By the twentieth of February, the eight candidates had passed their Tenderfoot tests, and were registered at National Headquarters as regular members of the Girl Scouts. After the preliminary exercises of the meeting were over, Captain Phillips asked for a report from the banker.

“All the girls have handed in enough money for the khaki and buttons, Captain,” Ethel Todd announced, after she had given the usual salute. “And some have turned in more than was required. Shall I give that to the treasurer?”

“No,” answered Miss Phillips, “we will keep up our banking system, so that each girl can always have money on hand to purchase the necessary equipment. Now,” she continued, turning to the troop, “I want reports on how the individual Girl Scouts earned their money.”

The accounts that followed were both interesting and original. Ruth had made fudge, and sold it at a profit; Ethel Todd had addressed envelopes in Miss Allen’s office, and had helped with the school records; Frances and Marian had taken care of babies for some AlumnÆ members of F?? who lived in the village; Lily Andrews and Edith Evans had secured subscriptions for a well-known woman’s magazine; and Helen Stewart and Dorothy Maxwell had advertised their services for “odd jobs” among their school-mates, and had been rewarded with plenty of mending, pressing, darning, and even shoe-shining.

All the girls agreed that the experience had been fun; even Lily admitted that she did not mind it after she had once started.

“And what did you do, Captain Phillips?” she asked.

“I organized a dancing-class for the little tots of the village, which meets one afternoon a week, and I charge each child ten cents a lesson,” she replied.

“Good!” exclaimed Lily, “you lived up to your promise!”

“Girls,” said the Captain, “I am going into the city to-morrow, and I will order the uniforms—the kind that come cut out ready to sew. Then we ought to receive them before next Saturday, and if we do, we can meet up in the sewing-room and give up the day to making them.” “And when will we go on our hike, Captain?” asked Frances, with the usual formality.

“The following Saturday, I hope. You see the marks come out the next Monday, and the Gym team will be selected; so new girls will be eligible to the troop after that. And I want one hike by ourselves—as a reward for the good work you have done.”

“How many new girls do you think we shall have?” asked Marian.

“There will be ten girls on the school Gym-team, but probably some of those are already Scouts. And then there is a possibility that some of the girls who are either hockey or swimming-team members may pull up their marks in their studies and qualify.”

Lily clapped her hands. “I do so hope Marjorie makes it,” she exclaimed with such enthusiasm that Miss Phillips did not have the heart to reprove her for her breach of discipline. “And she will,” she added, “if she makes 90% in her Latin test.”

Ruth looked annoyed. Half the fun of being a Girl Scout was the publicity of it—the fact that she was one of the eight distinguished members—that she belonged to something Marjorie could not join.

“As soon as we get more girls into the troop,” announced Captain Phillips, “we will give a play, to earn enough money to pay for our camping trip this summer.”

The girls were so interested that Miss Phillips was forced to go into details about the plans; they talked such a long time that it was necessary to adjourn without the customary games.

Marjorie’s evening had been spent in her own room, studying Latin. Although the test was not to be held until the following Tuesday, she felt that she had not a minute to lose. The hardest part to her was, of course, the English into Latin—“prose composition,” Miss White, the teacher, called it. It was in this that she had failed before; therefore, she directed all her effort to mastering it. There was not one construction of which she felt uncertain; she did not see how she could fail.

Just as she was gathering her books into a neat pile for the night, the door opened and Lily came in. She was full of the plans for the hike, the play, and the camp; and she poured her news into Marjorie’s eager ears.

When she stopped a moment for breath, the other girl exclaimed, “I simply must make it! I’d love to be in the play, and go camping! Just think of the fun! Of course, Miss Phillips will go with you this summer?”

“Certainly!” replied Lily. “Oh, Marj, you’ll surely be a Girl Scout before then. But keep on studying,” she urged.

When Marjorie laid her paper on Miss White’s desk on Tuesday, she felt that she had done exceedingly well in the examination. She had thought out each construction and had written carefully; she had gone over her paper twice to make sure that there were no corrections or omissions; and she was the next to last girl to leave the room.

Ruth Henry was the last girl to turn in her paper. This was not because she was slow or uncertain of her work, for she was an excellent Latin student; but she usually remained to walk over to the dormitory with Miss White, with whom she was a great favorite.

Just as she rose from her seat to hand in her paper, a messenger entered from the office.

“Miss White, here is a telegram for you,” she said, handing her a yellow envelope.

Ruth stood still, and the messenger withdrew. As Miss White read the telegram, her face grew pale.

“What is it, Miss White? Oh, I hope nothing is wrong?” said Ruth.

“My mother’s very ill—I must go home immediately.”

“I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” asked Ruth impulsively. Miss White hesitated a moment. “Yes, dear, thank you—straighten up this room and my desk; put the papers in a neat pile in the bottom drawer; then lock it and bring me the key. And you can carry my suitcase to the station, if you wish.”

“Yes, indeed. Please don’t worry, Miss White—surely she’ll get better!”

Miss White smiled sadly, and handed Ruth the key. “You are a dear, good girl, Ruth,” she said, as she opened the door.

Ruth began to straighten the papers, which the girls had piled one by one on top of the teacher’s desk. As she picked them up, one from the top of the pile fell to the floor. She stooped to pick it up. It was Marjorie Wilkinson’s!

Suddenly, Ruth thought of the other girl’s house-party, and the dance which she had witnessed through the lighted windows; she remembered Marjorie’s indifference during the days that followed her pledging to the sorority; and heard Lily exclaim over again that if her room-mate made 90% in this Latin test, she would be a Girl Scout.

This was the opportunity she had been waiting for; if she had schemed and planned for it, it could not have been more perfect. If she let this chance go by, she would probably never have another like it. She would pay Marjorie back for what she had done in the past.

Taking a pen, and dipping it in Miss White’s inkwell, she turned to the questions marked “English into Latin.” With her knowledge, it was a simple matter to make little changes—adding letters here and there at the ends of words to make the gender, number, tense, or case of the word out of harmony with the rest of the sentence.

Once she thought she heard a sound at the door; she quickly dropped her pen, and pretended to straighten the papers. But no one came in, and she finished her work of deceit. To the casual observer, Marjorie’s paper looked no different; but to the Latin student, it proved to be like the poor twisted poem of “Father William” in “Alice in Wonderland,” “wrong from beginning to end.”

While she was locking Miss White’s desk, the risk of her act occurred to her. What if the teacher should decide to return the papers to the girls, contrary to her usual custom? What if Marjorie should not be satisfied with her mark, and should ask Miss White to go over the paper with her?

But it was too late now to think of the danger; the deed was done, and she must take the consequences.

She decided on the whole that she would stand less chance of detection if the teacher took the papers home with her to mark. Accordingly, she unlocked the desk again and took out the pile, and, leaving everything in good order, went over to Miss White’s room.

“I brought the test papers over to you, Miss White, instead of leaving them in your desk, because I thought you would want to take them home and mark them there, so you could mail the averages to Miss Allen before the term closes.”

“Thank you, Ruth, you are so thoughtful. Here—I will put them in my suitcase,” she said, taking them from the girl.

“Now I think I’m ready,” she concluded. “Here is a sweater for you to wear to the station—and I guess your hands won’t get lost in these gloves.”

Ruth put on the borrowed clothing, and picked up the suitcase.

After she came back from the station, she began to dress for dinner, but said nothing to Ethel of the incident, lest in some way it might throw suspicion on her.

All the rest of the week Marjorie felt the satisfaction of a person whose task was well done. She looked eagerly forward to Monday when her success would be announced, and the troop would claim her as a candidate. She knew her Tenderfoot test already, and she thought constantly of possible ways to earn money for her uniform.

The Friday evening before the term closed, F?? girls met for the last time. Two Juniors who had been chosen for the gym team, and who were practically sure of making the Girl Scout troop, resigned; and with only six members left, the sorority had to disband.

As Marjorie sat alone in her room that evening while Lily attended the Scout meeting, she occupied herself by writing a long letter home. And in this letter, she told her mother to expect a splendid report from the school—with a mark in Latin that she would be proud of. “And I think,” she concluded, “that this is the last Friday evening I shall have to spend in my room alone—for by this time next week, I hope to be a Girl Scout!”