Vera awoke long before daylight, and lay thinking.

"That's just the way I do things," she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"I plan the fun, and always have a good time, that is 'most' always, but it's sure to wind up in a scrape. I plan how to get into mischief. Why don't I ever plan how to get out?"

Elf stirred uneasily, and Vera gave her shoulder a vigorous shake.

"Wake up!" she commanded. "Wake up, and help me plan what we'd better say when we have to face Mrs. Marvin."

"Oh, I'm sleepy," drawled Elf. "We're smart enough to say something when she stares at us over her spectacles. We'll say we—"

A wee snore finished the sentence, and Vera turned over with a lurch that shook the bed.

She thought it very hard that she must lie awake and worry, while Elf could sleep; in short, she wanted some one to worry with her.

"It's like the way I climb trees when we're away in the summer," she muttered.

"It's fine climbing up, but I'm always afraid to climb down. If Bob is near, I can always make him get me down, but Bob isn't here to get me out of this mess, and Elf won't even try to keep awake to help me think."

She concluded that it was very unfeeling for Elf to be so sleepy. Her cheeks were flushed, and her head ached.

"O dear!" she whispered, softly, "Dorothy Dainty and Nancy Ferris are full of fun, but they never get into a regular fix such as I'm in now. I don't see how they manage to have such good times without ever getting mixed up in something that's hard to explain. And Betty and Valerie will get off Scot free, for 'The Fender' couldn't see them under the bed, and of course we'll not tell that they were there."

She did not know that when Betty and Valerie had reached their own room they found that in their haste to arrive at the "feast" they had left the light burning in their room!

Oh, indeed Miss Fenler had seen that, and she had opened the door. She had found no one there. She had seen that four had been enjoying the feast, because at each of the four sides of the spread were fragments of partly eaten cream-cakes, or bits of fruitcakes. Her sharp eyes had seen enough to assure her that two other girls were in hiding somewhere in the room, doubtless the two whose light had been left burning. She thought it clever to let them think that they had escaped notice. Their surprise would be greater when she sent them to Mrs. Marvin the next morning. Daylight found Vera tossing and turning, while Elf was dreaming. It was not that Vera could not bear reproof. She could listen for a half-hour to a description of her faults, and look like a cheerful flaxen-haired sprite all the while. That which now worried her was the thought that Mrs. Marvin might send her home.

It was the fifth time during the month that she had been reprimanded, and even gentle Mrs. Marvin might reach the limit of her patience.

Her father, she knew, would speak reprovingly, and then laugh at her. Her mother, always weak-willed, would say: "Vera, dear, I wonder if you were really naughty, or if it was that they didn't quite understand you."

Oh, there was nothing to fear about being sent home, but the fact that thus she would lose a deal of fun that she could so enjoy with a lot of lively girls of her own age.

She resolved to appear as off-hand as usual, unless Mrs. Marvin should say that she must not remain at Glenmore, when she would throw pride to the winds, and plead, yes, even beg to continue as a pupil of the school. She turned and looked at Elf, still soundly sleeping.

"O dear! I'm the only girl in school who has anything to fret over," she whispered.

It happened, however, that at the far end of the building, another girl was quite as worried as Vera, but it was a very different matter that had caused her to wake, as Vera had, before daybreak.

She had entered Glenmore a few weeks after school had opened, and was rather a quiet girl, as yet acquainted with but few of the pupils.

Some one circulated the story that she was being educated by an uncle who was a very rich man. Patricia Levine had added that as he lived in "N'York," and as her mother also lived there, she, of course, knew him, and she had told Patricia that old Mr. Mayo was more than rich, that he was many, many times a millionaire.

"Ida Mayo is to be an heiress, and have all that money. Just think of that!" Patricia had said, and immediately began to be very friendly with her.

Betty Chase boldly asked Patricia why it followed that because Mrs. Levine and old Mr. Mayo lived in New York they must, of course, be acquainted, to which Patricia snapped.

"I didn't say they must be acquainted. I said 'they are'!"

Ida Mayo seemed not to notice that Patricia sought to be friendly, nor did she make any effort to become acquainted with any of the other pupils.

She seemed content to stand apart and watch the others in their games. It was Dorothy Dainty who seemed to hold her attention, and once Betty Chase asked boldly: "I wonder why you watch Dorothy so much."

"I don't know," Ida had said, then added, "I guess it's because she's worth looking at?"

Secretly she envied Dorothy's lovely color, and wished that her own cheeks were as fresh and fair. That evening in her little room, she looked in disgust at her reflection in the mirror. A pale face returned her gaze, and she made a grimace.

"It's bad enough to be pale without having a few of last summer's freckles left to make it worse," she cried.

There were lessons to be prepared for the morrow, but the reflection in the mirror had so disturbed her that she cast lessons aside and commenced reading a story in a new magazine. The heroine was described as having a wonderful complexion, as fair, as pink and white, as perfect in coloring as a sea-shell.

"Of course!" said Ida, "and that's the sort I wish I had."

Her eyes strayed from the story of the beautiful heroine to the advertising column.

"Raise mushrooms," read one advertisement, next: "Try our patent collar-button," then: "Write poems for us."

"How stupid!" she said. "Who'd want to raise mushrooms, I'd like to know? Who wants their old collar-buttons? And for mercy's sake, how many people who read those advertising columns can write poetry?"

She was about to toss the magazine upon the couch, when two words in large print caught her attention.

"Banish freckles—"

"What's that?" she whispered.

"Banish freckles and have a perfect complexion," she read. "Send fifty cents to us, or obtain our tonic at any drug-store. Directions inside package."

It must have been the best of good luck that had prompted her to neglect her lessons, and spend the evening hours with the magazine, she thought.

She was far too impatient to wait to receive the tonic by mail.

She had never been to the local drug-store, so the clerks would not know her, but if any of the Glenmore girls were there, she would buy some candy, and wait until another day to obtain the tonic.

She drew a long breath when she saw, upon entering, that she was the only customer.

The clerk thought it odd that a little girl should be buying a complexion-beautifier, but concluded that she, doubtless, was doing the errand for some older person.

Night came, and at the hour when Vera and Elf with Betty and Valerie were tasting their goodies, and listening to every sound that might be approaching footsteps, Ida Mayo, not a whit less excited, was breathlessly reading the directions for applying the tonic.

"Spread the tonic over the face, rubbing it thoroughly into the skin. Let it remain all night. You will be astonished at the result."

A dozen times during the night she had been awakened with the scalding, burning of her face. The directions had said that the skin would probably burn, but the result in the morning would fully repay the user, by the extreme loveliness of the radiant complexion!

Ida bore the burning bravely, but when the first faint light appeared she sat up in bed, pressing her hands to her smarting cheeks.

"If the freckles are gone, and my skin is fair, I won't say a word about this burning," she said. "But how," she continued, "can my face look even half-way decent, when it is smarting so furiously?"

At last, she could bear it no longer, and springing out of bed, she ran to the dresser, and gasped as she looked at her reflection. Even in the dim light of the dawn of a cloudy day, she saw that her cheeks, her forehead, her chin, were all very red.

Were they spotty as well?

"O dear! If it was only light enough for me to really see!" she whispered.

She looked at the tiny clock. At that early hour no one was stirring at Glenmore.

No one would see her if she went down to the door, and it would be lighter there. A gable shaded the window, and made her room less light.

Thrusting her tangled locks up under the elastic of her muslin cap, and throwing on a loose sack, she snatched the hand-mirror from her dresser, and softly yet swiftly went out into the hall and down the stairs.

She paused in the lower hall, there thinking that she heard some one coming, she rushed out on the piazza, down the steps, and across the lawn to an open space where nothing could obscure the light. Already it was growing lighter, and she lifted the hand-mirror. A look of horror swept over her little face.

"Oh, what a fright!" she cried, as she stood staring at the reflection.

Her face was scarlet, and if the freckles had disappeared, it was because they had taken the skin with them when they went!

For a moment she stood as if rooted to the spot, then realizing that some restless pupil might be up and chance to see her from the window, she turned and ran at top speed toward the house. The big door stood open as she had left it, and she raced across the hall and up the stairway, entering her room just as footsteps echoed along the hall.

She closed the door and sat down.

"Why did I see that horrid old advertisement?" she exclaimed. Her smarting, burning cheeks were enough to bear, but worse than that was the thought that she would be compelled to appear in the class-room.

How the girls would stare at her! What would they say among themselves?

Vera believed herself to be the only girl at Glenmore who had even the slightest reason for worrying. Ida Mayo possessed the same idea.

Mrs. Marvin listened to all that Miss Fenler had to say about the feast, the two who had planned it, and the other two who beyond a doubt had been invited guests.

"And I should send them home, and at the same time mail a tart letter to their parents telling them that their room was better than their company."

Mrs. Marvin looked up at the thin, harsh face of her assistant.

"Mercy is sometimes as valuable in a case like this, as extreme severity," she said.

"They have broken a well-known rule here, and must be dealt with accordingly. They must be made clearly to understand that a repetition would not be overlooked."

"I am only an assistant," Miss Fenler said, "but I have my opinions, and I can't help thinking that you are too gentle with them."

"They have been mischievous, surely, but had their mischief been such as would harm, or annoy their classmates, I should have been more severe.

"You may send them to me. I will see them before the school opens for the morning session."

"There is another pupil that I must speak of, and that is the Mayo girl. It has been her habit to keep apart from the other girls. She seems to prefer to spend much of her leisure time not only indoors, but in her room.

"Lina Danford, the little girl whose room is next hers told me that Ida Mayo had been crying ever since daybreak. Lina thought that she must be ill, and she knocked at the door, but while for a moment the crying ceased, there was no answer, even when the knock was several times repeated."

"Have you tried to rouse her?" Mrs. Marvin said, her fine face showing genuine alarm.

"I knocked three times, but received no reply, and the door is locked."

"I will go to her," Mrs. Marvin said. "You may open school for me. Say nothing to the other girls. I will talk with them at the noon recess."

Mrs. Marvin hurried up the stairway, and along the upper hall to the corner room. She paused before tapping. If Ida Mayo had been crying, she was not crying now.

She knocked and waited. Knocked again, and again she waited.

"Ida, you must open your door for me. This is Mrs. Marvin."

The morning session had opened, and fresh young voices could be plainly heard. They were singing Ida's favorite, an old song, "All hail, pleasant morning."

Mrs. Marvin heard a faint sob.

"Ida, I am your friend. Let me in, and tell me what troubles you." No response.

"Open the door quickly, or I shall call Marcus to force it open."

Ida opened the door with a jerk.

"There!" she cried, angrily. "I don't see why I could not stay alone in my room until I looked fit to be seen!"

Mrs. Marvin thought the raw, scarlet face denoted some desperate illness, but chancing to look toward the dresser, she caught sight of the bottle, uncorked, and with its showy label bearing the legend:

Mrs. Marvin sat down upon a low seat, and drew Ida down beside her, and patiently she listened to the story of the longing for beauty, the reading of the advertisement.

"I s'pose I put on too much," Ida concluded. "They said, 'Just a bit on the tip of the fingers rubbed into the skin each night for two weeks would work wonders.

"They said used generously you'd be surprised at the result! I guess I was.

"I thought if a little would do so much, a lot of it would do more, so I put it on thick, and went to bed.

"O dear! It has been a comfort to tell you, but I can't face those girls while I look like this!"

"I shall not ask you to," Mrs. Marvin said. "I will bring you some cooling ointment to heal your face, and I'll send old Judy up with your meals.

"I will tell her to say to any pupils who may question her, 'Miss Mayo feels so miserable that she'll not come down to her meals for a few days.' Judy is absolutely trustworthy."

Judy proved herself quick-witted, for when an inquisitive pupil tried to peep into the room as she entered with the tray, Judy turned sharply, remarking:

"Ah don' s'pose yo wants ter ketch anythin' what's 'tagious, does ya?"

The pupil backed away from the door, when at a distance she said: "You don't seem to be much afraid."

"Ah isn't 'fraid, 'cause I's had dis same ting."

She had indeed suffered in the same way. True it was not freckles that annoyed her. It was a longing to rid herself of her black skin that had tempted her to purchase a bottle of a so-called beautifier, warranted to produce a new skin.

That was some years before, but Judy remembered it.