" she stopped and her hands
twitched miserably at her knitted scarf. Evidently the attempt at
confession was more difficult than she had anticipated.

"Don't distress yourself, dear," Jane soothed. "I realize you know
something of the queer happenings at Lenox, and I can see you have
some strong motive for withholding the explanation. There is a
reason, of course, and I have faith in your sincerity. After all,
Wellington is quite a little city in itself, and we are bound to
meet queer problems here. I am on my way to the office now to get
one off my mind."

"Oh, please, Miss Allen, don't report--Shirley Duncan," she stumbled
and stuttered over the name. "I know she is doing queer things but
she is such a--a country girl, and has never had any chances--"

"Did you know her before she came to Wellington?" asked Jane
directly.

"No, yes, that is I knew her just before we came," replied the girl,
very much confused and plainly embarrassed.

"I have noticed you seem to be friends," Jane pressed.

"Yes, sort of. But I do not agree with her in her attitude toward
college life," replied Sarah hurriedly--markedly so. She was trying
to shift the subject, Jane saw that plainly.

"It's good of you to plead for her," commented Jane, "but you see,
my dear, juniors are quite grown up and are expected to uphold the
college traditions. We really can't consider an individual where a
college principle is concerned." Jane had her eye on Madison and was
shifting to move that way. The freshman laid a detaining hand on her
arm.

"If you could just--be persuaded to wait until after mid-year," she
said, "perhaps then--things might look differently."

"But Sally, you know I saw you run out of that prohibited beauty
shop, and you must know we Wellingtons in good standing do not
patronize that place!"

This accusation startled Sarah. She dropped Jane's arm and all but
gasped: "When did you see me there?"

"The day of that absurd police business when my friend Miss Stearns
was so humiliated," Jane said severely.

"Oh, Miss Allen," and tears welled into Sarah's eyes. "I can't
explain, and I am so miserable. Perhaps--perhaps I should not try--"
Tears choked the wretched girl, and Jane relented at sight of her
misery.

"Really, Sally," she changed her tone, "I do feel awfully sorry to
see a freshman in distress, and I am sure I do not want to add to
it. I won't go to the office now, if that will make you feel better,
but I simply must do all I can to solve the mystery of the horrible
night noises at Lenox. Here come the girls from their hike; dry your
eyes and try to look pleasant."

Jane did not relish yielding; she had passed that childish stage,
when "to give in" seemed noble; it was now a question of expediency,
which was best? Should she go on and unburden her own conscience
just because she had decided to do so, or should she follow the
pleadings of this girl without having an intelligent reason?

Something stronger than psycho-analysis (Jane's new field of study)
forced her to look deeply into the tear-stained blue eyes of Sarah
Howland, and that same mystic power, older and surer than theory,
compelled Jane to reply:

"All right, Sally. I'll wait a while. It's all very queer but even
queer things are sometimes reasonable," and she threw an
affectionate arm about the little freshman as she turned her back on
the judicial office in the big, gray stone building.

CHAPTER XV

THE PICKET AND THE SPOOK

Not going to bed at all, Janey?" queried Judith, letting her hair
fall over her shoulders and shaking her head like a happy care-free
Collie. "This bed is too inviting to slight that way. I never knew
that old spooky Lenox was so gorgeously equipped." Judith was
testing the comforts of the big double bed in the guest chamber of
Lenox Hall, the same that welcomed Jane and Dozia on the night
previous.

"I am not going to run the risk of missing anything," Jane answered
from her place in the big cushioned steamer chair. "This is very
comfortable and I am all dressed ready to dive after the least
suspicious sound. Besides, I'm not a bit sleepy--gone past my sleep,
as Aunt Mary would say."

"I don't want to desert you," volunteered Judith, "and it doesn't
seem just the thing for me to turn into this downy bed while you sit
there like a sentinel. But truth to tell I am shamefully human and
just counting on thirty winks before the ghost walks. Be sure to
call me at the very first hint. Of course you will want to bag him
personally, Jane, but I'll be glad to help you pull the draw
string."

It was drawing close to the tainted hour, and Jane sat there
wondering how one single day could seem as long as that just past.
She had no idea of admitting what part actual fatigue can play in
one's perspective, neither would she have owned to nerves as the
cause of her unnatural wakefulness; nevertheless these were both
factors in her almost painful alertness.

"At least now I have a chance to think," she temporized, "and I wish
I could solve the mystery of Sally Howland's peculiar connection
with Shirley Duncan."

They were so unlike, so foreign in disposition and character; not
relatives, and Sally even disclaimed any previous acquaintance with
the country girl. Then Sally's attempt to forestall the midnight
noises by taking the shunned room at the very foot of the dreaded
attic stairs--what could that mean?

Jane pondered feebly, and feeling just the least bit drowsy she left
her place in the steamer chair to get a drink of water in the
lavatory. It would not do to actually fall asleep "at the switch."

Voices from the end of the hall near Sally's room forced their way
into the corridor as she glided past, and the unmistakable tone of
Shirley Duncan riveted Jane's attention.

"You're too silly," she was insisting, no doubt to little Sally.
"Don't I give you enough? Here's something daddy gave me. You may
have it. Now do be a good, sensible little girl."

A pause, perhaps a remonstrance, for the voice took up its cue
again.

"Of course you must have plenty of use for it. Don't be a goose,
Kitten. You know how much I care about the old moldy college. But
I'm bound to get something for my money."

Jane was at the lavatory door now but she did not at once enter.
Surely, under the circumstances it was permissible to listen to the
unguarded voice of Shirley Duncan. And she called Sally "Kitten!"

"For mercy's sake don't start to howl," it came again. "I can stand
anything but that. It is all working beautifully and I guess before
I quit I'll be able to show them that a country girl isn't such a
simp as they imagine."

"Miss Allen is here tonight," Jane next heard Sally say, "and you
know what that means, Bobbie."

"As if I care for her," and a scornful laugh made the meaning
clearer. There were other words but Jane had heard enough. The
mention of her own name seemed to charge her honor, and the belated
drink of refreshing water was quickly drawn.

Back in the steamer chair Jane had new cause to ponder. What was the
threat or power Shirley held over little Sally? And to bribe her
with money? Also the affectionate "Kitten" and "Bobbie"?

The wind was stirring, but everything human now seemed withdrawn
from activity around Lenox. Jane was waiting, listening for what?
The frightened freshmen seemed secure tonight in their dormitories,
assured of protection by Jane and Judith, two of the bravest girls
in all Wellington. Also they had been promised a solution of the
noise mystery and was not that in itself sufficient alleviative?

The clock in the hall tingled a chime, sweet almost playful music
for the elves of midnight and a challenge to baser intruders. Jane
must have dozed when she suddenly became conscious of something--

Was it a noise? She listened, alert and all but quivering in
anticipation. There never had been any question of actual danger
surrounding the weird happenings, but now that she faced the mystery
something very like panic seized her.

Yes--again! That was surely something metallic!

"Quick, Judy!" she roused the sleeping girl on the bed. "Follow me.
There it is--beginning."

"Where! What!" Judith sat up and snatched her robe.

"I'm going to the attic. I am sure it is up there!" and Jane flew
out quietly, in fact noiselessly, into the dimly lighted hall.

A queer rumbling sound came from somewhere. Jane could not locate it
for it seemed shut in, walled up! It was mechanical yet muffled!

Judith reached Jane as she stood listening.

"Where is it?" she whispered.

"I--can't tell," Jane replied. "Pass around the turn into the linen
room. We can reach the stairs that way."

"Not--going up alone!" breathed Judith.

"Why not? It's some lark of the girls, you may be sure, and I'm
going to find out what it is now."

"But it's dark," cautioned Judith.

"I have my flash. Listen!"

"Oh," groaned Judith, clutching Jane's arm, for a rattling of
something like chains was now distinctly audible.

"Hush!" breathed Jane, laying her fingers lightly on the door knob
of the boxed in stairway. The next moment there was a crash and both
girls darted up the stairs.

"It was over that way!" insisted Judith, but in the darkness, with
nothing but Jane's flash to guide them, it was impossible to tread
safely through the attic, which was stored with all sorts of
discarded materials.

"Wait a minute," whispered Jane, her heart pounding and nerves
almost jumping.

They stood breathless, but not a move answered the silence.

"Come down; do, Jane," begged Judith, shivering in actual fear.

"Wait a few minutes," insisted Jane. "Whatever it is they know we
are here!"

"Jane!" breathed the other, "I am honestly ready--to faint."

"Nonsense, just a few minutes." Jane could feel her companion
tremble as she clung to her arm.

But not a sound nor a move rewarded their brave defiance.

"If only this place had a light," Jane whispered. "I suppose there
is a bulb somewhere." She remembered that the fireman found none,
however, and tonight even the patch of moonlight was not there. It
really would have been foolhardy to attempt to go further into the
low-beamed room, at the risk of running into attack, and evidently
the noise had not been heavy enough to arouse anyone else in the
Hall, for no sound of moving about came from the lower floors.

"Do come down," begged Judith again, taking two steps herself on the
stairs.

"No, I shan't," insisted Jane. "I can wait as long as they can."

As if that gave a cue for action a rope--surely it was a rope--
creaked and groaned and the rumbling heard first sounded again--
somewhere, it seemed from the very roof.

"There!" said Jane. "They're gone and they went by that rope. Come
on down. We can't do anything in this darkness," and, now satisfied
that the "ghost" had been scared off, she followed Judith's
precipitous escape down, and into the lower hallway.

"What was it? Did you catch him? We heard it? Where is it?"

To the astonishment of the two juniors the halls were dotted with
heads thrust out of half closed doors, and the alarmed freshmen
opened this volley of questions before Jane and Judith had recovered
their breath.

"No, we did not get it," replied Judith, "but we scared it off, and
I have my opinion of a ghost afraid of two unarmed juniors." Judy
was very brave now, and rather proud of it.

"Young ladies! Young ladies!" Miss Gifford was expostulating. "You
promised to stay in your rooms tonight."

"Oh, they are very good girls, Miss Gifford," Jane attested, "and I
can assure them that friend spook is a rank coward and has gone by
way of a pulled rope. Any pulleys loose around this place?"

"No, we have looked for such things," declared the matron. "But
please, girls, go back to bed, and if anything else happens I
promise to call you." This was a rash promise for Miss Gifford to
make, but she felt the urgency of getting those questioning heads
back on their respective pillows and so was willing to make
concessions.

"Come in my room," she said aside to Jane and Judith, and they both
followed her to the open door.

"That certainly is a noise made by someone who gets up to that
attic," insisted Jane without waiting for inquiries, "and I am sure
the sounds are made by metal chains."

"That's the weird part of it," interposed Judith.

"Why are chains more formidable than ropes?" asked Jane. "And in an
old place like this is it would not be hard to pick up a chain or
two, and you know, Judy, one old chain could make a fearful noise."

"Yes--but--how does anyone get up there?" demanded Judith.

"That's the mystery," admitted the matron, who had insisted on the
girls remaining while the students quieted down and were safe once
more until daylight. "We have looked all over the place, of course,
and have not been able to find any hidden way of making ascent to
that attic."

"Airship," suggested Judith foolishly.

"See how quickly the noise ceased," remarked Jane. "Someone
recognized us, Judy, and has flown before our vengeance."

"Be that as it may," added Miss Gifford with a smile of assurance,
"I am convinced this thing is being done out of jealousy or even
revenge. You see, I am a new matron here, and when I came I put into
execution such rules as I have been trained to follow. That made
changes in our staff and a few dismissals. Such action is sure to
stir up the wrath of someone, but even with that as a basis, and
with all the detective skill I have been able to operate, I must
confess I am baffled. This very minute our janitor would be found in
his quarters over the stables, for I have phoned him there. And for
the past week I have gone over the ground with him personally, he
and his wife when they lock up. She is one of the day workers here,"
explained Miss Gifford.

Jane felt urged to tell of the shadowy figure she and Dozia had seen
creeping about the evergreens, but quickly decided the indefinite
detail would add little actual explanation. Instead she said:

"We could do nothing in the dark, but just wait until daylight. I
have to sleep, of course, we are getting ready for our midyear
exams, but just wait until two-thirty tomorrow afternoon after
logic. Then expect me over here with perhaps a shotgun if I can find
such a weapon on the premises!"

"But what would you shoot in daylight?" asked Judith, half jokingly,

"Even suspicion," replied Jane, "but my chief concern would be to
find the way friend spook gets up into that attic and where he comes
from. Good night, Miss Gifford, we will follow the freshies now, and
I'm so sleepy it would take more noise than that first bombardment
made to arouse me."

"Good night, my dears, and thank you so much for your wonderful
support," said Miss Gifford.

"Support!" repeated Judith, back again in the guest room. "I suppose
she considers the ghost her opponent?"

"I don't," said Jane cryptically. "I consider it the opponent of all
Wellington."

"And I suppose, Janie, you are blaming me for holding you back in
the attic?" sleepily from Judith.

"No, I'm not, Judy. You have no idea what a coward I am at heart;
but somehow you girls have taken a notion I should do things and I
can't bear to disappoint you. I must admit this is fascinating. I
like it better even than golf, and will also give up my canter on
Firefly this afternoon to see it through."

"Oh Jane, don't do that!" objected Judith. "We were all going out to
Big Rock and have the horses engaged."

"I'm sorry, Judy, but I've gotten into this thing and I have just
got to get out of it or I'll begin to believe in real spooks. I
simply can't let it drag me down another twenty-four hours." She
brushed her wavy red gold hair viciously. "You may take Firefly. He
knows your saddle and will behave, I'm sure. That will give someone
else your horse."

"Maud Leslie is crazy to ride but has no habit here," commented
Judith significantly.

"Help her to mine," responded Jane promptly. "She isn't far from my
size."

"But I wouldn't want to go galloping for nuts while you stay here
alone hunting for spooks," Judith said loyally. "Better let two
girls take our places if you insist on staying out."

"Oh, no, dear. I'm only going to look around for some sort of trap
entrance to Lenox. Besides, you know Dozia doesn't ride, and she'll
be here."

"All right, love, I'll leave you with Dozia if you insist. She's big
enough to take care of you at any rate. Do you imagine Miss Gifford
has materialized some domestic enemy in her change of staff? And
that this super-conscious fired janitor or furnace man is operating
against her?"

"I don't know, Judy," sighed Jane. "Looks to me more loosely
organized than that. Besides, even a fired furnace man would keep
union hours at one fifty per. No, I think you'll find the eternal
female back of that racket, it's too temperamental for masculine
action."

CHAPTER XVI

THE HIDDEN CHAMBER

Was this Wellington and was Jane Allen, the darling of the gym and
the record maker for basket-ball, now so prone on solving a
perplexing noise mystery that her games were cancelled and even her
riding hours filled in with mundane matters, while her companions
flew away to gather mountain nuts and wonderful complexions?

Jane's defiant laugh answered this very personal question. She was
proud and she was fiery, and someone had been trying to discredit
her father's scholarship. Of course that "someone" was Dolorez
Vincez, the expelled junior of the previous year. Every clue pointed
its accusing finger at Dol Vin. She it was who brought those two
freshmen, Shirley and Sarah, together at her beauty shop. It was she
also who "took care" of Shirley's folks when they came in to see the
"darter," and everyone who knew Dol knew, also, that these little
attentions must have been rather costly to the country folks, for
Dol always made things pay.

In the back of Jane's mind there was growing the germ of suspicion
toward that same triangle in the spook alarms. Dol, Shirley and
Sarah must be somewhere in that demonstration, but Jane had to admit
the clues were not developing with such speed as she usually counted
on in college mysteries.

But perhaps this one more day would unearth something tangible. At
any rate, the parties and teas and sorority dances were getting into
swing, and even a fascinating ghost would soon have to be turned
over to the proper authorities, thought Jane, if he did not quickly
become more co-operative with the juniors.

Work was serious and exacting. Every period had a record of its own,
and while Jane was specializing in sociology she was also keeping up
with the regular college course for her A. B. degree.

Promptly after logic dismissed, at two-thirty, she sought out Dozia.
"Come along, Doze," begged Jane, "don't let us waste a moment. The
girls are all busy now, and perhaps we can make a survey without
having a ballet de follies dancing around." Dozia made her notebook
safe and swung into Jane's trot for Lenox. Warburton Hall, one of
the larger buildings, was just emptying a class from lecture but
Jane and Dozia made a complete detour of it to escape attention.

Lenox was deserted, but in less than half an hour it was sure to be
swarmed with freshmen running in after classes for a change of
blouse, or some other requirement of the day now three-fourths
spent.

"Let us get a line on that old tower," suggested Jane, surveying the
secretive old building. "I know the racket was in that wing, and see
how the round tower begins here and shoots up past all that outside
plumbing? I know Lenox was one time a show building here, but
freshies have got to have some place to sleep, hence the
retrogression."

"Things are pretty well trodden down around here," reported Dozia,
sending a critical eye over the little terrace that supported the
old stone tower. "Squirrels do not usually wear French heels. See
those footprints, Jane?"

In the strong sun a film of soft earth showed the impress of
something quite like the pivoted French heel. This was in a small
space from which floral bulbs had been removed and where the
sheltering round tower had kept off the early winter frosts.

"Seems to me," said Jane, "there is some sort of cubby hole under
here." She was poking around the vine-roped foundation.

"Oh, you see they take cellar stuff out that window," explained
Dozia. "It saves steps. See the trail of ashes over there?"

"Yes, but that doesn't come from this point, that does come from the
window. But I mean this spot here," she was tapping on a frame in
which the squares formed the foundation of the building, and where
the wooden arches had been originally painted a contrasting color
for the sake of trimming.

"You can always push those lattice pieces in," said Dozia. "That was
the charmed spot for hide and seek I'll guess, when Wellington was
in rompers."

"Just look here!" ordered Jane in a very definite tone of voice.
"This is more than a cubby hole." She was pulling at a piece of rope
strung through a broken staple. Nothing remained but the iron loop
over which the old time outside padlock was usually snapped. Jane
pulled so vigorously she opened the hidden door and toppled over
backward with the broken rope in her hand. Dozia was in front of the
opening before Jane could get to her feet.

"Well, of all--things!" she drawled. "If here isn't some sort of old
elevator!"

"A dumb-waiter!" cried Jane. "There are my groaning ropes. Pull,
Doze, and let's see if it carries a car."

A couple of jerks at the big cables and the car came down to earth
with a bump.

"Now!" exclaimed Jane gleefully. "There's the mystery. This airship
goes right up into that tower!"

"But don't you dare ask me to make the ascent," warned Dozia. "The
tower may be thick with ghosts as a chimney with swallows."

"But think of it," rattled on Jane. "That old hidden dumb-waiter!
Why have we never discovered it before?"

"Didn't need it," said Dozia. "Wouldn't have a bit of use for it now
except to save you from getting gray headed and daffy over spooks.
Come along indoors and look at the tower from the other end. This
elevator must have a 'last stop, all out' platform some place,"
drawled Dozia, as calmly as if a great part of the mystery had not
just been successfully cleared up.

"But I'm not afraid to go up," declared Jane, almost dancing with
excitement, "and the elevator works by pulling the ropes from the
inside."

"Don't you dare, Jane Allen!" cautioned the imperturbable Dozia.
"You might get half way up and stick in a smoke stack, or a rope
might break or anything of a large variety of possibilities might
occur. I can't be a party to your suicide pact. Walk right up the
red carpeted stairs with little bright-eyed Dozia, and view the
tower from the objective." She took Jane's arm and dragged her
around to the side door, which stood invitingly opened.

By way of the red carpeted stairs they went as far as the attic
flight, and from that point tramped plain unvarnished and well worn
"treads" which Dozia took two at a time.

In the attic, daylight dispelled many of the night's fancies. For
instance, the big black things in the corner were only stored
trunks, those shadowy forms hanging from rafters were Miss Gifford's
best summer togs in their tailored moth bags, and the thing that
glistened in the moonlight like horrible eyes in a ghastly face,
were almost that very thing, for some hallow'een trappings hung
right under the window, a veritable trap for spectral moonlight.

Jane smiled. "These things had Judy and me scared blue last night.
They actually seemed to point long bony fingers at us, but behold!
nothing more sinister than a lot of storage stuff."

Dozia was over in the other end of the low raftered room looking for
the dumb-waiter "objective," but there appeared to be nothing of the
sort either in bricked chimney wall or along weather-boarded
partitions.

"I can't see where that tower ends," she said, "See, Jane, this is
nothing but a straight wall, and the tower surely is built round."

Jane surveyed the brown boarded wall. "But this is not all the
attic," she exclaimed. "See how narrow this room is and gauge the
size of the building. There must be another attic back of those
boards and that fire brick wall. Now, how do you suppose one reaches
the other side?"

"Via dummy," said Dozia. "But no little jaunt in that flivver for
me. No indeed, Janie, not even to bag a real, live, active, untamed
spook." They were both tapping along the boarded partition but had
found no evidence of an opening. "Say, Jane," whispered Dozia, her
brown eyes wide with pretended fright, "suppose some awful creature
is hidden in there and that she has her meals served from the old
dumbwaiter?"

Jane howled at this and danced around in cruel imitation of a
possible "awful creature." That she tore a hole in her skirt from
contact with an unfriendly nail mattered little, for the dance took
in the length of the attic between trunks, boxes, disabled chairs
and even dodged an ancient sewing machine.

"An attic party is attractive under certain conditions," Jane
repeated. "I thought once I saw something move over this way. Let me
look there more carefully."

"Look away," replied Dozia, falling limply into a very uncertain old
willow porch rocker.

Jane pulled aside some curtain stretchers, then pried from its
corner an old Japanese screen.

"There!" she yelled. "There's the door, now we're getting to it.
Dozia, look, a real door into the other attic," and she paid no
attention to the noise of falling articles swept aside in her wild
rush to open the low door, so completely hidden by the old Japanese
screen.

"Jane! Jane!" begged her companion. "Really do go carefully. How can
you tell what's in that other place?"

"I can't till I see," insisted Jane, her hand on the iron latch that
held the door in place.

"At least wait until I get a club or something," begged Dozia
inadequately. "I've heard of queer animals being shut up in such
quarters and they have often made splendid ghosts of themselves,
too."

But Jane had no ears for warnings, and while Dozia held on to the
blue plaid skirt Jane yanked away into the great unknown!

"Oh, look!" she cried in that tragic way girls discover things.
"Just look!"

They had opened up a big storeroom forgotten and abandoned, and in
it--were all sorts of college paraphernalia, such as is used in
theatricals. The room literally groaned with the stuff, and from the
mass one object stood out boldly and significantly:

It was a suit of Japanese armor!

Jane yelled in delight at the discovery and pointed it out to Dozia.

"Don't touch it!" whispered Dozia. "It may be inhabited!"

"Bosh!" roared Jane, laying hold of a dangling armlet.

As she did so the chains rattled! The metallic clangings clanged and
the whole array of ghostly noises sounded out in the unholy hour of
three o'clock broad daylight!

"The ghost! The ghost!" boomed Jane. "Dozia, see, this thing is hung
so it goes off at a touch. Oh, isn't it delicious! To have found it
and this way."

"I'm nervous watching that disappearing door," whined Dozia.
"Suppose we should get walled up in here, just two babes in the
tower?"

"I'm going to get this thing down and show it to the girls," defied
Jane. "Oh, Dozia, look there--a companion. One for you and one for
me. Let's get into them and go down stairs. The girls will be there
and--"

"Say, little girl!" drawled Dozia. "Do you expect me to get in under
that scrap iron works?"

"It's all padded," interrupted the excited Jane. "Here," she had the
armor off its big hook and simply made Dozia hold the tumbling
parts. "There's the helmet, the visor and these---"

"The trunks," said Dozia. "Cute little rompers, aren't they?"

"Called tonlets," said the intelligent Jane, sighing under the
weight of the outfit she was trying to shift to a trunk and a couple
of boxes.

"I'd hate to have to get in that for a fire," remarked Dozia. She
was, however, trying on the scaly breastplate, and attempting to
poke her head into the helmet. "Are you sure this stuff is no
world's war relic? I wouldn't care to rub shoulders with some old
Prussian guard."

"Why, girlie, aside from bagging the ghost, I think we have made a
great discovery. Think of this acquisition to Wellington!" and then
Jane proceeded to dress up.

But things rattled and fell off almost as often as they were put on,
and it was not an easy matter to get inside of anything pertaining
to this dilapidated costume.

When an old sword dropped from its hook on a rafter, Jane danced in
glee and declared "a ghost did it," although Dozia insisted she had
cut a piece of cord on that very hook. Finally Jane was "canned," as
Dozia described the state of being inside of tin things, and an
attempt was made to move.

"If we should fall--" suggested Jane.

But they didn't.

CHAPTER XVII

"BEHOLD THE GHOST OF LENOX HALL!"

Dozia insisted on carrying the "tin rompers" down stairs in her
hands and donning them in a convenient place to avoid possible
disaster.

"Yours are shorter and jauntier than mine, Jane," she argued.
"Besides, you have a better figure for tonlets. Come along, I'll
stop at the landing and buckle into the things. Give me a couple of
chains. Don't they chime beautifully?"

"Wait a minute," Jane ordered. "I just discovered the usual slip of
paper." She was extracting it from an armlet. "It's quite new and
very modern, in fact regular typewriting kind--"

"Oh, tuck it away and come along," Dozia moaned. "I hear the horde
howling and the sooner I get this stuff off the better I'll feel.
Pickles! but it's heavy."

Jane folded the slip of paper and made it secure some place, then
they proceeded to forge their way into the recreation room on the
second floor, whither the students had been hastily summoned by the
matron.

"Now I know how the baby tanks felt in the big war," panted Jane,
who was valiantly leading the way. "I mean those big human machines
that rolled over the earth and ploughed things down, as they went."

"Say, Janie, just wait a minute," begged Dozia at the first landing.
"This looks a little like a joke but who is the joker? Who got up in
that place and rattled these nightly? Also, who let out that wild
scream we heard on that first night?" She was talking quickly and in
a subdued voice. "We may be breaking the spell by raiding the secret
chamber, but suppose the old spook breaks out in a new spot?"

"I've thought of all that," confessed Jane, her smile threatening to
unhinge the visor. "But we must give the youngsters their show
first. The details will be lost in their joy of rescue."

"They come! They come!" called out Miss Gifford in an uncertain
treble. She had been waiting to give this signal.

"Land, I'm losing the panties," groaned Dozia, trying to hold up the
tonlets with one hand while she made wild grabs all over the outfit
with the other. Dozia's artistic effect was surely in jeopardy.
Majestically the two big, black walnut doors swung back, and the
crusaders passed between them.

"Behold the ghosts of Lenox Hall!" cried out Jane tragically.

"Behold, behold!" echoed Dozia, raising her arm in its chained
gusset and attempting to salute at the peak of her helmet.

Shouts from the girls spoiled further efforts at the theatrical, and
presently it was no longer a question of holding the old armor in
place, but rather that of getting out of it safely, for what those
freshmen didn't say and do to those ghosts!

"Nothing but strung up dishrags," sneered Maud Leslie. "They must
have looted every hardware store in town for these. Look!"

She sacrilegiously yanked from their wire strings the metal
dishcloths such as are used for scouring purposes, and truth to tell
there was indeed a big collection in the string of armor.

"Let's try the breastplate," begged Nellie Saunders. "I've always
longed to be a Joan of Arc." And she got her pretty hair inside the
head cage with the mouth trap under her chin, then she corseted on
the breastplate.

"And THAT'S the ghost?" scoffed Margie Winters, sitting far off in
the corner safe from "spiritual" infection.

"Disappointed?" asked Jane.

"Of course I am," growled Margie. "I expected a holiday at least to
fumigate, and here we have nothing but a lot of perfectly sanitary
junk."

"And I thought we would find a beautiful maniac walled up there,"
sighed Velma Sigsbee. "It's a perfect shame to have the thing end so
unromantically."

"Hard to suit you youngsters," commented Jane. She had fully
divested herself of the trappings, and now stood aside while the
freshmen surveyed the wreck. Someone suggested getting up surprise
theatricals and bringing before the whole college the "ghosts of
Lenox," This was a fuse to the bomb of excitement, and presently the
roll was called, secrecy pledged, and a committee of arrangements
appointed. Prompt freshmen!

"Give Sally Howland a part," called out Ruth Lawrence. "She's just
suited for something angelic."

"We'll transpose Othello and sprinkle it with cherubs," said Nellie
Saunders, who had been made chairman of the cast. "But the one thing
to remember, girls, is secrecy," she announced loftily. "No one
outside of Lenox must know what the ghosts are, or anything about
the show."

"You'll find tons of stuff up there to fit out the entire
performance," Jane informed the excited students. "It seems to me
the things have been stored there for ages, and perhaps were the
remains of some very grand affair in the early history of
Wellington. Now, girls, are you fully satisfied the ghost is
annihilated?"

"Perfectly," spoke up Nellie. "And we just don't know how to thank
you juniors. Cheers, girls, for our rescuers."

They cheered with the freshmen's dirge.

"One, two, button my shoe; three, four, knock at the door" (they
knocked at everything).

"Five, six, pick up sticks" (wild grabs).

"Sticks, sticks, freshies can's mix."

"Rawr! rawr! freshies all sore" (moans and groans).

"Gore, sore, r-o-a-r" (and they roared)!

"Thanks," responded Jane when the roar died down, "and we're glad to
be initiated in your sorority. Have a lovely time and be sure to let
us know if you need help with the spook revue."

Dozia chimed in feebly and slipped out after Jane.

"They were actually disappointed," she remarked. "I believe they
hoped for real gore."

"To tell the truth," admitted Jane, "it did seem a bit commonplace
after all the symptoms. But I almost forgot the little note. Did you
ever yet meet a case in which the written word played no part? Where
did I put that piece of paper?"

"In your shoe?" suggested Dozia as Jane exhausted all other
possibilities.

"No, here it is in my sleeve. Sit down and we'll decipher it." They
dropped to the nearest bench and smoothed out the paper.

"It's part of a letter," said Dozia, "and written by a boy! Oh, joy,
now we will have some fun--a love letter!" and she pored over the
torn page.

"Neither the beginning nor the end," said Jane, "but the climax."
She read: "'You are a brick if not a wizard, and oh, boy! how that
two hundred dollar check did look to me!'"

"Two hundred!" Dozia repeated. "No girl around these diggings ever
handled that tidy little sum. Read on, Jane, it may be a will or
something, and we may come in for a share--reward, you know."

"Here's our clue," announced Jane. "The name Shirley! Read that."
She did so herself. "'Shirley, however did you do it, I know you
neither stole nor borrowed, so it is all right and'--wait,"
interposed Jane, "that's torn." She lay the paper on her knees and
fitted in the damaged parts. "Here it is. 'I'm back in college and
in the big dorm, after the scare, and it's wonderful to have a
little sis like you.'"

"Sis!" groaned Dozia. "The lover's only a big brother!" She slumped
in her seat dejectedly.

"Shirley's brother," reasoned Jane, "and we have been blaming that
girl! She helped her brother to get back to college!" The voice
reeked with dismay and incredulity.

"Can you imagine college running in her family?" questioned Dozia
the incredulous.

"I suppose we should hardly have read the letter--"

"Why not? Should we have risked our precious lives up in that attic
and then turned down this important clue? Indeed I'm all for asking
Shirley to introduce me," and Dozia strutted off to show her height
if not to display the "runs" in her hose and the "threadbares" in
her sweater elbows.

"But it does sort of take one down," mused Jane, following her
companion toward Warburton Hall. "I hate to feel I have so misjudged
Shirley."

"Pure personal pride on your part, Jane. I have proof positive of
the girl's perfidy. Every single day I must paste anew the paper
decoration that hides her work. I mean that crack in my mirror. More
than once it has done dreadful things to my poor face. If I move
just one inch to the left the crack gashes my right cheek. You know
how a glass reflects. But this brother. May I see the paper, Jane?
His name might be between the lines."

"Oh, it's Ted," said Jane innocently. "See the signature here, but
no address, of course. And from that immature hand, Doze, I am sure
Ted is a junior."

"But, Jane!" almost gasped Dozia. "What can you do with that letter?
It would be positively dangerous to let Shirley know you found it.
It would mean, logically, that she rang the ghost chains, and that
you knew she had helped her brother financially." All the nonsense
had now died out of Dozia's voice, and she compelled Jane to stand
while she proclaimed this ultimatum.

"But how could she get up there, Dozia, when we know positively she
was not on the campus the night of the big alarm?"

"And little Sarah is innocent, I am sure," went on Dozia, "for she
handled that trash with an interest too keen for previous
acquaintance with the stuff. Each piece gave her a little spasm of
surprise. I watched just how it affected her."

"Queer, I noticed that also," said Jane. "Yes, I'm sure she never
saw the armor before. But Shirley is never around in any excitement.
I am afraid she spends a lot of time in Dol Vin's."

"But how could she ever get two hundred dollars for brother Ted?"

"I--wonder, Dozia, could she be in partnership with Dol?"

"She might, but wouldn't that mean an outlay?"

"Of course. There'll be little profit there--and two hundred!" The
amount was appalling to Jane's practical mind.

Voices broke in on the soliloquy.

"Here come the girls from their ride, and what a shame you didn't
go, Jane. Laying a ghost is all right, but if I rode a horse as you
do, I'd assign the ghosts to others. 'Lo, girls! Break your necks or
anything?" chirped Dozia.

Judith hurried to gain Jane's arm and squeezed it affectionately as
she fell in step.

"Such a glorious ride, Jane!" enthused Judith, "and we all missed
you so much. Firefly was good, but he knew you were not on his
back." Judith looked "nobby" in her riding togs.

"And whom do you think we saw out with a stable horse and
instructor?" asked Janet Clarke. "The Rebel Shirley Duncan! And you
know, Jane, what a price Clayton asks for his horses."

Jane was amazed. A riding instructor, horse and hired outfit for
Shirley Duncan!

What was the secret spring of her prodigious income?

CHAPTER XVIII

FATEFUL FROLIC

Excitement subsided with a thud at the discovery of the cast-iron
ghost, and for some days a round of studies and basketball
completely absorbed the girls of Wellington. Whatever the restless
freshmen had in hand was not evident to the other classes, and only
Jane, Judith and Dozia shared the interest, and possible anxiety,
following the clues and suspicions in the undertow.

"It's a dreadful thing to be proud," confessed Jane to these
companions after a rather too vigorous hour in the gym on Saturday
afternoon. "Somehow, when I think of my own darling daddy's
scholarship being dragged in the mud this way, I feel--dangerous."

"Don't blame you," acquiesced Judith. "The very impudence of a girl
like Shirley breaking into college that way, then boasting she
doesn't care a whang what happens! What do you suppose WILL happen
at mid-year?"

"A neat little note, 'unable to keep up with her class,' I suppose,"
said Jane. "And while I don't wish that girl any more harm than
she's bent on, I am bound to confess I would sigh in relief at her
departure."

"But that lovely brother Ted," mourned Dozia. Judith had been made
fully acquainted with the fragmentary letter recovered in the ghost
raid.

"That would be hard," agreed Judith.

"And I'm sure there's a sweet little mother--but we saw the mother!"
Jane broke off suddenly. "How incongruous that those two country
folks should have a son at college like our Ted!"

"Our Ted," echoed Judith, allowing her head to droop on Jane's
shoulder impressively.

"Awful!" moaned Judith.

"Turrible," groaned Dozia.

They were walking leisurely up from the gym, and the clouds of young
Winter wrapt the gay sunset in fleecy blankets, while capering elves
picked up every frightened little leaf and tossed it cruelly from
its hiding place.

"It seems to me," said Jane, influenced by the spirit of her
surroundings, "that this year has been rather unsatisfactory. Not
that I want to shine by the reflected glory of dad's winner, but it
would be consistent to have the scholarship always won by good
students."

"Rather a jolt," agreed Judith, "to have the romp come in on merit
when she can't prove it. It really looks like a trick somewhere,
Jane."

"But the exams are very severe and I've seen the report. Nothing
'foohey' about that. Yes, I have known girls to sail along
beautifully in school and flunk everything in college. It really can
be done."

"But two hundred dollars can't be done that way," Dozia interposed,
"and no one seems to be missing her change purse."

"Beyond me," Jane owned up, "and I've almost ceased to wonder about
the dumb-waiter tenant. Wish you would agree to my ascent in that
car, Judith."

"Yes, you want a party to your folly. You don't feel free to break
your pretty neck without fastening the crime on poor Judy Stearns.
No, Jane, dear, you don't ride in that Ferris wheel while I'm your
side partner. You know scorpions are deadly and love dark corners.
Ugh! How could you think of going up in that beastly cage!"

"Don't get excited, dear, I have promised not to try it," acceded
Jane. "Although I have felt there might be some clue in the old
derrick. Don't go indoors yet, the air is--"

She stopped to watch two girls on horseback gallop along the bridle
path.

"Shirley Duncan and some stranger," exclaimed Judith. "And how they
are going--oh, mercy!"

"Oh, oh!" screamed all three, for at that moment both riders were
vainly trying to check their horses in a sudden dash down one of the
steepest grades, straight over a hill almost perpendicular in its
slope.

"The horses have left the path," breathed Jane, watching with
fascinated gaze the two mounts galloping down at a speed surely
disastrous. One, the taller girl, seemed to have some control, but
poor Shirley!

"Heavens!" screamed Judith, "she's gone!"

The horse had stumbled and its rider was rolling headlong down the
hill, while the frightened animal pawed the earth in a wild attempt
to regain its feet. The girls, terrified, started swiftly for the
spot, but even as they ran the unfortunate rider went over a sharper
turn and struck. Then--she lay in an inert heap against a jagged
rock! In a moment they were at her side.

"Her head!" exclaimed Jane, frightened at the deathly face she now
stared down at.

"Can we carry her? This is so far from a building," gasped Judith.
"Oh, Jane, see the blood!"

"I can easily carry her," answered Dozia quickly. "Let me pick her
up, and take her or my shoulder."

"Wait," Jane cautioned. "It might be dangerous. We must stretch her
out flat so that her head is down. There, she may soon regain
consciousness. I wonder if one of us should run up to Madison?"

"I'll go," volunteered Judith, evidently glad to escape from the
horror of the scene. "See, the other rider is still galloping! She
can't stop her horse. Oh, how terrible if the runaway gets out among
the autos."

"Hurry, Judith," Jane begged. "Have them bring a stretcher. I am
sure we shouldn't lift her head; her face is bloodless."

"She appears to be recovering," Dozia whispered. "Poor Shirley! How
dreadful that this should happen!"

"If only she lives," moaned Jane, contrition in voice. Somehow it
was unbearable that this country girl had been so severely censored
by Jane and her companions. As she lay there, all the horrors of her
unhappy school days seemed to fly up and strike Jane in a charge of
bitterness.

"I'm sure she is only stunned," Dozia said consolingly. "See, Jane,
there is a tiny streak of color coming. She will soon react."

Yes, the pallor was melting into a film more lifelike, but the heavy
eyelids looked so deathly! How awful to gaze upon that mockery of
death-complete unconsciousness'.

"Her horse is walking off quietly, Jane," again Dozia spoke. "I
believe the animal is wise enough to know he should not go without
his rider."

Even the riderless horse, with his solemn clip-clapping, echoed a
terrifying note to the scene. It was all so appalling.

"Shirley! Shirley!" whispered Jane, close to the ear of the stricken
girl.

Then "Shirley?" repeated the blue lips in a questioning answer.
"Where? Oh, my head!" and a spasm of pain struck across the white
face.

"You are all right, Shirley, dear," Jane comforted, relief in her
voice. "You just fell from your horse. Lie still until we can take
you to the infirmary. Do you feel a little better?" How wonderful to
hear the stricken girl speak again!

"The awful noise in my ears!" she gasped. "Like a torrent rushing--"

"That's only the returning circulation," said Dozia in the same
quiet monotone Jane had used.

What a relief! To know her mind was clear! And the blood streak on
her neck seemed now only from surface scratches--the briars had torn
her flesh cruelly as she dashed down that hill.

Over the same hill, but not by the same route, could now be seen the
stretcher bearers. With four seniors were also Miss Rutledge, the
dean, and Miss Fairlie, the matron of Madison. They were hurrying
and silent, only the light tread of crackling leaves on the bridle
path accompanying the grave little procession.

Jane and Dozia were chafing Shirley's hands. At the approach of the
litter they stood waiting to lift with gentle hands the prostrate
girl. It seemed so strangely pathetic: the big country girl in that
gay riding habit, the glaring red coat such a contrast now to the
helpless wearer. Her little velvet jockey cap still held on with its
chin strap, and the new chamois gloves hiding her untamed hands were
so strikingly new!

Few words were spoken as the rescuers met. Miss Rutledge gave quiet
orders and these were carried out with intelligent care. Finally
Shirley was on the canvas stretcher, and Jane was holding a
restorative close to her nostrils.

"There, dear. It's all done and you won't move another bit now to
hurt your head. See how steadily the girls carry you?"

Dozia held one hand opposite Jane's side and the older students
moved, over the uncertain hill, tense and powerful against a
possible jolt or jarring movement of the patient. Once down on the
path the task was less difficult, and as the corps turned back to
take the path from the gateway into the grounds again, Shirley's
horse, standing by the post, whinnied after them. No one spoke, but
Shirley put a gloved hand over her strained eyes, and it was plain
she feared even the sound of the faithful animal's call to her.

At the infirmary Dr. Pawley was waiting, and quickly as they reached
the big white room the students were dismissed, while he and his
nurse took charge.

"Judy," Jane gulped, but before they could reach a secluded spot her
tense nerves gave way.

"Judy! Judy!" she cried. "Why didn't we try to save her from those
reckless strangers? Why didn't we beg her to give up the company of
Dolorez Vincez?"

"But we did, Janie. We tried every possible way," consoled Judith.
"This accident could happen to anyone--to a skilled rider as well as
to a beginner. Besides--she will be all right. See how quickly she
became fully conscious!"

"But to think--" Jane's words were lost in choking sobs, and for the
first time Judith saw what genuine grief could do to sunny little
Jane Allen.

Wisely her companion allowed the storm to beat itself out. That sort
of hysteria is always best spent unchecked, and Judith Stearns
merely stroked the red gold head that had buried itself in her lap,
while the shoulders pulsed and throbbed under Jane's continuous
sobbing. At last she raised her head and smiled piteously.

"I feel better," she said. "It's awful to have that sort of thing
clutch at one's throat. Now my weakness has passed, let us see if
there is anything wanted. Hereafter I shall not trust dad's
scholarship girl to strangers' handling." And she meant every word
she said.

Quickly the news of the accident spread, and gust as quickly came
the keen suspense and wave of suppressed excitement. Rumors were
whispered: first that the victim was in danger of death, next that
her injuries were not serious, until even the most sensational among
the many pupils realized the importance of withholding their
opinions.

Hushed voices around that part of college where the infirmary was
situated bespoke an active sympathy, and the weight of oppression
that comes with dread had suddenly changed the whole atmosphere into
a cloud of gloom.

Dear, thoughtless, headstrong Shirley!

CHAPTER XIX

THE MIRACLE

The days of watching and anxiety that followed the accident left no
time for the lesser interests among Shirley's group at Wellington.
For that awful uncertain period there was grave danger of brain
concussion, and in the fear of that it must be said every girl in
Lenox, besides many outside the freshmen's quarters, showed their
loyalty to the untamed country girl. No messages could be sent, no
flowers even allowed to attest to their kindness, as in the critical
time absolute solitude was imperative. Then, like a flash of that
robust country vitality, the patient rallied and all danger was
pronounced past.

One particular, however, caused Jane keen annoyance. All messages to
Shirley's folks had been passed out through Dolorez Vincez, who
claimed to be a personal friend of the family. Not even a mother
would have been allowed to see the patient, and as Shirley begged
that this plan of Dolorez' agency be carried out, no objection was
made to it by the very much alarmed dean, Miss Rutledge.

Another puzzling detail was the fact that Sarah Howland begged Jane
not to interfere with these arrangements, as any such interference
would undoubtedly shock the stricken girl, she argued. Sally and
Jane had just left Lenox and were discussing these details.

"And I'm so glad now," breathed Sally in her entreaty to Jane, "that
you listened to me and did not report that matter to Miss Rutledge."

"So am I," said Jane in bewilderment. "I am glad of anything I may
have done to make her path smoother here. I can't see why Dolorez
should step in at this critical moment, though, but I do know she
took Shirley's folks around when they were here, and as you say,
Sally, to suddenly change the whole line of communication with her
family might not only shock Shirley, but also terrify her folks.
What a relief that she is now out of danger!"

"I felt like running away at first," confessed Sally, "it was so
terrifying. But I realized I might be the very one most wanted here-
-if anything serious should happen."

Jane cast a quick inquiring glance at the younger girl following
that statement, but was not rewarded by a further gleam of
confidence.

"I'm afraid I have neglected her," said Jane, "and I mean to make
amends. The juniors usually help backward freshmen, but Shirley
seemed to resent my attempts even at friendship."

"Miss Allen," said Sarah in a compelling voice, "you may not know it
but--that girl is gifted at mathematics. She can solve the most
difficult problems and is always ahead at geometry and trig. Other
studies seem to confuse her, and she just laughs at the languages,
but she's a perfect gem at math."

"Is that so? I'm so glad!" exclaimed Jane, "for if she is capable at
math she ought to pull through her other work. How strange I never
heard anyone mention her talent?"

Sally shook her head and smiled. "She is so odd and defiant, but
under it all I believe the girl is just a big-hearted, untamed
creature. That is why, Miss Allen, I have kept as near to her as she
would allow me to come. She is too honest even to affect changes."

"Capable at math?" Jane repeated, trying to believe it. "I am so
glad, Sally. I can't tell you what it means to me that this student
is not wholly--dull."

"I can guess," replied Sally simply, and Jane wondered then if she
knew about the scholarship.

"Why did the girls abandon their plans for the ghost show?" asked
Jane suddenly. "I thought they were all so keen about it."

"Perhaps I am to blame," faltered Sally timidly. "But you see, Miss
Allen--well, there was a complication there--and--" she stumbled
piteously. Jane tried to rescue her.

"But it would only have been a lark, and the freshmen have had no
Barnstorm this season!"

"I know," said Sally helplessly, "but Shirley was so sick and--we
have given the idea up."

Jane had to be content with that, but the veiled explanation only
whetted her curiosity.

Few accidents were recorded in Wellington's history, and the mishap
of Shirley ran its course in intense interest. Then presently the
patient was again defending herself just as before, scorning even
the humblest sympathy offered.

"Served me right," she insisted, talking to Sally. "I know how to
ride and can handle any old farm horse that ever pulled a plough,
but I want my hands free and my horse must be unchecked. Stylish
togs, gloves, saddles and trappings get in my way, and that hill!"

So the accident had served as a lesson, and the fallen pride was not
wasted in its effect upon the ambitious equestrian.

Thanksgiving had passed with few of the girls leaving college, as
special permission was required for that privilege, and now the
holiday season was imminent. Even basketball had lost some of its
power to enthuse, and the fact that Shirley was not considered well
enough to go into the rough game, and also that Sally Howland was
too small and light to be eligible, served to lessen the interest of
Jane and Judith in the personnel of the teams, for as juniors in a
second extension year they felt a little too grown up to go
themselves generally into the big games.

Jane was chosen and acted as referee, and Judith was forced to play
center in the Breslin game, but even winning over the neighboring
academy somehow had lost its thrill. Golf was the popular game now
with Jane, Judith, Dozia and Janet Clarke; Ted Guthrie, too, toddled
around the links, and golf permitted such opportunities for
confidences and was so independent of stated hours and limits of
endurance that time was given on the course to talk many things
over.

The girls had covered the frosted field and were returning before
the first period of study, and that magic beautifier, the air of
early morning, left little undone in his art of tone and tonic for
Jane and Judith, when they dropped their bags and hurried to the
day's tasks in mental exploits,

"This very afternoon I am going to talk with Shirley," Jane decided.
"And wouldn't it be wonderful, Judy, if she turned out worth while
after all?"

"No, it wouldn't," glowered Judith. "Any girl who can be as sick as
she was and not have her brother Ted come to see her--well, my
interest lags at that point and I don't intend to 'rouse it."

"I still have that letter," Jane reflected. "Never seem to get a
chance to turn it in. And I didn't want to destroy it."

"Give it to me, Janie, do," teased Judith. "Next to knowing the
darling Ted, having his letter in installments might serve. Tonight
we'll read it over again. It seems so long since we found it with
the ghost."

"Doesn't it? And even the play was given up when Shirley was
stricken."

"But they used the armor the other night in their pageant," said
Judith, "and everyone thought it wonderful. What a shame they
expunged the ghost story."

"Freshmen are so unreliable," sagely commented Jane. "But I'm afraid
outside influence spoiled the plot for the spook tragedy. I hope my
things come today for the prom. I feel rather in need of a first
class time under the beneficent influence of a real orchestra and
prudently shaded lights."

"Me, too," agreed Judith promptly if inelegantly.

So the gay season advanced apace, and it was soon one round of
trying on gowns and fussing with sample hair dressing in all the
"dorms" of Wellington. For the one big function known simply as The
Dance all students were eligible, and it was just in advance of this
that Shirley "broke loose."

She openly and unqualifiedly "cut loose" from Dol Vin's
"interference," as she called it.

"I'm through with her," she told her companions; but it was to Sally
she confided the details.

The girls had been planning their dance costumes and Sally was
insisting she did not care to go to the dance, when Shirley took
another spasm of revolt. She would never again go into that hateful
place, she declared, and more than that, she threatened exposure to
the beauty shop methods if its proprietor did not soon return some
of the "loans" long over due to her (Shirley).

"Kitten," she exploded without warning, "I've had my lesson. Do you
know that Dol Vin is actually sending bills to my innocent dad for
her entertainment of the country folks? Imagine all she's begged and
borrowed from me to meet 'emergencies' in her business, and then to
ask my dad to pay her dinner bills! Of course she thinks I'm
helpless, and that she has me in her power, but I am not such a
'greenie' now. And we will both be free soon!"

The deep-set eyes took on a look more confident than defiant, and
even "Kitten" did not fail to observe a marked improvement in the
speaker's manner and appearance.

Shirley was powerful and forceful, with that unruly aggressiveness
conspicuous in young children, when the weakness is classified as
"having their own way" before twelve years, and as "being capable"
after that--the latter faculty true fruit of the former germ. So it
was with this country girl; her very crimes were molding into
virtues, and that again proves a world old philosophy.

"Your hair is very becoming that way," ventured the blonde Sally,
whose own hair was always a most exacting halo--Sally had to live up
to it. "And you don't mind being called Bobbie?"

"I like it," answered Shirley. "I suppose you know what a time I had
to get the wig back to hair after the treatment. I am positive that
east side French woman was trying an experiment on my poor head. But
among other things the accident did for me, it gave my hair a chance
to shoot." She ran her long fingers through the rather stubby growth
that had taken on a decided unruliness in splendid imitation of
curl. "You see it was rubbed every day, and that charitable nurse
rubbed curl right in it. I just love it and wouldn't interfere with
it for anything. Curling hair artificially, I know, simply makes it
cranky."

"Yes, spoils its temper and breaks its character. Just like twisting
a tender vine and forcing it to turn away from its chosen paths. How
are you getting on with your cramming? Can I help you?" asked Sally,
diverging suddenly.

"Hopeless," replied the other. "I don't believe I'll wait to face
the music."

"Oh, you must, Miss Allen is so interested----"

"That's the hard part of it now. I can't face Miss Allen. She's such
a good sport." The bobbed brown head was suddenly dropped into her
cupped hands reflectively. "You see, at first, Kitten, I was just a
rebel; satisfied to get in here and to have the name of it. Then,
these girls whom I so despised were so fine to me," again the look
of dejection, "and, girlie, when I lay on my back at the foot of
that hill and Jane Allen whispered 'Shirley' into my buzzing ears--
it did something to me." Her companion allowed the pause to act
without venturing to interrupt it. It was the working of the
miracle!  "Yes, and she meant it, too," went on Shirley
reflectively. "No silly stuff just because she feared I was done
for. She and big, brown-freckled Dozia just seemed to drag me back
to earth, while the other!" her eyes blazed. "Do you know why I have
never spoken of my companion on that hateful ride?"

"No--I've wondered?"

"I've been ashamed to," declared Shirley, "and thankful the juniors
who helped me did not torture me with questions. Well--she was that
foreign element with a name like a crocheted alphabet and a face
like a week old Easter egg--running its colors, you know. Dol has
her down from New York to practice for the stage," this thought
revived Shirley's spirits and she gave a gay howl. "I can see why
she needs the woods to practice the yells she's cultivating," a foot
was kicked out at the thought. "But I'm through with them, Kitten,
but please don't think I've reformed," she gasped. "I despise
turncoats and--traitors."

Shirley wore an angora tarn, leaf green sweater and big plaid golf
skirt just then. No one in Wellington could have criticised her
outfit. Even her attire seemed benefited by the miracle.

"Bye-by, little sister," she addressed Sally. "This experience has
done something else for me other than opening my stupid eyes--it has
given me a real chum."

And she got away before Sally could answer.

CHAPTER XX

TOUCHSTONE

"Have you noticed, Judy," asked Jane, "what a miraculous improvement
is manifest in our two pet freshies? To wit: Sally and Shirley."

"Yes," snapped Judith, "and I've noticed something else. You are apt
to fall in love with the rebel."

Jane laughed. She was looking so lovely after a wild time in the
pool, and a girl who can look well after a swim is surely very
pretty. But Jane's hair loved the water, and a flash of sunshine
after it just whipped the little ringlets into flossy tangles. Then
her eyes always danced from excitement, and her agile form just
vibrated energy. Don't blame Jane for this description--it is given
through Judy's eyes, whose hair went stringy, whose eyes went
blinky, and who actually turned "goose flesh" from a pool swim in
December.

"No," said Jane, "I couldn't really love a girl who has been so
temperamental, but I could tolerate her, and that's a concession."

"If I don't rub down quickly I'm afraid these goose fleshings will
freeze into pebbles. I fee like a big stone as it is," said Judith,
shivering, chattering and turning bluer. "Wait for me in the run; I
want to talk to you."

The "run" was that part of the gym kept clear for free exercise and
was used especially by such students as demanded a substitute for
the "beach run in the sand" after swimming. Also, it gave space for
track work, although the open season for cross country runs was
rarely closed at Wellington.

Jane was dressed and out before Judith appeared. It was Saturday
again, a free day; free from study but simply crowded with other
contingencies. Students were knotted together, ready for basketball,
golf, handball and all other forms of exercise, not to omit the
dress rehearsal at dancing already well under way in a corner clear
of apparatus and ropes. Here girls were dreamily dancing who knew
how to dance well, while others were showing steps to companions and
comparing notes on new dances, as applied from various sections of
the country. What Boston had last year, Chicago was disclaiming as
too old; and again there was Maud Leslie from Jersey actually
teaching Nellie Saunders from Buffalo the Drop Step.

Inez Wilson was endangering her life and limb "toeing" and each time
she pirouetted on those toes, without the usual padding of the
oriental shaped supports, a perfect flock of other dancers slid from
danger of her avalanche.

"You'll skid, Ina!" yelled Nellie Brocton. "Besides, this dance
isn't going to be for soloists," and Nettie swung away with Janet,
crooning and humming to the imaginary orchestra.

Judith came out from the lockers, a challenge now to the effects of
her long swim. True, her hair was wispy, and every snap on her
blouse had not joined its partner, but taking her all in all Judith
Stearns "looked dandy" and said she felt just like that.

"I'm too lazy to run," she told Jane, "besides, my shoe laces would
trip me. I'm plenty warm and proof positive against getting cold.
Sit down while I tie my shoes."

"See Shirley and Sally practicing," remarked Jane indifferently.

"I don't want to!" retorted Judith. "Jane, I'm alarmed and I know
your sinister motive. You have heard Teddy is coming to the dance!"

"No!" gasped Jane, unable to hide her surprise.

"There, I knew you would take it that way. But be warned! Teddy is
to be my partner for as many dances as his sister can spare," and
Judith tucked a wad of shoestring in at her ankles as if the pocket
were in a commodious knitting bag instead of a tennis shoe.

"I hope he's fat and awkward and red headed and clumsy," snapped
Jane, tearing off the qualifications like coupons.

"And I know he's tall and graceful and has chestnut hair," fawned
Judith. "I've loved Ted from the moment I saw how he curls his cross
letters like a riding crop. That's always a sign of originality and
genius." There was a hint of strut in Judith's ordinarily graceful
motion, and tiny drops of pool water flicked her eyelashes
unnoticed. When Judith Stearns professed to "love a boy" she did so
heroically, though he be myth or just an ordinary "full back."

Jane made her way over to the dancers' corner. Shirley was howling
over her own failure at the Drop Step. She choked back her
uproariousness as Jane came along.

"Can't do it," she confessed. "Guess I shall have to stick to 'One
Steps.'"

"Every fault is an art at the big dance," said Jane. "It's the one
chance we have to stand by our home towns; we all seem to dance so
differently. But that's very good, Shirley. I wouldn't give it up if
you really want to get it. There's just a queer little knack this
way." She threw her arm around the novice and led her off. Judith
had condescended to follow Jane up and was now talking to Sally.

For the length of the "arena" Jane and Shirley struggled along,
chatting and smiling without restraint or self-consciousness. Girls
"made eyes" in criticism, but none ventured to shape their criticism
into words, for the rebel Shirley was doing pretty well in
everything these days, and why should not a junior take her up if
she wished to?

At the turn Shirley drew Jane aside from the dancers and said in an
undertone:

"Miss Allen, I do wish you could persuade little Kitten--I mean
Sally, to come to the dance. First, I was determined not to go and
she persuaded me. Then I found she herself had no idea of attending.
Of course it's always a question of clothes!"

"Surely we must insist on her coming," said Jane decisively. "But it
is awkward to get around clothes. You know her so well, can you
suggest a way?" Jane dared not hint that she would ask nothing
better than providing the dance dress for little Sally herself.

"She is so proud, and then lately she has had reverses," said
Shirley gently. "But if she doesn't go I simply won't. Nothing could
induce me to," and she flashed through with her old time defiance.

"But this one dance is counted the real get-together of the whole
year," argued Jane. "When a girl absents herself it usually sort of
disqualifies her for all the other affairs. Besides, it is really a
benefit and we do so need a new dormitory."

"If we could smuggle a box to her and pretend---Here she comes! I'll
think it over and come for advice if I may," said Shirley quickly.

Jane stepped back to the dancers' whirling rim. She was almost
deciding that the country girl was charming! But like the country
girl herself, Jane detested "reformers" and was unwilling to admit
that a change of heart is something wholesome and even commendable.
She knew naught of the miracle.

More puzzled than ever at Shirley's proposal that they "smuggle a
box to Sally," Jane became anxious lest Shirley might be getting
funds from some unusual, if not unlawful, source. The malicious
influence of Dol Vin was ever a disturbing factor to be reckoned
with, and as yet Jane had no way of knowing that the confidential
relation between the two freshmen and the beauty parlor proprietor
had been broken off.

Later that day Jane confided in Judith.

"What would I do if I had no Judy to tell my troubles to," she said
with a show of sincerity. "You may talk about new loves, but there
is, and only will be, one darling Judy."

"Don't kiss me," protested Judy, although Jane was on the other side
of the room and gave no hint of any such intention. "I can't bear
being babied--makes me homesick." Then she laughed and blew a
substitute over to Jane. "Have you seen my dance frock? I know Ted
will adore it. Even the box is pretty and has violets on the cover,"
she sniffed. "I'll try it on tonight--not the box--and make believe
you're Teddy."

"Judy, if some of the girls were to hear you rave that way they
might take it seriously----"

"And they would be perfectly justified in so doing," mocked Judith.

"Please hear me. I want to talk seriously and started off with such
a lovely preamble," interrupted Jane. "It's this way, Judy. Shirley
shows the earmarks of wealth, I mean money. Now, where does she get
it, and after that poor boy's letter?"

"If I only knew," pursued Judith, refusing to be serious. "How I'd
love two hundred!"

"Well, we have got to find out where it comes from," fired back
Jane, flushing with determination. "I am not going to be fooled by a
change in manner and an improvement in style. If beauty shop money
is beginning to flow in here it must be stopped."

"Bravo! We haven't had a real lively little scrap since the ghost
fell, and I'd love it."

"You may joke, Judith, but----"

"Calling me by my baptismal name settles it," said Judith, with
assumed finality. "I'll apologize, Jane Allen. What do you propose
to do, and when are you going to do it? May I act as your honorable
secretary?"

"Yes, come with me tonight and pay a visit at Lenox. I want to talk
Sally into going to the dance. The girls are so fond of her and she
happens to be one of our pets. I really don't know how it happens
but it has, and it would look shabby if we were to leave her out. So
she must come."

"Got to," agreed Judith. "She's so smart, every freshman is envious.
Did you hear Miss Roberts, the real Noah Webster of Wellington, rave
about her thesis?"

"Clever girls are so apt to cut dances," said Jane. "We must assume
the missionary spirit---" her voice trailed solemnly.

This was too much for the turbulent Judith, as Jane intended it
should be.

"I'll go, I'll go!" she cried out in protest. "Although I hate to
think of Teddy having to choose between me and daffodilly Sally;
still I'll go, Jane, to save you another spasm like that. Where's
the Logic? Do you suppose Ethics will be easier? Or perhaps worse--
likely worse," she was slamming book pages violently. "Now don't
speak to me for one half hour. Then do your worst."

But while Judith was studying Jane slipped out of the room
ostensibly for a breath of fresh air. All her chum's hilarity was
appreciated, but just now things were assuming a serious turn and
Jane felt some responsibility for the swing of the turntable.

"Judy's a dear, but she hasn't a daddy's scholarship to fight for,"
Jane told herself. "And the marked change in my rebellious Shirley
may only be a preliminary to another outbreak. I've just got to see
the girls before the lecture," and she flew from the inopportune
mirth of Judith Stearns.

Shirley and Sarah were together in Shirley's room--not at the foot
of the attic stairs now, but a tiny "nest" under the artistic eaves,
chosen for effect on the purse, as well as on the eye.

"I can't do it," Shirley was arguing, as Jane came to the door. "I
simply am through at mid-year."

Surprised at this statement, Jane knocked quickly to forestall
further disclosure. Both girls answered, and Jane found them glad--
even anxious to see her.

"You are both surely coming to the dance," she began, falling into
Sally's prettiest cushions. "I came over just to make sure."  "Oh,
Miss Allen," wavered Sally. "I can't go----"

"Now, Sally," Jane began, "please don't consider it is at all
ignoble to be financially embarrassed. In fact, more than half of
our girls are continually 'rationed,' as they call a cut in
allowance. And if it is only a matter of a pretty little flowered
gown----"

"No, that isn't it," interrupted Sally.

"The fact is, Miss Allen, we are both getting ready to--escape,"
said Shirley, with a double-edged laugh.

"Escape?"

"Go home and desert!"

Jane showed her astonishment. "You couldn't mean anything like
that!" she gasped. "Oh, you wouldn't be so disloyal!"

The girls looked at each other, puzzled, neither seeming to know
what might be best to reply. Finally Shirley said:

"You must know, Miss Allen, I am totally unprepared for exams, and I
see no reason why I should face them. I plan to stay home after the
Christmas vacation."

"Shirley!" exclaimed Jane. "If you ever knew my dad you wouldn't
treat him like that," her voice quavered with excitement. "He seems
to think more of the record of his scholarship girl than of his own
daughter's achievements. Oh, you can't mean you are going to cut!"

"Your daddy!" repeated Shirley. "I didn't suppose he cared a snap
for his--beneficiary."

"Beneficiary indeed! He called you a very different name. He is a
great, big western man, with a heart as fine as the hills and a soul
as true as their granite." Jane did not pause to note the effect of
her words, although Shirley was almost gasping. "He has what some
might call a deep personal interest in the girl he sponsors at
Wellington, but it's more than interest," she was almost breathless,
"it's affection; my dad just naturally loves the girl he sends here,
and if she fails him utterly---"

"Stop! Miss Allen, please do," Shirley entreated. Her face was
flushed and her breathing plainly audible. "I had no idea it was
like that. Your dad would care? And I would be a coward?"

Sally stood like one shocked into deadly silence. Not even her lips
parted, and the color left her face sickly white.

"Don't you know, don't you understand what it means for a student to
deliberately flunk? Not even to try?" demanded Jane.

"Bobbie!" said Sally to the big girl who was trying to find words.
"We have got to try--you cannot--go."

Then Jane knew why the girls had been calling Shirley Bobbie. It was
her companion's affectionate name for her.

"Yes, Kitten," Shirley said. "We have got to, but now, how can we do
it?"

The situation was becoming more difficult each moment, and when
presently Jane Allen left the two freshmen, she had taken on the
weight of a new mystery.

Those girls were in a conspiracy to desert before exams. Why?

CHAPTER XXI

CRAMMING EVENTS

"Now, what can we do? However are we going to get out of this?"
Sally asked Shirley. They seemed desperate.

"I don't know. How differently things have turned out from our
expectations? I wouldn't mind anything but that darling dad of
Jane's. The thought sickens me," and the bobbed head drooped
dejectedly.

"But I am more at fault than you," sobbed Sally. "I feel like
running away from everything."

"So do I, but we neither will do it. That's the trouble with
reformation. I told you I should hate to be reformed--it tags on so
many responsibilities. But we are both in for it. And the dance and
Ted wanting to come!"

"Yes, isn't it just dreadful? What shall we do?"

"He has got to come, of course. Couldn't disappoint that boy. Oh,
I'll tell you, Kitten! Let's write and tell him he must play cousin
to both of us. We'll give him a name, say Teddy Barrett, and then
all the girls will be crazy about him, and he will be sure to go in
for a lark!"

"That might do," agreed Sally. "It would seem cruel to keep him
away. But how about our mail? We can't have it come to Dol's box any
more."

"Don't want to; won't have anything to do with her," snapped
Shirley. "I have a box of our own, and don't see why we didn't think
of it before. She is writing me all sorts of apologies, of course,
just wants more money, but I know now we might have done this whole
thing differently if it had not been for her interference. It was
she who scared us so of Jane Allen and her friends. And they would
have been such a help if I had not been--so mulish."

"Never mind," Sally tried to console her. "We could not possibly
foresee--although I should like to foresee how to get out of it all
without scandalizing Jane."

"Trust one step to lead to the next," said Shirley, and that sounded
like a proverb of Jane's. (Queer how much Jane and Shirley were
alike fundamentally.) "Write to Ted and we'll have one 'whale' of a
time at the dance."

"But I haven't decided to go?"

"Oh, yes, you have, Kitten. Wait until you see the old fairy
godmother unload her pumpkin. Or did she carry the dress on a
broomstick? I forget the details. At any rate, while I'm thinking of
a way to appease the wrath of Jane's father by not dishonoring his
scholarship, it is the very least you can do to get ready for the
dance. I know where you can hire a love of a dress--lots of girls do
it--" as Sally drew up a little, "and it only costs five dollars.
Let me give you that for Christmas. Write your letter, or shall I do
it? Bamboozle Ted until he won't even guess our real meaning, but
insist we are his cousins, with first names only."

"But he would have to introduce us to his boy friends?" objected
Sally.

"Well, that's all right. He can do that and we'll just tell him we
are playing a joke. College boys adore jokes, don't they?"

"Pretty much of a muddle, but I'll try it," assented Sally finally.
"And I suppose I could spare that five dollars."

"I can at any rate. And did you see Miss Allen stare when you called
me Bobbie?"

"Yes, but many of the girls have taken that up. It goes so well with
your bobbed hair. Don't mind do you?"

"Not a bit. Call me Pickles if you like--that would go well with my
disposition." Shirley was hurriedly gathering up books and papers
from the little table both girls used as a desk in Sally's room
under the eaves. "Do you realize we have spent one hour talking?
It's all very well for you, Kitten; you can have a recitation
prepared or write a theme as easily as I can fail. If I had your
talent I would never leave this college without an A.B.," she
declared emphatically.

"I wonder, Bobbie, did we make a gigantic mistake. If we had not
been so influenced by Dol Vin's idea, perhaps we might have managed
some way without all that hateful pretense. I can't help blaming
myself dreadfully. And to think Miss Allen is so kind without being
patronizing---"

"Look here, Kit," demanded Shirley. "I know YOU could have come here
without that plan, but what could have put ME through? Nothing but
the scholarship. So please don't be getting morbid. We may have been
foolish, but we did what seemed right, and Dol Vin was a mighty
convincing friend, I'll admit. The question now is the dance, then
Ted, and then--I don't know, maybe I'll escape in the night," and
the old time rebel spirit danced in the sharp, dark eyes.

Sally piled up her notes and followed Shirley out to recitation. It
was not easy now to finish the task which at first seemed almost
alluring. It was like trying to uproot some gentle affection to plan
to actually leave Wellington.

The girls' secret was spreading poisonous tendrils over every other
act and thought; nothing now seemed untouched by that malicious
deception, and the very crisis now imminent--was ugly! And this was
what both had planned and worked for--to leave Wellington at
midyear?

They had not reckoned on the power of girls' love for girls, and of
education's influence on sentiment.

Sally Howland had been steeling herself against "growing fond of
things" and that very repression made her its victim; Shirley Duncan
defied these conditions and was punished with a "true case" of the
epidemic called Environment. So that both now seemed all but
helpless at the crisis.

A day or two before the dance, when arrangements were running as
smoothly as the little lake that dripped through the big grounds of
Wellington, a general hike was planned. Each department, freshmen,
sophs, juniors and seniors, arranging to go out tramping over the
wonderful hills of upper New York state, touching quarries, testing
rocks, hunting nuts and cramming into the one pre-holiday jaunt such
various needs of outdoor work as were found in the studies then
being under test in all grades and classes.

Thus far it was an open winter; no snow, flurries failing miserably
to do more than make the air look pretty for a few minutes, and even
brooks had kept up their rippling music, chattering away over rock
and rill, blissfully unconscious that Winter's deathly breath must
soon paralyze every little vein and artery into a rigid, frozen
crystal surface.

The December hike was a fixture at Wellington, and as many of the
faculty as could do so went with the classes, to urge, to inspire,
to prompt and to supervise; not to omit the more enjoyable function
of chumming with the students. Troopers they all were, dressed in
imitation of the Girl Scouts as far as khaki went around, the others
sporting golf togs and carrying water bottles or even "grub" in the
convenient golf bags slung over sturdy young shoulders.

No need to dwell on the glories of that day, for a hike on paper
carries little sport and usually less material of vital interest. A
hike must be "hiked" to be real, the "grub" must be munched by the
side of a stream, and the wild things venturing out for crumbs must
be "seen to be appreciated," as the "ad" says; so that it would seem
unreal to attempt to put into words the glories of a day in the
woods with the Wellingtons.

What if Ted Guthrie, the fat, funny, facetious Ted, did slide down a
hill and take most of the hill with her? or if Nettie Brocton
climbing a tree for dogwood berries attempted to fly by the merest
accident? She had no choice but to drop into an ugly hole otherwise,
so she spread out and gave a flying leap to the side of safety and
made it. No one tried to keep track of "Bobbie," as the country girl
was now popularly known, for she ran, climbed, crawled and burrowed,
until Jane and Judith had cause to step lively indeed to keep up
with her. Jane, accustomed to the great fastnesses of the Northwest
around her Montana home, fairly glowed with the spirit of contest,
and being Jane it must ultimately be set down that Bobbie lost a
point or two in the final scoring.

What a day and what scratches, bruises and blisters recorded it!

"No bones broken!" was the guide's slogan, and they were well
satisfied to have the precept fulfilled without undue court plaster.

Coming home the gay groups fell into their usual lines, and
separated into such little parties as suited best the confidences of
their members.

Ted Guthrie chose to take a ride in the big car of Temple Gaitley,
the sponsor of Wellington who lived at its gates and shared her
prosperity with any student worthy of the name. Ted would rather
ride than walk, after her sliding tournament, and along with her
there piled into the car as many foot-sore hikers as the big open
car could possibly hold, stretching the word at that.

It was almost evening, the day turned so quickly, when Jane, Judith,
Dozia and the two freshmen, Sally and Shirley, cut across the golf
links to touch town for some drug store supplies, before going into
the college grounds.

The little village always seemed kindly at this hour, for folks
going home from work formed its chief feature of public interest,
and the tan bark streets were now being fairly well utilized.

"I'll get some stamps," said Shirley, "while you girls hunt for your
soaps. Let's round this corner---" She stopped short, for as they
cut suddenly from the side street into the main avenue they almost
stumbled into a crowd!

"What's up?" asked Shirley tritely.

"An arrest," answered a man pushing his bicycle. "And I guess old
Sandy ain't made no mistake this time. He's caught the banshee!"

"Yes, sir," snapped an overgrown boy. "That's what she is. Keepin'
folks awake howlin'!"

Sally clutched Shirley's arm. "See, it's Dol's friend, the actress!"

"Sure enough, the foreign element with a name like crocheting," said
Shirley. "I always knew she would come to grief with that howling.
Girls!" to Jane and the others. "Could we go to the Town Hall and
find out what happens? That's the ghost of Lenox Hall, the woman who
screamed at midnight."

Too astonished to offer comment the girls drifted along with the
crowd, and a break in the ranks afforded just a glimpse of Officer
Sandy with a very tall, fancifully dressed, but very much disheveled
prisoner. She walked along with the officer as if he might have been
a creature of a lower order of creation, but as the boys said,
"Sandy did have her goin'."

And she was the "foreign element," the obnoxious visitor at the
beauty shop, who was so sorely and fatally stage struck that she had
seriously disturbed the peace of decorous little Bingham!

"She would yell right out in the night, like a hoot owl only
fiercer!" insisted one of her followers. "And she ain't safe to be
loose with a habit like that."

"Defyin' the law and disturbin' the peace," growled Sandy. "I've had
a warrant for that noise ever since it scared old Mrs. Miner into
fits and she was took to the horspittal on account of it."

"City folks is all right in their place," squeaked a thin little
woman, one of the very few women in that crowd, "but if that kind is
allowed to run wild over our quiet home towns, I say what is Bingham
comin' to?" Queer noises without words gave answer.

The Wellingtons, with other followers, were now almost in front of
the Town Hall, when the victim of this country prejudice espied
Shirley.

"There is someone who knows me!" she cried out. "Ask that young lady
and she'll tell you I'm a legitimate actress, and that I came out
here to have room to practice!"

Shirley "ducked," as Judith put it, but Sally, more sympathetic,
offered to interfere.

"Don't," begged Jane. "We were at this court only a short time ago.
We don't want to wear out our welcome. Come along, girls; I, as
junior, am responsible for getting you back on time. Come along."

"Yes," said Shirley bitterly. "Do come along, girls. That's about
the way this lady left me when my horse threw me off on the hill.
She was not anxious about me then and I guess she isn't as much in
danger now as I was at that time," and when Officer Sandy piloted
his charge in before the recorder, the doors were closed and the
hearing was made private.

CHAPTER XXII

STARTLING DISCLOSURES

Once more Shirley had the center of the stage--a position she loved
when it entailed the telling of a thrilling story. And at last the
ghost story "was ripe," as Jane expressed it.

"Tell us," she demanded, without regard for the race to college
during the telling, "who is that woman and what do you mean by
calling her the ghost."

"She's an actress," declared Shirley, "that is, she thinks she is,
and she has lots of money and a poor head for managing it. In fact,
I have always thought her erratic. You see," went on Shirley,
supporting herself by "linking" into the accommodating arms
extended, "Dol Vin fetched her out here from the city so that she
could practice her howling. She was cast for a part with a wild
scream in it, and every time she attempted to practice someone
interfered, the police usually."

"No wonder," interrupted Jane. "Why couldn't she stick to the
theater for rehearsing?"

"Her own idea," went on Shirley, importance of the occasion echoing
in her tone. "She wanted to get it down pat and startle her manager
into starring her. It seems a great deal depended on that frightful
scream and she kept at it every chance she got." Here the girls
threatened to outdo the "lady of the scream," but rough walking
checked the attempts. They also realized her fate.

"But how did she get the chance to go up in Lenox attic?" asked
Dozia when her voice could be heard. "As I suppose it was she who
ripped out that terrifying yell---"

"That I rang the fire bell to cover," put in Sally gleefully.

"And that the fire department wanted to turn the hose on," chimed in
Judith.

"Now let me tell it," demanded Shirley.

"Please do," insisted Jane.

"Well, she had more than a scream to put in her important part, so
she said! She had also to do some wild acting and Dol Vin is
responsible for the idea of Madam Zwachevsky---"

"Oh, spare us," cried Jane. "That sounds like an epidemic."

"It's the name she wastes ink on, but I will spare you girls.
Hereafter she shall be Madam Z," agreed Shirley.

"Oh, hurry! Shirley," entreated Dozia. "Here we are at the Cedars,
and we never could wait for the rest of that story until after
supper."

"I'll rush it through, but Sally, do stop pinching me," she teased,
just to make Sally run on ahead in contradiction. "Well, Dol Vin
didn't want that racket around her shop, so I suppose she told Madam
Z to try it on Lenox," continued the raconteur. "They both insisted
it would be a wonderful hazing stunt, and that no college freshman's
life was complete without a lively ghost scare. I didn't think it
would be more than a lot of fun, so I promised not to tell,"
admitted Shirley.

They were at the very gate now where the girls had no choice but to
separate in preparation for the evening meal, but it was wonderful
how quickly the food was disposed of and how soon they were back
again in Jane's room for the conclusion of the ghost story.

Jane and Judith could not but notice satisfaction glowing in the
freshmen's manner when they were invited into the junior's room.
This had been one of Shirley's ambitions, and she did not hide her
pleasure at its fulfillment. And if she and Sally felt any qualms of
conscience for their own small part in the tragedy of Madam Zeit was
entirely covered by the eagerness with which the girls hailed the
recital.

"We both insisted at first that she should not dare come on the
campus---" began Sally.

"Now, Kitten, I'll take all the blame," interrupted Bobbie. "Land
knows, you made fuss enough. Cried---"

"Oh please---"

"Well, you did," insisted Bobbie, "even went into hysterics. But I
thought it would be a lark, although really I had no idea the
creature would ever find her way up there. I don't see how she did.
We had no part in her getting in," she explained eagerly.

"Dol Vin knew all about the attic," declared Janet Clarke. "She was
always prowling about there for theatrical stuff; don't you
remember, Jane, how she frightened the girls one night with some
foolish prank when she was dressed like a bear or something worse?"

"Oh, yes, of course I do," recalled Jane. "And she did continually
hunt around Lenox, although she belonged with the sophs."

"That accounts for it then," finished Bobbie. "I am willing to
confess that I conspired to hide the crime, but I took no part in
planning it. Little Kitten almost died of fright during the whole
thing, but I thought it a lot of fun to hear the chains rattle, and
I hunted up stories to match. But I was not in Lenox the night of
the grand finale when she actually tried out the big scream."

"Well, no wonder the poor babes were scared blue," said Judith. "And
Jane, you can now tell all about your discovery of the old dumb-
waiter under the tower. That will make the story complete."

"Don't let any more girls in here," ordered Dozia, for knocking at
the door gave warning of an influx. "There is no need to give
everyone this private hearing. We might want to make a real story of
it for the 'Blare'--our holiday edition just needs a live feature
like this." So the taps were "deflected" and Jane recounted her
story. She told it so graphically that by the time she reached the
"big, black hole, and the groaning ropes of the old dummy" the girls
were howling and tumbling around in a pretty good imitation of Madam
Z herself. They shuddered, acted the spook, and Judith proclaimed
something like the old "Curfew shall not" in her swing out the
window that she imagined went with the wild night's terrors. This
detail of Judith's upset things some, for she fell off the couch
(her pedestal for the tragic act), and although she rebounded
quickly there were squeals and protests from "toes and fingers."

Sally's eyes were like two twinkling blue stars during all this.
Jane and Judith, more than any of the others, guessed correctly what
a relief this hour of fun had brought to her tortured mind. And to
think there was no blame, not even criticism! What is there more
delightfully elastic than the mind and the heart of the young
college girl?

"And I'll tell you how this same lady induced me to put on those
foolish togs and hire the friskiest horse at Clayton's," further
volunteered Shirley. She evidently thought if that much had been
good a lot more would be a lot better. So she allowed herself to
rock a little in Jane's cozy chair while she told of a bet--yes, she
had actually fallen so low--she did bet five dollars that she could
ride any horse in that stable. Again the girls applauded--there was
danger now in their generous approval.

"And so I could have done it safely if old Zeezie had kept to the
roads. But she wanted to show off on the hill in front of Warburton
Hall," flared Shirley, "and you all know how I made out at that."
Howls, groans and wails answered this.

"And what happened to the five?" asked practical Dozia.

"She never had the courage to collect," replied Shirley, and Jane
then felt the obligation of quickly shifting the subject, for just a
hint of gloom crossed the country girl's face at this point.

"But what about this last episode?" asked Jane. "How do you suppose
Zeezie came into Sour Sandy's clutches?"

"I know how that happened," spoke up Sally, doing her part to
relieve Shirley of the embarrassment that seized her at mention of
her accident. "This so-called actress is really not right mentally.
I know it, but, as Bobbie says, she has lots of money, so of course-
-"

"Dol Vin snapped her up," said Judith.

"Yes, and you know the Rumson place? That old stone mansion right in
the heart of the country folks settlement?" (They all knew the
Rumson.) "Well, I believe she has been going out there every
afternoon to rehearse. She would drive out in a hired car and
dismiss the man. Then she raved around and did so much loud talking
to herself, and even screaming, that the whole neighborhood was up
in arms. I heard the other day the folks around Rumson had called on
the police to stop the nuisance."

"No wonder they would," agreed Jane. "The children must have been
frightened out of their senses."

"They were," went on Sally. "So I suppose old Sandy just set his
trap for her--"

"And snapped it tonight," concluded Jane. "Well, I must say she was
a character. And to think we all missed the open air performance!"

"And to think you and I let her escape from Lenox, Jane, the night
of the alarm."

"What a shame we didn't know she was making her exit by way of the
dummy?"

"But in that awful dark place," put in Janet with an appropriate
shudder.

"Oh, she was just armed to the eyes with flash lights," Shirley told
them. "I never saw such an outfit as that tragedy queen sported."

"Oh, woe is us!" cried out Judith, so loudly that a pair of hands,
one from Jane, the other from Janet, was clapped over the unruly
mouth. When she promised to speak lower she was allowed to proceed.
"But think of missing the court room scene! I am sure she went
through a Lady Macbeth act and tried to stab poor old Sour Sandy!"
Again the spontaneity of Dozia illustrated the talk, and she made a
jab at Jane with the latter's riding crop.

"And then think of the fun of actually hearing her give the famous
screech as exhibit A?" put in Jane. "What a pity they made the
hearing private?"

"I'll explain that," condescended Janet, who, having no story to
tell, needed some outlet. "You see, they arrest people here in
Bingham just to keep things going, and have the officers do
something besides draw their pay envelopes, so Sandy took in Zeezie
as his quota of service for December."

"And I suppose I filled that requirement for November," recalled
Judith, with a disdainful pucker.

"Take care YOU are not listed next, Dozia," warned Janet. "You do
talk very loud at times. Woke me up last night."

Shirley arose and glanced at the little gilt clock.

"I guess we little 'uns will have to cut this lovely party," she
said politely. "We really have a lot of things to do tonight. And
who hasn't for the dance?"

"We will walk over with you," volunteered Jane. "Judy and I always
take a stroll before we start cramming."

"Which is just about equivalent to saying we may vamoose," said
Dozia. "All right, stroll along, the ghost is safe tonight, at any
rate."

"And if she gets off with a fine I suppose she will be on a train
for New York before morning," concluded Sally, with a satisfied
quirk of her yellow head.

Outside the hall Shirley and Sally almost smothered Jane with
protestations.

"I thought I would die!" cried Shirley, "but the steely fire of your
eyes, Miss Allen, kept urging me on. And now I have at least told
all that hateful story!"

"I could hardly sit still," gasped Sally, holding tightly to Jane's
friendly arm. "It was like a play, but I was so ashamed--"

"Ashamed! I was never more proud of two girls in all my life,"
declared resourceful Jane, with unmistakable sincerity. "Why, you
both had the girls fascinated--"

"You had them hypnotized," insisted Sally. "It is really wonderful
to be popular among such a set of girls," and her voice just touched
a tone of regret.

"Indeed, we all have to share honors with you two entertainers,"
said Jane positively. "You see, the girls first of all want a good
time, and if you help provide that legitimately, of course, you can
count on polling a heavy vote in any popularity contest."

"Jane Allen is no monopolist," said Judith significantly. It was
obvious Jane was determined to share honors with the two bewildered
freshmen. That was her way of making things pleasant.

"Now run along and get your togs ready for the dance," said Jane,
"and be sure to give me a lot of dances with Teddy!"

"Teddie!" sang out the two freshmen.

"Why yes, your nice brother, Ted," said Judith innocently. "We heard
he was coming--"

"And we found a piece of paper long ago," added Jane gently, "that
bore the name Ted. It was in the attic, and we dug it out of the
ghost's breastplate."

"You didn't!" exclaimed Shirley, in a tone that meant "You don't say
so!" She stopped short in her tracks. "And that was the letter we
never got, Kitten. Zeezie had been entrusted to deliver it and she
claimed she lost it." Shirley could hardly speak distinctly--emotion
seemed to choke her.

"Oh, can we have it?" asked Sally, her trembling lips telling on the
jerky sentence.

"Right here," replied Jane indifferently, taking a small white slip
from her blouse. "I have wanted so much to give it to you, but there
never seemed to be a real opportunity."

It was Sally who put out her hand.

"I think it is for Shirley," interposed Jane.

"Give it to Kitten," said Shirley. "We have no secrets from each
other now."

"But Ted and the dance?" asked Judith, not to be put off on that
score.

"Oh," faltered Sally. "Of course we will hand Ted around." She had
not quite recovered from her surprise at the finding of the long
lost letter. "And, Miss Allen, please, whatever happens, don't let
anything spoil tonight--"

"I won't, certainly not," replied Jane, as the freshmen broke away
towards Lenox.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DANCE

The night of the dance had come, than which Wellington could produce
no more momentous occasion. For days the students had been
decorating Old Warburton Hall, stripping their own rooms to the
point of desolation to pile their banners, their flags, and even
their mandolins around the big hall, in artistic and effective
settings from ceiling to the smallest nook around the chimney corner
windows. Judith and Jane were responsible for the "Bosky Dell"
created around the Inglenook. Here the mandolins were cluttered, and
about the walls were such artistic woodiness as branches of bright
red berries, then sprays of dark gray bayberry, glowing sumac, deep
brown oak leaves, and this applied foliage provided the "Bosky" for
the juniors' pretty dell.

All college departments shared the honors of decorating, each
depending upon its originality to outshine the others, so that now
when all was finished and the students drew apart to decorate
themselves the atmosphere fairly vibrated with expectancy.

Under the eaves in Sally's room she and Bobbie were putting on
finishing touches. Too full of youth to give place to regret, these
two freshmen were keyed to the full pitch of the big, jolly, gleeful
occasion.

"Can you imagine us going, and bound for such a good time?" said
Sally, while Bobbie fluffed the maline butterfly from her
companion's shoulders.

"Like a jolly time at a funeral," replied the other, her tone of
voice softening the comparison.

"Dear me, must we really leave?" sighed Sally. "I have been hoping
for a miracle."

"So have I, Kitten, but we have had a couple of miracles lately and
it wouldn't be fair to overwork the fairies. There, you look just
like a golden butterfly. Oh, really, Kit, you--are--a dream!"

Bobbie was responsible for the color scheme adopted by her chum, and
its success was just now rather inadequately reflected in the
conventional mirror that formed a door to the narrow wardrobe. Sally
was gowned in gold and white, and the gold of her hair completed the
"dream." A big yellow butterfly she was indeed, with the sleazy,
clinging, white draperies wound around her slender form, then the
wings of golden maline pinioned on either softly rounded shoulder.
Sally was a perfect little beauty, and also possessed that whimsical
manner so attractive in this delicate, fragile type.

"How do I look, anyhow?" asked Bobbie, and the "anyhow" betrayed her
hopelessness.

"Don't you really know you are stunning?" replied Sally. "Bobbie,
your height and figure are in such splendid accord with that
American Beauty! Whew, girl! I can see who shall charm the partners
tonight."

"Do I honestly look--well?" persisted the other. "I wish my hair
were long enough to turn up."

"I don't. It is so becoming in that halo just as round as a crown,
and more curly every minute. If all misfortunes really have their
compensations, then, Bobbie, put down the curls opposite your
accident."

The big girl peered closer to the mirror. She never could be vain
but just now she might be pardoned a flicker of satisfaction. She
did look well, the American Beauty satin made such a startling
background for her peculiarly true American type.

"Now, if we are all primped and preened, suppose we rehearse," said
Bobbie, powdering the last finger of her left hand to a finish. "You
are sure Ted has his lesson all clear and that our--masquerade will
not be spoiled?"

"He was just wild about the lark, and wrote a whole page of
effusions such as boys always indulge in," replied Sally. "He says
he may stick to Barrett for a name, it has such a twangy sound,
whatever that may mean; and he also promised to be led by us even to
the extent of breaking his own gay heart."

"Nice boy. I hope our little skit won't spoil his fun. It is just
for that, you know, little chum, I have agreed to postpone my
flight. But be sure of one thing--I shall fly before I ever face
that wonderful crowd of girls we were with last night, after the
discovery."

"Does it all seem so hideous still?" asked Sally. "I have felt as if
some of the black horror were wearing off."

"Mine is turning green--a dark, dark moldy green of envy. Why didn't
I know four months ago just a few of the precious things I see so
vividly now?" Bobbie sat down at the risk of spoiling some of her
preening. Also she ruffed her long (now well cared for) fingers
through her short hair with distracting indifference, but not a
ringlet showed any ill effects, each fell back on her broad, low
forehead in its original place, without a kink of disorder in the
line.

"I have learned more than the Wellington course offered," said
Sally, "and one thing I am now sure of. Our small towns may offer
advantages in freedom and security, but they restrict us in a choice
of friends and companions. How could we possibly have guessed that
the very girl and her group we expected to antagonize should be our
deliverers?"

"I don't quite get your flow of words, Kitten, but I do agree with
their meaning. Yes, small towns can turn out gigantic specimens of
conceited ego. And that conceit is like a paraffine coating; air
tight against personal progress, absorbent for the poisons of
jealousy and envy. There, that sounds as if I have learned a little
English, doesn't it? But it isn't enough to face Miss Robert's
exams."

"It's after eight. There are the girls slamming doors in the first
jazz number," said Sally. "Come along, Bobbie, and smile your
warmest. Then we shall defy fate for a few more happy hours at
least."

Swallowed up immediately in the swirl of young students heading for
the dance "Kitten and Bobbie" were presently on the high road to
defying fate as per schedule. The music from the dance room was just
feeling its way out of brilliantly lighted windows, and the grand
old campus seemed very proud of itself indeed, as it stretched out
and made a background for the entire picture.

Flocks of automobiles were nestling along the drives, and many a
Wellington heart skipped its regular beat at the preliminary
thought:

"I wonder if he came yet?"

From companion colleges the boys were making their way into old
Wellington, and the students of Yorktown were apt to be especially
plentiful. It was from this big college that Ted Barrett--alias Ted-
-somebody's brother, was expected.

In contrast to the usual line for receiving, such as so often makes
a farce of the formal social event, the seniors and juniors had
formed themselves into a ring that surrounded the entrance, and
through this ring each guest was forced to pass in at one end and
out at the other in initiation to Wellington. Jane was chosen to
form one "clasp" of the circlet, with two tall seniors at her side.
She gave the welcoming pass-word for the juniors, and in her hand
clasp delivered the secret sign.

As the girls from Lenox entered, the eyes of our two special friends
immediately sought out Jane. Not even the possible presence of Teddy
offered a distraction, for it seemed now as if their fate rested
more fully than ever in the hands of the girl whose father had given
them the much abused scholarship.

"How sweet!" breathed Sally. "Like a pansy."

"Exactly," answered Shirley. "Did you ever see anything prettier?"

Jane's appearance supported this flattery in every detail. She wore
a flowered frock, georgette with pansies sprinkled over it, and in
her coppery hair a small bunch of the same velvet flowers was
clustered. Among all the others this flowered gown seemed
distinctive, although Dozia in her ruffles (to cut her height), and
Judith in her sea foam green (to give her color), were indeed highly
attractive.

The indescribable jazz music was see-sawing in and out of harmony,
and if there were anything actually shy on the score it was more
than plentifully supplied by the "ukes," mandolins and banjos of the
visiting college boys.

Sally and Shirley had scarcely crossed the circle and were melting
into the crowd, when someone tapped Sally on the shoulder.

"Teddy!" exclaimed both girls at once.

"The same, your obedient coz," replied the good looking young
fellow, eager to show at once how well he had learned his lesson.

"Come over here," breathed Sally. "I am just dying to speak to you."

"No fair," cautioned Shirley. "Don't forget your lines, Kit."

"Say, girls, tell me," implored the youth, letting his critical eye
scale the crowd of pretty girls, "what's this your name is? You're--"
to Sally.