“Look here!” Jerry, who had gone with Leila to the garage to put away the car, bounced into the room flourishing two letters.

“Why, where did they come from? There wasn’t a sign of mail in our divisions when I came upstairs. That was not more than half an hour ago. Besides that was the last mail.” Marjorie’s eyes had opened to their widest extent at sight of the letters.

“Ah-h-h! There’s a reason; and it took yours truly to find it.” Jerry gave a self-appreciative crow. “Here’s your letter.” She tendered one of the two to Marjorie. She made no effort to open the other.

Marjorie’s color heightened as she glanced at the writing on the envelope. “It’s from Hal. You know that. Something unusual must be happening in Sanford. This is the second letter I’ve had from him within a week.”

“When you open it kindly gaze at the post-mark,” Jerry directed with a knowing smile.

“Why, Jerry!” Marjorie had already obeyed the direction. “November third! Where did it come from? This is another mysterious mystery.” She read Hal’s brief letter, a puzzled frown knotting her forehead. “This is the letter Hal thought I did not answer. I had to explain to him when I went home that I had not received it. Well, of all surprises.”

“The end of them is not yet. Here’s another belated missive. I thought I’d let you get over the shock of the first before handing you another jolt.”’

“So kind in you, Jeremiah.” Marjorie’s gratitude was of a very casual order. “You mean you wanted to be teasing. This is from Miss Susanna,” she announced after a hasty inspection. “It was”—again her voice achieved astonished height—“mailed last Monday. The time has come, Jeremiah for you to prove your worth as a great investigator and throw light upon this mystery.”

“It was that treacherous, deceiving old bulletin board,” emphasized Jerry, then giggled. “D is on the top row, you know. The back piece of the board gapes away from the face of it a little, just at the D section. One of the maids must have tucked Hal’s letter into the wrong place and there it stayed. Another of the maids must have done the same thing recently. I found both letters there. I was peeking and peering disconsolately at that empty D space when through a tiny crack at the back of it I saw a bit of white. I went fishing with a hat pin and finally got hold of a corner of Miss Susanna’s letter. Pretty soon I had fished up both of them. What I’m wondering is this. Did anyone cache them for spite? I trust not.” Jerry put on a look of virtuous horror. “I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had.”

“Suspicious old Jeremiah.” Marjorie raised a reproving finger at her chum. Her ready smile contradicted intent to reprove. “Miss Susanna wants to see me. In this note she asked me to dinner at the Arms on last Wednesday evening. Here it is the Saturday after! What must she think of me. I’ll hurry downstairs this instant and telephone her.”

Marjorie darted from the room and took the stairs at what she used at home to call a gallop. She blessed telephone service with all her heart as she quickly got Jonas on the wire and asked him to call Miss Susanna to the telephone. It was not a long conversation she presently exchanged with the mistress of Hamilton Arms. Miss Susanna was not fond of talking on the telephone. But it was a most happy little talk. Marjorie turned from the ’phone wondering a little why Miss Susanna had laid stress on inviting her alone of the Travelers to dinner at the Arms the next evening. The mistress of the Arms had not said she wished to be alone with Marjorie, but she had intimated it vaguely.

Turning mechanically toward the stairs Marjorie crashed squarely against a young woman who had just descended the last step. Both girls apologized first; took stock of each other afterward. Marjorie drew a quick breath. She was facing Louise Walker. Obeying an impulse she cried out:

“Oh, Miss Walker, I have been trying to see you for several days. Would you be willing to come upstairs to Miss Macy’s and my room? We have something to show you which is important to you.”

“I—certainly I will come.” Miss Walker’s intonation was remarkably gentle and friendly. “Will you lead the way? I am not often at Wayland Hall and know very little about it.” She motioned Marjorie to precede her up the stairs. “I had been calling on a sophomore, Miss Vinton.”

“She is such a clever girl,” Marjorie said admiringly. “We have had many interesting talks about chemistry experiments we have made.” Her winsome smile drew an answering smile from Miss Walker. The sophomore was wondering if Marjorie had heard any of the cutting remarks she had made about her and Robin Page, early in the fall, when Page and Dean had championed the cause of Augusta Forbes. She was astonished now to find Marjorie so friendly.

“For goodness sake!” In the act of nibbling a large three-cornered piece of peanut brittle Jerry let it fall to the rug at sight of Marjorie and her visitor. She bent to retrieve it, took an unintentional step forward and planted one foot firmly upon it. Such a disaster called for mirth which was quick in coming. Marjorie merrily seated the guest and offered her peanut brittle from a box. Jerry loudly mourned the loss of “the biggest, best bit of brittle in the brittle box,” as she gathered up the sticky fragments of it from the rug. She made short work of the task. She was eager to join the pair of girls on the other side of the room.

Marjorie kept the conversation centered upon impersonal topics until Jerry completed the trio. Then she began in her candid fashion: “Miss Walker, we hope you will not feel, after you have heard what I am going to tell you, that we have not been fair to you in not having told you before. Will you please bring the letters, Jerry?”

Jerry complied with alacrity. Meanwhile Marjorie had gone steadily on with the account of the receipt of the first letter, bearing Miss Walker’s signature. The latter sat listening in genuine mystification. She stared in bewilderment at the outrageous letter which Jerry placed in her hand.

“Why, this is dreadful!” she cried as she read it, her fair skin flooding with indignant red. “That’s not my writing! Why didn’t you come to me and ask me about it?”

“How could I?” Marjorie said rather sadly. She had expected the question. “You see, I didn’t know your handwriting. I didn’t know— Please let us not talk about that part of it. We were so glad when Jerry received the letter from you about the handkerchief. Then we knew you had not written that hateful letter.” She pointed the tip of a scornful finger at the forgery. “Since things have worked out so well, let’s be thankful, and friends.”

“I’d love to be,” Louise answered with sincerity. “First you must forgive me for being so disagreeable last fall. I’ve been sorry for quite a while, but there seemed no opportunity to tell you so. I understand Miss Forbes now, too. I like her, but I’m afraid she doesn’t like me; nor never will.”

“Go and call on her very soon. She’d be so pleased. I’m sure she would. She admires your basket ball playing.” This affably from Jerry who was far more favorable impressed with the sophomore that she had expected to be.

“There’s one thing I believe I ought to tell you to clear my slate,” Miss Walker said presently in a half hesitating tone. “It’s about Miss Peyton and Miss Carter. I mention them frankly because I intend to tell them that I have seen you, and of our talk.” Her voice strengthened into one of resolution. “May I ask you? Has Professor Matthews ever reprimanded you and Miss Macy for being unduly noisy in your room?” She stared anxiously at Marjorie.

“Why, no.” Marjorie cast an enigmatical glance at Jerry. Then the two laughed. “Please pardon us for laughing,” she apologized. “Last fall Miss Peyton threatened to report us to President Matthews. About two weeks later a letter came to me in the president’s hand. It really took courage to open it. Oh-h-h,” she drew a soft laughing breath, “it was an invitation to dinner at his home to meet one of his nieces who had come from the west to visit the Matthews. Jerry and I thought then that perhaps Miss Peyton had decided against reporting us to him.”

“I wish she had, but she didn’t. I advised her against such petty spite,” Louise declared disgustedly. “I am glad President Matthews ignored the report. She made it in person. She told me as much, but she would not tell me what he said to her in the matter. I suspect Prexy was very unsympathetic.” Louise’s gray, long-lashed eyes sparkled with quiet humor. “Anyway, I’m free from that worry. I wanted to tell you that as much as you wanted to tell me about the letter.”

Frank confession from caller and guests banished the strain which had marked the beginning of the interview. Presently Louise had been invited to remain at the Hall to dinner and afterward hob-nob with the chums in Ronny’s and Lucy’s room where a newly-arrived fruit cake sent Lucy by her mother was to be the center of attraction at a jollification.

The three girls were making rapid strides toward friendship when a knock at the door revealed Gussie Forbes and Calista Wilmot as demanding the hospitality of Room 15. It was the satisfying climax to a mutual admiration society which had sprung up between Louise and Gussie on the very field of battle. It was a case of when “soph meets soph.” The two distinguished centers found so much in common to talk about they blissfully forgot Marjorie, Jerry and Calista for the time being, greatly to the delight of these three.

Shortly before Louise Walker went to her own campus house she said to Marjorie in a low tone: “Will you come with me now to your room. My wraps are there. I will bring them in here, but I wish to say something very quietly to you.”

“We’re going into my room for a minute or so, gang,” Marjorie called to the others as she and the sophomore went out the door.

“It’s about Miss Monroe I wish to speak,” began Louise hurriedly. “Could you—do you know what ought to be done to keep her away from that Miss Cairns? The freshies seem to admire them as a stunning combination, plus the white car. But the sophs are decidedly against Miss Cairns. A good many stories about her dishonorable ways while she was a student at Hamilton have drifted down to us from friends and older sisters who have been graduated from here. We have been told that she was expelled from Hamilton, together with a crowd of her chums. She was here when you entered college, was she not?” Louise asked earnestly.

“She was a sophomore when we were freshies. She was expelled from Hamilton at the end of her junior year,” Marjorie said evenly. “I know of a great many things she has done that she should not have done, yet she is somewhat like another girl I know whose mother died when she was a baby and who grew up believing she must always have her own way. The girl I mention suddenly faced about and made herself over. Perhaps Leslie Cairns will do the same. I think it would be far better if Miss Monroe had nothing whatever to do with her. The trouble is—no one but Miss Monroe can decide that. All we can do is to help her by our good will.”

“I understand. You mean if Miss Monroe has enough interests to keep her occupied and happy on the campus she won’t turn to Miss Cairns for entertainment.”

“Yes,” Marjorie returned. “We Travelers have been watching over her. She is not only beautiful. Her room-mate is Muriel Harding, you know. Muriel says she is brilliant in her subjects. She can draw, paint, play the piano and knows a good deal about outdoor sports. We can’t afford to have such good material go to waste, can we?”

“No, we can’t.” Louise’s hand reached for Marjorie’s. The two looked into each other’s eyes and made a wordless compact which had to do with the deliverance of the enchanted princess from the power of the wicked wizard.