When Miss Torrence opened the door, half expecting to see the mysterious visitor of the night before, she beheld instead the editor of the Manuscript Magazine.

“Oh, Virginia, I am so glad you came. Mother-mine, if you will excuse us, I would like to take Virginia at once to my study, as it is nearly time for us to go up to the school, and I have much to discuss with her.”

“Of course, daughter. Is it about the Manuscript Magazine? I’m sure it will be a nice one, with such a nice girl for an editor.” Then when they had started away the little old lady recalled them to add: “Daughter, ask Virginia who she thinks it was came to visit me last night. She was such a dear girl, I want to see her again, and thank her for being so kind to me. She said I reminded her of her own grandmother, and when she kissed me good-by I know she was crying.”

“Yes, mother, I will,” the young teacher promised. Then, when they had entered the study, she carefully closed the door and turned a troubled face toward her companion.

“Virginia,” she said in a voice very unlike her own, “some one of the girls climbed in this window last night and carried away the bundle of manuscripts that I had tied up to give to you this morning. In going out, she must have hastened, or perhaps she had not noticed the flower pot.” Miss Torrence pointed at the floor where it lay, its pieces scattered and the small flowering plant withering.

“Who could it have been?” But even as she spoke, the girl knew that but one pupil in Vine Haven desired to prevent the appearance that week, of the Manuscript Magazine.

“I am almost convinced,” Miss Torrence told her, “that the culprit is Kathryn Von Wellering. I am sure that you are also, but I hardly know how to proceed with an inquiry into the matter.”

“There is nothing here that would identify her?” Virg glanced about the small den.

“No, I looked, but I haven’t been outside yet. It wasn’t snowing when I returned, and so perhaps their footprints may still be visible.”

Together they slipped out a back door that they might not arouse the curiosity of the little old lady who, sitting in the living room, was partly dozing in the sun.

“It must have snowed in the night,” Virginia, in the lead, called over her shoulder, “for there isn’t a trace of a footprint beneath this window.”

Miss Torrence sighed. “I especially regret this, for Eleanor Burgess told me that she had no other copy of her stories, and I assured her that need cause her no alarm, as nothing could happen to them while they were in either my possession or with you. I am sure that she treasured them, and now, without doubt, whoever stole them has destroyed them.”

“Shall we take Eleanor into our confidence?” the girl asked.

“Not quite yet. I shall go at once to Mrs. Martin and ask just what she would wish me to do to start an investigation. I do not want to openly accuse one of her pupils, and perhaps have that girl leave the school. It is all very unfortunate.”

They bade the little old lady good-by, and walked slowly through the grove and toward the seminary. It was a gloriously clear day. The freshly fallen snow on the pine branches sparkled and gleamed, while the blue-gray waves of the ocean danced and sang, it would seem, for very joy. It was the first time the sun had shone in weeks and nature was glad. But even the brightness about them could not lighten the load on the hearts of Miss Torrence and Virginia.

The girl went to her class, but Miss Torrence arranged with Miss King to relieve her for at least ten minutes.

Mrs. Martin looked up wonderingly when a tap sounded on her office door. It was 9, and teachers and pupils were usually in the classrooms; but then it might be the housekeeper or even Patrick needing advice.

When the door opened and the young teacher entered, Mrs. Martin exclaimed: “Something is wrong. I can tell by your expression. Be seated, Miss Torrence.”

“I would rather stand. The telling will take but a moment and Miss King, who is with my girls, is due in the music room.”

In as few words as possible, the story was told.

“Why, this is unbelievable!” Mrs. Martin was shocked and amazed. “My natural conclusion is, as was yours, that Kathryn Von Wellering is the only girl who has a personal interest in the destruction of those manuscripts. You say that Anne Petersen was with her when you first arrived last evening?”

“Yes, they were standing in front of the Honor Roll, pretending to scan it, but I now believe that they were waiting to be sure that I was coming to the meeting, as they naturally would not wish to go to Pine Cabin if I were there.”

“I have noted of late that Belle Wiley and Anne Petersen are often with Kathryn Von Wellering, and I have regretted it, especially in the case of Belle, who is a dear little girl, and I cannot but deplore the influence of Kathryn, whose mother thinks of nothing but society and whose father, I fear, enriches himself at the expense of the poor. I have been told that he is a conscienceless Wall Street broker. I regret that I accepted Kathryn as a pupil, and if it seems best, Miss Torrence, for the good of the other girls, I will write her mother asking her to send for her daughter.”

Then rising, Mrs. Martin stood for a thoughtful moment gazing out at the snow-covered world. At last, turning toward the waiting teacher, she said: “Kathryn, Anne and Belle are all in your 9 o’clock class, are they not?”

“Yes, Mrs. Martin. That is, they should be. If they are not there this morning, shall I send Virginia in to tell you?”

“Yes, if you will,” the principal replied. “If she does not come almost at once, I will know that those three girls are to be with you for one hour.” Then she added: “Do not permit them to leave the class during that period, Miss Torrence. I shall send for Miss Buell, and ask her to thoroughly search the rooms occupied by those three pupils.”

The young teacher took her departure and five moments later, as Virginia had not appeared, Mrs. Martin rang for the member of her faculty who had charge of the rooms and the corridors. Popularly she was known among the girls as “Miss Snoopins.”

“Miss Buell,” Mrs. Martin had drawn her within the office and closed the door, “I want you, with all speed, to search first Kathryn Von Wellering’s room, then Anne Petersen’s, and if you have not found a package of manuscripts in either, you may look in Belle Wiley’s room. I can trust you to be speedy and discreet.”

Miss Buell sniffed. “Well, I certainly hope I’ll find whatever evidence it is you want in that disagreeable Von Wellering girl’s room. She treats folks as if they weren’t human, but that little Belle Wiley, why, Mrs. Martin, she’s a sweet, innocent little lamb. She never tries to hide things or play tricks on me the way the others do, or at least some of them.”

Mrs. Martin, knowing that Miss Buell’s weakness was loquacity, dismissed her, and then sat down at her desk, supposedly to attend to business matters, but she found her thoughts often wandering. She was indeed more troubled because of what had happened than either Miss Torrence or Miss Buell realized. “She who steals a composition will steal anything else she desires. It is the act, and not the article, which proclaims one a thief.”

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed when the principal heard footsteps descending the stairs, and so rapidly, though quietly, did they approach her door, that she believed, and correctly that Miss Snoopins had been successful in her search.

Mrs. Martin had the door open before Miss Buell could rap. That thin angular woman entered, her eyes fairly glittering with the joy of having accomplished her errand.

“I found ’em,” she announced, “and what’s curious, maybe, I found two of ’em.”

“Why, how could you, Miss Buell, when only one package of manuscripts was missing.” The principal was puzzled indeed, for at that moment from beneath her copious gingham apron, Miss Snoopins did produce two bundles of compositions. These she laid on the desk, saying, as she pointed at one accusingly. “That was in the bottom of Kathryn Von Wellering’s trunk and it was plain she was trying to hide it, for she had a tray over it so at first glance it would look like that was the bottom and no use to look farther, but I was bent on finding evidence and——”

Mrs. Martin looked disappointed. “But these are old compositions, I judge, and not the ones for which we are searching. This other package is more like it. Where did you find that?”

“In Anne Petersen’s room and the queer thing about it was that it wasn’t hidden at all. It was lying right on the floor inside of her door. That one wasn’t hard to find. It didn’t——”

The principal interrupted. “Miss Buell,” she said, “will you kindly ask Miss King to again relieve Miss Torrence and you need not return.”

Mrs. Martin pretended not to notice the disappointment plainly portrayed in the other woman’s thin face. “Then that’s all you want me to do?” she lingered in the open door.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Buell. You have helped us immeasurably.”

Almost at once Miss Torrence entered the office and found Mrs. Martin examining the two packages which she had not untied.

“This is the one that I lost,” she identified unhesitatingly. Then glancing up questionably. “You say that it was found lying on the floor just inside of Anne Petersen’s room. That is curious! What do you make of it?”

“I haven’t decided as yet. But this much I am sure. Belle is not involved. I am glad of that.”

Then, as she noted that the young teacher seemed to be greatly interested in the manuscripts found in Kathryn’s trunk, the principal inquired, “What are they, Miss Torrence?”

“Stories, poems and other compositions written by a cousin of Kathryn’s, it would seem, who is attending a girls’ school in Boston. They are the same in subject matter which Kathryn has been handing in week after week, writing upon them, as is our custom, ‘original stories written by Kathryn Von Wellering.’”

“That decides the matter, for, whether or not she or Anne Petersen entered your cabin last night, Kathryn can no longer remain as a pupil in this school. I shall write her mother today asking her to send for her daughter.”

Miss Torrence looked thoughtful, then said, “The blame for the package stolen from my den has, of course, been placed upon Anne Petersen. Mother told me that the girl who visited the cabin was most tender to her, quieting her fear and heating broth to warm her when she was chilled from having attempted to arise. That never could have been Kathryn, nor, am I sure that it could have been Anne. Although I have sometimes thought that Anne assumed an indifference and heartlessness that might not be real. What shall we do?”

“If it were Anne who was so kind to your mother, then there is something in her nature that we can work upon. It might do more harm to her character to dismiss her, than to keep her for a time. I wish, Miss Torrence, that, at the close of your class, you would bring those two girls to my office.”

The pupils of the 9-to-10 class of rhetoric had been puzzled by the frequency with which Miss King had relieved their teacher during the one short hour. Only Kathryn and Anne were suspicious of the real nature of the interruptions. The former tried to leave at once, when the gong in the corridor announced a 15-minute free period, but Miss Torrence was watchful. “Kathryn Von Wellering and Anne Petersen will remain in their seats while the others pass out, if you please.”

Kathryn was inclined to make a break and run for her room when Miss Torrence asked them to accompany her to the office of the principal.

The young teacher noticed the difference in the behavior of the two girls. Anne seemed composed and there was a new determination in her face.

Kathryn, with an attempt at bravado, was nevertheless the one whose manner betrayed guilt.

The girls were closely watched when the packages were pointed out to them, no explanation being given. It was plain that Anne was not in the least troubled until she was informed where the stolen manuscript had been found. “In my room?” she repeated with such genuine surprise and amazement that Mrs. Martin heard herself saying with conviction, “Yes, Anne; but they were thrown there just after you left, by Kathryn, without doubt; as she wished to place the entire blame upon you.”

Anne shrugged slightly, and seemed to be her old indifferent self. She had in that moment recalled her promise of the night before, when she had said: “Coward! All you are afraid of is that I will squeal. Well, I won’t, but I don’t want you ever again to speak to me. I’m through!”

“This other package of compositions, Kathryn, was found in your trunk and—”

The girl angrily interrupted the speaker. “Mrs. Martin, what right has anyone to look in my trunk and take out of it something belonging to me?”

Mrs. Martin found it hard to speak calmly. “We reserve the right to read all letters and search where we will. This is stated in the seminary folders and is read by the mothers of the pupils before they choose this school for their daughters to attend, and, as for stealing—what did you call it, Kathryn, when at night you entered Miss Torrence’s home and took something which did not belong to you?”

“I didn’t take it,” the girl flared. “You just said that you found it in that—that tattling girl’s room.”

“Anne has not tattled.” The principal’s voice was hard now. “Kathryn, go to your room at once and begin your packing. I shall wire your mother to meet the afternoon train, as you will be on it.”

Anne Petersen expected to hear more of the incident, but it was evidently closed. Miss Torrence had taken an opportunity to thank the girl for her kindness to her mother, adding that she would make that frail invalid most happy if she could find time, now and then, to call upon her, and, to her own surprise, the girl soon found the moments that she spent in the bow window with the little old lady (who reminded her so much of her own grandmother) were among the happiest of her day.

There she often met Virginia Davis. Too, she promised to write the very best story that she could for the second edition of the Manuscript Magazine, and she said that she would ask Belle Wiley to do the same.

With the departure of Kathryn Von Wellering, the large front room was left vacant, and, as the two small rooms occupied by Anne and Belle were on the north side of the school, and cold in winter, Mrs. Martin asked them if they would like to be roommates and share the large, sunny room, formerly occupied by Kathryn.

Mrs. Martin and Miss Torrence had been right. Anne Petersen, who had scorned lying, even when she had resorted to it, developed into one of the finest girls in the seminary; one whom every teacher could trust.

This was partly due to the something within herself, it is true, but also to the loving influence of the little old lady in Pine Cabin and to the roommate who believed in her.