Lily and Marjorie slept late again the following morning. Mrs. Andrews had assured them that there was nothing for them to do in preparation for the luncheon, except to be ready to receive the guests when they arrived.

Both girls had selected more or less elaborate costumes—sleeveless models of georgette and chiffon—and were dressing with the utmost care. For what could possibly be more important than the celebration of an engagement of one of their number?

“Doesn’t it sort of make you feel old, Lil?” asked Marjorie, as she applied the final touches of powder to her nose. “I mean the idea of one of our bunch getting married?”

“Yes,” agreed Lily. “I had been thinking of that sort of thing as in the future for us, and here we are in the midst of it.”

“The only thing is—Doris is so awfully young. Most American girls don’t get married in their teens, you know.”

“Well, I certainly hope you won’t, Marj!” remarked Lily. “I’d never go back to college without you.”

“Don’t you worry about that!” returned her chum, laughingly. “I’m going to get my degree, all right!”

Mrs. Andrews’s voice from the other end of the apartment put a stop to this conversation. She was calling to the girls to come and inspect the table.

As they opened the dining-room door a moment later, Marjorie was simply astounded by the beauty and elaborateness of the decorations. She had never seen anything so lovely before, even within the covers of a magazine, and she gazed in speechless admiration.

The general color-scheme was pink—pink roses, pink ribbons, pink candles in profusion. A large pink silk parasol, filled with flowers, hung by streamers from the ceiling, and from each of its points a ribbon, tied to a place-card and a bouquet, fluttered to a plate at the table. The “shower,” too, was literally coming down from the sky, for the packages which had been received ahead of time by Mrs. Andrews, were wrapped in tissue paper and suspended by ribbon from the ceiling to a height a little above the parasol in the center.

“It’s gorgeous!” cried Marjorie, in ecstasy. “The very prettiest thing I’ve ever seen! Doris will remember it for the rest of her life.”

“I’m glad you like it,” smiled Mrs. Andrews. “Is there anything you could suggest?”

“No, it’s perfect as it is!” replied Marjorie. “I sort of feel as if we oughtn’t to disturb it by eating luncheon here.”

“Yes, suppose we eat in the kitchen,” suggested Lily. “And just come in here to admire the table!”

“Now Lil, don’t get sarcastic! Tell me, does Doris have the slightest idea?”

“No, she thinks it’s just a luncheon for you. Though why I should invite Marie Louise Harris, a girl whom we scarcely know—ought to set her wondering. But you know Doris doesn’t wonder much—she just accepts things. You couldn’t fool Ethel Todd, for instance!”

“Girls,” interrupted Lily’s mother, “I just heard the door-bell—it may be some of your guests. Don’t you think you had better go and receive them?”

The girls ran off and found the butler guiding Doris and Marie Louise Harris into the drawing-room.

“Congratulations, Doris!” they both cried immediately, embracing her affectionately. “We saw it in the paper—picture and all—night before last!”

Doris blushed becomingly.

“And I did keep it a surprise till then, didn’t I?” she asked triumphantly. “Of course Marie Louise knew it, and one or two of the girls I see every day; but I don’t think any of the senior patrol members had the slightest suspicion!”

Lily turned around and winked cautiously at Marjorie; the surprise was going to work beautifully.

“I thought it might shower,” remarked Marie Louise, nonchalantly, “so I brought an umbrella.”

“Yes, wasn’t that crazy!” said Doris, missing the point entirely. “I never saw a clearer day.”

“I think it was exceedingly wise,” asserted Lily; “one can never tell when there will be a shower now.” With difficulty, she restrained a smile.

“I know they always say there is a lot of rain in April,” said Doris. “And if one wears one’s best clothes—”

“Why, here are Florence and Daisy!” interrupted Lily, rushing forward to greet the new arrivals. “And if they haven’t brought umbrellas too!”

“Yes, we thought there might be a shower,” said Florence, suppressing a giggle.

“You girls have me positively scared!” said Doris. “I have on a brand new pair of suede slippers—”

“Oh, I guess we can scrape up enough for a taxi for you, Doris, if the shower lasts,” offered Lily. “But it’s my opinion that it will be over before you go home.”

“I hope so!” sighed Doris, still unsuspecting.

When Mae, Ethel and Alice finally arrived separately, each carrying an umbrella, the girls all thought Doris would have to guess the significance. But she remained innocent until they went into the dining-room.

Just as she entered the room, Lily suddenly cried out:

“The shower at last!”

Doris burst into happy laughter, and the other girls crowded about her as Lily gradually let down the parcels from the ceiling.

“Girls, it’s just too wonderful!” she exclaimed, as she examined one gift after another, her face radiant with joy. Marjorie watched her admiringly, wondering whether her own future held any such thrilling experience for her.

“But there are lots more than eight gifts here!” remarked Doris, overpowered by their lavishness.

“Yes, lots of the girls’ mothers sent them, and even some of the boys,” explained Lily. “And—the biggest surprise of all was Mrs. Hadley’s, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was!” agreed Doris, turning the pages of an attractive little book about the Wissahickon, illustrated by some charming sketches. “She must have known we expect to live in Philadelphia.”

“Yes, I told her,” replied Lily, “and she asked whether I thought you would like it. I assured her you would.”

“I do—I love it,” said the other.

The maids began to serve the luncheon, and the menu, which was as daintily and as carefully planned as the decorations, did not fail to make its appeal to the guests. Doris alone was too much excited to eat.

“But I don’t see how you ever guessed it,” she said to Lily, as she nibbled at her roll. “It was a secret.”

“A little bird told me,” laughed Lily; “but if he hadn’t, I could have guessed it from your face, Doris. People don’t look so joyous over spring wardrobes and summer plans.”

“Well, maybe you’re right, Lily. I guess I do look rather happy—for I am!”

“Do tell us when it is coming off, Doris,” begged Alice. “And all about it.”

“The date is set for the first of June, and I’m going to have a church wedding—with quite a large reception afterwards. You must all come!”

“Don’t worry!” cried Florence. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Marie Louise is to be my maid-of-honor,” continued Doris, “and Mae and Marjorie my bridesmaids—at least if Marj will; for I haven’t had a chance to ask her yet.”

“I’ll be delighted,” said Marjorie, flattered by the invitation.

“And you’re going to live in Philadelphia,” added Lily. “That will be nice for Marie Louise, won’t it?”

“It surely will,” replied the girl, an attractive young woman with blond hair and blue eyes. She looked adoringly at Doris, as if she already regarded her as a sister.

“Have you bought the house yet?” asked Alice.

“No, Roger is looking all around. We want to find a place in the suburbs, not too far away from the family.”

“Imagine the fun of furnishing it—everything all new and shining!” exclaimed Mae, rapturously. “Making curtains, and draperies, and sofa pillows—oh, Doris, no wonder you’re happy!”

The conversation continued along this line until the luncheon was concluded, for all of the girls seemed as interested as Doris in the details. Neither Marjorie nor Daisy made any mention of the baby until they found themselves together on the big divan in the reception room.

“How is Betty?” asked Marjorie, turning eagerly to her companion. “I’ve been dying to ask, but couldn’t make an opportunity without seeming too abrupt.”

“She’s wonderful—gaining every day!” replied Daisy, enthusiastically. “Florence’s mother got a pair of scales, and we weighed her. And a friend is going to lend us a coach, so she can get out every day.”

“Is she still awfully cute?”

“Cuter than ever! Oh, Marj, you just ought to see her in her bath!”

“And—and what is the news of the mother?” Marjorie put the question falteringly, as if she almost dreaded the answer.

“She’s still alive—and apparently doing all right. They are expecting to operate, and if she gets through the operation there is some chance of her living. But it will be long and slow.”

“And meanwhile she will need money,” added Marjorie. “Well, Daisy, we’ve just got to get it, somehow!”

“Have you thought of any plan?”

“No, not yet. I talked the thing over with Lily and John Hadley—he and Dick Roberts were here for dinner last night—but nobody could suggest a thing. Still, John promised to consult his mother, and you know she’s pretty clever about things like that. She’s done a lot of social work.”

“Wasn’t it sweet of her to send Doris that book?” remarked Daisy. “By the way, I wanted to see it.”

Strolling to the table where Doris had brought her presents, Daisy picked up the book and carried it over to where Marjorie was sitting. Idly they turned the pages together.

“It certainly is a picturesque spot,” observed Marjorie, charmed by the sketches of the historic creek and the old buildings in its vicinity. “I wish I could see it.”

“We’ll all have to visit Doris after she gets settled,” said Daisy. “A little reunion for the senior patrol.”

“Daisy!” cried Marjorie, abruptly. “I have it—an inspiration! Why not get permission to run a little tea-room in one of these historic places along the Wissahickon—all summer—taking turns in managing it! We could support Betty!”

“Marvellous!” cried Daisy, so loud that the other girls all stopped talking to inquire what had brought forth the exclamation.

It was then that Daisy told them of her adventure—of the errand upon which Mrs. Evans had sent Florence and herself; of the finding of the sick woman and the temporary adoption of the baby, and of her promise for its future if the mother should die. Before the girls could even ask her any questions, Marjorie followed her explanation with a recital of her own newly thought of plan.

“But you’d never get permission to use the Park, or any of those buildings,” said Ethel, who always saw the practical side of every undertaking.

“The Washington Girl Scouts did something of the sort,” replied Marjorie. “And made a success of it, too!”

“But are we old enough?” asked Florence.

“Yes, for I’m sure Mrs. Hadley would help us. She lives in Philadelphia now, you know.”

“And then I could chaperone you,” laughed Doris; and the girls joined in her merriment at the idea of such a slip of a girl acting in that capacity.

“Really, now, girls, tell me what your plans are for the summer and how much time we could count on from each of you,” urged Marjorie.

“I have only two weeks’ vacation, but I’ll give you one,” offered Mae, immediately.

“And I’ll give as much of my daytime as I can spare from my housekeeping,” said Doris.

“You can have my whole summer!” cried Daisy, generously.

“And mine!” added Alice.

“And a good part of mine!” put in Ethel.

“How about you, Lil?” asked Marjorie, hopefully.

“I don’t know—part, anyway. It will depend upon father and mother. But I’m pretty sure dad will put up the capital to start us off.”

“Oh, that’s great!” exclaimed Marjorie. “Then it’s settled. I’m going to write to Mrs. Hadley tonight.”

Neither Marie Louise nor Florence had said anything during this time, the former because she did not consider it her place to intrude, the latter because she was determined to maintain the attitude of scornful indifference which she had adopted at first. But now Florence felt a little embarrassed because of her own silence; and decided to turn the conversation by teasing Marjorie.

“I see why it appeals to Marj!” she remarked, significantly. “She’ll be able to see John Hadley every single evening all summer!”

But Marjorie was ready with a retort in her own defence.

“Daisy,” she said, appealing to the girl by her side, “I call upon you to witness the fact that I was just as anxious to do something for the baby at the beginning, before I ever thought of Philadelphia, as I am now. Isn’t that true?”

“It certainly is!” replied Daisy, staunchly.

“May I offer a suggestion?” asked Lily. “Let each girl be responsible for little Betty’s support for one week, after Daisy goes back to school, to carry her expenses until we get the tea-room running. What do you say?”

All the girls, even Florence Evans, assented immediately to this proposition, and then Marie Louise timidly made her offer.

“If Marjorie succeeds,” she said, “how would you like to have our house for the summer—to live in, I mean; for you wouldn’t want to live at a tea-house. Papa and mamma are going to Maine and Roger will be married, so I’m sure you’d be welcome to it!”

“Splendid!” cried Marjorie, delighted at each new development in the accomplishment of her plan. “And could you be with us, Marie Louise?”

“Yes, if you didn’t mind having an outsider!”

“You’re not an outsider any more!” protested Lily. “Henceforth we adopt you into the patrol!”

“But I didn’t even go to Miss Allen’s!”

“You’ll be Doris’s sister—so that settles it,” concluded Marjorie. “And with all your art-school experience, you can probably help us a lot with your ideas.”

“I mean to help you in other ways, too,” said Marie Louise.

The girls continued to discuss the thing until it was time to go.

“I knew it would turn out all right!” said Daisy, triumphantly, as she put on her hat. “Because the baby’s name is Betty—after Mrs. Remington.”

“And because Marj is our lieutenant,” added Lily; “and ours is a patrol of Girl Scouts that can’t be defeated!”