It was the opening day of the tea-house, and Marjorie awakened early and ran to the window to see whether the sun was rising. All night she had been dreaming of dark, rainy weather and a gloomy, unsuccessful beginning; perhaps this sense of anxiety was the cause of her early awakening. She almost laughed out loud when she saw the glowing light over the tree-tops in the east.

“Ethel!” she cried exultantly to her companion. “Do wake up! We’re going to have a perfect day to start!”

The other girl opened her eyes sleepily and looked across at Marjorie.

“Oh, dear! We do have to begin work today, don’t we?” she remarked, making no attempt to suppress a yawn.

“I should say we do! Aren’t you thrilled? Oh, Ethel, do you suppose any people will come in?”

“Of course,” replied the other, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Don’t forget Marie Louise’s sign.”

“Yes, they can’t help seeing that. And don’t you really think that if they come once they’ll be back again?”

“Yes, Marjorie—for the fiftieth time—yes!”

Marjorie laughed good-naturedly at Ethel’s teasing, and both girls started to dress. They entered the dining-room long before breakfast was ready; in fact, Mrs. Munsen and Florence, who was helping her that day, were only taking in the milk bottles.

“Go out and get some flowers for the table, girls,” suggested the housekeeper, evidently not too anxious to have so many in the kitchen at once. “There are some lovely roses over near the fence.”

Marjorie was only too delighted to go upon so pleasant an errand, and skipped joyfully out of the door, with Ethel following her in a more sedate manner.

“And just what is our menu going to be today?” asked the older girl, as she began to cut some roses.

“Sandwiches, iced and hot tea, ice-cream, and cake,” replied Marjorie. “But I hope we can branch out to more elaborate things later on.”

“Still, that will probably keep us busy. And what is the schedule for work?”

“Alice, Daisy and I are to help Anna prepare things this morning; Marie Louise, Florence and you serve this afternoon; and Lily and I go on at supper until closing time.”

“And then somebody will have to buy the stuff for tomorrow,” added Ethel, a little wearied by the thought of so much housekeeping.

“Yes, I hope we sell so much that we have to buy more supplies,” laughed Marjorie. “But that’s easy to do over the telephone.”

The girls lingered so long out in the garden that when they returned breakfast was almost ready. Most of their companions were strolling about the porch, but Lily and Marie Louise had not yet put in an appearance.

“It’s a bad idea to let those two sleepy-heads room together,” remarked Marjorie, as the breakfast bell rang. “I suppose I’ll have to go rout them out!”

“No, you won’t, either!” cried a voice from the stairs, and, looking up, the girls saw the late-comers descending, buttoning their dresses as they approached.

The talk at the breakfast table was of little else than the tea-house; even the boys, and the good times they had been having were forgotten. Everyone felt optimistic; with such a day, such a menu, such workers, the opening could not be anything but a success. It was Lily who first introduced a discordant note into the conversation.

“Marj, you said you and I were on as waitresses after six o’clock. Shall we be alone?”

“Oh, no,” replied Marjorie. “Anna will stay until we go, if we want her to.”

“But she isn’t going to sleep there?” asked the other, with concern.

“No—though really it wouldn’t be a bad place to sleep, you know. Only that we have no beds, except the two army cots.”

“I don’t want anybody to take a chance after that story Agnes told us,” said Lily. “So don’t you think you ought to warn Anna?”

Several of the others laughed aloud at her fears, but Daisy and Mrs. Munsen took the matter more seriously.

“It isn’t well to fool with such things,” said the older woman. “Not that I actually believe in ghosts, but there may be some power—perhaps human power—that works for evil in that house. But I don’t think I would scare Anna by telling her.”

“Mercy no!” cried Marjorie. “She’d leave us, and then where would we be? No, girls, let’s make up our minds to forget it—it’s all silly, anyhow. Imagine how the boys would laugh at such nonsense!”

“All right!” agreed Lily, obediently, “I’ll promise to face the music in silence—even if I am to be the first to serve night duty this evening.”

“Till half-past seven in the evening isn’t ‘night duty’!” protested Marjorie. “And by the way, John said he would drive down and get us, so you needn’t be afraid.”

“Oh!” remarked Lily, with a significant look at her chum. “Is this ‘John Business’ going to be an every-day matter?”

“Now, listen, Lil; you’re a poor one to tease,” retorted Marjorie; “when you were the first girl in this house to have a caller!”

“The first, but not the last!” laughed Lily, triumphantly.

“Well, I thought it would be nice to have John’s help tonight, for I hope our day is going to be so strenuous that we’ll all be very tired. It will save you the trouble of taking your car back to the garage after you come home. And by the way, girls, will you all jot down any suggestions that you think of during the day in that notebook in the desk at the tea-house? And whoever is there last each night, must take a careful inventory of the supplies left on hand!”

“Marj,” said Alice, admiringly, as she started to clear the table, “you certainly are some executive! I wouldn’t be surprised to see you president of the United States some day.”

“Thanks, Alice—but I don’t aspire to the job. I prefer something easier.”

“The president’s wife?” suggested Lily, in the same bantering tone.

“I see,” said Marjorie, solemnly, “that we shall have to institute some system of kitchen police as punishment for too much frivolity. I had thought it would not be necessary with girls of our age and responsibility, but I guess I will have to install it in self-defense.”

“It seems to me,” remarked Lily, archly, “that some people do a lot of bossing!”

“I guess I was made a lawful lieutenant last summer!” returned Marjorie, haughtily.

“I guess I’m a scout lieutenant, too!” laughed Lily. “Don’t forget our little troop at college!”

“Girls!” interrupted Florence, “if you don’t stop fooling and get out of our way, we’ll make you both serve as kitchen police!”

This speech had the desired effect, and both girls rose hastily and pushed back their chairs. A few minutes later, Marjorie started for the tea-house.

The girls found Anna already at work in the kitchen, and, tying on their big gingham aprons that hung there in a row, they plunged right into their duties. The task proved to be so pleasant, amid such congenial companionship, that the morning was gone almost before they realized it. Marjorie went into the front room, and then out to the porch, surveying the effect with satisfaction.

“It does look lovely!” she commented, out loud. “Those pansies add just the right touch—Oh, if we only have some people!”

“And just think,” remarked Alice, as she drew off her gingham apron, “that we shan’t know until supper time, what success the girls have!”

“Oh, I’ll know!” announced Marjorie. “You don’t suppose I’d be able to stand that suspense all afternoon?”

“You mean you’re coming down—to work?” asked Daisy. “You’ll be dead, Marj, if you expect to go at a pace like that!”

“Well, I can’t help it today! I’d be miserable away from here. I’ve just got to come!”

When she declared her intention at luncheon, the other girls denounced it with equal ardor. But Marjorie was not to be desisted.

“We may have so many guests that you need an extra waitress,” she said.

“I hope so,” replied Ethel. “But don’t set your hopes too high, Marj. We really can’t tell by the first day.”

Long before the clock struck two, which time the girls had agreed upon for the opening, the four waitresses, in their linen dresses and stiffly starched white aprons, stood at the windows of the tea-house, watching for their guests to arrive. They talked and laughed a great deal, joking often about the crowds they expected, and speculating as to where they would seat them all. For an hour or more automobiles continued to go by, one after another, without stopping, but no one allowed herself to express any concern. They all acted as if they felt sure that business would improve.

As four o’clock approached, Marjorie reassured the others by telling them that now people would undoubtedly come in.

“Philadelphians are too fashionable to drink tea at the wrong hour, aren’t they, Marie Louise?” she asked.

“Yes, indeed!” agreed the girl, heartily. Then, as if to forestall despondency for the next hour, she added, “And they seldom have it before five.”

With characteristic self-control, Marjorie was able to appear outwardly calm during this sickening time of waiting; but inwardly she was growing increasingly nervous. When five o’clock passed and still no one had come, she was ready to surrender to despair. Suddenly the sound of a machine in the driveway made her heart beat wildly with excitement. Breathlessly, she rushed to the window.

“Our luck’s changed!” cried Ethel, triumphantly. “Our first patron is coming!”

“Oh, it’s wonderful!” gasped Marjorie. “But do come away from the window, girls! We mustn’t appear curious.”

“Right you are, Marj!” agreed Marie Louise, stationing herself behind a chair, and adopting the correct attitude of a waitress.

Then the door opened and two girls stepped into the room. A second later, everyone broke into hilarious laughter: the guests were Alice and Lily!

“Oh, you wicked, wicked girls!” cried Marjorie. “If you knew how you’ve raised our hopes—”

“But we’re here as patrons!” protested Lily, holding up her purse for inspection. “And I guess our money’s as good as anybody else’s!”

“And you really did save the day by giving us a good laugh,” observed Ethel. “Now, then—” she assumed a professional manner—“what would you ladies care to have?”

“Sandwiches, ice-tea, ice-cream, and chocolate cake!” replied Lily, in one breath. “I intend to stay here—not go home for supper—because we go on duty at six, you know.”

“Yes, so we do,” agreed Marjorie.

“You take off your apron and come eat with me, Marj!” urged Lily, and the other decided to comply with her request.

While they were thus occupied, their first real guests finally arrived. A large machine drove up behind Lily’s, and a party of six girls got out. They proved to be Agnes Taylor and five of her friends.

They sat down at the tables, and, while they were waiting to be served, admired everything extravagantly. Agnes promised to talk the enterprise up among her friends.

“Then the ghost didn’t scare you away, did it?” she asked, laughingly.

“Sh!” warned Marjorie. “We don’t want to scare our cook—she’s too good to lose! So please don’t talk about it.”

“Oh, there’s really no danger,” said Agnes, rather seriously, “unless somebody sleeps here. I guess nothing would happen in broad daylight. Ghosts only come at night, don’t they?”

Several of the girls smiled at the conversation, though one or two were nevertheless impressed by it.

“I’m going to prove that’s nonsense before the summer’s over,” replied Marjorie.

“How?” demanded Agnes.

“By staying here myself!” she answered, confidently.

“You’d better not!” warned Agnes, shaking her head.

It was six o’clock now, and all the girls except Marjorie and Lily were preparing to leave. The latter insisted that Ethel drive her car home, for she would be able to go back with John Hadley.

As soon as they had gone, Marjorie told Anna that she too might leave. Then she and Lily went out on the porch to wait and to hope for new arrivals. Again they were rewarded, this time by a pedestrian,—an elderly man—with a dog. Instantly the girls were all courteous attention.

“Could I have a little supper, ladies?” he inquired, politely.

Marjorie directed him to a table by the window, and handed him the menu. When she went out to fill his order, he turned to Lily.

“This is not my dog,” he remarked; “just a stray one that followed me, but he seems hungry. I wonder whether you have some crusts—”

“Yes, indeed!” replied Lily.

She called the poor scrawny animal into the kitchen, and gave him what to him was no doubt a feast. When she returned, the stranger thanked her profusely.

“I understand that you have just opened the tea-house?” he remarked, as he ate his supper.

“Yes,” replied Marjorie. “We are Girl Scouts, and we are doing it for charity.”

“Very good! Very good!” murmured the old man. “The house is familiar to me—I used to know Mr. Scott before he died.”

“Indeed!” remarked Lily.

“I suppose you’ve heard tales about its being haunted, and all that,” he continued. “Just because of so many deaths, I suppose. I did know a man, however, who wanted to put the saying to a test—that no creature can live through a night here—and he left his horse in the stable, not very long ago.”

“And what happened?” demanded Lily, her eyes bright with excitement.

The old man fingered his spoon for a moment before replying. He had not intended to frighten the girls.

“It was dead in the morning!”

“Oh, it must have been sick when it came,” said Marjorie, lightly; but she noticed that in spite of herself Lily had been impressed.

The sun was setting, and after the old man left, with a promise to come back often, the girls began to get ready to leave. A little after seven they heard the welcome rattle of John’s Ford in the drive.

“What shall we do with the dog?” asked Lily, as she bent to lock the door.

“Let him sleep in the stable if he wants to,” replied Marjorie. “He will be a sort of protection.”

“And we can test out the ghost theory!” added Lily. “If he’s alive tomorrow morning, I’ll promise never to mention it again!”

“Good!” cried Marjorie, with satisfaction.