“Hist. Virg, hold on a minute!”

The tall slender girl warmly wrapped in hood and long cloak turned in surprise as she was about to enter the little pine wood, beyond which lay the cabin of her beloved teacher and friend Miss Torrence.

She was indeed puzzled when she saw Betsy equally well protected from the sleet and snow arise from a clump of bushes near the path.

“How you startled me,” the older girl said, “with that mysterious sounding ‘Hist’ of yours. Do detectives always do that?”

“I don’t know,” Betsy confessed. “I never did hear my dad say it and he’s the only detective of my acquaintance.” Then stepping over a snow bank that she might stand in the shoveled path, she continued, “I wanted to waylay you. I’ve something to tell you. I really hate to. It sounds sort of sneaky, but we of The Adventure Club have just got to stand together and protect each other, haven’t we, Madame President?”

“Why, yes. I think we should. What have you heard?”

“Well, I didn’t have much of anything to do this morning, being as it’s Saturday and I thought I’d go up to the Tower Room that’s been vacant since Gwendolyn Laureat went away before Christmas. I never will know why I stole up those stairs as quietly as ever I could, unless it’s because sleuths in the movies always do steal about that way. When I got to the top of the stairs, I saw that the door was closed. There was nothing particularly strange about that, but, just as I had my hand on the knob to turn it, I heard voices inside. I tell you, it gave me a start! I remembered all the stories about that room being haunted and I was just about to dart away when I recognized one of the voices. The speaker stood so close to the door I could hear what she said. It was Kathryn Von Wellering and from what she was saying I knew that she is your enemy.”

“My enemy?” Virginia exclaimed in surprise. “Why, what have I done to make Miss Von Wellering dislike me? All of the girls in that ‘Exclusive Three’ group have failed to know that I exist.”

Betsy looked wise. “Don’t you remember that your story was voted first place in last term’s contest and that her story came out third? She had boasted about among her set that she would be the next Editress of The Manuscript Magazine and she isn’t used to not having what she wants.”

“Oh, that’s it. But what can she do?”

“What I heard her say was that she was going to see to it that the first copy of the magazine was such a failure that Miss Torrence would gladly appoint her as Editor.”

Virginia looked troubled. “I’m truly sorry about this. I never did want the position and if Miss Von Wellering really wants it, I shall be glad to give it to her.”

“Well, you’ll freeze, Virg, if I keep you standing out in this snowstorm any longer, but I just want to tell you that I heard one of the three say that you would find, at the last minute, that your own story was the only usable contribution that you would receive.”

“Why, that can’t be possible. Miss Torrence told me this very morning that she would have a short story by Anne Peterson and a poem by Belle Wiley to give me before the Manuscript Magazine is made up.”

“It certainly is too bad that Eleanor Pettes decided to go to college prep this term instead of coming here,” Virginia sighed. “She would know just what to do.” Then, brightly, “But I must hurry along. It was lucky that I started earlier than usual for Pine Cabin or I would be dolefully late.”

“I’ll keep my eyes and ears open,” Betsy promised as she began to walk backwards toward the school. “But don’t give up the ship, Virg. Stick at your post and we’ll back you. Whizzle, I’ll write a story myself or a poem, even, if you run short of material.” Then, turning, she started to run, while Virginia continued on her way smiling, as she thought of what the Manuscript Magazine would be, if Betsy Clossen tried to write for it. Betsy’s forte most certainly was not composition.

When Virg entered the Pine Cabin whither she had gone alone to discuss the first edition of The Monthly Magazine, which had been Miss Torrence’s pet hobby since she first began to teach at Vine Haven, the girl noted a perplexed expression in the eyes of her friend and teacher as she looked up from her desk that was scattered over with papers.

“Virginia,” Miss Torrence began at once, “I cannot understand in the least what has happened. The story and poem that have been handed in by Anne Petersen and Belle Wiley are not fit to use. They never before did such poor work. In fact, these contributions do not sound at all like their style of composition. I was particularly anxious to have our January Manuscript Magazine an excellent one as Dean Craig of the Drexel Academy was asking me about the plan and requested that he might see our January number. He may start a similar magazine in his English classes. We surely can’t use work as poor as this and there remains but one week in which to find a really excellent short story. Kathryn Von Wellering has withdrawn her story saying that it cannot be used unless she is given the position of editor.”

“I’d be glad to let her have it,” Virg said, but Miss Torrence shook her head. “Character as well as literary ability are taken into consideration when we appoint a girl at Vine Haven to a post of honor, and Kathryn’s influence is not of the best. Well, we have a week to try to unearth a worthwhile story.” Virginia soon left, wondering where a story was to be found. Virg thought often that snowy Saturday about what both Miss Torrence and Betsy Clossen had told her. It was hard to believe that she had a real enemy, she who had befriended everything that lived and who felt kindly toward all.

“Virg, I believe that you actually would give up the post of honor that you have won,” Margaret declared that evening as she prepared for a second meeting of The Adventure Club.

“Why not?” the girl addressed glanced up brightly. “It was an honor thrust upon me, not one that I coveted. It isn’t bringing me any great happiness and it has brought me an enemy. Who will, may have it, or, I mean, could-if it were within my power to dispose of it, but Miss Torrence has expressed her desire that I retain the position whether or not we receive contributions considered worthy of acceptance.”

“Betsy declares that she is going to submit a poem.” This from Sally who was less timid than she had been at a previous meeting. Then she tittered in a way which made her seem even more foolish than she really was. “That’s why she’s late. She’s sitting curled up in our room writing it now.”

“The Fates deliver us from any poetry that Betsy might write,” Margaret had just said when there came a pounding on the door, and, clad in her cherry-red bath robe, the object of their conversation burst into the room waving a sheet of foolscap paper. “It’s done! The day is saved. Never before will there have been an edition of The Manuscript Magazine to contain a literary gem like this.”

The other members of the study club looked at each other in mock despair. “Must we endure the torture?” Babs moaned.

“Get it over with as soon as you possibly can, if it must be done,” Margaret pleaded.

Virginia interposed. “Girls, how dreadful of you! It might be good.”

Betsy solemnly bowed, her hand on her heart. “Lady, I thank you for them kind words,” she said. Then looking about the room, she inquired, “Where’ll be the most effective place to stand?”

“I’d keep real close to the door if I were you,” Barbara suggested.

“Thanks, I will, though I won’t mind at all if you do pelt me with fudge.”

“Indeed, not a piece shall you get unless your poetry pleases us,” threatened Margaret.

Babs hastened to add, “I choose Betsy’s portion for it’s a foregone conclusion that she won’t get any.”

“Silence, young ladies, IF you please.” This in exact imitation of Miss King’s voice and manner. Then making another elaborate bow, Betsy began to read:

“There is a young lady named Virg.
Who said Life is surely a scourge.
I’m so witty and wise
That I must editrize
Though I’d heaps rather be hearing my dirge.”

The listeners laughed while Babs clapped with her thumbnails only.

“There’s a senorita, named Marguerita
And Oh-a but she’s vera sweeta.
Her prida brought to her a fall
Once in a thronged study hall.
Her prida were her high-heeled feet-a.
There is a young damsel named Babs
With manners most shocking.
She grabs!
Whenever there’s candy
That’s anywhere handy,
The nuttiest pieces she nabs.
There is a fair maiden named Sally
Who lives in our Sweet Pickle Alley.
In front of a mirror
You oftenest see her
Whenever she has time to dally.
There is a most witty young poet
Named Betsy, and I’m sure you know it.
She can tell by your glances,
As you listen in trances,
With a bouquet, just waiting to throw it.”

Betsy ducked just in time for soft pillows snatched from the window seat were hurled at her. Laughingly she gathered them up and replaced them in a prim row, then she sank down among them as though exhausted. “Believe me, that’s the hardest work I’ve done in my short lifetime. I’d heaps rather shovel coal for a living. I thought I could never think of a word to rhyme with Sally. Luckily we call our corridor Sweet Pickle Alley. That helped some!” Then she interrupted herself to point an accusing finger. “Quick! Look! Caught in the act. Wasn’t I right about Babs? It isn’t yet time to pass the fudge and there she is helping herself to the very piece that I had intended to take, because it’s so bulging full of nuts.” Barbara sprang up, passed the plate and insisted that Betsy take the nutty piece. Then, as they munched, Margaret said, “I’ll never forget the day I wore those high-heeled slippers. Wasn’t I embarrassed, it being a reception for patrons and parents? Common sense heels for me.”

The president of The Adventure Club tapped upon the table with her pencil. “Attention, if you please, young ladies,” she said, “there is a matter of importance to be discussed.”

The girls looked up wonderingly. “Can you all keep a secret?” Virg asked mysteriously.

“Why, of course we can.” This protestingly from Margaret.

“Whizzle, what a kweestion? A bottomless well couldn’t be more secretive than I am if I give my word.” Betsy held up her right hand as though taking a vow.

“It won’t be hard for me to keep it if I can talk it over with you girls,” Barbara told them. To the surprise of the others Sally rose.

“I’d rather not try,” she said, speaking more seriously than usual. “If it leaks out, you’d be sure to think I told, so, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not know it.”

Virginia rose and placing an arm about the slender girl who had her hand on the door knob, she led her back to the group. “Sally,” she said kindly, “I am sure that you will keep this secret.”

The pretty face of the youngest girl glowed with happiness and pride. It was the first time since she had been in that seminary that someone had expressed faith in her. Many a time she had seen groups of girls stop their chattering when she neared and she had felt left out. “They think I’d tell what they’re saying, I suppose,” had been her unhappy conclusion, as she wandered away by herself feeling so alone and unwanted. But this wonderful girl, who was not only president of this little club but also editor of The Manuscript Magazine, actually wanted her to stay and share a real secret. Sally vowed within herself that Virginia would find her worthy of the trust.

“We’re all bristling with curiosity, as a porcupine was heard to remark,” Betsy said. “What kind of a secret is it?”

Virginia smiled at the mischievous would-be detective, as she replied: “It isn’t anything that will interest you greatly. Yesterday Mrs. Martin sent for me and asked if we girls from the West knew someone who would appreciate a term at Vine Haven as guest. Now that Gwendolyn Laureat has gone, the Tower Room is vacant. I do not know of anyone, but I said that I would ask my closest friends if she wished. Mrs. Martin agreed, but requested that we tell no one else as she never wished the identity of the guest pupil to be generally known.”

The girls were silent for a moment thinking over their friends and acquaintances but finally they shook their heads. “It’s just too bad,” Margaret said, “I’m ever so sure there must be some talented girl who would love to have the advantages that this school offers and—”

“Such as the refining influence of the members of The Adventure Club,” put in Betsy with a twinkle. “I’ll undertake teaching her up-to-the-minute slang.”

Megsy, not heeding the interruption, continued, “and if The Exclusive Three did not know her identity, she ought to be very happy here.”

“Woe to her if they do find it out,” Barbara commented. “She might as well pack up and leave that very day.”

“Well, since there is no one whom we can suggest, we ourselves will not know who the guest pupil is, as, of course, Mrs. Martin has many sources to draw upon. Boston is full of girls, poor, but talented.”

“Now, let’s have our weekly lesson review.” Virginia picked up an Ancient History and in the midst of moans and groans asked the first question.

“Babs, you’re improving by the minute,” was Margaret’s comment when the get-ready-for-bed gong pealed through the corridors.

“Thanks, greatly! I mean to be a ‘Shining Light’ on the spring exams.”

“Wouldn’t you faint right on the spot if you ever saw your name on the Honor Roll board down in the main corridor?” Megsy asked.

“Would she? I’ll tell the world!” Betsy answered for her. Then teasingly, “Honestly girls, you may find this hard to believe but I actually saw Babs stop in front of that popular black board every day last week to see if her name is there yet.”

Barbara flushed but spunkily protested, “I don’t care if I did. Now that Virg and Margaret are on it, I mean to be, too, if I possibly can.”

“Well, you needn’t bite my head off. Sally and I wouldn’t be on it, if we could.”

Then Sally surprised them all by saying, “Now that Virginia’s name is there, I’d like ever so much to get my name on it, too.”

“How’s that for idolatry?” Betsy began to tease, but Virginia remarked seriously, “Sally, your hardest subject seems to be algebra. I’ll help you, if you wish to study after hours just as Miss Torrence helps me.”

“Whee-gee!” Betsy whistled. “If Sally MacLean gets her name on the Honor Roll, it’s me as will faint and I don’t think I’ll ever come to.”

When the girls were gone, and the lights had been turned out, Margaret exclaimed, “Oh, Virg, see how beautiful the snowy world is in the moonlight. I’m so glad that Monday is a holiday. Let’s go for a hike if Mrs. Martin will permit. I just adore wading through snow-drifts.”

“That would be a great adventure and a new one for me,” said the girl from the desert where snow-drifts are unknown. They were indeed to have an adventure.