Marjorie Dean, High School Senior

“Where is she?” repeated Lucy, her brows knitting in their ready scowl.

“She won’t be here. Irma asked me to take her place. Any objections?”

“I am willing to abide by Irma’s decision.” It cost Lucy severe effort to make this reply. “As you are to take Jerry’s place, suppose we start at once to amuse the children. By the way, where are they?”

“Out in the back yard. I sent them there and told that stupid maid to look after them. They made too much noise. I couldn’t stand it.”

“It’s too cold for them to be out.” With a swift, reproachful glance toward indolent Mignon, Lucy hurried to the back yard to attend to her charges. Five minutes later she had hustled them into the playroom, a shivering little band, and started a romping, childish game, calculated to undo any bad effects which might otherwise result from Mignon’s neglect.

Realizing that she could expect no help from the French girl, Lucy ignored her and entered energetically into her work. A lover of children, it was a pleasure to make them happy. One baby game followed another until the twilight shadows began to thicken. Finally marshaling them to their chairs at the table, she took her place among them and told them fairy tales in a simple, lively fashion that quite enthralled them.

Through it all, Mignon made no move to assist her. She simply sat still, a smile of mocking amusement on her thin lips. Lucy Warner had found her own level, was her uncharitable thought. As a mere nobody, she was quite at home with these grubby, slum waifs. Undoubtedly Lucy was furious with her for not helping entertain these beggars. Nevertheless, she was quite sure that angry or not Lucy would listen to what she intended, presently, to say. Six o’clock would mark the end of the detestable session. Then—Mignon’s smile grew more malevolent as she noted that the wall clock pointed to five minutes before six.

As it rang out the hour, the matron entered the kitchen. “You’d better go now, Miss Lucy,” she said kindly. “I know you have to be at the Armory by half past seven. The mothers of these babies will soon be coming for them. I’ll look after them till then.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taggart.” Lucy rose amid a chorus of hearty protest from her charges. “Dood-bye,” and “Tum aden soon, nice lady,” greeted her from all sides.

“I will,” she promised, nodding gaily toward her small worshippers. Without glancing at Mignon she turned to the oak settle on which she had laid her wraps and began to put them on. She was, indeed, deeply incensed against Mignon. Should she or should she not inform Jerry Macy of Mignon’s lack of co-operation? She hardly knew what to do about it. On one point she was quite determined. She would not walk home with the French girl. She would bid her a cool “good night” and hurry from the house.

Mignon was of a different opinion. Seeing Lucy engaged in donning her wraps, she lazily rose. Pettishly brushing aside a youngster who had toddled up to her and clutched a fold of her gown, she hastily slipped on her fur coat—she had not removed her hat—and hurried after Lucy. The latter had already delivered her curt farewell and was out on the veranda before Mignon overtook her.

“Wait a minute,” commanded Mignon. “I have something to tell you that you must listen to. You’ll understand that I mean well, the moment you hear it. It’s a shame for you to be so deceived by Marjorie Dean. She——”

“I won’t listen to you.” Lucy’s smoldering anger flashed into instant flame. “You can’t make me believe anything hateful of Marjorie. You are only trying to make trouble.” Discretion overcome by wrath she continued heatedly, “Marjorie herself warned me not to take your gossip seriously. She knew that——”

“I’d tell you certain things she has said about you to me,” sneered Mignon.

“Certain things? What do you mean?” Lucy’s too-suspicious nature now sprang to the fore. This was the second time that Mignon had insinuated that Marjorie had gossiped about her.

“After all, what’s the use of telling you?” Mignon craftily changed her tactics with a view toward whetting Lucy’s morbid curiosity. “You’ll go straight to Marjorie Dean with them. She will deny them, of course. Then you will be down on me more than ever.”

“If you can tell me anything that will actually prove to me that Marjorie Dean is not my friend, I promise you faithfully never to go to her with it.” Lucy spoke with hurt intensity. “If she has been deceitful with me, as you insist that she has, I will never willingly speak to her again. But I am sure she is honorable and loyal. I can’t believe otherwise,” she ended with a quick, sobbing breath.

“That for her loyalty!” Mignon snapped her fingers. “What about the Observer?”

Lucy shrank from Mignon as though the latter had dealt her a physical blow. In the November twilight the paleness of her set face stood out sharply. “Stop!” she gasped. Catching Mignon’s arm in a tense hold, she planted herself squarely before her tormentor. “What—do—you—know—about the Observer?” she stammered, her green eyes gleaming like those of a cat.

Mignon laughed unpleasantly. “Not as much, perhaps, as you know, but enough. You were an idiot to ask Marjorie Dean’s forgiveness. She loves to make persons believe they are in the wrong, so that she can have the pleasure of forgiving them. She is really clever at that sort of thing. She made poor Mary Raymond’s life miserable during that winter Mary lived at the Deans. Mary was a silly to make up with her. Why, the very day that Marjorie and I went to Miss Archer’s to see about getting you the secretaryship, she mentioned the trouble you and she had last year. She was quite cautious about it then and didn’t tell me much. Later I found out about the Observer, though.”

Stunned by Mignon’s revelations, Lucy silently fought back the burning tears that threatened to overflow her eyes. But one thought obscured her sorely troubled mind. Marjorie Dean had cruelly betrayed her to Mignon. She had pledged her word of honor never to reveal Lucy’s misdeed to anyone, and she had broken her word. Utterly crushed, poor Lucy did not stop to consider that Mignon was the least likely of all persons to whom Marjorie would confide such a secret. She knew only that the mere mention of the word “Observer” was clear proof of her false friend’s perfidy. Over-suspicious by nature, she was prone to believe all persons villains until they had given signal manifestation of their honesty. Nor had she been long enough associated with Marjorie and her friends to easily retreat from that unjust viewpoint.

“Don’t feel downhearted about it,” was Mignon’s sneering consolation. “Now that your eyes have been opened to a few things, you can show Marjorie Dean that you aren’t as dense as she seems to think you. I don’t mind in the least about that Observer business. I dare say if you told me your side of it I should find that it wasn’t anything very dreadful. As for Marjorie Dean’s version, well——” Mignon made a significant pause.

“I have nothing whatever to say on that subject,” was Lucy’s stiff answer. She was vowing within herself that “Once bitten twice shy” should hereafter be her motto. “I will say this much, though. You have given me unmistakable proof that Marjorie Dean is not nor never was my friend. I will keep my promise to you.”

Before Mignon had time to make reply, a rush of light feet on the pavement informed her that Lucy had left her. Through the dusk she could just distinguish a little figure fleeing madly up the quiet street. She laughed softly as it turned a corner and disappeared. She had already done much toward avenging the wrongs she had received at the hands of Marjorie Dean.

CHAPTER XVIII—NOT AT HOME?

“What!” ejaculated Jerry. As the revue was in progress she cautiously lowered her tone as she continued: “For goodness sake, Irma, why in the world did you send Mignon? No wonder Lucy hasn’t put in an appearance!”

“What are you talking about, Jeremiah, and why should I not have sent Mignon? Lucy is too sensible a girl to allow Mignon’s airs to annoy her, if that’s what you are thinking of. Besides, Mignon was really nice about saying she’d go,” defended Irma in a mildly injured tone.

“I don’t doubt it,” was Jerry’s satirical retort. “Don’t mind me, Irma. I’m not blaming you for it. It’s just one of those beautiful ‘vicissitudes’ that are always bound to jump up and hit a person in the face. Just like that!” Jerry made a comic gesture of despair and beat a hasty course toward the candy booth.

“Well, I found out,” she groaned. “It was our dear Mignon. You can guess the rest. Irma certainly did things up properly, that time. She didn’t know what you and I know, or she wouldn’t have done it.”

“Mignon!” Marjorie’s brown eyes held a startled light. “Jerry, do you suppose after all the warnings I’ve given Lucy that——”

“It looks suspicious,” interrupted Jerry. “I should think, though, that a bright girl like Lucy Warner could easily see through Mignon. I guess I’ll wait until the revue is over and then interview her ladyship. I may find out a few things.”

“I wish you would,” A worried note had crept into Marjorie’s voice. “I hope Mignon hasn’t hurt Lucy’s feelings again. Poor Lucy! She has been so happy these last three days. Perhaps nothing like that has happened. Maybe she was too tired to come here to-night. She has had a busy day.”

“Let’s hope that’s the reason.” Jerry’s reply did not convey a marked degree of hopefulness. She was more than half convinced that Mignon was responsible for Lucy’s non-appearance at the Campfire.

The military maneuvers at last concluded, Jerry kept a lynx eye on the lemonade stand until she saw Mignon take up her position there. Marching boldly over to it, the stout girl addressed her with an abrupt: “Thank you for substituting for me at the nursery this afternoon. I understand Lucy Warner was with you. Did she say anything to you about not being able to come here to-night?” She stared hard at Mignon as she made this inquiry.

“Not a word.” Mignon shook her head, the picture of wide-eyed innocence. She was well aware of Lucy’s absence. In fact she had confidently expected it. True, Lucy had not said that she would remain away from the Campfire. Still, Mignon had every reason to believe that she would. She also realized the necessity for concealing that which she knew. Lucy would never betray her. She had no inclination to betray herself.

“That’s queer.” Jerry stared harder than ever at Mignon. “What time did she leave the nursery?”

“Six o’clock,” came the ready information, “We left the nursery together. She walked part way home with me. I can’t recall that she even mentioned the Campfire. She is such a peculiar girl. She does more scowling than talking. I find it very hard to talk to her. We have so little in common.” Mignon looked politely regretful as she delivered these glib remarks.

“I guess that’s so.” Jerry’s dry agreement brought an ominous flash to Mignon’s black eyes. She wondered what was going on behind her inquisitor’s stolid features.

“Then you don’t know why Lucy isn’t here tonight?” Jerry drove home her pertinent question with an energy that caused the angry red to mount to Mignon’s cheeks.

“Why do you persist in asking me again what I have already answered?” she evaded pettishly. “I am not Lucy Warner’s keeper. I have enough to do to attend strictly to my own affairs without bothering myself about her.”

“I am glad to hear you say so. I quite agree with you.” Turning on her heel Jerry set off toward the candy booth, her heavy brows drawn together in a ferocious scowl.

Before she reached it, Hal intercepted her with: “Miss Browning’s going to stay for the dance. Last night Dan and Laurie and I made her promise that she would stay this evening. She’s still in the girls’ dressing room. Go and get her, Jerry. I’ll see that she has plenty of partners. All the high school fellows will feel honored to dance with her. She’s the biggest feature of the Campfire.”

Obediently betaking herself to the dressing room, Jerry discovered Veronica in the act of changing her butterfly costume for a demure but very smart pleated frock of dark blue Georgette crêpe.

“Are you surprised to know that Cinderella is going to stay for the ball?” saluted Veronica merrily. “Sorry I haven’t an evening gown on hand. This will have to do.” She fingered a fold of her blue gown. “Really, I ought to go home, but I couldn’t resist accepting the invitation to stay for a few dances.”

“I’m awfully glad you are going to stay.” Jerry reached out and caught Veronica’s hand. “I came after you to conduct you to the ball. Your gown is a perfect dear. It’s very smart. It reminds me of a French gown I saw at the beach last summer.”

“Poor servant girls can’t afford such luxuries as imported gowns,” laughed Veronica. Out of the corners of her gray eyes she cast a peculiar glance at Jerry.

Covert though it was, Jerry had not missed it. It was on her tongue to say boldly, “But are you really a poor servant girl?” However, she held her peace. She and Marjorie had agreed never to ask Veronica any personal questions. She decided that the gown had perhaps been given Veronica by Miss Archer. The latter seemed very fond of her protégé. More than once Jerry had seen the two together, apparently on the most intimate terms.

“I’m almost ready,” announced Veronica. “Wait just a minute until I bundle my dancing regalia into this suitcase. I’ll have to carry my wings home. They won’t go into the suitcase.”

Jerry watched her fixedly as she deftly disposed of her dancing effects and triumphantly snapped the suitcase shut. The cloak of mystery which enveloped this charming girl piqued Jerry. She longed to be the one to tear it away and glimpse what it so effectually covered. There seemed little chance that she would ever do so. She did not agree with Marjorie that there was probably nothing behind it. She believed that for some personal reason Veronica was merely playing a part.

“Let’s go and visit Marjorie first,” she proposed as they left the dressing room. “She will be anxious to see you. By ten o’clock the last of the stuff in the booths will be gone. The Lookouts won’t be sorry. It will give us all a chance to dance. We’ve been casting wistful glances at that nice smooth floor for three nights. Now and then we managed to steal away from the booths for a single dance.”

“This is joyful news,” beamed Marjorie, when five minutes later the two girls presented themselves in her booth. “We’ll see that you have a good time, Ronny. The candy is all gone except a few boxes. The hard-working slaves of the Campfire will soon have a chance to enjoy themselves on the dancing floor for an hour or so.”

Marjorie’s merry prediction was fulfilled within the next hour. One by one the girls’ booths were dismantled of their few remaining wares. The proceeds counted and safely disposed, the Lookouts and their senior classmates who had served with them were indeed free to visit the amusement booths, dance or enjoy themselves as fancy dictated.

Far from being neglected, Veronica Browning’s popularity grew apace. The boys of Weston High School flocked eagerly to her standard. Strangely enough she seemed familiar with the various dances of the day, and many admiring eyes followed her graceful figure as she glided over the polished floor with one or another of her willing partners. Her radiant face gave signal proof that she was enjoying herself immensely, a fact that made the sextette of girls who were closest to her, infinitely happy, too.

Mignon La Salle, however, was furiously jealous of her. Veronica’s popularity was as a thorn to her flesh. Despite the knowledge that the elaborate white and gold evening frock she wore was the most expensive gown she had ever owned, Mignon was obliged to sit out several dances. Hal, Laurie and Danny Seabrooke, on strict orders from Marjorie, had dutifully asked the French girl to dance. The majority of the Weston High boys were not so chivalrous. They did not like Mignon and steered prudently clear of her. Utterly disgruntled she left the Armory at eleven o’clock in a most unamiable frame of mind that spelled trouble for someone.

Just before midnight the Campfire ended with an old-fashioned Home Sweet Home waltz, followed by a bedlam of high school yells. The edge of youth is not easily dulled by work, particularly if that work be of a pleasant nature. The little frolic with which the Campfire ended was a most enthusiastic affair. The consensus of opinion was, that the Campfire ought to be a yearly event, and eager plans cropped up wholesale regarding what should be done at the next one. Roughly estimated, it was believed that the profits would exceed one thousand dollars. Divided equally between the Guards and the Lookouts it would go far toward solving their financial problems.

Following the excitement of the past three days, the peace of Sunday descended like a welcome mantle on the tireless promoters, who were forced to the conclusion that they were a trifle tired after all. It may be said to their credit that they did not fail to attend Sunday morning services in their respective churches, and more than one silent prayer of thankfulness ascended to the God they devoutly worshipped. Marjorie in particular was moved to offer up reverent thanks, adding a humble little petition that she might be guided always to seek the right and cling to it.

On Sunday afternoon Jerry Macy appeared at the Deans shortly after dinner, proposing that she and Marjorie pay Lucy Warner a call.

“We’d better go and see Lucy ourselves,” she counseled, “and not waste any more time wondering why she was among the missing last night.”

“All right. I am willing. Captain won’t care. She and General have gone for a ride. I’ll leave word on the official bulletin board to let them know where I am bound for and when to expect me home.”

Writing a hasty note, Marjorie tucked it into a small bulletin board, hung in the hall.

It was a rather long walk to the Warrens’ unpretentious little home. As they traversed the stretch of field leading directly up to it, Marjorie was forcibly reminded of a winter day when she had floundered across that very field through the snow on the errand of mercy which had ended in Lucy Warner’s unexpected revelation. To-day the open space of ground lay brown and frozen. It looked even more desolate than when covered with snow.

“I’m thankful I don’t have to live in that house!” Jerry’s exclamation broke up her reverie. “It’s a cheerless-looking place, isn’t it?”

“That is what I thought the first time I came here,” nodded Marjorie. “I was just thinking of that day last winter when I waded through the snow to get to it. That was the day I came down with tonsillitis.”

“I remember. You were all in when you left us to come here. You never told me anything about that call.”

Marjorie smiled whimsically. She had never given anyone the details relating to that particular call. She now replied to Jerry’s remark merely with: “Oh, I took Lucy a basket of fruit, went upstairs to her room and talked with her quite a while. When I went to her house I felt rather ill. My feet were wet from plowing through the snow. While I was there I forgot about it. When I started away from her house I had to wade through the snow again and then I went home and had tonsillitis.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Jerry. “You certainly took a lot of trouble for her. She must have realized it, too, for she’s been your fervent worshipper ever since. I hope Mignon hasn’t told her a lot of things that will undo all the good you’ve done. Lucy has been a changed girl since you and she became friends.”

“I am very fond of her. She is the brightest girl I have ever known.” Marjorie spoke with admiring sincerity. The two friends had left the field behind them and were now proceeding up the straggling path that led up to the house. “I do hope she is at home.”

“Umm!” was Jerry’s sole comment. Her sharp eyes were intently scanning the front windows of the house as though seeking to discover whether its tenants were within. Arrived at the door, she peered about in search of a bell. Finding none she doubled a plump fist and rapped energetically on a weather-stained panel of the door. An instant’s silence ensued. Listening acutely neither girl heard the sound of approaching footsteps from within. Failing to elicit a response, Jerry beat a loud tattoo upon the panel.

“There’s no one at home,” sighed Marjorie disappointedly.

“Come on. We might as well go.” The command held a touch of aggressiveness. “I could wear my hand out thumping it on the door for all the good it would do.”

Sensing the aggressive note in Jerry’s voice, Marjorie attributed it to the stout girl’s natural impatience of delay.

“It’s a shame; a burning shame!” They were half way down the walk when Jerry thus delivered herself.

“Why, Jeremiah, what is it?” It had dawned upon Marjorie that something stronger than impatience had seized upon her friend.

“Marjorie, Lucy Warner is at home,” stated Jerry deliberately. “As we went up the path I saw her through a window. She flashed across the end of the room farthest away from the window and disappeared.”

“At home!” gasped Marjorie. “Then she must have seen us coming and——”

“Beat it,” supplemented Jerry with inelegant force. “What’s the answer? Mignon, of course. We don’t need to ask Lucy about it. We know now that what we suspect is a fact. If it weren’t, Lucy would have answered my knock. What are you going to do about it?”

“I intend to see Lucy to-morrow morning and find out what the trouble is,” came Marjorie’s steady answer. “If she is angry with us, I shall know it the instant she speaks. We have no right simply to take it for granted that she is angry. We mustn’t even blame Mignon until we know positively that she actually made mischief.”

“Mignon is at the bottom of Lucy’s grouch. Take my word for it,” sputtered Jerry. “She has been trying to set Lucy against you ever since school began. It looks as though she’d succeeded at last. There’s just this much about it, you have stood too much from that girl. I’m going to take a hand in this affair and put Mignon where she belongs. Do you know where that is? I do. It’s outside the club.”

CHAPTER XIX—THE SIGN

Her own color rising, Marjorie boldly approached the belligerent secretary, halting a little to one side of her. With quiet directness she said: “Lucy, what has happened? Why are you angry with me?”

Slowly raising her head, Lucy eyed Marjorie with patent scorn. “Will you kindly go away and leave me alone?” she requested icily.

“No, I will not.” Marjorie stood her ground. “I asked you a fair question; I deserve a fair answer.”

“I have nothing to say.” Lucy presented the uncommunicative appearance of a blank wall. Marjorie could not possibly know how much effort it cost Lucy to maintain this attitude. Secretly she was longing to pour forth all that Mignon had told her. Too late, she bitterly regretted her rash promise. Marjorie’s grieved look seemed too real to doubt. Away from her, Lucy could believe her guilty of treachery. Face to face, it was another matter.

Yet Mignon had given her undeniable proof of Marjorie’s duplicity. She could not overlook that. This dark recollection put her brief impulse toward softening to flight. Her own wrongs looming large before her, the many benefits she had received at Marjorie’s hands were forgotten. Overridden by blind suspicion she allowed the ignoble side of her nature to spring into play. With deliberate cruelty she now said: “Miss Dean, you are seriously interfering with my work. I have no more time to spend in useless argument.” Gathering up a sheaf of papers from her desk, she rose and stalked toward the inner office, a stiff little figure of hostility.

With a sigh, Marjorie turned and walked dejectedly off in an opposite direction. Strangely enough she felt more sorry for Lucy than for herself. Her conscience entirely clear of wrong doing, she knew that poor Lucy was in the clutch of some dire misapprehension regarding herself which Mignon La Salle had instilled into her suspicious mind. What to do next the perplexed lieutenant did not know. It was useless to go to Mignon. She would undoubtedly profess absolute ignorance of the cause of Lucy’s grievance. Jerry was still to be reckoned with. It now looked as though her captain’s prophecy regarding Mignon was about to be fulfilled. Perhaps, after all, it would be best to allow Jerry to carry out her threat of holding a special meeting of the Lookouts to decide Mignon’s fitness for further membership.

Marjorie intensely disliked the thought. Despite Mignon’s love of intrigue, she made a good treasurer. The club accounts were perfectly kept by her. She had served faithfully at the Campfire. Her father had contributed generously to the club and to the Campfire. Mignon’s forced resignation from the Lookouts would hurt him. Then, too, Lucy Warner had been warned against Mignon. Marjorie felt that Lucy herself was partially at fault. She had shown herself over-credulous and ungrateful. Mentally weighing the pros and cons of the affair, the baffled peace-seeker grew momentarily more perplexed. She had prayed earnestly on the day before to be shown the right. Now she yearned for a sign that would plainly point out to her her duty.

“Did you see her?” was Jerry’s first low-voiced question when at noon the two girls met in the senior locker room.

“Yes; but I can’t tell you about it now,” returned Marjorie soberly. “After school is over to-day I wish you and Connie to come to my house. We will talk it over then. I don’t care to have anyone else know about it besides Connie.”

“All right. That will suit me.” Jerry appeared satisfied with Marjorie’s decision. On the way home she steered prudently clear of all mention of either Mignon or Lucy, although Muriel Harding brought up the subject of the latter’s absence from the Campfire on Saturday evening. As neither she, Irma, Susan or Harriet were able to offer any information, while Marjorie and Jerry refused to commit themselves, the topic soon died a natural death.

“Take a little run up to your house, Lieutenant,” greeted Mrs. Dean, as Marjorie entered the living room. “It will pay you to do so.”

“‘To obey is a soldier’s first duty,’” quoted Marjorie merrily, coming to attention and saluting. She was off like a flash, her swift feet making short work of the ascent to her house. “Oh!” she breathed as she caught sight of a long florist’s box on her center table. Three times she repeated the exclamation as she glimpsed its contents. Lifting a sheaf of long-stemmed, half-opened American Beauty roses from the box, she buried her face in their spicy fragrance. As she raised them a square white envelope dropped to the floor bearing the words: “To Miss Marjorie Dean.”

Not recognizing the heavy, masculine script, she eagerly explored the envelope to ascertain who the giver might be. A faint cry of consternation escaped her as she hastily glanced at the signature before reading the note. Bundling the roses on the table, she sought the window seat and read:

“Dear Miss Marjorie:

“Will you allow me to try in some measure to express my appreciation for your kindness to my daughter, Mignon? You have more than fulfilled the request I made of you on a certain afternoon of last Spring. It is of a truth a great gratification to me to see my Mignon thus surrounded by such estimable young women as yourself and your friends. It is most pleasurable to me that you have honored her with an office in your club. I rejoice also to observe the important part she took in the Campfire. I feel that you will never regret the consideration you have so graciously shown her. If at any time you desire my services, you have but to command me. With extreme gratitude and the good wishes for your constant success,

“Most sincerely yours,

“Victor La Salle.”

Marjorie stared at the note, divided between appreciation and dismay. It was a delightful note, but it was also most inopportune. In the face of it, she could not now advocate Jerry’s plan. Sudden remembrance of her petition for a sign rushed over her. It had been granted. This, then, was the sign. It had served to remind her where her duty lay. All she could do was to accept it. It would not be easy. Jerry was up in arms. It would be difficult to win her over, especially after she had been informed of Lucy’s unreasonable stand. Now it remained to Marjorie to do one of two things. She could go to Mr. La Salle and shatter his faith in her, or she could insist that Mignon must be allowed to escape punishment for her offenses against the Golden Rule. She painfully decided that for her father’s sake, Mignon should be allowed to remain in the club. Having come to this decision she soberly gathered up her roses and carried them and the letter downstairs to show both to her captain. To the latter she confided nothing of her latest problem. She had reserved the story to tell at some more fitting moment.

School over for the afternoon, the three Lookouts, who were presently to hold a private session at the Deans, strolled down the street with their chums, keeping a discreet silence regarding their intention. Muriel and Irma soon left them to take their turn at the nursery. Susan, Harriet and Veronica Browning eventually reached their parting of the ways, leaving the trio together.

“Now, Marjorie, tell us everything,” was Jerry’s instant command as they swung three abreast down the street.

Obediently Marjorie gave a faithful account of her interview with Lucy Warner. “I haven’t the least idea why Lucy is angry,” she confessed. “I don’t know whether she is cross with me, or with the Lookouts.”

“I can set you right about that,” declared Jerry grimly. “Mignon told Esther Lind this morning that Lucy told her that she intended to have nothing more to do with you. That eliminates the rest of us. You’re it, Marjorie. Now you see what sort of girl Mignon is. When I asked her why Lucy wasn’t at the Campfire on Saturday night she pretended to be very innocent. It seems that she can’t keep her troubles to herself. She has to tell someone. After she told she asked Esther to promise that she wouldn’t mention it to anyone. Esther wouldn’t promise. She came straight to me with it. She thinks, as I do, that we ought to ask Mignon to resign from the club.”

“Haven’t you the least idea why Lucy is down on you, Marjorie?” was Constance’s thoughtful question.

“No.” Marjorie shook a despondent head. “I’ve never said or done anything to hurt her feelings.”

“The club meets on Thursday night at my house,” announced Jerry briskly. “What I propose to do is to call an informal meeting there to-morrow night, minus Mignon. We can state our grievances and have Irma set them down on paper. Then she can read them out. If everyone approves of them, we’ll have Irma copy them and write a letter to Mignon asking for her resignation. We’ll sign the letter, enclose the list of grievances and mail it to her. That’s really the best way to do. It will save a lot of fuss.”

“I think that would be most cruel and unkind, Jerry,” Marjorie burst forth in shocked criticism.

“I fail to see it in that light.” For the first time since the beginning of their friendship Jerry was distinctly out of sorts with her beloved friend. “Don’t be so babyish, Marjorie. There’s a limit to all things.”

“I think what you just proposed would certainly be the limit.” Unconsciously Marjorie answered in Jerry’s own slangy vernacular. “Let me tell you something.” Rapidly she recounted the incident of the receipt of the roses and note from Mr. La Salle. “I must admit,” she continued, “that I had intended to say to you to-night that you had better call a special meeting. I didn’t realize then how humiliating it would be for Mignon. I saw those beautiful flowers and read that nice note and I felt dreadfully ashamed. It was just as though I had already failed to keep faith with Mr. La Salle. It is terrible to fail someone who believes in one. I’ve often said that to you.”

“Of course it is. That’s why I am so disgusted with Mignon. She has failed all of us,” Jerry flashed back. “We can’t have our club spoiled just to please Mignon’s father. He makes me weary. It would be a good thing if he’d take a hand at reforming his daughter, instead of leaving the job to us.” Jerry was growing momentarily angrier with Marjorie. “You ought to stand up for yourself, instead of being so foolish as to allow Mignon to make a goose of you,” she finished rudely.

“Why, Jerry Macy!” Marjorie’s brown eyes registered sorrowful amazement.

“Don’t Jerry Macy me.” The stout girl jerked her hand roughly from Marjorie’s arm. “You make me tired, Marjorie Dean. If you can’t fight for yourself then someone else will.”

“I can fight my own battles, thank you.” Marjorie’s clear retort was freighted with injured dignity. Slow to anger, she was now thoroughly nettled.

“Girls, girls, don’t quarrel,” intervened Constance, who had thus far taken no part in the altercation. The trio had now passed inside the Deans’ gate and halted on the stone walk.

“I don’t wish to quarrel with Jerry,” asserted Marjorie coldly, “but I cannot allow her to accuse me of being cowardly. You have said, Jerry,” she eyed her explosive friend unflinchingly, “that Lucy Warner is angry with me, and not with the other girls. Very well. It is therefore Lucy’s and my affair. We should be the ones to decide what shall be done with Mignon. Personally, I prefer to drop the matter. You may go to Lucy, if you choose, and ask her her views. I doubt, though, if she will give them. As it now stands I think it would be better to bear with Mignon for her father’s sake. This is our last year in high school. Let us not darken it by trying to retaliate against Mignon.”

“I think Marjorie is right, Jerry,” declared Constance.

“Very good. Have it your own way. There will be no special meeting. Good-bye.” Jerry whirled and darted through the half open gate, slamming it behind her.

Her lips quivering ominously, Marjorie watched Jerry’s plump figure down the street. Slow tears began to roll down her rosy cheeks. Groping blindly for her handkerchief, she buried her face in it with a grieved little sob.

“Don’t cry, dear,” soothed Constance, slipping a gentle arm about the sorrowful lieutenant. “By to-morrow Jerry will be all over being mad. She is too fond of you to stay cross. Inside of half an hour she will probably be telephoning you to say she is sorry. Let’s go into the house and wait for her message. She’ll be ready to make up by the time she reaches home.”

“It’s—as—much—my—fault as hers,” quavered Marjorie. “I was cross, too. If she doesn’t ’phone me by six o’clock, I’ll call her up. It is babyish in me to cry, but I couldn’t help it. Jerry and I have always been such dear friends. I’m not going to cry any more, though. Captain will wonder what the trouble is. I’m going to tell her everything, but not until to-night after dinner. You’d better stay and help me, Connie. Perhaps Jerry will telephone before then.”

“All right, I will, thank you. I’ll telephone Aunt Susan and let her know where I am.”

On entering the house Delia met them with the information that Mrs. Dean had gone shopping but would be home by half-past six o’clock. When Constance had telephoned, they established themselves in the living room, keeping up a soft murmur of conversation. Two pairs of ears were sharply trained on the hall, however, to catch the jingling ring of the telephone.

When six o’clock rolled around without the longed-for message from Jerry, Marjorie could no longer endure the suspense. Springing from her chair, she sought the ‘phone and gave the operator the Macys’ number. “Hello,” she called in the transmitter.

“Hello,” sounded a familiar voice. It was Jerry herself who answered.

“Is that you, Jerry? This is Mar——”

The forbidding click of the receiver cut the last word in two. Constance had not proved a successful prophet. Jerry Macy was still “cross.”

CHAPTER XX—WHEN FRIENDS FALL OUT

Marjorie turned a concerned face to her. She wondered what new difficulty was about to besiege her. “What do you mean, Muriel?”

“I haven’t time to explain now. Here. Take these and read them. They were on my desk this morning. You’ll understand later what I mean. I’ll run over to your house on the way back to school this noon. Then we can talk. I’m so surprised I can’t see straight.” Thrusting two envelopes into Marjorie’s hand, Muriel left her and hurried on.

Placing the envelopes in the back of her text book, Marjorie proceeded slowly down the corridor to her own recitation in French. Resisting the temptation to examine their contents, she devoted herself strictly to the lesson. The next hour, which would be spent in the study hall, would give her ample time to look at them.

Returned to the study hall and free at last to learn the cause of Muriel’s agitation, she forced back the sharp exclamation of dismay that rose to her lips. Both envelopes were addressed; one to Muriel Harding, the other to Jerry Macy. Through the address on the latter a pencil had been drawn. Below the cancelled line it had been readdressed to Muriel. The writing on the one was Jerry’s. The cancelled script on the other was Lucy Warner’s. The re-addressing had been done by Jerry.

Marjorie’s heart sank. She was almost sure of the nature of the notes within. Bracing herself in the seat, she drew Jerry’s note from its envelope. It turned out to be exactly what she feared. Jerry had tendered her formal resignation to the club. Lucy Warner’s note contained the same information. It differed little from Jerry’s, save for one sentence in the latter’s note: “Kindly arrange to hold the club meeting at some place other than my home.”

An intensity of bitterness toward Mignon filled Marjorie’s heart as she fingered Jerry’s note. She resentfully laid the blame for the whole affair at the French girl’s door. Jerry, Lucy and herself had all been caught in the meshes of the net which Mignon had set for their unwary feet. Marjorie wrathfully vowed that she would expose Mignon’s malicious mischief-making at the meeting of the club on Thursday evening. She hoped the members would demand Mignon’s resignation. She deserved to be thus publicly humiliated. Yet the more she considered this revenge, the less it appealed to her. It savored too greatly of Mignon’s own tactics. She finally decided to ask Connie to go home to luncheon with her. They could then talk matters over and agree on some plan of action by the time Muriel appeared.

Although Marjorie had prudently eschewed note-writing since that fateful afternoon during her junior year when she and Muriel had come to grief over the latter’s note, she resolved for once to yield to temptation. Scribbling a few hasty lines to Constance, whose desk was not far from her own, she managed successfully to send the missive. Glancing over it, Constance’s eyes quickly sought Marjorie’s. A smiling nod of her golden head informed the writer of the note that Connie would not fail her.

That point definitely settled, Marjorie speculated gloomily regarding whether Jerry’s spleen would remain directed only against herself or whether she intended to desert from the sextette of girls to which she belonged. Would Muriel at once apprise Susan, Irma and Constance of Jerry’s resignation from the club, or would she not? Hardly knowing what to expect, it was a relief to Marjorie when, on entering the locker room at noon, she saw no sign of either the stout girl or the other members of the sextette. The latter she guessed were waiting outside school. One look at four solemn-faced girls collected together on the opposite side of the street revealed to her that Muriel had put her three friends in possession of the news.

“Oh, Marjorie,” she hailed. “Come here. After I spoke to you I decided to tell the girls about Jerry. It’s a good thing I did. She hardly spoke to Susan and Irma this morning. They didn’t understand, of course, and were dreadfully hurt.”

A tiny pucker of vexation wrinkled Marjorie’s forehead. Muriel’s unexpected act had quite upset her plan of asking Connie’s advice beforehand regarding Mignon. She would have to choose her own course of action at once. Should she arouse her friends’ anger against Mignon and thus set in motion the wheel of vengeance, or should she offer an explanation of Jerry’s wrath? She knew the latter well enough to believe that no one would hear any complaint against herself from the stout girl’s lips. When especially roiled, Jerry was always uncommunicative. Slight irritations alone were productive of voluble protest on her part.

“What ails Jerry, Marjorie?” asked Irma anxiously. “None of us know. I hope you do.”

“I know,” cut in Constance quickly. “I only waited until Marjorie came before saying so. I’d rather she would tell you.” Constance had hitherto prudently volunteered no information.

“There isn’t much to tell.” Marjorie’s moment of doubt was past. Even as Irma spoke it was borne upon her that she had accepted Mr. La Salle’s note as a sign. It but remained to her to do her duty. “Yesterday afternoon Jerry and I had a disagreement about Mignon. Connie was with us when it happened. The disagreement arose over something which Mignon had done that is personal to me. Yesterday noon I received a note of thanks and a box of American Beauty roses from Mr. La Salle. You can understand why he sent them. Jerry was very angry at Mignon and proposed that we should expel her from the club. As our disagreement related to my affairs, I objected. Jerry said, ‘All right. Have it your own way,’ and left us. Later I called her on the telephone and she wouldn’t talk to me. You already know of her resignation.”

“You might know that Mignon was mixed in it in some way,” cried Muriel. “I suppose this must have been the last straw or Jerry wouldn’t have resigned. What are we to do without her? And Lucy Warner, too.”

“She is angry with me, too.” Marjorie’s voice sounded rather weary. “I don’t know why. I might as well tell you a little more. Jerry believes that Mignon made mischief between us. That’s the reason she is down on Mignon. Though I may suspect Mignon of it, I can’t prove it because Lucy will tell me nothing. It wouldn’t be fair to ask Mignon to resign simply because she is suspected of turning Lucy against me. I told Jerry so, but she wouldn’t see it in that light.”

“We’d better all go to Mignon and make her own up to it,” suggested Susan. “If she does, we’ll ask her to resign from the Lookouts.”

“I don’t think it would be wise.” It was peace-loving Irma Linton who spoke. “I don’t believe Mignon could be made to own up to any wrong thing she has done. Besides, it would be a blot on the club escutcheon to ask her to resign. Almost every girl in school has a pretty fair idea of why we asked Mignon to join the Lookouts. It is generally known that Marjorie took her home from Riverview in the Deans’ automobile that night that Rowena ran away from her. It is also known that Marjorie has tried hard to help her in spite of all the mean things Mignon has done to her and said of her. Everyone respects Marjorie for it. Miss Archer has been heard to say that Marjorie is the highest-principled girl she has ever had in Sanford High. She and Jerry were the founders of the club. They asked Mignon to join it. Do you think it would reflect to Marjorie’s credit, or Jerry’s either, to force Mignon out of the club now? I don’t. Jerry is in the wrong. Some day she’ll see it. What we ought to do is not accept either hers or Lucy’s resignation. Let them stay away until they choose to come back. They will both come back. I feel sure of it.”

This long, forceful speech from gentle Irma had a potent effect upon her listeners. Susan, Muriel and Constance were deeply impressed. Marjorie, however, was red with embarrassment. Miss Archer’s opinion of her, as quoted by Irma, amazed the blushing lieutenant. As for Irma’s views on Mignon, they coincided with her own.

“Just see Marjorie blush,” teased Muriel. “She wasn’t expecting to hear Irma say so many nice things about her.”

“I—you—it makes me feel foolish,” Marjorie stammered. “Please don’t ever do it again, Irma. I agree with you about Mignon, though, and about not accepting the two resignations. Will you three girls stand by Irma and me in this at the meeting?” She was sure of Constance, but not so sure of Susan and Muriel.

“We will,” came simultaneously from the two.

“Thank you,” smiled Marjorie. “There’s just one thing more and then we must hurry along. We’ve been standing here for almost half an hour. Mignon will probably be at the meeting. We five have agreed that she is to stay in the club. Between now and Thursday night we must see all the other members except Mignon and explain things. If they are agreeable to our plan, then at the meeting Muriel will act as president and read the resignations. I will move that they be not accepted and one of you must second the motion. Then we’ll put it to a standing vote. Everyone must vote not to accept them and that will close the matter.”

This plan was also approved and agreed upon. After deciding upon Muriel’s home as a place of meeting on Thursday, the participants in the sidewalk conference set off briskly toward their homes to partake of sadly-neglected luncheons.

At the Thursday evening meeting of the Lookouts, eleven kindly conspirators followed to the letter the program laid out for them by Marjorie and Irma. There was only one rebel, and she dared not assert herself openly. As the news of the two resignations had been carefully kept from her, Mignon La Salle was thunderstruck to learn that Jerry had left the club. Lucy’s resignation she had confidently expected. She had also feared that she might be taken to task for it, and had come to the Hardings’ home prepared to give battle royal.

Greatly against her will she rose with the others when the standing vote was taken regarding the non-acceptance of the two resignations. At heart a coward, she invariably evaded making a bold stand against opposition. She preferred underhanded warfare and would not show real fight unless cornered. When the fateful motion made by Marjorie and seconded by Irma had been passed, and Muriel had directed Irma to write Jerry and Lucy to that effect, Mignon longed to make strenuous objection. Craft conquering the impulse she made an inward vow that she would see to it that Jerry Macy, at least, never returned to the club. With Jerry gone from the Lookouts she would have greater leeway to do as she pleased.

“There’s something else I wish to mention.” Muriel’s clear voice broke in on Mignon’s dark meditations. “We wish no outsider to know that either Lucy or Jerry has tendered a resignation. I don’t need to ask you to promise to keep it quiet. As Lookouts you know your duty in the matter. I think it would be wise, Irma,” she turned to the secretary, “to mention this in your letters to Lucy and Jerry. They will understand then, perhaps, just how kindly we feel toward them. I know that neither of them will give out the least information to anyone.”

A decided scowl darkened Mignon’s brow as she heard this plea for secrecy. She had already contemplated the enticing prospect for gossip which the resignations promised. She made mental reservation that she, at least, would not bind herself to silence. She would whisper it about, if she chose, at her own discretion. If it finally leaked out and she should be accused of spreading it, she could easily shift the blame upon either Lucy or Jerry; Lucy preferably. She would be a more satisfactory scapegoat.

Thus while eleven girls consulted earnestly together in an endeavor toward fair play toward all, the twelfth member of the club smiled ironically and busied her brain with endless treacherous schemes for holding her own position in the club without living up to its irksome obligations. Could the innocent, whole-hearted eleven, who had overlooked in her so much that was detestable, have read Mignon’s mind, her connection with the Lookouts would have been summarily cut short. As it was, though they did not trust her, they patiently endured her and hoped for the best.

Highly elated over having thus escaped even a word of reproach, Mignon drove home from the meeting in her runabout, amused rather than displeased at the somewhat restrained manner which her companions had exhibited toward her. The very next morning, under promise of secrecy, she retailed the forbidden story of the resignations to three different girls. They received it with ohs and ahs, and in due season imparted it to their most intimate friends. Within three days it had traveled far, and presently someone referred it to Jerry for confirmation.

Having received but sulkily refused to answer Irma’s note, at heart Jerry fully appreciated the delicacy and good will of her friends. Her wrath now rose to a high pitch over being thus approached on the tabooed subject. Nor did she fail to attribute it to its true source. Her first move was to seek Lucy Warner.

Marching resolutely into Miss Archer’s outer office on the morning of the fourth day after the receipt of Irma’s note, she accosted stony-faced Lucy with, “See here, Lucy, I’ve a word to say to you. Did you get Irma Linton’s note?”

“Yes.” Lucy had the grace to blush. She was already feeling ashamed of her cruel treatment of Marjorie. The latter’s sorrowful brown eyes haunted her and she was frequently tortured with the fear that she had been too hasty.

“Now listen to me.” Jerry’s voice was very gruff. She blamed Lucy considerably for what had happened. “If any girl asks you if you’ve resigned from the club, just tell her to mind her own affairs. Don’t give her a word of information. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” repeated Lucy, almost humbly. She keenly sensed Jerry’s disapproval of herself. “I will not give anyone an answer to that question. I had not intended to.”

Jerry’s tense features softened a trifle. “You’ve made a mistake, Lucy. No finer girl ever lived than Marjorie Dean. I don’t know what Mignon La Salle has told you, but take my word for it, it’s not true. I resigned from the club because I can’t stand Mignon. That’s why Marjorie and I fell out. Just the same, I like her better than any other girl I ever knew. But until she and the girls give up bothering with that deceitful, untruthful gossip, I shall have nothing more to do with her or them. I hope Mignon will overreach herself and get put out of the club. When that comes off, then back to the Lookouts for Jerry.”

“I wish I could agree with you,” stated Lucy primly, “but it is impossible. My reason for turning against Marjorie Dean is sound. I wish it were not.”

“Answer me just one question. Was it Mignon who told you something against Marjorie?” Jerry fixed unblinking eyes on the other girl.

For a moment Lucy did not reply. She appeared to be turning something over in her mind. “I will answer you,” she said finally. “I made a promise not to go to Marjorie with what was told me. I made no promise regarding anyone else. Yes, it was Mignon.”

“And you believed Mignon?” Jerry’s question came almost explosively.

“Yes. What she told me no one besides Marjorie and myself knew. No one except Marjorie could have possibly told her. I shall never speak to Marjorie again.”

“I give it up. You certainly seem to know something that I don’t.” Jerry turned on her heel and walked to the door. Once outside she muttered: “Whatever you know that I don’t, I’ll make it my business to find out or my name’s not Jerry Geraldine Jeremiah Macy.”

CHAPTER XXI—A MESSAGE FROM JERRY

Jerry had a second mission to perform, however, which she hailed with anticipation. Cut off by her own obstinacy from former intimacy with her chums and from the work of the day nursery, she was an extremely lonely young person with a great deal of idle time on her hands. Energetic Jerry loathed inaction. She therefore chose Mignon La Salle as her second subject for activity and lay in wait for her.

Two days passed, following her interview with Lucy Warner, before she found the desired opportunity to waylay the French girl. Setting off after school for a lonely session at Sargent’s, at the curbstone before the shop she spied Mignon’s runabout. Forging gleefully into her favorite haunt, she steered straight for Mignon, who sat in solitary grandeur at a rear table. Catching sight of Jerry, the arch plotter half rose from her chair as though about to make a prudent exit from the place.

“Sit down.” Before her quarry could leave the table, Jerry had reached it. “Don’t try to dodge me. I’ve been on the watch for you ever since you made trouble for Marjorie Dean. I’m not a Lookout now so I can tell you a few things.”

“I won’t listen to you.” Mignon was now on her feet.

“Oh, yes, you will. If you don’t, I’ll go to your house and say my say to your father.” Jerry looked grimly capable of executing the threat.

Fearful of such a calamity, Mignon reluctantly resumed her seat. “I’m not afraid of you,” she sneered. “Say quickly what you have to say. I am in a hurry to go home.”

“I’m not. Still I don’t care to be seen talking with you any longer than I can help.” Jerry was brutally rude and she knew it. The time for keeping up appearances was past. “Now this is what I have to say. You are the most disloyal, mischief-making person I’ve ever known. You have no more right to be a Lookout than that soda-fountain has; my apologies to the soda-fountain. You can’t fool me. You never have. I know you like a book. It was on account of you that I left the club. I’ll never go back to it until you’re out of it.”

“You’ll wait a long time then.” Mignon gave a sarcastic laugh. “I shall stay in the club as long as I please and you can’t prevent me.”

“I’ll do my best,” challenged Jerry. “Remember that’s a warning. I’m going to make it my business to find out what you told Lucy Warner about Marjorie. When I do you’ll hear of it in a way you won’t like.”

“You’ll never find out,” taunted Mignon scornfully. “Lucy won’t tell you and I certainly shan’t. No one else knows.” Taken off her guard she had rashly admitted the very thing Jerry was endeavoring to make her say.

“I’m going to know,” assured Jerry tersely. “I’ve already made you say that you did tell Lucy something hateful about Marjorie. Now you can beat it. I’ve warned you! Oh, yes. If you circulate any more reports in school about Lucy’s and my resignations, I’ll put a notice on the bulletin board warning the girls to pay no attention to your tales. I’ll see that it stays there, too, long enough to do some good.” With this parting shot Jerry turned abruptly away and walked out of the shop, her primary desire for ice cream quite forgotten.

As she plodded slowly down the street toward home, Jerry solemnly considered the stubborn stand she had taken against the Lookouts. She was not in the least pleased with herself. To continue to hold herself aloof from Marjorie, in particular, whom she adored, promised to be a dispiriting task. Still she was determined to do it. She argued that to go back to the club and admit that she had been in the wrong would merely make her appear ridiculous. She contemplated her self-exile from her friends with small joy. Over-weening pride, however, caused her to gloomily accept it. Her sole consolation lay in the thought that unbeknown to her chums she would further their mutual interests in every possible way. The idea of thus becoming an unsuspected source of good to them, held for her a morbid fascination. While they believed her to be antagonistic, she would secretly be just the opposite. This beneficent but somewhat absurd resolution was exactly what one might expect from Jerry.

Though she could not know it, it was the precise conclusion at which her chums had already arrived. They knew her better than she knew herself. When she had deliberately ignored Irma’s friendly note, her five chums had consulted earnestly together regarding what they had best do. Irma and Constance proposed that the five should visit her in a body, in an endeavor to win her back. Muriel, Susan and Marjorie opposed such a measure. “It wouldn’t do the least bit of good,” Muriel had emphatically declared.

Marjorie had quietly echoed Muriel’s opinion, adding: “Let dear old Jerry alone, girls. She must work out her own salvation. When she comes back to us it must be of her own free will. She hasn’t really left us, you know. She’ll always be a Lookout, heart and hand.”

As December rushed on its snowy way toward the holiday season, it became somewhat difficult for Marjorie to practice what she had preached. Jerry’s desertion left a huge blank in her life that could not be filled. The brusque, good-humored stout girl had formerly been her most ardent supporter in making Christmas merry for the poor of Sanford. The little folks at the day nursery loudly bewailed her absence from their midst.

Mrs. Macy and Hal, who had learned the deplorable circumstances from Jerry’s own lips, held more than one energetic but futile argument with her in an effort to reduce her to reason. She met these earnest admonitors with an unyielding stolidity that caused them both to retire from the field in disgust. Whenever she chanced to meet her chums she greeted them with a cool civility that was infinitely more annoying than no greeting would have been. She marched defiantly to and from school by herself, preferring her own company to that of the Sanford High students outside the intimate circle of girls in which she had once moved.

She made but one exception to them. She was occasionally seen in company with Veronica Browning. The mystery surrounding the latter fascinated her. Then, too, she greatly admired this delightful girl. Although Veronica had learned of Jerry’s self-made Coventry, she never referred to it when with the latter. From Marjorie, who had been quick to note Jerry’s predilection for Veronica, she had received instructions to do all she could to lighten the young rebel’s self-imposed burden. Of her own free will she had offered her services in Jerry’s place at the day nursery. She had calmly informed the belligerent of her intention before doing so. Jerry had stared hard at her and merely said: “Go ahead and do it. You won’t hurt my feelings. Are you sure you can spare the time?” Veronica had answered in the affirmative and the subject had been immediately dropped.

The week preceding Christmas saw the Lookouts deep in preparations for the day of days. There was to be a wonderful gift-laden tree at the nursery for the children, and the usual yearly task of supplying the Sanford poor folks with holiday cheer was also carried on with a will. Marjorie’s home became a headquarters for the tireless workers and the Lookouts spent many fruitful and pleasant hours there. Even Mignon condescended to lend her presence on one or two occasions and surprised her companions by actually doing a little work. Since her encounter with Jerry she had been extremely ill at ease. She had a coward’s respect for the plain-spoken stout girl, and she now stood more in fear of her than ever. The very day after Jerry had accosted her in Sargent’s her father had promised her an expensive electric limousine as a commencement present, provided she conducted herself in exemplary fashion until then. Mignon had therefore decided to walk softly until this prize was safely in her possession.

Christmas came and went, leaving behind for Marjorie the usual liberal amount of remembrances from her friends. It was a less happy Christmas, however, than that of the previous year. Jerry’s desertion weighed heavily upon her. The two girls had always exchanged holiday gifts and calls. This year, determined to make no exception, Marjorie had selected and sent her usual good-will present to Jerry. Irma, Constance, Susan, Muriel, Harriet and Esther Lind had done likewise. From Jerry they had received nothing in return except their own gifts. Each package contained a card, on each of which had appeared the same Jerry-like message: “Keep this and send it to me later. Mignon may not always be a Lookout.”

This pertinent message provoked a certain amount of merriment on the part of the recipients. Nevertheless, an undertone of sadness lurked in the laughter. Jerry was Jerry and could not be imitated, duplicated nor replaced. They had missed her sorely at the gay round of parties that filled their holidays. Her unexpected state of rebellion had also completely upset her brother Hal’s plans for the Macys’ usual Christmas dance. He and Jerry exchanged sharp words over what he termed her “bull-headedness” and for two weeks afterward they were not on speaking terms. All in all Jerry passed a most doleful Yuletide season for which she had only herself to blame.