THE GIRL SCOUTS AT
MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

Contents

CHAPTER

 

Page

I

OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

3

II

MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

11

III

THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

19

IV

THE STOLEN MEETING

27

V

THE SORORITY PARTY

36

VI

PLEDGE-DAY

46

VII

OUTSIDERS

56

VIII

THE HOCKEY MATCH

65

IX

MARJORIE’S HOUSE-PARTY

73

X

THE DANCE

87

XI

THE GIRL SCOUT TROUP

97

XII

THE BOY SCOUTS’ DEMONSTRATION

104

XIII

AFTER THE MEETING

114

XIV

PANSY TROOP MEETS

120

XV

THE LATIN TEST

132

XVI

A WINTER HIKE

141

XVII

MARJORIE’S DISAPPOINTMENT

152

XVIII

THE SECOND-CLASS TEST

161

XIX

THE BOY SCOUTS ENTERTAIN

171

XX

MARJORIE’S SUSPICIONS

180

XXI

THE BASKET-BALL GAME

186

XXII

THE GHOST AT THE CABIN

196

XXIII

RUTH’S ADVENTURE

205

XXIV

RESTITUTION

217

XXV

THE VERDICT

227

XXVI

THE PLAY

233

All eyes watched it describe a graceful arc and fall straight through the goal,—a perfect shot. (The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School)

Page 193

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT
MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

By EDITH LAVELL

Author of
“The Girl Scouts of Camp,” “The Girl Scouts’ Good
Turn,” “The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip,” “The
Girl Scouts’ Rivals.”

A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York

THE
GIRL SCOUTS SERIES

A Series of Stories for Girl Scouts

By EDITH LAVELL

• The Girl Scouts at Miss Allen’s School
• The Girl Scouts at Camp
• The Girl Scouts’ Good Turn
• The Girl Scouts’ Canoe Trip
• The Girl Scouts’ Rivals

Copyright, 1922
By A. L. BURT COMPANY

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

Made in “U. S. A.”

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT
MISS ALLEN’S SCHOOL

CHAPTER I
OFF FOR BOARDING SCHOOL

“Secret societies! Whew! I’m glad they don’t have them at our school.”

The speaker, a boy of sixteen, perched himself upon the porch railing, and swung his legs contentedly, as if he had uttered the last word on the subject.

The two girls to whom the remark was addressed listened eagerly. Ruth Henry, the small, dark-haired one, who was obviously no relation of the boy, leaned forward. Challenging him with her eyes, she asked quickly:

“What makes you say that, Jack? Have you any grounds?”

The other girl, whose fair hair and straight nose resembled the boy strongly enough to identify her as his sister, looked impatient.

“He doesn’t know a thing about them,” she said.

“Now, listen, Marj,” remonstrated Jack in the tone one might use to a child, although his sister was only two years his junior, “haven’t you ever heard dad tell about the awful things some of those secret societies did when he was at college? They had a house without a single window, and with only one door—made of iron—and nobody ever knew what went on inside. But dad said one poor freshman, who was to be initiated, got rebellious and wouldn’t do the stunts; and they blindfolded him and threw him into the creek. It was cold, and he got pneumonia and died!”

“Oh, Jack, you’re exaggerating!” exclaimed Marjorie scornfully. “You read about that in a book—you must have forgotten. Anyway, girls’ societies wouldn’t do anything like that.”

But Ruth’s dark eyes were sparkling at the idea of adventure and danger. If the truth were told, it was because of these very secret societies, or sororities, as the girls called them, that she had persuaded her mother to let her register among the freshmen at Miss Allen’s Boarding School for the coming fall. And Marjorie Wilkinson, a more timid girl, desired to go simply that she might be with Ruth. Both families had at last consented, but too late to give the girls a chance to secure a room together. The idea of a strange room-mate filled Marjorie with dismay; but to Ruth it meant new opportunities for friendship—and a new chance to make one of the secret societies.

A week after the foregoing conversation, the girls were on their way to the school. They had been satisfied to sit quietly during most of the journey, contenting themselves with looking out of the window, and dreaming of future popularity and happiness. It was only after they were seated in the school hack that Marjorie was seized with a sudden pang of homesickness.

“If we only could have roomed together!” she sighed, clasping Ruth’s hand, and looking away from the gathering darkness. “Promise me, Ruth,” she said ardently, “whoever your room-mate is, you won’t like her better than me!”

“Jealous!” teased Ruth. “How do I know who I’m going to like?” Then, seriously, “Marj, do you suppose we’ll be asked to join a sorority?”

“Maybe you will, but I never would,” answered Marjorie. “I can’t make friends quickly enough.”

At this moment the hack stopped in front of the school door. Miss Allen’s Boarding School originally started in a beautiful old house which had been in her family for generations. She began with about fifteen pupils, and only one teacher besides herself. Each year she was forced to add a little more to the buildings, until now her school accommodated almost a hundred girls. The lovely big trees, wide porches, and large grounds made the spot an ideal one for a boarding school. At one end of the estate there was a small pond where the girls went skating in winter, and there were also wonderful little groves which could be used for picnics whenever the Principal’s permission could be obtained. The swimming pool, the gymnasium, and the hockey field supplied ample facilities for the athletic girl to indulge her desire for more strenuous sport.

As Ruth and Marjorie approached, and saw the bright lights through the windows, and heard the happy girls’ laughter, they felt, indeed, that they had reached the place of their dreams. Marjorie’s feeling of homesickness vanished as Miss Landis, the English teacher, came to greet them.

“How do you do, girls?” she said cordially. “I’m Miss Landis. Will you tell me your names?”

“I am Ruth Henry, and this is Marjorie Wilkinson,” replied Ruth. “We’re so glad to be here,” she added, “after our long ride.”

“I will take you to your rooms,” said Miss Landis, leading the way.

Marjorie was charmed by Miss Landis’s manner, which seemed so cordial and pleasant that she decided if everyone at school were like her, it surely would be a delightful place. But Ruth’s thoughts had taken an entirely different direction.

“Who are our room-mates?” she asked, as they ascended the stairs.

“Let me think,” said Miss Landis. “It’s hard to remember with so many girls, but I helped Miss Allen with the lists.” She stopped as they reached the second floor. “Oh, yes,” she continued, “you room with Ethel Todd—a sophomore. She’s a splendid girl—very popular. You’re lucky! And your room-mate,” she turned to Marjorie—“hasn’t come yet. She’s a freshman, named Lily Andrews.”

They walked down the corridor and stopped at the room which was to be Ruth’s. In answer to Miss Landis’s knock, a pretty girl about sixteen years old opened the door, disclosing an attractive interior with three large windows. Miss Landis introduced the girls.

Ethel apologized for the appearance of the room.

“You see I am just hanging the pictures and putting up the curtains,” she said. Turning to Ruth, she added, “It will be lovely to have you to help me!”

Ruth’s eyes danced; already she was fascinated by Ethel.

“Now I’ll show you to your room,” said Miss Landis to Marjorie. “I’m sorry there will be no room-mate there to welcome you, but then you can do that for her when she comes.”

As they went up another flight of stairs, Marjorie asked:

“Does she—does Ruth’s room-mate—belong to any of the sororities?”

“Yes, she belongs to the sorority,” replied Miss Landis. “There’s only one, but we teachers wish there weren’t any; for it takes the girls’ minds from their lessons and their athletics, and besides, it causes a good deal of unhappiness.”

“Unhappiness!” repeated Marjorie in astonishment. “Why, I should think it would be all fun.”

“It is—for those who belong. But you see only sixteen girls—four out of each class—are chosen; and most of the other girls in the school are miserable because they aren’t asked to join. We’d like to abolish it; but some of the prominent Alumnæ who are members of the Board belong, and as long as the girls want it, they won’t hear of doing away with it.”

Miss Landis stopped before a door at the back of the building. “Here is your room,” she said.

As the teacher threw open the door, Marjorie experienced a chill of disappointment. In contrast to Ruth’s attractive room, hers was dark and small, with only one window, and the slanting roof extended down over part of the wall. And it was very bare—only the bed seemed ready for use.

“I’m sorry you’ll be alone,” said Miss Landis, “but I’ll come and take you over to Ruth’s room to go down to supper with her. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

It was all Marjorie could do to keep from crying. Mechanically she began to take off her hat and coat.

“I feel just like poor little Paul Dombey who was sent to that dreary school of Doctor Blimber’s—in Dickens,” thought Marjorie. “Only, I guess everything will be all right when I see Ruth again, and meet my room-mate.”

The bell for supper had already rung; in a few minutes Miss Landis returned, and they started off together for Ruth’s room. There was no answer to Miss Landis’s knock at the door.

“She must have gone down with her room-mate,” said Miss Landis. “Never mind; you can come with me. I’ll find you a place.”

The dining-room was brilliantly lighted. Seven long tables were placed in various parts of the room. The girls, most of them in light summer dresses, were crowding in and sitting down anywhere, as the regular seats were not yet assigned. Marjorie noticed that one teacher sat at each table.

“Where would you like to sit?” asked Miss Landis.

Just then Marjorie spied Ruth sitting beside Ethel Todd, at the farthest table under the window.

“I want to sit over there, near the window, with Ruth!”

“I am sorry,” said Miss Landis, “but I wouldn’t advise you to sit there without an invitation. All those girls belong to ΦΑΒ,—(Phi Alpha Beta)—the sorority—except the freshmen who have been invited there by them; and you wouldn’t want to sit there without an invitation.”

At that moment Marjorie felt all the bitterness of the outcast. “Ruth will make the sorority, and I won’t,” she thought. But she gave her attention to Miss Landis, who introduced her to some other freshmen.

When supper was over, Marjorie asked some of her new friends to her room. They did visit her for a few minutes; but they were all tired, and left early. Marjorie went to bed without even bothering to unpack, or to make any attempt to see Ruth.

“Never run after the sorority girls,” Miss Landis had advised, and Marjorie intended to profit by the advice.

CHAPTER II
MARJORIE’S ROOM-MATE

When Marjorie awoke in her bare little room the next morning, a feeling of happy anticipation came over her. What was it? Oh, yes, she was away at school, and she was to meet her new room-mate to-day.

She jumped out of bed and dressed quickly, so that she had time to take a stroll in the garden before the breakfast bell rang. She met several of the girls she had sat with at supper the night before, and they asked her to join their group.

“Why, there goes Ruth!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Funny she didn’t see me!”

“Ruth who?” asked Ada Mearns, a sophomore.

“Ruth Henry—my best friend from home. She’s with some girls I don’t know.”

“Oh, yes,” said Ada, following the direction of Marjorie’s gaze, “those are all ΦΑΒ girls with her. I guess your young friend’s made a hit. Probably she’ll be one of the lucky four.”

“What lucky four?” asked another freshman.

“One of the lucky four freshmen to be asked to join the sorority!”

Marjorie bit her lip. “I’m not going to be miserable and jealous,” she thought, “only I don’t see why Ruth has to drop me for her new friends.”

“My word!” exclaimed Ada suddenly. “Look at this funny package coming up the walk!”

The girls all looked in the direction Ada indicated and saw the strangest-looking girl trudging up the path, carrying a suitcase and a hatbox. She was short and very fat, and vulgarly overdressed in clothes far too old for a girl of her years—a velvet coat, gray suede shoes and stockings, and a large hat trimmed with ostrich plumes. She seemed hot and out of breath.

When she came abreast of the girls she stopped.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but will you tell me where to go? I’m the new girl who was coming to-day.”

“The new girl?” laughed Ada. “Don’t you know there are several other freshmen—thirty-five to be exact?”

The stout girl looked as if she were not listening. “My name’s Lily Andrews—I’m from New York. Don’t you—any of you know where my room is?”

Marjorie’s face fell. So this was her room-mate! This ill-mannered, over-dressed, unattractive young lady, whose whole bearing stamped her as “newly rich!” Why should she, Marjorie, have the bad luck to draw something like this, when Ruth had fallen in with one of the most popular and influential girls of the school?

However, she answered, “Yes, I know where your room is, Miss Andrews, for I’m the freshman who is to room with you. I’ll take you to it. There’s just time before the second bell rings.”

Marjorie took Lily’s suitcase and the two girls walked off together.

“Poor Marjorie!” sighed Ada, “I hope she has the good sense to drop her.”

Lily talked all the way upstairs about the clothes she had brought. When they arrived at the room, and Marjorie opened the door, she uttered an exclamation of disgust.

“What!” she exclaimed, “me, Lily Andrews, have to live in a room like this, when my father’s rich enough to buy me a suite at the McAlpin?”

Marjorie tried to explain. “You see the older girls choose their rooms, and the freshmen are assigned the ones that are left. It’ll only be for one year, then we get our chance to choose.”

“I’ll never live here for a year! I couldn’t stand it!”

Marjorie’s hopes rose.

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “Go back home?”

“No, indeed!” said Lily. “And miss all the fun I’ve read so much about? No, I’ll just go tell Miss Allen I’ll pay more, and she’ll give me a better room. Besides, I want to room with an upper classman who already belongs to the secret society, so as I’ll be asked to join!”

Marjorie remembered the attractive girls who sat under the window the previous night, who were members of ΦΑΒ, and she smiled to herself. Poor Lily! She didn’t know what was in store for her.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you. The rooms are all assigned now, and I don’t believe Miss Allen would make any changes. Hurry up! there’s the last bell for breakfast!”

They went into the dining-room together, and both girls were conscious of the fact that all eyes were turned upon them. Lily thought it was because of her expensive clothing; but Marjorie knew better, and blushed.

After classes that afternoon, when Lily and Marjorie were unpacking their trunks and doing their best to arrange their homely little room to make it look attractive, Ruth knocked at the door. Marjorie experienced a joyful surprise as her old friend appeared.

“I’m so glad to see you, Ruth!” she exclaimed. “I want you to meet my room-mate, Miss Andrews. This is Miss Henry, Lily.”

Ruth bowed, and Lily murmured, “Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

“Well, how do you like it all by this time?” asked Marjorie. “Are you the least bit homesick?”

“No, indeed!” answered Ruth, enthusiastically. “I never was so happy. I’m crazy about my room-mate!”

“She does seem nice,” observed Marjorie. “What do you think of the teachers?”

“Teachers!—I don’t give them a thought. They’re necessary evils!”

“I think Miss Landis is lovely,” said Marjorie. “I like teachers when they’re nice, and not prim old maids.”

Lily was all the while busily unpacking her trunk. Suddenly she produced an enormous box, wrapped in white paper, and tied with pink ribbon.

“Father gave me five pounds of chocolates,” she remarked, as she untied it, “and he promised to send me more when I want them.”

She passed the candy to the girls.

“Thank you,” said Marjorie, “but I don’t believe I’ll take any. I want to make the hockey team, and my brother always said one of the most important things about doing well in athletics is to eat the right things.”

“The girls’ll think you’re a prig,” said Ruth, nibbling a chocolate. “You won’t get invited to things!”

“I don’t care!” said Marjorie, “if I only make the team!”

“I’d much rather make the sorority,” sighed Lily. “Have you met any of the sorority girls, Miss Henry?”

“Yes,” answered Ruth. “I room with one, and she has introduced me to quite a number. They’re awfully nice.”

“I should guess so,” said Lily. “I suppose they’re the richest crowd at Miss Allen’s. I’d like to invite them all out to my father’s place on Long Island, so they can see where I get off!”

Ruth laughed. “You better not try it,” she said. “Let them do the inviting.”

“What are you going to wear to the Sophomore reception?” asked Marjorie suddenly.

“My pink organdie. What are you?”

“My white embroidered voile, I guess.”

“Will they be fancy enough?” asked Lily. “I expect to wear a blue net and spangled dress—it’s quite the thing in New York!”

At this moment, there was a knock at the door, and in answer to Marjorie’s “Come,” three freshmen, accompanied by Ada Mearns, a sophomore, entered.

“These girls were looking for Miss Henry,” said Ada, “and I thought she might be in here.”

Ruth jumped up joyfully. “Hulloa!” she exclaimed. “Girls, I want you to meet Marjorie Wilkinson, and Lily Andrews—Doris Sands, Evelyn Hopkins, and Mae VanHorn.”

The girls acknowledged the introduction, and Marjorie invited them to sit down.

“No, we simply can’t,” said Doris. “Ruth’s room-mate—Ethel Todd—wants to take our picture; but we wouldn’t consent to having it without Ruth!”

“I’m going, too,” said Lily. “I want some fresh air.”

“Oh, but you’re not dressed,” interposed Ruth, “and we can’t keep Ethel waiting. I’m sorry—some other time!”

The four freshmen linked arms, and went out together.

“Those four girls,” said Ada, lowering her voice, “are the ones everyone thinks will be invited to join ΦΑΒ.”

“How can they tell so soon?” asked Lily, with resentment in her voice. “It isn’t fair! I think everybody ought to have a chance! I haven’t even met any sorority girls.”

“Everybody will have a chance, don’t worry. They don’t choose their candidates till six weeks are over, so they’ll be pretty sure to know everybody. And, of course, they may change their minds, and drop one or all of those girls.’”

“I’d love to make it,” sighed Lily.

“I’m not going to bother about it,” said Marjorie. “I’m going out for the hockey team.”

“Good work!” said Ada. “That’s the spirit!”

But Ada could not tell from Marjorie’s words how bravely she was struggling to hide her feelings.

“We get our regular places at tables in the dining-room to-night,” said Ada. “Fortunately, they don’t allow any sorority stuff there. The girls are chosen by lot from each class—four girls from each, and a teacher besides. Then, after Christmas, we draw all over again.”

“I do hope I get with some nice girls,” said Lily.

“Oh, everybody here is nice,” said Ada. “I never met lovelier girls.” She got up from the bed, where she had been sitting. “I must go,” she said. “Good-bye—I’ll see you both at the reception to-morrow night, if not before.”

She hurried out, and Marjorie and Lily resumed their unpacking.

CHAPTER III
THE SOPHOMORE RECEPTION

When the four freshmen left Marjorie’s room, and walked out of the dormitory to the campus where Ethel Todd and Marian Guard, another sophomore members of ΦΑΒ, were waiting with the camera, their whole bearing expressed pride, as if they wanted to say to the rest of the school, “We have been singled out by the sorority as the four most

eligible

freshmen!”

Before they reached Ethel and Marian, the former called out, “Hurry up, girls! We can’t wait all day!” Then, turning to Marian, she said in a low voice, “Those girls are entirely too sure of themselves.” As they came closer, she said aloud, “I always photograph a group of girls from each class to send to mother. But I wish we could get some more girls into this picture.”

Ethel looked away for a minute, as if she were thinking. She turned to her room-mate. “Ruth,” she said, “who was that girl I met you with yesterday?”

“Oh—Marjorie Wilkinson?”

“Was she tall and pretty?”

“Yes, she’s tall, and I suppose you might call her pretty: she has light hair and brown eyes!”

“That’s the girl I mean! Couldn’t you go get her, if I wait a couple of minutes?”

“I don’t believe so; I don’t think she’s dressed.”

“All right,” said Ethel, “I guess you will make a good picture of freshness!”

“Are we so very green?” asked Doris, nevertheless highly flattered to be teased by so important a person as Ethel Todd.

“Absolutely!” replied Ethel. “Now arrange yourselves in a group.”

She looked into the camera and saw Ruth, partly hidden behind Doris. “She wants to be urged to a more prominent position,” thought Ethel, “but she’s going to get left!” She said nothing and snapped the picture. Then turning to Marian, “It’s time to dress,” she said; “let’s go in.”

Ruth joined them; inwardly thanking her stars that she roomed with Ethel.

After they had reached their room, and Marian had left them, Ethel said, “To-morrow night I want to make it a point to meet this Marjorie Wilkinson. Will you ask her to come over and go to the reception with us?”

“I don’t believe she’d want to; I think I heard her planning to go with her room-mate.”

“Well, let her bring her along, too.”

Ruth burst out laughing. “If you’d ever see her room-mate!” she exclaimed. “She dresses like a Christmas tree, and she’s always talking about her father’s money. She’s simply impossible!”

“Then I shouldn’t think your friend Marjorie would care for her.”

“Oh, she likes anybody,” said Ruth, anxious to dismiss the other girl from the mind of her room-mate. “Let’s finish putting up the pictures.”

“Anyway,” said Ethel, “I want to know Marjorie Wilkinson. She looks promising.”

The sophomores had secured the gymnasium for their reception to the freshmen. All the afternoon of the following day, the committee was busy with the decorations. The girls had gone into the woods and returned with their arms full of autumn leaves and wild asters. They twined branches through the apparatus; they covered the walls with school banners; and they pinned orange crepe paper over the bright electric bulbs to soften the glare. At quarter of six, Frances Wright, the sophomore president, surveyed the hall approvingly.

“You’d never recognize the old gym, would you?” she remarked to Ethel, as the girls started toward the door.

The sophomores all ate rather hastily that evening, in their anxiety to precede their guests at the reception. Shortly after eight, the freshmen began to arrive in groups. Ruth, accompanied by her three friends—Doris Sands, Evelyn Hopkins, and Mae VanHorn, was among the first to appear.

Marjorie and Lily came very late. Lily had encountered difficulty in dressing—“Without mother’s maid to help me,” she had explained to her room-mate; and Marjorie had patiently waited for her. Almost everyone else was there when they finally arrived.

The reception committee had become scattered, but Frances Wright noticed the newcomers as they entered the room, and went forward to greet them.

“We’re awfully glad to see you, girls,” she said cordially. “Will you forgive me if I ask you your names?”

“Certainly,” replied Marjorie, graciously complying with the president’s request.

“Marjorie Wilkinson!” she repeated. “Oh, yes, I know. You’re the girl Ethel Todd has been talking about.”

“Ethel Todd! Ruth Henry’s room-mate?” asked Marjorie, somewhat surprised.

“Yes.”

“But I only met her once——”

“Well, you must have made an impression. So long as I’m not busy, I’d like to take you both over to see Ethel.”

Ethel, Marian Guard, and Lulu Davids, the other sorority sophomores, were standing talking to Ruth and her three freshmen friends. Frances walked between Lily and Marjorie, holding an arm of each. Ethel seemed particularly cordial, and Lily talked fast and loud, realizing that their group, including as it did, the four ΦΑΒ sophomores, must be the center of attraction, and the envy of all the other freshmen.

Just then the musicians struck up a one-step. Ethel asked Marjorie immediately for a dance, and the two whirled off together. Marian and Lulu asked Doris and Mae, and Frances Wright excused herself to attend to some other matters. Ruth and Evelyn stood watching the dancers, as Lily turned to them.

“My, aren’t these sorority girls swell?” she said. “I like them a lot, and I never thought I’d get in with them so quick! But my father said he bet I’d wear their pin home Thanksgiving!”

Ruth looked contemptuous, and Evelyn laughed out loud.

“Let’s dance together,” suggested Ruth, and without even an apology, they left Lily standing alone.

At the end of the dance, games were introduced to scatter the groups; and even Ruth found herself, in a few moments, far away from her beloved sorority friends. But they managed to get together again for refreshments. When everybody was seated, Ethel suddenly asked:

“Where is Marjorie Wilkinson?”

“She’s over there with some of her freshmen friends,” said Ruth.

“I’d like to have her with us,” said Ethel. “Ruth, will you go over and ask her to join our group?”

Ruth frowned slightly, but rose obediently to do as Ethel requested. She showed rather plainly, however, that she did not especially want Marjorie, and the latter was quick to recognize her feeling.

“No, thank you!” said Marjorie. “It’s very kind of Miss Todd, but I can’t leave Lily, and the other girls I am with.”

“I’ll go,” said Lily, “even if Marjorie doesn’t care to!” She rose and slipped her fat arm, covered with expensive bracelets, into Ruth’s. “It’s such fun!” she exclaimed.

Ethel expressed her disappointment. “Well, then, I am going over to talk to her,” she said. “Don’t you want to come with me, Marian?”

As both girls rose, Lily announced, “I believe I’ll change my mind, and go back again, so that I’ll be with Marjorie when it’s time to go home.”

Everyone laughed, as Lily tagged along after the two sophomores. Ruth turned to Doris.

“Isn’t it too bad, to have all our plans spoiled?” she asked.

“You mean about the sorority?”

“Yes.” She lowered her voice, and Mae and Evelyn drew their chairs nearer to the others.

“You see,” continued Ruth, “up till to-night, the ΦΑΒ girls haven’t been paying attention to anybody except us four girls; and I felt pretty sure we’d be chosen. Now, if they get interested in Marjorie Wilkinson, one of us is sure to be left out.”

“That’s so!” exclaimed Mae.

“What we ought to do,” announced Ruth, “is all stick together—and if they don’t ask all of us, then none of us will join!”

“I don’t approve of that,” pouted Evelyn. “There are thirty-five girls in the Freshman Class, and they can ask four entirely different girls from any of us. I, for one, intend to join if I am asked.”

“You’re not very loyal!” exclaimed Ruth.

“How about your loyalty?” snapped Evelyn. “Wasn’t Marjorie Wilkinson your friend? And now aren’t you doing your best to work against her?”

Ruth did not answer this accusation. The situation was relieved by the orchestra starting to play.

“There’s the music for the last waltz,” said Doris. “I guess we might as well dance it together, Ruth.”

But before the girls got started, Ethel came back again. “I want this dance with my room-mate,” she said, taking Ruth’s hand.

Ruth looked up happily, and they started off together.

“And I’m going to take you home,” she said; “each sophomore takes a freshman.”

As Ruth hurried up the stairs to get her cloak, she met Marjorie. “Hasn’t it been wonderful?” she whispered.

“Yes, indeed,” answered Marjorie enthusiastically.

“And Ethel is taking me home!” said Ruth triumphantly. “I thought she would want to take you, she seemed so struck with you! By the way, who is taking you?” she asked.

“I had the last dance with Frances Wright, and she offered to walk over with me.”

“Phew!” exclaimed Ruth. “The President of the Sophomore Class, and a ΦΑΒ girl besides!”

“She’s a nice girl,” said Marjorie simply; “and I have enjoyed my evening.”

CHAPTER IV
THE STOLEN MEETING

The spirit of rivalry, which had temporarily given way to one of courtesy for the night of the sophomore-freshmen reception, returned again with full force as soon as the party was over. Although no regular hazing was permitted, the sophomores usually enjoyed the privilege of ordering the younger girls to obey their commands.

The struggle between the classes lasted only six weeks, and might be ended before that time if the freshmen succeeded in holding a class meeting within that period, and electing a president with due formality. All the conditions regarding the conduct of the meeting were printed in large type and hung on the principal Bulletin Boards.

Ruth, who had always been a ring-leader in affairs of this nature, took particular interest in the event. She had discussed it many times with Evelyn and Mac, but neither she, nor in fact any other members of her class, had decided upon any definite action.

About a week after the sophomore reception, she paused on her way to Marjorie’s room to read the notice again. She almost knew it by heart; nevertheless, she read it over again carefully to see that she had missed nothing. It said:

“FRESHMEN PLEASE NOTE:

“The following rules concerning the election of a class president must be observed:

“1. The meeting must be held on the school grounds within six weeks’ time after the opening of the fall term.

“2. There must be at least two-thirds of the members of the class present to make the meeting valid.

“3. A president must be elected by a majority vote; at least two candidates must be nominated.

“4. The sophomores may do all in their power to prevent or break up such a meeting.

“5. If the freshman class fails to hold said meeting within the alloted time, a committee of three must be sent to the sophomore president to beg on bended knees for permission to hold their meeting.”

Ruth closed her lips tightly, resolving to do something—and to do it immediately. She hurried to Marjorie’s room.

“I tell you our class is as slow as molasses!” she exclaimed. “We’ve got to do something about our class-meeting.”

Marjorie fingered her hockey-stick, and looked questioningly at her visitor. Her mind was still on forward passes, and she did not quite take in what she was saying.

“There’s no hurry, is there?” she asked, without much display of interest. “Isn’t there lots of time yet?”

“I should say not!” answered Ruth, crossly. “Two weeks have gone already—we only have four more!”

“Oh, four weeks is an age! I wish you would pay more attention to hockey, Ruth. Our class hasn’t any good players at all.”

“Now listen, Marj, I’m not here to talk about hockey. I’m going to do something about electing our class president. Who do you think would be good?”

“I don’t know many girls very well. Who do you think?”

“Why, how about yourself, Marj?”

Marjorie scorned the idea. “I’d never make it,” she said positively. “Besides, hockey takes all my time.”

Ruth hoped that Marjorie might suggest her in return for the compliment, but she was forced to leave the room ungratified.

She received more encouragement from Evelyn, however.

“I mean to nominate you, Ruth, if we ever get the meeting,” said her friend.

“Thanks, Eve—then I’ll nominate you!”

The other girl laughed. “What fun to run against each other!” she exclaimed.

“Of course, it isn’t only the honor of being class president, but they say she is always chosen by ΦΑΒ. They couldn’t afford to let a girl like that go by!”

Ruth rallied her forces, and finally succeeded in passing word around that all the freshmen should steal into the assembly room as soon as the lights went off the following night, which was Saturday.

Marjorie and Lily did not pretend to undress, but Ruth, in order to deceive Ethel, went to bed as usual. Her classmates had advised her not to make any attempt to attend the meeting if Ethel seemed at all suspicious; they reminded her that eleven girls out of the thirty-five freshmen could be absent, and that she might be one of that number.

But Ruth could not force herself to lie still and miss everything. She had arranged the meeting; she hoped to be nominated for the office; and she could not be content to remain away. Accordingly, after the lights were out, and she and Ethel were both in bed, she stirred cautiously and looked to see whether her room-mate were awake. Unfortunately, she was.

“Ethel,” she whispered, “Marjorie had a headache, and I want to take her over some of your aspirin pills. I forgot to do it before I got undressed. Where are they?”

“In the top drawer,” replied her room-mate, sleepily. “But, Ruth, it’s against the rules to go off the floor after ten.”

“I know, but—poor Marjorie is suffering!”

“Well, she could go to the infirmary. The night nurse would take care of her.”

“But I promised, and I mean to stick to it. You don’t mind?”

Ethel watched her go out of the door, and buried her head again in her pillow. The night was rather chilly, and she was glad she did not have to creep around cold corridors.

Suddenly she sat up in bed. Why was Ruth doing this? She wasn’t usually so solicitous about Marjorie; she certainly was willing to slight her at the reception the previous week! Ethel forgot all about the chilliness of the night, and her own sleepiness. She put on her shoes and stockings, and reached for her middy and skirt. Then, seizing a sweater, she rushed up to Frances Wright’s door on the third floor.

She opened her friend’s door cautiously. “Wake up, Frances!” she said. “It’s Ethel—I think the freshmen have something up. Ruth’s gone!”

Frances jumped out of bed. “Where?” she asked excitedly.

“I don’t know—you better blow your whistle!”

“I daren’t at night; it’s against the rules.”

Ethel gasped. “Well, then hurry,” she said.

“I’ll go look in the class and assembly rooms, and you wake up the other squads to search the dormitories.”

By this time Frances was already dressed, and the girls started out together.

She knocked three times on the sophomores’ doors as she passed, thus substituting the night signal in place of the whistle she used in the day time.

The freshmen had chosen an unfortunate place for their meeting; it was too obvious; and they could not keep down their voices. Ruth was trying to count the girls, but since the assembly room was almost perfectly dark, she found this a difficult thing to do.

When she had finally ascertained that two-thirds of the members of the class were present, she called for order, and announced: “Nominations are in order!”

“They are not!” cried Ethel, throwing on the switch.

The freshmen could only gasp at the suddenness of the interruption and the light. The spectacle they presented, with their hair down, and in their unconventional clothing, contrasted oddly with the usual dignity of assembly room audiences. Ethel laughed out loud.

It was only a moment before the light attracted a crowd of sophomores, and the meeting had to disband. Just as the girls were leaving Miss Allen appeared, demanding an explanation. She ordered all the girls back to their rooms, and warned them that if a night meeting were ever attempted again, the practice would have to be given up.

At the beginning of the fourth week of school, the freshmen made another attempt to hold their meeting, and this time, with the help of several of the juniors, their attempt was successful.

Edith Evans, an upper classman, stood out under the big tree on the campus and waved a white handkerchief, which the freshmen interpreted as a summons to the library basement, secured for the occasion. The time for the meeting was selected at an hour when the sophomores were on the hockey field.

Edith Evans counted the freshmen as they entered the library; as soon as there were twenty-four, she went inside, and took charge of the nominations. Doris Sands, the prettiest, and at the same time one of the most popular girls of the class, was already elected president, when Ruth and Evelyn arrived on the scene.

“Who were nominated?” asked the former, breathlessly.

“Doris Sands and Rita Wilds. Of course Doris got it,” replied the freshman she had questioned. “She’d get it, no matter who else was put up.”

Ruth turned away hastily, for she could not keep back the tears. Evelyn saw her disappointment, and decided to leave her alone. But before she had reached the door, it was flung open, and half a dozen sophomores, with their hockey sticks in their hands, rushed in.

“Too late!” cried Edith triumphantly. “The freshmen have elected Doris Sands for their president!”

A groan arose from the defeated girls. Frances Wright was the first to put aside the class antagonism, and to remember her manners.

“Congratulations, Doris!” she said, coming forward and shaking hands.

By this time Ruth had control of herself again; she resolved not to let Ethel know that she had ever hoped for the office. She found her among the group around Doris, and the girls walked back to their room together.

“I’m not surprised that Doris was elected,” said Ethel, as she unlaced her hockey shoes. “I always thought she would be!”

“So did I,” agreed Ruth pleasantly. “She’s the girl we all wanted from the first!”