THE ADVENTURE GIRLS IN THE AIR

Phyllis braced her legs to meet the ground rushing up at her. In another minute she was flat on her back and the parachute covering her like a giant blanket. Friendly hands came to her rescue and soon she was upright, stepping from the harness of the parachute.

“All right, Janet?” Phyllis called anxiously, running to where her friend’s parachute covered a squirming, wriggling figure.

“I’ll be all right if somebody will take this thing off me,” Janet cried fretfully. “Never,” she declared solemnly as she trudged along beside Phyllis back to the hangar where they divested themselves of their suits, “never will I try that again. Never!”

“Wasn’t it thrilling?” Phyllis asked eagerly. “I was never so thrilled in my whole life!”

“I don’t care to experience it again,” Janet said flatly. “When I stepped from the plane out into nothing and went tumbling down toward the ground——I hope I haven’t shortened my life by ten years,” she added.

“Of all the crazy stunts!” Carol greeted them when they were all together again.

“I know, I know,” Janet said with a wave of the hand, “you don’t have to say a word.”

“Whatever possessed you to do it?” Madge demanded.

“I wondered that myself when I was up there,” Janet murmured. “Just suppose the parachute hadn’t opened!”

“A fine time to think of that!” Carol laughed. “You didn’t really think you would get the prize, did you?”

“Well, I considered it,” Janet said diffidently. “By the way, who did get it?”

It seemed none of the girls knew and the interest in the award died out when Stubby appeared with the information that neither Brent Stockton nor Gale had yet returned.

“I never thought Gale would miss all this,” Valerie declared.

“Nor Mr. Stockton,” added Phyllis. “I wonder where they are.”

“Maybe they eloped,” Carol said brightly hopeful.

“Do you really think so?” Janet asked eagerly.

“Of course they didn’t!” Phyllis said shortly. She turned to Stubby. “What are you going to do about the race? It must be something terribly important to keep Mr. Stockton away when this is so important to him.”

Stubby squinted up at the sun, then at the other planes already warming up on the field. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his greasy overalls.

“I s’pose I’ll have to fly her,” he said slowly.

“Here it comes,” Janet cried.

Bruce, David and Peter with the help of two other mechanics were bringing the yellow plane from the hangar out onto the field. The yellow plane gleamed in the sun like a canary waiting to take wing. Stubby stroked the nickel propeller with almost loving fingers.

“Warm her up, Stubby!” Bruce urged.

Stubby disappeared within the hangar and reappeared with helmet and goggles. He climbed into the cockpit. Bruce turned the propeller as he had learned to do for Brent. The engine broke into a roar, the propeller was a silver streak. The wind sent up a cloud of dust as the ship swung about and slowly taxied to the starting line where the other planes were all ready and waiting.

“Good luck!” Bruce called, but it is doubtful if Stubby heard him even though he waved to the group.

The planes were off in a burst of noise and wind. Touching the ground ever more lightly they ran the length of the field before rising into the air on the first lap of the race. Around and around they went the length of the field, circling the specially erected towers, soaring over the heads of the people.

The Adventure Girls and the three boys watched with bated breath. Stubby had taken the lead easily enough after the take-off, but now a red, streamlined plane with a mighty engine and a determined pilot was closing the distance between them. Once Brent’s engine sputtered fitfully, but resumed a smooth evenness after a moment.

“Stubby can’t handle it like Brent can,” Bruce sighed. “Brent would win easily enough.”

No one else said anything. They merely watched, not taking their eyes for a minute from those man-made birds speeding beneath the clouds. Only once did their interest and excitement turn into genuine concern. A black plane suddenly disclosed a spurt of smoke and flame from the motor. The pilot without more ado set his ship down on the ground, unhurt, but definitely out of the race. The other flyers had not even slackened their pace. Such bits of hard luck were common to those in the flying business.

“Stubby is getting the feel of it now,” David said confidently as slowly and surely the yellow plane resumed the lead of the field.

No more did Stubby allow the red monoplane to creep up into a challenging position. He was sure of his plane now. The yellow ship was not to be outdone. It streaked away a good half lap in the lead when the checkered flag brought the close of the contest.

Stubby silently received the congratulations accorded the winner. The motor had proved to stand the test. The plane had come through and defeated all Brent’s enemies. Brent would probably sell his plans to the government. His plane had won—but where was Brent?

Quebec was a fascinating city to Gale. The old churches and streets, the people, friendly and smiling, all charmed her. She walked beside Brent, feeling as happy as she had ever felt in her life. It had been such a marvelous trip up to Quebec, and they had made it in such a marvelously short time. They were to have a late supper with Mr. Howard before they were to start back to Marchton, late the same night.

Gale regretted leaving this intriguing city so soon after her arrival, but tomorrow’s air races would be thrilling, too. She mentioned this to Brent and saw his eyes gleam in anticipation at the thought of his plane a possible winner.

The two young people stopped in a little shop for postcards and souvenirs and lingered too long. When they emerged onto the street again and Brent disclosed his wrist watch they were amazed at the time. Immediately they hurried to the little restaurant where they were to meet Gale’s father.

There they found he could not go back to Marchton with them that night. He had already made arrangements to stay at a hotel until the next day for a further talk with the man he had come to see.

“May I stay too?” Gale asked eagerly.

But her father refused, as she had expected him to do. She was to fly back with Brent as had been planned. Mr. Howard accompanied them to the plane.

Gale had asked Brent to circle over the city and fly over a little more of Canada before setting his course southward. Now as the plane streaked over the ground and rose into the blackness of the clouds Gale watched with interest the scene below her. Lights flickered on and off. She noticed the stars overhead had disappeared. The moon was hidden behind clouds and the air was much colder. Gale huddled down in the cockpit and was thankful for her woolly coat, but she could have stood even more.

It was while the plane was flying toward the north, away from Quebec, Brent trying to satisfy Gale’s longing to see more of Canada even at night, that the storm struck them. Brent, before he took off, had felt a little consternation about the unnatural darkness of the sky and the hint of storm in the air, but he had felt confident of his plane to ride it out. However, he had not counted on such uncontrollable fury or the suddenness with which the storm was upon them. One moment they had been flying calmly and the next they were in a sea of trouble, being tossed about like a toy balloon. The motor turned rhythmically. Brent felt sure they would come through the storm all right, but just the same he wished Gale was either with her father or safe at home.

Idly he looked at the instruments on the board. His light revealed an alarming fact. The gas needle was dangerously near to the empty point. Was the instrument broken or was the tank really that near empty? He tapped the glass on the indicator but the needle did not vary.

Suddenly the plane lurched heavily and turned over and over, going into a spin. A down current of air had caught him unaware and for a few moments the earth rushed up to meet them with terrific speed. Gale wondered frantically what was the matter, but soon Brent straightened out and the nose of the ship pointed gently upward. He would try to get above the storm before heading south. If the storm was all along the coast he preferred to keep away from that direction, no sense in being swept out to sea!

Gale, in the rear cockpit, could have no inkling of the turmoil that was going on in Brent’s mind. She was nervously clinging to the edge of the seat, wiping the rain from her face, and endeavoring at the same time to get a glimpse of the ground below them. The lights, now, were gone from sight. No more did they twinkle on and off like stars. She looked above and around her. Even the heavens were black—no friendly star or moon. She wished for one second that she had insisted on staying with her father in Quebec or rather still that she had never come to Canada at all! But then she reconsidered. It had been no end of fun flying up with her father and Brent. And it was thrilling to be flying back alone with Brent. She had not had much chance for private conversation with him ever since that night at the airport. She still felt embarrassed when she thought of it. But he had been so nice and she had had quite a crush on him! In fact, she admitted to herself reluctantly, she still had and he was still nice! The very next day when she had gone with Phyllis to the airport to talk over the previous excitement he had acted as though they had never said a word. But she had not been able to pass it by so easily. Mortification enveloped her every time she thought of it.

She noticed with alarm, now, that the motor had stopped. They were gliding in a gentle spiral toward the ground. She strained her eyes through the darkness, trying to see ahead to Brent.

The pilot was bent anxiously over his instruments. His first fear was realized. The gas tank was empty. The man at the field where they had landed had not filled it for the return trip. Brent blamed himself for not determining before they ever took off whether there was enough gas to take them back to Marchton. Now what would happen?

His question was soon answered. They hit another air current in the midst of the storm. This time the plane could not pull out of the spin into which it had fallen. Over and over they turned. Parachutes, if they had had them, would have been of no avail in the fury of the elements.

Gale braced her feet and held securely to both sides of the cockpit. She shut her eyes and waited breathlessly.

Up ahead Brent was working frantically to bring the plane down in a glide, but it was no use. He looked over the side and wished he could see upon what they were going to crash.

The crash came with a loud splintering and rending of canvas and wood. Overhead the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, but on the earth all was silent, except for the whistle of the wind and patter of the rain. The plane lay crushed like a bird brought low by a triumphant hunter. The wheels were sticking grotesquely up into the air, the tail mangled and the wings crumpled like paper.

For a long, long while, until the storm had almost wasted its fury, there was no stirring of life about the plane. At last a brown jacketed arm appeared and Brent slid from the front cockpit. He had landed on his face when he fell from the plane, and now with difficulty he got to his feet. Stumbling in the darkness he felt his way to the cockpit in the rear where Gale was.

The plane had crashed in a forest and now as Brent tried to extricate Gale from the wreckage of the plane he could not. The limb of a tree which had been torn off by the impact of the plane lay squarely across the fuselage, effectively pinning Gale in her seat. Vainly Brent pulled and tugged at the limb, but he could not move it. Queer pains were shooting through his shoulder and he felt strangely lightheaded.

Brent stepped back and leaned heavily against a tree while he tried to see through the darkness. He must get help! There was nothing else to do. He took a few steps away from the wreck and saw faintly in the distance the flickering of a light. He started toward it, determined to make as fast time as possible. The ground was muddy, and he could not see where he was going. Several times he stumbled into muddy holes and fell headlong over low lying logs.

Once when he thought he had come quite a distance he stopped. The light was gone. On each side of him was nothing but darkness. Undaunted, Brent spurred himself on. The thought of Gale behind him lent him fortitude. He didn’t know how many hours it was since they had crashed. He should have reached that light by this time. Unless—the thought gave him pause. Suppose it had been a car on a road in the distance. It might not have been a house after all! After a brief rest he continued on his way. Sooner or later he must come to civilization!

At the corner bus-stop the yellow and green vehicle emitted eight young people who immediately scattered in different directions to their homes. Phyllis went off with David and Janet, while Carol went in the opposite direction with Madge and Peter Arnold. Valerie and Bruce walked slowly toward Gale’s house. It was their intention to see why she had not appeared at the airport and also to discover if she knew where Brent Stockton was.

As they stopped at the Howard gate they met Mr. Howard just arriving from the opposite direction.

“How was the air-meet?” were his first words.

“Marvelous!” Valerie declared.

“Did Mr. Stockton’s plane win the race?” he asked next as he latched the gate after the three of them.

“Yes,” Bruce said, “his plane won, but if Stubby hadn’t flown it, it wouldn’t have.”

“What was the matter with Brent?” Mr. Howard asked in surprise. “I thought he was to fly it himself?”

“He hasn’t been at the airport all day,” Bruce explained.

“But why not?” Mr. Howard wanted to know.

“That is what we want to find out,” Valerie put in. “He brought you back from Quebec last night, didn’t he?”

Mr. Howard frowned thoughtfully. “No, he didn’t. I came back today on the train. I’m just coming from the station now.”

“Then Gale is with you?” Bruce asked.

“No. She started back last night with Brent in his plane.”

“But where is she?” Valerie demanded. “I certainly thought she would be at the races today.”

“Haven’t you seen either her or Brent since the take-off yesterday?” Mr. Howard wanted to know in a worried voice.

The young people had to admit that they hadn’t.

“Gale is probably in the house somewhere,” Valerie said after a moment. “Something might have kept her home.”

“But Brent——” Bruce said uneasily.

The three of them went toward the house. The honeysuckle vine gave off a sweet, heavy scent in the late afternoon air. Bruce seated himself on the banister while Valerie sank down on the swing and idly rocked back and forth. Mr. Howard went immediately into the house. Valerie picked up a magazine and turned the pages while they waited. Bruce whistled in a low tone under his breath. It was quite a while before Mr. Howard reappeared. When he did his face wore an unusually grave expression.

“Where’s Gale?” Valerie asked immediately, sensing that something was wrong.

“I wish I knew,” Gale’s father replied heavily. “We’ll have to notify the authorities immediately.”

“What for?” Bruce interposed.

“To find them. Gale and Brent took off last night. They haven’t arrived back here. Something must have happened—a crash.”

“How terrible!” Valerie whispered in awe.

There was a short, charged silence. They could not readily grasp the fact of a crash—yet that must have been what happened. The races had meant so much to Brent and also to Gale that it must have been an accident that delayed them. There could be no other reason.

That day was but the first in the long days of anxiety and mystery. The rest of the afternoon was spent in setting in motion the wheels that would find the two who had vanished into the sky. Bruce stayed with Mr. Howard while Valerie went off to notify the other Adventure Girls of what they were afraid had happened.

It was at the Kopper Kettle, gathered as usual to spend an hour or so before dinner in talking, that Bruce found them with the news. The Adventure Girls with David and Peter were discussing Marchton’s chances in the next football game when Bruce appeared. Immediately all thought of sport was dispensed.

“Have you learned anything?” Valerie asked before Bruce had even time to seat himself among them.

“Yes,” he said slowly.

“What?” Phyllis asked anxiously.

“The plane is smashed—a complete wreck.”

“And Gale and Brent?” Carol put in.

“Brent is in a hospital nursing a fractured shoulder and a couple broken ribs,” Bruce replied.

“And Gale—what about her?” Janet insisted.

“That is what is so strange,” Bruce said slowly, reluctantly. “Gale has disappeared.”

“Disappeared!” the others echoed. “But how—where——”

“Mr. Howard talked to Brent on the telephone,” Bruce continued with his tale. “After the crash last night, when Brent could drag himself free of the wreckage, he started out to find help. He thought he saw a light in the distance and made for that. The sleet and snow was thick and fast. He couldn’t go very swiftly, the ground was uneven and it was pitch dark but he kept on going as best he could. He knew he must come to something eventually. He had left Gale pinned in her seat by the branch of a tree which was too heavy for him, hurt as he was, to move.”

Bruce paused and not a sound came from the others. They were hanging breathlessly onto his every word.

“At last he saw a house ahead of him. He hurried forward but all his knocking on the door brought no one. He turned away and went on. Later he came to another place. By now he was worn out completely. He could hardly stand. He could do no more than stumble up to the door. The last he recalls was leaning against the door and as it gave way, of falling into the dark room beyond.”

“Go on,” in a faint whisper Janet voiced the feelings of all of them.

“Well, the next thing he knew he was in the hospital. The people who lived in the house he had come to had taken him there. At once he sent out a party to the plane, but when they got there Gale was gone.”

“No wonder,” Carol said. “It must have been hours after he left that the rescue party arrived.”

Bruce nodded and was silent.

“And they don’t know where Gale is?” Phyllis declared, rather than asked.

“No,” Bruce continued. “It had snowed a lot after the wreck and all around the plane the snow was unbroken. No footsteps to show how she had gotten out or in what direction she had gone.”

“What are they going to do?” David wanted to know.

“Keep on looking for her I suppose,” Bruce sighed. “As soon as Brent can leave the hospital he says he is going to join the hunt.”

“He should,” Janet declared. “I wish I could. How long will it be before he gets out?”

“He says he is going to leave tomorrow. He insists the doctors can strap his ribs so he won’t hurt himself by walking around. Of course he won’t be able to fly because of his shoulder and all—but at least he will be up there at the scene of the crash.” Bruce’s voice told them there was nothing he would like better than to be there also.

When the young people broke up their gathering it was to go home subdued and quietly thoughtful, hoping every minute for some word of Gale’s safety. It had been arranged that the minute Bruce heard anything he was to telephone Valerie. Valerie would in turn phone Janet and so on. The word would be relayed from one to the other. But the telephones remained silent—all that night, the next day and many days after.

School went on as usual, and after school were the football games, basketball, or their meetings at the Kopper Kettle. But in all there was something missing and they knew it was the sunny presence of Gale. Gale had been one of the most popular girls in the school and expressions of sympathy came not only from the students but from the faculty as well.

On the third day of the unsuccessful search a plane with two passengers landed at the Marchton airport. Brent had had to secure another to pilot him and while Stubby made friends with the new pilot Brent went in to Marchton to Gale’s home. After a long talk with the girl’s parents he went to the Kopper Kettle to meet the other young people. They welcomed him eagerly, hopefully, but he could tell them nothing new.

Phyllis regarded the young aviator with thoughtful eyes. Brent was paler, he seemed taller too, now, with his right arm in a sling, his shoulder thick under bandages and his tweed coat, his eyes darkened with worry.

“You can find nothing,” she said again.

“Nothing,” he replied hopelessly. “The snow is so deep up there in some parts that we can’t get about very easily. There are lots of out of the way farms to which she might have wandered.”

“But surely the people would have notified the authorities,” Bruce put in.

“I suppose so,” Brent admitted.

“Besides,” added Janet, “how did she get out of the plane? If the branch that pinned her into the seat was too heavy for you to lift, certainly she couldn’t have.”

Brent shook his head. “I don’t know where she is, but I’ve got to find her. I blame myself for the whole mess.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Valerie said quickly and the others agreed with her. “You couldn’t tell the storm would come up or that you would run out of gasoline.”

“But I should never have left her in the plane!” Brent said restlessly.

“You had to get help,” Bruce said. “You thought you were doing the best thing. It was the only thing——”

“I know,” Brent said hastily, “but just the same——” he stood up. “I’ve got to get back to the airport. We are flying up again tonight, but I’ll be back in a day or two—to let you know how things are going.”

“Do you think I might be able to help up there?” Bruce asked eagerly.

Brent looked at him. “Honestly I don’t. There are hundreds of people looking for her—police, newspaper men and all. Everyone knows about Gale—it was in all the papers and broadcast on the radio. I don’t believe there are three people within a radius of hundreds of miles that haven’t seen her picture in the newspapers or heard about her. Sooner or later something will come to light.”

“Sooner or later,” Phyllis echoed drearily.

“You will tell us the minute you learn anything,” Valerie pleaded.

“Of course,” Brent said with an attempt to be cheerful. “And I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. I’m positive Gale will turn up all right. Anyway, I’ll be down again in a few days. Meanwhile, perhaps you can think of something that might help in the search.”

Brent went off to the airport, with an attempt to leave a brightened atmosphere behind him, but his attempt had failed. The others were more mystified than ever about what had happened to their missing member.

“I’ve always liked to solve puzzles,” Carol declared, “but this has me stumped! What on earth could have become of her? If everyone has seen her picture in the papers as he says, why haven’t we heard something?”

“You know the old saying ‘No news is good news’ so maybe we should be glad we haven’t heard anything,” David put in.

“But the suspense is terrible,” Janet sighed. “I have to write a composition for English tomorrow—I think I will make it the ‘Dangers of Flying.’”

“Flying is no more dangerous than driving an automobile,” Peter put in scornfully. “Airplanes have saved hundreds of lives. Look at the time that aviator flew that serum to those Eskimos up north.”

“And the time last winter when airplanes dropped food to people stranded in their homes by blizzards and unable to drive miles to the nearest town for food,” from David.

“They are as safe as anything else nowadays,” declared Phyllis.

“Maybe so,” Janet said, unconvinced.

“You can have breakfast one morning in New York and the next in California,” added Valerie. “Think of it!”

“I’m thinking of it,” Janet said. “So what?”

“Look at the time saved,” pointed out Peter. “Suppose your life depended on reaching a certain point at a definite time. What would you do?”

“Fly,” Janet said, “and maybe I would get there and maybe I wouldn’t.”

“Did you read the piece in the newspaper the other day about a man who had flown thousands of miles, spent hundreds of hours in the air, and broke his neck by falling down the cellar stairs?” Bruce said. “I’m strong for airplanes.”

“He should never have gone down the cellar,” Janet smiled.

“The pilots of the airplanes are just like the old pioneers. They are exploring new worlds in the air,” contributed Phyllis. “People think they are crazy in trying flights to all corners of the world and stratosphere hops. People thought Columbus was crazy, too. Yet where would we be today if it wasn’t for him?”

“We would probably be living in a tepee and using war paint,” laughed Carol.

“Perhaps you better forget I said anything,” Janet interrupted. “I don’t think I’ll write my composition tomorrow.”

“Well,” Phyllis sighed and looked at her watch, “I’ve got to go home.”

Phyllis’ departure was the signal for the group to break up. As she walked slowly home to the forlorn house on the top of the hill Phyllis’ mind was busy with thoughts of Gale. She entered the house and started up the stairs to her customary retreat for studying before dinner when her Aunt’s voice halted her.

“Phyllis! Come here!”

Her heart heavy with misgivings Phyllis made her way reluctantly down the stairs again to the kitchen where her Aunt was. The tone of her Aunt’s voice had been angry and Phyllis was afraid there was another tirade against herself in the offing. Perpetually she lived in dread of her Aunt’s scoldings and punishments. She had done nothing wrong that she knew of, but quite often some little inoffensive act was the signal for her Aunt’s anger to flare up.

Now as she approached the kitchen door with slow and uneven steps she was afraid. Phyllis stopped on the threshold to watch her Aunt who was tying a bandage around the hand of Minnie, the woman who came in twice a week to help with the cooking and housework.

“Did you want me, Aunt Melba?”

“Of course I want you or I wouldn’t have called you. Don’t stand there! Minnie has burned her hand and all the preserving to be done! You’ve got to help.”

Phyllis opened her lips to tell her Aunt of the difficult history examination on the morrow, one which would require hours of study, but she swallowed the words and went forward. She would have to study tonight after her Aunt was in bed.

“Come, child! Make yourself useful. Rinse those jars.”

Phyllis moved like an automaton under her Aunt’s disapproving eyes.

“Has anything been heard about Gale Howard?” her Aunt asked after a while.

“No,” Phyllis said in a low voice, “she is still missing.”

“Hmph! Probably run off for some fun somewhere never thinking of the worry to her parents. She’s a wild one, that girl. I never liked——”

“She is a fine girl,” Phyllis interrupted hotly. Her Aunt never failed to rouse Phyllis’ resentment when she talked about her friends. “There isn’t a nicer girl in Marchton than Gale Howard. She is a friend of mine, too,” Phyllis finished proudly.

“I won’t have you associating with that crowd from the high school!” her Aunt said, coldly despotic. “I have told you time and time again. You shall not——”

“I shall too!” Phyllis said, for once in her young life openly defying her Aunt. “I shall see them whenever I can. You won’t let me have any friends! Even now you want to separate me from them by not sending me to Briarhurst because they are going there.”

“Phyllis! How dare you speak so? Go to your room!”

Without another word Phyllis whirled and marched from the kitchen. She mounted the stairs to her room and closed the door behind her. Only for an instant a smile hovered about her lips. There was more than one way of escaping from working in the hot kitchen. Not that she had deliberately, with such an intention, spoken so rashly to her Aunt! Her words had been forced from her. Now she was regretting them with all her heart, but she would not say she was sorry! She wasn’t sorry, and what she had said was true—every word! But it would make life so difficult for her. Her Aunt’s disapproval hung over the house like a dark cloud unnerving Phyllis more at every moment.

What her Aunt had said about Gale had made Phyllis angry. Gale was her best friend. They would have done anything for each other. More than ever now, when they did not know where Gale was, what had happened to her, or when they would see her again, Phyllis could not let anyone speak slightingly of her.

It was hard for Phyllis to remember how many hours she and Gale and Valerie and the other girls had spent together when now perhaps Gale was needing them and they didn’t even know it. She knelt by the window and listened to the cool late autumn air rustling the tree branches against the window pane.

After a while her thoughts returned to the present. She rose and took up her history book. Tomorrow’s examination would mean a lot to her marks and she must be ready for it. But with the worry of Gale, and her recent quarrel with her Aunt fresh in her mind, she found it difficult to concentrate on the book before her.

Meanwhile in a little, crude French Canadian farmhouse a slight dark haired girl bent over her sewing while a roaring fire in the brick fireplace sent its welcome warmth out into the room.

To Antoinette Bouchard the winter was the best season of the year. She loved to sit warm and cozy in her brother’s house and listen to the wind sing in the chimney and watch the swirl of snow outside. This storm was the earliest she remembered. It was not yet deep winter, barely winter at all, but the snow was piled high against the house and this morning when François had shoveled a path from the door it had been up to his knees.

The rocking chair in which she had been swaying gently to and fro creaked suddenly and she looked up in alarm at the figure across the hearth. Her eyes took on a compassionate gleam, her lips curled in a smile, half admiration and half pity. When the other person did not stir, Antoinette resumed her gentle rocking, but her eyes were not now on her sewing and her work lay idle in her lap.

This other girl was not quite as old as she, Antoinette, and she was so pretty. The reddish brown hair lay in soft curls about the pale, still face. Her eyes were closed, but Antoinette could well remember the hurt, clouded expression of them when they had first looked into hers that morning. She could clearly remember the puzzled look on the girl’s face when she had asked her questions, questions that had remained unanswered.

It was last night François had brought the girl to their little house. She remembered clearly the tale he had told her of the wrecked airplane, the tree which he had moved to pull the girl from the wreckage, of carrying her the long, long distance through the snow to his home because he did not know where else to take her.

This morning she and François, when the girl had awakened from a sleep which had at first seemed to refresh her, had asked questions but she had been unable to tell them who she was. The little English that Antoinette knew had been exhausted in an attempt to discover the identity of the girl and from whence she had come.

The girl had been bewildered, frightened, and they hoped a quiet rest would restore her memory. All day it had been so. She had sat with closed eyes most of the time, but Antoinette guessed that her mind was struggling to remember the details of who she was and what had happened.

Antoinette sighed and returned to her sewing. This morning François, after he had cut some wood, was to start out on a trip back to the airplane. Perhaps there he could have discovered someone searching for the girl. But he was destined not to go. During his log splitting, the axe had fallen upon his foot, making a nasty wound that would leave him crippled for many days. There was nothing now to do but keep the girl here and try to help her restore the past that had suddenly been blotted from her mind.

Antoinette stole a glance at the young girl. She was amazed to see tears stealing down the soft cheeks. Immediately she dropped her sewing and fell upon her knees beside the other girl. She clasped her close and murmured soothing words.

Gale merely clung tightly to Antoinette while sobs shook her slender body. All day she had been thinking, thinking, trying to remember who and what she was. But it was no use. Her mind was a complete blank. A fog shrouded her memory and it would not lift. Not an inkling of the airplane crash did she remember, or her friends or parents back in Marchton. She knew only that this girl and her big brother were marvelously kind to her. The tenderness of Antoinette had its effect and slowly the sobs subsided, but Gale remained clasped in the little French girl’s arms for a long while afterward. Then Antoinette helped Gale to her feet and led her to the little bed in the other room that had been Antoinette’s for years. Later she went into the third and last room of the log building to sit with her brother.

“What are we to do, François?” she asked. “The girl is worried—she is afraid.”

François nodded in quiet agreement. “It is sad. So young, so lovely—perhaps in time she will remember.”

“We will keep her here, François?” Antoinette pleaded.

“You wish for a little sister?” her brother asked smilingly. “But of course she will remain here. Where else would she go when she does not remember anything? It would be cruel to send her away.” After a while he spoke again. “If I but had not hurt myself. I might have been able to learn something about her. In town they may know something.”

Antoinette shook her head. “The snow has blocked the roads. You could not get to the town. We must wait.”

“She is well otherwise?” François asked.

“Yes. It is only her mind that is affected. She is so quiet,” Antoinette said. “I know she is worried.”

François whistled in a low tone to a little bit of fluff curled up in the corner. The dog, a young collie, perked up his ears and trotted obediently over to his master. There he sat while the man stroked his fur.

“She is sweet,” Antoinette murmured dreamily.

“But we love Antoinette, eh Toto?”

The dog licked his master’s fingers in agreement while the girl laughed with pleasure. For years the two had lived here in this house built by François and his father. At first there had been the three of them but now there was but the girl and her brother. François earned enough money by his work in logging camps during certain months of the year to keep the little farm running smoothly. Toto was the very last addition to their mansion and he was the gayest of company for the girl when her brother was away.

In the other little room Gale sat up in the bed and stared out the small window at the snow. The ground was white in the moonlight, and unbroken save for the path from the door of the cabin. She clasped her knees in her arms and rested her chin on them. Her eyes were dark, like the waters of a bottomless pool. She didn’t cry any more. Her tears were all gone; instead had come a queer sort of fatality. She realized now that no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t remove that gray blanket from her thoughts. It was as if she had never known anything but this day, as if there had never been any yesterdays. She knew nothing beyond the walls of this cabin, and no one but Antoinette and her brother.

Gale lay back on her pillow and stared up at the darkness. Her heart was heavy and she felt listless. Suppose her memory never came back? With a little sense of comfort she remembered the French girl’s words of earlier that evening.

“Chérie, you must not weep. A little time and everything will be well again.”

She must believe that! The thought that somewhere there might be someone looking for her, she not knowing where they were, unable to go to them, made her heart beat longingly.

Her hand had been hanging over the side of the bed and now something cold and wet was pushed into it. With a little startled cry she pulled away until in the moonlight she saw the form of woolly Toto. In his exploring the household for a warm friendly place to spend the night, he had come into her room. She patted the bed beside her and with difficulty, for his legs were rather short and clumsy yet, he jumped up into her arms and snuggled close.

In the morning Antoinette found them, the dog still curled in the crook of Gale’s arm, both sound asleep. She smiled to herself and gently lifted the dog to the floor. He let out a protesting grunt at being roused from his delicious slumbers and Gale opened her eyes.

“Bad Toto!” Antoinette scolded. “Waking Chérie. You are wicked!”

Toto merely blinked in the sunlight and dabbed carelessly at his paw with his red tongue before hopping up to resume his place in Gale’s arms.

Antoinette laughed. “He has already fallen in love with you,” she said in uncertain English.

Gale laid her cheek on the dog’s soft head. She could feel the fast beating of his little heart. She rubbed his ear and he cocked his head in appreciation.

“I like him,” she said.

Antoinette smiled. The stranger looked much better this morning. A little color was coming back to the white cheeks and Toto had already succeeded in rousing a smile. Antoinette brought Gale’s breakfast in to her, after which, while Antoinette was out of the room, Gale got up and dressed herself, glad to know she was physically capable of anything. Toto looked on with silent, doggy admiration. Upon slipping her blouse over her head, Gale’s fingers came in contact with a light golden chain upon which hung a small round locket. She turned it over in her fingers and in the bright morning light could barely make out the word engraved on its surface.

“What is it?” Antoinette had entered unperceived by Gale. Over her shoulder Antoinette looked at the locket. “Ah! Your name—Gale!”

So it was that Antoinette and her brother learned the name of the stranger. Of course they did not know her last name and save for giving them a name for her the discovery did not help much. Evidently the name meant nothing to the girl herself. It stirred absolutely no familiar memories.

Days passed, days spent entirely in the little cabin or with Antoinette in the snow outside. They never went far from the house, so it was not strange that word from the outside world did not reach Antoinette or her brother. They could not know, having no radio, receiving no newspaper or visitors, that the girl in their home was the object of a nationwide search. Gale endeared herself to the two in the cabin and worked readily into the scheme of their everyday life. She shared the daily chores with Antoinette and that girl, on her part, was teaching Gale to speak her own familiar language.

At night was the most difficult time for Gale. During the day she would be busy with Antoinette or playing with Toto. But at night, when she had gone to her room and the others were asleep, she often lay awake thinking, trying to find a thread that would unravel the mystery of her past life. Tonight was one of the nights when she could not sleep.

Silently she got up and put on her coat. She tiptoed to the door and stepped out into the cold, Canadian night. For a while she stood in the moonlight, then slowly she walked to the group of trees off to the right. The scent of pine was in the air and the wind stirred the branches faintly. She breathed deeply of the cool air and felt the blood tingling to her very fingertips. The silence and friendliness of the night stirred a faint memory of another such night. Somewhere, sometime she had stood exactly so, in the quiet darkness of night. But where or when she did not know.

She felt keenly alive, standing there in the snow and silence. She knew she was in much better health than that morning when she had first awakened in the little cabin, but it was not alone that. She had learned things during her stay with Antoinette and her brother in their humble home. Subconsciously her mind had stored the value of the simple life they led, of the freshness and cleanness of the life here. Once more standing there she tried to bring the dark past into the light. But it was no use, it only baffled her and gave her that depressed, hopeless feeling. Slowly she turned and made her way from the clump of trees back to the little cabin.

Half way across the clearing a humming noise broke the stillness of the night. She raised her eyes to the stars. An airplane was winging its way across the path of the moon. Gale gave the flying thing no name. She merely stood and watched until it had faded into the west.

For a moment she almost grasped the remembrance of her flight with Brent. Then the memory was gone and she could not recall it. The clouds had seemed ready to break when she looked at the airplane but now her mind was darker than before.

She returned slowly to the cabin and to bed but she could not sleep. All night long she thought of the sense of familiarity she had experienced as she watched the airplane. It must be a key to her past, part of the puzzle of her memory, if only she could fit it into the right place! Along toward dawn she fell into a light sleep but she was up at the first sound from Antoinette and all day she tried to connect an airplane with her thoughts. If only she could remember!

She helped Antoinette with the little housework there was to do, sewed two buttons on her jacket and romped with Toto before luncheon.

After the midday meal Antoinette proposed that she and Gale walk in to the little town where they could replenish the supply of flour and canned goods that was dwindling rapidly. François was at first reluctant to let his sister make the trip, but she finally coaxed forth his permission.

In her coat, the same woolly one that had kept her warm in Brent’s airplane, and one of Antoinette’s close-fitting caps over her curls, Gale started out walking briskly between Antoinette and the leaping, frolicking Toto. The two girls talked gayly, Antoinette learning more and more about this girl who had come so strangely into their life.

It was a good hour’s walk to the little French village where Antoinette and her brother purchased their supplies. There while Antoinette greeted friend after friend and entered little stores to procure their provisions, Gale, with Toto at her heels, went through the little crooked, cobbled stone streets, both of them keenly delighted with the sights. Toto delighted because there were so many little nooks and crannies for him to explore and Gale because every street warranted her a pleasant surprise.

Brent made many more trips from Marchton to Canada and back again, and each time he had no good news to bring the people waiting so eagerly for a word of encouragement. Gale had disappeared as neatly as if the earth had opened and swallowed her. The wreckage of his plane had been removed from the spot where he had crashed and there remained now only a few trees whose bark had been scraped off by the falling plane to mark the spot. He had visited every nearby farmhouse and personally inquired for news of Gale. To all his efforts he had received the same result—nothing. But Brent was nothing if not dauntless. Not for nothing had he flown thousands of miles, in sun and storm. He had gained a courage and determination scarcely to be equalled. Now he could put his determination to good use. He needed it all to keep him from giving up the search. Give up? He could not! He meant to find Gale. How or where he did not know, but he would find her. He had to. He had learned a lot of things since that night by the hangar when he and Gale had exchanged confidences. He certainly could not give up now when he did not know what had happened to her. Day after day he visited the French towns and farms in the surrounding country.

“Do you think you will ever find her?” Phyllis asked him wearily on his next trip to Marchton.

He smiled confidently, much more confidently than he felt. “Of course. You know the saying—‘There’ll come a day.’”

“But it seems so hopeless now—after all this time!” Phyllis said. “Sometimes I think——”

Brent smiled at her, his light quizzical smile. “You are really fond of Gale, aren’t you?”

Phyllis nodded, a lump in her throat so that she could not speak.

“So am I,” Brent said, his eyes on the automobiles passing in the street. “I won’t give up until I find her.”

Phyllis pressed his arm. “I hope you find her—truly I do. I know she likes you—a lot.”

Brent smiled upon her again. “You make me feel a lot better,” he said. “I really needed some cheering up—more than I would admit.”

Soon after that he was off for Canada again. At first he went to the hotel in Quebec where he had made his headquarters. There was no mail for him nor any word of Gale. He went down to the street and found the car and chauffeur he had hired until his shoulder should be well enough for him to drive himself. He directed the man to drive north. He had no specific destination, he proposed to merely drive through the northern roads again in the hopes of meeting someone or finding something that would lead to Gale.

It was late in the afternoon when they came to a small French village where they stopped for the luncheon they had missed. The chauffeur had much more of an appetite than Brent and while he waited for the man Brent decided to explore the little village. The streets were quaint and expressed the simplicity and charm of the inhabitants. He turned from the contemplation of an old Frenchman, who was sunning himself in the doorway of his home, to look at two girls making their way out of town. Their arms were laden with bundles and a small collie scooted ahead in front of them. But Brent had eyes merely for one of the girls. Was it possible? He passed a dazed hand across his eyes. Could he be mistaken?

“Gale!” he called. Did he fancy that the girls hesitated for a moment and then went on? He called again but they did not turn. Starting after them he reached the turn in the road just in time to see the girls climb into a farmer’s wagon and the wagon start off down the road.

Brent went back to the old Frenchman and asked him if he knew the girls. In these small towns nearly everybody knew everybody else.

“It is François Bouchard’s sister,” the old man nodded. “She lives with her brother on a small farm east of the village.”

“And the other girl?” Brent asked.

“I do not know, Monsieur.”

That was that Brent decided. He would have no rest now until he learned if the girl really was Gale. Certainly the likeness had been astonishing. The girl had seemed in the height of gay spirits. But if it really had been Gale, well and strong as this girl, wouldn’t she have sent word to her parents? Tried to get back home? He rumpled his hair in perplexity and replaced his hat. He would start after them and ask questions. He might discover something. But when he returned to the inn where he had left his chauffeur, the man was gone. For an hour Brent fumed in impatience until the man finally reappeared. To all Brent’s upbraidings the man turned a deaf ear. He merely climbed into the car and sat waiting. Without further waste of time Brent climbed in beside him and, having secured directions from the old man, set off in the direction of Bouchard’s cottage.

The car bumped along over ruts hidden by the snow and ice. The driver might just as well not have been present for all the company he was to Brent. He uttered not one word from the time they left the village, replying to all Brent’s attempts at conversation with grunts. Brent had always thought the French-Canadians friendly, sociable people, but this man irked him. Soon he forgot his companion, however, forgot about the uncomfortable car in which he rode and which jolted his shoulder, causing it to pain him, and concentrated on the object of his search.

For days, weeks, he had been traveling, seeking some touch, some clue to the whereabouts of Gale. Yet not three hours before he had seen her, apparently well and happy. There must be some explanation!

His musings were brought to a sudden halt and he was thrown so far forward as to almost bump his nose on the windshield. Brent could speak fluent French and he used it to good advantage. He poured a tirade out on the head of the driver. The man merely gestured to the trees and the end of the road to which they had come. Brent had to see that it was impossible for the car to go any farther.

The driver signified his intention to remain in the car by slumping down in the seat and pulling his cap over his eyes for a quiet nap.

In disgust Brent jumped out and started to tramp across the road and into the clump of trees, stripped now of all autumnal glory and black with the cold of early winter. The snow lay in deep drifts in several places and these Brent avoided to the best of his ability. He hoped he was still going in the right direction. That driver was as good as nothing. He had assured Brent he had heard of Bouchard’s cottage and with his hand had gestured widely to the right. That was as well as he could do.

The wind up here was cold and Brent buttoned his coat more tightly as best he could, using one hand. It put new life into one, though. The air was keen as a knife and the sky as clear as crystal water. Brent remembered the exhilaration he had experienced last night flying through the star-studded sky. It had been keen! But a most cruel reminder of his last flight with Gale. Then, too, in the beginning the stars had been close and friendly.

Brent halted in his stride and knit his brows in perplexity. Had the plane crash occurred near here? No, he corrected himself. It had been much farther south. How then, had Gale wandered way up here? He shook his head and went on.

Ahead a thin blue column of smoke drifted up from beyond a slight rise in ground. He redoubled his efforts. That must be Bouchard’s cottage. He came to the hill and leaned momentarily against a tree to get his breath, looking down at the log cabin and the open clearing before him.

A girl was romping with a dog. The same girl whom he had seen in the village. There could be no doubt, it was Gale. The way she lifted her head, the laugh that floated up to him when the dog in play nipped her fingers. All of them bespoke Gale. He stood there watching, for it was a charming scene. In the snow the dog and girl, when she suddenly stumbled over the former, rolled over and over.

When Gale sat up there was a glow in her cheeks and a laugh bubbled in her voice. Toto stood, legs slightly asprawl, gazing at her, his red tongue dangling from between white teeth, his eyes dancing with mischief. François appeared in the cabin doorway, leaning upon his improvised crutch. After a brief greeting to him Toto trotted back to Gale and put his front paws into her lap, looking up into her face with a doggy smile.

Brent started toward them and when Gale saw him she stood up, shaking the snow from her coat and attempting to straighten her disheveled cap. François had disappeared within the cabin again and from there came the sound of Antoinette, humming at her work.

“Gale—don’t you know me?” Brent asked, as soon as he was within speaking distance.

Gale merely stared at him. She recognized him as the strange young man who had called after them that morning in the village—but that was all!

“Gale! I’m Brent—surely you haven’t forgotten me!” he said, half laughing. He went toward her, seeking to touch her, but she eluded him.

She ran for the protection of the cottage with Toto at her heels. Brent had no course but to follow. He stood in the doorway and looked at the others before him. It was a homelike, cozy, if crude room. François sat in a chair by the fireplace. Gale stood behind his chair while in the corner Antoinette was watching him in surprise, her sewing now forgotten.

“How—how do you do,” Brent began uncertainly. “I——”

“Enter, Monsieur,” François invited courteously, “and be seated by the fire. The day is cold and you have come a long way?” The last of his speech was a question.

Brent inclined his head and took the chair opposite François, his eyes on Gale. In the half daylight and glow from the fire he was more certain than ever of her identity. Yet if it were Gale, surely she would know him?

Without preliminary Brent spoke in French. “That girl,” he nodded toward Gale, “is she—your sister also, Monsieur Bouchard?”

François smiled faintly. “You know me, Monsieur? Yet I do not know you.”

“I’m sorry, sir, I quite forgot myself. I am Brent Stockton,” Brent continued. “You see, for weeks I have been searching Canada for a girl. We crashed in an airplane some little distance from here. I left her in the plane and went for help, but while I was absent she disappeared. Since then I have not been able to find her. This young lady is very much like her—very much,” he murmured again.

François nodded and frowned into the fire. “I was afraid we were causing someone a great deal of anxiety, but it could not be helped. You see I injured my foot the day after, and I have not been able to go to the village to notify the authorities. My sister knows very little about such things.”

“Yes?” Brent murmured. He was waiting impatiently.

“I found Mademoiselle, here,” François looked up at Gale and the two exchanged smiles, though she did not understand his French words, “in a wrecked airship weeks ago. She was pinioned in her seat by a fallen tree branch which I moved.”

“My plane!” Brent gasped.

“As you say, Monsieur. I brought her here. She seemed unhurt, but her mind——”

Brent grasped the edge of his chair. “What was it?”

“Her memory, Monsieur, it is gone. Do you understand? We could not notify anyone because we did not know who she was. She has remained here ever since.”

Brent sat stunned. It was hard for him to grasp the fact. No wonder Gale hadn’t recognized him! His glance wandered to the girl. She was standing slim and straight behind François. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her skin creamy, she was as he had seen her last except for a slight shadow in the depth of her eyes.

“She seems all right,” he said finally.

“Yes, Monsieur,” François said. “She is in perfect health except for—it is sad.”

“She must go back with me,” Brent said finally. “Her parents are frantic—her friends—we will have the best doctors in the land.”

“Time and peace will heal her,” François said. “I studied medicine, Monsieur, I know.”

Brent stood up. “I have no words with which to thank you, sir. It is a debt which can never be repaid. If it had not been for you——”

“It is nothing,” François said, with difficulty rising and holding out his hand to Brent. “We have loved her as a sister, Monsieur.”

Brent silently wrung the Frenchman’s hand and felt he must burst with gratitude. To think at last he had found Gale! He took a step toward her and she backed away. She seemed curiously afraid of him.

“Gale,” and now François spoke in English, “this young man has come to take you back to your parents and friends.”

“He knows——” Gale started in a whisper.

François nodded. “He knows you. He has come to take you back to those who love you.”

“I must leave?” Gale wanted to know. She glanced first at François, at Antoinette and then down at Toto.

“Yes,” François said sadly.

“Come, Gale,” Brent said gently, holding out his hand.

But Gale did not put hers into it. Instead she backed away into a corner, Toto moving instinctively with her. Brent moved towards her, talking slowly, gently, but she was terrified. Why, he could not understand.

Toto, puppy that he was, seemed to know his friend’s fear and bared his teeth savagely at Brent.

Brent stopped, torn between conflicting emotions, and looked helplessly at François.

Antoinette ran to Gale and took the trembling girl in her arms.

“Gale, ma chérie, you must go back to those who love you. They are lonely without you.”

But Gale shook her head determinedly. She didn’t want to go off with this strange young man, nice as he seemed, and nothing they said could change her mind. For an hour Brent, François and Antoinette urged, coaxed, and pleaded with her. But Gale held Toto in her arms and refused to budge from her corner. Finally they gave up in despair and she watched with frightened eyes while Brent conversed with François. Every time they glanced at her her heart almost stopped. She was so afraid she would have to leave these people who had been kind to her, who understood her, to go to strangers.

At last Brent moved to the door. On the threshold he turned to look at her and the picture he carried away was of a frightened girl clutching her beloved dog in her arms as her sole means of comfort.

All the way back to Quebec Brent thought of Gale, trying to devise some way to bring back her memory. He thought of her parents and wondered how he would ever break the news to them. How, too, he would tell the other Adventure Girls.

That night he and his pilot flew back to Marchton. Early the next morning he went to Gale’s parents and told them. The decision made was that they should fly back to Canada with him the same night.

When school was out and the Adventure Girls and three boys wended their way to the Kopper Kettle they found Brent already there awaiting them. Eagerly they crowded round him, welcoming him back and asking the now almost hopeless questions about Gale.

He was silent, answering not one question until they were all seated about a table in the corner. Then he began slowly:

“Yes, I was successful. I’ve found Gale.”

“She isn’t——” Valerie began fearfully.

“She is perfectly happy,” he said.

“Thank goodness!” Carol sighed, inadequately expressing the feelings of them all.

“But you don’t look very happy about it,” Janet put in. “Did you bring her home with you?”

“No, I couldn’t bring her home with me,” Brent said, carefully tearing a straw into minute bits with his finger, “you see, she didn’t know me.”

The others waited, instinctively guessing there was more important news to come.

“Why not?” Madge finally ventured.

“In the crash of the plane she—lost her memory. She has been living all this time with a Canadian man and his sister in their cottage. She is perfectly well except for the fact that she doesn’t remember a thing about who or what she is.”

“Poor Gale!” Carol murmured.

“Can’t anything be done?” Bruce asked.

“I am flying her parents and a doctor back with me tonight,” Brent answered. “Her memory may come back to her all in a flash, a sudden shock might do it, or it might take time. I don’t know.”

“Can’t we do something?” Janet wanted to know anxiously. “I mean, do you think she might remember if she saw one of us?”

“Show her Janet, that would be a shock!” Carol suggested, daringly impudent.

Brent laughed with the rest but then he shook his head. “When she sees her parents she should remember—if anything familiar can restore her memory.”

“If she didn’t know you——” Phyllis began.

“What was it, Brent?” Bruce asked. “The shock of the crash? The limb of the tree that fell upon the plane or what?”

“I suppose we will never know,” Brent said. “It must have been one of those.”

“Isn’t it terrible?” Valerie murmured with a little shiver. “Think of Gale, not knowing who she is, where she came from. I wish I could go to her.”

The others were silent until Brent rose saying he must get back to the Howard home for dinner. Phyllis went out with him. He left her at the corner and entered the yard of Gale’s home. Strange she could remember none of this, he thought. The flowers which in summer ran as a border to the walk, the old tree by the fence, her home, the place where she had lived all her life.

Dinner was a hurried, hap-hazard affair. Gale’s parents and Brent were eager to be off to the airport. He told them again of his finding and by that time they were ready to leave.

Upon coming out to the porch they discovered Phyllis in woolly coat and beret with a small bag at her side sitting on the top step.

“Where do you think you are going?” Brent demanded.

“With you, please, mayn’t I?” Phyllis begged. “I’ve told my Aunt I’m going and she didn’t stop me. Please take me, I want to see Gale.”

Brent looked at the Howards and back to Phyllis.

“Oh, well, come along,” he said gruffly.

They climbed into the Howards’ automobile and five minutes later picked up the grey-haired family doctor who had known Gale since she was three. He had helped her through every sickness but nothing as serious as this. It did not take long after that to reach the airport.

The cabin plane they were to use was standing on the field, the motor turning over rhythmically, the propeller whirring. Stubby helped them into the plane and when Brent had taken his seat up in the nose of the ship beside the pilot they were off.

In Canada they landed and went immediately to a hotel where they were to spend the night. Brent had thought it best to wait until the following morning before driving to the little village from where they would go to Bouchard’s cottage. He was a little dubious as to the outcome of their trip. He hoped fervently, as did the others, that Gale would recognize them but he had his doubts.

The next morning they breakfasted early and entered the car in which they were to drive to the little French-Canadian village. The driver of the car was the same one who had driven Brent on his previous trip. Though he was not fond of the man or his companionship Brent had hired him because he already knew the way.

It was nearly lunch time when they entered the little village. Without a stop they came upon the road that led away to the north and followed it to its end. Then, leaving the driver with the car, they set out on foot.

The Howards were silent, thoughtful, and Phyllis, walking beside Brent, felt her heart begin to beat with excitement. They had come so many miles, suppose now they discovered that Brent had been mistaken in his identity? She rebuked herself sharply. How could he have been mistaken? He had heard the Frenchman’s story. But if only Gale would recognize one of them! Phyllis thought she must. She looked up at Brent. He was looking away, ahead of them, his eyes fastened on the little crest of ground beyond which lay the Bouchard cottage. Phyllis thought he looked older, worried. She knew he had suffered even more than she and Gale’s other friends had because, in a way, he blamed himself for the crash and Gale’s disappearance.

Brent held up his hand and they halted for a brief rest.

“You can see the smoke from the cottage,” he said, motioning ahead with his hand to where a thin stream rose into the sky.

The others did not reply, merely glanced at one another and moved forward again.

Gale, when Brent had left the cottage, took Toto and went to her room. There she put the dog on the floor and flung herself down on the bed. Propping her chin in cupped hands she could see out the window to the snowy fields in the distance and the blue, cloudless sky. But her eyes were fixed on something outside her vision. She did not watch Brent’s figure as he trudged away out of sight. Rather, she was again trying to bring to the fore some knowledge, the memory that lay dormant, of who she was.

Antoinette entered softly and gazed compassionately down at Gale. She sat down beside her and put a friendly arm across the other’s shoulders.

“Do not worry, Gale,” she murmured.

Gale smiled a trifle. “I’ll try not to,” she whispered. “But suppose he does know who I am? I—I should have gone with him!” Her eyes were dark with shadows, her lips trembled.

Antoinette hugged her affectionately. “I am glad you did not. It would be lonesome here without you. And if you did not like him——”

“Oh, but I did,” Gale said hastily. “He seemed nice but—it was just—I didn’t know where he was going to take me.”

“I understand,” Antoinette nodded. “Now you must rest. Come, Toto!”

The French girl rose and went to the door. The dog obediently trotted after her. Gale lay back and closed her eyes, but she could not sleep. Vividly she remembered the young man who had wanted her to go away with him. If only she could recall him from the past! If only his face and name would mean something to her! Warm tears slipped down her cheeks before she sat up and in annoyance brushed them away.

Gale got up and donned her coat. With a word to Antoinette she went outside, her customary bodyguard, Toto, at her heels. She tramped into the woods and kept on walking. She knew if she would tire herself out she would be able to sleep tonight and not keep tantalizing herself with questions she could not answer.

She walked along breathing deeply of the cold, crisp air, Toto scampering ahead of her or lingering behind to dig out a half buried root and shake it vigorously in his firm white teeth. The sun moved slowly to the western horizon. Its rays became less and less warm, the sky began to be overcast with night clouds and a strong northern wind sprang up. With a start Gale realized that it would soon be night and unless she turned back now she could easily become lost. Whistling to Toto who was deeply engrossed in a bit of bark he had unearthed and which he was trying to shake into some semblance of life, she turned her back on the sunset to go back to the cottage. At her whistle Toto pricked up his ears and started on a run for her. She ran too. Together they romped until both had to stop for lack of breath.

Finally Gale put aside her thoughts of pleasure and concentrated on the landmarks about her. None of them were familiar. She subdued a sense of panic that gripped her. She must find the way back to the cottage. They could not stay in the open all night. Let’s see—she must have come that way, it looked like the tree around which she had chased Toto. Resolutely she started off in that direction. But it was not long before she discovered she was wrong. She came to a tiny stream of water, frozen over now with the ice of winter. She stood and looked at the mirror-like crust on the water. Toto, too, regarded his own reflection with interest. Turning her back upon the water Gale stared intently first to the north then to the south. She had not come upon this stream when she came from the cottage; therefore, all this time she must have been going away from, instead of toward, her home. Toto sat in the snow and regarded his friend with dancing eyes.

“You know, Toto,” she said speaking slowly to the dog who had his head cocked as if understanding every word, “I believe we are lost.”

At that the dog merely yawned.

“What will we do?”

Toto stood up and shook himself, trotted a few paces away and came back to look at her.

“Do you suppose you could find the way home?” she asked with a half smile. “You’re too much of a puppy to have much sense of direction yet, but we’ll try it. Which way do you want to go, Toto?”

The dog immediately trotted a few paces toward the north and stood waiting for her to follow him.

“All right,” she agreed. “We’ll go that way and I hope you are right!”

Gale walked along swiftly to keep the dog in sight. But soon she had to slacken her pace. She was tired, they had come far, and now she found it almost impossible to keep up a fast gait. Too, it was getting darker. The Canadian night was closing in upon them rapidly. She thought of Antoinette and François waiting, watching for her and scolded herself for ever coming so far. She thought of the warm supper awaiting them, of the warm bed which would feel so good now, and lashed herself on to a renewed pace. But it was hopeless. When it was so dark she could not see Toto ahead of her she halted and called the dog to her. She picked him up in her arms, she didn’t intend to lose her one companion in the wilderness. His rough, red tongue licked her chin affectionately and she almost dropped him.

“Toto, you are even a worse direction-picker than I am,” she declared, squeezing him. “We are really lost this time!”

Toto didn’t seem to mind. He snuggled down in her arms, even trying to get his head into her jacket pocket.

Gale grasped him more firmly and started to walk again. She didn’t know where or in what direction she was walking, she only knew she must keep in motion to keep the biting cold air from freezing her limbs. Then, too, sooner or later she must come to some house! She had a faint idea she was walking in the direction of the little village to which Antoinette had taken her. From there certainly she could find her way home.

The dog in her arms became heavier and heavier as Gale became more and more tired. It seemed almost impossible to carry him a step farther. She leaned against a tree and deposited him in the snow at its base. Toto protested with a grunt at being roused from his warm nap and hovered about her feet shivering.

“This is a nice mess,” Gale said in disgust. “Why did you let me come so far, Toto?”

When Gale had regained her breath and felt in a measure rested she settled Toto comfortably in the crook of her arm and started out again. Nearly all night she trudged slowly through the snow and moonlight. Only the knowledge that she must keep moving kept her on her feet at all. She wanted to lie down and rest and sleep. Her eyelids felt weighted down. She was almost asleep on her feet. At last she submitted, as she must have in time, and sat down, her back against a sheet of rock to rest. The rest stretched into a sound sleep. Her head fell forward on her knees and Toto, too, slept peacefully by her side.

The sun was high when she awoke and started to her feet only to abruptly sit down again. Her muscles were stiff and arms and legs cramped and numb. Toto yawned, shook himself and ran a few paces and back to her side. Gale rubbed her arms and legs vigorously and stood up to survey their position.

Away to her right rose a cliff of rock and ice. Gale remembered she had been able to see this cliff with the peculiar formation of a man’s head from her window on clear days. Antoinette had laughingly referred to it as the Lonesome Man. It was the only jutting rise in their immediate horizon and the ice and rock had formed to make a perfect man’s head. Gale started in the direction of the Lonesome Man. It was her opinion that if she could climb upon the rocks she might be able to see the cottage in the spread of world at her feet. Then it would be a simple matter to steer a straight course for home.

But the Lonesome Man was farther away than it had at first appeared. Its very largeness gave it a sense of being close when in reality it was a mile away. Gale stubbornly clung to her first idea to climb upon it. Otherwise she would have absolutely no course of action and she would not be able to see the cottage from where she was on the ground. Toto trotted obediently by her side, looking up from time to time to observe the expressions on her face.

“Hungry, Toto?” she asked once and he barked in response. “So am I,” she declared laughingly. “But don’t worry, it won’t be long now. Once we are on Lonesome Man and can see the cottage—we shall be home soon then.”

Toto seemed to understand for he cavorted gaily, falling over himself in his exuberance.

It was the middle of the day when they came to Lonesome Man and Gale felt a gnawing hunger. The sun was directly overhead and she was keenly anxious to get back home. Antoinette and François would be anxious, that she knew.

The first step on Lonesome Man was a huge rock which must be gotten up on before one could continue up to a point of vantage where the ground would lay revealed openly. Every tree, every stream, every cottage for miles could be seen from the top of Lonesome Man’s head.

Gale, after some difficulty, managed to mount the huge rock which was the first step in her ascent. She stopped to rest and waved at Toto on the ground below. The dog set up a howl. He looked so plaintive and lonesome and howled so indiscreetly as to awaken a hundred echoes that Gale had no course but to come down after him. It took quite a while until both she and Toto had again negotiated the first step.

“See all the time we’ve wasted,” she complained to the dog, sitting beside him and letting her legs dangle over the rock, “just because you wouldn’t be good and stay on the ground.”

The dog showed his appreciation of her return for him by kissing her lavishly with his rough, red tongue, so lavishly that Gale had to scramble away.

She took the next rock to a point higher and hauled Toto up after her. The dog, after once sticking his nose over the edge and finding the ground quite a distance below him, cowered against the wall, his hair standing on edge.

Gale laughed. “Don’t be nervous, Toto; if you’re good you won’t fall off.”

The dog turned earnest brown eyes to her, his tail wagging faintly.

“You wouldn’t stay on the ground,” she reminded him. “Now you can just wait here for me.”

Gale climbed a little higher, the dog watching her, wanting to follow but afraid to move. The puppy was used to the good firm earth beneath him and was not at all sure that he should even let his friend out of his sight. Gale meantime was slowly finding foothold to reach the summit, the top of Lonesome Man’s head. Once when her foot slipped a shower of loosened rock and bits of ice rattled to the ground below. Gale held her breath and dug her fingers into the niches of the grey rock, holding on for dear life. When her panic subsided she found she was in no immediate danger of falling and could proceed with a maximum of caution.

Lonesome Man hadn’t seemed as high as he really was. When Gale reached the top she sat down and looked over the side. She shut her eyes quickly. It made her dizzy to think that she might have slipped with those pebbles. Of course even then it wouldn’t have been as far a fall as if she should slip now!

She wondered how Toto was but could not see him from her present position.

When her breath was coming naturally and she was feeling a little rested from her climb Gale could stir up enough interest to view her surroundings. Far to her right she could see a brown cottage which at first looked like the Bouchards’. But after a careful scrutiny she decided it wasn’t and turned in the opposite direction. Carefully her eyes wandered over the scene spread out before her. Trees, stripped of their summer splendor, stood revealed black and forlorn. Winter wind swayed their stripped branches. She beheld a moving object which at first she thought was a man, but later decided it was a bear. She shivered. Suppose she had met him in the dark last night!

Finally she saw another house, smoke rising from the chimney. This one stood in the center of a triangular clearing exactly like the Bouchard cottage. It must be home! She was surprised at its nearness. She had been searching the far horizon for it and had at first overlooked the objects nearer at hand. She sighed with relief and was about to climb down in order to waste no time in returning when she stopped, her attention caught by a small group of figures which had suddenly appeared in the clearing. She could not determine the identity of the people from where she was, but nevertheless she watched with interest. Only one she was sure of, François, hobbling with the aid of his crutch. There could be no mistaking him even at a distance.

She watched closely, noting every movement, while two men and a girl started off parallel to her, in the direction she had at first taken yesterday when she started out for her walk. Another man and a girl started directly toward her, while a last feminine figure remained standing beside François. Gale could not at first understand it. Then she concluded it was Antoinette and friends searching for her. It must be Antoinette and a friend who was coming toward her now.

Gale stood up on Lonesome Man’s head, the better to watch their progress. The wind whipped her dress about her and its piercing cold went right through her coat. At the same time she saw the two stop and suddenly the man pointed to her. The girl, Gale supposed her to be Antoinette, waved. She responded with an upraised arm. She could see they redoubled their efforts and were running toward her. It would not be so very long before they reached Lonesome Man.

Without wasting more time Gale started the downward climb. It was even more precarious picking her way down than it had been climbing up. The ice had frozen over spots that had been fairly easy to negotiate on the way up, but now she was afraid of skidding at every step. Twice she slipped and would have fallen had she not grasped the rocks on each side with all her strength. When she finally reached the spot where she had left Toto she breathed freely for the first time. It would be simple now to reach the broad rock at the base and from there jump to the ground. By that time Antoinette should be there. She looked away across the tree tops. She could make out the man and girl still coming toward her.

Gale swung her legs over the edge when she remembered Toto. She looked around. The dog was no longer crouching in safety by the solid rock wall. He had gone adventuring and now Gale gasped as she saw his dangerous position.

Unable to reach the high point his friend had obtained Toto had contented himself with snooping his way out onto the ledge of rock which made the Lonesome Man’s nose. It was a narrow ledge jutting out in a straight line for about five feet with nothing but the ground twenty feet below. There Toto had decided to await the return of Gale and she now found him interestedly watching her, his eyes dancing, red tongue dangling from white teeth.

“Come, Toto, we’re going home,” she urged.

His tail beat a tattoo on the rock ledge but he did not move.

“Come, Toto, come,” Gale coaxed.

She whistled, called, did everything to coax Toto from his position on the narrow ledge but he did not budge.

“I declare you’re laughing at me!” she scolded. “Now come, Toto! Oh, if I get my hands on you!”

Gale considered leaving Toto there upon the ledge and running to meet Antoinette. Perhaps she could coax the dog off. But just as she decided this, Toto decided to be good and started toward Gale. He had taken but one step when he looked from Gale to the ground below. He looked at the narrow span of rock which he must cross to reach her. Then he backed up and sat on the very edge of the ledge. His eyes pleaded with her to understand. He was frightened. He did not know how he had gotten here and was afraid to cover the distance to Gale where he would be safe. He shivered in the cold wind, a suddenly forlorn little figure.

Gale felt all her impatience with Toto fade away. The little thing was too frightened to come when she called him. She couldn’t go away and leave him there. Suppose he fell off! She looked at the ground. Snow had drifted in a huge pile against this side of Lonesome Man. The dog would be plunged straight down into the snow and perhaps onto rocks beneath.

She sighed and moved forward. She would have to get him. For a moment she considered the narrow ledge. It didn’t look as though it would hold much weight. At a little whimper from Toto, Gale crept forward. She put one foot on the ledge. Nothing happened. The surface was icy and she was in imminent danger of slipping at every inch she traversed. Toto, watching, contemplated her progress with sad brown eyes. He seemed to realize the peril of their position and did not once move.

Slowly and with the utmost care Gale moved out farther and farther onto the ledge. She held her breath every minute lest Lonesome Man’s nose should crack and plunge them both down to the ground. After seconds which seemed like hours Gale was in a position to grasp Toto and start the return journey.

When the party from Marchton arrived at the Bouchard cottage and found Gale again missing it was another bitter blow on top of all the others they had suffered. They listened to all that François and Antoinette could tell them. Then they organized a searching party. Mr. Howard, the doctor and Antoinette started off in the direction Gale had taken yesterday afternoon when she left. Brent and Phyllis started off to test Phyllis’ suggestion that from the top of the mountain and through François’ powerful field glasses they might be able to find some sign of Gale on the countryside. Mrs. Howard remained with François.

When they had gone a very short distance from the cottage Brent espied a tiny figure atop the mountain Antoinette had called Lonesome Man. He pointed to it and Phyllis gripped his arm tightly while she waved with her other hand.

“Gale!” Phyllis whispered when the figure had returned her salute.

“Come on,” Brent said and was off, running lightly, Phyllis keeping pace with him.

“She is climbing down,” Phyllis said as they halted momentarily, watching the figure on the cliff in the distance.

“That’s dangerous,” Brent muttered, “the surface is icy, you can see it glisten in the sun.”

When they ran out into the clearing at the base of Lonesome Man, Gale was just beginning her trip to rescue Toto.

“Gale! Go back!” Phyllis cried, but her voice did not carry to her friend. “She can’t go out there!” Phyllis said wildly to Brent.

Brent started forward but a second later Phyllis stopped him.

“Wait,” she said. “Look!”

Gale had worked herself half way out on the ledge.

“Don’t go now—you will frighten her and she will fall.”

The two watched breathlessly. Their eyes never once wavered from the figure of the girl above them as she worked her way out on the ice covered ledge to where a little ball of fur crouched in terror. They gasped when once her foot slipped and she was prostrated flat on the ice.

“Ooo, I can’t look!” Phyllis whispered frantically, but just the same she watched Gale fascinatedly.

When Gale had Toto secure in her arm the two spectators let out a sigh of thankfulness but they were too soon. Gale had no more than started the perilous return journey to the rock when a warning crack was heard. They saw her give one horrified glance at the icy floor beneath her.

When the ledge snapped off with a grinding crack Gale, with Toto clasped in her arms, was hurled into space. Phyllis screamed, Brent started forward on a run. There was danger to Gale not only from her fall but from the rock that also fell. If she should be crushed under any of those jagged edges——

Brent reached the scene first. Toto was scrambling from the snow. Phyllis appeared then and together they pulled Gale from the snow.

“Is she killed?” Phyllis asked tremulously.

“No,” Brent said finally. “I’ll carry her, you run ahead.”

Phyllis swept Toto up into her arms and darted off.

Gale looked up at the ceiling and knit her brows in perplexity. Where was she? The last thing she remembered she was in the seat behind Brent in his black and silver monoplane and they were turning over and over about to crash in the storm. She looked at the rough log-hewn walls, at the moonlight streaming in through the little window and brought her gaze back to the ceiling. No, no, the plane wasn’t the last thing. Slowly, like a moving picture coming into focus, her mind’s eye picked up the pictures of the weeks past. Now she remembered everything! The fall from the ledge of rock, the shock she had suffered, had restored suddenly everything that had been a blank before.

She became aware of someone sitting on the floor beside the bed. All she could see was the top of a light curly head but even that was familiar.

“Hullo, Phyl,” she said.

Instantly Phyllis looked up. “Gale!”

“How long have you been sitting there?” Gale demanded smiling.

“Since—since—not very long,” Phyllis replied. “You do—you do remember me?” she asked gently.

“Of course,” Gale said. “But why—oh, I know! You heard that I couldn’t remember anything. That I didn’t know——”

Phyllis nodded. “Brent told us.”

That was the beginning of a talk that lasted a long time, before either of them thought of the other people in the main room of the cottage.

“We’ve been here since this morning,” Phyllis explained when she stood up. “We flew up last night. Your parents, Dr. Miller, and Brent and I. Antoinette is an angel! This morning when you were missing was almost as bad as—when the plane crashed. Then when Brent and I saw you fall from the ledge—my heart nearly stopped!”

“It was sweet of you to come all the way up here, Phyl,” Gale said, “to help me.”

Phyllis colored uncomfortably. “I’ll tell the others you are awake. We’ve been worried all day.”

When Phyllis had departed Gale had but a moment to reminisce over all the days she had been here and to grasp the fact now of what her mysterious disappearance and subsequent hiding must have meant to those in Marchton. She regretted every moment of anxiety she had caused them and vowed to make it up; then the others came in and there was the happiest joy of reunion.

Later, much, much later, when the others forced themselves to leave in order to let Gale sleep and regain her strength to travel back to Marchton on the morrow, her miraculous escape from serious injury in both the airplane crash and her fall this morning was still a wonder to them.

Brent, the last to enter, and the last to leave, took her hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’ll bet you’ll never go flying with me again,” he said ruefully.

“Try me,” she laughed.

“Anyway, I’m glad to see you all right again, kiddo,” he said with a wide smile.

Gale sat up. “You weren’t hurt much then,” she murmured thankfully.

“No. But you gave us plenty to think about. We were worried to death about you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t think you would worry so much.”

“Worry? Oh, my dear——” He checked himself and grinned. “Go to sleep, youngster. Tomorrow we go back to Marchton.” He looked down at her for a long time. “Good night,” he said finally and kissed the top of her head. Hastily he made his way out.

Gale lay and let little shivers run up and down her back. She was so comfortable and warm, so supremely happy, she let her dreams run riot. Tomorrow she would be home again, safe and among friends. But she had been among friends here, too. It would be hard to leave Antoinette and François and—Toto. If the little dog hadn’t crawled out on that ledge this morning, if she hadn’t gone after him and if the ice hadn’t crumpled she might still be living in the shadows she had lived in for the past weeks. She still might not know who she was.

She sat up and looked out the window. In the distance Lonesome Man was brilliantly alight with moonlight but now he was a man without a nose. She smiled slightly. She had forever ruined the facial beauty of Lonesome Man but it had brought her happiness.

She stretched luxuriously and snuggled down again between the blankets. Cautiously the door opened and Antoinette looked in.

“Antoinette!” Gale said, stretching out her hand.

“You are well again, Gale,” Antoinette said, almost sadly. “I am glad. But now you will leave us——”

“Tomorrow,” Gale nodded. “I can never thank you enough, Antoinette, for all you have done——”

“It was nothing,” the French girl said confusedly. “You were like a sister.”

“You will come to the States to see me?” Gale pleaded. The subject had been mentioned earlier when the others had been present and Antoinette had flushed with pleasure at the invitation.

“But of course, I shall be most happy,” she declared.

When Antoinette had gone again Gale turned contentedly on her pillows. She had had a most exciting time but now her difficulties were over. Tomorrow she would fly back to Marchton. School would begin for her again, gay times with her friends, a sheltered life in the little town. Except for a slight headache she had no reminder at all of the long time through which she had just come. Again she sighed with pleasure. Another thing that made her happy—Brent was going home with them!

“For she’s a jolly good fellow, for she’s a jolly good fellow——” the Adventure Girls sang loudly if not well.

“And a hot cha cha!” Janet put in lavishly.

“That doesn’t fit,” Carol complained.

“I don’t care whether it does or not,” Janet said irrelevantly. “I’m happy and I don’t care who knows it.”

“What is the reason?” Carol inquired suspiciously.

“Gale’s return,” Janet said promptly, a little too promptly.

The young people were gathered in the living room of the Howard home. All the Adventure Girls were present. Gale had been back one week now but they never refused any opportunity to have any sort of gala occasion in honor of her return. There had been little gatherings and parties ever since the plane that brought her back had landed at the Marchton airport. Tonight, however, was devoted strictly to only the Adventure Girls. They had demanded one night for their very own.

Now they all cocked a suspicious eye in Janet’s direction to seek the cause of her extra-exuberant spirits. That young lady was deeply involved in looking through the music on the piano. They had sung nearly every piece there, but Janet was still seeking another to which to devote their talents.

“See here,” Carol turned Janet squarely about, “confess all! What has happened to you? You were in a glow all through English class this afternoon and anything that can make you glow in that class is colossal.”

“Is that so?” Janet scoffed.

“Is it a secret?” Madge asked hopefully from her position on the arm of Phyllis’ chair, idly strumming her ukulele.

“Aren’t we your bestest pals? Don’t we tell you everything?” Carol insisted. “Come on, Janet, what is it all about?”

Janet bent intently over a pile of music. “If you must know, Mark Sherwin has asked me to the Senior Prom.”

“No!”

“Whoopee! He asks far enough ahead of time.”

“No wonder you were all smiles!” Carol declared. “So that is it! Your hero!”

“He isn’t,” Janet said shortly. “He’s nice, he has ambition,” she added loftily.

“Happy days are here again,” Carol said, whirling Janet around the room.

“Be quiet,” Janet complained. “You’re jealous,” she accused.

“Where is the dance to be held?” Phyllis wanted to know.

“At the Country Club,” Valerie put in. “I’m on the dance committee.”

“You are!” Madge echoed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Valerie laughed. “I didn’t know it myself until this afternoon. I had almost forgotten it. Who are you going with, Phyl?”

“If I can go,” Phyllis said ruefully, “if my Aunt will let me, David wants to take me, but I don’t know.”

“She still insists on keeping you out of Briarhurst?” Gale asked.

Phyllis nodded vigorously. “I suppose I shall go to Stonecliff and wear a horrid uniform.”

“We must do something about that,” Janet said. “We won’t be separated, Aunt or no Aunt!”

Phyllis laughed but she didn’t look as though she believed they could do anything. She knew her Aunt better than any of them.

“Who is taking you to the prom, Gale?”

“I——”

“I’ll bet she can’t make up her mind,” teased Janet. “Which is it, Gale? Bruce or Brent?”

“It is a secret,” Gale said promptly. “You shan’t any of you know until you see me there.”

“Ah, that isn’t fair!” the others complained.

“But it will give you something to look forward to,” Gale laughed.

To tell the truth she didn’t know. Bruce might ask her. He usually took her to the school dances but she—she wanted to ask Brent but she was a little afraid. Afraid he would refuse and then she would be hurt. She hadn’t seen much of him since her return to Marchton. He had gone to Washington the day after and had not yet returned; if, she added to herself, he intended to return.

When the others teased her she remained silent. A mysterious smile was all the reply she would give them.

The girls gave no thought to the classes they would have tomorrow while they were enjoying themselves and it was late when they finally bid Gale a sleepy good night. After a little straightening up Gale crept away to her own room but not to sleep. She brought out her books and tackled the lessons which she found difficult. During her absence the classwork had gone forward and now she was hard pressed to make up for lost time.

Soon, however, the pencil dropped from her fingers and she stared out the window to where the winter moon floated easily through the clouds. She thought of Antoinette and sighed. It had been very hard to part from the French friends she had made. She missed the three in the little Canadian cottage more than anyone knew. Especially she missed the sweet friendly presence of the girl and her romps with Toto. She missed the cold nights in the bright moonlight when she had tramped in the snow. Here she could not go out walking when she felt like it. Her parents and friends would think her insane if she should go for a walk late at night. There would never be the same freedom here that there had been in Canada for that short time.

Gale yawned and closed her history book. She could not cram another sentence into her head tonight. Her eyes burned and felt heavy. She took deep breaths of the cool air that drifted in the window but she did not feel refreshed.

Upon a sudden decision she took her woolly coat from her closet and on tiptoe crept into the hall and down the stairs. At every creak of the steps she held her breath lest her Mother call her. She didn’t propose to do anything wrong, but she felt she must get away from the house, away from the books and studies that were becoming more and more difficult, from the worry of her examinations which was beginning to have a smothering effect on her.

Dry leaves rustled beneath her feet as she went down the path to the street. There she turned in the direction of the bay. At the tiny wharf she seated herself on a deserted soap box and gazed out over the gentle swell of waves. A huge blot in the darkness was the island. Beyond that lashed the heavy ocean waves. She could hear the roar of the surf even at this distance. She sniffed appreciatively and felt the spell of depression that had enveloped her lifting.

Suddenly she heard a sound in the stillness. It was a footfall and quite abruptly a man was outlined against the line of water and sky as he stood at the opposite end of the wharf from her. His figure was a mere blot, indistinguishable. He carried a huge bag or box, Gale could not determine which in the indistinct light. As she watched he set this down at his feet and took a few steps along the edge, peering over into the water.

Gale, in order to have a better point of vision, dropped from the wharf into the rear seat of Bruce’s motor boat. She pulled a huge piece of canvas over her and lay still, watching the shadow up above her through a slit in the canvas. It had come to her suddenly that she had been quite mad to come down to the shore at this hour. Burglars, smugglers, anyone might be here. Even though she had never heard much of such desperate characters in Marchton now, with the stranger standing ominously in the shadows, her imagination pictured all sorts of crimes.

Footsteps approached and Gale hastily drew the canvas more fully over her. A thud, and the boat rocked as another person took his position up in the front at the wheel. A few minutes later and after several false attempts, the motor broke into a roar that shattered the stillness of the night like a roll of thunder.

Gale peered out and thought of making a wild dash for the safety of the wharf but it was already too late. The shore was being rapidly left behind. She glanced up at the prow. The man was leaning over, getting every ounce of speed from the engine that was possible. Again Gale mentally scolded herself for the foolhardy thing she had done. She should never have come to the wharf; but in the second place, and now more important, she should never have gotten into the boat. She was an unwilling passenger of a strange pilot on a still stranger cruise.

At first she had thought the boat was headed out for the open sea but, by discreetly raising her head for a glimpse into the darkness ahead, she saw the pilot was heading straight for the island. What could he want there? Gale had not been there since the day Brent left. It was deserted as far as she knew. The club house which Brent had occupied during his stay there was boarded up for the winter. What could he want?

The boat veered off sharply and chugged onto the shore. The prow grated on the pebbly sand and Gale kept herself hidden until she was sure the pilot had jumped clear and started up the beach. Then she raised herself and looked after him. The dark figure was striding up toward the club house.

Gale stood up and after some difficulty negotiated her way up to the prow of the boat from where she could jump onto the sand. The water lapped her shoes as she darted away from the boat and sprang up the beach, keeping in the shadows out of sight of the stranger. She must see what he was about. Her curiosity was aroused and a feverish interest to keep the strange man and his doings in sight gripped her.

The figure ahead of her had approached the club house. He was working with the door and she saw it give beneath his weight. A second later he disappeared into the darkness within. She waited until a faint glimmer of light came from between the boards on the windows and from beneath the door. Then she crept forward. It was impossible to see into the room between the boards and she was puzzled. She must find out what he was doing in there! Cautiously she moved to the door. It was not latched, merely pushed to a thin crack. Gently she began to move it open far enough for her to see into the interior.

To the man inside the little club house, the slowly moving door was sinister and threatening. Not a sound came to his ears; that is, no human sound. He could hear the lapping of the water on the shore, could hear the swish of a tree branch on the roof, but there was no indication of another’s presence on the other side of the door.

He grasped a stout piece of wood which had originally been intended for a fire log and advanced slowly. About five paces from the threshold he halted and waited. The door had stopped moving. He could see nothing but he sensed someone standing there, listening. Cautiously he stretched out his hand and gave the door a sudden jerk inward. A girlish figure was precipitated into the room at his feet.

“Oh!” Gale almost shrieked as a brown hand seized her own. Her heart raced with terror until she saw his face.

“Brent!”

“Gale!”

The man flung aside his bit of firewood and helped her to her feet.

“You were almost crowned,” he declared laughing. “I thought a ghost of an ancient pirate had risen to confront me.”

“And I thought you were a smuggler or something!” Gale admitted laughingly. “I was going to protect our club house from any of your nefarious schemes.”

“How did you get on the island?” he asked.

“I rode over in the boat—with you,” she explained and smiled at his mystification. “I was hiding under the canvas in the stern.”

“Suppose I had been a burglar or something,” he admonished. “You would be in a fine mess.”

“But I’m glad you aren’t,” she said. She swung herself up onto the table and swung her legs out before her, regarding him with serious eyes. “But what are you doing here at this hour?”

“Lady, you see a recently returned traveler seeking some place to lay his weary head.”

“You came back to Marchton tonight?” she murmured. “Why didn’t you come to our house?”

“It was too late to barge in upon anybody. I had the brilliant thought of your club house and decided I would like to spend a night here again. So here I am,” he finished.

“It is boarded up for the winter,” Gale said with a distasteful glance around her at the dust and shuttered windows. “It isn’t very pleasant now.”

“Never mind about me,” he declared. “Young lady, you explain what you mean by running around at this hour of the night alone? You should be in bed and asleep.”

Gale grimaced wryly. “I wasn’t sleepy and I felt like walking.”

He swung her down from the table. “Come along, I’ll take you home.”

“But you aren’t coming back here, are you?” she protested when she saw he had left his traveling bag behind them in the club house.

“For tonight,” he said.

“But—but it is so cold and damp and—dangerous.”

He laughed. “Nonsense. I want to—I want to think about something and this is a fine place for it. Tomorrow I’m going to the Ayres Hotel.”

Gale let her protests subside. For the ride over to the mainland she was mostly silent. It was not until they stood at the gate to the Howard yard that she asked the question that had been bothering her.

“Are you going to be in Marchton long?” she asked.

“Not so very long,” he answered. “You see, Gale, I’ve been offered a position with the Transcontinental Air Line Company. It—it’s the chance I’ve been waiting for.”

“I’m glad,” Gale said, even though in her heart she felt she wasn’t glad because then she wouldn’t see him very often. “You will live in Washington?” she heard herself asking.

“Yes.” It seemed as though he wanted to say something else but decided not to. Instead he murmured, “Good night.”

But Gale stopped him. “Brent, I’d like to ask you—that is would you mind—I mean, will you go to the Senior Prom with me?” Her words seemed loud and brazen to her own ears. She couldn’t see him very well in the shadows but she had the horrified notion he was laughing at her. And what man in his position wouldn’t laugh? Not that he was so much older than she—he couldn’t be more than twenty-three and she was almost nineteen. It was just that she should have the cheek to ask him! She felt like crying, “Don’t pay any attention to me. I know you won’t go. I shouldn’t have asked,” when as if in a dream she heard him saying—

“That will be great, Gale. When is it?”

As Gale ran the short distance to the house she felt as though she were treading on air. Her heart was soaring with ecstasy. It was a small matter to creep upstairs, undress and get into bed without making a sound. Once in bed she could give herself up utterly to dreams of that gala night to come.

Even the pleasant anticipation of the Senior Prom could not drive from Gale’s mind the necessity for passing her mid-term examinations. Her whole future, so she had privately decided, rested on her passing and going on with her friends to Briarhurst. If she couldn’t go with the others she would not want to go at all. It was unthinkable that she should be left behind!

Slowly but surely Gale pulled her marks up. The lapse of time when she had fallen so far behind was forgotten. She regained her old honor roll standing in every subject but one.

Gale had always had trouble with English. Poetry, literature and written composition all combined to give her the most trouble of all her subjects. She could read poetry, memorize it and recite it beautifully, but she had not the faintest appreciation of it. The passages of the greater composers with their clarity and beautifully penned expressions awoke no interest in her whatever. Literature stirred her even less. Her compositions were fair, but not good enough to counter-balance her deterrent marks in the other subjects.

Disheartened and it seemed all for naught, Gale studied literature and poetry. English was a major and she must pass! It meant the necessary points for her graduation! She learned the words in her books and could repeat them like an automaton but they meant absolutely nothing to her.

Miss Relso was not so very much older than Gale. She could remember her own school days when she, too, had struggled with difficult subjects. She wanted to help Gale but the girl must first learn an appreciation of Shakespeare and Browning and all the other masters. Once she had the foundation of a liking for the finer writings it would not be difficult to master all she had to for her class.

The teacher, in a vain attempt to force interest into Gale, kept her after school for conferences, paid particular attention to all Gale’s classwork. But it seemed hopeless. Gale either couldn’t or wouldn’t learn to like poetry.

“Gale, take this book home and read the story of Elaine and Lancelot tonight,” the teacher said one afternoon. “When you’ve finished it, no matter what time it is, come around to my house and we’ll talk about it.”

Gale accepted the book “Idylls of The King” reluctantly and left the classroom. She had a wild desire to pitch the volume into the first handy wastepaper basket. Never had she liked Tennyson. She had not liked any of the poets, but Tennyson in particular. However, the blue book remained in her possession as she wandered homeward. It even remained with her when she met the other Adventure Girls at the Kopper Kettle.

“Hello,” she said as she sank down in her chair. “Where’s Phyllis?”

“In the gym practicing for basketball,” Janet said and pulled her chair in closer. “Now here is my plan.”

“Plan?” Carol inquired lazily. “I didn’t know you had one. What is it for?”

“Listen and find out,” Janet said. “While Phyllis is away, let’s go to her Aunt and ask her to let Phyl go to Briarhurst with us.”

“Not me!” Carol said lustily. “I wouldn’t face that woman for anything.”

“Scaredy cat,” Janet scoffed. “She can’t bite you.”

“She will try hard enough,” Carol declared. “That is the wrong thing to do, Janet. She won’t agree for spite then. You know she never lets Phyl do anything when she thinks Phyl has her heart really set on it. We should use strategy.”

“Such as——” Janet inquired hopefully.

“I don’t know,” Carol admitted.

“Then we’ll do as I suggest—this once,” Janet said. “We’ll go and see her Aunt. Who will go with me?” She looked around. “Don’t all speak at once,” she begged when none of the others had said a word.

Gale laughed. “I might be persuaded,” she said at last. “I’ll go if you will do the talking.”

“Try to keep Janet quiet,” Carol laughed.

“I’ll go too,” Valerie said.

“Excuse me,” Madge put in. “I feel as Carol does. I won’t face Phyl’s Aunt!”

“Then we three will go and beard the dragon in her den,” Janet said with dignity. “Come along, girls.”

The three went out and walked briskly up the long hill. However, as they neared Phyllis’ home their steps began to lag. Some of their bravado was vanishing now that they were actually nearing the tall, cold, sharp-faced woman whose strong will so dominated the life of their friend.

The house itself did not look very encouraging. The curtains were drawn over all the windows and the panes looked bleak and unfriendly. The outside was grey and weatherbeaten and the girls knew from their infrequent visits the inside was just as bleak.

“Well, ring the bell,” Janet said as they stood undecided on the porch.

Gale stretched out a hand and pulled the old fashioned bell handle. They could hear the peal of the iron bell somewhere within the interior.

“Don’t forget,” Valerie told Janet, “you are to do the talking!”

A second later the door was opened by Phyllis’ Aunt in person. The woman took in the three girls standing there and remained firmly planted in the doorway. Obviously she did not intend to invite them in.

“Well?” she said when neither of them spoke.

“I—we—that is——” Janet began lamely and looked appealingly at Gale. Gone were all intentions of talking.

“We’ve come to talk to you about Phyllis,” Gale said, reluctantly taking upon herself their mission.

“What about her?” Miss Fields demanded. “If she is in any kind of trouble I’ll——”

“Oh, no!” Valerie said hastily.

“We’ve come to talk about Phyllis going to Briarhurst,” Gale said unwisely.

The woman before them stiffened noticeably, if it were possible for her to get much stiffer.

“Phyllis is going to Stonecliff,” she said.

“That is it,” Gale said. She scarcely realized what she was saying. Her words tumbled out incoherently in her haste to say what was to be said and to be away again. She realized now more than ever before why Phyllis lived in such awe of Miss Fields. The woman was a positive tyrant! There was not a glimmer of emotion in the stern cut of her features. Gale doubted if a smile had ever curled the corners of the thin lips.

“We’ve become such good friends with Phyllis that we were hoping she might go along with the rest of us to Briarhurst. It seems a shame to break up our group now. Besides Briarhurst is much the finer college. Their curriculum is much larger, the girls are friendly—everything is nicer and Phyllis really wants to go with us.” Gale realized how unwise the last had been as soon as she had said it.

Miss Fields drew herself up to her full height and glared at each girl in turn. “Phyllis is going to Stonecliff,” she said, and without giving the girls a chance to carry the argument any farther she turned and slammed the door in their faces.

“I’m glad she saw our point of view,” Janet commented dryly when the girls had left the vicinity of Phyllis’ home.

“Do you suppose we should tell Phyllis we were here?” Gale asked after a moment.

“We better,” Valerie said.

“I hope Miss Fields doesn’t think Phyllis sent us up there,” Janet put in.

“I hope not!” Gale said.

“Well, what luck?” Carol demanded when the three girls reëntered the Kopper Kettle.

“Not one inch of ground has been gained,” Janet sighed. “We were forced to retreat. The enemy was too much for us.”

“You should have used strategy,” Carol insisted.

Janet sighed and motioned to Phyllis who was just entering.

Phyllis listened silently to the story of the girls’ visit to her Aunt. She had not a word of comment to make. She was not surprised at the abrupt manner of her Aunt. She might have told them to expect nothing else.

When the girls broke up to make their ways to their separate homes for dinner Gale at once retreated to her room and opened the book her English teacher had given her. “Idylls of The King” had not appealed particularly to her when they had read it in class last year. But now she found her interest being drawn into the story of Elaine.

From the very first words she let herself be drawn into the story, and found to her amazement, when she had finished, that she enjoyed it. Perhaps it was because she secretly saw much of Elaine in herself. And Lancelot? No one but Brent could be Lancelot to her.

Obediently when she had finished she donned her coat and walked over to Miss Relso’s home. There she had the most pleasant discussion she had ever had about a book. She found herself liking the young English teacher more every minute and made a determined effort to like and to grasp those points upon which she had never focused much attention before.

From that time on the major part of Gale’s battle was won. Every day brought a new discovery, new appreciation of plays and poetry. She even surprised herself when she discovered she was liking the studies in which she had previously failed. Now she took rapid strides forward. She coöperated wholeheartedly with her teacher and she did not fail to pass her examinations with flying colors. Her admiration for her teacher knew no bounds.

The committee’s plans for the Senior Prom met with many setbacks. There was trouble on all sides, but finally everything was settled. It had so long been delayed that it was May before the big night finally arrived. It was the main event in the lives of the Seniors. It was a night they had long awaited and dreamed of.

If the night were to exceed Gale’s dreams it would have to be gala indeed. For months, ever since the night she had asked Brent, Gale had lived the Prom secretly in her heart many times. Brent had gone to Washington to take up his position with the air company, but he wrote her long, chatty, amusing letters. And she answered in kind. She had been desperately afraid he might forget he had promised to take her, but there was no danger of that. The day before the Prom Brent came to Marchton and upon insistence from the whole family stayed in the guest room at the Howard house.

Now here she was, coming from the dressing room where she had left her wrap, meeting Brent, tall and handsome in his formal clothes. Gale felt her heart must burst with happiness. She had no idea how lovely she herself was, flushed with the excitement and happiness of the evening, but Brent had.

The ballroom was crowded. Gale felt as though she scarcely knew the young people there. There was such a difference. Formal clothes on the boys and long, fluffy gowns on the girls changed the hail-and-well-met chums of the campus to dignified young people. The committee had spared no pains to make the night one to be remembered. The ballroom was decorated artfully with the school colors. The orchestra played smooth, sweet rhythm.

“Happy?” Brent asked.

Gale sighed. “I didn’t know I could be so happy.”

Over his shoulder—she could just about see over Brent’s shoulder—Gale smiled at Phyllis dancing with David Kimball. She was delighted on Phyllis’ account. It had been a long time before Phyllis dared plan to come to the dance. There was Valerie dancing with Peter Arnold—and Janet! Janet with Mark Sherwin and having the time of her life. That was easily determined by the rapt expression on her friend’s face. Gale in her long acquaintance with Janet had never seen the latter look so demure and sweet.

Carol was there with her favorite basketball player, as was Madge with the boy next door. In fact every one Gale knew was there and well they might be. It was the goodbye social affair for them. In another month they would be graduating from high school. Then would come vacation days and then college.

Mingling with the other young people she knew Gale felt happy. She danced with the other boys and Brent danced at least once with the other Adventure Girls, but Gale was happiest when she was dancing with Brent. At other times they talked a lot, they always had something to talk about, to discuss, to laugh about, but tonight they were for the most part silent. Gale felt it was all a dream. The reality was even more sweet than her dreams had been.

Down the smooth expanse of floor Brent guided their progress, winding in and out among the other dancers, to the wide French windows that led out onto the terrace of the Country Club. It was an exceptionally warm night for the spring and startlingly clear. The stars were out doubly strong and the moon beamed with, it seemed, whole-hearted approval upon the pleasure of the young people.

With mutual consent they found a little stone bench in the seclusion of a willow tree and sat down. The night was scented with the sweetness of blossoming flowers. Gale leaned her head back against the rough trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. She felt if something didn’t happen soon to remind her she was actually here she would simply burst with happiness and contentment. It was like a setting in a play—the garden, a boy and girl, and in the distance the faint murmur of music.

“Isn’t it lovely?” she murmured.

Brent had eyes not for the night, but only for Gale. He said as much and she smiled.

“I mean it,” he insisted. “Gale—” his voice had become gentle, low, and desperately serious. “I want to marry you. No, listen, hear it all,” he said, as she would have spoken. “I know, you are going to college, you want to do a lot of things. I want to amount to something and to have something real to offer you. It will take time. But I had to tell you now. I’ve thought about it a lot lately—I’m always thinking about you. Tonight I—I just had to tell you!”

“I’m glad,” Gale whispered.

“If you will wait, Gale, it may not be for long, but I want to give you so many things. If you will wait for me—for a little while, Gale——”

Gale listened to his words, her heart beating fast. It was true she was going to college, she wanted to finish growing up, to have a chance in the world, and with Brent working for the same goal as she—— When she looked up there were actually tears in her eyes. “Oh, Brent,” she whispered, “I’ll wait—I’ll wait forever!”

When they went back into the ballroom Gale’s eyes were a little brighter, her cheeks a little rosier, and her hand nestled cozily in Brent’s possessive grasp. Her friends noted these things and Valerie and Phyllis smiled knowingly. They fully appreciated how happy Gale must be and the minute they could, when they were alone in the dressing room preparing to leave and drive out to the country to a little place for waffles, they each kissed her.

“Has it happened, Gale?” Phyllis asked.

Gale blushed. “Nothing is to be said, but I’m so happy, Phyl!”

“I’m glad,” Phyllis said, and she meant it.

Gale and Brent were both favorites with the Adventure Girls. In the short time they had known him Brent had won a place beside Gale in their affections. They liked his ready smile, easy-going nature and sociability.

The evening ended with Gale, Phyllis and Valerie with their three escorts, driving out into the country where they had hot chocolate and waffles, and then by a long, roundabout way, driving home in the moonlight.

“For April showers may come your way,” Janet sang lustily as she tramped along through the warm June rain beside Carol and Gale.

“Slightly off in your months, aren’t you?” Carol commented. “Methinks this is June.”

“Ah, yes, ‘what is so fair as a day in June’?” Janet murmured. She squinted up at the dark clouds hanging overhead and at the heavy downpour coming therefrom. “I ask you, ‘what is so fair as a day in June’?”

“June,” soliloquized Carol, “the month of roses, sweet scented breezes—and examinations!” she ended disgustedly.

“What has come over you two?” Gale wanted to know. “Quoting poetry—even in the rain!”

“Yes,” Carol grinned mischievously, “one might think we were in love instead of it being you who——”

Gale frowned good-naturedly at her. “Instead of who?” she encouraged threateningly. She didn’t mind their teasing; by now she was used to it.

“I was going to say——” Carol continued meekly.

“Hi, book slaves,” Madge called, and swung into step beside them.

“Ah, the light of the history class,” Janet greeted her. “I hear you were disgustingly brilliant in your examination this morning,” she accused the latest arrival.

“As usual,” Madge said modestly.

“And poor me,” Carol sighed, “I probably won’t sleep tonight for worrying about my test tomorrow morning.”

“As if anything less than an earthquake could keep you awake!” Janet declared.

“I understand that is what we are coming together for this afternoon,” Madge said, “to coach you.”

“Much to my sorrow,” Carol declared. “You know I simply can’t learn anything when we are all together.”

“Is that the only time?” Janet inquired daringly.

There might have been serious results to her last question had not Madge supplied food for different thought.

“How is it Phyllis is having us at her Aunt’s house?” Madge wanted to know, shifting her books from one arm to the other while she juggled her umbrella.

“I think her Aunt is out of town for the day,” Gale answered.

“I hope she is out of town,” Carol declared heartily. “I wouldn’t want to be present if she should come home and find us.”

“If we get the chance, if her Aunt should surprise us, we must carry out our plans!” Janet insisted.

“Hm,” Carol said unenthusiastically, despite the fact that in the very beginning the girls’ plan had originated with her.

The four went on to the grey house on the top of the hill. There they discovered Valerie had already arrived and was attempting to draw some music from the old piano which was so very seldom used.

“What a day!” Janet declared. “Even music. What would your Aunt say?”

“Why do you have to remind us of what Miss Fields might say?” Carol asked irritably. “We want to enjoy ourselves.”

“Not you, my fine young lady,” Janet declared, flinging Carol’s history book at her. “To work, for you!”

For the rest of the afternoon the girls tried to impress on Carol the facts she would surely need for tomorrow’s examination, the final and biggest of the term. On it depended the result of her whole year’s work. They simply would not let her fail.

“I’ll have a pony!” Carol said with sudden brilliancy.

“You know very well you can’t take a horse into a classroom,” Janet said.

“Silly,” Carol laughed. “A pony in this case is a little slip of paper with all the answers written on it.”

“Uh huh,” Janet said, “and what happens if you lose the paper?”

“I didn’t think of that.”

“Besides, how do you know what questions are going to be asked? How can you tell which are the right answers to write down?” Madge added.

“Forget I said anything,” Carol pleaded. “I’ll pass without the pony.”

The girls really had a good time, and at dinnertime Carol had to admit that she did know a little more than when she had started.

Phyllis suggested that they all stay and between them make their own dinner. The girls welcomed the suggestion albeit they were a little fearful of the sudden and unexpected return of Phyllis’ Aunt. However, Phyllis assured them Miss Fields wasn’t expected back until late in the evening. She was no more anxious than the rest of them to incur her Aunt’s wrath.

For that one evening the house on the hill was lighted gaily, laughter and chatter echoed in the rooms usually so silent and the dining room was the scene of a festive, yet far from elaborate, dinner. The silver and glassware glittered in the light from the old-fashioned chandelier. The girls were delighted with the old patterned china and glassware.

“It is a wonder your Aunt wouldn’t give a lot of parties just to show off the things she has,” declared Madge.

Phyllis laughed but said nothing. She could never picture her Aunt as hostess to any party.

After the simple meal the girls put together and washed the dishes, Gale doing the actual washing, Valerie and Phyllis drying while Madge, Janet and Carol carried them to the dining room and put them in the old-fashioned sideboard.

It was upon one of the return trips to the kitchen for more dishes that Carol pushed the swinging door squarely into Madge, knocking the huge platter from her hand.

“I’m dreadfully sorry!” Carol said in horror, gazing down at the smashed fragments of the dish.

“That doesn’t help matters any,” Janet said with a frown. “Why don’t you be careful? We will probably get Phyllis in an awful mess now.”

“It doesn’t matter really,” Phyllis said, knowing in her heart it mattered a great deal. She had no idea what her Aunt might do when she discovered the destruction of her favorite platter.

While Gale assisted Phyllis in picking up the pieces the other girls returned to the dining room. There they waited for the other two while tracing the patterns of wood carving on the heavy oak furniture.

Suddenly Carol, who had been standing at the old sideboard beside Janet, looked up and into the mirror over her head. She saw suddenly the figure of Phyllis’ Aunt in the doorway behind them. At first she almost dropped from fright, then quickly she gathered her wits together. She nudged Janet and from the look on her friend’s face judged Janet had already become aware of Miss Fields. Carol only hoped now that the woman did not know the girls were aware of her.

“You know,” Carol said, trying to speak naturally, “since Phyllis can’t go with us to Briarhurst, suppose we go to Stonecliff with her.”

Valerie and Madge looked at the other two swiftly, but taking their cue, nodded in agreement.

In the mirror Carol saw Miss Fields draw back into the protecting shadows of the room beyond. She turned quite calmly about. Phyllis’ Aunt could not now be seen, but she was still listening, of that Carol was sure.

“Yes,” she said, “I think it would be more fun to go with Phyllis than to break up our group, don’t you think so?”

“Don’t we think what?” Phyllis asked, entering then with Gale.

“We’ve been thinking,” Janet supplied, “that it would be nice if we went with you to Stonecliff since you can’t go with us to Briarhurst.”

Phyllis stared at her friends in surprise. “But I thought——”

“That we were set on Briarhurst?” Valerie put in. “One college is as good as another,” she shrugged convincingly.

“But——” Phyllis began, and stopped. “Why this sudden decision?” she demanded.

Carol was afraid she would spoil everything. “We just decided on it!” she said firmly. “Can’t we change our minds if we like?”

“It will be nice being with you,” Phyllis sighed. “I—Aunt Melba!”

“Phyllis, when your guests have gone I would like to speak to you. I will come to your room.”

The girls were not slow in taking their leave after that. As Carol said, they didn’t need a second hint.

When the door had closed behind her friends Phyllis leaned against it and for a moment considered dashing after them. Her heart was beating wildly. There had been something about her Aunt—Phyllis dreaded being alone with her. She knew there was punishment coming for daring to bring her friends into the house and then there was that prized platter! What form the punishment would take Phyllis did not know. Her Aunt did not use physical violence, instead she deprived Phyllis of something the girl wanted very much. Phyllis was glad the Prom was past. This would have been an excellent reason for her Aunt to refuse her permission to go. But now nothing could dispel the memory of the good time she had had that night.

Slowly and thoughtfully she mounted the steps to her room. There was a glimmer of light beneath her Aunt’s door but not a sound came from within. In her own room Phyllis sat on the edge of the bed and waited. Two important thoughts leaped and surged through her mind. One was her Aunt’s anger and the other the Adventure Girls’ new announcement. She was glad that they were going to Stonecliff with her. It would not be so lonesome now.

Suddenly the door knob turned and noiselessly the door opened. Phyllis stared at her Aunt standing on the threshold. A heavy frown was on the cold features. Phyllis thought instinctively of the broken platter. Now it would come! She got to her feet and stood waiting.

“Phyllis——” her Aunt began.

“I’m sorry I brought the girls here, Aunt Melba,” Phyllis interrupted. “I didn’t mean——”

“Silence!” Her Aunt held up a peremptory hand. “We won’t discuss that. Recently you asked me to reconsider my decision to send you to Stonecliff. I have done so and have decided that perhaps you are right. Briarhurst may be the best for you.”

Phyllis sat down abruptly upon the bed. “But now——” she began vaguely.

“Briarhurst is the better college,” her Aunt said firmly. “You should be pleased. It was what you wanted. Good night.”

The door closed behind her Aunt and Phyllis flung herself across the bed. What she wanted? Last week it was, but now—just when the other girls had made up their minds to go to Stonecliff? She, her Aunt, must have been listening tonight when the girls were talking about Stonecliff, Phyllis decided. It must have been then she decided to send her niece to the other college. Anything to break up the friendship between Phyllis and the other girls.

Phyllis choked back her tears and went to the window. The rain had cleared away and in the faint moonlight Phyllis could see the houses in the valley below lighted and cozy. She thought of the other girls in homes that were gay and with lots of friends. Girls who did much as they pleased.

Phyllis tried to remember her own mother and father but she could not. Her Aunt never referred to Phyllis’ parents and she gave the girl no opportunity to ask questions. But lately Phyllis had begun to wonder. She even doubted sometimes if her Aunt was really her Aunt. If she were really Miss Fields’ niece, wouldn’t the woman have a little affection for her? Wouldn’t she be a little kinder sometimes? Must she always be distant, always cold, always a total stranger?

Phyllis decided to give up thinking anything tonight and go to bed. She felt very young and friendless as she climbed into bed and lay staring up into the darkness. Yet a moment later she chided herself sternly. She had friends, all the Adventure Girls and others. She supposed her Aunt did love her in her way or else she wouldn’t be sending her to college at all. Yes, she told herself, she did have friends. Hadn’t the Adventure Girls decided to go to Stonecliff because she was to go there? Yes, but now she wasn’t going there. She would have to see if she could change her Aunt’s mind back again. Everything was terribly mixed up!

The next day was the last day of examinations. It marked the end of all their four high school years. Carol did her best in history class and she had the secret conviction when the bell dismissed them that she had done pretty well. Of course she wouldn’t know until their papers were marked, but she was sure she had passed. The other girls, too, were pretty confident now of having no more difficulties with high school studies.

“If you hadn’t been so patient I wouldn’t have passed,” Gale declared to Miss Relso that afternoon when she was the last one to leave the English class.

“I’m glad you passed, Gale,” the teacher said, “and I want to wish you lots of success in college.”

“I’ll probably need a lot of good wishes,” Gale confessed. “I know college will be more difficult than high school has been.”

“If you do your work as you have done here you won’t have any trouble,” Miss Relso assured her. “To what college are you going, Gale?”

“Briarhurst,” Gale said.

“Indeed!” Miss Relso murmured in a pleased tone; she had graduated from there.

Gale greeted this news eagerly. “Then perhaps you can help me,” she said. “The girls and I want to make arrangements for our rooms, but we don’t know the dormitories or anything. Or will all that be taken care of for us? Will the registrar assign our dormitories?”

“It would be nice if you could get into the Omega Chi Sorority house,” the teacher mused.

“Is that your sorority?” Gale asked, indicating the pin the teacher wore.

It seemed at that Gale struck a responsive note for the teacher launched into vivid details of her days at the Sorority house. Right then and there Gale decided she would rather stay at the Sorority building than anywhere else. The teacher’s description of the rooms, the friendship that sprang up between the girls, all delighted her. Gale made up her mind to write to the Omega Chi Sorority that very night. Unknown to her the teacher at the same moment decided to write in the girls’ behalf.

The sun was setting but it would not be dark for a long while yet, when Gale ran lightly down the wide stone steps of the high school building. Boys and girls lounged on the corner, strolled slowly homeward, or made their way to the tennis courts in back of the building. Gale answered their hails with smiles and a wave of her hand but she did not linger. She suspected and earnestly hoped that there would be a fat letter from Brent awaiting her when she reached home. She was not disappointed. There was a letter whose thickness delighted her and also some snapshots taken by Stubby of Brent in his flying togs and near his pet plane.

Gale propped the pictures upright upon her dressing table and curled up on the window seat to read the closely written pages of his letter. She read it through twice before she finally restored it to the waiting envelope.

She knew the other girls were waiting at the Kopper Kettle for her, but she couldn’t bring herself to bestir herself from her dreams. She could look out and down on the lawn and street beyond. The trees had once more assumed their gay lovely summer colors. The scent of flowers was heavy.

Gale’s eyes were dreamy and there was a half smile on her face. If someone had spoken to her then she wouldn’t have heard. She was miles away, alternately dreaming of a tall young man who spent much of his time in the sky, and the college days that were to come. She wondered if she would like the girls at Briarhurst. She wondered if she would fare well in her studies. She wondered if, with the enlargements of their interests and new friends, the Adventure Girls would ultimately be broken up.

The jangle of the telephone sent her scampering downstairs to answer.

“Say, aren’t you ever coming?” Carol’s impatient voice demanded.

“Right away!” Gale declared and true to her word snatched up her tennis racquet and departed forthwith.

After their impromptu meeting at the Kopper Kettle the girls were to play tennis until dinner time. They all had their tennis racquets, that is all but Phyllis. When she appeared, even after Gale, the others noted the lack of the important equipment if she was to play with them.

“You can’t play!” Janet cried in disappointment.

“No,” Phyllis said briefly, seating herself beside Valerie, “I can’t play and what is more—I won’t be going to college with you.”

“What’s that?” Carol demanded. “Do you mean to say that after all this——”

“What I mean to say is that since you are going to Stonecliff my Aunt has decided to send me to Briarhurst. Whichever one you go to I shall probably go to the other. Now when I want to go to Stonecliff——”

“You can just keep on wanting,” Madge said delightedly, “because we aren’t going there.”

Phyllis looked at the smiling faces about her in bewilderment. “But you all said——”

“What we said was said for your Aunt’s especial benefit,” Carol explained. “Remember I said we would have to use strategy in bringing your Aunt around to our way of thinking? She still doesn’t think as we do, but nevertheless we accomplished what we set out to do.”

“I don’t understand,” Phyllis murmured. “First you were going to Briarhurst, now you aren’t——”

“You see,” Carol went on obligingly, “last night when we were at your house Janet and I saw, in the mirror, your Aunt standing behind us in the doorway. She thought we hadn’t seen her and that is exactly what we wanted her to think. We put our plan into action then. We said what we did because we knew your Aunt was listening.”

Janet made a wry face. “We also knew how she felt about us going with you. She didn’t want to send you to the college we were going to.”

“So you said you were going to Stonecliff to make her change her mind about me,” Phyllis said happily. “Well, it worked. I’m off for Briarhurst the first week in September.”

“Miss Relso was telling me about the Omega Chi Sorority house at Briarhurst,” Gale put in, “and from what she says it will be wonderful if we could get into the sorority and live there. I’m going to write them tonight.”

“The Omega what?” Carol asked again. “Would it be safe to sleep in a house with that name?”

“The house isn’t called that,” Gale laughed. “That is the Greek name of the sorority.”

“Carol wouldn’t appreciate that,” Janet put in. “Well, are we going to play tennis or aren’t we?”

“We are!” declared Valerie and Madge in the same breath.

However, Gale at the last minute decided she didn’t want to play tennis. She walked up the hill to Phyllis’ home with her and there they talked for a while until Phyllis had to go in. Then Gale went slowly down to her home again.

She was seated on the porch, lazily swinging to and fro, watching night darken the world slowly and relentlessly when a tennis ball was thrown at her. It was aimed perfectly and hit her squarely but without hurting. She sat up with a jerk.

“Bruce Latimer! Come out of there!”

Bruce cautiously poked his head around the honeysuckle trellis and grinned.

“Top of the evenin’ to ye, my fine Miss.”

“Where did you get the brogue?” she demanded laughingly.

“Came over to see if you would care for a ride in the motor boat on this swell night.”

“I’d love it,” she declared. “Let’s go!”

“Ah, a girl of action,” Bruce laughed. “You astonish me. Take it easy,” he pleaded as Gale, bouncing his tennis ball ahead of her, ran before him to the street.

“Slow poke,” she teased.

If Bruce was, he belied the name then and did his best to retrieve his ball but Gale eluded him with the agility of long practice. When they arrived at the spot where Bruce’s boat was tied to the makeshift pier they were both breathless and laughing.

It took but a moment before they were in the boat with the motor putting amicably.

Bruce ran his boat to the edge of the bay, to the little inlet where the sea and the quiet inner waters joined. The waves rocked the little boat gently, the air was cool and the night star-studded.

“We better do something or I’ll fall asleep,” Gale declared. “It is too peaceful here. Isn’t the moonlight glorious?”

“Mmm.” Bruce started the motor.

“Let’s go to the island,” Gale proposed. “We will officially open it for the summer.”

The prow of the boat cut through the water like a giant knife sending a light spray back over the two occupants. Twice Bruce circled the bay, the thrill of speed and wind exciting them. Finally he drew up to the island and they went ashore.

Quite a while passed as they strolled along the beach. They sat for a time on a box that had been washed up on the shore by the waves and watched clouds slowly darken the moon. Wind whispered with increasing volume in the tops of the trees, occasionally an owl hooted from his post in the darkness.

Gale sighed audibly and thought of Brent far away in Washington. It was on such a night as this they had gone strolling in the garden at the Country Club. There would never be another night as wonderful as that, she was sure. If only Brent wasn’t so far away!

From Brent her thoughts went again to the college days that were so close. Only a little more than two months and she would be taking the train for Briarhurst. She had always dreamed of college some day, but it seemed unbelievable that those days should actually be here.

“We better go back, Gale, it looks like a storm,” Bruce’s voice recalled her to the present.

The moon was darkly hidden. Trees were swaying with the wind of a sudden approaching storm. In the east thunder rumbled heavily; a flash of lightning illuminated the dark waters of the bay.

“Righto!” Gale agreed immediately.

They set off swiftly, going through the thick growth of trees as a short cut to the opposite shore where they had left the motor boat. Progress was impeded somewhat by the brush and trees which were abundantly thick. In the midst of the woods there was an ear-splitting clap of thunder. A flash of flame and one of the giants of the forest tottered.

Bruce snatched Gale out of danger and they hovered trembling while the tree crashed safely to one side of them, its branches sweeping leaves and brush from its neighbors.

“That was close!” Bruce whistled expressively. “We’ve got to run for it, Gale.” He took her hand in his and they ran forward. “The island is no place to be caught in a thunderstorm—there are too many trees.”

They reached the shore just as the rain started coming down in torrents. They ran along the beach to where the motor boat had been.

“Gone!” Gale gasped.

The placid waters of the bay were now tossing waves stirred with the storm and current from the ocean. The motor boat had been drawn from the shore and was now afloat far out of reach.

“What’ll we do?” Gale wanted to know. “We can’t stay here. Suppose we use the canoe to get to shore.”

“We wouldn’t make it,” Bruce declared instantly. “The canoe would be capsized before we were half way across.”

Behind them trees creaked as they were bent in the force of the wind. The boy and girl were nearly swept from their feet as a sudden gust of wind and rain drenched them.

“I won’t stay here,” Gale said. “We might as well try to make it in the canoe as stay here and get drenched—besides being hit with a falling tree.”

“We couldn’t take the canoe over those waters,” Bruce said again. “Tell you what, you wait in the club house—I’ll take the canoe and try to reach the motor boat. I won’t have to go far, we can see it adrift out there, and it will be safer crossing in the motor boat.”

“If you go, I go,” Gale said stubbornly. “I’ll hold the canoe about while you climb onto the motor boat.”

Bruce started to argue but it was of no avail. Gale was quite firm in her determination to accompany him. Bruce brought the canoe down to the water’s edge and held it steady while Gale climbed into it. The canoe tossed about like a paper cup.

“We won’t make it,” Bruce said shaking his head. “We won’t even stay right side up until we reach the motor boat.”

“We can try,” Gale insisted. “Get in.”

Tremulously the two trusted the small, fragile boat to the fury of the bay waters. Waves rocked them, more than once the canoe hovered on the verge of going over. Their paddles were as naught against the black water. Neither spoke. Gale took an oar and between them they tried to steer the canoe to the dark outline of the motor boat. Every time they sent the boat forward a stroke the waves hurled them back. The struggle lasted scarcely any time at all. Like a paper bag the canoe crumpled, tossing them into the water.

Gale came to the surface spluttering in protest at the mouthful of water she had swallowed. In the darkness she looked about for Bruce. He came up to the right of her.

“Make for the shore,” he cried. “The island!”

They had completely lost sight of the motor boat and the mainland was too far away to dream of swimming there. The waves tossed them about like playthings. Both were excellent swimmers but their training was lost in the swirl of the stormy waters. They were pitched ahead, dragged down, and finally tossed up on the shore weak and breathless.

“Castaways on a desert island!” Gale grumbled as they entered the club house. “I hope the place isn’t smashed under a tree.”

“I believe the thunder and lightning will let up in a little while,” Bruce declared, on his knees coaxing a flame into life in the dark fireplace.

“That feels good!” Gale shivered, holding her hands out to the blaze, after wrapping herself in a blanket. “How are we going to get home?”

“I don’t think we will—tonight,” Bruce said, frowning. “No one knows where we are for one thing. I’ll sleep in the canoe house on the cot tonight and you can have the bunk in here. Pleasant dreams!” and he was gone. He knew the struggle in the water had tired Gale and it was best to let her rest.

Gale listened to the whine of the wind and the slashing of rain against the frail walls of the club house and shivered. She was afraid, but she wouldn’t call Bruce. She remembered vividly the second when the earth had seemed torn apart when the tree was struck by lightning. Suppose one of the tall trees about the club house should fall? She and Bruce would be crushed by the weight of the walls and roof! Such thoughts were horrible and she endeavored to thrust them from her.

She was beginning to feel deliciously warm and cozy. Gale curled up on the bunk and watched the fire in the fireplace and listened to the rain. The rain was a lulling accompaniment to the crackling of the logs and before she knew it she was asleep.

Gale had no inkling of when the rain stopped. The next morning when she awakened and sat up the sun was streaming in through the open door and birds were chirping outside.

“Bruce!” Gale called, but there was no answer.

She looked into the adjoining canoe house, but it was empty. Outside she looked about. The beach was empty as far as she could see.

“Bruce!” she called again.

“Here!”

It was his voice right enough but she could not see him.

“Where are you?”

A twig fell at her feet and she looked up. Bruce was perched in the topmost branches of a sturdy tree. He had a vividly colored Indian blanket in his hand.

“What on earth——” Gale began in amazement.

“Going to be a hermit,” he laughed.

“What’s the idea?”

“People on the mainland,” he answered. “They are looking at something—I believe it is our motor boat—must be a wreck. I’ve been waving the blanket so they can see it and come and rescue us. I want my breakfast.”

Once more Bruce waved his gayly-colored flag, so furiously he nearly toppled from his perch.

“Do they see it?” Gale inquired anxiously.

“They won’t even look over this way,” he said.

“Keep trying,” she urged.

On the shore Carol and Janet with David and Peter were bending over the ruins of the canoe. Farther along the shore Janet called attention to Bruce’s motor boat lying on its side, half filled with water.

“Do you suppose——” Carol couldn’t finish her thought.

“What could have happened to them?” Janet murmured fearfully.

“If they were on the bay in the storm last night,” David said, “it is hard to tell what might have happened.”

“Both boats wrecked—it looks bad,” Peter commented.

“Poor Gale,” Carol whispered in a low voice. “And Bruce——”

Carol and Janet had called for Gale on their way to school that morning. Upon learning that Gale had not been home all night they were preparing to rush out and tell the other girls when they met Peter and David with news of the wrecked boat. They all came down to the shore to make sure it was Bruce’s boat. Their fears were confirmed and now they were at a loss what to do. People had been known to drown in the bay—especially during a storm like the one of last night.

David and Peter hauled the canoe farther up the beach.

“It is the one from the club house all right,” David declared. “I wonder how it got over here?”

“Look,” Carol murmured, “do you see something moving on the island?”

“You are seeing things,” Janet declared.

“I mean—look in that tree right opposite from us. I can just faintly see something—looks like a flag being waved.”

“Perhaps it is Gale and Bruce,” Janet said excitedly. “Get a boat. We’ll go over and find out.”

David departed to find a friend who could lend him a motor boat. The fifteen minutes it took him were interminable for those waiting.

When the boat put out from the mainland Bruce half slid, half climbed down from the tree and together he and Gale went down to the beach to await their rescuers.