“It’s all my fault! I’m going to take every bit of the blame,” Betsy declared. The six girls were huddled in the shelter of the bus while faithful Micky, up on the storm-beaten high seat, steered as best he could the weary team through the drifts and the blinding snow.

“It’s not all your fault,” Virginia declared stoutly. “I knew that you planned leaving the bus to visit the old house and I should have advised you not to.”

“You couldn’t have stopped us, I mean me,” Betsy declared. “I’ve been foolishly headstrong. You did say that it was unwise but, of course we didn’t know we were going in.”

Barbara laughed. “I’ll say I didn’t. I never was so surprised in all my life as I was when I DID go in.”

“What happened?” Dickey Taylor inquired. Then, when she had been informed, she added: “Oh, how I do wish I had been there. Next time, take me, please do! I adore adventures.”

“Girls, it has stopped snowing. Whizzle, but I’m glad!” Betsy announced.

“What’s more the clouds are parting and the moon is coming through. Now poor Micky will be able to see where he is driving.” This from Megsy.

“Girls,” Barbara put in, “that Irish boy is as faithful a friend as anyone could find on top of this earth. I wish we could do something nice for him. Is there anything he wants that anybody knows? If there is, we rescued ones might chip in and give it to him.”

“Babs, you’ve known him longest and you’re really the lady of his heart, so suppose you find out and then we’re with you on the coin part of it,” Betsy said in a low voice, although her words could not possibly have been heard by the boy who was whistling to keep up his spirits and perhaps to hearten up his lagging team.

“Virg, what are you thinking of so intently?” Dicky Taylor asked.

The older girl replied: “Of the one room home that we just left, I was wondering about that lovely mother and daughter. How strange, that they should be living in that old tumble down house and yet the storekeeper in the town know nothing of it.”

Betsy was on the alert at once. “It’s a mystery,” she announced. “I just knew there would be a mystery in that old house.”

Barbara laughed. “Wrong you are! Eleanor told me how it happened, and it is not at all strange. Her mother is a settlement worker, and she has been giving more strength than she could spare to nursing, in the tenement district through some epidemic, and when it was over and many lives saved through her efforts, the physician in charge said that Mrs. Burgess must have a month’s complete rest. He asked where she would like to go, and she told him of that one wing which she and Eleanor had fitted up several summers ago for their vacation retreat, and so he brought them in his big comfortable closed car just before the snows came, and he also had supplies sent from Boston, enough to last the entire month they are to be there. In another fortnight that same physician is to return for them, and as almost no one travels the County Farm road in the winter, they may be gone, and that garrulous old storekeeper may never know that they have been here at all, at all.”

There was a wide canopy of star and moonlit sky above them as the bus turned in again at the school drive. “Shall you all slip in up the back way to your rooms? There’s time to dress before the supper gong rings,” Dicky Taylor said.

“Why, of course not,” Virginia replied. “If the rest of you are willing, I would like to be the one to tell Mrs. Martin all that has happened.”

“Oh, I say, Virg!” Betsy began; then added, “Why tell, if we wouldn’t be found out? We didn’t do anything so terrible. You know this was a free day and Mrs. Martin herself said that we might hike anywhere we wished this morning.”

“I do not expect Mrs. Martin to rebuke us,” the oldest girl said, “but I do want to tell her about Eleanor Burgess.”

“Oh, I know! You’re thinking she might become the gu——” Sally clapped her hand on her mouth. She, who had vowed never to betray that secret, had nearly told. It wouldn’t have mattered if their own group alone was present, but Dicky was with them. Luckily, the bus was at that moment stopping under the portico. Betsy said: “I understand, Virg! Do whatever you think best, and remember I consider that I am most to blame. I’ll never forgive myself if you and Megsy have your names taken from the Honor Roll.”

“If they don’t deserve being there, we want them off,” Margaret said quietly.

Micky grinned his pleasure when Babs told him that he was just like the chivalrous knights in the stories of long ago. When they entered the main hall of the school, Virginia saw that a card hung on the principal’s door. “Occupied” was the one word printed thereon, so Virg hastened upstairs with the others to prepare for supper.

Directly after the evening meal, Virginia left the other girls in the big comfortable school library where a log was burning on the wide hearth, and where they were planning to do reference reading. She told them that she would return as soon as possible and tell them just what Mrs. Martin thought of the plan that she had to suggest.

The kindly woman looked up expectantly when, in reply to her invitation to enter, the door of her office opened.

“Oh, good evening, Virginia,” she said, motioning to a chair near. “Be seated, dear. Isn’t it curious that right this very moment I was thinking of you, wondering if you or your friends had thought of someone whom we could invite to occupy the Tower Room. I do not like to delay longer, as the term will soon be well started.” Then she paused and observed—“Virginia, I am convinced by your eager expression that you are just waiting for an opportunity to tell me something that has greatly interested you. What is it?”

“You are right, Mrs, Martin,” the girl declared as she seated herself on the straight backed chair near the principal’s desk. Then she hesitated. “I hardly know where to begin,” she smilingly confessed.

“Suppose you begin at the beginning,” was the amused comment of the older woman.

“Well, then, you know Mrs. Martin, that this morning you gave us all permission to hike wherever we wished until noon. Our group of five were taken by a very nice boy, of perhaps 14, on his toboggan to coast down the long hill that leads to the village. When we reached the bottom, we asked him if there was anything interesting to be seen beyond the town. He told us about a house which he called haunted that had one time been occupied by a Captain Burgess and his family.”

Mrs. Martin’s expression brightened. “A wonderful old house that was in its day and the Captain was a most interesting character. My husband enjoyed nothing better when he was here resting from a hard session in Washington than to spend a few hours over there listening to Captain Burgess’ tales of his experiences on the sea. But he was a very eccentric old man, and grew more so as the years passed. He was determined that his two lovely daughters should never marry. His own marriage, I believe, had been a very unhappy one and when he was left alone with the two girls, he seemed to have but one thought and that was to prevent their meeting young men who might wish to propose to them. They were kept like two fair prisoners within that high hedge and when necessity compelled me to change my home into a school these two young ladies were among my first pupils, but they were always brought in a closed carriage and were to remain within the seminary grounds until they were called for. How they ever happened to meet the young men whom they married is indeed a mystery.

“One was named Eleanora and the other Dorinda. Eleanora became the wife of a young man, who proved worthless and who left her. Dorinda married a missionary and went to live in distant lands. Their father at the time was on a long sea voyage and when he returned and found that his girls had evaded the vigilance of a dragon-like housekeeper, whom he had left in charge, he became very hard and declared that not one penny of his fortune should be given to those ingrates for their good-for-nothing husbands to spend. Both of the girls wrote begging their father to forgive them. He died soon after that and he left a note saying, ‘I’ve buried my money. Whoever finds it can have it.’

“Luckily this note was not made public or the grounds of the old Burgess place would have been dug up long ago. It was sent to Eleanora, who had become a settlement worker in Boston. Now and then the two sisters heard from each other. They knew that Eleanora had a baby girl and Dorinda a boy. These children must be about 16 and 18 now, I should think. But here I am reminiscing when I am quite sure that you have something that you are eager to tell me. Has it aught to do with the old Burgess place?”

Virginia replied that it had, and then she told all that had befallen the group of girls who had started out that morning in search of an adventure. Although she took a full share of the blame for having left the bus, Mrs. Martin seemed to heed not at all. Her face plainly told the anxious watcher that the misdemeanor was not of sufficient importance to be rebuked, while, on the contrary, the news that her one time pupil, the lovely daughter of old Captain Burgess was again at Vine Haven pleased her exceedingly.

“As you say,” she began, “the daughter, Eleanor, would be an ideal guest pupil if I can persuade her proud mother to permit her to come to us.” Then, for a moment, the principal sat gazing out of the window against which, in the light from the room, the beating snow could be seen.

“Virginia,” she said at last, “you may be excused from your morning classes. I would like to have you accompany me to the old Burgess place. Then, while I am visiting with Eleanora, the mother, perhaps you can persuade the daughter that we would be glad indeed to have her with us as a guest pupil.”

Mrs. Martin had risen and Virg did also. “Oh, how glad the girls will be,” she said. “They have all promised to keep the identity of the guest pupil a secret. I am sure Eleanor will be very happy, if she will come.” Then hesitatingly. “Mrs. Martin, do you think that my name should be taken from the Honor Roll because of——”

The principal interrupted her with an unexpected caress. “Dear girl,” she said tenderly, “I wish I could put your name on twice.” Then she was gone and there were tears in the eyes of the girl. Just such a caress would an own mother have given a daughter with whom she was pleased.