The meeting which Miss Allen had begun with such formality ended in a turmoil. Everyone jumped up excitedly at the news of Frieda's disappearance and at the interpretation which Ruth gave to the occurrence.

For all the girls in the school—even those who were not Scouts—knew about Frieda Hammer. They were aware, too, of the fact that the Japanese fÊte had been given to raise money to support her, and it was common knowledge that over a hundred dollars had been cleared.

But only the Scouts themselves knew the details: that, after five weeks' board had been paid in advance, Frieda had been given fifteen dollars, which she was to use for her ticket home on Thanksgiving. This idea had been Marjorie's; she wanted by some such outward sign to testify to the girl that the Scouts trusted her. Miss Phillips, Ruth, and one or two others had opposed the plan, but Marjorie's enthusiasm had finally carried it.

So now Marjorie had this double tragedy to face: she had not only lost her canoe, but her confidence had been betrayed. And Ruth, who had prophesied something of the sort from the first, had triumphed!

Miss Phillips was too wise to call a Scout meeting immediately; she wanted to give the discussion a chance to simmer down. Besides this, she felt deeply for Marjorie. The girl had encountered a terrible disappointment; older and more experienced people than Marjorie had broken down under parallel circumstances. Miss Phillips wanted to give her a good chance to cry; after that, she depended upon Lily's good sense and tact to console her.

Accordingly, nothing was done until the next night, when Miss Phillips called the Scouts to a meeting.

The subject was hardly mentioned before Ruth Henry sprang to her feet.

"Captain," she began, talking rather fast, for she had in her own mind a number of points that she wished to make, "we all have to admit that we have failed. The idea—social service, Good Turn, whatever you want to call it—is splendid; but the person we selected, unworthy. Let's forget all about it; for we can't get back Marjorie's canoe. It's probably sold by now.

"Well, this is my suggestion: hold our bazaar just as we have planned, and use the money, first to buy Marjorie a new canoe, and then to bring a nice Christmas to some needy family, in the village, with lots of children."

"Hurray! Good for you, Ruth!" cried several of the girls impulsively when she sat down.

Amid their shouts, however, Marjorie stumbled to her feet. She looked pale, as if she had slept little the previous night; and her eyes bore the traces of tears. But outwardly she was calm.

"It is awfully good of Ruth," she said, seriously, "but I really wouldn't want the troop to replace my canoe. I won't need it much longer this fall, and perhaps father will give me one for my next birthday. And I like Ruth's suggestion about the poor family. But"—she lowered her voice and pronounced each word slowly and very distinctly—"is the troop going to accept this defeat as final?"

"You mean, Marjorie, that you would like to give Frieda another chance?" asked the Captain.

"Yes." The word was little more than a whisper.

Miss Phillips said nothing; she was simply astounded at the girl's generosity. Frieda Hammer had stolen Marjorie's dearest possession, and yet the latter was ready to forgive her!

But Ruth interpreted Marjorie's attitude merely as the usual opposition to her own suggestions.

"Then would you like to put a detective on the case?" she asked.

"No! A thousand times, no!" protested Marjorie, emphatically.

"Then what could we do to trace her?"

"I could at least telegraph to her mother, with a prepaid reply," put in Miss Phillips.

"Oh, do—please do!" begged Marjorie; and the affair rested at that.

"Now," said Ethel, anxious to change the subject, "let's talk about our Hallowe'en party. It's only a little over a week off!"

The tone of the meeting changed from that of serious-minded discussion of a theft and its treatment, to care-free chatter about an evening of fun. Even Marjorie put aside her trouble for the time and entered heartily into the preparations.

The Hallowe'en party was to be the last event of the Scout troop as it now stood. The day following—November first—the reports would be issued, and the new Scouts would officially join the troop at the next meeting. This would necessitate new divisions into the patrols, re-elections, etc.

The fifteen girls who now belonged to Pansy troop felt especially close together. All, except Helen Stewart and Anna Cane, had lived side by side at camp, eaten at the same table, gathered around the same camp fire at night, been comrades on many hikes, and competed in the contest which Marjorie had so unexpectedly won. They wanted their troop to grow, and to take in new girls, especially if a troop was to be established at the rival seminary: but they were glad to be allowed this party for themselves.

The day after the Scout meeting, Miss Phillips sent a telegram to Frieda Hammer's mother, and received the following reply:

Marjorie's last hopes vanished as she read the telegram. There was nothing to be done; she must be content to give up her dream. Miss Phillips suggested that the girl might come back again after her money was all spent; upon this meager supposition Marjorie fastened her expectations.

In the meantime, preparations for the Hallowe'en party were in full swing. Miss Phillips had suggested that each girl dress to represent a character in history.

"Choose a man or a woman, whichever you please," she told them; "but don't try to get your parents to send you costumes! Make them yourselves, for they needn't be too elaborate. Then we can guess which one each character represents, as well as the identity of the girl who wears the costume."

The gymnasium was decorated with corn stalks and autumn leaves, and here and there against the walls stood stuffed paper witches, to remind the guests that it was really Hallowe'en. Weird, soft music was coming from the victrola to remind one that ghosts were abroad that night.

George and Martha Washington, with powdered hair and silver buckled shoes were the first guests to be greeted by the committee. Soon after them came Pocohontas, and a Quaker who was intended to be Elizabeth Fry, but who might have represented almost any member of the Society of Friends.

Marjorie and Lily came as John Alden and Priscilla—proud because they were on time for once, and enjoying the fun of acting the part of lovers.

"It reminds me of the masquerade at camp," whispered Marjorie; "remember?"

"Yes, wasn't that ridiculous? But you know this is really clever. Oh, look at these!"

Eight masqueraders, all dressed as women and representing various characters from Queen Elizabeth to Florence Nightingale, came in, walking rather awkwardly, as if hampered by their skirts.

"But who can they be?"

"There are too many of them!" laughed Lily; "wouldn't you say that there were more than fifteen of us here now?"

Lily made an effort to count, but the guests moved so constantly that the act was almost impossible. However, when seven more masqueraders arrived in a group, the girls' suspicions were confirmed. Miss Phillips must have invited outsiders! Perhaps she even knew the marks, and from them was able to ascertain which girls would be Girl Scouts, and wishing to surprise the troop, had secretly invited them.

The riddle was too much for them; Lily gave it up, and returned to the fun of acting the part of lover to Marjorie. She was just putting her arm affectionately about her room-mate, when the trained nurse, who was supposed to represent Florence Nightingale, approached, and, in a very squeaky, obviously disguised voice, said,

"I'm jealous, young man. Won't you please kiss me?"

Lily laughingly leaned toward the intruder and was about to grant the request, when her eyes fell upon the nurse's hand. It could not belong to a girl!

"Who are you?" she demanded indignantly.

"Florence Nightingale!"

Lily stamped her foot impatiently. "No, I mean in real life!"

The other raised the mask obediently, and to the girls' astonishment, revealed himself as Dick Roberts!

"The Boy Scouts!" cried Lily, out loud, and the news spread like wild fire.

The guessing began, and the votes were taken. After a few moments, the prize was awarded to General Pershing—a girl, evidently—who was dressed in a real Army uniform, adorned with many medals and campaign bars. Across the front, on a white ribbon, she wore, to the amusement of everyone, these letters:

"COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF!"

That, and her mustache, made a mistake impossible.

But no one guessed her identity, until Marjorie noticing her hands, exclaimed,

"Ruth Henry!" and the victor laughingly unmasked.

It was another triumph for Ruth!

Miss Phillips called for the boys to volunteer to carry in the tubs of water filled with apples, and as Marjorie watched the proceeding a homesick feeling stole over her. John Hadley was no longer there!

She glanced at Lily, radiant with the excitement and pleasure, and decided that she, too, would find some boy to be interested in. Turning around at the mention of her own name, she found David Conner waiting to put her name on his dance program.

The Scouts played games and danced until ten o'clock, and then Miss Phillips announced that refreshments were ready in the basement.

"The basement!" repeated Frances, in amazement. "Do you mean that, Captain?"

"Yes; and we are going to reach it through the underground connection between the gym and the main building," explained Miss Phillips; "so we shall walk over to the main hall and go down the cellar and then follow single file through this dark passage to the basement. You may see something weird!"

"Who's going to lead?" asked Ruth, her eyes shining with excitement.

"We'll draw lots!"

And, by the irony of chance, the part fell to Doris Sands, the most timid girl in the troop.

"Oh, Captain, I'll die of fright!" she protested.

"It's only play, Doris! You won't mind."

Laughing and chatting gaily they strolled in groups across the driveway to the main building; then down the narrow cellar steps at the rear of the hall, and across the cellar to a dark passage.

"Here we are!" announced Miss Phillips, calling everyone to a halt. "Now get in single file."

Doris went first, with Roger Harris behind; then came Ruth, Jack Wilkinson, Marjorie, and Lily—all eager for the adventure. Forming a long chain with their right hands on the shoulders in front, they advanced cautiously. After the first few steps, the passage became lower, and pitch-black; they had to bend down and feel their way step by step as they went.

"Oh!" shrieked Doris, stopping suddenly. "Look! Ugh!"

Roger and Ruth, peering around her shoulder, caught sight of a pair of gleaming eyes piercing through the darkness.

"It's a cat!" cried Roger, reassuringly. "But how in the world did you succeed in keeping it there?"

"I tied a chicken-bone to a stone," answered Miss Phillips. "And nothing will induce pussy to leave."

Frightened by the voices, the cat fled immediately, and the procession continued. In a minute or two, Doris caught sight of a ghost. But this time she was not really frightened.

"I know it's only a dummy!" she said. "I'm not afraid any more!"

But when the ghost actually began to stretch out its arms and move towards her, Doris admitted that she was scared, and clung, trembling, to Roger. For the hands of the ghost were the bony structures of a human skeleton, and its head was an empty skull!

"That's our lab skeleton, I'll bet!" exclaimed Roger. "But who's moving it?"

"I am!" laughed David Conner, throwing off his disguise.

With another yard, light was visible ahead, and the basement of the gymnasium came into view. Doris breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's nice to stand up straight again, isn't it?" remarked Marjorie, as the whole party reached the less cramped quarters. "But that was a great idea, Captain!"

"Wouldn't it make a jolly place to haze freshmen?" commented Ruth, who never grew tired of playing tricks.

"Refreshments are ready!" announced the Captain. "Look for your place-cards."

The basement was so cleverly camouflaged and the table so charmingly decorated that the effect could not have been better in the most elaborate dining hall. Corn-stalks, crÊpe-paper, candles, and favors worked wonders with the usually ugly room.

It seemed, too as if there were everything imaginable to eat—sandwiches, doughnuts, cider, apples, nuts, and candy—indeed, Marjorie regretted that she must eat carefully, for she was still in training.

Seated with David Conner next to her on one side and Dick Roberts on the other, she had not a single dull moment in which to regret the absence of John Hadley. All too soon the party came to an end.

"If only our good turns were as successful as our good times," remarked Marjorie, as she and Lily made their way to their room, "Pansy troop would be wonderful!"

"You're worrying about Frieda Hammer again," remonstrated Lily. "Do try to forget her!"

"I almost wish I could!" replied the other, with a sigh.