Jean and Frieda were not to be found on either of the two great side porches, where the Primrose Hall girls spent many recreation hours on these warm Indian summer afternoons, but just in front of the sorority house with “Theta” engraved above the door, Olive spied Jean surrounded by a dozen girls. She was talking in a very animated fashion and had her back turned so that she did not see Olive, who started to run toward her and then hesitated and flushed. Each girl in the group was known to her by name, all of them were Juniors and her classmates and yet not one of them, except Geraldine Ferrows, had ever voluntarily held five minutes’ conversation with her. Did she have the courage now to thrust herself among them and to interrupt Jean? Only the thought that Ruth must be waiting for them with news of Jack braced her. “Jean,” Olive called softly and then in a louder tone, “Jean!”

At once Jean swung round, but at the same moment twelve other pairs of eyes stared poor Olive up and down.

“Oh, I am so glad you have come, Olive,” Jean exclaimed, her brown eyes shining with enthusiasm, “for it has all been arranged that I am to join the ‘Theta’ Society and I do hope that you will come in with me. Then we are going to form a dramatic club in our sorority and after a little while give a perfectly stunning play. I am sure the girls will want you to take part in it, for you see Olive can act better than any one of us, or at least she used to when we had charades at Rainbow Lodge.” Jean paused, feeling a peculiar change in the atmosphere about her. Would no one echo her invitation to Olive? And why had her friends drawn away in silence unless something was the matter, for Olive was standing right before them with her cheeks crimson and biting her lips to hide their trembling?

Jean stamped her foot with a flash of her old anger. “If you think for an instant, Margaret Belknap,” she said, turning to her best friend in the little company, a tall, distinguished, but plain-looking girl, “that I will be in things and do things without Olive, why—” But Olive took Jean softly by the arm. “Please don’t say anything, dear,” she whispered, and then as Jean caught the message she had come to give her, without further thought of anything or anybody at Primrose Hall, the two friends hurried off together. Jean was not so conscientious about trying to find Frieda, but leaving word with the maids to send her after them, in a few moments the two girls appeared at the reception room door.

“Ruth, you darling,” they called in chorus and then turned white faces to stare at each other and at the tall figure that rose to greet them holding Frieda’s hand in one of his. “It is Peter Drummond, gooseys; don’t you know him?” Frieda cried happily. “Some one told me we had a caller and I came in here expecting to find some strange, horrid visitor, and when I saw Peter I forgot I wasn’t a little girl any longer and most hugged him. You might say you think it good of him to come to see us,” she ended, rather crossly.

“We thought you were Ruth, Mr. Drummond,” Jean replied, coming to herself sooner than Olive, “but of course we are terribly glad it is you; only—why—the truth is, we expected Ruth to be able to tell us that Jack was better or something. Just think, we haven’t seen old Jack in weeks, ages it seems.” Jean put out her hand to take hold of their friend’s when Olive spoke: “I think Mr. Drummond has come to tell us about Jack instead of Ruth,” she said in a slightly strained voice. “I am afraid that Jack isn’t so well as we hoped she would be and Ruth couldn’t leave her. Won’t she ever be able to walk again like other people? Have the doctors said? Tell us, please, quickly what has brought you to see us, for anything is better than suspense.” And still for a second Peter Drummond did not reply.

The first cause of his silence was that Frieda, entirely surprised at Olive’s interpretation of his visit, had unexpectedly burst into tears.

“Come now,” Mr. Drummond said finally, patting Frieda’s hand, “it isn’t so bad as all this. Olive did guess the truth and I have come to tell you about Jack. Perhaps she isn’t so well as we hoped, for she can’t join you at school just at present or get about very much. The fact is—” Mr. Drummond cleared his throat, “well, the surgeons are not quite sure of Jack’s condition yet and must wait a while longer and keep her very quiet before they can decide. But I saw her a minute the other day and she and Ruth send you their love and Jack hopes boarding school isn’t so dreadful as she thinks it must be and— Why doesn’t some one else say something, for never before in my life have I been with three women and had to do all the talking?” And Peter, with a man’s embarrassment at being the bearer of ill news, looked at the ranch girls with pretended indignation.

“Are you sure you have told us the truth, Mr. Drummond?” Jean asked, and their visitor, not in the least offended by the question, emphatically bowed his head.

Jean turned to the other two girls. “Then Olive and Frieda, I don’t think we need be frightened,” she said stoutly, “though of course we are terribly disappointed at not having Jack here at school with us, I have always felt she would be well some day. Even if the surgeons should say she won’t, my money is on old Jack!”

Instantly Frieda’s face cleared at Jean’s courageous attitude, though Olive looked considerably depressed. But at this minute Mr. Drummond, to divert everybody’s attention, turned toward Frieda. “Will somebody tell me, please, what is the trouble with the youngest Miss Ralston, for if two weeks at boarding school can affect her like this, What will a whole year do?”

Instinctively Frieda’s hand went up to her Psyche knot. “Don’t tell Jack and Ruth,” she begged, and then, tossing her blonde head: “Oh, tell away if you like, Peter Drummond. I haven’t any disease, if that’s what you mean; I am just not a baby any longer.”

Peter’s expression was a funny mixture of gravity and amusement. “If it’s old age that is afflicting you, Frieda,” he said pulling at his own heavy iron-gray hair, “then you’ve got about the worst disease in the world and the most incurable, but I didn’t really think it was apt to overtake one at fifteen.” Seeing that Frieda looked injured, he turned again to Olive and Jean. “The Harmons have been awfully nice to Jack and Ruth and they are coming out here to see you pretty soon. There is a queer old house in this neighborhood where an old relative of theirs lives. The house is supposed to be haunted, or at least there is some mystery about it. I wonder if you girls have seen it?”

“I have,” Olive answered quickly and Jean laughed.

“How on the face of the earth do you know you have seen the place Peter is describing, Olive?” Jean questioned, “for he hasn’t told you the name of it or what it looks like or anything to identify it.”

Olive looked puzzled. “Yes, I know it is funny, but it is a place called ‘The Towers,’ with a high tower at the top of it and a balcony and queer little windows.” Quite unconsciously Olive had closed her eyes, because for some strange reason she seemed to be able to recall the house she had seen on the morning of her early walk better with her eyes closed.

Mr. Drummond smiled at her. “Olive is right, the place is called ‘The Towers.’ I remember now,” he repeated. “I wonder if because Olive is perhaps a gypsy or an Indian, she is going to be a fortune teller.” But because Olive’s face had crimsoned at his speech his tone changed. “My dear Olive, suppose you are half Indian, why on earth should you care? There isn’t the least disgrace in it, is there?” And Olive noticed that Mr. Drummond’s speech ended with a question.

But he had now risen, picking up from the table near him a large box and a small one. The large box he handed to Jean. “You are please to conceal this from the powers that be, if it’s against boarding school laws to eat candy,” he said and then stood turning the smaller box about in his hand, surveying it thoughtfully. “This is a gift to you girls from Jack,” he remarked finally. “Miss Drew tells me it contains a great surprise, and as I haven’t the faintest idea what is inside of it, may I be present at its opening?”

The girls allowed Frieda to tear off the paper covering outside the parcel. Inside a white velvet box was revealed which opened with a spring. Instantly Frieda touched this spring there were three cries of “Oh,” followed by a moment’s silence. On the white satin lining of the box were three crescent-shaped pins as large in circumference as a quarter. The pins were composed of seven lovely jewels shading from red to pale violet. Each girl took her gift from the box, regarding it with characteristic expressions. Jean’s eyes were dancing with delight, the dimple showing at the corner of her mouth, Frieda’s blue eyes were bluer than ever and her cheeks pinker, while Olive’s eyes were overclouded and her face quivered with pleasure.

THERE WERE THREE CRIES OF “OH,” FOLLOWED BY A MOMENT’S SILENCE