packed with impatient spectators. The junior team was already standing on
the floor talking in low voices as they waited impatiently for their
opponents to appear at the opposite end.

"She must be somewhere in the building," David ejaculated. "That is if she
has on her gymnasium suit. Have you looked upstairs yet?"

"No," replied Anne, "but we have been all through the downstairs' rooms."

As they ran up the steps they heard the shrill whistle that summoned the
players to their positions.

"Come on," cried Nora. "Miriam, you will have to take Grace's place, and
Eva Allen will substitute for you."

It still lacked a few moments of the toss up; the whistle having been
blown sooner to hurry the dilatory sophomores, who seemed determined to
linger, unaccountably, in the little side room.

But in that brief time a remarkable change had taken place in the demeanor
of Miriam Nesbit Two brilliant spots burned on her checks, and her black
eyes flashed and glowed with happiness. The other girls were too downcast
and wretched to notice the transformation. They walked slowly into the
gymnasium and stood, ill at ease and downcast, at their end of the hall.

A wave of gossip had spread quickly over the audience, that sat waiting
with breathless interest for the appearance of the tardy sophomore.

What had happened? Had there been an accident?

No; it was all a mistake. There they were. And tremendous applause burst
forth, which died down almost as soon as it had begun. Where was Grace
Harlowe, the daring captain of the sophomore team, who had boasted that
her team would win the game if it took their last breath to do it?

There was a great craning of necks as the spectators looked in vain for
the missing Grace.

Hippy dropped his chin upon his breast disconsolately.

"I feel limp as a rag," he groaned. "Where, oh, where, is our gallant
captain? I'll never believe Grace deserted her post."

In the meantime poor Grace, locked in the upper classroom, had
concentrated all her thoughts and mental energies on a means of making her
escape in time. She sat down quietly, and, folding her hands, began to
consider the situation. In looking back long afterwards upon this tragic
hour, it seemed to her that it was the blackest moment of her life. The
walls were thick. The doors heavy and massive. The ceilings high. There
was no possibility of her cries being heard below. It is true she might
break a window, but what good would that do? She couldn't jump down three
stories into a stone court below. She went to the window and looked out.

"If I hung by this window sill," Grace said aloud, "I believe my feet
would just reach the cornice of the second-story window."

Seizing a heavy ruler from one of the desks, she ran to the window and
deliberately smashed out all the plate glass in the lower sash. Then,
hoisting herself onto the sill, she looked down from what seemed to be
rather a dizzy height. But nerve and determination will accomplish
anything, and Grace turned her eyes upward.

"I shall do it," she kept saying to herself over and over.

Clinging to the window sill, she gradually let herself down until her feet
touched the top of the cornice underneath. Then, steadying herself she
looked down. The cornice ledge was quite broad; broad enough to kneel on,
in fact. She was glad of this, for she had intended to kneel on it,
whatever its width.

With infinite caution, she gradually slipped along the ledge until she was
kneeling. Resting her elbows on the stone shelf, she lowered herself to
the next window sill. There she stood for a moment, looking in at the
empty classroom.

The door into the corridor stood open, and as she clung to the narrow
ledge, her face pressed against the window, she wondered how she was going
to get in.

"Unless I butt my head against this plate glass," she exclaimed, "I really
don't think I can make it. I can't kick in the glass, for fear of losing
my balance."

Suddenly she heard her name called.

"Grace! Grace! Where are you?"

First it was David's voice, and then Anne's, and then the two together,
echoing through the empty corridors and classrooms.

"I'm here," she answered. "Help! Help!"

Fortunately, they were passing the door at that instant and heard her
muffled cries.

"Here," she cried again, and they saw her at last, clinging desperately to
the window ledge.

"I don't dare open the window," exclaimed David, thinking aloud. "The
slightest jar might make her lose her balance. Grace," he cried, "I'll
have to break out the upper sash. Lower your head as much as possible and
close your eyes."

Another instant, and Grace was crouching in a shower of broken glass,
which fell harmlessly on her back and the top of her head. David knocked
off the jagged pieces at the lower end, and Grace climbed nimbly over the
sash.

"There's no time for explanations now," she cried. "I was mysteriously
locked in. Has the game been called?"

David looked hurriedly at his watch.

"You have just a minute and a half," he exclaimed, and the three ran madly
down the steps and into the gymnasium just as the whistle blew and the
girls took their places.

When Grace, covered with dust, a long, red scratch across one cheek,
rushed into the gymnasium, wild applause shook the walls of the building,
for the honor of the sophomore class was saved.




CHAPTER XIX

THE GREAT GAME


It was a pitched battle from the very beginning.

The junior team was in splendid trim, and they played with great finish
and judgment; but the sight of Grace, one side of whose face was tinged
with blood that had risen to the surface from the deep scratch, seemed to
spur the sophomores to the most spectacular and brilliant plays.

Only one girl lagged, and was not in her usual trim. It was Miriam Nesbit,
whose actions were dispirited and showed no enthusiasm. Her shooting was
so inaccurate that a wave of criticism spread over the audience, and the
members of her own class watched her with deep anxiety. When the first
half ended, however the sophomores were two points to the good.

"Grand little players!" cried Hippy, expressing his joy by kicking both
feet against the wooden walls as hard as he could, while he clapped his
hands and roared with all his might.

"The gamest little team I ever saw," answered Reddy.

But David, who had resumed his seat beside them, made no reply. He rose
presently and went to find his sister, who was sitting somewhat apart from
the other girls in gloomy silence.

"What's the matter with you, sister?" he asked gently. "You are not
playing as well as usual. I expected you, especially, to do some fine work
to-day. On the contrary, you have never played worse."

Miriam looked at her brother coldly.

"Why should I help them when they have dishonored me?" she demanded
fiercely.

"How have they dishonored you, Miriam?" asked David.

"By making me the last in everything; putting me at the foot," she said,
stifling a sob of anger.

David looked at his sister sorrowfully. He saw there was no reasoning with
her in her present state of mind; yet knowing her revengeful spirit, he
dreaded the consequences.

"Miriam," he said at last, speaking slowly, "perhaps, some day, you will
learn by experience that the people who give a square deal are the only
ones who really stay at the head. They always win out; and those who are
not on the level----" He stopped. A sudden suspicion had come into his
mind.

"You don't mean to say that it was you who----"

But he didn't finish. Instead, he turned on his heel and walked away. In
one glance he had read Miriam's secret. Now he understood that look of
wild appeal, baffled rage, mortification and disappointment, all jumbled
together in her turbulent soul.

"Did she really want it so badly as all that?" he thought, "or was it only
her insatiable desire never to be beaten?"

In the meantime, Grace, surrounded by a circle of her school-fellows, was
telling them the history of her imprisonment. Miss Thompson and Mrs.
Harlowe had made their way across the floor to the crowd of sophomores;
Mrs. Harlowe to find out whether her daughter's cheek had been seriously
cut, which it had not, and the principal to ask a few questions.

"Did it look like a trick, Grace?" she asked when she had heard the story.

"I hardly know, Miss Thompson. I feel certain that I left the door open
when I went in. The janitress may have locked it without seeing me."

"Perhaps," answered Miss Thompson thoughtfully, "but the rule of locking
the larger classrooms after school hours has never been followed that I
know of. There is really no reason for it, and it might cause some delay
in the morning, in case Mrs. Gunby were not around to unlock the doors."

"You will have to send a bill to father for all the broken glass," laughed
Grace. "I shouldn't have been here at this moment if I hadn't done some
smashing."

Miss Thompson smiled.

"You were perfectly right to do it, my dear. It was an exhibition of good
judgment and great courage. As for the bill, certainly the victim of an
employé's stupidity should not be held accountable for costs. But we won't
disturb you now with any more questions. You deserve to win the game and I
hope with all my heart you will."

There was still a little time left and Grace determined to improve those
shining moments by having a talk with Miriam.

Miriam never looked up when Grace approached her. Her dark brows were knit
in an ugly frown and her eyes were on the floor.

"Miriam, aren't you glad I got out of prison in time?" asked Grace
cordially.

"I suppose so," answered Miriam, looking anywhere but at Grace.

"Is there anything the matter with you to-day?" continued Grace.

"No," answered Miriam shortly.

"Your playing is not up to mark. The girls are very uneasy. Won't you try
to do a little better next half?"

There was a childlike appeal in Grace's voice that grated so on Miriam's
nerves, at that moment that she deliberately turned and walked away,
leaving Grace standing alone.

"Wait a minute, Miriam," called Nora, who, with some of the other
sophomores, had been watching the scene. "You aren't ill to-day, are you?"

"No," replied Miriam angrily.

"Because, if you are really ill, you know," continued Nora, "your sub.
could take your place. Anna Ray can play a great deal better game than you
played the first half."

Miriam turned on Nora furiously, and was about to make one of her most
violent replies, when the whistle blew and the girls flew to their places.

Julia Crosby and Grace smiled at each other in the most friendly fashion
as they stood face to face for the last time that season. There was
nothing but good-natured rivalry between them now.

The referee balanced the ball for an instant, her whistle to her lips.
Then the ball shot up, her whistle sounded and the great decisive last
half had begun.

Grace managed to bat the ball as it descended in the direction of one of
her eager forwards who tried for the basket and just missed it. The
juniors made a desperate attempt to get the ball into their territory, but
the sophomores were too quick for them, and Nora made a brilliant throw to
goal that caused the sophomore fans to cheer with wild enthusiasm.

It was a game long to be remembered. Both teams fought with a
determination and spirit that caused their fans in the gallery to shout
themselves hoarse. The juniors made some plays little short of marvellous,
and five minutes before the last half was over the score stood 8 to 6 in
favor of the sophomores.

"This game will end in a tie if they're not careful," exclaimed Hippy.
"No, Nora has the ball! She'll score if anyone can! Put her home, Nora!"
he yelled excitedly.

Nora was about to make one of the lightning goal throws for which she was
noted, when like a flash Miriam Nesbit seized the ball from her, and
attempted to make the play herself. But her aim was inaccurate. The ball
flew wide of the basket and was seized by a junior guard. The tie seemed
inevitable.

A groan went up from the gallery. Then a distinct hiss was heard, and a
second later the entire sophomore class hissed Miriam Nesbit.

Miss Thompson rose, thinking to call the house to order, but sat down
again, shaking her head.

"They know what they are about," she said, for Grace herself did not know
the game any better than the principal. "It was inexcusable of Miriam,
inexcusable and intentional. In attempting to gratify her own vanity she
has prevented her side from scoring at a time when all personal desire
should be put aside. She really deserves it."

But the score was not tied after all, for the junior guard fumbled the
ball, dropped it and before she could regain possession of it, it was
speeding toward Marian Barber, thrown with unerring accuracy by Grace. Up
went Marian's hands. She grasped it, then hurled it with all her might,
straight into the basket. Five seconds later the whistle blew, with the
score 10 to 6.

The sophomores had won.

The enthusiastic fans of both classes rushed out of the gallery and down
the stairs to the gymnasium. Two tall sophomores seized Grace and making a
chair of their hands, carried her around the gymnasium, followed by the
rest of the class, sounding their class yell at the tops of their voices.

The story of Grace's imprisonment and escape out of the third story window
went from mouth to mouth, and her friends eagerly crowded the floor in an
effort to speak to her. There were High School yells and class yells until
Miss Thompson was obliged to cover her ears to deaden the noise.

Miss Thompson made her way through the crowd to where Grace was standing
in the midst of her admiring schoolmates. The principal took the young
captain in her arms, embracing her tenderly.

Surely no one had ever seen Miss Thompson display so much unrestrained and
candid emotion before. There were tears in her eyes, her voice trembled
when she spoke.

"It was a great victory, Grace, I congratulate you and your class. You
have fought a fine, courageous battle against great odds. Many another
girl who had climbed out of a third-story window, without even a rope to
hold by, would have little strength left to play basketball much less to
win the championship. I am very proud of you to-day, my dear," and she
kissed Grace right on the deep, red scratch that marred her cheek.

"She is a girl after my own heart," Miss Thompson was thinking, as she
hurried to her office. "Grace has faults, of course, but on the other
hand, she is as honest as the day, modest about her ability, unselfish and
with boundless courage. Certainly she is a splendid influence in a
school, and I wish I had more pupils like her."

It was with difficulty that Grace extricated herself from her admiring
friends and, accompanied by her chums, made for the locker room to don
street attire.

Now that it was all over the reaction had set in, and she began to feel a
little tired, although she was almost too happy for words. She walked
along, dimly alive to what the girls were saying.

Nora was still upset over Miriam Nesbit's lawless attempt to score, and
sputtered angrily all the way down the corridor. "I should think Miriam
Nesbit would be ashamed to show her face in school, again, after this
afternoon's performance," Nora declared.

"Did you see what David did?" queried Jessica.

"Yes, I did," said Anne.

"What was it?" asked Grace, coming out of her day dream.

"The minute the girls began to hiss Miriam, he got up and walked out of
the gymnasium," Jessica replied. "I believe he was so deeply ashamed of
what she did that he couldn't bear to stay."

"Well, he found Grace, and rescued her in time for the game," said Anne.
"That must be some consolation to him. I don't see how you got locked in,
Grace. Are you sure you didn't close the door after you. It has a spring
lock, you know."

"I thought I left it open," mused Grace, "but I might have unconsciously
pulled it to."

"It is very strange," replied Anne, in whose mind a vague suspicion had
taken root. Then she made a mental resolve to do a little private
investigating on her own account.

When Grace reached home that night she found two boxes awaiting her.

"Oh, what can they be?" she cried in great excitement, for it was not
every day that she found two imposing packages on the hall table, at the
same time, addressed to her.

"Open them and see, little daughter," replied Grace's father, pinching her
unscratched cheek.

The one was a large box of candy from her classmates, the contents of
which they helped to devour the next day.

The other box held a bunch of violets and lilies of the valley. In this
were two cards, "Mrs. Robert Nesbit" and "Mr. David Nesbit."

"Poor old David!" thought Grace, as she buried her nose in the violets.
"He is trying to atone for Miriam's sins."




CHAPTER XX

A PIECE OF NEWS


After the excitement of the famous game came a great calm. The various
teachers privately congratulated themselves on the marked improvement in
lessons, and were secretly relieved with the thought that basketball was
laid on the shelf for the rest of the school year.

Miriam Nesbit left Oakdale for a visit the Monday after the game, and did
not return for two weeks. The general opinion seemed to be that she was
ashamed of herself; but the expression on her face when she did return was
not indicative of either shame or humility. She was more aggressive than
before, and looked as though she considered the whole school far beneath
her. She refused to even nod to Grace, Nora, Anne or Jessica, while Julia
Crosby remarked with a cheerful grin that she guessed Miriam had forgotten
that they had ever been introduced.

During the Easter holidays, Tom Gray came down and his aunt gave a dinner
to her "adopted children" in honor of her nephew. Nora gave a fancy dress
party to about twenty of her friends, while Grace invited the seven young
people to a straw ride and a moonlight picnic in Upton Wood.

The days sped swiftly by, and spring came with her wealth of bud and
bloom. During the long, balmy days Grace inwardly chafed at schoolbooks
and lessons. She wanted to be out of doors. As she sat trying to write a
theme for her advanced English class, one sunny afternoon during the
latter part of April, she glanced frequently out the window toward the
golf links that lay just beyond the High School campus. How she wished it
were Saturday instead of only Wednesday. That very day she had arranged to
play a game of golf with one of the senior class girls, who had made a
record the previous year on the links. Grace felt rather flattered at the
notice of the older girl, who was considered particularly exclusive, and
rarely if ever paid any attention to the lower class girls. She had
accidentally learned that Grace was an enthusiastic golfer, and therefore
lost no time in asking her to play.

"I was awfully surprised when she asked me to play," confided Grace to her
chums on the way home from school that afternoon.

"Oh, that's nothing," said Jessica. "She ought to feel honored to think
you consented. You are really an Oakdale celebrity, you know."

"Please remember when you are basking in the light of her senior
countenance that you once had friends among the sophomores," said Nora in
a mournful tone.

"I consider both those remarks verging on idiotic," laughed Grace. "Don't
you, Anne?"

"Certainly," replied Anne. "But let me add a word of caution. Don't allow
this mark of senior caprice to turn your head. Remember you are----"

"You're worse than the others," cried Grace, "Let's change the subject."

Saturday proved a beautiful day, and with a light heart Grace started for
the links with her golf bag strapped across her shoulder. The senior whose
name was Ethel Post, sat waiting for her on one of the rustic benches set
under a tree at one side of the starting place. She greeted Grace
cordially and the two girls set to work without delay to demonstrate their
prowess as golfers. The caddies, two small boys of Oakdale, who could be
hired at the links by anyone desiring their services, carried the girls'
clubs and hunted lost balls with alacrity.

Miss Post found that Grace was a foeman worthy of her steel. The young
girl's arm was steady, and she delivered her strokes with decision. Grace
came out two holes ahead.

Miss Post was delighted. "I hope you will golf with me often, Miss
Harlowe," she said cordially. "It is so seldom one finds a really good
player."

"I am fond of all games and outdoor sports," replied Grace, "but I like
basketball best of all. Did you attend any of our games during the winter,
Miss Post?"

"No," answered the senior. "I am not much interested in basketball. I
really paid no attention to it this year, and haven't attended a game
since I was a freshman. Speaking of basketball," continued Miss Post, "I
picked up a paper last fall with a whole lot of basketball plays written
on it. It was labeled 'Sophomore basketball signals,' and I turned it over
to one of the girls in your class. She happened to be on the team, too,
and seemed very glad to get it. I presume it was hers, although she didn't
say so."

At the mention of the word signals, Grace pricked up her ears. As Miss
Post innocently told of finding the list, Grace could hardly control
herself. She wanted to get up and dance a jig on the green. She was about
to learn the truth at last.

Trying to keep the excitement she felt out of her voice, Grace asked in a
low tone, "Whom did you return it to, Miss Post?"

"Why, Miss Nesbit," was the answer. "I was inside the campus when I found
it, and just then she passed me on the walk. I knew she was a sophomore,
and thought it best to get rid of it, as I would probably have forgotten
all about it, and it never would have been returned."

"Quite true," Grace replied, but she thought to herself that a great deal
of unhappiness might have been avoided if Miss Post had only forgotten.

The talk drifted into other channels. Miss Post told Grace that she
expected to sail for Europe as soon as school was over. In the fall she
would return and enter Wellesley. She had crossed the ocean once before,
and had done the continent. This time she intended to spend all of her
time in Germany. Grace decided her new acquaintance to be a remarkably
bright girl. At any other time she would have listened to her with
absorbed interest, but try as she might, Grace could not focus her
attention on what was being said. One thought was uppermost in her mind,
that Miriam was the real culprit.

What was to be done about it? She would gain nothing by exposing Miriam to
her classmates. There had been too much unpleasantness already. If there
was only some way that Miriam could be brought to see the folly of her
present course. Grace decided to tell Anne the news that night and ask her
advice.




CHAPTER XXI

ANNE AND GRACE COMPARE NOTES


During the walk home from the links, Grace kept continually thinking, "I
knew it was Miriam. She gave them to Julia." She replied rather
absent-mindedly to Miss Post's comments, and left the older girl with the
impression that Miss Harlowe was not as interesting as she had at first
seemed.

Grace escaped from the supper table at the earliest opportunity, and
seizing her hat, made for Anne's house as fast as her feet would take her.
Anne opened the door for her.

"Oh, Anne, Anne! You never can guess what I know!" cried Grace, before she
was fairly inside the house.

"Of course, I can't," replied Anne, "any more than you can guess what I
know."

"Why, do you know something special, too?" demanded Grace.

"I do, indeed. But tell me your news first, and then I'll tell you mine,"
said Anne, pushing Grace into a chair.

"Mine's about Miriam," said Grace soberly.

"So is mine," was the reply, "and it's nothing creditable, either."

"Well," began Grace, "you know I went over to the golf links to-day with
Ethel Post of the senior class."

Anne nodded.

"We were sitting on a bench resting after the game, and the subject of
basketball came up. Before I knew it, she was telling me all about finding
the list of signals you lost last fall. She gave them to one of our class,
you can guess who."

"Miriam," said Anne.

"Yes, it was Miriam. I always suspected that she had more to do with it
than anyone else. She gave Julia the signals, because she wanted to see me
humiliated, and fastened suspicion on you to shield herself. She knew that
I had boasted, openly, that my team would win. When Julia gave me the
statement that cleared you in the eyes of the girls, she told me that she
was under promise not to tell how she obtained the signals. But I'm sure
she knew that I suspected Miriam. What do you think we ought to do about
it?"

Grace looked anxiously at Anne.

"I don't know, yet," Anne replied. "Now listen to my news. I have felt
ever since the game that your getting locked up was not accidental. I
don't know why I felt so, but I did, nevertheless. So I set to work to
find out if any one else had been around there that day. I went to the
janitress and asked her if she had noticed any one in the corridors before
halfpast one. That was about the time that people began to come, you know.
She said she hadn't. She was down in the basement and didn't go near the
upstairs classrooms until after two o'clock. But when she did go up there
she found this."

Anne held up a curious scarab pin that Grace immediately recognized. It
was one that Miriam Nesbit often wore, and was extremely fond of.

"It's Miriam's," gasped Grace. "I wonder why----" She stopped. The reason
Miriam had not made her loss known was plain. She was afraid to tell where
and when she had lost her pin.

"I see," said Grace slowly. "It looks pretty bad, doesn't it? But why
didn't the janitress take it straight to Miss Thompson? That's what she
usually does with articles she finds."

"She missed seeing Miss Thompson that Saturday," said Anne. "When I hunted
her up early Monday morning, in order to question her, she asked me if I
had lost a pin. She said she had just returned one to Miss Thompson, and
told me where she found it. I asked her to describe the pin, and at once
recognized it. Every girl in school knows that scarab of Miriam's. There
is nothing like it in Oakdale.

"For a minute I didn't know what to do. Don't you remember when Miriam
first had it? She showed it to Miss Thompson, and Miss Thompson spoke of
how curious it was. I knew that Miss Thompson would not be apt to forget
it. I hurried up to her office and found her with the pin in her hand. She
had sent for Miriam, but the messenger came back with the report that
Miriam wasn't in school. She laid the pin down and said, 'What is it,
Anne?' So I just asked her if she would let me have the pin. Of course,
she looked surprised, and asked me if I knew to whom it belonged. I told
her I did. Then she looked at me very hard, and asked me to tell her
exactly why I wanted it. But, of course, I couldn't tell her, so I didn't
say anything. Then she said: 'Anne, I know without being told why you want
this pin. I am going to give it to you, and let you settle a delicate
matter in your own way. I am sure it will be the right one.'"

"Anne Pierson, you bad child!" exclaimed Grace. "To think that you've kept
this to yourself ever since the game. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to think what to do about it, before telling even you," Anne
replied. "Yesterday I had a long talk with David. He knows everything
that Miriam has done since the beginning of the freshman year. He feels
dreadfully about it all. I think you and I ought to go to her and tell her
that we are willing to forget the past and be her friends."

"It would do no good," said Grace dubiously. "She would simply laugh at
us. I used to have dreams about making Miriam see the evil of her ways,
but I have come to the conclusion that they were dreams, and nothing
more."

"Let's try, anyway," said Anne. "David says she seems sad and unhappy, and
is more gentle than she has been for a long time."

"All right, we'll beard the lion in her den, the Nesbit on her soil, if
you say so. But I expect to be routed with great slaughter," said Grace
with a shudder. "When do we go forth on our mission of reform?"

"We'll call on her to-morrow after school," Anne replied, "and don't
forget that you once made the remark that you thought Miriam had a better
self. You told me the day you read Julia Crosby's statement to the girls
that you wouldn't give her up."

"I suppose that I shall have to confess that I did say so," laughed Grace.
"But that was before she locked me up. She is so proud and stubborn that
she will probably take the olive branch we hold out and trample upon it.
After all, it really isn't our place to hold out olive branches anyway.
She is the one who ought to eat humble pie. I feel ashamed to think I have
to tell her what I know about her."