“Ad, ante, con, de, in, inter,—” recited Virginia. “Priscilla, do you always remember the difference between gerunds and gerundives now you’re a Junior?”

“Always remember! Why, I never do! I think it’s a point of ignorance to be proud of. It’s depressing to remember so many unvital things. That’s one.”

Ten minutes’ silence, punctuated by Priscilla’s sighs over Cicero, and Virginia’s whispered prepositions.

“The person who recommended Friday afternoon study hour must have been very inhuman.”

“She was! ’Twas Greenie! We’re studying now in blessed memory of her!”

“I wonder where she is.”

“Oh, probably sitting on an Athenian rock-pile, and gazing at the Acropolis! I’m glad it’s the Acropolis instead of me! Virginia, I can’t study another second, and it isn’t three o’clock for fifteen minutes. You haven’t shown me how you’ve changed the Constitution yet, and we’re going to start at three. I don’t see but that we both have to stop studying anyway, whether we choose to or not. We’ve just about time to read it over.”

Virginia needed no urging. She closed the Latin Grammar, tore the afghan and pillows from her couch, and burrowed under the bed-clothes until she found what she sought—a somewhat rumpled piece of paper.

“This is the original, you know,” she said. “I’m keeping it for my Memory Book, and I’ll make a copy for yours. I made the new one different as we planned. I took out the ‘evil influence’ part, because there isn’t any more need for that, and, of course, the names of those we were especially guarding. I don’t think Dorothy and Vivian had best know about that, do you? It might make them feel a little queer to know we’d been watching them especially.”

“No, we won’t say anything about that part. They’re going to be one of us now, and trying for the same thing. We’ll keep the real reason for the founding of the order a secret, known to only the charter members. I’ll never cease to be glad you thought of it, now that things have come out the way they have. Isn’t it splendid about Dorothy’s grades? Mary said to-day that if Dorothy gets A’s in everything all the quarter, the way she has ever since Easter, and every one else keeps up as well, we’ll really have a chance of winning the cup from Hathaway.”

“Vivian’s doing splendidly, too. Miss Wallace read her theme in class to-day and complimented her, and Vivian looked so pleased. She’s so quiet lately, and seems sad. I think she feels bad about Imogene. Priscilla, do you really suppose that—?” Virginia’s voice was mysteriously lowered.

“Yes, I do,” answered Priscilla in a whisper. “Of course, no one will ever know; but I’m sure Imogene didn’t know her mother was coming, and we all know Imogene wasn’t sick. Maybe Mary felt she ought to tell; or maybe Miss Wallace knew more than we thought all along. St. Helen’s always does things quietly; but I’ll always think that Imogene was—expelled!”

“Maybe Vivian knows, and that’s why she feels so bad. And, besides, it’s lonesome rooming all alone. I’ll read you the new Constitution, and then we’ll go and get them both. Where shall we go?”

“Let’s choose the big rock just back of the Retreat, behind the pines. No one goes there very often, and we can have it for our meeting-place. Read on. It’s five minutes to three now.”

Virginia drew a less rumpled paper from her blouse pocket and read:

“We, the undersigned, on this 10th day of May, do hereby announce that we are the sole members of the Order of Vigilantes, a secret order founded on the 20th day of January last by Priscilla Alden Winthrop and Virginia Webster Hunter. We take our name from the Vigilantes of the West—those brave men, who in the early days of our Western States, bound themselves together in the endeavor to stand for fair play, and to preserve law and order. Like them, we hereby determine and promise to stand at all times for fair play and true friendship; and to help one another in every way we can to live up to the principles of our order. As stated above, we are the only real Vigilantes, though the existence of the order is known to Mary Williams, who is our adviser, when we need assistance.”

“Now, we’ll sign our names, Priscilla, and I’ll take my fountain pen so that they can sign on the rock. Come on. It’s after three now.”

They went into the hall where they met Dorothy, who had agreed to keep the mysterious appointment with them at three o’clock, and together they went to get Vivian. But no response came to their knocking.

“That’s queer. She can’t be asleep. She said she’d be ready.”

They knocked again—louder this time. Still there was no answer. Then they tried the door, and to their surprise found it locked.

“Why, where can she be? You don’t suppose she’s sick or something, do you?” asked Priscilla. “She wouldn’t lock the door if she went out. Let’s go around the porch and look in the windows.”

They went into their room, and through the French windows on to the porch, Dorothy following. When they reached Vivian’s room, they found the curtains lowered, though the windows were not locked. By dint of a good deal of prying, they raised the screens, windows and curtains, and stepped into the room. Then they stood and stared at one another in amazement. Vivian’s trunk stood, packed, tagged, and locked in the middle of the floor; her pictures, posters, pennants, and other wall decorations had disappeared, as had the toilet articles from the dresser; only the pillow-laden couch stood as before, though its afghan and pillows bore tags, on each of which was written, “For any one who wants it.”

“Why, why, she’s gone!” gasped Virginia, the first to speak. “Oh, we must stop her! What shall we do? Somebody think—quick!”

But in their sudden and complete surprise, thinking quickly was an utter impossibility. They probably would have remained staring at one another while precious time was hastening on, had not Priscilla’s eyes, roving distractedly about the dismantled room, fallen upon an envelope on the top of the closed and locked desk.

“It’s for you, Virginia,” she cried, passing the envelope to her room-mate. “Oh, read it, quick!”

Virginia lost no time in tearing open the envelope and unfolding the paper within.

‘Dear Virginia,’ she read in a trembling voice to those who listened, ‘I know you’ll all think I’m sillier than ever, but I can’t stand being miserable any longer. You’ve all been good to me, especially you, and I’ll never, never, never forget it, so long as I live! You’re the best friend I ever had. (A sob from Dorothy.) But it is very hard to hate yourself every minute; and, besides, I can’t forget what Imogene said to me when she went away. So I’m going home, and maybe next year when people have forgotten my silliness, Miss King will let me come back. Perhaps, I’ll be different then, but I can’t promise; and maybe, after all, she won’t let me come back, when she knows I’ve run away.

“Vivian.

“‘P. S. Please tell Miss Wallace I’m sorry I deceived her by telling her I had a headache, and asking if I could study in the woods. I did have a headache; and there wasn’t any other way I could get the train without somebody finding out.’—V. E. W.’”

Still they stood in poor, discouraged Vivian’s deserted room, and looked at one another. Virginia’s face was sad from sympathy, Priscilla looked puzzled and thoughtful, Dorothy was crying.

“Oh, it’s my fault,” she sobbed. “I ought to have gone away along with Imogene! I haven’t been a friend to Vivian, and now I’ll never have a chance!”

“Yes, you will, too,” cried Priscilla, coming out of her reverie, “because she can’t take the train after all. There isn’t any three o’clock. It’s been taken off. Miss Wallace told me so yesterday, when she was thinking of going away for over Sunday. The next one doesn’t go till five, and if Vivian’s anywhere around, we’ll find her and bring her back. Let’s not say a word to any one, but just hunt till we find her. The door’s locked and we can draw the curtains, and no one will ever know.”

Without wasting any precious moments they hurried out the way they had entered, drawing the curtains before closing the windows and screens, ran down-stairs and across the campus to the road, running the gauntlet of all who called to them by maintaining a discreet and somewhat exclusive silence. At the top of the hill, Priscilla reviewed her forces.

“Let’s each take a different direction. She’s around the woods somewhere, because she wouldn’t dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of meeting the girls, and there aren’t any woods the other side of the village. I’ll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, though she’s not likely to be there. And let’s all remember that if any girl tries to join us, we’re to treat her abominably, so she’ll know she isn’t wanted. It’s mean, but there’s no other way to do, because Vivian’ll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick succession; and if by any chance we don’t any of us find her, we’re all to meet at the station for the five o’clock. But I know we’ll be successful.”

They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees hid her quite from sight.

When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no train before five o’clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to retrace her steps toward St. Helen’s, and hide in the woods until time for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would be through with study hour and out-of-doors.

She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. Helen’s with the remembrance of Imogene’s words in her ears.

Out of breath, she sat down by the roadside to rest for a few minutes. No, she could never forget Imogene’s words! She saw her dressed ready to go, remembered how she had risen to kiss her, and how, instead of kissing her, Imogene had said, “Of course, you realize, Vivian, if you hadn’t been such a little fool, and Dorothy such a coward, I wouldn’t be going away like this!”

So they had really sent Imogene away—expelled her! And Imogene had said that she was to blame, had gone without kissing her, had never written her in all that long week! No, it was all too much to be borne! Besides, it did not matter how good the girls had been to her since the evening when Virginia had rescued her from the carrying out of her foolish plan, she felt sure that in their hearts they despised her for having been so weak and so easily influenced. And now she could never show them that she meant to be different! Even Virginia and Priscilla whom she so dearly loved would never know! But she saw no other way.

Rising, she hurried on. The school clock struck three. She dashed through the gates and into the woods by the Retreat. In a few minutes the girls would be passing along the road, and she was in danger of being seen. Looking around for a hiding-place, she espied the big rock back of the Retreat, the very rock which the Vigilantes had chosen for their initiation ceremonies. A great pine which grew close by overhung it with wide-spreading, feathery branches. Vivian hastily climbed upon the rock, and, crawling in among the pine branches, was quite concealed from the sight of all except the most careful observer.

It was but a few moments before she heard voices—on the meadow, in the road, even in the very woods about her. Study hour was over, and the girls were free. Well, if by any chance they drew near her place of concealment, she could take her Caesar from her pocket and begin to study. That would tend to dispel suspicion. How jolly and merry they sounded! She could hear Bess Shepard’s laugh, and some lusty shouts, which, of course, came from the Blackmore twins. She had had lovely times at St. Helen’s. Of course even now, she might—but no, it was too late! Without doubt, by now some one had discovered her room, and everybody would know!

A loud crackling of twigs sounded to the right. Some one was coming in her direction—yes, some one in a red sweater, for she could distinguish that color through the thicket. She crouched lower under the pine branches. Then, seeing that it was of no use to hide, for the sweater was unmistakably coming through the bushes, she sat up-right with a beating heart and drew Caesar from her pocket—just as Dorothy broke through the last blackberry bush and saw her on the rock. And though she tried her utmost to gaze at Caesar, she just couldn’t help seeing the joy and gladness that swept over Dorothy’s anxious face.

“Oh, Vivian!” she cried. “Oh, Vivian! I’ve found you, and I’m so glad! And you’re going to forgive me, and give me another chance to be your friend, aren’t you? Oh, say you’re not going away!”

In another moment Dorothy was on the rock beside her, and poor Caesar had fallen into a rose-bush, where he lay forgotten. The five o’clock train was forgotten, too; for as Vivian sat there with Dorothy’s arms around her, she knew she wouldn’t do anything else in the world but go back and begin all over again.

“My!” said Dorothy, after they had talked everything over for the third time at least. “My! I forgot to give the signal, and Priscilla and Virginia are very likely half-dead from fright by now!”

She gave the three short calls agreed upon, which were immediately answered; and in less than five minutes the two Vigilantes, very much alive and very, very happy, were also sitting on the very rock chosen but two hours before. Then, after all the crooked things had been made straight, after the world seemed beautiful again, and friendship sweeter than before—then, with the ceremony befitting its importance, the Vigilante Order was explained in full to the chosen initiates, and its purpose made plain. With serious faces they signed their names,

Vivian Evelyn Winters

Dorothy Richards

below the signatures of the charter members.

“Everything’s over now,” said the real originator of the order with a happy little sigh, as she folded the Constitution and placed it in her pocket. “Everything’s over, and in another way, everything nicest is just beginning. There’s certainly strength in numbers, and we’ll all help one another to be real Vigilantes.”

“We ought to have a watchword,” proposed Priscilla. “I was thinking of one when I heard Dorothy call. Do you think ‘Ever Vigilant’ is any good?”

They all thought it just the thing.

“And I’ve been, wondering just this minute,” said Dorothy, “about something else; but I’m a new member, and if you don’t like my plan, I hope you’ll say so. I was thinking about having an emblem. Most orders do, you know. Don’t you think it-would be rather nice to have the hepatica, and have it stand for what Miss King said—sending our rootlets into good soil? You see, I thought of it because—well, because I’ve felt so ashamed of—of the way my rootlets have been growing, and lately I’ve—I’ve been trying—” She hesitated, embarrassed.

Virginia had listened, her eyes growing brighter every moment.

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely idea, Dorothy,” she said, while Priscilla and Vivian nodded their approval. “And I’ve a secret just born—a lovely, lovely one—and it’s going to happen before very long! It just came with your thought of the hepatica!”

The others were properly mystified, but the owner of the secret would divulge nothing; and half an hour later, Caesar, having been rescued from the rose-bush, the four Vigilantes went home to help Vivian unpack.