the bank. Not even she would know what we gave. The first of every new
month she'd take the money out, count it and put it in the Chesterford
Trust company for us."

"But suppose we save quite a lot, what would we do with it?" asked
Barbara Tennant. "We wouldn't need it for ourselves. We'd have to----"

"That's what I'm coming to," interposed Jane. "We'd start a fund to help
the poorer Wellington students along. There is no College Aid Society
here. I don't know why none has ever been organized. I suppose there
haven't been so very many poor girls at Wellington. Until three years
ago there were no scholarships offered. There are only two now. There
will be three soon. My father has promised me that."

Jane's lips curved in a tender little smile, as she quietly made this
announcement. There was no hint of boastful pride in her tones; nothing
save becoming modesty and deep sincerity.

"This money we collected would be open to any student to draw upon who
made requisition for it," she explained.

"But would the girls who need it ask for it?" questioned Norma. "You see
I know how it feels to be very, very poor. If I hadn't found such a
splendid way to earn my tuition fees and board, I'm afraid I could never
bring myself to ask for help in that way. It would seem like begging."

"Oh, we'd loan the money; not give it," promptly assured Jane. "We'd
loan it without interest, to be repaid at convenience. You know the
'Beatrice Horton' books. Well, in those stories the girls at Exley
College started such a fund. They gave entertainments and shows to help
it along. Then they received money contributions from interested
persons, too.

"I don't know whether we'd ever do as they did. I like the idea of the
self-denial gifts from just the crowd of us. We could let the money pile
up this year and if we had enough by next October we could start our
Student's Aid Fund."

"We could keep up the good work during our vacations, too,"
enthusiastically suggested Mary Ashton. "A little self-denial then
wouldn't hurt us, I guess, I think it would be fun for each of us to
pledge ourselves to earn at least ten dollars this summer to put into
the fund. Norma and Adrienne are the only ones of us here who ever
earned a dollar. Dispute that if you can."

"I dispute it," grinned Judith. "My father once gave me a silver dollar
for keeping quiet a whole hour. I was only five at the time I earned
that fabulous sum."

"I've earned lots of dollars for churches and hospitals at bazaars,"
declared Christine. "I suppose most of us have. But that's not like
earning money for ourselves."

"Well, everybody here is going to earn _ten_ dollars this coming
summer," stated Judith positively. "It would be still more fun if we
each agreed to write a poem telling how we earned our ten dollars. We'd
have a grand reunion as soon as we were all back in college and each of
us would read her own poetic gem right out loud, so that we could all
appreciate it."

Judith's proposal was greeted with laughter and accepted on the spot.
The girls were no less enthusiastic over Jane's worthy plan and each
expressed herself as ready and willing to do her bit toward furthering
its success. Before the ten-thirty bell drove the revelers from the
scene of revelry, Adrienne had been appointed to act as treasurer. Jane
had been unanimously chosen, but declined, suggesting Adrienne in her
stead.

Thus from one girl's generous thought was presently to spring an
organization that would grow, thrive and endure long after Jane Allen
had been graduated from Wellington College to a wider field in life.

That evening's jollification was the last for the participants until
fateful mid-year, with its burden of examinations should come and go.
The nearer it approached the more devoted became the Wellingtonites to
study. Even basket-ball practice fell off considerably. The second game
between the freshmen and sophomore teams was set for the third Saturday
in February. This meant ample time for practice after the dreaded
examinations were out of the way.

On the whole January seemed fated to pass out in uneventful placidity so
far as Jane and Judith were concerned. Elsie Noble continued to glower
her silent disapproval of her tablemates three times a day, but that was
all. Since the disastrous failure of the scheme to leave Jane, Judith
and Adrienne in the lurch at the freshman frolic, she had made no
further attempts at unworthy retaliation for her supposed grievances.

Marian Seaton also appeared to be too fully occupied with her own
affairs to undertake the launching of a new offensive against the girls
she so greatly disliked. In fact, she behaved as though she had
forgotten their very existence. For this they were duly grateful.

Only one incident occurred during the month which brought Marian's name
up for discussion between Judith and Jane.

Judith arrived in her room late one afternoon with the news that Maizie
Gilbert had lost a valuable sapphire and diamond pin. Notice of the loss
had appeared on the main bulletin board at Wellington Hall. It was
worded almost precisely as had been the notice previously posted by
Marian regarding the loss of her diamond ring.

Judith again confided to Jane her sturdy disbelief concerning Maizie's
loss. As in the case of Marian, she attributed it as a silly
determination to attract undue attention. Jane frowned reflectively at
Judith's supposition, but refused to commit herself.

"I don't want to talk or even think about either Marian or Maizie," she
said shortly. "I've been living in perfect peace since Christmas and I
hate to break the spell. I'm trying to keep my mind on study just now.
Are you aware, Judy Stearns, that exams begin to-morrow?"

"I am. I am prepared--in a measure. Ahem!" Judith snickered, adding: "A
very small measure."

"Are you going to study to-night?" Jane demanded. "If you're not, then
away with you. I'm going to be fearfully, terribly, horribly busy. Don't
interrupt me. That means you. Alicia is coming in after dinner to-night.
We are going to conduct a review."

"All right, conduct it," graciously sanctioned Judith. "I'm not going to
study to-night. I never do the last evening before exams. I just try to
keep what I already know in my head and let it go at that. Guess I'll
inflict my charming self upon Adrienne and Ethel. They're not going to
study, either."

"Do so; do so," approved Jane with smiling alacrity. "I'm sure they'll
love to have you."

"Certainly they will. I am always welcome everywhere--except _here_, on
the dread eve of the stupendous ordeal which we shall presently be
called upon to endure."

Judith struck an attitude and continued to declaim dramatically.

"Who am I that I should desire for a moment to remain where I am not
desired. I will flee to the welcome haunt of my true friends. We'll make
merry and make fudge at the same time. And I sha'n't bring you a single
speck of squdgy, fudgy fudge," she ended in practical tones.

"I can live without it," informed Jane drily. "Be as merry as you
please, but be quiet about it. Remember, a lot of girls will be trying
to study."

"Oh, we won't get ourselves disliked," airily assured Judith. "We'll be
as quiet as can be. We know how to behave during such times of stress."

Jane merely smiled. Judith and Adrienne together meant much hilarity.

Dinner over, Alicia appeared to hold student vigil with Jane. Judith as
promptly betook herself to Adrienne's room for an evening's relaxation.
There she found Norma, who had also elected to eschew study for fudge.

It may be said to the quartette's credit that, though hilarity reigned
during the fudge making, it was of a subdued order. When the delicious
concoction of chocolate and walnut meats was at last ready for sampling,
the four girls sat down to eat and talk to their hearts' content.

The conversation drifting to the all-important subject of dress,
Adrienne exclaimed in sudden recollection:

"Ah, Judy, but I must show you the sweet frock which I have this day
received from _ma mère_. It is, of a truth, the dream. But wait one
moment! You shall thus see for yourself."

Springing up from her chair, the little girl darted to a curtained
doorway, the entrance to a roomy closet, containing her own and Ethel's
gowns.

It was at least five minutes when she reappeared, minus the new gown, an
angry light in her big, black eyes.

"What's the matter, Imp?" questioned Ethel concernedly.

For answer, Adrienne laid a warning finger to her lips with a mysterious
wag of her curly head toward the curtained doorway.

Her finger still on her lips, she picked up a pencil from the writing
table and scribbled industriously for a moment or two on a pad of paper.
Silently she handed the pad to Judith, who read it, opened her eyes very
wide and passed the pad to Ethel. Ethel, in turn, handed it to Norma.

Suddenly Adrienne broke the silence; speaking in purposely loud tones.

"I have the great secret to tell you, girls. It is of a certainty most
amazing. Wait until I return. I shall be absent from the room but a
moment. Then you shall hear much that is interesting."

Flashing to the door, she paused, frantically beckoning her friends to
follow her. Next instant the four had made a noiseless exit into the
hall and were grouped before the door of the next room.

Very cautiously, Adrienne's small fingers sought the door knob and
turned it. Slowly, soundlessly, she opened the door and stepped
cat-footed into the room. A little line of three, emulating her
stealthy movement, tip-toed after her into a room empty of occupants.

Straight to a curtained doorway Adrienne flitted, followed by her
faithful shadows. Sweeping the chintz curtain aside with a lightning
movement of her hand, she paused.

Looking over her shoulder, three girls saw a motionless figure lying
flat on the closet floor. In that fraction of a second the figure
suddenly acquired motion and speech. A scramble, an appalled "Oh!" and a
very angry and thoroughly frightened girl was on her feet, confronting
Adrienne. Her companions had now fallen back a little from the doorway.
The listener now made a futile attempt at composure.

"What--why----" she gasped.

"Come out of this closet, dishonorable one," commanded Adrienne sternly.
"Ah, but it is I who had the luck to discover you in the act of
listening. Had you not too hastily shut the register when you heard me
enter the closet on the other side, I should never have guessed. Come
out instantly."

The imperious repetition of the command served its purpose. Adrienne
backed out of the closet into the room, followed by Elsie Noble. The
latter's small black eyes refused to meet those of her accuser. The
blazing red of her cheeks betrayed her utter humiliation.

For a brief instant no one spoke. Then Elsie recovered speech.

"Get out--of--my--room, you--spies!" she stammered in a furious,
rage-choked voice.

"Ah, but it is you who are the great spy!" scornfully exclaimed
Adrienne. "There is no longer the mystery. So you must have listened
often to Ethel and myself as we privately talked. Have you then no shame
to be thus so small--so contemptible?"

"No, I haven't. I----"

Elsie's attempt to brazen things out ended almost as soon as it began.
Her guilty, shifting gaze had come to rest on Norma's grave, sweet face.
It wore an expression of wondering pity. Elsie turned and bolted
straight for her couch bed. She threw herself downward upon it, beating
the pillows with her clenched fists, in a fury of tempestuous chagrin.

"I think we'd best go, girls." It was Norma who spoke. "Alicia will soon
be in. I don't believe we'd care to have even her know about this.
Perhaps it would be just as well for us to forget that it's happened."

This charitable view of the matter brought Elsie's head from the pillow
with a jerk. She sat up and stared hard at Norma, as if unable to credit
the latter's plea for clemency in her behalf.

"I am satisfied to have thus solved a mystery. Now I wish to forget it."
Adrienne made a sweeping gesture, as though to blot out the disagreeable
incident with a wave of her hand.

"It certainly wouldn't be a pleasant memory," dryly agreed Judith.
"Anyhow, we know now something we've wanted to know for a long time.
That's about all that one feels like saying, except that one hopes it
won't happen again."

"I guess it won't. Let's go, girls," was all that Ethel said.

Without another word the quartette turned to the door, leaving Elsie to
her own dark meditations. She could hardly believe that she had thus
easily escaped. It appeared that these girls whom she had been so sure
she despised, had no mind for retaliation. They were simply disgusted
with her. For the first time, a dim realization of her own unworthiness
forced itself upon Elsie.

It was not strong enough to impel her to run after those who had just
disappeared and apologize for her fault. Nevertheless, Adrienne's
accusing question, "Have you then no shame to be thus so small; so
contemptible?" rang in her ears. It dawned painfully upon her that she
_was_ ashamed of herself. More, that she was done with eavesdropping for
good and all.

Early in the year she had stumbled upon the discovery that the register
in the dress closet could be efficiently used as a listening post. Its
position, low in the wall between the two closets, made it possible for
her to hear plainly the conversation of those in the next room when both
sides of the register stood open. This state of matters had existed when
first she made the discovery. More, the side opening into the dress
closet belonging to Adrienne and Ethel had remained open.

This proved conclusively to Elsie that she was alone in her discovery.
Fearful lest Alicia should note the sound of voices proceeding from the
next room, she had been careful to keep the register closed whenever
Alicia was present in their room. At times when the latter was absent,
Elsie had noiselessly opened it and taken up her position in the closet
as an eavesdropper. Now she began miserably to wish that she had never
done it.

Meanwhile, Adrienne's first move on re-entering her room was to dash
into the adjoining closet and close the treacherous register with an
energetic hand. To block further listening, she promptly stowed a
suitcase on end against it.

"_Voila!_ I have now remedied the trouble," she announced, as she
emerged from the closet. "We shall not need that register to give the
heat to us. I have closed it and placed against it the suitcase. Strange
we never before noticed."

"Better late than never," commented Judith. "Funny the way our little
mystery was solved, wasn't it?"

"I should never have known, had she not made the noise in closing the
register on her side," explained Adrienne. "I had but bent over to lift
the box containing my new gown when I noticed the register, heard the
sound and, of a sudden, grew suspicious. I recalled that it could not be
Alicia. So I was most determined to know if my suspicion was the idle
one. It was not. You saw for yourselves. It was all most disagreeable. I
had the feeling of shame myself to thus discover this girl listening."

"So had I," echoed Ethel.

"It _was_ rather horrid," declared Judith. "Maybe it will teach her a
much-needed lesson. The ignoble Noble is a splendid name for her. I'm
proud of myself for having thought of it."

"I think she was really ashamed of herself," Norma said quietly. "I
couldn't help feeling a little bit sorry for her. She pretended to be
very defiant, when all the time she looked humiliated and miserable. I
believe she was truly sorry, but couldn't bring herself to say so."

"She will too soon forget," shrugged Adrienne. "A few minutes with her
cousin, that most detestable Seaton one, and her regrets will vanish.
Once you said, Judy, that we should solve our little mystery when we
least thought. So you are indeed the prophet. We can expect no gratitude
from this girl, because we have thus overlooked her fault. Still, I have
the feeling that she will trouble us no more. _Voila!_ It is
sufficient."

CHAPTER XXV

THE ACCUSATION

Adrienne's prediction that a few moments with Marian Seaton would
effectually banish Elsie Noble's remorse, provided she felt remorse,
proved not altogether correct. The beginning on next day of the mid-year
examinations served as a partial escape valve for Elsie's feeling of
deep humiliation.

By the end of the week she was divided between remorse and resentment.
The latter over-swaying her, she fell back on Marian for sympathy.
Marian's sympathy was not specially satisfying. She actually laughed
over Elsie's aggrieved narration of the affair of the dress closet, and
coolly informed her cousin that she should have locked _her_ door before
attempting any such maneuver.

The only grain of consolation which she bestowed was, "You needn't feel
so bad about what those sillies think of you. They'll have something
more serious to think about before long. It's high time Maiz and I took
a hand in things."

"What are you going to do?" Elsie sulkily demanded.

"You'll know when the time comes," was the brusque reply.

A reply that sent Elsie back to her room, sullenly wondering what Marian
was "up to" now. Strangely enough, Marian's vague threat awoke within
her a curious sense of uneasiness. She was not so keen for retaliation
now. She darkly surmised that Marian intended somehow to make trouble
for Judith Stearns and Norma about the last year's affair of the stolen
gown. Once she had been ready to believe Marian's assertion that Judith
had been guilty of theft. She was not nearly so ready now to believe it.

As for Norma! Elsie could still see Norma's sweet face, with its gentle
blue eyes pityingly bent on her. Marian might say all she pleased. Norma
Bennett was fine and honest to the core. She had always secretly admired
Norma for her wonderful talent. Now she admired Norma for herself. If
Marian undertook to injure Norma----Elsie set her thin lips in a
fashion denoting decision.

Mid-year came and went, however, with nothing to disturb the outward
serenity of Madison Hall. A brief season of jubilation followed the
trial of examinations. The new college term began with the usual flurry
accompanying the rearranging of recitation programs and getting settled
in classes. Basket-ball ardor was revived and practice resumed by the
freshman and sophomore teams, pending the second game to be played on
the third Saturday in February.

On the Monday evening before the game, Marian Seaton and Maizie Gilbert
held a private session with Mrs. Weatherbee. It lasted for half an hour
and when the two girls emerged from the matron's office, they left
behind them a most shocked and perplexed woman. The story which they had
related to her would have seemed preposterous, save that it touched upon
a private matter of her own that had of late vaguely annoyed her.

For some time after the two had left her office, she wrestled with the
difficulty which confronted her. Nor had she decided upon a course of
action when she retired that night. For two days she continued in doubt,
before she was able to make up her mind regarding the handling of the
troublesome problem.

After dinner on Wednesday evening she sent the maid upstairs with
certain instructions and promptly retired to her room.

"Mrs. Weatherbee wants to see us in _her room_?" marveled Judith,
addressing Molly, the maid who had delivered the message. "Are you sure
she said her _room_?"

"Yes, Miss Judith. That's what she said," returned Molly positively.
"She said please come right away."

"That means us." Judith turned to Jane as Molly vanished. "Now why do
you suppose she wants to see us in her room? She must have something
very private to say or she'd talk with us in her office."

"I don't like it at all!" Jane exclaimed with knitted brows.
"Something's gone wrong. But what? Can you think of any reason for it?"

"No, I can't. We haven't committed any horrible crimes that I can
recall," returned Judith lightly. "Come on. We might as well go and find
out the meaning of this thusness. We should worry. We haven't done
anything to deserve a call-down."

One look at Mrs. Weatherbee's grave face as she admitted them to her
room convinced both that something disagreeable was impending.

"Sit down, girls," the matron invited, in her usual reserved fashion. "I
have sent for Miss Bennett. She will be here in a moment."

This merely added to Jane's and Judith's perplexity. Jane shot a
bewildered glance toward Judith, as the two silently seated themselves.
Directly a light rapping at the door announced Norma's arrival. She was
also formally greeted and requested to take a seat.

For a moment the matron surveyed the trio as though undetermined how to
address them. When she finally spoke, there was a note of hesitation in
her voice.

"A very peculiar story has been told me," she said, "which intimately
concerns you three girls, particularly Miss Stearns. Much as I dislike
the idea, I am obliged, as matron of Madison Hall, to investigate it.

"Certain students at the Hall have made very serious charges against
you, Miss Stearns. These charges are partially based on something that
occurred here last year, of which I had no knowledge. I----"

"_Mrs. Weatherbee!_ I insist on knowing at once what these charges
are!"

Judith was on her feet, her usually good-natured face dark with
righteous indignation.

"Sit down, Miss Stearns," commanded the matron not ungently. "I intend
to go into this unpleasant matter fully with you. A valuable diamond
ring belonging to Miss Seaton and a diamond and sapphire pin belonging
to Miss Gilbert have disappeared. Though 'Lost' notices were posted
regarding these articles, their owners have come to me stating their
private belief that you are responsible for their disappearance."

"But surely you can't believe any such thing about me!" Judith cried out
in distress. "Do you realize that those two girls actually accuse _me_
of being a _thief_?"

"Wait a moment, please." The matron raised a protesting hand. "Let me
finish what I wished to say. Miss Seaton does not believe you guilty of
intentional theft. She accused you of being a kleptomaniac. She also
accuses Miss Allen and Miss Bennett of knowing it and aiding you in
keeping your failing a secret."

"What?" almost shouted Judith.

"Oh, this is too much!" It was Jane who now sprang furiously up from her
chair, her gray eyes flashing. "I won't endure it. I insist, Mrs.
Weatherbee, that you send for these girls and let us face them."

"Yes, send for them! I won't leave this room until Marian Seaton takes
back every single thing she's said about me," was Judith's wrathful
ultimatum.

"I was about to suggest when you and Miss Allen interrupted me that I
had thought it advisable to bring you girls together. Still, I deemed it
only fair to let you understand the situation beforehand," stated the
matron rather stiffly. "I have already sent Miss Seaton and Miss Gilbert
word to come here at eight o'clock. It lacks only five minutes of eight.
They will be here directly. We will not go further in this matter until
they come. You will oblige me by resuming your chairs."

Mrs. Weatherbee's expression was that of a martyr. She was in for a very
disagreeable session and she knew it. Marian's accusation against Judith
made necessary an investigation. It had come to a point where Judith's
honesty must be either conclusively proved or disproved beyond all
shadow of doubt. If Judith, as Marian boldly declared, were really a
kleptomaniac, she was a menace to Madison Hall.

Ordinarily Mrs. Weatherbee would have been slow to believe such a
thing. The fact, however, that the silk sweater which she had intrusted
to Judith to mail had never reached its destination, had implanted
distrust in the matron's mind. To have recently learned that Judith had
been exhibiting to her girl friends a sweater that answered to the
description of the one she had knitted for her niece was decidedly in
line with her private suspicions. Neither had she forgotten Judith's
laughing assertion to the effect that she was not sure she could be
trusted not to run off with the sweater.

Jane and Judith reluctantly reseating themselves, an embarrassing
silence fell. Each of the three girls was busy racking her brain to
recall the circumstance of last year upon which Marian Seaton had based
her charge. None could bring back any of that nature in which Marian had
figured.

The sound of approaching footfalls, followed by a light knock at the
door, came as a relief to the waiting four. Next instant Marian and
Maizie had stepped into the room in response to the matron's "Come in."

A bright flush sprang to Marian's cheeks as she glimpsed the trio of
stern-faced girls. She had not anticipated being thus so quickly
brought face to face with those she had maligned. Maizie appeared
merely sleepily amused.

"Kindly be seated, girls." Mrs. Weatherbee motioned them to an
upholstered settee near the door.

Casting a baleful glance at Jane, Marian complied with the terse
invitation. Maizie dropped lazily down beside her, her slow smile in
evidence. Matters promised to be interesting.

"Miss Seaton," the matron immediately plunged into the business at hand,
"you may repeat to Miss Stearns, Miss Allen and Miss Bennett what you
have already told me concerning the affair of last year. Miss Stearns
has been informed of your charges against her. She wishes to defend
herself."

"I certainly do," emphasized Judith, "and I shall make you take it all
back, too, Miss Seaton."

"I'm sorry I can't oblige you by taking it all back," sneered Marian. "I
can merely repeat a little of a conversation that occurred between you
and Miss Allen in which you condemned yourself."

"Very well, repeat it," challenged Judith coolly.

As nearly as she could remember, Marian repeated the talk between Jane
and Judith, to which she had dishonorably listened on the night of the
freshman frolic.

"You were heard to admit that you had stolen a gown from Edith Hammond,"
she triumphantly accused. "That Edith blamed Miss Bennett and that she
confessed you had stolen it. Also that Miss Allen settled for it and you
all agreed to keep it a secret. Worse yet, you and Miss Allen only
laughed and joked about what you called 'your fatal failing.' Deny if
you can that you two had such a conversation."

During this amazing recital the faces of at least three listeners had
registered a variety of expressions. Marian's spiteful challenge met
with unexpected results. Of a sudden the trio burst into uncontrolled
laughter.

"Girls," rebuked Mrs. Weatherbee sharply, "this is hardly a time for
laughter. Miss Stearns, do you or do you not deny that you and Miss
Allen held the conversation Miss Seaton accuses you of holding?"

"Of course we did," cheerfully answered Judith, her mirthful features
sobering.

"Then you----"

"_We_ were in the dressing room on the night of the freshman frolic when
it took place," broke in Jane. "May I ask where _you_ were, Miss
Seaton, when you overheard it?"

Jane's gray eyes rested scornfully upon Marian as she flashed out her
question.

"I--I wasn't anywhere," snapped Marian. "I--someone else overheard it."

"Then 'someone else' should have taken pains to learn the truth before
spreading malicious untruth," tensely condemned Jane.

Turning to the matron, she said bitterly:

"Mrs. Weatherbee, this whole story is simply spite-work; nothing else.
When I have explained the true meaning of Judith's and my talk together
in the dressing-room, you will understand everything. Judith's fatal
failing is not kleptomania. It's merely absent-mindedness."

Rapidly Jane narrated the incident of the missing white lace gown,
belonging to Edith Hammond, in which herself, Judith and Norma had
figured in the previous year. She finished with:

"I shall ask you to write to Edith for corroboration of my story. I must
also insist on knowing the name of the girl who overheard our talk. She
must be told the facts. We cannot afford to allow such injurious gossip
to be circulated about any of us. Judith in particular. Further, it is
ridiculous even to connect her with the disappearance of Miss Seaton's
ring and Miss Gilbert's pin."

"Oh, is it?" cried Marian in shrill anger, "Just let me tell you that
both the ring and the pin were stolen from our room. We posted a notice
and offered a reward, hoping to get them back without raising a
disturbance. It's easy enough for you to make up the silly tale you've
just told. I don't believe it. You're only trying to cover the real
truth by pretending that Miss Stearns is absent-minded. It's not hard to
see through your flimsy pretext."

"That will do, Miss Seaton." Mrs. Weatherbee now took stern command of
the situation. "I have no reason to believe that Miss Allen has not
spoken the truth. This affair seems to consist largely of a
misunderstanding, coupled with a good deal of spite work. You will
oblige me by giving me the name of the girl who overheard the
conversation."

Marian did not at once reply. Instead, she cast a hasty, inquiring
glance at Maizie. The latter answered it with a slight smile and a nod
of the head.

"It was my cousin, Miss Noble, who overheard the conversation," she
reluctantly admitted. "She repeated it to me in confidence. She does
not wish to be brought into this affair. You will kindly leave her out
of it entirely."

"Your dictation is unbecoming, Miss Seaton," coldly reproved the matron.
"I shall use my own judgment in this matter."

"You are all excused," she continued, addressing the ill-assorted group.
"We will leave this matter as it stands for the present. When I have
decided what to do, I will send for you again. Until then, not a word
concerning it to anyone."

Marian and Maizie rose with alacrity. They had no desire to prolong the
interview. It had not panned out to suit them. Jane's concise
explanation of the gown incident had practically turned a serious
offense into a laughable blunder. Mrs. Weatherbee undoubtedly believed
Jane. After listening to her, she had not asked either Norma or Judith a
single question. Instead, she had closed the discussion with a curtness
that was not reassuring to the plotters.

"Elsie will have to help us out," were Marian's first words when she and
Maizie reached their room. "She'll be raving when I tell her. She'll
have to do it, though. If she doesn't, I'll threaten to tell all the
girls about the way that little French snip caught her listening at the
register."

"You might as well have owned up that it was you who listened outside
the dressing-room," shrugged Maizie. "Then you could have passed the
whole thing off as a misunderstanding. That would have ended it. Now
we're both in for a fine lot of trouble."

"Then why did you nod your head when I looked at you?" asked Marian
fiercely.

"Oh, just to keep things going," drawled Maizie. "I like to see those
girls all fussed up about nothing. Besides, Weatherbee can't do anything
very serious about our part of it. She can say we are mischief-makers
and call us down and that's all. No one except ourselves knows the truth
about the ring and the pin. That's the only thing that could really get
us into trouble."

"No one will ever know, either," declared Marian. "They're both in the
tray of my trunk. We'll take them home with us at Easter and leave them
there. That will be safest."

"You certainly leaped before you looked, this time," chuckled Maizie.
"That gown business was funny."

"Well, how was I to know? I heard Judy Stearns say she stole it,"
retorted Marian testily. "The whole thing sounded suspicious enough to
hang our losses on. Just the same I shall keep on saying now that I
believe she stole our stuff. Mrs. Weatherbee needn't think she can make
me keep quiet. I have a perfect right to my own belief and I'll see to
it that others besides myself share it."

CHAPTER XXVI

THE STAR WITNESS

In Jane's and Judith's room a highly disgusted trio of girls held
session directly they had left Mrs. Weatherbee. Far from feeling utterly
crushed and humiliated by Marian's accusations, Judith was filled with
lofty disdain of Marian's far-fetched attempt to discredit her.

"I suppose I ought to feel dreadfully cut up over being accused of
theft," she said, "but I can't. The whole business seems positively
unreal. Jane, do you believe it was the ignoble Noble who overheard us
talking that night?"

"No; I think it was either Maizie or Marian," returned Jane positively.
"Didn't you see them exchange glances? Then Maizie nodded. They had
agreed to put the blame on Miss Noble."

"I wonder if she had agreed to let them," remarked Norma. "I suppose she
had. Otherwise, Marian wouldn't have dared use her name."

"_I_ wonder what Mrs. Weatherbee will do about it," emphasized Jane.
"There's more than weird unreality to it, Judy. You mustn't forget that
Marian has accused you of taking her ring and Maizie's pin. She hasn't
withdrawn that accusation. She won't withdraw it. I am very sure of
that."

"Well, she needn't," retorted Judith. "We know how much it's worth. So
does Mrs. Weatherbee. You heard what she said about spite work. She's
very much displeased with Marian and Maizie. She'll probably send for us
to-morrow night and them, too. Then she'll lay down the law and order
the whole thing dropped. She must see herself how unjust it is. Your
explanation about Edith's dress was enough to show that. Just because
the pin and ring are missing is no sign that I should be accused of
their disappearance. Besides, they've been posted as 'Lost.' That clears
me, doesn't it?"

"It ought to, but it doesn't," replied Jane soberly. "Marian and Maizie
will go on insinuating hateful things about you, even if they are
ordered to drop the matter. Then there's Miss Noble. She's on the outs
with us and on Marian's side. Unless we can do something ourselves to
make these girls drop the affair, they won't drop it."

"If Mrs. Weatherbee can't stop them, we certainly can't," Judith
responded rather anxiously. "I guess, though, that she can. She's
awfully determined, you know. I'm going to put my faith in her and not
worry any more about it. I dare say if a thorough search were made of
Marian's and Maizie's room the lost jewelry would be found," she
predicted bitterly.

"That's precisely my opinion," nodded Jane. "If it comes to it I shall
tell Mrs. Weatherbee so. I'd rather wait a little, though, to see how
things pan out. This is Wednesday. I hope it will be settled and off our
minds before Saturday. We'd hate to go into the game with the least bit
of shadow hanging over us."

"Oh, I guess it will be settled before then." Nevertheless Judith looked
a trifle solemn. Despite her declaration that she did not intend to
worry, Jane's prediction had taken uncomfortable hold on her.

"I think she ought to have settled it to-night," was Norma's blunt
opinion. "It wouldn't surprise me if she really wrote to Edith Hammond.
Mrs. Weatherbee's peculiar. I know, because I've worked for her. She
probably believes Jane, yet she's in doubt about something. I could
tell that by the way she acted."

"You don't believe she suspects me of stealing those girls' jewelry, do
you?" questioned Judith in quick alarm.

"I hardly think that," Norma said slowly. "I only know she's not quite
in sympathy with you, Judy. If she had been she wouldn't have hesitated
to settle things then and there."

Norma's surmise was more accurate than not. Marian Seaton's sneering
assertion that alleged absent-mindedness on Judith's part cloaked a
grave failing had not been entirely lost on the matron. She could not
forget the missing sweater. Was it possible, she wondered, that there
might be truth in Marian's accusation?

Privately she resolved to do three things before passing final judgment.
She would write to Edith for corroboration of the gown story. She would
make further inquiry, concerning Judith's absent-mindedness, of Dorothy
Martin. She would have a private talk with Elsie Noble. This last was
solely to determine whether Marian had spoken the truth in regard to
Elsie's having overheard the fateful conversation. She was as doubtful
of Marian as she was of poor Judith.

Mrs. Weatherbee intended to delay making inquiry of either Dorothy or
Elsie until she had received a reply to a special delivery letter which
she had dispatched to Edith Allison, nee Edith Hammond.

In the interim Judith had gone from hopefulness to anxiety and from
anxiety to nervousness. In consequence, she failed to play on Saturday
with her usual snap and vigor, and had not her teammates put forth an
extra effort, her unintentional lagging would have lost them the game.
As it was they won it by only two points.

Completely disgusted with herself, Judith broke down in the
dressing-room and sobbed miserably. A proceeding which made Christine,
Barbara and Adrienne wonder what in the world had happened to upset
cheery, light-hearted Judy.

Back in her room, Judith cried harder than ever.

"I'm all upset," she wailed, her head on Jane's comforting shoulder. "I
don't see why Mrs. Weatherbee hasn't sent for us about that miserable
business. It's got on my nerves."

"Never mind," soothed Jane. "If she doesn't let us know about it by
Monday afternoon, I'll go to her myself. If I knew positively that
Marian Seaton wrote the letter that nearly lost me my room, I'd tell
Mrs. Weatherbee. It would only be giving her what she deserves."

Monday morning, however, brought Mrs. Weatherbee a letter from Edith
Hammond, over which she smiled, then looked uncompromisingly severe. Her
stern expression spelled trouble for someone.

Meanwhile, on the same morning, Jane also received a letter which made
her catch her breath in sheer amazement. It was from Eleanor Lane and
stated:

     DEAR JANE:

     "I've remembered at last. Now I know why your name seemed so
     familiar. Last fall a Miss Seaton was staying at the hotel with her
     mother. She dictated a letter to me, the carbon copy of which I am
     enclosing. She told me that she was having the letter typed for a
     joke and asked me to sign it 'Jane Allen.' I knew that wasn't her
     name, because I had heard a bell-boy page her several times and
     knew who she was. She said that you were her cousin and that she
     was only sending the letter for fun, that it wouldn't do you the
     least bit of harm.

     "I didn't like her at all. She was very hateful and supercilious.
     I thought at the time that the letter was a queer kind of joke, but
     I'd never been to college so I wasn't in a position to criticize
     it. Anyway, it wasn't my business, so I typed it and signed it as
     she requested. That's where I saw your name. I thought I would send
     you the letter and ask you if it was really a joke. I found it the
     other day in going over my files and it worried me. I realized that
     I had done a very foolish thing in signing it. I should have
     refused to do so.

     "This is the second letter I've written since I last heard from
     you, so hurry up and write me soon. With much love,

                                                   "Ever your friend,

                                                   "ELEANOR."

The shadow of a smile flickered about Jane's lips as she unfolded the
sheet of paper enclosed in Eleanor's letter and glanced it over. As by
miracle the means of retaliation had been placed in her hands.

She decided that she would wait only to see what the day might bring
forth. If by dinner time that evening Mrs. Weatherbee had made no sign,
she would go to the matron after dinner with a recital that went back
to the very beginning of her freshman year. She would tell everything.
Nothing should be omitted that would serve to show Marian Seaton to Mrs.
Weatherbee in her true colors.

If, on the other hand, Mrs. Weatherbee sent for Judith, Norma and
herself that evening and exonerated Judith in the presence of her
enemies, Jane determined that she would not, even in that event,
withhold the story of Marian's long-continued persecution of herself and
her friends. Undoubtedly Marian and Maizie would be asked to leave
Madison Hall; perhaps college as well. Mrs. Weatherbee would be
sufficiently shocked and incensed to carry the affair higher. Jane hoped
that she would. She had reached a point where she had become merciless.

While Jane was darkly considering her course of action, Mrs. Weatherbee
was finding Monday a most amazingly exciting day. The morning mail
brought her Edith's letter. Directly afterward she hailed Dorothy Martin
as the latter left the dining-room and marched Dorothy to her office for
a private talk. When it ended, Dorothy had missed her first recitation.
Mrs. Weatherbee, however, had learned a number of things, hitherto
unguessed by her.

Shortly after luncheon a meek-eyed, plainly dressed little woman was
ushered into her office. In her mittened hands the stranger carried a
package. Sight of it caused the matron to stare. Her wonder grew as the
woman handed it to her.

"If you please, ma'am," blurted forth the stranger, red with
embarrassment, "I hope you won't feel hard towards me. I know I oughtta
come to you before. My husband found this here package in a rubbish can.
He works for the town, collectin' rubbish. He found it jus' before
Christmas and brung it home t' me.

"You c'n see for yourself how the name o' the party it was to go to had
been all run together, so's you can't read it. The package got wet, I
guess. But your name's plain enough up in the corner. I knowed I ought
ta brung it here first thing, but I--I--opened it. I knowed I hadn't
oughtta. Then I seen this pretty silk sack and I wanted it terrible.

"I says to myself as how I was goin' to keep it. It wasn't my fault if
you throwed it into the rubbish can by mistake. My husband he said I
hadda right to it, 'cause findin' was keepin'. So I kep' it, but it made
me feel bad. I was brung up honest and I knowed it was the same as
stealin'.

"But I wanted it terrible, jus' the same. I never see anything
han'somer, an' it looked swell on me. I put it on jus' once for a
minute. It didn't give me no pleasure, though. I felt jus' sneaky an'
mean. After that I put it away. Once in a while I took a look at it.
Then my little girl got a bad cold. She was awful sick. I forgot all
about the sack. She pretty near died. I sat up with her nights for quite
a while. When she got better I thought about the sack again, and knowed
that God had come down hard on me for bein' a thief. So I jus' got ready
an' brung it back. It ain't hurt a mite, an' I hope you won't make me no
trouble, 'cause I've had enough."

Mrs. Weatherbee's feelings can be better imagined than described. The
return of the missing sweater at the critical moment was sufficiently
astounding, not to mention the pathetic little confession that
accompanied its return. She felt nothing save intense sympathy for her
humble caller.

When the latter took her leave a few moments later, she went away wiping
her eyes. Far from making her any "trouble," Mrs. Weatherbee had treated
her with the utmost gentleness. The stately, white-haired woman with the
"proud face" had not only thanked her for returning the "sack," she had
asked for her humble caller's address and expressed her intention of
sending the little sick girl a cheer-up present.

Left alone, Mrs. Weatherbee sat smiling rather absently at the dainty
blue and white bit of knitting which she had taken from its wrapper. She
thought she understood very well how it had happened to stray into the
rubbish can. She now recalled that the rubbish cans about Chesterford
and at the edge of the campus were much the shape and size of the
package boxes used by the postal service. Given a dark, rainy night and
an absent-minded messenger, the result was now easy to anticipate. Here
was proof piled high of Judith Stearns' "fatal failing."

There was but one thing more to be done before winding-up summarily an
affair that had been to her vexatious from the beginning. She had
obtained plenty of evidence for the defense. Now she turned her
attention to the prosecution. She had yet to hold a private word with
Elsie Noble. This she resolved to do directly the freshman in question
had returned to the Hall from her afternoon classes.

Elsie, on her part, had been looking forward to this very interview
with a degree of sullen satisfaction. On the day following the scene in
Mrs. Weatherbee's room, Marian had informed her cousin of all that had
taken place. As a result, Elsie had flown into a tempestuous rage over
having been dragged into the trouble by Marian.

"You've got to do as I say, Elsie. If you don't, you'll be sorry,"
Marian had coldly threatened. "Maiz and I will drop you. Besides, I'll
tell Mrs. Weatherbee all about that register business. Then she'll
believe you listened outside the dressing-room, no matter how much you
may deny it."

"I'll do as I please," Elsie had furiously retorted, and flung herself
out of Marian's room.

Not at all alarmed by her cousin's anger, Marian had confidently
remarked to Maizie: "Elsie doesn't dare go back on us. She'll do as I
tell her. She always fusses a lot, then gives in. She has no more time
for those three prigs than we have."

For once she was mistaken. Elsie had changed, though she alone knew it.
Her secret admiration for Norma had paved the way to better things. She
now rebelled at the thought of facing this sweet, truthful-eyed girl
with a lie on her own lips. Marian's threat to expose her fault had
awakened her to a bitter knowledge of her cousin's unbounded malice. She
experienced a belated revulsion of feeling toward Judith Stearns. Jane
Allen's explanation of the gown incident, scornfully repeated to Elsie
by Marian, now stood for truth in Elsie's mind.

Having gone thus far, Elsie next mentally weighed Marian's bolder
accusation against Judith concerning the missing jewelry. Face to face
with her cousin's utter lack of principle, for the first time it
occurred to her to wonder whether Marian might not know better than
anyone else the whereabouts of the missing pin and ring. She decided to
do a little private investigating of her own.

When, at five o'clock on the fateful Monday afternoon, the maid brought
her word that Mrs. Weatherbee wished to see her, she went downstairs to
the matron's office, fully equipped for emergency. The recital which she
indignantly poured into the latter's shocked ears was the climax to an
eventful day for Mrs. Weatherbee.

It may be said to Elsie's credit that she did not spare herself or even
attempt to palliate her own offenses. She made a frank confession of her
faults and expressed an honest and sincere contrition for them which
showed plainly that her feet were at last planted upon the solid ground
of right. She was no longer the "ignoble Noble."

"After what I've told you, I know you won't allow me to live here at the
Hall any more," she said huskily. "I deserve to be punished. I'm going
to accept it, too, as bravely as I can. I've been doing wrong all year,
but at last I've come to my senses. I know that for once I'm doing right
and it comforts me a good deal."

This straightforward avowal would have moved to compassion a far
harder-hearted woman than was Mrs. Weatherbee. The matron realized that
the dry-eyed, resolute-faced girl seated opposite her had been punished
sufficiently by her own conscience.

"I shall _not_ ask you to leave Madison Hall, my dear child," she
assured very gently. "I wish you to stay on here because I am convinced
that would be best for you. In justice to others, however, I must ask
you to come to my room this evening, prepared to stand by me in whatever
I may require of you."

"I thank you, Mrs. Weatherbee," Elsie said with deep earnestness. "I'll
be only too glad to stand by you. I'm going upstairs now to get my wraps
and I sha'n't be here to dinner to-night. I know Marian will be looking
for me as soon as she receives word from you to come to her room. It
will be best for me not to see her again until then. Don't you think
so?"

"Under the circumstances, I should prefer that you hold no conversation
with her beforehand," agreed the matron.

Thus ended the momentous interview. Woman and girl pledged their good
faith in a warm hand clasp, and Elsie left the office feeling like one
from whose shoulders a heavy burden had suddenly dropped.

"_Where_ is Elsie?" was Marian Seaton's desperate inquiry, when at five
minutes to eight she entered her room, following a fruitless search for
her cousin.

"Search me," shrugged Maizie. "Very likely Weatherbee never said a word
to her. I know she hadn't as late as luncheon to-day, for I asked Elsie
and she said 'No.' We're just as well off without her. She has no more
diplomacy than a goose. She's been so grouchy all week, that I don't
trust her."

"Oh, she's harmless," frowned Marian. "Now listen to me, Maizie. If,
when we get into Weatherbee's room, things don't look favorable, we'd
better be ready to slide out of the whole business. We can withdraw the
charge, you know. That will end the whole thing."

Maizie made no reply, save by smiling in her slow, aggravating fashion.
She had her own ideas on the subject, but she was too indifferent of
results to express them. At least, so she believed.

Her indifference fell away a trifle, however, as she and Marian were
presently ushered into Mrs. Weatherbee's room by a most stony-faced
matron. Instead of finding there three girls, a disturbing fourth was
present. Decidedly disturbing to Marian's peace of mind.

At sight of Elsie Noble, who sat stolidly beside Norma on the davenport,
Marian's face darkened. Walking straight over to her cousin, she asked
furiously:

"Where were you this evening?"

"That will do, Miss Seaton." Mrs. Weatherbee now took command of the
situation. "Kindly sit down and allow me to manage this affair."

With a baleful glance at Elsie, Marian sullenly obeyed the stern voice.

"It is not necessary to go into the subject of why you are here," began
the matron, addressing the silent group of girls. "I will proceed at
once to business. I shall first read you a portion of a letter from
Edith Allison, formerly Edith Hammond."

Taking up an open letter from a pile of papers that lay on a small table
beside her, she read aloud:

     DEAR MRS. WEATHERBEE:

     "What a shame that such an unfortunate misunderstanding should have
     arisen over that unlucky white lace gown of mine. It was really a
     ridiculous mistake all around. Jane's explanation, of course,
     convinced you of that. It would never have happened if Judy's gown
     and mine had not been so nearly alike. We all had a good laugh over
     it, when Jane finally straightened out the tangle.

     "I can't understand Miss Seaton's not knowing about Judy's
     absent-mindedness. It was the joke of the freshman class last year.
     She figured prominently in the grind book. I am extremely indignant
     to hear that her honesty has ever been doubted. She is one of the
     finest, most honorable girls I have ever known. I am very glad you
     wrote me about this."

"I shall not read the remainder of this letter, as it has no further
bearing on the case," announced the matron in dignified tones. "Miss
Seaton," she turned coldly to Marian, "Miss Noble assures me that she
never overheard a conversation such as you attributed to her. I have,
therefore, drawn my own conclusions. They are not flattering to you or
Miss Gilbert. I now ask you and I demand a truthful answer, which of you
two overheard that conversation?"

"I refuse to answer you," snapped Marian, her face flaming.

"I am answered," returned the older woman gravely. "The subject of the
gown is now closed. We will take up that of your missing jewelry. I will
now inform you that it has been found."

"Found!" Marian sprang to her feet in pretended surprise. "Then the
person who stole it must have given it back!" She cast a malicious
glance at Judith as she thus exclaimed.

"Miss Seaton!" Never before had Mrs. Weatherbee's voice held such a
degree of utter displeasure. "You know, as does also Miss Gilbert, the
utter injustice of such remarks. You know, too, where to look for the
jewelry. It has never been out of your possession."

"I haven't it. I don't know where it is." Marian's voice rose in shrill
contradiction.

"Oh, yes you do, Marian," bluntly differed Elsie Noble. "The ring and
pin are in a little white box in the tray of your trunk. I saw them
there yesterday. I went into your room while you were both out yesterday
and hunted for them. After you showed me how spiteful you could be, I
decided you were capable of even that. So I thought I'd find it out for
myself, and I did."

"Not a word she says is true," Marian fiercely denied. "She's an
eavesdropper and a mischief-maker. She----"

"Mrs. Weatherbee knows all about me," coolly informed Elsie. "She knows,
too, that I'm done with all that. You needn't deny that the pin and ring
weren't there yesterday. I saw them. You may have put them somewhere
else by now, though."

"Will you please not interrupt me?" Marian had decided to make a last
desperate attempt to crawl out of the snarl she was in. She fully
realized the seriousness of the situation.

Addressing the matron, she said brazenly, "I came here to-night with the
intention of withdrawing my charge against Miss Stearns. Miss Gilbert
and I had decided that she was innocent. Whoever took the jewelry must
have become frightened and put it back without my knowing it. I will go
at once and look in my trunk, since my cousin insists that it is----"

"You will kindly remain where you are," ordered Mrs. Weatherbee tersely.
"Later, I shall insist on seeing both the ring and the pin. You and Miss
Gilbert will now apologize to Miss Stearns for the trouble you have
caused her. You will also apologize to Miss Allen and Miss Bennett."

"I was mistaken about the gown and the jewelry," Marian admitted with a
toss of her head. She was addressing no one in particular. "I have
nothing more to say."

"I was also mistaken," drawled Maizie imperturbably. Nevertheless a
curious look of dread had crept into her sleepy black eyes. Matters were
at their worst, it appeared. Things had been stirred up altogether too
much for safety. Elsie had proved anything but harmless.

"Do you accept this apology?" inquired the matron of the three
defendants.

"I do, provided Miss Seaton promises strictly to have _nothing more to
say_ in future against any of us to anybody," stipulated Judith with
quiet finality.

"I will accept it under the same conditions," Jane said quietly.

"And I," nodded Norma.

"Neither Miss Seaton nor Miss Gilbert will circulate any more injurious
reports about anyone," assured Mrs. Weatherbee grimly. "This matter in
itself is sufficient to warrant suspension from college.

"I regret that there is still another grave charge against you," she
continued, fixing the guilty pair with a relentless gaze. "I have been
informed that you, Miss Seaton, are the author of a malicious letter
signed 'Jane Allen,' which I received before college opened."

This time it was Jane who received a shock. She had come to the matron's
room prepared to take up the cudgels in Judith's behalf. Elsie Noble's
unexpected stand on the side of right had been amazing enough. Elsie had
certainly been the chief witness for the defense. Was it she who had
told Mrs. Weatherbee about the letter?

"I haven't the least idea of what you mean," Marian haughtily retorted.

"That's not true," contradicted the invincible Elsie. "You know
perfectly well that you sent that letter to Mrs. Weatherbee. You told me
so yourself."

"I did nothing of the kind," persisted Marian.

"Then how did I know about it?" triumphantly demanded Elsie. "I
mentioned it to Mrs. Weatherbee. _She_ never mentioned it to me. If I
had known then just how spiteful you could be I'd never have let you
write it. You told me before I came to Wellington that Jane Allen was a
hateful, deceitful, untruthful girl who had done you a lot of harm. I
know now that _she_ isn't. I know that _you_ are. I'm sorry that you're
my cousin and I don't intend to have anything further to do with you."

When Elsie had begun speaking, Mrs. Weatherbee had been on the point of
checking her. She refrained, however, because she realized suddenly that
Marian deserved this arraignment. She had manufactured trouble out of
whole cloth; now she fully merited her cousin's plain speaking.

"You have said a good deal about injustice, Mrs. Weatherbee. I think it
very unfair that I should be accused of something which I don't in the
least understand," began Marian, with a fine pretense of injured
innocence. "I should like to see the letter you accuse me of writing."

From underneath the pile of papers on the table, the matron drew forth a
typed letter. She handed it to Marian without a word.

Marian read it, then laughed disagreeably.

"No wonder Elsie knew of it," she sneered. "This is some of her work.
She was crazy to get into Madison Hall with us. She knew there would be
no vacancies. I had told her that. She listened to what I had said about
Miss Allen, every word of it's true, too, by the way, and had someone
type this letter. After that she applied for admission. Very clever
indeed, Elsie, but you mustn't lay it to me. The signature is certainly
not in my handwriting."

It was now Marian's turn to look triumphant.

"The whole trouble with Elsie is that I threatened to expose her for
eavesdropping," she continued. "She has made me all this fuss simply to
be even. She knows that she is responsible for this letter. The fact
that she mentioned it to you, Mrs. Weatherbee, is proof enough, I should
say. Certainly you have no proof that I had anything to do with it,
beyond what she says. Her word counts for nothing."

A breathless silence followed Marian's bold turning of the tables. Elsie
gave a sharp gasp of pure consternation.

"Oh, I didn't do it!" she stammered, casting an appealing glance about
her. "I--hope--you--don't--believe----"

"Here is the proof that you didn't," broke in Jane Allen's resolute
tones. She had resolved to come to the defense of the girl who had so
sturdily defended Judith. From her blouse she had drawn Eleanor's letter
and the carbon copy of the letter which Mrs. Weatherbee had received.

When the latter had finished examining both, she looked up and said in a
dry, hard voice:

"This is the most dishonorable affair I have ever known to happen at
Wellington. I shall certainly take it up with Miss Rutledge. There is
now no room left for doubt regarding the authorship of this letter. It
is undeniably your work, Miss Seaton. It remains yet to be discovered
what part Miss Gilbert played in it."

Without further preliminary, the incensed matron read aloud Eleanor's
letter.

Marian Seaton turned from red to pale as she listened. Maizie kept her
eyes resolutely on the floor. This last bit of evidence was too
overwhelming to be disputed. It could not be explained away.

"What have you to say to this?" demanded Mrs. Weatherbee of Marian.

"Nothing," was the muttered reply.

The matron had a great deal to say. For the next ten minutes she
lectured the culprits with scathing severity.

"I shall recommend that you be expelled from college, Miss Seaton. Miss
Gilbert, were you also a party to this affair?"

"Yes," was the tranquil response, "I knew all about it. Can't say I'm
very proud of it. Still, it's rather too late now for regrets."

Maizie raised her unfathomable black eyes from their studied scrutiny of
the floor. Quite by chance they met Jane's gray ones. Jane had a
peculiar impression as of a veil that had been slowly lifted, revealing
to her a Maizie Gilbert who had the possibilities of something higher
than malicious mischief-making.

Obeying an impulse which suddenly swayed her, she turned to the matron.

"Mrs. Weatherbee," she said, "can't this affair be settled now and among
ourselves? After all, no great harm has really come of it. The missing
jewelry has been found, Judith has been exonerated, I still have my
room, and no one except those present knows what has taken place here
to-night. We are willing to forget it if you are. I am speaking for
Judith and Norma. I am sure Elsie doesn't want her cousin to be
expelled. Can't we blot it out and begin over again?"

"I should like it to be that way," said Judith quietly.

Norma nodded silent concurrence.

"I'll never forgive Marian, but I'd hate to see her expelled," Elsie
said, after a brief hesitation. "I don't think Maizie ought to be,
either. It's not half as much her fault as Marian's."

Perhaps this latest turn of the tide amazed Mrs. Weatherbee most of all.
For a time she silently scanned the group of girls before her. She had
not reckoned that the defense would suddenly swing about and plead for
the defeated prosecution.

"I cannot answer you now, Miss Allen," she gravely replied. "I can
appreciate, however, your generosity of spirit. I shall ask all of you
to leave me now. Later I will inform you of my decision."

Each feeling that there was nothing more to be said, the six girls
obediently rose to depart. Marian walked to the door, looking neither to
the right nor left. Without waiting for Maizie she made a hurried exit.

Maizie took her time, however. Her hand on the door knob she turned and
addressed Jane.

"You're a real Right Guard," she said in her slow, drawling fashion.
"Not only on the team, but in everything else. I'm sorry it took me so
long to find it out."

CHAPTER XXVII

CONCLUSION

As a result of the events of the previous evening, Marian Seaton and
Maizie Gilbert put in a very bad day. It began by a wild fit of weeping
on Marian's part, after breakfast and in her room that morning. At
breakfast she managed to keep up a semblance of her usual self-assured,
arrogant manner, but the moment she reached her room she crumpled.

"Don't be a baby, Marian," was Maizie's rough advice, as she stolidly
prepared to go to her first recitation of the day. "You brought this
trouble on yourself. You might as well take the consequences without
whimpering. You'd better cut your first recitation. Your eyes are a
sight."

"I'm not going to _any_ of my classes to-day. Go on about your own
business and let me alone," was Marian's equally rude retort.

Maizie merely shrugged at this announcement and went stoically upon her
way. She was made of sterner stuff than her unworthy roommate, and with
the realization that she had behaved very badly indeed, she had now
steeled herself to accept her punishment bravely.

Marian, on the contrary, moped in her room all morning, went to
Rutherford Inn for a lonely luncheon and returned to the Hall and her
room to weep again and ponder darkly over her unhappy situation. She
tried in vain to prepare an argument by which she might clear herself
should Mrs. Weatherbee decide to expose her wrong-doing to Miss
Rutledge. She could think of nothing that might carry weight. The case
against her was too complete to afford the slightest loophole for
escape.

As the day dragged on she gave up in despair. She made up her mind that
her only hope now lay in appealing to Mrs. Weatherbee for mercy. She
resolved to pretend deep remorse and promise a future uprightness of
conduct to which she had no intention of living up.

At five o'clock that afternoon, Maizie walked in upon the despondent
Marian with: "Mrs. Weatherbee wants to see us in her room. The maid
just told me. I'm glad of it. I'm anxious to have the matter settled."

"If Mrs. Weatherbee tells us that she is going to report us to Miss
Rutledge, Maizie, we must beg her not to do it," quavered Marian. "We
must promise her anything rather than let her go to Miss Rutledge.
That's what I intend to do and so must you."

Maizie regarded Marian with the air of one who was carefully weighing
the cowardly counsel. All she said was:

"Come on. We mustn't keep her waiting."

First glance at the matron's face as they were admitted to her room
filled both girls with renewed apprehension. She looked more
uncompromisingly stern than ever. With a brusque invitation to be
seated, she took a chair directly opposite them and began addressing
them in cool, measured tones:

"My original intention was to defer a decision of your case for several
days, at least," she said. "Thinking the matter over to-day, I came to
the conclusion that the sooner this disagreeable affair was settled and
off my mind, the better pleased I should be.

"Both of you deserve expulsion from college. I am sure that Miss
Rutledge would be of the same opinion were I to lay the matter before
her. Frankly, I have decided not to do so simply on account of Miss
Stearns and Miss Allen. These two young girls have shown themselves
great enough of spirit to overlook the injury you have endeavored to do
them. This has made a marked impression upon me, so great, in fact, that
I have determined not to report this very disagreeable affair to Miss
Rutledge. Since it has occurred at the Hall and has no bearing on any
one outside the Hall, I feel that I am justified in settling it as I
deem wisest for all concerned.

"The fact that you are both young girls, also, has something to do with
it. In my opinion it is a very shocking matter for a young woman to be
expelled from college. You have been under my charge for almost two
years, and I feel in a measure responsible for you. On this account and
because Miss Stearns and Miss Allen have interceded for you, I shall not
inform Miss Rutledge of your dishonorable conduct.

"For the remainder of the college year I shall allow you to continue
under my charge at the Hall. When you leave Madison Hall in June,
however, it will be with the understanding that you cannot return to it
the following autumn. You must make arrangements to live at another
campus house."

Thus far neither girl had been given the least opportunity of speaking.
As it happened, neither had the slightest desire to speak. Both were
feeling too intensely relieved for words. First to recover from the good
news that she and Maizie would escape the punishment they merited,
Marian Seaton now said with a faint touch of asperity:

"Why won't you allow us to come back to Madison Hall next year, Mrs.
Weatherbee? We prefer it to any other campus house. If we give you our
word of honor to let Judith Stearns and her crowd alone, isn't that
sufficient?"

"No, Miss Seaton, it is not. I repeat that you must make other
arrangements for next year. One thing more and we will conclude this
interview. You must both pledge yourselves to good behavior while you
are here. If I hear of any attempts on your part to malign a fellow
student, either by word or deed, I shall revoke my decision and put your
case before Miss Rutledge. Nothing except absolute fair play on your
part will be tolerated here. That is all. You are at liberty to go."

Fighting back her anger, Marian arose, and with a stiff, "Thank you,
Mrs. Weatherbee," walked to the door. She was congratulating herself
that she had not been forced to ask favors of that "hard-hearted old
tyrant."

Maizie rose, but made no attempt to follow Marian. Instead she raised
unfathomable black eyes to the matron and said:

"You are kinder to us than we deserve. I thank you."

Then she turned abruptly and followed Marian from the room.

Back in their own room, she walked over to her bed and sat down on it
and eyed Marian reflectively.

"Well, what's the matter with you?" asked Marian crossly. "You make me
tired. Why did you say to that old dragon that she'd been kinder to us
than we deserved? It wasn't necessary. The idea of her turning us out of
Madison Hall. And we can't do anything to stop her, either. She has the
whip hand and she knows it. It's a positive outrage and the whole affair
is Elsie's fault, the hateful little hypocrite. She'll be sorry. I'll
never rest until I pay her back for this."

"It strikes me," drawled Maizie, "that there's been altogether too much
of this 'paying back' business. You'd best drop it, Marian. You are not
a success in that line. As for me, I'm tired of it. I used to think it
great fun and exciting, but now I know that it's petty, mean and
unworthy. If I could be as true to myself as Jane Allen is, I'd be
happy."

"_Jane Allen!_" exclaimed Marian in exasperation. "I _hate_ the very
sound of her name. I suppose now, since you seem to admire her so much,
you'll begin running after her."

"No, not yet," was the tranquil response. "Perhaps never. I don't know.
I'm going to stick to you for the present. I've been a party to your
schemes and it wouldn't be right to desert you. But from now on, I am
going to be fair with these girls. I warn you not to come to me with any
plans of yours for getting even with them. I won't listen to them. If
you are wise you won't make them. But you won't be wise. I know you too
well. Only don't count on me to help you. The old Maizie is dead. I
don't know what the new one's going to be like. I'll have to wait and
find out."

"You're a big goose," sneered Marian. "I never thought you'd be so
silly. And all on account of that priggish Jane Allen. She's----"

"She's a fine girl," declared Maizie with an ominous flash of her black
eyes. "I only wish you and I were more like her."

Meanwhile, in company with Judith Stearns, the objects of Maizie's newly
discovered admiration were on their way to Mrs. Weatherbee's room.
Immediately Marian and Maizie had departed, the matron had sent for Jane
and Judith. For an hour they remained in friendly and very earnest
conclave with Mrs. Weatherbee. When at last they left her, it was with
the feeling that everything was once more right with their little world.

The instant the door of their own room closed behind the two, they
expressed their emotions by clinging to each other in joyful embrace.

"Thank goodness, it's come out all right!" exclaimed Judith. "We'd never
have felt quite comfortable if Mrs. Weatherbee had taken it higher.
Marian and Maizie would have been expelled from Wellington, that's
certain. It is enough punishment for them to have been told that they
couldn't come back to Madison Hall next year and wouldn't be allowed to
stay here for the rest of this year only on the promise of strict good
behavior."

"I can't feel sorry about that part of it," declared Jane. "I think we
are justified in being glad that Marian Seaton will be in another campus
house next year. To tell you the truth I wouldn't mind Maizie's being
here. She's a strange girl, Judy. There's a lot to her beneath that
lazy, indifferent manner of hers. I'll never forget the way she looked
when she turned to me and spoke about my being Right Guard."

"She looked as though she'd been asleep for a long time and then had
suddenly waked up," nodded Judith. "And Elsie Noble! I can't get over
the way she turned around and stood up for us. Just to think, too, she
told Mrs. Weatherbee that it was Norma who had made her feel as though
she wanted to be different. And Norma never even knew how much Elsie
admired her."

"It shows that a person who does right and thinks right is bound to
influence others without ever saying a word," Jane said reflectively.

"Yes, that's so," Judith agreed. "One never knows how much every little
thing one says and does is going to impress others. I shall have to be
pretty careful how I behave in future. My fatal failing's likely to land
me in penitentiary yet, if I don't reform," she added with a giggle.

"You'll have to learn to distinguish between a rubbish can and a package
box, Judy," laughed Jane.

During the confidential talk with Jane and Judith, Mrs. Weatherbee had
told Judith all about the missing sweater and its amazing return into
her hands.

"It wouldn't have happened if some one hadn't moved that rubbish can up
near the package box," asserted Judith. "It was so dark, and raining so
hard I didn't stop to look. The lids of the rubbish can lift up on each
side from the middle, you know. Of course, if I had my mind on what I
was doing it wouldn't have happened, but I didn't.

"Mrs. Weatherbee didn't say so, but I'm sure she must have thought that
the sweater Aunt Jennie made me was the missing one," Judith opined.
"Honestly, Jane, I believe if it hadn't been for that, she never would
have listened to Marian Seaton's accusations against me."

Transcriber's Notes

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.
2. Table of Contents added in this text was not present in original
   edition.

End of Project Gutenberg's Jane Allen: Right Guard, by Edith Bancroft