"Marjorie!"

Lily Andrews, entering the room, found it necessary to speak twice before she aroused the attention of her room-mate, who was seated on her couch, idly fingering the geometry book she was supposed to be studying, and looking into space. Lily could not remember when she had seen her look so dejected. But she had a piece of news that she thought would bring a smile to Marjorie's lips.

"Miss Phillips wants you!"

"She does! What for?" This, eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know—hockey, or something, I guess!"

The look of happiness died from Marjorie's face. She seemed tremendously disappointed. Lily looked at her questioningly; heretofore, the girl had always been delighted to be summoned by her favorite teacher, for no matter what purpose.

"What's the matter, Marj?"

"Nothing; only I hoped that maybe it had something to do with Scouts."

"With Scouts?"

"Well—with Frieda, then!" This explanation was given rather grudgingly, and with a greater degree of impatience than she was wont to use with Lily.

"Didn't you tell me you hoped she'd come to the Japanese fÊte, Marj?" pursued the other.

"Yes; and she did come!"

"But I didn't see her!"

"Well, then you missed her, that's all." Marjorie arose from her seat, as if to end a very distasteful conversation.

But Lily was not through.

"Marj, is it true that you gave her your pink dress?"

"Yes, it is."

"Oh, I'm so glad!" cried Lily, in the most relieved tone. "Ruth saw Frieda wearing it—and your sweater besides—and she said Frieda stole it!"

"And you believed that!" Marjorie's eyes flashed in anger. "Oh, Lil, how could you?"

"Well, you didn't tell me; and you know she did steal before. So Ruth thought probably——"

"Ruth Henry makes me sick!" exclaimed Marjorie, now tried to the utmost. "And I'll bet she got you to pump me——"

"No, not exactly," replied Lily, a little ashamed of her questions; "but we were both curious to know."

Marjorie shook her head with disgust, and resolved to say nothing further.

"Where is Miss Phillips?" she asked.

"In her office."

"Thanks."

Without another word, she left the room, and went straight to the gymnasium.

"Good afternoon!" said Miss Phillips, pleasantly, as Marjorie entered the little office; "sit down here. I want to talk about the hockey squad."

"Yes, of course," murmured Marjorie, making a great effort to collect her thoughts and show an interest in the conversation.

"And I consulted you first," continued Miss Phillips, "because you have been at practice most faithfully, and played the best of anyone since the beginning of the term."

The compliment, which should have brought happiness to the girl, only touched her lightly; she hardly acknowledged it with a weak smile. Picking up a pencil, she ran the thick end along the edge of the desk, as if she were giving the teacher only a small part of her attention. Miss Phillips noticed and was annoyed, but she said nothing. She realized that even the loveliest characters experience perverse moods.

"I have decided on yourself, Ruth Henry, Ethel Todd, Frances Wright, and Mae VanHorn for forwards; Edith Evans and Marian Guard for two of the half-backs, and Lily Andrews for goal. That leaves one half-back and two full-backs yet to be chosen, and I think we ought to have about five substitutes. Now whom do you suggest? Let's think of each class in turn."

Marjorie concentrated her attention upon the matter at hand, and thought hard.

"Is Helen Stewart's ankle all right by now?" she asked. The latter, who was to have been the heroine in the play at the last Commencement, had sprained her ankle the day that the Scouts had entertained a group of settlement children, and had been obliged to give up athletics for a while. Apparently, however, she was all right now.

"Yes; but it isn't very strong. Suppose we put her as one of the substitutes?"

"All right," agreed Marjorie.

"And there's nobody else in the senior class."

"No."

"Nor in the junior. Ada Mearns could play well, if she would only try, but she won't bother. Now what do you think about your own class?"

"Could Doris Sands possibly——?"

"Marjorie!" reproved Miss Phillips. "You're letting your personal feelings enter into the consideration. Doris Sands is very sweet and very capable, but—she's no hockey player!"

"That's true," admitted Marjorie. "Well, how about Evelyn Hopkins? She never seems to get anything."

But again the teacher shook her head. "Evelyn doesn't go about things right," she answered. "Individually, she's a good player, but she's miserable in team work. Evelyn plays selfishly."

Marjorie smiled; Miss Phillips seemed to sum up the girl's character correctly.

"Of course, Mae's new; do you think she will make good, Captain?"

"There's no doubt about it," replied Miss Phillips positively; "making the sorority last year was bad for Mae VanHorn, but losing out on the Scout troop was a good thing. All of her best friends are Scouts, and she certainly has buckled down to work well. The other teachers tell me she is getting along beautifully thus far in her lessons."

"We can never get seven girls out of the freshman class!" remarked Marjorie, skeptically.

"Then we'll just appoint the best ones for the regular positions, and trust to luck for substitutes till we have a regular game. It's all we can do!"

"Well, Edith Evans' sister Florence can play almost any position," said Marjorie. "She surely is a dandy girl; I think she'll be another like Edith."

"Let's put her in for full-back; that's a mighty important position," suggested Miss Phillips. "And what do you think of Alice Endicott? She's certainly worked hard!"

Marjorie's eyes brightened; she wanted that little homesick girl, whom she had been pleased to call "her freshman," to win out. A shadow crossed her face as she thought how she had neglected her lately, while all her thoughts were centered on Frieda Hammer. And Alice appreciated every little attention so much, while Frieda was so ungrateful.

"I'm so glad you think so," she said enthusiastically; "I have watched her, too, and I think she could hold her own as half-back."

"Oh, that reminds me," exclaimed Miss Phillips, "I think Daisy Gravers could play full-back."

The team was complete.

It became apparent that Marjorie was anxious to dismiss the subject, for she rose to go.

"But we have only one substitute," remarked Miss Phillips.

Marjorie paused a moment before she replied. Then,

"What would you think of Barbara Hill?"

"Good—but erratic. Yes, she'd do for a sub forward. All right, then, I'll notify the girls, and call a meeting to elect a captain. We must beat Miss Martin's this year!"

Marjorie flushed at the recollection of the previous year's game, which, she had always considered, she had lost for her school.

"Let's make everybody go into training this year!" she said, prompted by the recollection.

"All right!" agreed Miss Phillips. Then, abruptly changing the subject, she looked straight into Marjorie's eyes, and asked softly,

"What's the matter, Marjorie?"

The girl colored again under her scrutiny. But there was no use in attempting to hide anything from the Captain.

"Oh, just about Frieda! I'm discouraged."

Miss Phillips rose, and laid her hand upon her shoulder.

"Don't worry, dear; it will be all right in the end. But it is a long process. Anyhow, I have kept in close touch with Frieda's public school teachers, and they say that she is attending to her work, and making good headway. She even stays after school for extra instruction. And you know, Marjorie, there is nothing—except perhaps religion—that can change a person like education."

The Captain's cheerful words encouraged Marjorie.

"We did make a good deal on the Japanese fÊte, didn't we?" she asked.

"Over a hundred dollars! And the returns aren't all in yet."

"Well, I will try to be patient," said Marjorie, walking toward the door of the office. Then, turning around, she added,

"Miss Phillips, couldn't you urge all the Scouts to adopt a friendly attitude toward Frieda? We'll never get anywhere till they do!"

"I didn't know they hadn't!" replied Miss Phillips; "but I will deliver a gentle lecture at next Scout meeting if you think there is any doubt."

Marjorie flashed her grateful look, and was gone. Temporarily, she felt cheered and relieved, but she knew that the feeling would not last. Deep in her subconscious mind, she sensed dangerous rocks ahead, and probably treacherous waters to go through, before Frieda would be safe—morally safe—as she and Lily and all her friends, were safe.

But she would be brave; she would not cross her bridges before she came to them!