Marjorie and Daisy slept well that night in the cabin, in spite of the hardness of their beds. They were too tired to dream about the strange revelation which they had just heard. When they awoke, they both felt cheerful; even Daisy had shaken off the unhappiness which Kirk’s despair had caused her the night before. In the bright sunlight of this fresh, beautiful day she was ready to believe that her sister was still alive.

“Daisy,” said Marjorie, as they were dressing, “do you know I feel more than ever as if I would like to give up everything else to find your sister. It seems as if something could be done. What do you think?”

“Yes, I think something more could. In the first place, we haven’t told any of our friends, or Olive’s friends, for fear of notoriety. But I think that’s a mistake. Lots of people might see Olive somewhere and not think to mention the fact to us.” “And is that your mother’s wish?” asked Marjorie.

“Yes, to keep it all as quiet as possible. I have been begging her to make the thing public—even to come out in the newspapers with a statement—and she has promised to do it in September if nothing happens before then.”

“Kirk doesn’t seem to want to do anything either, does he?”

“No, he certainly has surrendered to despair. Well, Marj, I’m glad to know about him, for we can maybe do something to make his life brighter during the rest of the visit. And—speaking of that—suppose we go out now, and see whether we can get his breakfast.”

But much to their surprise, the girls found their breakfast all prepared for them. Kirk laughed good-naturedly at their amazement in finding the work all done.As soon as they had concluded their meal of bacon and bread, they started back for camp. This time there was no dread of getting lost, no fear of a storm. They reached the camp in good time, and were greeted with joyous war whoops and numerous pistol shots; even the cook was waiting to see with his own eyes that the girls were safe.

Early in the afternoon the whole party started out again. Riding steadily upward to the top of the mountain, they found the scenery even more wonderful than Mr. Hilton had depicted. Making their camp, they stayed there over night, and early the next morning started on the return trip to the ranch. This time the journey was less eventful; nothing occurred to prevent them from reaching home on scheduled time.

The five scouts who had taken the trip were now thoroughly accustomed to living out of doors, and would have been sorry indeed to return to civilization, had it not been for the prospect of seeing the other scouts. It seemed much longer than three days to Marjorie since she had said goodbye to Lily; she longed for the time when they were to see each other again.

And then, there was the mail. It had been almost a week since she had been away; surely there must be some letters for her. The last one she had received before her departure was from her brother Jack, telling her about having seen John Hadley with another girl at Cape May. Perhaps now she would get a letter from John, telling her about his new friend.

She found Lily and Doris and Mae sitting on the porch, watching for their return. In their hands they held the girls’ mail, so that they might have it the minute they arrived.

Marjorie saw in a flash that among her letters there was one from John Hadley. Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes lighted up with anticipation; it had been so long since she had heard from him.

But when she read the letter—a cool, impersonal sort of thing that seemed as if it had been written with an effort, she was conscious of a feeling of disappointment. Reluctantly she opened her other letters.

“What’s John doing with himself?” asked Lily, who could not help noticing and recognizing the handwriting on the envelope.

“Working hard, going to Cape May every week-end with his mother. He gets his vacation the last two weeks in August.” Marjorie answered mechanically, without raising her eyes from the letter she was reading.

“And that will be the end of ours, too!” sighed Lily. “It doesn’t seem possible that it will soon be the first of August does it?”

“No, it doesn’t. The Judson girls are going home then.”

“So they are. I guess Kirk won’t be sorry,” said Lily. “By the way, do you like him any better since he did the rescue act, which Tom just told us about?”

Marjorie smiled half to herself. It was so hard to keep anything from Lily—to refrain from telling her the whole story. And yet Kirk had exacted the promise, and she knew that she could not go back on it.

“Yes, he seemed awfully nice. You’ll like him better, too, after the Judsons go home.”

As soon as Marjorie had an opportunity she glanced slyly at Daisy, and found her smiling also. But neither girl said anything further.

“Did John say anything about the girl Jack saw him with?” asked Lily; for Marjorie had read her brother’s letter aloud to her.

“No, he didn’t” answered the other girl.

“Bad sign!” said Lily, jokingly.

“He can marry her for all of me,” returned Marjorie, indifferently.

“Why, Marj! Are you in love with Kirk?” asked Lily.

“Mercy, no!” replied Marjorie, so emphatically that Lily wondered whether she had said anything awful.

When the girls took their places at the next meal, Marjorie found Kirk sitting beside her.

“I have written my letter,” he said. “And if they are the up-to-date company that I think they are, they will probably reply by telegram.”

“That would be great!” said Marjorie, realizing, of course, that Kirk referred to the radio, although he had not mentioned it.

“Do you suppose,” asked Marjorie, “that there is any chance of its arriving by the fifteenth? You know the trip to Yellowstone comes during the last two weeks in August, so we thought we should like to give a scout party the fifteenth, and present the radio to Mrs. Hilton. Do you think it would be safe to plan it for then?”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Kirk, still keeping his voice to the undertone they had adopted for safety’s sake. “Anyway, I can hurry them up with a telegram,” he added.

“Then we’ll go right ahead with the party,” said Marjorie.

The next three weeks were filled with busy days for the scouts. Marjorie showed them that she was just as zealous about carrying out her plans as she was in making them; and the classes and study went on, in conjunction with the rides and walks and other regular activities on the ranch. Before the fifteenth of August had arrived, every single scout had sent in an examination paper to headquarters which would allow her, when she had passed her eighteenth birthday if she had not already done so, to be commissioned as a lieutenant. Alice, Daisy and Florence were fully prepared to pass the remaining tests to win their Golden Eaglet badges in the Fall; and although the other three girls were not yet quite ready, they had made good advancement. The radio was ordered and paid for; the scout party was well organized. With one exception, Marjorie had carried out every project she had started, and she was nearly satisfied. If only the troop could in some way do its good-turn, then she would feel that her summer—her last one as an active member of Pansy troop—would be as profitable as it had been pleasant.

“Only three more days!” said Marjorie, folding the letter from her mother which promised a box of good things for the party, “Suppose the radio doesn’t come!”

“Well, we’ll have a good time anyhow!” returned Doris, cheerfully. “Think of all the wonderful food we’re going to get. Has everybody heard from her mother?”

“Yes! Yes!” cried several of the girls at once.

“I haven’t,” said Daisy, after a pause. “I never even wrote!”

“Well, of course nobody wanted you to!” said Marjorie, with assurance. “Your mother certainly has enough to worry about.”

“I thought no one would mind,” replied the other girl, quietly.

Marjorie passed the next three days in feverish excitement, always on the alert to spy a messenger the minute he should arrive with the radio. But no one came, and she found it difficult not only to restrain her own impatience, but to keep the girls from blurting out the secret. On the morning of the party, she gathered the scouts together in her cabin.

“We must go about our preparations for the party just the same,” she told them, “and maybe it will come during the day. Mrs. Hilton is going to shut off the living room, and make the people use the back door all afternoon, so that we can decorate. So, if anybody wants to go riding, she had better go this morning!”

The girls accepted their lieutenant’s advice as they accepted everything else she said and did—without question; and fell to work at their appointed tasks. Florence and Alice made the ice cream; Lily and Mae decorated the room with flowers, and crÊpe paper which Mrs. Andrews had sent from New York; Ethel and Doris unpacked boxes of food, and Marjorie and Daisy arranged the dishes on the refreshment table at the side.

“Let’s see how many of us there are,” said Marjorie, as she was putting the silver on the table—“eight of us scouts, Mr. and Mrs. Hilton and Bob and Art, the two Melvilles, and Kirk—that makes fifteen. Why,” she continued, as if the idea had just struck her, “that means eight girls and only five boys! That’s hard on the dancing!”

“I’ll tell you how we can fix that!” exclaimed Alice, who had finished making her ice cream, “I’ll wear my breeches and be a man. Who wants me for a partner?”

“I’d be charmed,” said Florence, laughingly.

“Good work!” commented Marjorie. “Now there will be only one extra girl, and I will be that one, and play chaperone.”

“Oh, everybody will dance with everybody else!” said Doris, lightly. “Even Alice needn’t think she’ll be able to keep the men away by wearing trousers!”

“Marj!” said Alice, abruptly, “what does Kirk have to say about the radio. Oh, if it doesn’t come, I’ll never forgive him!”

“But it wouldn’t be his fault!” protested Daisy, who made it a point to defend the young man. “He certainly did his part.”

“I bet he ordered it from some poor, one-horsepower company that delivers once in ten years,” returned Alice.

“No, he didn’t either!” said Marjorie, positively. “He ordered it from one of the best companies in the East!”

When supper was over, the scouts disappeared into their cabins to put on their uniforms. With the exception of Alice, who still insisted upon playing man, they all wore khaki dresses and black ties. In addition to their merit-badges, which covered the sleeves of all the girls in the patrol, Marjorie and Ethel wore the Golden Eaglets they had won at the national training camp the preceding summer.

The party began at half-past seven, when the enclosure shutting off the living room from the dining room was removed, and the victrola began to play. All the guests arrived at once, and immediately the dancing began.

Marjorie took up her place at the victrola and resolutely remained there during three dances, refusing all invitations to dance on the plea of her duty. But at the end of that time, Mrs. Hilton insisted upon relieving her, and she yielded to Kirk’s invitation.

Up to that time she had never danced with him—in fact, she had never seen him dance with any girl at all during her whole visit at the ranch, and she was both surprised and delighted to find him so accomplished. Half closing her eyes, she surrendered herself to the rhythm of the motion, talking little, and dreamily gliding about the big room under her partner’s skillful direction. She had almost lost the sense of where she was, when a sharp knock at the screen door rudely brought her back to the real world. Abruptly the music ceased, and everyone stopped dancing. With an effort, Marjorie recalled the probable reason of the interruption: The Radio! Her heart beat wildly with excitement.

She was still standing with her arm resting on Kirk’s shoulder, as Bob Hilton opened the door to admit the stranger. With a gasp of astonishment, the girl’s arm dropped to her side, and she gazed open-eyed at the visitor. It was John Hadley! Not the radio messenger, after all—but John Hadley, all the way from Cape May!

Instantly her face darkened, and a cold fear took possession of her. Was something wrong at home, and had they sent him to break the news to her gently? In her terror she gripped Kirk’s hand tightly, her face showing anything but the welcome John had hoped for. Then, as if in a dream, she heard him speak.

“I would like to speak to the lieutenant of the Scout Troop,” and, as she dropped Kirk’s hand and stepped forward, he added in a lower tone, “I have your outfit from our company.”

“Oh!” cried Marjorie, suddenly realizing what his presence meant, and smiling in intense relief. But what a strange coincidence that he—John Hadley—should bring it, and without her knowledge, too!

But without waiting to give expression to her own thoughts, she turned quickly to the rancher’s wife.

“Mrs. Hilton,” she began, speaking so that everyone in the room might hear, “we Girl Scouts have had such a wonderful time this summer that we wanted to present the ranch with something as a token of our appreciation. We had hoped that this gift would come earlier, so that more of this summer’s guests could enjoy it. But at least it will be here for next year.”

“I therefore present you, in the name of the Girl Scouts of Pansy Troop, this radio set, which Mr. Hadley, the representative of the company from which it was ordered, will put up tomorrow.”

Mr. and Mrs. Hilton were both so taken by surprise by the generosity and unusualness of the gift, that neither could find words with which to accept it. Marjorie and the other scouts saw their amazement and pleasure, and felt rewarded; and before Mrs. Hilton could even stammer out her thanks, both her sons had raised a noisy cry of approval. Their informality put the party into an uproar. As there were no more speeches to be made, someone started the music, and the dancing began again.

Marjorie, however, made no motion towards summoning her partner, but remained standing where she was, near the doorway, talking to John.

“I was so surprised to see you!” she said. “And right away I was scared, for fear something was wrong with my family!”

To John the remark seemed rather odd. Was she not expecting someone from his company—so why not him?

“Of course you couldn’t know I would be the one to come,” he said, “but then there was a chance. And after you ordered the outfit from our company——”

“I didn’t order it from anybody!” objected the girl. “I left that entirely to Kirk Smith—the young man with whom I was dancing when you came in!”

“It certainly was a coincidence!” he remarked, bitterly.

“Not at all!” replied Marjorie, graciously. “It just shows that yours is the best company in the market.”

“Thanks,” replied John, rather stiffly. Then, feeling it his duty to allow her to return to her partner, he asked her whether she did not want to finish her dance.

“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Marjorie, with more indifference than John would have expected her to display. Then, turning to go, she added. “I’ll see you later.”

But John found no further opportunity to speak with Marjorie, for after a Paul Jones, refreshments were served, and there was no more dancing. He joined gaily in the general cheerfulness of his companions, pinning all his hopes upon the opportunities of the following day.

“Tomorrow!” he thought, as he sought his cabin at midnight. “Tomorrow! But I won’t spend my vacation here if she doesn’t want me!”