It was Marjorie’s turn to work in the afternoon the following day, so she decided to sleep late in the morning, in order to rest from the excitement of the previous day. Not desiring any breakfast, she was still in bed at ten o’clock when Marie Louise burst into her room with a startling piece of news.

“Marj!” she cried, breathlessly, “your little dog is dead!”

“What little dog?” demanded Marjorie, entirely forgetting the stray animal that had come to the tea-house with the stranger.

“That little dog you fed yesterday, and allowed to sleep in the garage!”

“What’s that?” asked Marjorie, recalling the creature vaguely. “Tell me about it.”

Marie Louise sat down on the bed and made a great effort to speak calmly.

“Well, you know Lily and Florence and I were scheduled to be down at the tea-house this morning to make sandwiches, and Lily decided to go get the car at the garage. While she was waiting for the man to finish washing it, a dog came in, and that reminded her of the little stray one that came to you yesterday.”

“Yes—yes—go on!” urged Marjorie. “It wasn’t the same dog, was it?”

“Oh, no indeed! But she told us the story of the old man, and the dog he picked up, and his weird tale about the horse.”

“I’m glad she told you before you got to the tea-house where Anna could hear!” remarked Marjorie. “If you girls scare her away with all this rubbish—”

“But it isn’t rubbish, Marjorie!” interrupted Marie Louise. “When we got to the tea-house, Lily suggested that we go out to the garage just for fun to see whether the dog was still there—or whether anything had happened to him. And, as I said before, we found him dead!”

“Really?” asked Marjorie, incredulously. “Had he been shot, or hurt in any way?”

“No, we looked closely, and we couldn’t find a single mark on his body. He must have died of heart failure!”

“Poor little fellow!” murmured Marjorie. “Well, I’m glad he got one good square meal before he died.”

“Marj,” asked Marie Louise in surprise, “aren’t you concerned with the reason for his death?”

“I can pretty well guess it,” replied the other, lightly. “He probably was starving when he came to us yesterday, and then all that food was just about too much for his stomach—all at once. We ought to have had better sense, and fed him more gradually. But he seemed to enjoy it so!”

“Marj, look me straight in the eyes and tell me you don’t believe there was any other reason for his death!”

Marjorie smilingly acquiesced; she really was sincere in her refusal to attach any significance to the incident.

“I honestly don’t believe one word of all that supernatural stuff!” she said, with assurance. “Now—what did you do with the dog?”

“Left him there, of course. Wouldn’t one of the boys come and bury him?”

“Yes, I guess Jack could run over during his noon hour, if I phoned him. But tell me, Marie Louise, how much of this does Anna know?”

“Not a single word of it! We knew that you would be anxious to keep it from her, so we didn’t say a thing about the ghost story. Of course she knows the little dog is dead.”

“Naturally,” observed Marjorie.

Sleep was out of the question now, so, after persuading Marie Louise to return to her work at the tea-house, Marjorie thoughtfully began to dress. She did not for one moment share the other girl’s fears in regard to the little creature’s death, but she could not help wondering at the coincidence. It was too bad, she thought, that it had to happen, for it would make Lily and Marie Louise and all of the timid girls more timid. She longed to make some experiment, to prove to them that there was nothing to it, and yet she did not know what to do. For obvious other reasons it would not be safe for her to stay there alone all night—in a house so near a public highway, where automobiles passed by with such frequency. And yet she knew of no other way to prove the harmlessness of the place to the girls.

At the end of that day—a day more successful in every way than the preceding one,—she talked the matter over with John Hadley, and decided to do nothing at all. He was naturally of the same opinion as she was, that the thing was merely one of those strange coincidences which so often occur, and did not consider it worth any notice. The affair would blow over more quickly, he said, if ignored; in the busy days that the girls had before them, they would not have time to worry over such silly matters. And so the thing was dropped—for the time being.

By the time that two weeks had passed, each day bringing more and more patrons to the tea-house, and thus demanding more work from the girls, most of them had forgotten the little incident of the dog’s death, and the stories which were associated with the place. On one occasion, several of the girls drove there with John Hadley after dark, but they found the house exactly like other houses, and laughed at their former superstitions. Had it not been for Anna, who came to Marjorie one day with a request, the matter might have been dropped for the rest of the summer.

It was one morning in the first week of July that Marjorie, coming to the tea-house early, found the girl busily mixing one of those maple cakes for which they had already become famous. She looked up smilingly as she saw Marjorie enter the kitchen alone.

“Good morning, Miss Wilkinson,” she said, cheerily. “I am glad to see you by yourself, because I want to ask you a favor. Could our crowd of girls have the loan of this house next Saturday night for a party for our friends? Of course we’d clean up afterwards, and not disturb anything.”

Marjorie hesitated a moment, in doubt as to the right thing to do. It was not that she did not want Anna to use the house—there was no reason in the world why her faithful service should not be rewarded—but she wondered whether an evening affair of this sort would look well for the tea-house. People were so critical; they might not believe that the party was an innocent one.

“Would you have a chaperone or two, Anna?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, of course—if you wanted us to. My aunt was coming anyhow, and perhaps Mrs. Munsen would help us out.”

“I’m sure she would,” said Marjorie. “All right, then, I’m perfectly willing. But we couldn’t very well close the tea-house early that evening—Saturday night’s a rather important one, you know.”

“Oh, there will be plenty of time!” said Anna. “We wouldn’t want to start the party before nine o’clock—or even half-past. Thanks so much, Miss Wilkinson.”

When Marjorie related the incident at lunch time, it instantly brought to the girls’ minds the stories connected with the tea-house.

“Maybe we’ll find out whether there’s anything to them,” remarked Lily.

“No, we can’t, either!” said Marie Louise. “Because, don’t you remember, it’s early morning—just before dawn—when the ghost is supposed to walk. And the party will be over before then.”

“Let us hope so!” put in Mrs. Munsen. “As long as I’m to be a chaperone, I’d like to get in bed before morning.”

“Oh, the party will have to break up at midnight,” said Marjorie. “It wouldn’t look well for the tea-house to have it last late. You see everybody knows it is run by Girl Scouts—and that we’re not very old—”

“Mere babies!” laughed Alice.

“You mean for a baby!” corrected Daisy. “I don’t want you to forget Betty!”

“We aren’t likely to, with you around,” teased Florence. “By the way, I had a letter from mother and she wrote that she went to see Mrs. Trawle. Everything’s fine, she says, very neat and clean, and the baby’s growing beautifully.”

“Then our work is really worth while, isn’t it?” asked Alice.

“Yes, I think so,” said Marjorie; “I know the cause is worth while, but I can tell you better later on whether we are actually making money. It’s hard to judge so soon—after so big an outlay.”

She looked a little anxious as she spoke, and Lily, who could always read her chum’s face like a book, wondered whether she were not more worried over the proposition that she let the others see.

“Well, we’re having a good time, anyway!” she remarked, gaily. “And we should worry whether dad ever gets his five hundred back!”

“Oh, Lil!” said Marjorie, reproachfully. “You know we’d never do that!”

Lily, however, was not satisfied by Marjorie’s manner, and noticed that she asked frequently for her car, so that she might do her marketing at the more economical stores, and spent more and more time each evening over her accounts. John, too, found her unusually preoccupied, and hardly ever succeeded in getting her thoughts entirely away from the tea-house.

On the following Saturday evening, however, she consented to go to see a moving picture with him, more because she wanted to stay up until Mrs. Munsen came home from Anna’s party than because she wanted recreation. They drove into town in the car, to attend one of the larger theatres; so, during their ride through the park they found plenty of time for conversation.

“Are you beginning to be worried about your finances, Marjorie?” John asked.

“Well, I really don’t know,” she replied. “We spend money as fast as we make it, but of course our business is increasing. But now the girls are beginning to talk about vacations, and that may mean hiring extra help.”

“Oh, you’ll be all right, I’m sure. By the way, that cook you have is a jewel, isn’t she? She certainly concocts some of the most delicious mixtures!”

“Yes; everything Anna cooks turns out well. And I have only to read her a recipe once, and she makes it to perfection. I sincerely hope we can keep her.”

“Well, I guess you can. Isn’t she having a party at the tea-house tonight?”

“Yes,” answered Marjorie. “And that reminds me, I would like to stop for Mrs. Munsen—she’s chaperoning them, you know—on our way back.”

“Certainly,” replied John, always glad to be of service.

Marjorie found the evening more enjoyable than she had anticipated; sitting in the artificially cooled theatre, watching a good picture, and listening to the full tones of a pipe organ, she forgot her anxieties. John insisted upon ice-cream after the performance was over, for, as he reminded her, they would not want to get to the party too early.

They found the young people still dancing when they drove into the yard, but Anna assured them that refreshments had been served, and that the festivities would end in a few minutes. The girl’s aunt was still there, so Mrs. Munsen felt justified in leaving.

“The only thing I don’t approve of,” remarked the housekeeper, when they were on their way home, “is for Anna and her aunt to stay there all night. I had to give my permission—there was no real reason why they shouldn’t—”

“They’re sensible people!” remarked Marjorie. “At least if they don’t mind those cots. Because they’ll be right there in the morning to start clearing up!”

“But if there is anything to those stories—”

“Oh, Mrs. Munsen!” protested Marjorie. “You surely don’t believe them!”

“No, but I’d just as soon nobody stayed there all night. Of course I didn’t say anything—I didn’t want to frighten Anna—”

“I should hope not!” cried Marjorie. “For you know she’s priceless!”

So late was the hour that she did not invite John to come in, but hurried immediately to her own room. She was very tired, and wanted to get as much sleep as possible; she crawled into bed very quietly, in order that she might not arouse Ethel. She sincerely hoped that she would not be disturbed until morning.

But her hopes were short-lived, for less than an hour had passed when she was sharply awakened by the continued ringing of the door-bell. She sat up immediately, reaching for her slippers and kimona. But by the time she arrived at the head of the stairs, she heard the door being opened.

“Oh, Mrs. Munsen!” cried a shrill, female voice. “Something’s happened to Anna! Something awful! She’s gone!”

“Gone where?” asked the terrified housekeeper, in a hoarse voice.

“I don’t know where!” gasped the woman.

By this time all of the girls were awake, and had gathered at the foot of the stairs. The visitor sank suddenly to the floor in a faint.

“Bring some water—and aromatic spirits!” directed Mrs. Munsen, as Florence and Alice raised the woman to the couch. “It is Anna’s aunt,” she explained. “She and Anna planned to stay at the tea-house all night!”

“The ghost!” whispered Lily, in a tone of deepest woe.

“No, no! It can’t be!” cried Marjorie, suddenly taking the blame upon herself for not warning Anna. “Oh, I can’t believe it!”

“But how are we to know what did happen?” demanded Florence.

“We won’t know till morning,” replied Mrs. Munsen. “The woman is regaining consciousness, but she needs to be put to bed immediately.”

“But what about Anna?” asked Marjorie.

“She’s gone!” gasped the woman, partially taking in the girl’s words. “Too late! Too late!”

“We better dress immediately and go down to the tea-house!” said Marjorie, desperately.

“No,” said Ethel, “I’ll phone the police to go—they could do a great deal more than we could!”

Marjorie acquiesced; and when, half an hour later, they called to say that they had searched the place thoroughly, and found no traces of the missing girl, the scouts went to bed. But though quiet reigned throughout the house, no one slept very much.