Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore

As a matter of fact, Mary had waited. Once she had removed her wraps to Mignon's locker she had been seized with a sharp attack of conscience. She felt a trifle ashamed of herself and decided that she would ask her chum to forgive her and allow her to put her wraps in Marjorie's locker again. At the close of the session she made a hasty excuse to Mignon, seized her belongings and hurrying out of the building, took up her stand across the street. When at twenty minutes past twelve Marjorie did not appear, her good resolutions took wing, and sulkily setting her face toward home, Mary left the school and the chance for reconciliation behind, and angrily went her way alone, thus widening the gap that already yawned between herself and Marjorie.

It was twenty minutes to one when the latter ran up the steps of her home in an almost cheerful frame of mind. The hall door yielded to her touch and she rushed into the hall, her clear call of "Mary!" re-echoing through the quiet house.

"I'll be down in a minute," answered a cold voice from the head of the stairs.

"I'll be up in a second," laughed Marjorie, making a dive for the stairs. The next instant she had caught the immovable little figure at the landing in an impulsive embrace. "Poor old Lieutenant, I'm so sorry," was her contrite cry. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Listen, dear. I'm going over to see Connie this afternoon after school and ask her to let me tell you everything you wished to know about last year. Then you will understand why – "

Mary freed herself from the clinging arms with a jerk. "If you say a word to Constance Stevens, I'll never forgive you!" she cried passionately. "I won't be made ridiculous. Do you understand me? You could tell me without asking her, if you cared to. I'd never say a word and she'd never know the difference."

"But, Mary, I promised her – " Marjorie stopped in confusion. She had not meant to mention her promise to Constance. She had spoken before she thought.

"So that's the reason, is it?" choked Mary, her cheeks flaming with the humiliating knowledge. "Thank you, I don't care to hear your old secrets. You may keep them, for all I care!" She whirled and started toward her room.

Marjorie caught her arm. "I haven't any secrets that I wish to keep from you, Mary," she said with quiet dignity. "Last night at the dance Constance asked me to promise I wouldn't say anything to you about the trouble she had with Mignon La Salle during our freshman year. We were upstairs in her room. I was mending my flounce. It got torn when we were dancing. I had intended asking her permission then to tell you, and when she spoke of it first I hardly knew what to do. I didn't like to let her think that you were curious and – "

"How dare you call me curious!" Mary stamped her foot in a sudden fury of temper. "I'm not. I wouldn't listen to your miserable secret if you begged me to. Now I truly believe what Miss La Salle told me. You and your friend Constance ought to be ashamed of the way you treated that poor girl last year. I'm sorry I ever came to your house to live. I'd write to Father to come and take me away, but Mother would have to know. She sha'n't be worried, no matter what I have to stand. You needn't be afraid, I'll not make a fuss, either, so that General and Captain will know. I'll try to pretend before them that we're just the same chums as ever, and you'd better pretend it, too. But we won't be. From to-day on I'll go my way and choose my friends and you can do the same."

"Mary Raymond, listen to me." Marjorie's hands found the shoulders of her angry chum. The brown eyes held the blue ones in a long, steadfast gaze. "Mignon La Salle is only trying to make trouble. If you knew her as well as I know her, you wouldn't pay any attention to her. We've been best friends and comrades since we were little tots, Mary, and I think you ought to trust me. No one can ever be so dear to me as you are."

"Except Constance Stevens," put in Mary sarcastically, twisting from Marjorie's hold. "Why, that very first day when you came to the train to meet me I could see you liked her best. You can imagine how I felt when even your friends spoke of it. If you really cared about me, you would have written to me of every single thing that happened last year. You promised you would. You are very anxious to keep a promise to Constance, but you didn't care whether you kept one to me. As for what you say of Miss La Salle, I don't believe you. I'd far rather trust her than your dear Miss Stevens!"

"What has happened to my brigade?" called Mrs. Dean from the foot of the stairs. "It is five minutes to one, girls. Come to luncheon at once."

"We are coming, Captain," answered Marjorie in as steady a tone as she could command. Then she said sorrowfully to her companion, "Mary, I feel just the same toward you as always, only I am terribly hurt. I wish your way to be my way and your friends mine. If you are sure that you would like Mignon for a friend, then I am going to try to like her for your sake. But we mustn't quarrel or – not – not speak – or – let General and Captain know – that – " Marjorie's words died in a half-sob.

"It doesn't make any difference to me whether you like Miss La Salle or not," retorted Mary, ignoring Marjorie's distress, "but if you say a single word to either General or Captain about us, I'll never speak to you again." With this threat the incensed lieutenant ran heartlessly down the stairs, leaving her sadly wounded comrade to follow when she would.

Luncheon was a dismal failure as far as Marjorie was concerned. She tried to talk and laugh in her usual cheery manner, but she was unused to dissembling, and it hurt her to play a part before her Captain, of all persons. Mary, however, found a certain wicked satisfaction in the situation she had brought about. Now that she had spoken her mind she would go on in the way she had chosen. Marjorie would be very sorry. There would come a time when she would be only too glad to plead for the friendship she had cast aside. But it would be too late.

The moment the two girls left the house for the afternoon session of school, a blank silence fell upon them. It was broken only by a cool "Good-bye" from Mary as they separated in the locker room. But during that silent walk Marjorie had been thinking busily. Hers was a nature that no amount of disagreeable shocks could dismay for long. No sooner did a pet ideal totter than she steadied it with patient, tender hands. True always to the highest, she was laying a foundation that would weather the stress of years. Now she dwelt not so much upon her own hurts, but rather on how she should bind up the wounds of her comrades. What had been obscure was now plain. Mary was jealous of her friendship with Constance. She had completely misunderstood. If only she, Marjorie, had known in the beginning! And then there was Mignon. If she had stayed away from Sanford, all might have been well in time. Mary was determined to be friends with her. Marjorie knew her friend too well not to believe that Mary would now cultivate the French girl from sheer obstinacy. There was just one thing to do. She had said to Mary that she would try to like Mignon for her sake. She stood ready to keep her promise. Perhaps, far under her mischief-making exterior, Mignon's better self lay dormant, waiting for some chance, kindly word or act to awaken it into life. What was it her General had said about the worst person having some good in his nature that sooner or later was sure to manifest itself? How glorious it would be to help Mignon find that better self! But she could not accomplish much alone. She needed the support of the girls of her own particular little circle. She was fairly sure they would help her. But how had they better begin? Suddenly Marjorie's sober face broke into a radiant smile. She gave a chuckle born of sheer good-will. "I know the very way," she murmured, half aloud. "If only the girls will see it, too. But they must! It's a splendid plan, and if it doesn't work it won't be from lack of trying on my part."

CHAPTER XII

THE COMPACT

"Dear Irma," wrote Marjorie, the moment she reached her desk, "will you meet me across the street from school this afternoon? I have something very important to say to you.

"Marjorie."

She wrote similar notes to Muriel Harding, Susan Atwell and Jerry Macy, managing in spite of the watchful eyes of Miss Merton to convey them, through the medium of willing hands, to her schoolmates. This done, she made a valiant effort to dismiss her personal affairs from her thoughts and settled down to her lessons. The first period in the afternoon was now her study hour, due to the change she had made in her geometry recitation.

Marjorie managed to study diligently for at least twenty minutes, on the definitions in geometry given out by Miss Nelson as an advance lesson. Then her attention flagged. She found herself wondering what she had better do in regard to asking Constance to release her from her promise. She was sure Connie would do it. Then, if Mary could be coaxed to listen to her, she would – Marjorie took a deep breath of sheer dismay. Of what use would it be to plan to help Mignon find her better self, then deliberately turn the one girl who liked her against her by relating her past misdeeds? Here indeed was a problem. She knitted her brows in troubled thought over this new knot in the tangle. One thing she was resolved upon, however. She would open her heart to Connie. Perhaps she might be able to suggest a satisfactory adjustment.

The afternoon dragged interminably to the perplexed sophomore and she hailed the ringing of the closing bell with thankfulness. She had caught distant glimpses of Mary during the session and in each instance had seen her in conversation with the French girl. Mignon was losing no time. That was certain.

As Marjorie rose from her seat to leave the study hall she had half a mind to wait just outside the door for Mary. Then a flash of wounded pride held her back. Mary would undoubtedly pass out with Mignon. If she spoke to her chum, she was almost sure to be rebuffed. She could imagine just how delighted Mignon would look at her discomfiture. Unconsciously lifting her head, Marjorie left the study hall without so much as a backward glance.

Outside the door she encountered Jerry Macy.

"Your note said, 'Wait across the street,' but this is a lot better," greeted Jerry. "Let's hurry and get our wraps. Irma and Susie will probably steer straight for your locker. I haven't seen Muriel to speak to this afternoon, but she'll be on the scene, I guess. The sooner we collect the sooner we'll hear what's on your mind. I can just about tell you what you're going to say, though."

"Then you're a mind-reader," laughed Marjorie. Nevertheless, a quick flash rose to her face at Jerry's significant speech.

"I can add two and two, anyhow," asserted Jerry.

True to Jerry's prediction, three curious young women stood grouped in front of Marjorie's locker, impatiently awaiting her arrival.

"Wait until we are outside, girls. I'll be ready in a jiffy." Marjorie slipped into her raincoat and pulled her blue velour hat over her curls. "We can't talk here. Miss Merton is likely to wander down, and then you know what will happen."

"Oh, bother Miss Merton!" grumbled Jerry. "I can stand anything she says and live. Still, I don't blame you, Marjorie. It tickles her to pieces to get a chance to snap at you. Now if Mignon La Salle wanted to sing a solo in front of her locker at the top of her voice, Miss Merton would encore it."

Susan Atwell giggled. "I can just hear Mignon lifting up her voice in song with Miss Merton as an appreciative audience."

The quartette thoughtlessly echoed her merriment. So intent were they upon their own affairs that they did not notice the two girls who were almost hidden behind an open locker at the end of the room. The black eyes of one of them gleamed with rage. She turned to the fair-haired girl at her side with a gesture which said more plainly than words, "You see for yourself." The other nodded. Mignon laid a finger on her lips. Then noiselessly as two shadows they flitted through the open door without having been observed by the group at the other end.

For the moment Marjorie's back had been turned toward that end of the room. She whirled about just too late to see Mignon and Mary as they hurried away. Unusually sensitive to impressions, she had perhaps felt their presence, for she asked abruptly, "Girls, have you seen Mary? She can't have gone, for I'm sure I left the study hall before she did. I ought to wait for her, but I don't know what to do." She glanced irresolutely about her. Then, her pride again coming to her rescue, she said, "Never mind. Suppose we go on. Perhaps I'd better not try to see her now, because I must tell you my plan and I – well – I can't – if she is with us."

Muriel Harding elevated her eyebrows in surprise. Of the four girls who had received Marjorie's notes, she alone had no suspicion of the purpose which had brought them together.

Five pairs of bright eyes scanned the street across from the school building as the little party came down the wide stone steps.

"The coast is clear," commented Jerry. "Now do tell us what's the matter, Marjorie. No, wait a minute." Jerry fumbled energetically in a small leather bag. "Hooray! Here's a real life fifty-cent piece! I can see it vanishing in the shape of five sundaes, at ten cents per eat. We can't go to Sargent's. They cost fifteen – "

"I've a quarter," insinuated Irma.

"All contributions thankfully received," beamed Jerry. "On to Sargent's! We'll talk about the weather until we get there. It's been such a lovely day," she grimaced. "If it rains much more we'll have to do as they do in Spain."

"What do they do in Spain?" Susan Atwell rose to the bait, despite a warning poke from Irma.

"They let it rain," grinned Jerry. "Aren't you an innocent child?"

Well pleased with her success in putting over this time-worn joke on one more victim, Jerry continued with a lively stream of nonsense that lasted during the brief walk to Sargent's.

Once seated about a small round table at the back of the room, which from long patronage they had come to look upon almost as their own, an expectant murmur went the round of the little circle as Marjorie leaned forward a trifle and began in a low, earnest tone. "Girls, I am going to ask you to do something for me that perhaps you won't wish to do. All of you know what happened last year to Connie and me. You know, too, that if anyone has good reason to cut Mignon La Salle's acquaintance, we would be justified in doing it. I was awfully surprised to see her come into the study hall this morning, and I said to myself that aside from bowing to her if I met her on the street, I would steer clear of her. But since then something has happened to make me change my mind. Mary wishes Mignon for a friend, and so – "

"What a little goose!" interrupted Jerry disgustedly. "I beg your pardon, Marjorie, but I can't help saying it."

"This is news!" exclaimed Muriel Harding. "Come to think of it, I did see your friend Mary walking into geometry with Mignon, Marjorie. Why don't you enlighten her on the subject of Mignon and her doings?"

"That's just it." Marjorie repeated briefly what she had said to the others at noon. "I'm going to Gray Gables to see Constance before I go home," she continued, addressing the group. "You see, it's like this. Even if Connie says I may tell Mary everything, will it be quite fair to Mignon? And now I'm coming to the reason I asked you to come here with me. Sometimes when a girl has done wrong and been hateful and no one likes her, another girl comes along and begins to be friendly with her. That makes the girl who has done wrong feel ashamed of herself and then perhaps she resolves to be more agreeable because of it."

"Not Mignon, if you mean her," muttered Jerry.

"I do mean Mignon," was Marjorie's grave response. "Every girl has a better self, I'm sure, but if she doesn't know it she will never find it unless someone helps her. We've never even stopped to consider whether Mignon had any good qualities. We've judged her for the dishonorable things she has done. I can't help saying that I don't like her very well. You can't blame me, either. Still, if we are going to be sophomore sisters we must all stand together." She glanced appealingly about her circle, but on each young face she read plain disapproval.

"You might as well try to carry water in a sieve as to reform Mignon," shrugged Muriel Harding.

"You can't tame a wildcat," commented Susan Atwell.

"Look here, Marjorie," burst forth Jerry Macy. "We know that you are the dearest, nicest girl ever, but you are going to waste your time if you try to go exploring for Mignon's better self. She never had one. If you try to be nice to her she'll just take advantage of your goodness and make fun of you behind your back. Let me tell you something. You know Miss Elkins, who sews for people. Well, she's at our house to-day. She is making some silk blouses for me, and when I went upstairs to the sewing-room for a fitting to-day she asked me if Mignon was in school. Her sister is the housekeeper at the La Salle's and she told Miss Elkins that Mignon was expelled from boarding school because she wouldn't pay attention to the rules. She was threatened with dismissal twice, and the other night she coaxed a lot of the girls to slip out of the dormitory and go to the city to the theatre without a sign of a chaperon. One of the girls had a key to the front door and she lost it. They didn't get home until after one o'clock, and then they couldn't get into the dormitory. The night watchman finally had to let them in and he reported them. She and two others were expelled because they planned the affair. I don't know what happened to the rest of them. Anyway, that's why our dear Mignon is with us once more. I only wish that girl hadn't lost the key." Jerry's face registered her disgust.

"I don't believe Mother would like to have me associate with Mignon." This from gentle Irma Linton, who was usually the soul of toleration.

"And you, too, Irma!" was Marjorie's reproachful cry. "Then there isn't much use is asking you girls to help me."

This was too much for the impulsive Jerry.

"Don't look at us like that. As though you had lost your last friend. Just let me tell you, you haven't. I take it all back. I'll promise to go on a hunting expedition for Mignon's better self any old time you say."

"Sieves have been known to hold water," acknowledged Muriel, not to be outdone by Jerry's burst of loyalty.

"And wildcats have sometimes become household pets," added Susan with her infectious giggle.

"So have mothers been known to change their minds," put in Irma. "I'm ashamed of myself for being a quitter before I've even heard your plan."

Marjorie's dark eyes shone with affection. "You are splendid," she praised with a little catch in her voice. "I can't help telling you now. After all, it isn't a very great plan, but it's the best I could think of just now, and this is it. Mother said I might give a party for Mary when she first came to live with us, but I wished to wait until she got acquainted with the girls in school. Then Connie gave her dance. So I thought it would be nice to have mine in about two weeks, after we were settled in our classes and didn't have so much to worry us. But now I've changed my mind. I'm going to give my party next week and I shall invite Mignon to it You girls can help me by being nice to her and making her have a pleasant evening. If we are really determined to carry out our plan we will have to invite her to our parties and luncheons, too, and ask her to share our good times. The only way we can help her is to make her one of us. If we draw away from her she will never be different. She will just become more disagreeable and some day we might be very sorry we didn't do our best for her."

The eloquence of Marjorie's plea had its effect on her listeners.

"I guess you are on the right track," conceded Jerry Macy warmly. "I am willing to try to be a busy little helper. We might call ourselves the S. F. R. M. – Society For Reforming Mignon, you know."

This proposal evoked a ripple of laughter.

"Irma, do you suppose your mother wouldn't like you to – to – be friendly with Mignon?" asked Marjorie anxiously. "We mustn't pledge ourselves to anything to which our mothers might say 'no.'"

"I think I can fix that part of it," said Irma slowly. "If I explain things to Mother, she'll understand."

"Perhaps we all ought to talk it over with our mothers," suggested Susan.

"I guess we'd better," nodded Jerry. "But what about Connie? Suppose she shouldn't be in favor of the S. F. R. M.? You couldn't blame her much if she wasn't."

"I'm going to see her to-night, after dinner. I intended to go to Gray Gables after school, but you see me here instead," returned Marjorie. "I am almost sure she'll say 'yes.'"

"How are we going to begin our reform movement?" asked Muriel Harding.

"That's what I'd like to know. Who is willing to be the first martyr to the cause? Let me tell you right now, I'd just as soon make friends with a snapping turtle. Only the snapper would probably be more polite."

"You are a wicked Jerry," reproved Marjorie smilingly, "and you know you don't mean half you say."

"Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Anyhow, on in the cause of Mignon! I feel like one of the knights of old who buckled on his armor and went forth to the fray with his lady's colors tied to his sleeve, or his lance, or some of his belongings. I've forgotten just what the style was. We are gallant knights, going forth to battle, wearing Marjorie's colors, and Mignon will have to look out or she'll be reformed before she has time to turn up her nose and shrug her shoulders."

"Suppose we start by being as nice to her as we can in school to-morrow," proposed Irma Linton thoughtfully. "If she meets us in the same spirit, maybe something will happen that will show us what to do next."

"That wouldn't be a bad idea," declared Susan Atwell. "I sit near her, so I'll be the first one to hold out the olive branch. But if you hear something drop on the floor with a dull, sickening thud, you'll know that my particular variety of olive branch was rejected."

"Somehow, I have an idea she won't be so very scornful," said Marjorie hopefully.

"Being expelled from boarding school may have a soothing effect on her," agreed Jerry grimly. "I suppose it really isn't very knightly to say snippy things about a person one intends to reform."

"I think you are right, Jerry," broke in Marjorie with sweet earnestness. "We must try to think and say only kind things of Mignon if we are to succeed." Taking in the circle of girls with a quick, bright glance, she asked: "Then you are agreed to my plan? It is really a compact?"

Four emphatic nods answered her questions.

"Hurrah for the S. F. R. M.!" exclaimed Jerry. "Long may it wave! Only there's one glorious truth that I feel it my duty to impress on your minds. The way of the reformer is hard."

CHAPTER XIII

IN DEFENCE OF MIGNON

"Here are two letters for you, Lieutenant," called her mother, as Marjorie burst into the living-room, her cheeks pink from a brisk run up the drive. After leaving her schoolmates Marjorie had set off for home as fast as her light feet would carry her. She managed to keep to a decorous walk until she had swung the gate behind her, then she had sped up the drive like a fawn.

"Oh, lovely!" cried Marjorie. "Your permission, Captain." She touched her hand to her hat brim in a gay little salute. Her spirits had been rising from the moment she had left the girls, carrying with her the precious security that they were now banded together in a worthy cause. Surely the snarl would straighten itself in a short time. Mary would soon see that she intended to keep her word about being friends with Mignon. Then she would understand that she, Marjorie, was loyal in spite of her unjust accusations. Then all would be as it had been before. Perhaps Mary wouldn't be quite her old, sunny self for a few days, but the shadow would pass – it must.

"Why, it's from Connie!" she cried out in surprise, as her eyes sought the writing on the upper-most envelope. It was in Constance's irregular, girlish hand. She hastily tore it open and read.