Grace Harlowe's Sophomore Year at High School / The Record of the Girl Chums in Work and Athletics

Still Grace felt confident that her team would rise to the occasion when the game was called. They were two well-trained, too certain of their powers to ever think of failing.

The bad weather had evidently not depressed the spirits of their opponents. The juniors stood about laughing and talking. Julia Crosby moved from one girl to the other whispering slyly.

"Wretch!" thought Grace. "How disagreeable she is. She was born too late. She should have lived in the middle ages, when plotting was the fashion. She is anything but a credit to her class and dear old Oakdale High School."

Grace's rather vehement reflections were cut short by the approach of Miss Thompson, who stopped to say a word of cheer to the girls before taking her seat in the gallery.

"They will not hold it after to-day if we can help it," answered Grace. "We feel fairly sure that we can whip them."

"That is the right spirit," said Miss Thompson. "Confidence is first cousin to success, you know."

"Was there ever a teacher quite like Miss Thompson?" asked Nora as the principal left them to take her seat in the gallery.

"She is a dear," said Marian Barber, "and she's on our side, too."

"There's the referee now!" exclaimed Grace. "Now, girls, make up your minds to play as you never played before. Remember it's for the honor of the sophomores."

By this time the gallery was half filled with an audience largely composed of High School boys and girls. A few outsiders were present. Mrs. Harlowe had come to see her daughter's team win the game, she said; for she knew that Grace's heart was set on victory.

The rival captains faced each other, ready to jump for the ball the instant it left the referee's hands. There was a moment of expectant silence; then the referee put the ball in play, the whistle blew and the game began. Both captains sprang for the ball, but alas for the sophomores, Julia Crosby caught it and threw it to the junior right forward. It looked for a minute as though the juniors would score without effort, but Nora O'Malley, who was left guard, succeeded so effectually in annoying her opponent that when the bewildered goal-thrower did succeed in throwing the ball, it fell wide of the basket. It had barely touched the floor before there was a rush for it, and the fun waxed fast and furious.

During the first five minutes neither side scored; then the tide turned in favor of the juniors and they netted the ball.

Grace Harlowe set her teeth, resolving to play harder than ever. The juniors should not score again if she could help it. Nora had the ball and was dribbling it for dear life. Grace signaled her team, who responded instantly; but, to their consternation, the juniors seemed to understand the signal as fully as did their own team, and quickly blocking their play, scored again.

Nora O'Malley, in her excitement, caught the forward she was guarding by the arm, and again a foul was called; this time, however, the juniors made nothing from it. But the precious time was flying and only four minutes of the first half remained. Again Grace signaled for another secret play, and again the juniors rose to the occasion and thwarted her.

It was maddening.

Up in the gallery discussion ran rife. The admirers of the juniors were loud in their praise of the superior ability of the team. The junior class, who were sitting in a body at one end of the gallery, grew especially noisy, and were laughing derisively at the downfall of the sophomores.

Miss Thompson was puzzled.

"I cannot imagine what ails my sophomores," she said to the teacher next to her. "I understood that they were such fine players. Yet they don't seem to be able to hold their own. It looks as though their defeat were inevitable, unless they do some remarkable playing during the next half."

Mrs. Harlowe, too, was disappointed. She wondered why Grace had boasted so much of her team.

"After all, they are little more than children," she thought. "Those juniors seem older to me."

"We are not beaten yet, girls," she said, "and I believe we shall make up in the last half what we lost in the first. Work fast, but keep your wits about you. Don't give the referee any chance to call a foul, we can't spare a minute from now on. When I give the signal for a certain play, be on the alert, and please, please don't any of you present those juniors with any more points. I'm not blaming you, Miriam, for I know that last throw of yours was an accident, but I could have cried when that ball went into the basket."

Miriam's face flushed; then realizing that all eyes were turned toward her, she said sarcastically:

"Really, Miss Harlowe, it's so kind of you to look at it in that light. However, anyone with common sense would have known without being told that I never intended that ball for the juniors."

"I am not so sure of that," muttered Nora, who, seeing the hurt look that crept into Grace's eyes at Miriam's words, immediately rose in behalf of her captain.

Miriam whirled on Nora.

"What did you say?" asked Miriam angrily.

Their friends in the gallery applauded vigorously and began to take heart, but their joy was short-lived, for as the play proceeded the sophomores steadily lost what little ground they had gained. Try as they might, they could make no headway. Grace called for play after play, only to find that in some inexplicable way the enemy seemed to know just what she meant, and acted accordingly.

The fact that Grace Harlowe still sat on the gymnasium floor passed for a moment unnoticed. In the final grand rush for the ball, the other players failed to see that their valiant captain still occupied the spot where she fell. Tumbles were not infrequent, and Grace was well able to take care of herself.

Anne Pierson alone saw Julia Crosby's foot slide out, and, scenting treachery, hastily left her seat in the gallery. She ran as fast as she could to where Grace sat, reaching her a few seconds after the whistle blew.

"Good little Anne," called Grace. "You have come to my rescue even though the others have deserted me. Perhaps you can help me up. I tried it, but my ankle hurts every time I try to stand."

Her face was very white, and Anne saw that she was in great pain.

"She has sprained her ankle!" exclaimed Miss Thompson. "How did it happen, Grace? I did not see you fall."

"I don't know, Miss Thompson," said Grace faintly. "It all happened so quickly I didn't have time to think about it."

"It certainly is a shame," cried Anne. "And I know——"

Just then Grace gave Anne a warning glance and shook her head slightly. Anne closed her lips and was silent.

"What were you saying, Anne?" asked Miss Thompson.

But Anne had received her orders.

"I am so sorry that Grace has been hurt," she said lamely.

"Just keep quiet for a few days, and you'll be all right," said Dr. Gale. "You girls are as bad as boys about getting hard knocks. It looks as though basketball were about as barbarous as football."

"It is a dear old game, and I love it in spite of hard knocks," said Grace emphatically.

"I like your spirit, Grace," laughed Dr. Gale. "Now, remember to treat that ankle well if you want to appear again in the basketball arena."

"Grace," said Anne, after the doctor had gone. "You know how it happened, don't you?"

"Yes," answered Grace, after a little hesitation. "I do."

"What are you going to do about it?" asked Anne.

"I don't know," said Grace. "I am not sure it was intentional."

"Grace," said Anne with decision, "it was intentional. I watched her every minute of the game, for I didn't trust her, and I saw her do it. I was so angry that when Miss Thompson asked how it happened I felt that I must tell, then and there. It was you who prevented me. I think such a trick should be exposed."

She took Anne's hand in hers.

"It's just this way, Anne," she continued. "If I were to tell what Julia Crosby did, Miss Thompson might forbid basketball. That would be dreadful. Besides, the juniors would hardly believe me, and would say it was a case of sour grapes, on account of the sophomores losing the game. So you see I should gain nothing and perhaps lose a great deal. I believe that people that do mean things are usually repaid in their own coin. Julia didn't really intend to hurt me. Her idea was to prevent me from getting the ball. Of course it was dishonorable and she knew it. It is strictly forbidden in basketball, and if her own team knew positively that she was guilty, it would go hard with her. There is honor even among thieves, you know."

There was a brief silence. Grace lay back among the cushions, looking very white and tired. Her ankle pained her severely, but the defeat of her beloved team was a deeper hurt to her proud spirit.

Anne sat apparently wrapped in thought. She nervously clasped and unclasped her small hands.

Anne was almost in tears.

"Anne, dear," said Grace soothingly, "don't worry about it. I am not afraid to tell the girls about that list, and I shall certainly do so. They will understand that it was an accident, and overlook it. Besides, we are not sure that the juniors found it. I will admit that everything points that way. You know David warned us that they had some mischief on hand. If they did find it, the only honorable thing to do was to return it. They are far more at fault than we are, and the girls will agree with me, I know."

But Anne was not so confident.

"Miriam will try to make trouble about it, I know she will. And I am to blame for the whole thing," she said.

Grace was about to reply when Mrs. Harlowe appeared in the door with a tray of tempting food.

"Won't you stay, Anne, and have supper with my invalid girl?" said Mrs. Harlowe.

"Please do, Anne," coaxed Grace. "I hate eating alone, and having you here takes my mind off my pain."

Anne stayed, and the two girls had a merry time over their meal. Grace, knowing Anne's distress over the lost signals, refused to talk of the subject. Jessica and Nora, David, Hippy and Reddy dropped in, one after the other, to inquire for Grace.

"There is nothing like accidents to bring one's friends together," declared Grace, as the young people gathered around her.

"I told you to look out for squalls, Grace," said David. "But you didn't weather the gale very well."

"Those juniors must have been eavesdropping when you made your signal code. They understood every play you made. By George, I wonder if that were the meaning of that pow-wow the other day. Some one must have put Julia Crosby wise, and that's why she called a meeting at the Omnibus House. It's an out-of-the-way place, and she thought there was no danger of being disturbed.

She had been on the point of using Miriam's name, but remembered just in time that Miriam's brother was present.

"If we knew the girl who did it, we'd certainly cut her acquaintance," said Reddy Brooks.

"Never again should she bask in the light of our society," said Hippy dramatically.

"None of our friends would do such a thing," said David soberly. Then, turning to Anne, "What's your opinion on the subject, Queen Anne?"

But Anne could find no answer. She simply shook her head.

Grace, knowing Anne's feelings over the affair, came to the rescue.

"Anne's opinion and mine are the same. We feel sure that they knew our signals, but we believe they accidentally hit upon the knowledge. There is no use in crying over spilt milk. We shall have to change all our signals and take care that it doesn't happen again. And now let's talk of something more agreeable, for basketball is a sore subject with me in more than one sense." The talk drifted into other channels much to Anne's relief.

"I have an idea!" exclaimed Hippy.

"Be silent, fellow," commanded Hippy. "I will not brook such idle babbling." He strutted up and down the room, his chest inflated and one hand over his heart, presenting such a ridiculous figure that he raised a general laugh.

"Speak on, fat one. I promise not to make any more remarks," said Reddy.

"I propose," said Hippy, pausing in his march, "that we give an impromptu vaudeville show for the benefit of Miss Grace Harlowe, once an active member of this happy band, but now laid on the shelf—couch, I mean—for repairs."

"Done," was the unanimous reply.

"Now," continued Hippy, "get cozy, and the show will begin. Miss Nora O'Malley will open the show by singing 'Peggy Brady,' as only an Irish colleen of her pretensions can."

It was a product of Hippy's fertile brain, and the boys had been rehearsing it with great glee, in view of appearing in it, on some fitting occasion, before the girls.

David, gracefully draped in the piano cover, represented Egypt's queen, and languished upon Marc Antony's shoulder in the most approved manner. Reddy, as the Roman conqueror left nothing to be desired. The star actor of the piece, however, was Hippy, who played the deadly asp. He writhed and wriggled in a manner that would have filled a respectable serpent with envy, and in the closing scene bit the unfortunate Cleopatra so venomously that she howled for mercy, and instead of dying gracefully, arose and engaged in battle with his snakeship.

Grace forgot her sprained ankle and laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"You funny, funny boys," she gasped, "how did you ever think of anything so ridiculous!"

"There is nothing to pardon," replied Grace, "and we have only thanks to offer for the fun you have given us."

"It was indeed a notable performance," agreed Nora.

"Girls and boys," said Anne, "it is almost ten o'clock and Grace ought to be in bed. I move that we adjourn."

"Second the motion," said David. "We have been very selfish in keeping poor Grace up when she is ill."

"Poor Grace is glad you came, and isn't a bit tired," replied Grace, looking fondly at her friends. "You must all come to see me as often as you can while I am laid up. I shall be pretty lonely for a few days."

The young folks departed, singing "Good Night, Ladies" as they trooped down the walk.

"What a pleasure it is to have such dear, good friends," thought Grace as she lay back on her couch after they had gone. "They are well worth all the loyalty I can give them."

"Here comes Miriam up the walk now," cried Jessica. "She looks as though she had something on her mind."

Presently the door opened and Miriam was ushered in. Grace wondered a little at her call, considering the unfriendly spirit Miriam had recently exhibited toward her. She greeted Miriam cordially. The laws of hospitality were sacred in the Harlowe family, and not for worlds would Grace have shown anything but the kindest feeling toward a guest under her own roof.

Miriam accepted the chair and the cup of chocolate tendered her, ignoring the plate of cakes offered by Anne. She looked about her like a marksman taking aim before he fires. There was a danger signal in either eye.

"She is out for slaughter," thought Nora.

"Well, Miriam, what's the news?" said Marian Barber good-naturedly. "You have a mysterious, newsy look in your eye. Is it good, bad or indifferent?"

"Out with it," said Nora, "and don't keep us in suspense."

"Well," said Miriam, "I suppose you all noticed how the juniors outwitted us at every point last Saturday? We put up a hard fight, too. The reason of it was that they knew every one of our signals."

"How dreadful!" "How did they get their information?" "Who told you so?" were the exclamations that rose from the assembled girls.

Grace had raised herself to a sitting position and was steadily regarding Miriam, who, well aware of that keen, searching gaze, deliberately continued:

"What makes the matter so much worse is the fact that we were betrayed by a member of our own class."

"Oh, Miriam, you don't mean that?" said Jessica.

"I am sorry to say that it is true," replied Miriam, "and I am going to put the matter before the class."

"Tell us who it is, Miriam," cried the girls. "We'll fix her!"

"Miriam," said Grace in a tone of quiet command that made every girl look toward her, "you are to mention no names while in my house."

"The place to discuss these things is in school. There every girl stands on an equal footing and can refute any charges made against her. I wish to say that I have a communication to make which may put a different face on the whole matter. I know something of the story of those signals. When I go back to school I shall call a meeting of the basketball team and its subs. and tell them what I know about it; but not until then. Furthermore it is not strictly a class matter, as it pertains to the basketball players alone. Therefore any one outside the team has no right to interfere. Please don't think me disagreeable. It is because I am trying to avoid unpleasant consequences that I am firm about having no names mentioned here."

"You Need Mention No Names While in My House."

Nora broke the embarrassing pause.

"Grace is right as usual," she said, "and none of you girls should feel offended. What's the use of wasting the whole afternoon quarrelling over an old basketball game? Do talk about something pleasant. The sophomore ball for instance. Do you girls realize that we ought to be making some plans for it? It's the annual class dance, and should be welcomed, with enthusiasm. We've all been so crazy over basketball that we've neglected to think about our class responsibilities. We ought to try to make it a greater success than any other dance ever given by a sophomore class. We must call a meeting very soon, not to fight over basketball, but to make arrangements for our dance."

Nora's reminder of the coming ball was a stroke of diplomacy on her part.

Miriam seeing that it was useless to try to raise any further disturbance, cut her call short, taking with her several girls who were her staunch upholders.

Those who remained did not seem sorry at her departure, and Grace drew a breath of relief as the door closed upon the wilful girl. She had at least saved Anne from a cruel attack, but how much longer she could do so was a question. Miriam would undoubtedly bring up the subject at the first class meeting, and Grace was not so sure, now, that the girls would be willing to overlook the loss of the signals when she told them of it.

"I shall be loyal to Anne, no matter what it costs me," she decided. "She has done nothing wrong, and Miriam will find that she cannot trample upon either of us with impunity. As for Jessica and Nora, I know they will agree with me."

Under cover of conversation, Grace whispered to Jessica that she wished her to remain after the others had gone, and to ask Nora and Anne to do the same.

"Do you mean to tell me that Miriam meant Anne when she said she could name the girl?" demanded Nora.

"She did, indeed," replied Anne, "and if it had not been for Grace she would have made things very unpleasant for me."

"Humph," ejaculated the fiery Nora, "then all I have to say is that I don't see how a nice boy like David ever happened to have a horrid hateful, scheming sister like Miriam. Stand up for Anne? Well I rather think so! Let Miriam dare to say anything like that to me."

"Or me," said Jessica.

"I knew you girls would feel the same as I do," said Grace. "Anne has some true friends, thank goodness. You see Miriam is basing all her suppositions on the fact that Anne was allowed to come to practice. She doesn't know anything about the loss of the signals. You remember she objected to Anne seeing the practice game. Now she will try to show that she was right in doing so."

"Let her try it," said Jessica, "She'll be sorry."

"You are the brightest girl in school just the same," said Nora, "and that counts for a whole lot. Miss Thompson likes you, too, and our crowd is not to be despised."

"You are the dearest people in the world," responded Anne gratefully. "Please don't think that I am unappreciative. You have done far too much for me, and I don't want you to get into trouble on my account. As long as you girls care for me, I don't mind what the others think."

"Don't say that Anne," said Jessica. "You don't know how mean some of those girls can be. Don't you remember the junior that was cut by her class last year? Of course, she did something for which she deserved to be cut, but the girls made her life miserable. The story went through every class, and she got the cold shoulder all around. She's not here this year. Her father sent her away to school, she was so unhappy. You remember her, don't you?" turning to Grace and Nora.

Both girls nodded. The story of the unfortunate junior loomed up before them. Every girl in High School knew it.

As Grace was returning to the study hall from geometry recitation that morning, she encountered Julia Crosby. Julia glanced at her with an expression half fearful, half cunning, as though she wondered if Grace knew the truth about her fall.

Grace returned the look with one of such quiet contempt and scorn that Julia dropped her eyes and hurried along the corridor.

"How could she have been so contemptible?" thought Grace.

"I wonder if she'll tell," thought Julia. "She evidently knows I was responsible for her tumble. My, what a look she gave me. I wonder if that snippy little Anne Pierson knows about it, too. Very likely she does, for Grace Harlowe tells her all her business. If they do say anything I'll take good care no one believes it."

She was so absorbed in her own ruminations that she crashed into the dignified president of the senior class with considerable force, much to the glee of Nora, who happened to be near enough to catch the icy expression on the senior's face as Julia mumbled an apology.

At three o'clock precisely the last member had arrived. Every girl took particular pains to be there, for most of them had been at the Harlowe's on the day that Grace had silenced Miriam.

The meeting promised to be one of interest, for had not Grace Harlowe said that she would tell them something about the betrayed signals?

"Girls," Grace began, "you all know that although it is against the rules to allow any outsider to witness our practice, we have always made an exception in favor of Jessica. You all have perfect confidence in Jessica, I am sure. Since practice began this fall we have allowed Anne to come to it, too. You remember I asked permission for her to see the practice game, because I knew her to be absolutely trustworthy."

Here Nora nodded emphatically, Miriam tossed her head and smiled mockingly, while the rest of the girls looked a trifle mystified.

"When the game was well under way and the juniors began to block our plays, it flashed across me that in some way they had found that list. Anne, who has a mania for labeling everything, had written 'Sophomore basketball signals' across the paper; so, of course, any one who found it would know exactly what the list meant.

"We were warned that the juniors held a meeting at the Omnibus House a day or so before the game, and that they meant mischief. I never thought, however, they would be quite so dishonorable.

"I would have told you this before the game, but was afraid it would confuse and worry you. I am sure that you will agree with me, and absolve Anne from all blame."

"Miriam Nesbit," cried Nora. "You haven't the least right to accuse Anne Pierson of any such thing. She is too honorable to think of it, and she has no love for the junior class either. She isn't even friendly with them. If any one is to be accused of treachery, I should say that there are members of the team far more friendly with the juniors than poor little Anne."

This was a direct slap at Miriam, who winced a little at Nora's words.

"Well," said Marian Barber quickly, "it stands to reason that no member of the team would be foolish enough to help the enemy. I don't know anything about Miss Pierson, but I do know that I overheard Julia Crosby telling some girl in her class that the sophomores could thank one of their own class for their defeat."

"When did you hear her say that?" queried Miriam sharply.

"You girls can draw your own conclusions," said Miriam triumphantly. "That simply proves what I have said."

"That simply proves nothing at all," exclaimed Grace Harlowe, who had been too angry to trust herself to speak. "You are making a very serious charge against Anne without one bit of ground on which to base your suspicions. You have always disliked her because she won the freshman prize, and you know nothing whatever against her."

"No," said Miriam scornfully, "nor anything to her credit either. Who is she, anyway? The daughter of a strolling third-rate actor, who goes barnstorming about the country, and she has been on the stage, too. She has a very good opinion of herself since Mrs. Gray and certain Oakdale girls took her up, but I wouldn't trust her as far as I could see her. Why should girls of good Oakdale families be forced to associate with such people? I suppose she wanted to be on good terms with the juniors, too, and took that method of gaining her point."

"That is pure nonsense," exclaimed Nora. "Don't you think so, girls?"

"I think we ought to be very careful about taking outsiders into our confidence," firmly said Eva Allen, one of the team. "I didn't know Miss Pierson had ever been an actress." There was a note of horror in her voice as she pronounced the last word.

"I have always heard that they were very unreliable people," said another miss of sixteen.

Grace was in despair. She felt that she had lost. By dragging up Anne's unfortunate family history, Miriam had produced a bad impression that she was powerless to efface.

"Girls," she said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You know perfectly well that Anne is innocent. If you wish to be my friend you must be Anne's also. Please say that you believe her."

"Count on me," said Nora.

But the other sophomores had nothing to say.

"The meeting is adjourned," said Grace shortly, and without another word she went to her locker and began taking out her wraps. Nora followed her, but the majority of the girls walked over to the other end of the room and began to talk in low tones with Miriam.

"They wouldn't if they had any sense," responded Grace hotly, "I never believed that those girls could be so snobbish. I always thought them above such petty meanness. Don't pay any attention to them, Anne. They aren't worth it. I am going to interview Julia Crosby and make her acknowledge that she wasn't referring to you the other day. There is something queer about it all. I believe that there is some kind of secret understanding between Miriam and Julia; that this is a deliberate plot on their part to injure you and humiliate me, and I shall find out the truth before I am through."

"But what has Julia Crosby against me?" queried Anne, "I hardly know her."

"She hasn't forgotten the way David defended you at Mrs. Gray's Christmas ball last year," answered Grace, "Besides, you're a sophomore. Isn't that a good enough reason?"

"I suppose it is," said Anne wearily.

Grace kept her word and hailed Julia Crosby on the following afternoon as she was leaving the High School. It seemed a favorable opportunity for Julia was alone.

"There's nothing to hinder you, Miss Harlowe," replied Julia brusquely. "I'm here. Are you sure that it really is important?"

She stopped and eyed Grace insolently.

"I am very sure that it is important, Miss Crosby," said Grace. "Not long ago a certain sophomore overheard you telling a member of your class that we sophomores could thank a girl in our class for our basketball defeat. A certain girl had already been unjustly accused of betraying our signals. When your remark was repeated to the team, they immediately decided that you meant her. Since then her classmates have taken the matter up and are determined to cut her acquaintance."

"Well what has all this childish prattle to do with me?" demanded Julia rudely.

"It has this to do with you, that you can set the matter right by saying it was not Anne. You know perfectly well she had nothing to do with it. I don't know how you got those signals, but I do know that Anne never gave them to you."

"Did I say that she did?" asked Julia.

"No," said Grace, "neither did you say that she didn't."

"You are a cruel, heartless girl," cried Grace angrily. "Knowing Anne to be innocent, you refuse to clear her name of the suspicion resting upon it. Let me tell you one thing. I know who tripped me the day of the game, and so does Anne. If you don't clear Anne instantly, I shall go straight to Miss Thompson with it."

Grace's threat went home. Julia stood in actual dread of the principal. It looked as though the tables had been turned at last. If Grace went to Miss Thompson what a commotion there would be!

In a moment, however, Julia recovered herself. What was it Miss Thompson had said about rough play? Ah, Julia remembered now, and with the recollection of the principal's words came the means of worsting Grace Harlowe in her efforts to vindicate Anne.

"You may go to Miss Thompson if you think it wise," she said with a malicious smile, "but I wouldn't advise it—that is, unless you have gotten over caring for basketball."

Grace felt that she had no right to sacrifice the pleasure of so many others, even for Anne's sake. It would only increase the feeling against both Anne and herself, and after all, Julia might still hold out in her insinuations against Anne.

"How can you be so contemptible?" she said to her smiling enemy. "You never win anything honestly. I see it is useless for me to appeal to you for something which you cannot give, and that is fair play!" With a slight bow, Grace walked quickly away, leaving Julia a little astonished at her sudden departure and not at all pleased at Grace's frankly expressed opinion.

Grace lost no time in relating to Anne her fruitless interview with the junior captain.

"I am so humiliated to think I failed. I expected that threatening to tell Miss Thompson would bring her to her senses, but she is too cunning for me," sighed Grace.

The two girls were walking home from school.

"Shall you tell Nora and Jessica?" asked Anne.

"What do you think!" cried Nora. "Edna Wright is giving a party next Saturday, and she isn't going to invite either you or Anne."

"How shocking!" said Grace. "We shall both die of grief at having been slighted."

She spoke lightly, and no one but Anne guessed how much the news hurt her.

"We are not going," declared Nora, "and we told her so."

"What did she say?" asked Grace.

"We didn't give her time to answer," said Nora, "but rushed off to find you. The whole thing is perfectly ridiculous! The idea of a lot of silly little school girls thinking they own the earth. It's all Miriam's fault. She has tried to be leader of her class ever since it was organized but mark what I say, she'll never accomplish it. Pride will get a fall, one of these days, and I hope I'll be around when it happens."

"Fine!" cried Jessica. "We'll have Hippy and Reddy and David. Then our circle will be complete. The other crowd will be furious. Those boys are all popular, and I know that Edna intends to invite them."

"Let's tell them at once, then," said Nora, "before the other girls get a chance."

The boys were promptly invited. Grace sent a note to Tom Gray, who found it possible to get away for the week end.

Reddy, Hippy and David received invitations to the other party, but politely declined. Miriam endeavored to point out to her brother the folly of his conduct, but David simply stared at her and said nothing. He knew to what lengths her jealousy had carried her during the freshman year, and although Nora had entirely omitted his sister's name from the conversation when telling him of the recent trouble that had arisen, still David felt that Miriam was at the bottom of it.

The surprise party proved a success. Mrs. Gray's delight at seeing her "Christmas children" and having her beloved nephew with her was worth seeing. The young people did all the "stunts" they knew for her entertainment, and the boys repeated their Shakespearian performance for the old lady, who laughed until she could laugh no more.

It was their turn to be surprised, however, when the old butler suddenly appeared and announced that supper was served. Mrs. Gray had held a word of conversation with him directly after their arrival, which resulted in an array of good things calculated to tempt the appetite of any healthy boy or girl.

After supper they had an old-fashioned "sing," with Jessica at the piano, ending with "Home, Sweet Home" and the inevitable "Good Night, Ladies."

"I'm sure we had a better time than the other crowd," said Nora as they all walked down the street.

The present sophomores had decided to make their ball a larger affair than usual, and had sent out invitations to favored members of the other classes. An equal number of boys had been invited from the boys' High School, and the party promised to be one of the social events of Oakdale.

Mrs. Gray and a number of other prominent women of Oakdale, were to act as patronesses. Mrs. Harlowe, usually a favorite chaperon with Grace's crowd, had been ignored for the first time, and Grace was cut to the quick over it. As for Grace herself, she had not been appointed to a single committee. Prominent heretofore in every school enterprise, it was galling to the high-spirited girl to be deliberately left out of the preparations. Nora had been asked to help receive and Jessica had been appointed to the refreshment committee, but on finding that Grace was being snubbed, both had coldly declined to serve in either capacity.

The four chums held more than one anxious discussion as to the advisability of even attending the ball.

That night, the four young girls, in their party finery, sat waiting in the Harlowe's drawing room for their escorts—David, Hippy and Reddy. Anne wore the pink crepe de chine which had done duty at Mrs. Gray's house party the previous winter. Grace wore an exquisite gown of pale blue silk made in a simple, girlish fashion that set her off to perfection. Nora was gowned in lavender and wore a corsage bouquet of violets that had mysteriously arrived that afternoon, and that everyone present suspected Hippy of sending. Jessica's gown was of white organdie, trimmed with tiny butterfly medallions and valenciennes lace.

"If only Miriam and Julia Crosby behave themselves!" she thought, "for, of course, Julia will be there. Miriam will see that she gets an invitation."

Grace thrilled with pride as she entered the gymnasium. How beautifully it had been decorated and how well everything looked. She was so sorry that the girls had seen fit to leave her out of it all. Then she remembered her resolution to forget all differences and just have a good time.

"My dear children, I am so glad to see all of you!" exclaimed the sprightly old lady. "How fine all my girls look. You are like a bouquet of flowers. Grace is a bluebell, Anne is a dear little clove pink, Nora is a whole bunch of violets and Jessica looks like a white narcissus."

"Where do we come in?" asked David, smiling at Mrs. Gray's pretty comparison.

"Allow me to answer that question," said Hippy. "You are like the tall and graceful burdock. Reddy resembles the common, but much-admired sheep sorrel, while I am like that tender little flower, the forget-me-not. Having once seen me, is it possible to forget me!" He struck an attitude and looked languishingly at Nora.

"I'll forget you forever if you look at me like that," threatened Nora.

"Never again," said Hippy hastily. "Bear witness, all of you, that my expression has changed."

Mrs. Gray and her adopted children occupied two tables near together and had a merry time. Many curious glances were cast in their direction by the other members of the sophomore class.

Some of the girls wondered whether it was a good thing to cut Anne Pierson's acquaintance. She was certainly a friend of Mrs. Gray, and Mrs. Gray was one of the most influential women in Oakdale. Frances Fuller, a worldly-minded sophomore, dared to intimate as much to Miriam Nesbit, who replied loftily:

"If Mrs. Gray knew as much about Miss Pierson as we do, she would probably not care for her any longer."

"It's a pity some one doesn't tell her," said Julia Crosby, ever ready for mischief.

"Oh, some one will have the courage yet," answered Miriam, "and when she does, that will end everything as far as Miss Pierson is concerned. Mrs. Gray can't endure anything dishonorable."

Without hesitating, she blundered over to where Mrs. Gray sat for the moment.

"Mrs. Gray," Frances began, "I want to tell you something which I think you ought to know."

"And what is that, my dear?" asked the old lady courteously, trying vainly to remember the girl's face.

"Why, about Miss Pierson's true character," replied the girl.

"Miss Pierson's true character?" repeated Mrs. Gray. "I don't understand what you mean."

"That she is dishonorable and treacherous. She betrayed the sophomore basketball signals to the juniors, and then denied it, when her class had positive proof against her. Besides, her father is a disreputable actor, and she was an actress before she came here. We thought if you knew the truth you wouldn't uphold any such person." Frances paused. She thought she had made an impression upon her listener.

"Young woman," she said, "you ought to be ashamed of yourself. What can you hope to gain by saying unkind things about a nice, gentle, little girl who is in every respect worthy of all the love and regard that can be given her? I do not know what you can be thinking of to speak so slightingly of one of your classmates, and I am sorry to be obliged to remind you that it is the height of ill breeding to abuse a person to his or her friends."

With these words, Mrs. Gray turned her back squarely upon the dazed girl, who slowly arose, and without looking at Mrs. Gray, walked dejectedly across the room. But Miriam Nesbit lost one supporter from that minute on.

"Hateful things," said the mortified Frances, looking towards Julia and Miriam. "I believe they are more to blame than Miss Pierson ever thought of being."

When Grace paused at Mrs. Gray's side after the two-step, she saw plainly that the old lady was much agitated.

"Grace," she said quickly, "what is all this nonsense about Anne?"

"O Mrs. Gray," cried Grace. "Who could have been so unkind as to tell you? We didn't want you to know. It is all so foolish."

Grace reluctantly gave a brief account of her recent disagreement with her class and the unpleasantness to which Anne had been subjected.

"What does ail Miriam Nesbit? She used to be such a nice child!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray. "Really, Grace, I feel that I ought to go straight to Miss Thompson with this."

Grace's heart sank. That was just what she did not want Mrs. Gray to do.

"I suppose you are right, my dear," responded the old lady. "It is better for old folks to keep their fingers out of young folk's pies. But what did that pert miss mean about Anne's father being an actor? I had an idea he was dead."

So Grace told Mrs. Gray the story of Anne's father, beginning from where he had intercepted Anne on her way from the aëroplane exhibition during her freshman year, up to the time of the arrival of his letter begging for money.

"Anne used her freshman prize money last year to help him out of trouble. He forged a friend's name for one hundred dollars, and would have had to go to prison had she not made good the money he took, I always wanted you to know about it, Mrs. Gray, but Anne felt so badly over it, she begged me never to tell any one."

"Your story explains a great many things I never before understood," said Mrs. Gray. "That doll that was sent to the Christmas party last year, for instance. But how did Miriam find out about it?"

"We don't know," said Grace. "Her doings are dark and mysterious. Find out she did; and she has told the story with considerable effect among the girls."

"I have loved being with you," said Grace. "I shall not tell Anne about what was said," she added in a lower tone.

"That is right, Grace," responded Mrs. Gray. "No need of hurting the child's feelings."

During the balance of the evening nothing occurred to discomfit either Grace or Anne. To be sure there was a marked coolness exhibited by most of their classmates, but David took charge of Anne and saw to it that nothing disturbed her. Grace, who was a general favorite with the High School boys of Oakdale, could have filled her programme three times over. She was the embodiment of life and danced with such apparent unconcern that the mind of more than one sophomore was divided as to whether to cleave to Miriam or renew their former allegiance to Grace.

Sleepy chaperons began gathering up their charges. The sophomore ball was a thing of the past.

"These late hours and indigestible suppers are bound to break down my delicate constitution yet," Hippy confided to Nora.

"In that case I shall make it a point to see that you don't receive any more invitations to our parties," Nora answered cruelly. "Then you can stay at home and build up that precious health of yours."

"Don't mention it," replied Hippy hastily. "I would rather become an emaciated wreck than deprive myself of your society."

"It was simply glorious," said Anne to Grace as they stood waiting for their carriage, "and was there ever such a nice boy as David!"