"Are you going to dress for Ruth's tea?" asked Doris Sands of Marjorie Wilkinson, as the girls walked out of the dining-room together.

Marjorie pulled down the corners of her mouth at the question. It did seem strange to her that Ruth Henry should have decided in such a hurry to give a tea. There must be something behind it! Probably the girl was making a play for popularity, so that she might be elected to an office.

"I'm not going. It's just at the time of hockey practice, and, of course, I couldn't miss that. Lily won't be there, either."

"I'm sorry!" murmured Doris. "Things never seem half so nice without you, Marj!"

Marjorie smiled gratefully; Doris Sands not only said pleasant things, but one knew that she meant them. It was too bad that the class constitution prohibited a girl's re-election as president. The sophomore class could never find anyone else so tactful, so universally popular as Doris, Marjorie thought.

"Thanks, Doris," she said. "But I don't see why Ruth couldn't give us more notice, so that we might have arranged things to go. She never said a word about it at the reception!"

"Ruth always does things on the spur of the moment, and for queer reasons," sighed Doris, for the intricacies of the workings of Ruth's mind were too complicated for her simple, straightforward nature to comprehend. She and Ruth were exceptionally good friends; but then Doris Sands was the sort of girl who could get along with anybody. She never thought of Ruth as self-seeking; merely attributed the measure of success she obtained to cleverness. She always looked for the best in everybody.

When Marjorie and Ruth had entered the seminary the previous fall, there had been thirty-five girls in the class. Now the membership had decreased to twenty-five, and they were all on rather intimate terms. Five of these were Girl Scouts: Anna Cane, Doris Sands, Lily Andrews, Ruth and Marjorie. These were the envied few, the inner circle, the leaders of the class. From their number everyone except, perhaps, Evelyn Hopkins, who always coveted good things for herself, expected the class president to be chosen.

Ruth had invited all twenty-five girls to her tea, although she and her room-mate, Evelyn Hopkins, scarcely hoped to be able to pack that number into their room. However, all did not accept the invitation; only fifteen or sixteen finally appeared.

Doris and Evelyn were passing sandwiches and cakes, while Ruth poured the cocoa. The conversation, which buzzed from groups in all parts of the room, was suddenly silenced by the hostess's general remark,

"Girls," she said, still standing beside the wicker tea-table in the corner, "I guess you wondered why I was in such a hurry to entertain you, but the fact is, I thought it would be nice to have a little informal discussion about class matters before the meeting to-night. Because we don't want to conduct our affairs just any old way, hit or miss; we want to make ours the best class ever!"

"Hurray!" cheered Doris; "you've surely got the right spirit, Ruth."

Encouraged by the applause of the president, Ruth continued,

"We want a good strong organization, to keep those freshies from getting their secret meeting, and electing a class president; we want an efficient president ourselves—not that we can ever get one as good as our last year's"—she smiled admiringly at Doris—"who will systematize the whole thing! What do you all think?"

"Good for you, Ruth!" cried Barbara Hill, a quiet little girl who had always admired Ruth's courage. "We want somebody that will put heart and soul into the job!"

"I don't think we ought to discuss each other now," explained Ruth; "that would be too embarrassing. But I just want everybody to think, and think hard, and not vote for a girl just because she's popular."

"I think Marj Wilkinson would be dandy!" remarked Anna Cane;—"by the way, she isn't here this afternoon, is she? I wonder why?"

Ruth felt a cold shiver pass over her; no matter how hard she tried to evade her, her old rival seemed to confront her upon every occasion. She had really planned the tea for a time when she knew Marjorie could not come, so that she might put her out of her classmates' minds; but here she seemed to appear in the spirit, as if to mock her! Was this fate—for the way she had treated Marjorie the previous year—or was it merely her own conscience that caused her to dread the mention of the other girl's name for honors that she coveted for herself?

She reached over and put a lump of sugar into her cup of cocoa before she trusted herself to reply. When she spoke again, her voice was perfectly natural.

"Marj would certainly be great as president," she said sweetly; "except for one thing—and that's the very thing that's keeping her away this afternoon; she's more interested in athletics and Scout activities—in fact, anything where Miss Phillips is concerned"—she paused for a second to allow the girls who were not Scouts time to think it over—"more interested than she is in class affairs! I begged and begged her to give up hockey this afternoon, but she wouldn't! And I think our president, whoever she is, especially at this important time, should give all the interest possible to the class."

"That's right, Ruth," agreed Evelyn, who had really been coached upon what to say in the case of such a situation arising. "And another thing—why don't we save Marj for senior president? She'd make a perfectly wonderful one then!"

"Yes, that's a good idea," commented Doris; and here the conversation lost its general tone. But Ruth felt satisfied; the purpose of her tea had not been in vain. She had sown the seed of opposition to Marjorie, and even if she herself were not elected to the office, she would have the satisfaction of knowing that she had kept Marjorie from it. And senior year was a long way off; perhaps Marjorie might lose her popularity by then. At any rate, she felt assured that the present danger was avoided.

It was only quarter of eight when she and Evelyn made their way to the English class-room, where Doris had scheduled the class meeting. The president and one or two others were already there. But Ruth had no intention of discussing the matter again; indeed, her idea in coming early was to ward off any attempt to change the sentiment she had started at her tea.

By eight o'clock, nearly twenty girls had arrived, and Doris called the meeting to order.

"I don't see why people can't be interested enough to come on time!" remarked Ruth, significantly. The observation seemed general, but as Marjorie Wilkinson and Lily Andrews entered the room a few minutes later, when the roll was being called, the girls remembered the remark, and the shaft went home.

"I certainly want to congratulate the reception committee," said Doris at the beginning of the meeting,—"and particularly Marjorie Wilkinson as chairman. I'm sure we couldn't have given the freshmen a lovelier party!"

Marjorie blushed modestly at the praise, and Ruth smiled artificially. No one must think she minded Marjorie's success.

"Madame President!" said Marjorie, rising, "would it be in order to make a suggestion along the same line?"

"Certainly," nodded Doris.

"Well," she explained, "I noticed at the party—and later—that a number of our freshmen were pretty homesick. Now wouldn't it be possible for each girl in our class to sort of 'adopt' a particular girl, to look out for her, and try to make her happy? I know that the Y.W.C.A. has instituted that custom in several of the colleges, and it works splendidly."

"I think that is a charming idea, Marjorie," said Doris. "What do the rest of the class think?"

Ruth instantly thought of all sorts of objections, but hesitated to be the first to voice them, lest her opposition might seem too pointed. She winked slyly at Evelyn; she could depend upon her to rally to her cause.

"Madame President," said Evelyn, interpreting Ruth's silent request, "would there be enough of us? Aren't there forty freshmen?"

"I thought of that," answered Marjorie; "but I am sure the juniors would help."

"Juniors!" exclaimed Barbara Hill, scornfully. "We wouldn't want a rival class to come to our assistance, would we?"

"Seniors, then," replied Marjorie, with annoyance in her tone. She was interested in the idea itself, not in the details of its execution.

"I think Marjorie's plan is wonderful," put in Ruth, deciding at this point that she could remain out of the discussion no longer, "but I have one suggestion to make. You know yourselves that girls of our age don't like to be pitied and petted! Let's do something, certainly, just as Marjorie proposes, to make the freshmen feel at home, but I would advise that we do everything in our power to give them a good, lively interest—that instead of treating them like the Infant Department of a Sunday School, we take away their loneliness by some good stiff rivalry! Let's call them together, and tell them more about their secret class meeting, and challenge them to try to outwit us! They'll be so busy, and they'll develop so much real class spirit that they won't have time to get blue."

"I think that's great!" cried Evelyn, jumping up impulsively. "Let's get the thing started right away."

"Perhaps we had better have our class elections first," said Doris, glancing at her watch. "Then we can continue with the discussion afterwards, till nine o'clock, for I promised Miss Allen I'd close promptly. Nominations are now in order!"

"I nominate Ruth Henry!" said Barbara Hill, still glowing with admiration of the girl.

"I nominate Lily Andrews!" announced Marjorie, to the surprise of everyone.

"I nominate Evelyn Hopkins!" declared Ruth, glorying in the fact that her loyalty to her room-mate would be silently applauded.

"And I move that the nominations be closed!" chimed in Barbara, again.

The whole thing had been done so quickly that Marjorie's especial friends hardly realized that her chances for class presidency had vanished completely. Marjorie herself did not mind: her attention was so taken up with hockey and freshmen and Scout activities, that she had scarcely given the matter a thought. Nor did Lily, stunned as she was at the proposal of her own name for the office, realize her room-mate's exclusion. But Ruth was so exultant that she could hardly refrain from crying out in her joy. It seemed to her that her dearest wish was about to come true. Two easier opponents, she thought, could not possibly have been selected: Lily Andrews would never be elected—she was too fat and plain; and Evelyn Hopkins—light, frivolous, self-centered girl that she was—was decidedly unpopular. The outcome of the business seemed assured in Ruth's favor; she was so certain of her own election, that she did not even bother to vote for herself, but instead cast her ballot for Evelyn.

Clerks and a judge of the election were appointed, and the voting was quickly concluded. While they withdrew to count the ballots, the others proceeded to discuss a time at which to call the freshmen class together, to emphasize the importance of securing their own meeting. Wednesday afternoon was finally decided upon.

The judge of elections returned, and stood beside Doris. Ruth looked at the girl closely, vainly attempting to ascertain from her expression the outcome of the election; but the latter returned her only an impersonal stare.

"There was a tie," she announced, "between Lily Andrews and Ruth Henry, each candidate having received nine votes. We shall need to have another ballot between these two."

Ruth almost gasped at the announcement; quick figuring allowed her to conclude that Evelyn must have received seven votes! Undoubtedly the girl had voted for herself, and, of course, Ruth had cast hers in her favor—but where had she obtained the other five? Ruth forgot to reckon on the fact that a number of girls outside of the Scout troop were more or less jealous of their successful rivals, and would vote for Evelyn simply because she was not a Girl Scout.

"I'll fix that," thought Ruth; "I'll just vote for myself this time!"

Ruth smiled confidently as the judge again returned with her decision, she was so sure of victory. Now she was glad she had not made the office before; it would be so much more honor to be sophomore president!

"I have the honor to declare that our next president will be Lily Andrews!" announced the girl briefly, and resumed her seat.

And, amid shouts and applause, the meeting broke up, for the hour of nine had struck.

Ruth Henry was defeated again, but not wholly so; for Marjorie's plan for befriending homesick freshmen had been put aside, and her chance of becoming president lost. But—her rival's candidate had won!