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Title: The Orchard Secret
       Arden Blake Mystery Series #1


Author: Cleo Garis



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Language: English

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[Illustration: _"Oh-h-h-h-e-e!" screamed Sim, "Oh, girls,
look here!"_ (_Frontispiece_)]


The Arden Blake Mystery Series

THE ORCHARD SECRET

by

CLEO F. GARIS







A. L. Burt Company
Publishers
New York      Chicago


_The Arden Blake Mystery Series_

BY CLEO F. GARIS

The Orchard Secret
Mystery of Jockey Hollow
Missing at Marshlands

Copyright, 1934, by
A. L. Burt Company

The Orchard Secret

Printed in the United States of America




Contents

  CHAPTER                                         PAGE
       I The Warning                                 7
      II Fruit-Cake                                 15
     III Black Danger                               25
      IV The Reward Circular                        38
       V Rescued                                    52
      VI Apple Hazing                               62
     VII Terror in the Dark                         72
    VIII A Tea Dance                                82
      IX The Disappearance of Sim                   91
       X What to Do                                 98
      XI Sim                                       107
     XII Midnight Mishap                           115
    XIII Aftermath                                 123
     XIV The Dean Decides                          129
      XV The Alarm Bell                            136
     XVI Arden's Adventure                         143
    XVII In Danger                                 154
   XVIII In Hiding                                 162
     XIX Strange Talk                              170
      XX A Dire Threat                             177
     XXI A Bold Stroke                             182
    XXII Arden Admits It                           190
   XXIII The Injured Chaplain                      196
    XXIV The Dean Explains                         203
     XXV Arden Is Convinced                        212
    XXVI The Challenge                             223
   XXVII A Telegram                                231
  XXVIII A Disturbing Message                      241




                               CHAPTER I
                              The Warning


For a few uncertain moments no one had spoken. The old flivver bumped
over a little hill, and the girls seemed suddenly to realize they were
entering upon that much anticipated new experience--college life.

"It's lovely, isn't it!" exclaimed Arden Blake, resting her hand on
Terry's shoulder. "Such beautiful pines--so tall and----"

"Mysterious!" supplied Sim Westover, making a dive for her compact.

"Thank you. I was about to say--stately," remarked Arden with assumed
superciliousness. "And see the deer behind the bush, a stone deer, I
suppose. But it's all so lovely!"

"Lovely indeed," agreed Terry as she was apt to do with anything Arden
said or did. "Don't you think so, Sim?"

Sim, occupying most of the back seat of the rickety station car, felt
differently about it and said so. Sim was that way.

"It's all very well," she murmured, busy with her compact, "all very
well, my good girls, but isn't it about time we got inside the college?
After a train trip like the one we have just endured, I'll be glad to get
my feet off Arden's suitcase. Wherever did you get such a big one,
Arden?"

"It was given to me when we all decided to come to Cedar Ridge. You'll
wish it was yours when you see what's inside. Oh, look! That must be the
swimming-pool building!" There could be no mistake about it as they could
note when the harassed little flivver was slowly completing the half
circle of the cinder drive which curved like a crescent moon in front of
Cedar Ridge College, and was approaching a glass-roofed structure set
somewhat apart from the other buildings.

The roof was dome-shaped, and its glass panes, set in frames of copper
which glinted in the rays of the red autumn sun, were thick and green
like petrified ocean waves.

As they rattled past the pool building they saw a wheelbarrow standing
right in the pathway. Somehow that odd obstruction looked out of place
near a natatorium, and Sim said so, adding:

"I wonder what's the idea?"

"Oh, they're probably just cleaning it out," suggested Arden.

The cultivated rustic setting for the big gray stone structures made the
whole scene picturesquely perfect, just as the prospectus had stated. But
to the girls the college was also a little forbidding. Certainly there
was nothing cozy about it--nothing inviting--and not every girl can boast
the artist's taste.

The buildings were solid and massive, as solid and dependable as the
women instructors within who guided the four student years of "their
girls." Besides the swimming pool, only the chapel, with its tall spire,
caught the warm sunset glow and displayed it more lavishly. But that, of
course, thought Arden, was because there was so much more glass,
beautifully tinted, in the chapel windows.

As the wheels of the car crunched the cinders, Arden hoped she hadn't
been wrong in urging Terry and Sim to come to Cedar Ridge with her. They
had come because of her urging. There was no doubt of this. Had it not
been for the promise of swimming, implied by the beautiful picture of the
pool in the college prospectus, Sim would, she said, have been content to
stay at home in Pentville.

As for Terry--where Arden went, there went Terry. They had been
inseparable since the "baby grade" in Vincent Prep.

The driver of the car, a typical country taxi-man, probably too well
trained to talk unbidden to the students, pulled up suddenly as he neared
a lane that curved around a big elm and wended its way toward a distant
grove.

"Down below there's th' orchard," he said hesitantly. "Ef I was you, I
wouldn't go prowlin' around in it." He indicated a part of the extensive
farm ground that was an inheritance of Cedar Ridge College--long rows of
old gnarled trees, many of them now heavy with russet, red, golden, and
yellow fruit. The orchard was separated from the eastern end of the
dormitory building by a tall and tangled hedge but could be seen from the
hill on which the building stood. "No, don't go down there," advised the
driver as he let in the clutch.

"Why?" came a surprised and gasping chorus.

"Waal, queer things are said to happen down in that orchard. But don't
ask me what!" he quickly cautioned. "I'm only hired to drive this tin
Lizzie, an' I dassn't talk."

Terry, who sat beside Arden, evinced a desire to put a question but
thought better of it.

The girls looked wonderingly at one another as the car speeded along.
They were puzzled over this mysterious introduction to Cedar Ridge. For
here was the college. That was no mystery but a solid fact.

They were there!

The flivver chugged on to the main entrance, and the girls alighted. As
they reached the top of the massive stone steps, a young man, porter
evidently, picked up their bags as the taxi-man slid them along to him
and quickly led the way inside the portals.

The very sight of a young man there, at this college for girls, even
clad, as he was, in blue overalls, prompted a giggle. But Arden pinched
Sim's arm and Sim didn't.

Just inside the doorway, at a desk near which the young man set down the
bags, sat a severe-looking woman in black with the judicious linen collar
and cuffs. She waited with a pencil poised over a large sheet of paper.

"I suppose this is where we are expected to register," murmured Arden.

"Yes," agreed Terry, as usual.

They gave their names to the severe woman, who permitted herself a frosty
smile as she remarked:

"Oh, yes, freshmen. You young ladies have all been assigned to the same
room. Let me see." She consulted a list. "It is number 513 on the fifth
floor of the main building." She made a note on the paper, and then,
turning, addressed a distant shadowy corner, saying:

"Miss Everett will show you where it is. You may go to your room now, and
when you hear the bell you will come to the recreation hall, which you
will pass on your way. Miss Everett!" she called sharply.

A tall blonde girl came forward from the shadows, a little reluctantly,
it appeared. Just why, neither Arden nor her two chums could imagine.
They didn't even know, yet, who Miss Everett was. This stately blonde
girl, however, took matters into her own hands with some show of
authority.

"Come this way, please," she said, addressing the three freshmen. They
were a little uncertain whether or not to pick up their bags, now that
the luggage had been brought into the building for them. But Miss Everett
knew what to do.

The young fellow in the clean suit of blue overalls could now be seen at
the end of the corridor. He was apparently deeply interested in the
outside view, for he stood squarely before a window and seemed oblivious
of his humble duties.

"Tom!" sharply called Miss Everett. At that the blue-clad man turned
quickly and hurried toward the desk. "These bags to the fifth floor,
Tom!"

"Yes'm," he murmured. He kept his head bowed. Perhaps he still wanted to
retain that vision of the apple orchard in which he had been so
interested. For it was toward the orchard he had been looking, as Arden
and her chums noted when they went down toward the window. They could see
the strange gnarled trees over the top of the high dark hedge. "Fifth
floor?" questioned Tom, the porter. He was also an assistant gardener, as
the girls later learned.

"Room 513," added the woman at the desk.

"Yes'm."

Arden thought she saw a little smile playing over the face of the
good-looking young man as he started off ahead of the three freshmen, led
by the stately Miss Everett. The porter was evidently going to a service
elevator, as he passed out through a side door and was then lost to
sight, with the bags he carried so efficiently, all three of them, and
not small, either.

Arden, Terry, and Sim, following Miss Everett, started up the brown
polished stairs that reared skyward at the back of the large entrance
hall.

Up and up and up they walked. All the landings and halls looked exactly
alike, and the freshmen wondered how their guide retained her sense of
direction and maintained the count.

Halfway up Terry murmured to Arden:

"Do you think there was anything in what he said?"

"Who said?"

"The taxi-man who drove us here from the station."

"About what?"

"The orchard. You know he warned us to keep away from it. And if there is
something terrible or scary about an orchard so near the college, why,
I'm going----"

"You're going to keep right on walking up!" interrupted Arden with her
usual clear-headedness in a critical situation. "If there's any mystery
here at Cedar Ridge we'll have the time of our lives solving it. But I
don't believe there is. That orchard is no different from any other,
except, from what little we saw of it, there seemed to be some fine
apples there. Now don't go making mountains out of the camel in the eye
of the needle, or something like that."

"Oh, all right," said Terry meekly. "But I was thinking----"

"This is no time to think!" came from Sim. "Use your legs! Whew! Five
flights! Is your room this high up, Miss Everett?"

"No, I'm a sophomore. I'm a floor lower than you are. But this is the
fourth time I've taken freshies up here today. I don't see why they have
to pick on me!"

"Oh, this is too bad!" exclaimed Sim impulsively. "Perhaps if you could
have a swim in the pool before dinner tonight you wouldn't feel so
tired."

To Sim a dive into a pool with sea-green tiles on the bottom was a
cure-all and she recommended it at every opportunity.

"Try a swim," she urged.

Miss Everett came to a sudden stop on a landing and laughed in a manner
that could be described only as cynical.

"Listen, freshie!" she exclaimed, "let me tell you something about that
pool!"

The three girls looked at their guide apprehensively.

Was there something mysterious about the pool, as the taxi-man had
intimated there was about the orchard?




                               CHAPTER II
                               Fruit-Cake


Waiting, with the deference they, as freshmen, guessed was due a
sophomore, Arden, Terry, and Sim looked at Miss Everett. There was a
smile on her lips, but there was no mirth in her words as she went on.

"There's nobody in the world who could have a swim in that pool!" said
the tall blonde girl, and one could only surmise whether there was
exultation or vindictiveness in her tones. "A swim in that pool! Don't
make me laugh! Why, Tiddy, our revered head, uses it as a storehouse for
cabbages, potatoes, and turnips that come out of the college garden.
Swimming pool--ha!"

"Then that accounts for the wheelbarrow," murmured Sim in a strained
voice.

"Wheelbarrow? Oh, yes," said Miss Everett. "They cart the cabbages,
potatoes, and turnips to the pool in the wheelbarrow."

"And apples?" asked Arden who, as were her chums, had been taken somewhat
aback by this information. Yet Arden couldn't help mentioning apples. She
remembered the orchard, about which the taxi-man had so mysteriously
hinted and toward which Tom, the porter, had been gazing so steadfastly.
What was in the orchard, anyhow? Arden Blake wondered while she waited
for the tall blonde girl's reply.

"Yes, apples in season," granted Miss Everett. "There's a big orchard
here, a fine orchard, as orchards go, I suppose, though, really, I don't
know much about them. But we have a crabbed old college farmer who seems
well up in that work. And there's Tom."

"Where?" asked Terry for she saw no signs of the good-looking young
fellow in blue overalls.

"Oh, I don't mean he's here now," Miss Everett made haste to reply, with
somewhat more interest in her voice. "But he too seems fascinated by our
orchard. He seems to know a lot about apples. Yes, they'll store some in
the swimming pool, but mostly potatoes, cabbages, and turnips go in there
for the winter. I hope you freshies will like vegetables, because you're
going to get plenty of them here."

"But what in the world is the matter with the swimming pool that they
have to store vegetables in it?" asked Sim as they walked down a gloomy
corridor.

Arden felt her heart sinking. She dared not look at Sim.

"What _isn't_ the matter with it?" sneered Miss Everett. "The pump is
broken, the concrete walls are full of cracks, the tile bottom is broken
in several places so that it won't hold water, and half the edge is gone
on one side. It hasn't been kept in service for two years, I imagine."

"Why?" asked Sim sharply.

"No money. The depression--and other things, I suppose," answered the
blonde guide. "And then, too, nobody here, that I know, goes in much for
swimming. It isn't my line, I'm sure."

Arden ventured to glance at Sim, who at that moment raised her eyebrows
with rather a breathless gesture and pushed her smart sport hat back on
her head. But Sim did not further pursue the matter then.

"Here's the recreation hall for your floor." Miss Everett indicated a
large bare room, the broad doors of which were partly open. "And down
this way," she went on, "is your room. You're free to do what you like
until you hear the bell, and then you're to report in the hall. Hazing,"
she added ominously, "doesn't begin until next week."

"Thank you for bringing us up here," the three chorused as they turned
toward No. 513. But the tired sophomore had already vanished down the
dusky corridor.

For a few moments Arden, Sim, and Terry were too bewildered to speak as
they entered their room. Silently they noted that their bags were already
there. Tom must have ridden up with them on some sort of an elevator to
arrive ahead of the girls.

It was a long narrow room with three beds in a row, two on one side of
the door and one on the other. There were three bureaus against the
opposite wall, and there were three windows, close together, at one end
of the apartment. A most attractive and home-like feature was a window
seat extending beneath the three casements. Three desks and a small
bookcase completed the furnishings.

"Thank goodness, there's a large closet for our clothes!" exclaimed Sim,
opening the door to disclose it.

"I think it's lovely here," murmured Terry.

Arden went to the windows and looked out through the gathering dusk. She
saw down below, and a far distance it seemed, the cinder circle of the
drive with a fountain in the center. On a little plot of grass was the
stone deer gazing, in a surprised manner, Arden thought, across the
campus toward the railroad tracks.

Somewhere to the south of Pentville--and home--for all three freshmen.
Just about this time the lights were being turned on. The respective
fathers would be shaking out their evening papers and the respective
mothers would be seeing to it that the dinners weren't late.

With a start Arden turned away from the windows. She wasn't getting
homesick, was she, so soon? She who had urged the others to come to Cedar
Ridge! A typical freshman trick!

But no! Sim and Terry seemed all right. Terry was combing her sandy hair,
and Sim was rummaging in her suitcase.

Not the prettiest of the three, Sim Westover had something about her that
left a clear impression which could be remembered afterward. Her eyes,
large and sparkling, were sea-gray in color, with long, dark-brown
lashes. It was fitting that Sim's eyes should, somehow, be of a sea tint,
for since she was a little girl she had spent all her summers at the
shore, and she reveled in surf-bathing and swimming in deep water. Sim
made no secret of the fact that some day she was going to be a champion
swimmer and diver. That, perhaps, was why she had so readily agreed to
Arden's proposal to come to Cedar Ridge when she saw the picture of the
swimming pool in the prospectus. And that was why Sim was going to be so
bitterly disappointed because the pool was out of use. A storage place
for vegetables.

Poor Sim!

Terry considered herself the luckiest in her family, for all her sisters
had straw-colored brows and lashes that are often seen with reddish hair.

Tall and muscular was Terry, and she had fine eyes with brown lashes and
brows. She played tennis and golf, rode, and was a good swimmer, though,
as she admitted, not as "crazy" about it as was Sim. Sim was different.
She was small, light-haired, and round of face. She was afraid that some
day she would be fat. Perhaps that was why she paid so much attention to
water sports.

Arden smoothed her dark, softly curling hair, turned her blue eyes away
from the window view that was fast being obscured by the darkness
outside, and said:

"Choose whichever beds you girls want. I'll take the one you leave. And
about the pool----"

"About the pool!" interrupted Sim. "I came here because of that, and now
it might as well not be here. I thought it was queer they'd leave a
wheelbarrow at the entrance. It couldn't be used in first-aid rescues; I
knew that!" She was almost sneering now, like Miss Everett.

"Oh, but Sim!" burst out Arden. "The pool will be fixed. They've just got
to fix it! We'll have it repaired. If it's a little money they need,
we'll get that, somehow. If you two will help----"

"Of course we'll help," Terry was quick to offer. "But you'll never get
the money! How can you?"

"I don't know, Terry, but there'll be a way, I'm sure." With a gayety she
did not feel, Arden stood on her large suitcase, raised one hand as
though drinking a toast, and exclaimed:

"To the pool! May it never be a pool of tears!"

"Oh, my word!" gasped Terry. "My word, Arden Blake! Get off that
suitcase! You must be standing right on the fruit-cake!"

"Fruit-cake!" echoed Sim. "Is there a fruit-cake? If there is, Arden, get
off it! For if some of the stories the old grads tell are true, we'll be
mighty glad to have that fruit-cake before long."

"Don't get excited, my pets!" mocked Arden, lightly descending. "It's
Terry's cake, but she didn't have room for it in her bag so I packed it
in mine. But it's in a tin box. So you shall have your cake and also your
swimming pool, Sim, my dear!"

Smiling, Arden opened the suitcase and took out a gold and red tin box
which she set in the center of the middle bureau. With the electrics
switched on, the red and gold box gave a high light to the room, a fact
to which Terry immediately called attention. She added:

"As soon as we can go to town we must get spreads for the beds and covers
to match for the bureaus. And I'll have my globe sent up from home. I
always think a globe makes a room look as though it were inhabited by a
student. And perhaps a lamp with a green shade. Oh, do let's hurry and
unpack!"

Terry was almost breathless, but her eyes were shining and Arden, who was
beginning to worry over the responsibility she had assumed in urging her
chums to come to Cedar Ridge, felt she would not have to be concerned for
Terry, at least.

"I'll take the bed nearest the door, as you know I'm apt to be a
'leetle-mite' slow," drawled Terry. "You take the one nearest the window,
Arden. Then you can look up at the stars."

Sim laughed and said: "I'll take the middle bed so----"

"So you can be the meat in the sandwich, little one!" interrupted Terry.

"I'm not so little, Terry Landry! It's just because you're such a
giantess!" declared Sim indignantly.

"Stop teasing her, Terry! It'll soon be time to go to the Hall, and we
haven't so much as washed our faces. Besides----"

Before Arden could finish her speech, the sort Terry called "Arden's
good-will talk," there sounded a loud knock on the door.

Without waiting to be invited, Toots Everett, the tall blonde guide,
entered with two other girls.

"Stand at attention, freshies!" Toots loudly commanded. "I am Miss
Everett. The girl on my right is Miss Darglan and on my left Miss
MacGovern. We three have picked you three to haze, when the proper time
comes. I'll take the red-head, Jessica," she said to the girl on her
right.

"I'll take the baby," decided the sophomore called Jessica. "That leaves
the black-haired goddess for you, Pip. Don't be too hard with her," she
mocked. "She looks as if she had led a sheltered life."

"But," began Sim, "we don't----"

"We'll do the talking," interrupted Miss Everett coldly. "You girls will
report to us every day after classes, for a while. Your time is,
henceforth, our time. We hope you have good constitutions. Our room is
416 on the floor below. See that you keep it in good order!"

"Oh, my friends, look!" suddenly exclaimed Pip MacGovern, indicating the
fruit-cake in plain sight. "A goodie from home that we must not overlook.
It is also to be hoped that you freshies brought a tea set and the
wherewithals to go with it."

"Yes," timidly admitted Terry, "we have----"

She was interrupted by a surreptitious kick from Sim.

"Good!" declared Toots. "I can see where you three will be very useful to
us!" she exulted. "Does anyone care for a piece of cake?" she asked her
chums. "Sometimes our dinners here leave much to be desired."

She walked with exaggerated undulations toward the bureau, like a model
showing a new gown, removed the red and gold cover from the box and
sniffed appreciatively. Having no knife, Toots took the cake in both
hands and was about to break it as a boy breaks an apple when----

Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Clang-clang!

An insistent bell, so close to their door that it startled the three
freshmen, rang loudly. Arden, Sim, and Terry moved closer together as if
for protection.

"What's that?" gasped Terry. "Fire?"

"No, Brighteyes," mocked Toots. "That's the five-five-five. The bell
calling us to listen, most humbly, to Tiddy's welcome-home speech. Your
fruit-cake is saved, for the time being. But our time will come!"

Whereupon Toots, followed by her fellow hazers, stalked out of the room,
leaving Arden, Sim, and Terry staring wonderingly after them.

"I--I think," murmured Terry, "that perhaps the bell was also meant for
us."

"Yes," agreed Sim, "it probably was. Well, here's where we go in off the
deep end!"

As the three freshmen hastily made ready to attend in the recreation
hall, and as the black gloom of night settled down over Cedar Ridge
College, out in the old apple orchard a young man in blue overalls
wandered beneath the gnarled trees. He looked toward the brightly lighted
windows of the recreation hall and then, with a quizzical smile on his
bronzed face, while he stroked his mustache, he glanced toward the broken
swimming pool and walked softly away through the rows of fruit-laden
branches.




                              CHAPTER III
                              Black Danger


Rather timid, diffident, and certainly not as self-confident as they had
been when the sneering sophomores had invaded their room, Arden, Terry,
and Sim stood looking at one another outside the hall. Finally Arden
broke the portentous silence by saying:

"Well, I suppose we had better go in."

"No help for it," voiced Sim.

"Oh, it may not be as bad as we think," consoled Terry. "It's like going
in for a swim the first day of the season. The first is always the
worst."

"Don't talk to me about dives and swimming!" snapped Sim. "I'm cheated,
and I resent it!"

"Oh, Sim!" murmured Arden helplessly.

"I don't mean you, my dear. It's just hard times and whoever is
responsible for storing vegetables in the pool that I'm sore against!"

"Well, come on!" urged Terry. "Let's get it over with."

With hearts momentarily beating faster, the three stepped into the
recreation hall on their floor. It was a big room that was rapidly
filling with girls, girls, and more girls.

"Just group yourselves about, young ladies. I shall not detain you very
long," said Miss Tidbury Anklon, the dean, with a half smile as she stood
teetering upon her toes on the platform at the end of the room. Miss
Anklon was a small woman, dark of complexion, and thin. This intermittent
raising of herself on her toes as she talked seemed to be an effort to
make herself taller and more impressive. Her severity and keen words at
times, however, made her sufficiently respected and not a little feared.
She was now trying to bring about some semblance of order in the
inevitable chaos of the first assembly of new pupils.

"Quiet, please!" Miss Anklon tapped her knuckles on a convenient table.
"There are a few things I must explain to you freshmen girls on your
first night in Cedar Ridge."

But, in spite of her promise, the dean did keep them rather long, until
Sim found herself standing first on one foot and then on the other. Arden
leaned quite frankly on Terry, who in turn rested herself against the
nearest wall. It hadn't seemed worth while to sit down at first. Now it
was too late to take chairs. The dean generalized.

The freshmen must always "sign in and out" when leaving the college
grounds and returning. They would find the registry book in the lower
vestibule hall. They might go to town, if the time of their classes would
permit. But if in going to town a class period was missed, the offending
ones would be "campused" for a week.

"Not allowed to leave the college precincts," Miss Anklon took pains to
translate.

Arden, her chums, and the others were told of the "honor system," of
"upper classmen" and "lower classmen," and of rules and regulations,
until many of the girls began to wonder how they could possibly remember
it all.

One thing was deeply impressed upon them. Here, at Cedar Ridge, they
were, for the time being, freshmen. However great had been their standing
at their local high or preparatory schools, now they were the lowest of
the low. The dean didn't say that in so many words, but this was the
impression she created.

Miss Anklon, "Tiddy" to the initiated, implied that as far as
instructions along those lines went, the sophomores would not be long in
making such matters clear to the freshmen. But it was all to be taken in
a sporting manner and in the end would do much to cement friendships and
foster school spirit, smiled Tiddy.

Terry was busy looking about the room, selecting girls who, she thought,
looked like her friends at home. Arden was wondering what Sim was going
to do now that there was no pool, and Sim, while also looking about, was
debating with herself just how much the loss of the swimming she had
counted on was going to mean to her.

Arden Blake, Theodosia (Terry) Landry and Bernice (Sim) Westover had been
chums through their primary, grammar, and Vincent Prep days. Their
friendships began very early, when all three, living near one another in
the small city of Pentville, found themselves in the same class. Their
association was further cemented when all three graduated at the same
time from Vincent, which was an unofficial "feeder" for Cedar Ridge
College.

Addison Blake, the father of Arden, was a prosperous automobile dealer in
Pentville. Terry was the daughter of Mrs. Nelson Landry, a widow with a
fairly good income even through the depression. Sim had for her parents
Mr. and Mrs. Benson Westover. Mr. Westover owned a large department
store, with branches in several cities. Mr. Westover had wanted a boy and
his wife a girl, when the daughter was born, and Sim's nickname was a
combination of She and Him. It fitted her perfectly. She was clever and
popular in the trio and outside of it, more especially as she was in a
position to obtain from the grocery department in her father's store many
good things to eat--food more or less forbidden at surreptitious school
feasts.

"There's Mary Todd," whispered Arden as the talk of the dean was
obviously drawing to a close.

"Yes, and Ethel Anderson and Jane Randall," added Sim.

These were three other girls from Vincent, but they lived in a New York
suburb. They were friends with but not exactly chums of Arden and her two
close companions. They had not made up their minds to come to Cedar Ridge
until after the three inseparables had made their announcement.

"Now, my dear young ladies," Miss Anklon finally concluded, "you will go
to the dining room and be assigned your tables for the term."

Instantly a flood of conversation was loosed. Arden and Sim clung
together, and Terry, who had been momentarily separated from them, pushed
her way through a throng of strange girls to reach her two friends.

Dean Anklon led the way, and all the freshmen followed down the five dark
flights of stairs to the large dining room that was brilliantly lighted.
At the door the dean was called aside by one of the teachers, and the
bewildered freshies, swarming in, were left huddled together like a troop
of new soldiers whose commander had deserted them.

Terry, at this point, took matters into her own hands, and, motioning to
her chums to follow, selected a chair at a pleasant table about halfway
down the length of the dining room and near a window. Some other freshies
followed the lead of the more bold three, and the chairs were all quickly
filled.

Terry looked at Arden, obviously well pleased with herself at so soon
having become a class leader. Her joy was short-lived, however. A none
too gentle tap on her shoulder caused her to look up.

"You freshies! What do you mean by sitting at our table?"

It was Toots Everett, with Jessica Darglan and Priscilla MacGovern
standing behind her. All were glaring at the offending freshmen.

"A pretty good start, I must say!" sneered Jessica. "Your table is down
there!" Dramatically she pointed to the far-distant lower end of the
room.

"Go down there," Priscilla said a little more gently. "You know you
freshmen will have to think, now that you are in college. I'm afraid this
means, for you three, the picking of lots of apples."

Without a word, but deeply humiliated, the freshmen all rose and followed
the lead of Terry, Arden, and Sim to their own proper table. Other
freshmen, who had not made this social error, as well as the assembled
sophomores, juniors and seniors, looked on, smiling.

"What did she mean--picking a lot of apples?" whispered Arden.

"How do I know?" gasped Sim. "Oh, is my face red!"

The three and the other freshmen quickly seated themselves in the proper
chairs, and a chatter of conversation, more or less coherent, began. Most
of the girls were strangers among strangers, but, realizing that they
were all under the same roof and would be for some time to come, they
soon began talking together, introducing themselves and a friendly spirit
was quickly engendered.

"Oh, Arden! What a dreadful thing to do!" gasped Terry. "Wouldn't you
know I'd start something like that!" She was greatly embarrassed.

"It's all right, Terry," soothed Arden. "If only, though, it didn't have
to be our own particular sophomores whose seats we took."

"Our fruit-cake hasn't a chance now, and I'm afraid we shall be really
well hazed," said Sim as she looked sadly at Terry. Then she glanced down
at her plate, adding: "This cold ham with sliced tomatoes doesn't help to
raise my spirits any. Poor fruit-cake! Not a chance!"

"Yes, it has a chance, Sim!" excitedly whispered Terry. "I have an idea!
If that fruit-cake is to be eaten we had best do it ourselves. There are
twelve of us at this table. I'm afraid it doesn't mean much cake each,
but we must stick together in times like these."

"What is it, Terry? What are you going to do?" Sim wanted to know.

"Now, just listen, and you'll find out." Getting the attention of the
other girls at the table, Terry continued in a tragic whisper: "As soon
as you can, after we three leave, all of you here come to our room. It's
513." She indicated Arden and Sim with herself. "Knock twice, a
pause--another knock. Those sophs will never taste that fruit-cake!"

"It's a grand idea!" declared Arden.

After this, amid bubbling talk, the meal was quickly finished. The
students began filing out of the dining hall. Old friends greeted one
another with open arms and in a surprisingly short time most of the
talking, laughing groups had disappeared into various rooms where, behind
closed doors, they still talked and talked and talked.

Arden, Sim, and Terry hurried to 513 to get it ready for visitors. It was
not long before the first "tap-tap--tap," sounded and the first visitors
were admitted. Others followed until the window seat and the beds, to say
nothing of the chairs, were all much sat upon until, as Sim whispered to
Arden, it was almost necessary to put out a sign of S. R. O.

The fruit-cake was brought out from hiding, was much admired, and then
went the way of all good fruit-cakes; a nail file being used to cut it
into slices, and handkerchiefs serving as plates.

In the intervals of eating, the girls found out much about one another
and vowed to stick together during the hazing, the prospects of which had
really frightened some. Voices rose hilariously higher and higher, and
laughter became more frequent. They were having a fine time. It was good
to be thus sitting around in a college room, talking to interesting
girls, thought Arden and her two chums, and planning future fun. Studies
were momentarily pushed into the mental background.

Now and again someone would inquire about "math" or "English lit." Girls
whose older sisters had been to Cedar Ridge before them were somewhat
well informed as to which of the instructors were "easy" and those for
whom students must really make adequate preparation.

"I don't worry much about English lit, though," Arden remarked, brushing
crumbs from her lap. "But math I'll never get through. I just can't do
it!"

"Math is easy for me," declared Mary Todd, a really lovely-looking girl,
wearing a simple, well-cut sports dress of the "shirtmaker" type. "I'll
help you, Arden."

"Thanks a lot, Mary," Arden responded gratefully.

"I have to study hard for everything," lamented Sim. "I'm not a bit
clever that way."

"Well," began Terry, "I think----"

But she never had a chance to say what she thought. Suddenly, before any
of the convivial little party realized what was happening, the door of
513 was pushed open and the "Terrible Three," as Arden later nicknamed
them, stood within the room.

"What's this? Freshmen meeting in your room, Miss Blake!" Toots Everett
was very stern. "You girls who don't belong here will go at once to your
own rooms and don't do any more of this visiting. Jessica, confiscate the
fruit-cake!"

Jessica made a noble attempt, but there was no fruit-cake. The red and
gold box was empty. All that remained were a few crumbs for the mice.
Arden smiled sweetly at Pips MacGovern, Terry was grinning most
enjoyably, and Sim's round eyes outdid themselves in roundness.

The offending freshmen quickly vanished to their own rooms, while the
three sophomores were speechless with indignation. Toots finally found
her voice to say frostily:

"This is the third time we have met, Miss Westover, Miss Blake and Miss
Landry. This meeting is somewhat to your advantage. But we sophomores
will not forget. You three will report to me, Miss Everett, in my room
tomorrow after classes. The program has been changed. Hazing will begin
officially tomorrow!"

Waiting an ominous moment to see if the threatening words had any actual
effect, the three sophomores then silently left the room.

"Well, that's that!" remarked Sim.

"Wasn't she dreadful!" murmured Terry.

"It's going to be fun, girls!" Arden exclaimed. "I'm not a bit afraid of
being hazed. Now, let's unpack the rest of our things, and then we must
write some letters home. They will all be so anxious to know what
happened on our first day at Cedar Ridge."

"Such a lot has happened," murmured Sim, looking doubtful. "I'm afraid we
haven't exactly endeared ourselves to those sophs."

"Who cares?" laughed Terry.

"After hazing is over they'll be our good friends," declared Arden. "It's
part of their stock in trade to seem very gruff and terrible now, but we
needn't worry about that. Let's get at our letters. You'll have to lend
me something to write on, Sim. I don't seem to have any paper in my
suitcase. There's some in my trunk. I suppose that'll be up tomorrow."

"I expected this, Arden," Sim laughed. "I brought some extra stationery
for you. See that you write your mother a nice long letter. No more
ten-word telegrams."

The room was soon quiet except for the scratching of pens on paper. It
was very serene around Cedar Ridge College now, and quiet in the farm and
orchard grounds that formed part of the old estate which had been
transformed into a seat of learning.

The girls had been told that night letters might be placed on a table at
the end of their corridor, whence they would be taken up by one of the
porters or janitors in time for the early morning mail.

"Well, I've finished!" said Terry, sealing her last envelope.

"So have I," said Arden.

"Let's take them out and leave them on the table," suggested Sim. "The
folks will get them tomorrow night."

As the three walked down the dimly lighted corridor, they saw two other
freshmen going back to their room after having deposited their mail on
the table over which glowed a small light.

This table was at the end of the corridor nearest the old apple orchard,
which formed part of the college farm. The girls had heard something of
the college farm, and there had been a veiled threat that the freshmen
had to gather apples for their sophomore hazers.

The big window in the corridor was open. And as Arden and her two chums
dropped their letters upon the table they thrust their heads out for a
breath of the fresh night air.

"I wonder what sort of apples grow in that orchard?" mused Sim.

"They must be very choice," suggested Arden.

"How do you know?" asked Terry.

"Don't you remember, that good-looking porter with the cute little
mustache who took up our bags, was gazing so soulfully out of the window
into this same orchard?" suggested Arden. "There was such a queer, rapt
look on his face, I'm sure, though I could see only the back of his
head."

"Oh, my word!" mocked Sim. "Aren't we getting poetical and humorous all
of a sudden!"

"Hark!" cautioned Terry in a whisper.

From the dark orchard below them and to the northeast of the college
building sounded a cry of alarm and fright floating through the murky
blackness. It was a cry as if someone was in danger.

"Oh!" gasped Sim. "Whatever was that?"

Then, with one accord, she and her chums ran back to their room and
closed the door but did not lock it. For it was against the rules of
Cedar Ridge to lock bedroom doors. Miss Anklon had impressed this on the
freshmen. Terry, however, insisted on dragging a chair against the
portal, bracing the back of it under the knob so it would be difficult to
gain access.

The three girls gazed at one another with fear in their eyes.

Was there danger abroad in the blackness of the night?




                               CHAPTER IV
                          The Reward Circular


"What could that have been?" gasped Terry, sinking on her bed.

"Then you heard it, too?" asked Arden.

"Of course! We all heard it!" declared Sim. "A shout or groan in that
dark orchard as if someone were suffering. Do you think there could have
been a fight among the help? You know they have a resident farmer here at
Cedar Ridge and several laborers. They might have had a bout--or
something."

Suddenly all three burst out laughing. They couldn't help it. The looks
on their faces were so queerly tragic. And Terry said:

"I think we're making a lot out of nothing. Probably what happened was
that a porter--the blue-eyed porter--was trying to lug in some faculty
baggage the back way and it fell on his toes."

"Well, whatever it was, don't let's go spreading scandal around the
college so early in the term," warned Arden. "We must keep the secret of
the orchard to ourselves--if there is a secret."

"Guess we'll have to," yawned Sim. "For who knows what the secret is?"

"That taxi-man seemed to hint at something," murmured Terry.

"Oh--bosh!" exploded Arden. "I guess we're all just worked up and nervous
because this is our first night and we've had to stand a lot of annoyance
so soon--those sophs and all that."

"Well spoken, my brave girl!" declaimed Sim. "Let's forget it."

It was this thought which gradually quieted the palpitating hearts and
the excited breathing of the three. After they had listened, more or less
cowering on their beds, and heard no sounds of any general alarm, they
finally prepared to retire for their first night at Cedar Ridge.

"After all," said Terry, "it may have been some skylarking boys trying to
steal the college apples."

"Maybe," agreed Sim.

"It didn't sound like boys to me," declared Arden. "It was more like a
man's shout."

"Well, we don't need to worry about it," went on Terry. "But if those
snobby sophs think we're going in that orchard in the dark, after what we
just heard, to get apples for them, they can have my resignation."

"And mine!" echoed her chums.

Sleep was actually in prospect, and final yawns had been stifled when a
scratching in one corner of the room aroused the tired girls.

"We must get a trap for those mice," Terry sleepily murmured. "I suppose
they smell the fruit-cake crumbs."

"All very well to trap 'em," chuckled Sim, "but who's going to take 'em
out of the trap after they're caught or strangled to death?"

"Oh, stop!" pleaded Arden. "Let the poor mice have the crumbs. Maybe they
need them." Which seemed sound advice well given.

The morning of a new day dawned bright and cool. Fall had only lately
checked the glories of summer, and the heavily clumped shrubbery about
the college seemed strong enough to withstand many wintry blasts before
giving up its well-earned beauty.

"Oh, look, girls!" exclaimed Arden, first of the trio out in the corridor
ready for breakfast. She pointed a slim finger, well manicured, at the
table near the end of the passage.

"What?" asked Sim. "Has the orchard noise of last night materialized?"

"No. But they didn't collect our letters for the mail," said Terry.

"Something must be wrong with the system," spoke Sim. "Though it isn't to
be wondered at, in the confusion of opening night. But can't we take them
ourselves and drop them into the post office after breakfast? The office
is just off the college grounds across the railroad tracks. Can't we do
that?"

"I don't see why not," reasoned Arden.

Breakfast was rather a cold and grim meal compared to the excitement of
the supper the night before. It was finally eaten, however, and then, it
being too early for any classes yet and no orders having been issued
about chapel attendance, the three from room 513 started for the little
post office outside the college grounds.

Arden looked completely happy. Surroundings were so important to her.
Wearing a light wool dress, dull blue in color and with most comfortable
walking shoes on, she urged her chums forward. All of the girls were
simply dressed. In keeping with the traditions at Cedar Ridge, hats gave
place to mortar-boards and, even in freezing weather, they would be
donned with a gay defiance of winter winds.

"Come on, girls!" Arden was excited. "I must be at Bordmust Hall at nine.
My adviser is going to help me arrange my schedule of classes. I hope we
can get together at least on a few."

"We all have to be there," said Terry, adding with a sigh: "I suppose
I'll have an eight-thirty class every day, worse luck!" Morning sleep was
so good.

"Oh, swimming pool!" chanted Sim as they passed the building now turned
to so base a use as that of a vegetable cellar. "When first I saw
thee----"

"Have patience!" interrupted Arden. "Look who's coming this way!"

A white-haired old gentleman, clad somberly in black, was slowly
approaching along the path that led from the front campus down to the
railroad tracks and across to the post office. His hands were clasped
behind his back and, with head bent down, he seemed to observe only the
ground at his feet.

"Who is he?" whispered Sim.

"He must be Rev. Henry Bordmust, the resident chaplain here. Shall we
speak--or just bow respectfully?" Terry looked to Arden for advice.

"I don't believe he even sees us. He looks as though he were thinking
deeply. Let's wait and see if he speaks to us." After this advice, Arden
stepped a little in advance of her two chums to invite the clergyman's
attention.

The daydreaming chaplain had met and was passing the girls now; still
without a sign of recognition. But he was saying something--muttering to
himself as old men often do. The girls overheard a few words.

"Dear, dear! The orchard! The old orchard!" he murmured. Mentally he
seemed to be wringing his hands in real distress. "Why doesn't he come
out of it?"

Rev. Henry Bordmust sighed and passed the freshmen, his eyes still on the
path at his feet, as oblivious of the trio as if it did not exist.

"Did you hear that?" mumbled Terry as they walked on.

"He was talking about the orchard--where we heard the noise last night,"
spoke Sim. "What can he mean?"

"I heard one of the seniors talking about him," volunteered Arden. "He is
said to be--queer--says things no one can understand. And he often gives
the girls awful scoldings over nothing--and sometimes asks you in to have
tea with him, most unexpectedly."

"Well, I wish he'd invite us in to tea this afternoon," murmured Sim with
new energy. "And I wish he'd explain what he means about someone coming
out of the orchard. I hope that weird noise doesn't play any tricks
tonight."

"Oh, perhaps we misunderstood him," suggested Terry. "The chaplain can't
know anything about a mysterious noise in our college apple orchard."

"Hardly," agreed Sim. "Well, he certainly never saw us. I don't believe
I'd like to have tea with him."

"Oh, I think he looks sweet," declared Arden.

"Then you won't need sugar in your tea," laughed Terry. "But let's hurry
and mail these letters. It would never do to be late for our first
class."

They had reached the tracks of the Delawanna Railroad, the line that ran
from New York to Morrisville, the small city nearest the college. From
force of habit the girls stopped and looked up and down the rails for the
possible approach of a train. Soon they would know when each one was
expected. It was a tradition that by the time one was a senior at Cedar
Ridge no watch was necessary, so familiar did the students become with
the passage of the trains.

The post office was a small one-roomed building with a stove in the
center. Two windows, one for the sale of stamps and the other for the
mailing of parcels, broke the stretch of tiers of glass-fronted boxes
behind which the business was carried on. For the post office served the
town as well as the college.

The side walls were literally papered with police posters offering
rewards for the arrest, or information leading to the arrest or
apprehension, of various persons--criminals--men and women. The posters
were from the police departments of several cities, New York among them.
Many of the placards were adorned with profiles and front views of the
oddest faces the girls had ever seen.

"Oh, for the love of stamps!" gasped Arden when they had dropped their
letters in the slot and were looking at the posters. "What nightmares!"

"Aren't they awful!" agreed Terry.

"Not a good-looking man among them," was Sim's opinion. "I've heard about
these posters. They've been here, some of them, for I don't know how
long. It's a sort of a game among the girls to see who can find the
funniest face."

"Let's try it," suggested Arden, laughing. Suddenly she ceased her mirth
and stood as if fascinated in front of a poster showing the full-face
picture of a young man. He was rather good-looking and quite an exception
to the other portraits so publicly displayed. His face, like most of the
others, was smooth, unadorned by beard or mustache.

"Terry!" impulsively exclaimed Arden. "Look! Haven't you seen that face
before?"

Terry considered carefully before slowly answering:

"No, I don't believe I have. It isn't a bad face, though."

"Rather interesting," agreed Sim. "What's he wanted for, murder or bank
robbery?"

"Neither," answered Arden. "Listen." She read from the poster:

"One thousand dollars reward for information as to the whereabouts of
Harry Pangborn." Then followed a general description, the age being given
as twenty-three, and there was added the statement that the young man had
suddenly disappeared from his home on the estate of his grandfather,
Remington Pangborn, on Long Island.

Part of the poster consisted of a statement from the attorneys of
Remington Pangborn--the _late_ Mr. Pangborn, it was made plain.

"Harry Pangborn," the statement read, "is not wanted on any criminal
charge whatever. He disappeared from his friends and his usual haunts
merely, it is surmised, because he was expected to assume the duties and
responsibilities of the large estate he was about to inherit from his
grandfather. It is understood that he stated he did not want the
inheritance just yet. Of a high-strung and nervous temperament, Mr.
Pangborn is believed to have gone away because the responsibilities of
wealth are distasteful to him and also, perhaps, because he seeks
adventure, of which he is very fond. If this meets his eye or if anyone
can convey to him the information that he will be permitted to assume as
much or as little of the estate as he wishes, a great service will have
been done. All that is desired is that Harry Pangborn will return to his
friends and relatives as soon as possible. His hasty action will be
overlooked. It is rumored that Mr. Pangborn may be in the vicinity of
Morrisville, though he may have gone abroad, as he was fond of foreign
travel.

"Information and claims for the above reward may be sent to Riker &
Tabcorn, Attorneys, New York City, or to the local police department in
the municipality where this poster is displayed."

The girls, crowding about Arden, read the poster with her. Then Sim said:

"Maybe it was in the movies that you saw someone who reminds you of him,
Arden. Harry Pangborn isn't bad looking, compared to all the others."
With a sweeping gesture she indicated the various poster exhibits.

"Why, he's positively handsome when you put him alongside of Dead-eye
Dick, here," laughed Terry. "As for Two-gun Bobbie----"

"I'm serious, girls," interrupted Arden. "I'm sure I've seen this young
man somewhere before. Now, if we could only locate him or tell the
lawyers where to look for him and get this reward money, wouldn't it be
just wonderful?"

"Grand!" agreed Terry. "But wake up, my dear. You're dreaming!"

"And I've just thought of something else!" went on Arden, oblivious of
the banter.

"What?"

"If we did collect this money we could donate it to the college to have
the swimming pool repaired."

"That's sweet of you and a good idea, Arden, but I don't believe we could
do it," objected Sim. "Besides, I don't exactly believe what it says on
this poster. It seems very silly for a young fellow to disappear just
when he's coming into a lot of money--a fortune."

"Perhaps he was made to disappear," suggested Terry, her eyes opening
wide.

"Oh! You mean--kidnaped?" asked Arden.

"Yes."

"Worse and more of it!" laughed Sim.

"Well, anyhow, we could try, couldn't we?" Arden asked. "You'd help,
wouldn't you, Terry?"

"Yes, indeed I'll help. I've always fancied myself in the rôle of a
detective, spouting pithy Chinese philosophy and generally getting
underfoot."

"Now, Terry, just be serious for once. And Sim, you also. You know how
disappointed you were when you found out the swimming pool was----"

"_Kapoot!_" chuckled Sim, supplying Arden's evident lack of a word with
the latest Russian expression. "Go on!"

"Well," resumed Arden, pouting a little, "you never can tell. Maybe we
could do it. It isn't impossible. Stranger things have happened. And I
just know I've seen that young man on the poster somewhere before. If I
could only remember where! Did either of you ever have that feeling?"

"Lots of times. I'm for you, Arden!" declared Sim. "I'll do what I can
and whatever you say. This mysterious Harry Pangborn may very well be
right around here."

"Around Cedar Ridge!" shrilled Terry.

"Certainly! Why not? If the authorities didn't think it likely that he
might be in this vicinity, why did they put the poster up here in the
post office? And they mentioned Morrisville," challenged Sim.

"There's something in that," Terry admitted.

"Oh, if he should be in hiding around here and we could find him and
claim the thousand dollars reward," breathed Arden, "wouldn't it be just
wonderful! And what a sensation when we magnanimously turned the money
over to the college for the swimming pool. Oh, oh!"

"Would you do that for dear old Alma Mater when you don't know her so
very well?" asked Sim, who, with her chums, was still gazing at the
poster of the good-looking but missing heir of the Pangborn estate of
millions.

"I'd do it for you, Sim, dear," murmured Arden. "I want you to be happy
here, since I teased you so to come."

"And you think I won't be happy without the swimming pool?"

"Will you?"

"Not as happy as I would be with it."

"But even admitting that this missing young man may be around here,"
suggested Terry, "what chance have we of finding him? We have so much
college work to do. For, after all, we were sent here to learn
something," she sighed.

"Granted," laughed Arden. "But we may find time for a little detective
work on the side as well as for hazing. Oh, it's a wonderful prospect!"
She swung around in a few dance steps right there in the old post office.

"Well, we'd better be getting back," suggested Sim after this. "Oh, look
at the clock!" she gasped. Then followed a hurried sending of some
picture postcards they had bought; cards on which they marked with an X
the location of their room.

The three chums were bubbling with life, laughter, and merriment as they
turned to leave the little building, but their mirth was turned to alarm
as a stern voice assailed them.

"Young ladies!"

They looked around to see Rev. Dr. Henry Bordmust sternly regarding them
from the doorway.

"Yes, Dr. Bordmust," Sim almost whispered as the chaplain appeared to be
waiting for formal recognition.

"You are freshmen!" he accused, with a glance at their mortarboards, the
tassels of which told the tale. "You know you are not permitted over
here--in the post office. It is against the college rules--for you
freshmen. Return at once! You must! You must!"

He appeared strangely stirred and angry, and his dark brows, shading his
bright little eyes, bent into a frown. But somehow, after that first
booming and accusative "young ladies," the chaplain seemed exhausted, as
though the anger pent up in him had taken something from his none too
profuse vitality. He was an old man. Now he essayed a wintry smile and
added, as he gently waved them out with motions of his thin white hands:

"That is to say, you shouldn't have come here. You--er--have no
need to be--er--frightened at this first infraction of the rules,
but--er--another time you may be--er--campused for such action."

Then, having seen that the three were on their way out, Dr. Bordmust
turned to the window, evidently to buy some stamps for the letters he
held in one hand. He murmured to himself in those queer, quavering,
meaningless tones:

"Too bad; too bad! I can't always be watching! Dear me!"

Wonderingly, Arden and her chums looked at the shrinking figure in black
as they passed out of the door. But Dr. Bordmust gave them no further
attention.




                               CHAPTER V
                                Rescued


Sim, who was hurrying after Arden and Terry up the steep hill on top of
which was perched Bordmust Hall, uttered a series of frightened
exclamations.

"Oo-oo-oo! Oh, my! Oh, but I was frightened. Wasn't he angry!"

"Since Dr. Bordmust is our chaplain, it was probably what might be called
righteous anger," suggested Arden.

"What do you suppose he meant when he spoke about not always watching?"
asked Terry.

"I don't know," Arden had to admit. "The girls say Dr. Bordmust is really
queer at times. I suppose it is because he's such a profound student. He
knows such a lot, all about Egypt, so many languages, and they say
ancient history is an open book to him." Arden was fairly sprinting along
the boardwalk that made the steep path up to Bordmust Hall a little
easier. What with talking and hurrying, her breath was a bit gaspy.

"Well, don't ask me what it all means," begged Terry. "I can't even
guess. But, oh! I do hope I'm not going to be late for this first class."

"So say we all of us," chanted Sim.

"They can't be too severe at the very beginning," murmured Arden.

Bordmust Hall, where most of the class sessions were held, crowned with
its classic architecture the summit of the long slope which formed the
eminence of the broad acres about Cedar Ridge College. It was behind the
main, or dormitory, building in which were housed the executive offices
and the residence rooms of the faculty. To the southwest of the hall, and
easily viewed from the steps, was the unused pool. To the northwest, and
in line with the main building, was the beautiful Gothic chapel with its
wonderful stained-glass windows. Near the chapel was the unimposing home
of the chaplain, Rev. Dr. Bordmust; one of whose ancestors had partly
endowed Cedar Ridge. For this reason the hall was named for him.

At the foot of the slope on which the hall stood were the rambling fields
and gardens where much of the farm produce for the college tables was
raised. The nearest of the farm-lands, so called, was the orchard, part
of which could be seen from the southeast windows of the dormitory. And
it was this orchard that the taxi-man had indicated in such a warning
manner. It was this orchard into which Tom Scott, the good-looking
porter, had been staring the night of the arrival of Arden Blake and her
chums. So much had been crowded into the comparatively short time the
three freshmen had been at college that they had almost forgotten the
strange orchard. Even now they had no chance to consider the matter, for
they, with many other girls, were hastening to their first classes.

They gave a momentary glance toward the orchard, with its quaint gnarled
trees. The morning sun was glinting on red, dark-green, and golden russet
apples which the gardener and his men had not yet started to gather.

Arden, especially, gazed searchingly at the orchard. Apple trees grow in
such strange shapes and huddle so closely to themselves, as if each one
guarded a secret. There was a puzzled look in Arden's blue eyes as she
tried to guess what might be hidden by those trees and the tall hedge
surrounding them.

Sim was gazing rather sorrowfully at the pool building, but Terry was
smiling, perhaps because everything seemed, for the moment, at least, to
be so filled with good and pleasant life.

"Go on in, kids!" Sim urged her two chums. "I'll be along in a minute or
two. I just want to take a look at--I just want to--oh, well, go on.
Don't wait for me."

"But won't you be late?" objected Arden.

"No, I have some time to my credit."

As her surprised friends watched, Sim left them and hurried down across a
stretch of smooth lawn toward the disused swimming pool.

"Too bad," murmured Arden.

"What is?" asked Terry.

"I really think Sim feels more keenly than we realize about the pool. But
she's such a good sport. Look at her! Going to view the ashes of her
hopes or the collapse of her dreams or something equally tragic."

"Don't let's say anything about this," proposed Terry. "If Sim cares so
much, I'm sure she'd rather not talk about this little visit."

Arden agreed and, taking Terry's arm, they hurried into the hall.

Sim reached the pool building and tried to get some idea of the wreck
within by peering through a window. But the sill was too high to afford a
view, even if the window had not been made of heavily frosted glass,
quite opaque.

Then she stepped back and gazed up at the copper and glass domed roof.
Around the top of the building were set at intervals glazed tiles
depicting nautical scenes. Dolphins were diving merrily as if to
tantalize sea horses with necks proudly arched, and mermaids flicked
their tails disdainfully at Father Neptune.

"I may as well try the door," Sim murmured. "I'd like to see what it's
like inside, though it will probably break my heart!"

After several hard pushes to the extent of her strength, she succeeded in
swinging back the door. She found herself in a sort of vestibule, but the
inner door of this opened easily, and then Sim stood almost on the edge
of the abandoned pool.

A peculiar smell assailed her, as of a place long shut up, but at the
same time it had something of out-of-doors about it, the odor of clean
earth and ripe vegetables.

"It isn't as bad as Toots said," mused Sim. "At least, it looks as though
there isn't so very much the matter. It isn't filled with vegetables,
either; just a few bags as yet, though they probably will bring in more
when they pick the apples. This must have been a beautiful pool once."

The bottom of the pool was tiled a pea green, a color which must have
given the water a most cooling tone on a hot day. But the white tile
sides no longer gleamed, and in more than one place jagged dark cracks
ran crazily down the walls like streaks of black lightning. Sim looked at
the cracked tile and concrete edge at her feet. The depth was still
indicated, though there was no water in the pool--5 feet.

"This is the shallow end, of course," Sim thought, and she walked slowly
around the edge and toward the melancholy spring-boards to which some
strips of cocoa-fiber matting still clung.

"How quiet it is in here," Sim murmured. "Like a museum after hours--or
an Egyptian tomb." She shivered a little, though it was warm in the
natatorium.

In the deep end several filled burlap bags were piled up, and in each
corner were barrels of cabbages leaning against the walls.

"I thought, from what Toots said, the whole place would be filled to the
brim with cabbages and turnips," Sim said to herself, smiling a little
ruefully. "I wonder how long this pool is, or should I say _was_?"

She began to measure the length with her eyes, mentally swimming with
long, smooth strokes while her feet churned up and down.

"About seventy-five yards long, I guess," she went on. "And about
twenty-five across. A lovely size. I could do three lengths a day here
and really enjoy it. Let's see how deep it is from the end of the board."

She walked gingerly out on the diving plank, choosing the center one for
there were three at the deep end, tiered at different heights. It was
difficult to estimate, without water in the pool and with the barrels and
bags of vegetables scattered about, how close the different boards came
to the surface of the filled space. Sim decided that the plank she was
standing on was the lowest.

She permitted herself a little pre-diving, teetery bounce on the very
end, half fearful lest the dried wood should crack beneath even her light
weight. But it held, and Sim gave a bolder jump.

"A straight dive--cutting the water about there!" With her eyes Sim
indicated to herself just the spot where her finger tips should enter the
water--had there been any water there.

She jumped again and came down safely, with no warning cracking of the
dried plank. Then she balanced herself on the very tip of the board
before, mentally, springing into the air. Now she performed a most
ambitious jump, but this time the stiffened wood snapped back suddenly.
Sim was thrown to one side, and she swung her arms around and around like
a child on its first roller skates, trying desperately not to topple
backward.

But her motions only caused the board to quiver more violently, and in a
split second Sim slipped off and clung, with her finger tips only, to the
edge of the plank, while the hard-tiled bottom of the pool, seemingly
miles below, waited to receive her.

"Oh, gosh! What'll I do?" poor Sim thought. "Those tiles don't look very
soft, and I'll drop in a minute!"

Her fingers ached from their stiff clinging grip, and her arms were
quickly tiring. She decided she must soon let go for after a futile
attempt to sling one leg up over the side edge of the board it bent so
alarmingly that she feared it would snap. She began to swing to and fro
like a pendulum, hoping she might cast herself upon a bag of vegetables
which would serve to break her fall, when, suddenly, she felt her wrists
firmly gripped by two hands, and she looked up to see Tom Scott, the
porter-gardener, smiling down at her. He was kneeling on the end of the
plank.

"Don't jump!" he warned. "I'll pull you up. It's rather the reverse of
'don't shoot, I'll come down,' isn't it?" he said lightly. He could not
have taken better means to quiet Sim's excited nerves than with Mr.
Crockett's little coon banter.

With what seemed no effort at all, Tom Scott lifted her up and held her
clear of the end of the board so her legs did not scrape against it. Then
he carefully walked back with her toward the middle of the plank, where
there was no danger of its breaking, set her down, and stood grinning at
her. A nice grin it was, too, Sim thought later.

She managed to produce a weak, embarrassed smile.

"Thank you so much!" she said a bit stiffly. The man must think her
crazy. "I--I slipped! I--er--I was--that is, I was trying----" To cover
her confusion she looked at her red finger tips.

"Hurt?" he inquired.

"Broke two or three nails," Sim responded ruefully. "I'm very glad you
came along. I might have sprained an ankle if I had let go, for this end
must be nine feet deep."

"The water, when there is any, is over nine feet deep nearest this wall,"
said Tom Scott. "You certainly would have been jarred a bit, to say the
least."

"Then I must thank you again. But please don't mention to anyone that you
found me in such a silly fix, will you?" Sim begged. She was quickly
regaining her lost composure. "I just wanted to get a look at the pool
and foolishly walked out on the board. I imagined myself poising for a
dive and I slipped off. You won't tell?"

"Of course I won't," Tom agreed, somewhat gayly, it seemed. "I came in to
get a few of the early apples we have stored here. One of the cooks asked
me to. I imagine there are going to be pies. But, honestly, I won't tell
a soul."

"Thank you," Sim murmured.

The young gardener walked up to the middle of the pool and with athletic
ease jumped down in it near several bags of vegetables. He picked up one
containing apples, heaved it up on the edge and jumped up himself. Then,
slinging the sack up on his shoulder, he walked toward the door, giving
Sim a friendly backward glance as he went out.

"What a nice young man!" said Sim to herself. "He doesn't seem like a
gardener at all. No brogue and no accent of any kind. I wish I could tell
Arden and Terry, but I'd rather die than have them know of this dizzy
adventure. I must have looked perfectly stupid hanging there on the end
of the plank!"

The clanging of a distant bell brought Sim back to reality, and as she
looked at her wrist watch she left all thoughts of pools and good-looking
rescuing gardeners behind her. For it would need a swift dash to get her
to Bordmust Hall before she would be late for her class.




                               CHAPTER VI
                              Apple Hazing


Girls of various sizes, types, and descriptions were hurrying into the
building, and their clothes, of all colors, gave a luster otherwise
lacking in the dull, sand-colored structure. The freshmen were easily
distinguished from the other students by the fact that they were all
carrying or scanning yellow cards which told them in what rooms to report
for their first classes.

Sim was surprised to see Arden and Terry still outside the hall.

"I thought you had to hurry in to class," she said, hoping they wouldn't
notice her broken nails.

"Wrong number," remarked Terry. "We went in and were told to come back in
fifteen minutes, so we came up for air."

"Where were you?" asked Arden, glancing sharply at Sim.

"Oh--just walking around. I think I'm about in time for my class. Let's
go in."

The three found they were to be separated for the morning session though
the first class in the afternoon would find them in the same room for
English literature.

"And we must try to sit together," called Arden to Sim and Terry as they
parted.

Inside the hall all was confusion. Girls were running hither and yon.
Stairways were crowded with students going up or coming down, and all
were excited. Doors were suddenly pushed open by uncertain freshmen and
again by oversure sophomores. The latter, in a spirit of fun, several
times sent a poor "frosh" up to the top floor when she should have
remained on the first.

Another warning bell rang and, almost at once, the corridors were empty
and quiet. Inside their classrooms the three girls from 513 looked,
listened, and answered somewhat in a daze. That first day always remained
more or less of a hazy recollection. Something of an organization was
arranged, the roll was checked and corrected, names were asked and given,
everyone was on edge and nervous, even the instructors. Strange faces,
many of them timid, looked on other strange faces, also somewhat timid.

Then came welcome noon, and the rush out of Bordmust and some of the
other study buildings to the dining hall was comparable only to the New
York subway rush at five o'clock.

The afternoon classes were attended by all more pleasantly and with less
strain. To their delight, Arden, Sim, and Terry managed to get into the
same room and sat near one another.

As they were leaving Bordmust Hall, at the close of the afternoon
session, Arden heard someone say:

"Here come our three!"

Toots Everett, Jessica, and Pip were regarding the other trio with
sardonic smiles and, as Terry said later, "with murder in their eyes."

"Good afternoon, freshies! How about a little song for my friends, here?"
Jessica was mockingly speaking. "A song befitting your talents. Arden
Blake, come here!"

Arden stepped forward, blushing. "I can't sing," she quavered.

"You shall learn. Your friend here, with the red hair, looks like a
singer. And while you two sing, Sim Westover shall dance. On with the
dance, freshies!"

The trio from 513 looked at one another in dismay, but there was no help
for it. Amused seniors and juniors had gathered to see the fun. From the
classmates of Arden and her chums two kinds of advice was forthcoming,
the "don't-you-do-it!" and "go-on-be-sports!"

Finally, in a weak and uncertain voice, Arden and Terry, after a moment
of embarrassed consultation, sang one verse from their prep-school song;
something about "Bring Me Violets for My Hair," while Sim tapped about
more like a sparrow than a swan.

At last it was over.

"Not bad," commented Toots.

"I've seen worse," said Pip.

"But not much," was Jessica's opinion.

Then the sophomores delivered a rhyming ultimatum. They stood with their
heads together and chanted:

  "_From yonder orchard, old and green,_
  _Where, 'tis said, strange things are seen,_
  _You three, upon this fatal day,_
  _Must gather apples while ye may._
  _At once repair to that dread spot,_
  _And in your quest dare pass it not._
  _Then bring, for our symbolic use,_
  _Fair apples with but smallest bruise._
  _Ten perfect fruits, no less, must we_
  _Your mentors have, in time for tea._"

There was a dramatic pause, following this delivery, and then, as though
they had rehearsed it, as, indeed, they had, the three sophomores picked
up the books they had deposited on the ground in front of them while
singing, and marched away, leaving the trio from 513 the center of an
excited and thrilled group.

"What does it all mean?" asked Sim.

"Is it part of the hazing?" asked Terry.

"Must we really go after the apples?" asked Arden in astonishment.

"Yes," said Mary Todd. "It's just part of college life. And you may as
well go to the orchard now, while it is still light and bright. I
certainly hope I don't have to do that stunt. No orchard in mine."

"Some of us probably will have to gather the apples later," declared Jane
Randall. "But a soph, who got a little friendly with me, said that the
best apples were at the far side of the orchard. So you girls had better
go there at the start, as Toots and her crowd won't accept nubbins, and
you don't want to have to make two trips."

"I should say not," murmured Sim. "One is bad enough."

Arden and Terry were still a bit bewildered, even after this well-meant
advice, and Sim declared she was "dying from embarrassment."

"I suppose we may as well go. What do you say, girls?" asked Arden.

"Yes, let's! Anything to get away from here!" Sim was regarding the
circle of amused girls.

"You take our books to our room, will you?" Terry asked Mary Todd. "We'll
let you know later how we make out."

The fated trio started down the southern slope of Bordmust Hall hill
toward the picturesque orchard where, even now, though it was not very
late, the shadows were lengthening and the sun had lost some of its
brightness. They crossed a field, deep with grass, crawled through the
bars of a snake-rail fence, and found themselves beneath the trees.

"I vote we pick up the first apples we can see," voiced Terry.

"Certainly!" agreed Arden.

"Apples are apples," quoth Sim. "Why should we go to the far end to
gather fine fruit when windfalls may answer?"

"Why, indeed," assented Arden. "But still I suppose we had better not
pick up these." With her foot she kicked out from amid the fallen leaves
some withered, wrinkled, and partly rotted specimens.

"No, they won't do," declared Sim.

"Then let's separate a bit. We can cover more ground that way," suggested
Arden. "Whoever first finds some decent apples must give a shout, and
we'll gather there." She was quite businesslike.

"All right, Colonel!" laughed Terry. "'You take the highland and I'll
take the low,'" she sang softly. "Scatter, my lassies!"

They separated and began the search in the growing dusk.

Apples there were, but such poor things, windfalls and rots, that even
the enthusiastic Arden began to feel discouraged. They might, after all,
need to go to the far end of the orchard. Still, it was delightful
beneath the old, gnarled trees. Their trunks were shaped like dragons,
their branches like Chinese letters, and the roots, where they cropped
out above the ground, like intertwined serpents grim and black, seeming
to writhe in the shifting shadows. A little wind rustled the leaves,
swung the hanging fruit, and made the limbs squeak as they rubbed one on
the other.

Here and there they wandered, growing more and more apprehensive and
nervous as the darkness deepened. There seemed to be something sinister
about that orchard, although it was so close to the life and joy of Cedar
Ridge College. The taxi-man had surely warned them--but of what? This was
no time to think about that.

"Ah!" Sim suddenly exclaimed. "A perfect apple, red and round!" She
picked it up from beneath a large gnarled tree. "And there are others,"
she called. "This way! Over here, girls!" Her voice was joyous.

Arden and Terry ran toward Sim. But as Sim stooped to pick up another
apple she saw something in a pile of leaves. It looked like--surely not
the leg of blue overalls! A last lingering gleam of the setting sun,
shining through a cleft in the hills, glinted upon that leg. Sim glided
closer. Could it be----?

It was part of an overall suit, and there, thrust out of the lower end
and twisted grotesquely to one side, was a foot!

"Oh-h-h-h-ee!" screamed Sim, dropping her apples. "Oh, girls, look here!
Quick! Hurry!"

She stood in a panic of terror, rooted as firmly to the spot, for the
moment, as one of the black gnarled trees.

"What is it, Sim? What's the matter?" gasped Terry, the first to arrive.

"Look!" Sim pointed, breathless. She and the others, for Arden was now
one of the trio beneath the tree, saw more than just the overall leg and
the foot. They saw the huddled form of a man partly buried in the fallen
leaves. And they could see--his face!

"Why, it's Tom--the porter!" cried Arden. Instantly she was down on her
knees beside him. "His head is cut. We must get help. Sim! Terry! Come
here to me!"

Arden was dependable in a real emergency. She attempted to lift the
death-like head. Terry struggled to help her while Sim bravely tried to
straighten out a crooked arm beneath the senseless form.

It was so terribly tragic. The girls saw where all that blood was coming
from. Tom Scott's forehead was cut, and the wound appeared to be serious.
Realizing this, the three hesitated about what to do next.

"Oh!" gasped Terry. "Is he--dead?"

"No," Arden answered. "I can feel him breathing. But he's had a hard
blow."

"What shall we do?" faltered Terry, becoming more and more alarmed.

"If we only had some water," murmured Sim, "we could----"

The sound of approaching footsteps caused the girls to glance up. A man
was hastening toward them through the aisles of the black trees of the
orchard.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Arden as she let the inert head fall back on the
cushion of leaves.

"What is he saying?" asked Terry.

"Nothing yet," replied Arden, still watching closely the face of the
unconscious man as well as she could in the fast gathering gloom.

"Who is coming?" asked Sim, for the approaching footsteps were pounding
nearer.

No one answered.

Then they heard the voice of Tom Scott as he stirred on awakening from
the stupor of unconsciousness.

"My head!" he murmured. "It--hurts. But it was so black and it came at me
so quickly----"

The girls were so relieved to hear him speak that they all waited
breathlessly. The running footsteps came nearer. It was a man. He fairly
leaped through the dark tunnel of trees toward the group.

"Get away from here!" he snarled. "Get away--you girls! You're not
supposed to come in this orchard. Get away! I'll take care of him!"

By his voice, for it was now too dark to distinguish his features, Arden
and her chums knew him to be Anson Yaeger, the grim head farmer and
gardener of Cedar Ridge. They had seen him from a distance that
afternoon, had heard his snarling voice, and had been told who he was.
Now he was living up to his reputation in ordering them off.

Arden and the others moved away from the still recumbent form of Tom
Scott. But more life was coming back to him now. He murmured again:

"But I didn't know. I couldn't see--except that it was something
black--as black as the hedge--and it--got me!"

Then the voice of Anson Yaeger broke in:

"All right! All right! I'll look after you, Tom. You girls run away. It's
all right, I tell you! Go away!"

His angry command seemed to shatter the calm darkness of the night.




                              CHAPTER VII
                           Terror in the Dark


Scarcely realizing how they had changed their fright into action, Arden,
Terry, and Sim found themselves running away as quickly as they could
through the fast-gathering darkness enshrouding the mysterious orchard.
The cool wind whipped back their hair, and their feet stumbled on the
uneven ground. Loose stones tripped them, and smashed apples made
slippery spots that once caused Sim almost to fall. But she quickly
recovered herself, ran on, and passed her chums.

As the three neared the dormitory building, the grounds about it were
deserted, as this was the before-supper lull.

"I hope no one saw that mad rush!" panted Arden.

"What are we going to do?" asked Terry as they slowed to a walk.

"Say nothing--for a while, at least," advised Arden.

"Right!" agreed Sim.

To this course of action, or, rather, lack of action, each agreed with
unspoken loyalty. They must keep the secret of the orchard to themselves.
It was their secret. None of the other girls, for the time, must know
anything about the mystery tangled in those gnarled trees and in the
smoky ivy vines that hung from some branches like tangled snakes. Even
the tall and almost impenetrable hedge that, in one corner, formed a
terrifying tunnel before it opened into the wide aisles of trees took on
a sinister shape and seemed to add to the mystery as the girls thought of
it while standing in the gleam of lights from the dormitory building.

They were safe now. They need run no longer. They could stop and let
their panting breaths ease. They must go inside. Oh, to be able to sit
down and calmly consider what had happened.

But the five flights of stairs between them and their room! How could
they be climbed? The same thought was in the minds of each one. To get
safely inside their room and throw themselves down upon the beds until
hearts beat a little less poundingly.

It was finally accomplished, somehow. Silently they reclined in their
favorite relaxed positions. No sound, except a clock-like puffing,
disturbed the stillness. The room was almost dark, only a little gleam
filtering in from the hall through a transom. No one made a move to turn
on a light. Just to rest, for the moment, was enough.

Gradually they grew calmer. Arden sat up.

"What an adventure!" she exclaimed. "But do you know what we did?"

"What?" murmured Terry.

"We left the precious apples."

"For all I care they can stay there!" Sim had lost all interest. "I'll
never forget how that poor young fellow looked! I only wish that old man
hadn't chased us away. Perhaps we could have found out what Tom meant by
that black thing he talked about."

"I'd never have the courage to try!" murmured Terry.

"Do you know, girls," burst out Arden, "I think we've stumbled on
something important! You remember what Henry, our dear old chaplain, was
muttering about the day we passed him. Something about coming out of the
orchard and some sort of a promise. And the old taxi-man, too, warned us,
in a way. Certainly that orchard holds a real mystery in its dark
leafiness." Arden smiled a little smugly. A sort of cat and canary smile,
as Sim remarked when she got up off the bed to switch on a light.

She and Terry both were very thoughtful after what Arden had said.
Perhaps Arden was right. There was certainly something more than merely
queer about the orchard, it was getting weird and uncanny.

"Do you think those sophs could have known?" asked Terry.

"I don't," was Sim's opinion. "They'd never have sent us there if they
had known what was going to happen."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," spoke Arden. "Those sophs----"

"Hark!" from Sim.

Footsteps in the corridor outside.

A knock on the door.

A little scream from Terry, a quickly hushed scream, however.

The door was opened suddenly. It was Toots Everett and her two familiars.

"Where are the apples, freshies?" Toots demanded.

"We haven't got them," Terry stated simply. "We--ah--we--dropped them."

"Oh, you did! And you look at us and calmly tell us you haven't the
apples we sent you to get! Well, you'd better get them tonight. It would
be just too bad if the dean had to campus you in your first week here."
Toots paused ominously and resumed. "For going over to the post office
without permission." It was a theatrical finish.

"Get those apples for us tonight!" commanded Jessica. "Slip out the back
door about eight o'clock and you'll manage it all right. None of the
teachers will notice you then. Of course, you'll have sense enough to
take flashlights."

"We haven't any yet," said Sim lamely. "We haven't been to town, you
know." She and her two chums were wondering how the sophomore knew about
the post office visit. Had the chaplain told them?

"No flashlights!" mocked Pip. "The poor dears! Then they'll have to go in
the dark."

"Oh, no!" Terry cried out with a dramatic restraining gesture.

"Little freshie 'fraid-cats!" sneered Toots.

"Well," remarked Jessica, "purely out of the goodness of my heart, and
not because I like you, I'll let you take my large flashlight. But don't
forget! We expect those apples before 'lights-out' tonight!"

With mocking smiles, the sophs withdrew to their room below.

"Oh, dear!" wailed Sim. "More trouble! I don't want to go back to that
orchard when it's so dark!"

"I do and I don't," said Arden. "I want to find out something, but I'm a
little scared."

"If we all keep together and have a light, it shouldn't take us long. I
think I can find the tree we were near when--when----" Terry didn't quite
know how to finish.

Clang-clang! Clang! Clang-clang! It was the bell calling the students to
supper: always a light meal. The "big feed," as the girls called it, came
in the middle of the day.

Wearily the three arose from the beds whereon they had again cast
themselves after the visits of the sophomores, straightened themselves
with pulls and twists, and joined their classmates in the dining hall.
Their coming hazing task was uppermost in their minds, consequently they
did not feel like talking much.

Terry was elected to get the light from Jessica while her chums waited in
no little trepidation in the main corridor below, near a rear door out of
which they had been told they might slip without being observed by those
in authority.

"Did you get it?" whispered Sim, as Terry came lightly down the stairs.

"Sure! Did you think I wouldn't?"

"I was hoping you might not, and then we'd have a good excuse for not
going," Sim answered.

"Well, let's get started," suggested Arden.

They went out. The night was clear and beginning to get chilly. Sim
knotted her bright scarf more tightly about her throat. Terry turned up
the collar of her jacket, and Arden snuggled more closely into her long
sweater.

At first, after walking away from the rim of light that filtered from the
dormitory building, they could see nothing. But gradually their eyes
became accustomed to the darkness and, without switching on the
flashlight, they headed for Bordmust Hall.

For a few of their hesitant steps no one spoke. Then Terry turned on the
flashlight, focusing its beams upon the ground while they walked slowly
along in triangular formation, Sim and Arden forming the base as Terry
with the light was the apex.

Nothing disturbed them. All was quiet and still and so absolutely silent
that Terry remarked it was the "perfect state of nothingness."

The dark orchard seemed miles away. But as they paused for Arden to tie
her shoe, a faint rustling could be heard. Tired old apple trees were
once more settling down for the long winter sleep after a summer of fruit
producing.

All at once they were there! Right in the orchard. The stones on the
ground seemed to hold back their unwilling feet. They stopped and
listened. Terry switched on the light but its penetrating beam seemed
only to make the surrounding darkness blacker.

"Come on, girls! We're just at the first row of trees. The one we are
looking for is farther along. I remember a funny-shaped one, like a
rearing crocodile, next to it. But wait, Terry! I heard something
moving!" Arden froze into motionless silence to listen.

"Don't let your imagination run away with you," Terry gently mocked.
"We're just wasting time by listening, and I've got a lot of French to
do. Let's get going!"

Sim and Terry walked on. Terry, having seen that the way, for some little
distance ahead, was clear, turned off the flashlight. They did not want
to attract any possible attention. Arden was following a little more
slowly. They were beneath some gnarled trees now.

"Flash a gleam, Terry," begged Sim. In the glow they looked at the
leaf-strewn ground. "There's not a single apple here! I don't see how we
found any this afternoon!" said Sim gloomily.

"Cheer up, old gal! I think this is the tree. That looks like a pretty
good specimen." Terry was examining an apple in the light of Terry's
torch. "Pick them up quickly. If they turn out not to be good, we'll
blame it on the darkness. Hold the bag, Arden. It was very smart of you
to bring it."

Quickly the two dropped apples into the paper bag held open by Arden.
They were making what they thought was a good collection when Arden
suddenly stopped them as she murmured:

"Listen! Did you hear that? Sounded like someone sneezing!"

They stood motionless and quiet in the frightening darkness.

"I heard--something," Sim whispered.

"Well, whatever it was, it couldn't have been very close," declared
Terry, taking charge of the situation. "If we hurry we can be out of here
in another minute."

With renewed energy they fell to their task once more. Arden discovered
Sim's pile of apples from the afternoon gathering and was putting them
into the bag; they could not return to those sophs without filling their
orders.

Suddenly the night's silence was broken by a loud noise: a sound between
a sneeze and a snort, as the girls afterward described it.

Then something like a black shadow tore past the frightened trio, moving
with great speed and thudding feet, if that tearing scramble could have
been made by feet. In her excitement Terry switched off the light. The
darkness was at once made more dark.

"Oh! Help! Help! It's--got me!" screamed Arden, in a voice filled with
terror.

Some strange force seemed to fling her aside, her skirt being caught and
twisted around her legs, twirling her like a human top. She tried to
retain her balance but toppled over and fell heavily in a pile of leaves
and apples, too frightened to know where she was.

"Arden!" cried Sim. "What happened? Where are you?"

"Are you hurt?" demanded Terry trying in vain to get her fingers on the
elusive light switch. "Oh, Arden! Whatever--was it?"

"It--it just missed me!" panted Arden, struggling to her feet. "But
whatever it was, it certainly tried to get me! Oh, for mercy's sake, take
those apples and let's get out of here!"

"Show a light, Terry!" begged Sim. "Where are the apples?"

"I--I dropped the bag when that terrible thing rushed past me and was
nearly entangled in my skirt," Arden confessed. "Oh, this is awful!"

"Those sophs!" muttered Sim, "and these unlucky apples!"

"Beasts!" snapped Terry, who at last had the torch glowing again.

Then, never daring to look behind them, the three frightened freshmen,
with Sim carrying the bag of apples, Terry focusing the torch on the
uncertain way, and Arden almost in hysterical tears, ran out of the
perilous orchard. This surely had been a terrifying encounter.

"But remember again," breathed Sim when she felt strong enough to do so,
"the apples are for--the sophs, but the--mystery--is ours!" Good little
Sim!




                              CHAPTER VIII
                              A Tea Dance


"There!"

Sim flung the bag of apples with desperate aim straight at Jessica
Darglan, who stood in surprised dismay near the doorway of her room.

"We're back! We got the apples for you. But don't ever ask us to go to
that orchard again. It's a _terrible_ place!" Arden almost shook her
finger at Jessica.

"I think you sophs are going a little too far in this hazing business."
Terry spoke firmly. "We tried to be good sports about it, but we might
have been hurt or killed--or something! Well, anyhow, here's your lamp,
and you have the apples. Come on, girls!" she finished a little lamely,
but a little defiantly as well.

The three frightened freshmen wearily climbed the last flight of stairs
to their room. Never had the sight of those three beds in a row seemed so
pleasant, so reassuring.

Terry decided to let her French go until morning. Arden and Sim thanked
their lucky stars they could go to bed with easy consciences. They had
nothing to prepare.

"But, Arden, what was it?" asked Sim as she began to undress.

"You haven't given us any idea," added Terry.

"For the simple reason that I can't," was the answer made after a moment
of thought. "It was all so sudden--and terrible--a rushing black
shape--something getting tangled in my skirt--twirling me down
and--and--around----"

"Whoosing, snorting, and sneezing like some giant of an old man with a
bad cold," finished Sim.

"Yes," Arden assented, glad to have been helped out.

"The orchard," murmured Terry. "Could it have been--a snake?"

"You're thinking of the Garden of Eden and Eve's apple, I guess," laughed
Sim.

"Oh, don't let's talk about it!" begged Arden. "Maybe it was--the wind."

"You know it wasn't," said Sim calmly.

"It may have been--for all I _know_," Arden said. "I'm going to bed and
try to forget it. College life should make girls brave."

The others followed her example but sleep was long in coming. Adventures
like the peril in the orchard called for pulling covers over one's head,
Arden remarked, and she did exactly that. Darling sleep came at last.

In the morning, at breakfast, the trio guardedly whispered to a few of
their friends something of what had happened, but the real secret they
kept to themselves. There were murmurs of wonder amid promises, exacted
and given, of silence. But the talk spread. The idea of three
freshmen--etc.--etc.--!

It was two days later, though, before an effect was produced. Then the
whole college was called to General Assembly, and the three in room 513
realized to what an extent gossip had traveled.

"Any stories which you may have heard about queer things happening in the
old orchard must be taken, well--conservatively, at least." It was the
dean speaking to the college students, who for once were all vitally
interested in her discourse. "There is not much danger of our upper class
students taking these things seriously. But in a college of this size,
stories travel with remarkable speed. It would not be to the credit of
Cedar Ridge to have such rumors spread on the outside. So we shall say no
more about it, except to remark that, apparently, our sophomores this
year are doing a very good job of hazing. It is to be hoped they will
remember where hazing ends and bullying begins." The dean's usually
austere manner suddenly melted into a kindly interest.

"She must have heard something," Arden whispered to Sim. "Do you notice
she doesn't say exactly what happened?"

"It's my guess," whispered Sim, "she doesn't _know_ exactly what."

The three girls were sitting together in the large assembly hall.

"Foxy old thing!" Terry spoke out of the corner of her mouth at Arden.
"I'd like to hear just how much she actually knows."

The dean had finished with the matter of the orchard. She swept her
glance over the faces raised expectantly to hers as she broached a new
and not unwelcome subject.

"The Sophomore Tea Dance will be held this year earlier than usual; in
New York, at the Hotel Chancellor. The committee, of which Jessica
Darglan, Margaret Everett, and Priscilla MacGovern are the active heads,
ask your support in their undertaking." A murmur of approval greeted this
announcement. "They have voted to give any funds they may raise to the
college treasury for the reconditioning of the swimming pool. I wish them
every success." This was a real pronouncement.

Then, gathering herself together and teetering on her toes as if, Terry
said, she was getting ready to jump, the dean dismissed her students.

"Wouldn't you just know they'd do something like that!" Arden was
speaking, as the three chums sauntered toward their classes in Bordmust
Hall. "Stealing our plan!"

"But we didn't announce it, Arden," Terry remarked. "That is, if you mean
we are to try for the thousand dollars reward for information about that
missing Harry Pangborn."

"That's what I mean."

"But we haven't done anything," suggested Sim. "Really, you know,
Arden----"

"Why didn't they give us a chance? I just know we can solve that mystery
if we have time. I'm sure of it!"

"Have you decided yet," asked Terry, "where you think you saw the
original of that reward-poster picture?"

"Not yet," Arden had ruefully to admit. "But I shall. And now those
sophs----"

"Well, more power to them if they can raise the money for the swimming
pool, I say," spoke Sim philosophically.

"Never shall I forget, scared as I was, the expression on the face of
Jessica as we flung the apples at her! It was almost worth the fright we
had," Terry ventured, to change the subject.

"I know what we can do, though, to get a little even with them,"
suggested Arden. "We won't tell, no matter how much they ask, just what
happened."

"All right, Arden, we'll do that. Now, don't let's talk any more about
it. I'm tired of the word orchard. I'd much rather talk about the tea
dance," Sim returned, arranging her books more comfortably. "Do you think
we can go?"

"Of course! Why not?" asked Terry.

"Well--boys, you know. We couldn't get any of our own friends from home
to come this far for us," Sim decided.

"You've been thinking about this dance, have you, Sim? Now, I never would
have thought that!" laughed Arden.

"Of course I have! I like dances. I've been thinking about this one to
such an extent that when I saw the notice on the bulletin board I asked
Mary Todd what about it, and she and Ethel Anderson and Jane Randall have
already written to their three brothers----"

"Oh, my! Has each one three brothers who are eligible for tea dances?"
gasped Terry.

"No--one each," went on Sim, laughing. "What do you expect? Anyhow,
that's how much I've been thinking about it!"

"That's quite a lot of thinking," Terry remarked, "for you, my little
one! I might say that perhaps you took a great deal for granted, but if
it works out all right, I'll be just as glad as you are. Did you have the
sisters send their brothers our pictures? That one of you in the school
play, Sim, dressed as an old man, is good."

"Don't be silly! Of course I didn't. Anyhow, as long as we pay for the
bids, those boys ought to be glad to go. They don't have to dance with us
all afternoon."

"Oh, stop, you two! Do let it go, as long as Sim has engineered it this
far. It will be fun, very likely. Russ Albono's orchestra is grand, and
we all have new dresses. There are more important things to consider,"
Arden decided. "We must get our hair and nails done and see about a room
in the hotel. I've never been there, have you? Think of going to a real
college tea dance in a big New York hotel!"

"I was there once on my birthday," Sim remarked. "My loving parents took
me to dinner and the theater. We stayed at the hotel a whole week-end. I
loved it!" She sighed, remembering.

"I hope you'll find it as wonderful this time," remarked Terry.

"Let us hope so," murmured Arden.

"Mrs. Malvern is to be the official chaperon. You must report to her
before the dance and after it is over, as you leave," announced Sim. "I
should think she might be pretty tired of answering the phone calls of
the girls to her room when they notify her."

"Really, Sim, how did you find out so much?" asked Arden.

"I asked here and there," Sim admitted. "I also found out that we are to
go to New York the afternoon of the dance, which is on Saturday. We don't
have to be back here at college until nine that night."

"Quite a bit of liberty--for Cedar Ridge," commented Terry.

"Oh, dear! Here we are at Bordmust, and we'll have to separate just when
the talk is getting exciting!" exclaimed Arden. "But as soon as you two
can, come back to 513, and we'll complete our arrangements, will you?"
she begged as they reached the grim building.

"Yes," nodded Sim and Terry.

Groups of students on the steps were discussing the dean's talk, the
coming tea dance, and the ever intruding lessons, which, dance or not,
must be endured.

Suddenly Sim saw Mary Todd.

"Have you heard anything, Mary?" she asked.

"No, it's too soon. Give them a few more days," called back Mary.

"Don't be so anxious, Sim," advised Arden. "You'd think we just couldn't
wait to find out about those boys."

"Well, I _am_ anxious. If they don't take us, I don't know how we'll get
there." Sim sighed, certainly a little downcast.

"Don't worry. We'll go all right, and probably make a big hit, too!"
Terry was climbing the steps now. "I'll think it out in Latin class. I do
some of my best thinking there."

"See you later!" Arden waved a hand, laughing. "I'm due at math, worse
luck!" and she hurried into the building.

Terry and Sim followed. They were already lost in daydreams of music,
laughter, lights, and gayety: the prospective coming dance.

"Say, listen, Sim," exclaimed Terry suddenly, taking hold of Sim's arm to
assure attention.

"What is it, darling?" joked Sim. "Got a better idea for our dance boy
supply?"

"No, nothing about that. But you know our Tom who got that mysterious
blow the other night?"

"Do I?"

"Well, I heard him telling one of the gardeners about it, and he was
laughing it off."

"Well, what's wrong about that?" demanded Sim.

"Sounded flooey to me. He said he merely tripped over a tree stump and
another stump cut his head."

"Maybe he did," Sim casually answered.

"And maybe he _didn't_," retorted Terry significantly.




                               CHAPTER IX
                        The Disappearance of Sim


Class matters went all too slowly between the time of the tea dance
announcement and the affair itself. Lessons were slighted with bold
abandon as the girls made their preparations, their universal excuse
being:

"We can make it up later."

At last it was the day. Soon after noon the college buildings began
emptying rapidly, and excited students, carrying overnight bags, hurried
to the little station for the New York trains.

It was great fun going in to the city. The seniors and juniors were, of
course, literally "on their own," but the lower-class girls were
chaperoned by the ever-watchful Mrs. Malvern.

The train was crowded, but Arden and her friends, after some tactful
pushing, managed to get seats together.

"It was fine of Mary Todd to help us get the boys to go to the dance
with. And it wasn't so hard in her own case, for she lives so near New
York. None of the boys we know could travel so far for a tea dance."
Terry was chattering excitedly.

"Yes, it was nice," Sim agreed. "I was certainly relieved when I heard
they could come. If Mother lets me have a house party at Christmas, we
could invite them."

"Do you mean the boys or the girls?" asked Arden.

"I mean the boys," supplied Sim.

"How perfectly grand!" exclaimed Terry.

"Of course, we haven't seen the boys yet," continued Arden. "So perhaps
we had better wait until we do."

"And of course, I haven't asked Mother about the party yet, either. It
was just an idea," Sim concluded.

"Oh--Sim!" was all Arden and Terry could say to that admission, and
presently they lapsed into silence while the train clicked on.

The ride to New York from Cedar Ridge was hardly long enough, and it
seemed no time at all before the various groups of girls were alighting
from the variously colored taxis in front of the Chancellor Hotel.

Then up to their rooms in the gorgeous bird-cage elevators, to unpack
their dresses and give last-minute touches to hair, hands, and
complexions.

"Sim looks simply darling!" observed Arden in an aside to Terry. "As long
as she is small and child-like, I think she's wise in making the most of
it."

"Yes, she does look sweet," agreed Terry. "And you look nice, too, Arden.
I like that color on you. Your hair has a dandy wave. I think that was a
good beauty shop, don't you?"

"Very good," assented Arden. "And to complete the circle, Terry, you
look--wonderful!"

"Thanks!"

Sim was so busy preening herself before a large glass set in the closet
door that she took no part in the conversation until, all at once, she
seemed satisfied with her appearance and, turning to her chums, remarked:

"Your dress is just perfect, Arden--blue is surely _your_ color. And
green is yours, Terry: you look sweet. And I think we all three are
credits to Cedar Ridge. But let's go down. It's late, and we have to find
Mary and meet the boys. They must have been waiting a long time."

So they left their room after many last-minute touches, and with some
temerity descended to the ballroom. Already lights were casting soft
glows over the tapestry-hung walls. The orchestra was playing a lively
tune, and several couples were dancing in the stately Louis XIV room.
Smartly dressed girls and good-looking boys were laughing and talking
together in little knots, their eager anticipation being distinctly felt
if not actually heard.

"Have you seen Mary Todd anywhere?" Sim had a chance to ask Helen Burns,
a classmate, who was apparently waiting for someone at the door of the
ballroom.

"Oh, hello, Sim!" Helen greeted. "You look lovely! Yes, I saw Mary and
Jane and Ethel and a whole lot of boys over there in that small room."
She pointed toward a sort of alcove off the dancing space.

"Oh, gosh, Arden!" Sim's poise was leaving her. "What shall we do now?
Wait! There's Mary. I see her!"

"Why, let's go over and speak to her, of course," suggested Arden. "Your
nerve seems to be deserting you, Sim. You got us into this very nicely,
but you don't seem so brave about it just now."

"You lead the way, Arden, and we'll follow," Terry said, smoothing her
bright hair. "I've never been in a situation just like this before. I
feel almost as frightened as though I were in the orchard!"

"Hey there! No orchards tonight, girlie," cautioned Arden. "Come on,
children! We'll get the introductions over with, and the rest will be
easy." Arden started toward Mary who was chatting with several young men.

Then Mary looked up, saw Arden coming toward her, followed by Sim and
Terry, and went halfway to meet the trio. So it wasn't so difficult,
after all, to cross to the small room where the boys were waiting.

"Arden," said Mary formally, "may I present my brother Jim? This is Arden
Blake, Jim. I've told you about her."

"How do you do?" greeted Jim. "Mary wrote me all about your adventure."

Arden was wondering just what Mary had referred to, but there was no time
to ask, for the others were now being presented, Sim and Terry taking
their turns. Sim was now her vivacious self, and Terry had lost all her
nervousness. Could one boy have brought them such reassurance?

Then Ethel Anderson's brother Ed, a tall, good-looking boy, asked Sim to
dance, and soon she was humming "Tea for Two" as though they were old
friends. Yes, boys did inspire confidence just like that.

Terry was dancing with Dick Randall, talking and laughing as they whirled
about the big, beautiful room. It truly was exciting.

Next Arden and Mary Todd's brother Jim joined the dancers. Arden
unconsciously made a pretty picture as she looked up smiling at the
handsome boy. She was thinking how easily the introductions had gone off
after all and how glad she was to be there. Then, as the music stopped,
she glanced about her inquiringly.

"There are not as many here as I thought there would be," she remarked.
"I wonder if the sophomores will clear expenses and make something for
repairing the swimming pool?"

"You sound almost as if you wished they wouldn't," observed Jim, somewhat
curiously.

"It isn't that, exactly," went on Arden. "But, you see, I had sort of
planned on raising the money for the pool myself--with the help of Sim
and Terry. I suppose it doesn't matter, though, if they have _more_ than
they need, just as long as they don't have _less_."

"You talk like Alice in Wonderland and you remind me of her, too,"
laughed Jim. "But that's rather a tall order, isn't it? Trying to raise
such a large sum by yourselves--just you girls?"

"About a thousand dollars," admitted Arden. "I know it sounds awfully
conceited, but back at school, in the post office----"

Arden was interrupted by Ed Anderson coming to claim her for a dance.
"I'll tell you some other time," she explained gayly to Jim, and to her
waiting partner she smiled a little coquettishly as she put up her arms
in the correct position as he danced away with her. No thought of ugly
orchards now; even college could be forgotten with that rapturous music.
Arden was a pretty dancer.

The rest of the afternoon dissolved into a lovely kaleidoscope of color,
music, and lights. The three sophomore hazers of the trio from 513,
headed by Toots Everett, managed the affair extremely well as far as the
social end of it was concerned. Arden and her chums had occasional
glimpses of "the apple trio," as they were sometimes thought of,
surreptitiously regarding them and the good-looking boys with whom the
freshmen danced so often.

Was there envy in the glances?

Now and then an ominous "good-bye" intruded upon the pleasant dream Arden
was living in, until, as though she were slowly awakening, she realized
that the party was over.

The boys and girls of Arden's little group were gathered in a corner near
the ballroom door. Like overlapping broadcasts of sound, the farewells
and thank-yous crossed and crisscrossed among them.

"I want to say good-bye to Sim."

Ed Anderson's smiling request caused them all suddenly to stop talking
and look at one another.

"Where is she?" Dick Randall asked. "I haven't seen her for a long time."

"I don't know. She should be somewhere around here. We must find her
quickly. We have scarcely time to dress and catch the eight-thirty train
back to Cedar Ridge!" Arden exclaimed.

"She knew we were to meet her here when the dance was over," Terry said
petulantly. "Come, Arden, let's go look for her! We have to hurry."




                               CHAPTER X
                               What to Do


Like the reflection of a cloud in a pool of water, a shadow passed over
the face of Arden Blake as Terry spoke to her. But she acted quickly.

"I'm sorry we must go so soon," Arden said to the somewhat puzzled boys.
"But if we miss that train we'll probably be campused. I'm sure Sim has
some good excuse for her absence, but we'd better find her and learn what
it is. I'll have to say good-bye for her. I really don't know what to
think."

"It's all right," Dick Randall remarked. "You and Terry go along. Perhaps
Sim is upstairs waiting for you."

"She doesn't usually do things like this. But I suppose we really should
go up," Arden agreed. "We haven't much time."

Saying good-bye again, Terry and Arden left the group of boys and walked
toward the elevator. But when they reached the room, high up in the large
hotel, Sim's bag was closed and packed, as Terry discovered, on the
middle of the bed. And she exclaimed:

"She isn't here, Arden! We must phone Mary Todd's room."

"I'll do it," Arden promptly offered. "She may be down there talking
things over." She hurried to the instrument.

But Mary Todd hadn't seen Sim since early afternoon!

"Don't say anything to anyone, will you, Mary?" Arden pleaded. "I don't
want Mrs. Malvern to know yet."

"Of course not!" Mary answered. "But Sim will turn up. Don't worry!
'Bye!" and she hung up.

"She isn't there, either," said Arden, turning to Terry. "What's the next
move?"

Terry considered. "Well, this is a pretty big place. Sim may be--"

The telephone jingled shrilly. Both girls sprang to answer, but Terry got
there first.

"Yes, Mrs. Malvern," she said sweetly. "We're all ready, and we'll be in
the lobby in a few minutes. Yes. Good-bye!"

Quickly she turned from the telephone.

"Oh, what shall we do? Mrs. Malvern will see that Sim isn't with us!
Think of something, Arden! Quick!"

"We'll have to go down, anyhow," said Arden, pulling her dress over her
head. "Maybe, in the crowd, she won't notice that Sim is missing. Hurry,
Terry, and change your dress."

"I am hurrying. I'm as nearly ready as you are. We mustn't show we are
excited. She really could be--lots of places."

"Whatever possessed Sim to do a thing like this?" Arden was struggling
with her garments.

"She's probably got some idea into her head. Unless she's been kidnaped
and is being held for a ransom!"

Both girls stopped their dressing, suddenly frightened, Terry no less,
though she had spoken the words. They had been spoken jokingly, but the
possibility of such a terrible happening was not pleasant to consider.

"Oh, Terry! Do you think we better tell Mrs. Malvern after all? The
police----"

"No! No! I was only joking. I have a lot of confidence in Sim. She can
take care of herself. She knows people in New York. If she isn't in the
lobby when we get there, we'll have to decide what to do then." Terry was
putting on her hat.

"I'm ready. I'll take her bag and mine. You shut the door."

Arden swept a last glance around the room. She stepped into the corridor,
followed by Terry, who pulled the door shut. They both quickly looked
down the long hall. It was empty.

"Hurry, Arden, into the elevator, before someone sees there are only two
of us when there should be three!"

By the greatest of good luck the elevator came quickly in answer to their
ring. It was almost filled with chattering girls, and when it reached the
ground floor it was impossible to see who got off.

The girls for Cedar Ridge were assembled in the magnificent lobby; a
happy, chattering, laughing group. Terry and Arden, in unspoken
agreement, worked themselves gradually as near to the center of the
throng as they could, hoping Mrs. Malvern's gimlet eyes would not note
the absence of Sim.

"Come, girls, get together!" The chaperon was herding them toward the
door leading to the waiting cabs. "Tell the driver to take you to
Thirty-third Street tube station and there take a train for Hoboken. When
you get there, ask at the information desk which is the next train for
Cedar Ridge, and don't forget to sign in as soon as you get back. That is
important. We shall have to separate from now on."

So far so good. Terry and Arden guiltily got into a gaudy taxi with three
other girls. The two were thinking so much about Sim; wondering if,
should they go on thinking, some subconscious influence would not cause
someone to ask about her. The only thing to do was to talk to the other
girls about the dance to keep their thoughts occupied with that subject.

"Did they make any money, do you know?" Arden asked a strange girl, one
of the three riding with her and Terry.

"They cleared expenses, but I heard they only have a few dollars over."

"It was a nice party, anyhow," Terry put in, looking anxiously out of the
window. "The music was grand!"

And that ended the half-hearted attempt at conversation. Both Arden and
Terry had too much on their minds to do much talking. The other girls
were intimately whispering among themselves. They seemed to give no
thought to the missing Sim, nor to the fact that Arden and Terry had been
two of a trio, inseparable, but were now only a duet.

Their problem was a difficult one.

Where was Sim?

If she was not waiting at the tube station or in Hoboken, what should
they do? How could they get back to Cedar Ridge without Mrs. Malvern or
someone with inquisitive authority finding out about the missing girl?

Arden privately decided, if they did not find Sim at either station, to
tell Mrs. Malvern at the first opportunity.

Terry, whose thoughts were following the same line as were Arden's,
decided, if they reached Cedar Ridge and found no trace of Sim, that it
would be best at once to telephone from college to the parents of the
missing girl and ask for advice.

There was a milling throng on the platform of the Thirty-third Street
tube station on one side of which trains left for Jersey City and Newark,
and on the other side for Hoboken and thence to Cedar Ridge. As well as
they could, Terry and Arden peered through the crowd for Sim. But she was
not to be seen, and the hope thermometer in their hearts went nearer the
zero mark.

The train was crowded, and it was almost impossible for Arden and Terry
to converse above the noise. It didn't matter. They had nothing of
interest to talk about, now. They looked anxiously at each other. Were
they deserting Sim? Or rather, were they not showing real confidence in
her? She must be safe! The excitement of the travel was helping to cheer
her chums.

When Hoboken terminus was reached and the crowds poured out as they had
flowed in, once more the two sought anxiously among the many faces. But
though there were scores of their fellow students hurrying to catch the
next Cedar Ridge train, Sim was not among them.

"She may be on the platform waiting for us," suggested Terry with a hope
she did not feel.

"Maybe," Arden murmured prayerfully.

They almost stumbled up the concrete steps in their haste. The ramp, from
the iron gates of which departed many trains for many places, was another
place of milling crowds outside the station. A man in a portable
information booth was answering questions in a very patient manner.

By listening, without asking, Terry and Arden learned from which track
their train departed and the time. They had a few precious minutes left.

"Let's look around out here and then go inside," proposed Terry, who was
lugging along Sim's bag with her own.

"She isn't here," Arden sighed, after a search. "Let's go inside the
station."

There they looked about the big vaulted room: ticket offices on one side,
a rank of telephone booths on another, a buffet restaurant, a magazine
stand, a large candy booth. All of these spots were eagerly scanned
without result.

Apparently just to say "hello" to friends, Terry and Arden went from one
group of waiting girls to another, glimpsing the pretty, animated faces,
but Sim's was not among them. It seemed hopeless.

Now, really frightened, Arden and Terry clung together as the stentorian
voice announced their train in long-drawn accents.

"We'll have to go!" murmured Terry desperately.

"Yes. We can't wait any longer. But she may be in the train." It was a
sort of last hope for Arden.

"We can look, if it isn't too crowded," Terry suggested.

But it was. In all the coaches, for most of the college girls had caught
this train back, were repeated the same scenes, the same talk and
laughter that had marked the going trip. The seekers could not locate Sim
in the coach where they were crowded, and they did not dare pass from one
car to another as the train quickly gathered speed after leaving Hoboken.

The ride back was almost a nightmare for Terry and Arden, and when the
train pulled into the Morrisville station, which was the college stop,
they were pale and more worried than ever.

"Maybe she is already here," breathed Terry, as they alighted. It was a
brave attempt to brighten the situation.

"Maybe. Let's hurry and see if she has signed in." Arden was only too
glad to seize on Terry's suggestion.

They almost ran along the path from the station to the college. Terry
still insisted on clinging to Sim's bag, though Arden wanted to do her
share of carrying it. Then up those back-breaking stairs and into the big
recreation room where the registry book was kept for this occasion.

Signing their own names, the two frightened freshmen scanned the pages
for Sim's.

"No, Arden, she hasn't come in." Terry turned sadly from the book.

"I left a space between your name and mine," Arden said, "so in case Sim
comes in later she can slip hers in without being caught. Hurry, Terry,
let's get to our room so we can talk this out and decide
upon--something."




                               CHAPTER XI
                                  Sim


Miles away from Cedar Ridge, Sim Westover idly turned the pages of a
movie magazine. She was quite pleased with herself as she sat in a
commuters' train, speeding toward Larchmont. It was dark now, and as Sim
looked from the window her face was reflected in the glass as in a dull
mirror. Just a hint of a shiny nose, but it was enough to cause her to
open her envelope bag and search for her compact.

But what were those white envelopes?

Surely she hadn't forgotten to leave that carefully composed note for the
dean--and the one to Arden and Terry!

Yes, she had forgotten!

"My word! They'll be worried to death!" Sim whispered in a gasp of
dismay. "What a stupid thing to do! Write notes explaining everything and
then take them with me!"

Sim settled herself deeper into the soft green plush of the seat and
looked helplessly at the envelopes bearing the imposing red and gold seal
of the Chancellor Hotel. She could imagine Terry and Arden dashing madly
about asking everywhere for her. And she had intended to leave the note
right where they would see it--on the bed near her packed bag.

"Oh," mused Sim, "if only they don't do anything rash, such as notifying
the police or phoning to my folks!"

The adventure she had planned to be such a fine thing was fast losing its
savor.

Suppose her father was not in Larchmont, after all? But he must be. In
his last letter to Sim he had mentioned, casually, this trip which was a
reason why he couldn't be in New York to greet her at the tea dance. He
would be in Larchmont.

It had seemed such a fine idea, when Sim learned the sophomores had not
made the amount of money necessary even to start the repairs on the
swimming pool, just to go to her father and ask him for it. It would be
such a fine thing for the college, and Sim really must do some swimming.
She felt that she was entitled to it after coming to Cedar Ridge, having
seen the pictures of the pool in the prospectus.

The others were dancing as Sim's grand idea was engendered within her,
and it seemed too bad to interrupt them. Besides, Arden would, very
probably, try to stop her. The simplest thing would be just to write the
notes, explaining, and go ahead.

The desk clerk at the hotel told her, when she asked, that she had
fifteen minutes to get a train for Larchmont from the Grand Central
Station. Sim was so glad she had remembered her father had written he was
to be there for the week-end at the Newman home--planning another large
branch store for business expansion.

"Oh, dear! What a fix to be in! I suppose I'll be expelled! Mother will
feel terribly bad, and Dad----Oh, dear!" Sim sighed aloud.

But there was nothing she could do now. There were the forgotten letters
which would have made everything all right. She had hurried up to the
room, slipping away from the dance, had written the notes, put them in
her bag, and changed her dress. She intended leaving them just before
going out of the room. But a glance at the electric clock showed her
there was little time to catch a taxi for the Grand Central in time to
make the train, and in her haste----

The train ran along smoothly. The clickety-click of the wheels over the
rail joints mocked Sim with their ever recurring:

"Forgot! Forgot! Forgot!"

She grew more upset and worried. She pulled back her coat sleeve and
glanced at her wrist watch.

Nine o'clock!

By this time the girls would be taking the train for Morrisville. What
had they done about her disappearance? Sim hated to think about it. This
was, indeed, the deepest hole she had ever been in.

The conductor opened the door and shouted:

"Larch-_mont_! _Larch_-mont! All out for LARCH-MONT!"

Sim gathered her things together and prepared to leave.

As she alighted from the train, the thought came to her that she must at
once go in the station and telephone Arden. But another glance at her
watch caused her to hesitate. Arden and Sim might not be in Cedar Ridge
yet. So she decided to wait until she reached the house of her father's
friend and to telephone from there.

She approached a taxi and gave the address to the driver. The ride was
not long, and soon was on the steps waiting to be admitted at the Newman
house.

It was Mr. Newman himself who opened the door.

"Why, Sim Westover!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here? We thought
you were safely in bed at Cedar Ridge. But come in! Take off your
things!"

"Good-evening, Mr. Newman," Sim said quickly. "I should be at Cedar
Ridge, but something very important came up, and I decided, in a hurry,
to come up here to see Dad. I was in New York at a dance. Dad is here,
isn't he?"

"Why, no, Sim, he isn't. He telephoned me, late this afternoon, that he
couldn't make it after all. Is anything the matter?"

Sim's face was a study in many expressions as she faintly replied:

"Yes, I guess there is--now. Everything would have been all right if I
hadn't been so forgetful!" Sim was close to tears, and the sight of her
mother's dear college friend (both ladies had graduated at Cedar Ridge)
caused Sim almost to break down.

"Come in, Sim!" greeted Mrs. Newman, sensing, as she hastened into the
hall, that something was wrong. "Have you had anything to eat? I thought
not. Come into the dining room. Marie can get you some tea and
sandwiches, at least. Then you can tell us all about it while you eat,
and you'll feel better. It isn't serious, is it?" This last prompted by a
look at Sim's face.

"Well, it isn't going to be very pleasant, I'm afraid." On the way to and
in the dining room, while a hasty lunch was made ready, Sim blurted out
the whole story.

"And so you see," she finished, "I must get word to Arden or Terry as
quickly as possible, and it must be managed so that I'm not found out as
missing or I shall probably be expelled. I'm away without leave. I must
get back tonight."

"Go back tonight? Impossible, my dear! Can't you stay with us until
morning?"

"I think not. If I can slip back all may yet be well. But if I have to
explain to the dean----No, it couldn't be done. There must be a train
back tonight, isn't there?"

She turned questioning eyes on Mr. Newman.

He looked at some time-tables, of which he had several in his smoking
room, and announced:

"You'd never get back until late--very late--by train. But if you feel
you must be back in college before morning----"

"I do. Oh, yes, I do, Mr. Newman!"

"Then the only thing is for me to drive you there. We can make good time
at night. I know the roads."

"Oh, Mr. Newman! I couldn't dream of----"

"Tut, tut, Sim! It's the only way. I don't mind. It will be a little
diversion for me. I'll have the chauffeur get the car out now. He can do
the driving. I'll sit and talk to you, and the way won't seem so long."

"Oh, Mr. Newman, you're wonderful! Now I must phone Arden at once to be
watching for me. Luckily our room is on the front of the dorm. How long
do you think it will take?" Sim, getting up from the table, at the
session of which she had much improved in spirits, was planning rapidly
now. Perhaps all would yet be well.

"About three hours, I should say," Mr. Newman answered. "It will be slow
going from here until we get into New Jersey, and then we can make time.
You ought to be back _at_ college around midnight, though whether you can
get _in_----"

"That's why I must phone Arden or Terry. Oh, what a lot of trouble I'm
causing!" Sim's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back.

"There, now, my dear, never mind!" soothed Mrs. Newman. "We'll help you
all we can."

"That's the kind of people they are," Sim told Arden, later. "They
haven't forgotten what it is to be young."

It took some little time to get a telephone connection through to Cedar
Ridge, and Sim lived years in moments, she thought, while waiting for
Arden to come to the phone. Finally the voice came to her.

"Hello, Arden? Yes, I'm all right. I'm up at Larchmont with friends of
Dad's. Did they find out about me? No? Good! Listen! Here's my plan. I'll
tell you all how it happened later. Someone might hear us if I talked too
long now. I'm driving back--yes, driving. I'll get there about midnight.
Don't fall asleep. When we get to the entrance--the outside gate, I
mean--we'll toot the horn three times. You and Terry slip down and let me
in. Do you understand? Fine! I'm leaving right away. Good-bye, darling!
I'll explain everything later. I'm quite all right, and nothing has
happened. Good-bye!"

She hung up and turned to her friends, murmuring:

"That's over, thank goodness!"

"Well, let's get going, Sim!" Mr. Newman was now almost as much excited
as was Sim herself.

"Try to sleep on the way out, Sim dear," advised Mrs. Newman. "I'm having
robes and a soft cushion put in the car. You can snuggle up in a corner
of the sedan."

"I thought she was going to talk to me!" chuckled Mr. Newman.

"Of course I will--if I can find anything to talk about."

"No, you mustn't," decided his wife. "Sim must try to get some sleep. You
will, won't you, my dear?"

"Yes, I will. Luckily tomorrow will be Sunday, and I can sleep late in my
room--if I get there. Thank you both--so much! I'll never forget
this--never!"

Sim put her arms about Mrs. Newman's neck and kissed her affectionately.

"Oh, my poor dear! I know just how you feel. You meant it all for the
best, and there is really no harm done."

"Not yet," said Sim a trifle grimly as she followed Mr. Newman out to the
big sedan that was waiting, with the chauffeur at the door, on the drive.




                              CHAPTER XII
                            Midnight Mishap


Arden's slippered feet pad-padded up the dark stairs like small, softened
trip-hammers as she hurried away from the telephone to inform Terry of
the good news that Sim was safe and on her way.

She pushed open the door of 513 and shut it quickly behind her, panting
and excited from her swift upward flight.

"Terry! Terry!" she began breathlessly. "It was Sim--on the phone. I
talked to her!"

"Oh--good! Is she--all right?"

"Yes. She didn't have time to talk much. She was 'way up in Larchmont.
Said she'd explain everything later. She is coming back around midnight,
and she wants us to watch for her and let her in."

"What was she doing in Larchmont?" the practical Terry wanted to know.

"I can't guess," replied Arden. "We'll have to wait until we see her. She
said she was all right and nothing had happened. I can hardly wait until
she gets here."

"Midnight," murmured Terry. "We'll have to stand our turns at watch as
they do aboard ships. Now that I know Sim is safe, I'm suddenly very
sleepy. How is she coming--train?"

"No. She's driving. We'll have to listen for a car. She thought she'd
better walk in from the entrance instead of having the car drive right
up, so no one would hear. They'll toot the horn so we'll know." Arden
went to the window and gazed at the black scene below.

"It's absolutely dark out," she continued. "I hope we'll be able to see
the lights of the car as it comes up the road. We'd better get undressed
in case anyone comes in."

"All right," Terry agreed. "I'll take the first watch. Let's make them an
hour each. You sleep until I call you. I'll sit here on the window seat.
If I go to sleep I'll probably fall off, and that will wake me up."

Quickly they got into their pajamas. Terry put on a robe and slippers and
curled herself on the window seat.

"I never remember a blacker or stiller night," she remarked. "I'm glad
Sim isn't alone. She's with friends of her father's."

"Do you suppose we can let her in all right? What if we can't get the
door open?" Arden asked nervously.

"I'll think that possibility out while I'm on watch. You go to sleep as
quickly as you can. Don't worry so much, Arden. You'll be gray by
morning!"

"I'll be exhausted by morning, anyhow. However, toodle-oo--sailor,
beware, and all that sort of thing! I'm going to try to get some rest."

There was not a sound in the room for at least five minutes when Terry
suddenly flung a tennis ball with a thudding crash at a marauding mouse.
The ball, one of a supply of such ammunition kept in readiness for just
this contingency, bounced a few times and rolled under a bed as the
mouse, with a protesting squeak, darted back into a hole beneath the
baseboard.

The college had settled for the night. The appearance of the mouse was
one proof of this.

Terry tried not to be too comfortable and kept shifting her position on
the window seat. It was getting cold, so she pulled a blanket off her bed
and wrapped it around her. The next thing she remembered someone was
shaking her to wakefulness. It was Arden.

"Fine sailor you are! You were sound asleep! Sim might be trying to get
in. You get in bed, Terry. I'll watch."

"No," sleepily.

"Yes," firmly.

"Oh--all right, Captain. Let's see how you make out. Anyhow, she can't be
here yet--it's too early."

Terry rolled herself into the bed, and Arden took her place on the
uncomfortable window seat. After a few minutes there she leaned forward
and pressed the side of her face to the cold, dark glass in order to look
as far as possible to the east, the direction from which the traveling
car would come. But the highway beyond the college grounds showed no
blinking lights, so Arden drew her knees up to her chin under her robe
and stared moodily out into the night.

What was going to come of all this, she wondered?

What might happen if Sim were caught was too disheartening to think of,
so Arden tried to piece together the events of the afternoon in a brave
effort to keep awake.

The whole affair had so many missing links, though. It was just Sim's
usual good luck that she was not missed by Mrs. Malvern when the girls
returned to school.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Arden at the thought of how she and Terry would have
been put to it to explain. But they had not been obliged to do any
explaining--so far.

The mouse, grown bolder in the silent darkness, was conducting a
rustling, rattling search among some papers on a desk for tasty crumbs.
Arden got up quietly and reached for another tennis ball. As she stood up
she looked once more toward the highway and waited in strained tenseness.

Yes, she was sure of it. Far down the road a light bounced about as a
speeding car neared the college.

"Terry! Terry!" Arden whispered. "I think they're coming! Wake up!"

Terry was up in an instant and glided over to the window.

"It's a car, sure enough. But we'd better make certain before we start
down. Keep watch while I fasten the belt of my robe."

"I will," whispered Arden.

"Is it stopping at the far gate?"

"No, it's going on. Oh, no, it isn't, either. It hasn't passed the gate.
It must be Sim! We'll give her a few seconds to get out and walk up the
drive. I hope she knows enough to stay on the grass and not on that
crunchy gravel."

"Trust Sim for that," murmured Terry. "Now I'm ready. But give Sim time
to get to the door. We don't want to wait down in the dark lower hall any
longer than we have to."

"No. Come on! And don't use your flashlight unless you have to."

Cautiously Arden opened the door and, followed by Terry, stepped out into
the dark corridor which seemed to stretch for miles and miles the length
of the building, disappearing into blackness at the end. At the top of
the first flight of stairs leading down from the floor of the 513 room
was a small light bulb doing its little best to dispel the gloom.

Holding hands, Arden and Terry tiptoed down the first flight. Arden's
free hand slid noiselessly along the polished banister rail. Now and then
the stairs creaked and snapped with what seemed to be the noise of a gun.

They stopped to rest at the first landing, not so much from physical
weariness as from the nervous strain. On the first and several other
landings was a large window facing the distant orchard. The orchard was
now only a black blur but Arden and Terry thought they could see the
gnarled trees beneath which they, with Sim, had been so frightened on the
occasion of the hazing.

"I wouldn't go down there now for anything!" whispered Terry.

"Down where? Do you mean to let Sim in?"

"No, I mean that awful orchard. What do you suppose is in there, Arden?"

"I wish I knew. No, I don't. Let's don't talk about it now."

"The subject isn't very heartening in the present circumstances," agreed
Terry in queer little gulps.

They tiptoed down to the next floor. Every now and then they halted,
trembling, waiting for some door to open and lead to their discovery. But
the other students must, indeed have been sleeping the sleep of the just,
for Arden and Terry eventually reached the lower entrance hall without
mishap.

The ground glass of the heavy front doors showed a little lighter than
the surrounding wooden frames. Arden was there, fumbling with the
old-fashioned key. Terry was watching apprehensively.

Suddenly two dark figures were outlined on the glass of the door. One was
that of Sim!

"I'll have it open in a moment, Sim!" Arden panted, working desperately
with the key. "It's turning now!"

"And none too soon!" whispered Terry. "Oh, I'm so frightened!"

The lock clicked. Arden turned the knob and pulled the heavy door inward,
just far enough to admit Sim, who slithered in with the speed of a
wind-blown leaf. Thrusting her gloved hand out through the opening crack
she had slid through, while Arden braced herself to prevent the portal
from swinging too far back, Sim waved to someone unseen and hoarsely
whispered:

"Good-night, Mr. Newman! I'm all right now. Thank you a thousand times!
I'll write to Mrs. Newman. Good-bye!"

With all Arden's care she could not hold the heavy door firmly enough to
prevent a deep though not loud banging sound as it closed.

"Arden!" gasped Terry.

"I couldn't help it. Quick! Help me turn this key back. It's so stiff!"
Terry gave her aid. Then the two turned to the midnight entrant in the
dark precincts of Cedar Ridge.

"Sim!" whispered Arden, flinging her arms about her chum.

"Oh, Arden!" returned the wanderer.

"Come on, you two!" Terry interrupted. "We're not safe yet. Take off your
shoes, Sim, you bad girl!"

Sim bent down to comply with this cautionary advice, but suddenly stood
crouched, frozen with dismay. That noise could be from only one cause.

Someone was coming down the stairs!

Even as the three frightened freshmen realized this, a white face was
outlined by a gleaming electric torch on the landing above them. A voice,
high-pitched in anger, floated down to them.

"What is the meaning of this?"

It was the dean looking like Lady Macbeth, holding an electric candle
above and in front of her, so that the gleam made curious shadows on her
stern face. And above all other possible colors she was wearing a cerise
robe! Perhaps deans were secretly like that.

"Go to your room at once and report to me in the morning!"

Lady Authority turned with all her dignity and swept away, while the
girls, with consternation knocking at their hearts, crept up the stairs
to the harbor of their room.




                              CHAPTER XIII
                               Aftermath


While Sim, in the room the three girls shared, undressed with weary
slowness, Terry and Arden sat like youthful inquisitors and shot question
after question at her until the whole foolish episode was at last laid
bare before them.

"Sim, you must have had a touch of the sun, or something, to do what you
did," Arden said spiritedly.

"It's all over now, Arden--there's no use crying over the straw that
broke the camel's back or the spilled milk that got in the eye of the
needle in the haystack, or something," Terry remarked soothingly.

"Thanks," murmured Sim. And then, with sudden energy: "But, oh, girls! I
forgot to tell you the most exciting part! We came in as far as we could
on the back road--you know, where it circles the college grounds near the
orchard and finally comes out at the main highway?" She looked
questioningly at her hearers.

"Yes, we know," said Arden, and Terry nodded, adding:

"Let's hear it all."

"Well, I thought," went on Sim, "that we had better stop for a minute to
see if there were any lights in this dorm before we went any farther. So
we did, but I didn't notice just where we were, as I was looking so hard
toward where I knew you two would be, and on the watch for me, I hoped."

"As we were," said Arden.

"Yes. Thanks a lot. But listen to this." By Sim's manner Terry and Arden
knew something startling was to be told--something so startling that, for
the moment, it drove from their minds the thought of having been caught
by the stern dean.

"Suddenly," said Sim, "away down at the far end of the orchard, I saw a
light bobbing about!"

"Ye gods, Sim! Did Mr. Newman see it? What was it?" demanded Arden
excitedly.

"He saw it, and so did the chauffeur, for he said something about why
someone should be out in a gloomy old orchard at that time of night with
a lantern. I was frozen with horror!" Sim was enjoying herself and
watching the eyes of the girls widen with surprise.

"Well, go on!" whispered Terry. "What did you do?"

"We didn't say a word--just sat there in the car and watched the light
coming closer. I felt sure it was someone looking for me."

"For you?" gasped Arden.

"Well, I mean trying to find out who was coming back to college so late,
against the rules--afraid they'd find me out, you know."

"Oh, yes," Terry murmured.

"Pretty soon," resumed Sim, "we said that it was someone carrying a
lantern--holding it down low so it was only shining on the ground."

"Don't stop, Sim--tell us who it was!" Terry begged.

"I don't know who it was. He didn't pass very close, and from the way he
was carrying the lantern I could only see his legs and part of one hand,
but--" Sim paused dramatically--"he seemed like a young man."

"Did he see you?" Arden blurted out.

"Perhaps; though if he did, he didn't seem to care. He went stumbling on
his way toward Bordmust. Then I came out of my daze and told Mr. Newman
we'd better be getting on our way. Of course, he thought it queer that a
man should be out that hour of night near a girls' school, but I passed
it off by saying it was the watchman on his rounds. But, girls, it
wasn't, though even the little I could see made me feel he belonged
around here. But, here's a question, a hard one, really: What do you
suppose he was doing in the orchard after midnight?"

"I can't imagine. It's all very queer. And," went on Arden, "I hope it
just stays merely queer. But now, to be practical--much as I know you
hate to be that way, Sim--I think we had all better get some sleep. We'll
have to see Tiddy in the morning, and we had better have our wits about
us when we do." Arden yawned. The conference was ended. The girls got
into bed. The light was extinguished. Silence settled over the room.

Terry, as usual, lost no time in getting to sleep. Sim, utterly
exhausted, was sighing heavily as she burrowed under the blankets.

But Arden was never more wakeful. All the various adventures the girls
had shared in the past were as clear in her mind as though she were
watching a motion-picture film of them. She tossed and turned. Through
the gloom Arden fancied she could see again the face of the man described
in the reward placard in the post office.

Arden was still certain that, somewhere, she had seen that face before.
The fright she and her chums had in the orchard, was, in some way, linked
with the lantern man Sim had seen that night. Then, intruding upon that
situation, it was borne to Arden that the swimming pool was in as
hopeless a shape as on their arrival at Cedar Ridge.

What would Sim do now?

And what would happen at the morning interview with Miss Tidbury Anklon,
the severe dean? Arden was desperate. She would never get to sleep at
this rate. As quietly as she could, she arose, went to her bureau, and
managed, by feeling, to find the bottle of aspirin tablets. She swallowed
one, taking a few sips of unpleasantly tepid water from the glass at her
bed-side table, and tried to compose herself again. She noticed that Sim
and Terry were breathing like tired, sleeping children.

Arden lay flat on her back, as she had read somewhere this was a good
thing to do when one could not get to sleep. Closing her eyes tightly,
she began to count:

"One! Two! Three!"

Suddenly the white woolly sheep leaping gayly over a black fence became
huge red apples rolling toward her as she was stretched helpless on the
ground. She put up her arms to ward them off, but to no avail. Soon she
was covered completely by an immense pile of the fruit. Her voice, as she
sought to cry for help to Terry and Sim, would not sound. She tried in
vain to crawl out from beneath the heap of red apples as hard as stones.

"Arden! Arden! You're dreaming! Wake up!"

Sim was shaking her gently. Slowly Arden returned to consciousness. She
raised herself on one elbow and stared dazedly about the dim room.

"Sim--I've had such a horrid dream!" Arden took a deep breath and sat up.
"Oh, dear, it's almost morning!"

She had, in truth, slept nearly the night through. A gray dawn, shot with
glints of the rising sun, pressed against the window.

"In a few hours we'll be in Tiddy's office," Arden sighed. "I wish it was
all over!"

Sim had nothing to say to this. She reached over and tugged at the
blankets covering the still slumbering Terry, saying:

"You might as well wake up, too. It's morning."

Terry grunted sleepily. "What? Oh--it's you, Sim. I remember. Today's the
day. What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty," supplied Arden, looking at her watch. "Let's get dressed
and have it over with. We can see Tiddy in an hour."

Yawning and stretching, the girls dressed and started down for breakfast.




                              CHAPTER XIV
                            The Dean Decides


Breakfast was, if anything, duller and more gloomy than usual. So many
"shining morning faces" only made the three freshmen involved in the
escapade of the night before more nervous. When the meal was over and
Arden, Sim, and Terry were waiting in the dean's outer office, they were
almost sick with dread.

"Come in, young ladies!" Tiddy opened the door to the inner sanctum
herself and, with an almost imperious gesture of her lean brown hand,
waved the three in ahead of her.

The office was large and bright. Green carpet covered the floor to the
uttermost corners. The windows were draped with neutral-toned curtains.
The founder of the college, in the form of a highly-varnished oil
painting of a stern-faced, dark-featured and white-haired man, looked
down at the three from a vantage point over the dean's desk.

Miss Anklon asked and noted down the names of her visitors, though they
were quite sure she well knew them already. She began:

"This prank of yours, my dear girls, is something we do not countenance
at this college. You were put upon your honor when you went into New York
and were expected to return as your classmates did."

She looked sternly over the tops of her glasses. Then she resumed:

"If I remember correctly, you two were in your night clothes and this
young lady was still dressed. Is that right?" She directed her gaze
specifically at Sim.

"Yes, Miss Anklon," Sim answered in a weak voice.

"Perhaps you will explain yourself, then."

"I never thought it would cause so much trouble," Sim began. "When I
learned that the sophomores didn't make as much money at the dance as
they hoped to, I just decided to go to my father and ask him for it." She
paused uncertainly. "I came to this college, instead of going to some
other, because I hope to become--" she paused and then went on--"because
the swimming pool looked so lovely in the catalog." Sim glanced shyly at
the dean, whose face betrayed none of her feelings. It was no time to
speak of expert diving ambitions.

"That is hardly a reason for coming to college, Miss Westover. But go on
with your story. Why were you returning at such a late hour?"

"My father wasn't where I thought he would be, and I forgot to leave the
notes I wrote, explaining my absence and--and----"

Gradually Sim blurted out the whole story, Arden and Terry now and then
adding a little to the telling. When Sim finally ended her recital, Miss
Anklon was as stony as before. She sat behind her polished desk and
looked at the girls more sternly than ever.

"I believe you have told me the truth, Miss Westover, although it seems
strange you should be so heedless." Miss Anklon tapped her desk with a
pencil. "You other girls were almost as much to blame as Miss Westover.
If anything had happened, you would have been responsible. While you are
here in this college we are entrusted with your welfare."

She paused a moment, looked up at the dark-faced founder as if for
inspiration, and continued:

"Besides the seriousness of your act, I must tell you that you three
girls do not seem to be starting your college life in the right spirit.
Although you have been here for only a short time, you have already
attracted some, shall I say, undesirable attention? Yes, that is it.
Those stories about the orchard were your doing--am I not right?"

This time the dean looked directly at Arden.

"They were not stories, Miss Anklon," Arden began. "We really were chased
by something while we were in the garden gathering apples as a hazing
stunt. And we did find the gardener's helper lying wounded on the
ground."

The dean bowed her head in frosty acquiescence and said:

"It would have been better if you had come to me and told me of
your--your experiences, instead of telling them to so many impressionable
girls. Do you know I have received letters from several worried parents
as a result of your spreading of this tale?"

"We tried not to talk of it, Miss Anklon, but it got around in some way.
I think everyone in the college would like to know what really happened
in the orchard." This time it was Terry who spoke with all the dignity at
her command.

"As to that, Miss Landry, the gardener, Tom, fell over a tree root, so I
am told, and struck his head. Anything that chased you must have been a
product of your too vivid imagination."

"Oh, no--no, Miss Anklon!" Arden was emphatic in her denial, but the dean
held up a quieting, protesting hand. Arden looked at Sim as if to say:
"I'd like to tell her how it hurt when I sat down hard upon those
stones!"

The dean, seeming to gather herself together for a final statement of the
case, said:

"All this has nothing to do with your latest escapade. I regret very much
that I must take this action, but I am forced to tell you that all three
of you will be campused for three weeks and lose all your privileges."
Miss Anklon was stern and unsmiling. "I do not wish you to tell your
classmates of your foolish experience, Miss Westover. It is best kept
quiet. You may all go now."

For several seconds the three freshmen stood facing the dean but saying
nothing. The severity of their punishment was so great that they were
stricken speechless. No going into town to shop or to the movies. No
week-end guests. And not to leave the college grounds at all for three
weeks!

"Miss Anklon," Sim was the first to speak, "you don't know how much my
swimming means to me. I realize, now, how wrong I was to go away without
permission, but Arden and Terry----"

"That will do, Miss Westover, I have made my decision!" Tiddy was at her
fearful worst. "Good-morning!" The girls realized that the interview was
over and that the decision was final.

Responding with almost whispered "good-mornings," the three left the
office and walked slowly toward the tennis courts. With one accord they
sat on a white-painted bench and gazed moodily at a spirited doubles
game.

The ping of the balls seemed to find echoes in the dull throbbings of
their hearts.

"I suppose we were fortunate not to be expelled," Arden said timidly,
after a long silence.

"We might just as well have been. We can't go anywhere. We can't do
anything. Added to that, we can't even swim!" Sim was quite unhappy as
she answered Arden's attempted philosophy.

"Don't take it so to heart, Sim," Terry advised. "We're all in the same
boat. We can have lots of fun here, just the same. It will be a good
chance for me to get caught up on my French."

"That's the spirit!" exclaimed Arden. "We can give more time to solving
the mystery of the orchard. And I'll have that pool fixed yet: you'll
see!"

"You mean with the reward money you're going to get for finding that
missing Pangborn chap?" asked Sim.

"Yes," Arden nodded.

"We haven't done a thing toward that yet," spoke Terry. "We don't even
know whether or not he has been found, restored to his worried friends,
and the reward paid to someone else. Don't you think we had better check
up on it?"

"Yes, we must," Arden agreed. "And though we can't leave the campus even
to go to the post office and see if that reward poster is still there,
still, perhaps we can do something. They can't keep us out of the
orchard, anyhow."

"Except that I'm not going there again at night, not for ten swimming
pools!" declared Terry.

"Nor I," Sim added. "But I don't suppose," she went on, "that the mystery
or the terror, or whatever you want to call it, of the orchard has
anything to do with the missing man and the thousand dollars reward, do
you, Arden?"

"I don't know."

"What a delicious mystery it would be if it worked out that way, wouldn't
it?" exclaimed Terry.

"If you're making fun of my well-meant efforts," spoke Arden a trifle
stiffly, "why, I----"

"Oh, not at all!" Terry made haste to say, Sim chiming in with a murmured
denial also. "And we're going to help you all we can as soon as this
horrid campusing is over. Really, there must be some reason for thinking
this missing young man might be in this neighborhood, or it wouldn't have
said so on the poster."

"Arden has the right of it there," Sim declared, "and it's sweet of both
of you not to mind this so much. But I feel very badly about it. I got
you into trouble, and I got Tiddy down on all of us." Sim was impatiently
kicking a clump of grass. "Well, we can't do anything about it now. So
let's go back and write the real story home before our families have a
chance to hear it from Tiddy."




                               CHAPTER XV
                             The Alarm Bell


When it came to writing letters home, each girl approached her family
from a different viewpoint, naturally. Arden, who was the most
interesting writer of the three, was inclined to dramatize. Her missive
was filled with descriptions, reflecting the fears they had felt at Sim's
disappearance and their resentment at the punishment inflicted by the
dean. All this was set forth vividly.

Terry was diplomatic in her letter. Her mother, she knew, would worry
needlessly if she felt that the girls were in any danger. So she made
prominent mention of the good times they were having, culminating in a
mistake they had mutually made which resulted in a curtailment of some of
their privileges.

Sim was writing rapidly, her eyes bright and her lips compressed into a
stern, determined line. She finished first, and after closing the
envelope and sealing it, she scratched on the address and turned to her
friends.

"I may as well tell you, before you hear it outside," Sim began and
hesitated, "but I've written to my father for permission to come home!"

"Sim! Not to stay! Don't leave us now, when things will be so dull here
for Arden and me if you go!" Terry begged.

Sim looked uncompromising.

"Please don't go, Sim! Don't mail your letter. I feel as though I am to
blame. Anyhow, Sim, there'd be nothing for you to do at home. Three weeks
aren't so long." Arden arose and patted Sim maternally on the shoulder.

"It isn't just three weeks. It's the whole school year!" Sim declared.
"It will take a long time to fix the pool, even if they get the money.
Besides, I was told by my math teacher that I'd probably flunk out at
mid-year if I didn't improve, and I'd rather go home before that
happens."

"But we can help you, Sim," Terry promised. "Won't you think it over?
Even if we are campused, I know of a few parties the girls have planned,
and they'll be fun."

Arden decided to try a new method of approach.

"Sim, I wouldn't mention it if I didn't want you to stay," she said. "But
you got us into this, even if you meant it all for the best, and even if
you do leave, Terry and I will still be campused. There are lots of other
things to do besides swimming, and, don't forget, we have a mystery here
that no one dreams about but us."

"I am sorry about you and Terry, but right now I don't feel like being a
good sport. I'll go to Tiddy and ask her to let you two off." Sim
hesitated. "But I want to go home, Arden. Don't ask me to stay."

"If you feel you must go, Sim, all right. But what I ask you to do is not
to mail your letter for a few days. Write another in its place, at least
temporarily, and say everything is settled. And then, if you still feel
the same way----" Arden shrugged and turned aside.

Sim left her desk and walked slowly to a window. The peacefulness of the
scene below, framed by the trees in their bright autumn array, must have
had some influence on the perturbed girl. For, after a few moments of
silent contemplation, Sim swung around and exclaimed:

"All right, Arden. I'll think it over. You can hold this letter for three
days, and I'll write another to send home. But it's only because of my
friendship for you both that I'm doing it."

"That's great, Sim! You won't be sorry. We'll forget about it now
and----"

A small shuffling noise stopped Arden in the midst of her exultation. It
came from the direction of the door, and, even as the three looked, a
bright blue and white envelope was pushed under the portal. Terry picked
up the missive and opened it.

"Why!" she exclaimed in delighted surprise, "it's an invitation for a
party tomorrow in the gym. The sophomores are giving it to the freshmen,
and we must," she was rapidly reading the note, "all wear some sort of a
costume. Oh, how precious!" She was gleefully excited.

"What fun!" With the suddenness of youth Arden closed her mind to the
subject of Sim threatening to go home and she began to plan for the
party.

"What can we wear?" asked Terry.

"We haven't much in the way of costumes," Arden admitted. "I suppose,
though, we can wear riding habits or blacken our faces and slick back our
hair. We'll probably have more fun that way than if we wore draperies."

"Oh, yes," Terry agreed.

"It will be a little break for us after what we know is in prospect,"
said Sim in a low voice.

After lessons, the next day had been gotten through in some fashion and,
following supper, the three hurried back to their room. Sim put on
Terry's riding clothes, which were much too big, and Terry wore a part of
Sim's sport suit with a woolly cap belonging to Arden. As for Arden, she
put on a short, tight skirt and a sweater belonging to Jane Randall and
knotted a scarf about her throat, Apache style.

Then, using a soft eyebrow pencil, the girls adorned their lips with
villainous mustaches.

"How do we look?" asked Sim, trying to pose in front of a mirror that
showed only part of her.

"Terrible!" laughed Terry.

"That's the way we want to look," decided Arden.

Down in the large gymnasium crępe paper was used to cover the steam
pipes, and many streamers, in the college colors, disguised the bare
whitewashed walls. The room was crowded with noisy, laughing girls. At
one end a portable phonograph was playing, with the loudest needle
obtainable, a popular dance tune.

Arden and her two particular friends were met at the door by their
sophomore tormentors, Toots Everett, Jessica Darglan, and Priscilla
MacGovern.

Toots came forward and gave Sim a large paper carton made in imitation of
a traveling bag. It was adorned with huge purple and green paper bows.

"A gift for our most widely traveled freshman!" said Toots with a laugh.
"You must keep this with you until refreshments are served. Those are the
rules."

Sim smiled grimly and accepted the box gracefully. So her story was known
all over college in spite of the dean's prohibition?

Arden and Terry received large, blank exercise books in which to keep a
record of their engagements: gentle sarcasm when it was evidently known
they couldn't make any for three weeks at least.

One by one the freshmen were given articles to show up their various
faults, failings, and follies.

The party was soon well under way and progressed happily. The girls who
could lead were the most popular dancers that night. In fact, those girls
were booked well ahead as partners.

Arden was dancing with Jane Randall at the far end of the gymnasium when
she happened to glance up at one of the windows. What she saw startled
her so that she made a mis-step and caused Jane to exclaim:

"Look out!"

Arden wanted to say she was looking with all her eyes, but she did not
dare call her partner's attention to what had so disturbed her. For, as
she glanced up at the window, Arden saw gazing down at her with strange
malevolence a mocking, smiling face. Then, in a second, it was gone, and
only the black square of glass remained.

Arden was almost shaking with fright, so much so that she faltered in the
dance. She glanced quickly at Jane to learn whether she had noticed the
face, but now Jane was smiling over Arden's head at the antics of some
capering freshman.

As she circled the room with Jane, Arden's fears subsided somewhat, and
she resolved to say nothing about it to Jane. Then, when the record had
played itself out, that dance came to an end. For a moment following the
last strains of the music there was a lull in the noise of talk and
laughter.

Then, suddenly, breaking in on the happy, peaceful silence, as though it
had been planned, came the slow and mournful tolling of a heavy bell.

Dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!

"What is it?" questioned several.

"Do we unmask now?" others wanted to know. They thought it a signal.

"I've never heard a bell ring like that since I've been here at Cedar
Ridge," said a demure little sophomore in a low voice.

"It hasn't rung--in a long time," said one girl in a low voice.

"But what is it?" Arden demanded.

"Why does it ring now?" Terry wanted to know.

"Come on!" called the impulsive Toots Everett. "There's something wrong
somewhere."

"That old outside fire-alarm bell hasn't been tolled since we had the
modern telephone system installed," said one of the teachers who was
overtaken in the hall by a rush of students from the gymnasium. The dance
was momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, a fire!" gasped Terry.

"Let's hurry out!" proposed Sim.

They were all hurrying.




                              CHAPTER XVI
                           Arden's Adventure


The moon looked down upon a strange party of girls a moment later, for
they had all rushed out of the gymnasium after the ringing of the alarm
bell. Blackened faces and slicked-back hair, some in tattered garments
and others in borrowed finery, sophomores and freshmen crowded forward to
that side of the building where hung the bell.

But when they reached the spot nothing was to be seen. The bell rope was
still swaying as though recently tugged at, but the hands that had done
it were not in evidence. The bell itself still faintly vibrated from the
recent violent clanging.

"Well, at least here's something they can't blame us for," said Sim to
the curious Arden and Terry. "We have perfect alibis and dozens of
witnesses. This time somebody else can be campused."

"Of course, Sim," Terry agreed. "But the point is--who did it? It's
rather a childish thing to do--going about pulling bells and then running
away. It doesn't frighten anyone in the least, if that's what it was
intended for."

"It was silly, that's true, Terry; but listen to this." Arden motioned
for her two chums to come closer to her. "Come over here where the others
won't hear. We don't want to have Tiddy blaming us for any more alarming
stories."

"Arden! You have something to tell us, I know!" Terry was pulling Sim
away from a group of chattering girls. "Come over here, Sim. Arden knows
something!"

The three from 513 separated from the main crowd of disguised girls, and
Arden began.

"I was dancing with Jane Randall when something made me look up at one of
the high gym windows, and there I saw a strange, white face staring in at
me."

"Arden--you didn't!" gasped Sim quickly. "Do you mean directly at you the
face was staring?"

"It seemed so."

"Do you think that was the person who rang the bell?"

"That, my dear Watson, is just the point. It was such a short time after
I saw the face that the bell rang, it couldn't have been done by the
person who looked in at me through the window."

"How thrilling! For Pete's sake, don't let anyone know what you saw,
Arden. If you do we'll be in more trouble!" Terry said.

"She's right," Sim agreed. "We'll keep it under our hats until we find
out something more. The others are going back in, now. We'd better go
in."

The sophomores and freshmen, so rudely disturbed at their reconciliation
party, having investigated as best they could in the uncertain moonlight,
and having discovered nothing more than that the evidence of the swaying
rope indicated the bell had rung (which evidence their ears already
testified to), were returning to the gymnasium.

But before they went in, though just how it started no one appeared to
know, they were all doing a sort of snake dance in the silvery sheen of
the moonlight.

Twisting and turning, the line of masquerading girls in fantastic figures
circled beneath the old alarm bell that hung on a projecting beam out
from the side of the building. It thus projected to allow the sound of
its alarm to vibrate freely in all directions. Above their heads and out
of reach of the hands of the tallest of the girls, dangled the weathered
rope attached to the bell.

"It must have been a very tall person who could reach that rope!" panted
Terry as she circled with Sim.

"A veritable giant," was the answer. "None of the girls could have done
it."

"No. That's what I thought."

"What are you talking about?" demanded Terry, who had been caught in the
human maelstrom by some strange girl and whirled about.

"We don't quite know," said Arden.

Screaming and laughing, the sophomores in the lead took the freshmen
running across the campus and stopped in front of the dormitory.

"Good-night, freshies!" cried Toots and some of the leaders. "And happy
dreams!"

"That means the end of hazing," said Arden. "It's always done this way."

"Thank goodness for that!" murmured Terry.

The party was over. Then the girls, sophomores and freshmen, formed a
friendly circle and sang "Autumn Leaves," the alma mater song. The girls'
voices carried softly through the moonlit night and even the most
unromantic was impressed with the beauty of the words and melody.

Then, bidding one another good-night, the happy students hurried to their
respective rooms, talking excitedly. And the dean and her helpers settled
more comfortably in their beds, knowing that for another term this affair
was successfully over.

The door of 513 shut on Arden, Sim, and Terry. For a moment they stood
looking at one another, and then, as if by agreement, they began to
laugh; hysterical laughs but none the less hearty.

"Oh, you do look such a sight, Sim!" Terry gasped.

"Why bring that up?" Sim chuckled.

"But we had a lovely time," Arden said. "Even if there was a mysterious
bell ringing and a face----"

"Tell us more about that," begged Sim.

"I've told you all I know. I saw a face--an old man's, I'm sure, staring
in at me from the window. Then the bell rang."

"But why?" demanded Terry.

"If we could find out, perhaps we could solve the mystery of several
other things that have happened around Cedar Ridge," Arden said.

"But that bell," went on Sim. "I heard some of the girls talking. It
seems it is an old alarm bell, to be rung in case of fires. But when the
telephone system was put in the rope that originally reached close to the
ground, so help could be summoned from the town and from nearby
residents, was cut off. And it was cut off so high up that no ordinary
person, standing under the rope, could reach it."

"Why was that done?" asked Terry.

"Because it was found," Sim explained, "that when the rope was left long
enough to be reached, some students, thinking it fun, rang the alarm.
That was long before our time. So the dean had the rope cut short."

"Why didn't she take it off altogether?" asked Arden.

"I asked a soph that," explained Sim, "and she told me it was thought
best to leave most of the rope in place so if ever it was necessary to
sound the old bell, it could be done."

"But how, if the rope was high up?" Terry inquired.

"By standing on a ladder, I suppose. Don't ask me, for I really don't
know."

With determination they began washing off the marks of the eyebrow-pencil
mustaches, using cold cream, and finally they were ready for bed.

"Well," remarked Arden in tones that told her chums she had made up her
mind seriously, "something is going to happen, I feel sure of it."
Pressed for details, she would say nothing more.

But a few evenings after this, up to which time nothing of moment had
happened save that the three from 513 began to feel more and more their
campused bonds, a thick hazy fog enveloped the college grounds, spreading
to the near-by town and villages about. Arden was walking alone from the
library back to the dormitory. The fog seemed suddenly swept in from the
distant sea, settling in the low places so that the upper stories of the
building seemed floating in the air.

Arden thrust her hands into the deep pockets of her skirt and in one felt
the letter Sim had entrusted to her--the letter asking her father for
permission to leave college. The excitement of the masquerade party and
the mysterious bell-ringing had done nothing to lighten Sim's depression.
She was still determined, it seemed, to carry out her intention.

Sim didn't seem to care about anything. She was not the least bit excited
by the bell-ringing nor by the strange face, and evidently had dismissed
them from her mind.

Arden felt there was no time to be lost if Sim was to be kept at Cedar
Ridge. The strange face she had seen through the obscured window when she
was dancing with Jane Randall had seemed vaguely familiar, but she had
glimpsed it for so short a time that it was impossible to recognize it.
No one else had seen it, of that Arden was certain, for no one had spoken
of it, and there were no more stories current of mysterious doings about
the college.

"Sim will just pack up and go home unless something is done to make her
change her mind," thought Arden as she walked along through the fog. "And
I'm going to do it!"

Campused or not, she would now go to the little railroad station and send
a telegraph message to her always sympathetic father, asking him for the
money to put the swimming pool in order. That would cause Sim to remain.

Arden had everything in her favor for concealment, and she needed
concealment in this risky undertaking. The fog, becoming more dense every
minute, and the fact that she was alone, would allow her to reach the
station unobserved. Also it was just the time when most of the students
were in their rooms preparing to go down to supper in a short time.

Arden ran through the gathering gloom across the campus and toward the
post office. The yellow gleaming lights of the railroad station beckoned
to her with their flickering rays from the other side of the tracks.

There was always the chance that someone from the college might be in the
little suburban station looking up trains, inquiring about baggage or
express shipments, or sending a telegram. But Arden, risking the
discovery of her voidance of the campus prohibition, kept on her rather
perilous way. At the same time she was trying to be cautious.

First, she walked with light footsteps toward the window of the telegraph
and ticket office nearest the tracks. She tried to peer through this
window into the waiting room beyond but could see nothing through the
murky glass and the heavy mesh of wire that covered it, save the
indistinct figure of the ticket agent whose duties were combined with
those of baggage-man, train dispatcher, telegraph operator, and
occasional expressman.

"I'll try the side window," Arden determined, and through this she was
able to glance into the deserted station. There was no one in the waiting
room, as far as she could see: not even one of the few town taxi-drivers
escaping from the heavy fog and the chilly dampness of the approaching
night.

"Here's luck!" Arden thought. "If I'm quick I can send the telegram and
be out of here before anyone sees me. Of course, the smart thing to have
done would have been to write out my message before I came here. But I
think it won't take long."

The dark brown door leading into the waiting room was heavy and stuck at
the sill. That many feet had kicked it loose was evidenced by several
dents and scratches showing at the bottom in the dim glow of an outside
lamp under the station platform covering. After one or two futile efforts
Arden managed to push back the door and enter.

The ticket and telegraph office was faintly lighted, but as Arden looked
in through the little window, protected by a wicket of brass, she could
not make out the form of the agent she was sure she had seen when she
peered in from the outside platform.

"Oh, dear!" worried the girl. "He must have gone out, and before he comes
back to take my message, someone from the college may stop in here and
catch me. That's the worst of these country places. I suppose there isn't
another train for some time and the agent went out for a rest. If I could
only reach in and get a telegraph blank I could write the message, with a
notation to send it collect, and leave it here for him. Let's see--what
shall I say? 'Must have a thousand dollars at once. Can you send it?
Letter follows.' Dad will probably think I've embezzled some of the
college funds or stolen some jewels. Oh, where is that agent?"

She drummed impatiently with a pencil on the shelf of the window and
stood on tiptoes to look in. As she did so the agent suddenly emerged
from where he was crouched low in a stooping position halfway into a
small supply closet in one corner of his cubbyhole of an office, out of
Arden's sight. The agent stood up so quickly, directly in front of the
wicket window confronting Arden, that it was as if some gigantic
Jack-in-the-box had popped out at her.

"Oh!" she gasped, preventing herself, by a strong effort, from springing
back. Then again, but less hysterically: "Oh, here you are!"

"Well?" asked the agent and he smiled.

Arden opened her mouth to say she wanted to send a telegram, but the
sudden appearance of the man, popping up into her view in that manner,
was so disconcerting that she could only stand there and stare at him.
And as she stared she realized, with a shock, that she had seen the face
of this man somewhere before. She stood there, silent and perplexed,
trying to solve the puzzle, trying to remember. Could she have seen the
man before?

He stood patiently waiting for her to state her wants.

But Arden went into a strange panic of fear and uncertainty.

"I--I think I've forgotten something!" she gasped, backing nervously away
from the window. "I--I'll come back--later." She forced to her face a
rather sickly smile.

"Very well," said the man behind the wicket. "I'll be open for quite a
while yet."

Then, turning away, Arden fled, pulled open the door, scurried across the
tracks and rushed back to college. Her one thought was to bring Terry and
Sim with her to the station on a strange errand. She wanted them to help
her identify the man in the ticket office as the missing Pangborn heir,
pictured on the placard in the post office.

For that was exactly what Arden believed. So obsessed had she become with
the poster picture and the reward offered for information about the
original, that she was sure she was right.

The man who had popped up at the wicket window was Harry Pangborn.

"I'm positive of it!" murmured Arden as she ran faster. "But I must get
Sim and Terry to look at him. I'll need their evidence."




                              CHAPTER XVII
                               In Danger


With startling suddenness, the night, aided by the dense fog, settled
down over Cedar Ridge. Arden was alarmed. She had not thought it was so
late, though she was quite sure the supper bell had not yet rung. She ran
faster, her beating heart keeping time with her pattering feet.

"Oh, I hope Terry and Sim will come back with me and see this for
themselves," she thought. "How wonderful that I have made this discovery!
I need not wire Dad for that money after all. I'm sure," she tried to
convince herself, "that I am right. Quite sure!"

There was no time to be lost. Supper would soon be served and the three
from 513 dared not be absent from their places at the table very long.
Nor would they want to be. Appetites were remarkably keen at the college,
in spite of all the mystery and excitement and notwithstanding the eating
that was done between meals.

As Arden approached the main building which loomed up out of the fog like
some dream castle, she called on her childhood friend, the "good fairy."
She murmured: "Good fairy, please don't let us get caught, and for a
wish, I wish that Terry and Sim will come back with me right away!"

It seemed the good fairy did not entirely desert her child, for, as Arden
started up the stairs, she met her two chums coming down.

"Terry! Sim! I've the most exciting thing to tell you!" Arden gulped and
continued: "Come outside a moment."

"Good heavens! You look as if you'd seen a ghost! Take a breath--or
something--before you pass out!" advised Terry, a little incredulous.

"Well, tell us, Arden!" Sim begged, wringing her hands in simulated
melodramatic fashion. "This suspense is awful! It's making an old woman
of me!"

"I don't want anyone to hear," Arden confided. "Can't you step outside
for a few seconds? You won't be cold. I want you to do something for me."

Sim and Terry looked at each other.

"Better humor her, Sim. She might turn violent. Come on," Terry said in
an exaggerated attempt at soothing a patient.

"If I get violent it will be because you two show such little natural
curiosity, Bernice Westover," Arden retorted testily. "When you hear what
I saw----"

"How can we _hear_ what you _saw_?" mocked Sim.

"Oh--you----" began Arden, really provoked now.

"All right, my dear." Terry held open the main entrance door and motioned
the other two out ahead of her. "If anyone wonders why we are going out
when the supper bell has almost rung, we can say we want a breath of
fresh air for an appetite."

"As if anyone who knows the feed here would believe that!" mocked Sim.

But in spite of the banter, Arden finally herded her chums down to the
cinder path in front of the dormitory building.

"Come along a little farther," she urged. "No one must hear!"

Terry and Sim followed, now really convinced that Arden had something of
moment to impart to them. She looked around half in caution, half in
fear. When they were some distance from the main entrance and shrouded in
the fog, Arden said in a low voice:

"I was just over to the station----"

"You were!" interrupted Sim. "Why, Arden Blake! If you were seen, it'll
be just too bad! What if Tiddy finds out?"

"Yes, I know. But there are times when rules have to be broken," admitted
Arden. "If George Washington and Thomas Jefferson or some historic
personages like that hadn't drafted a new constitution in Philadelphia
when they had no right to do so, I wouldn't be telling you all this."

"All what? That you were over to the station? It's a grand night to break
rules but a better one for murders," declared Terry, sniffing the fog
with her head thrown back and her eyes half shut.

"If you'd stop interrupting I could tell you." Arden was beginning to
lose patience. "I was over at the station, as I said, and I saw someone
there: the night ticket agent, who is the very image of the missing man
whose picture we saw on the reward notice in the post office! There!"
Arden paused to see what effect this statement had on her friends. They
seemed to take it very calmly, and Terry said, most practically:

"Nonsense, Arden. If he was the man you think he is, someone else would
have noticed him long ago and claimed the reward."

"Besides," added Sim, "no young man, or old one either, who wanted to
keep his whereabouts secret would be so foolish as to appear in so public
a place as a railroad ticket office, and near the place where there was
hanging a poster offering a thousand dollars for information about him."

"Not necessarily," countered Arden calmly. "I have read somewhere that
the cleverest criminals (not that Mr. Pangborn is one, though) always
stay right in the place where they have committed a crime or are supposed
to have vanished from. The trick is, that no one ever thinks of looking
so near home for them. Poe has a story about a missing letter that was
all the while right in the open, stuck in a rack with a lot of others."

"Oh, yes, we had to read that in English lit," admitted Terry.

"Well, what do you want to do, Sherlock--go over and identify the
corpse?" asked Sim. "If you do, I'm afraid I can't come. I have to go to
Mary Todd for a notebook."

"Please, Sim, it won't take a minute, or only two or three, anyhow. You
can come right back and be in time for supper. Think how thrilling it
would be if----"

"It most likely won't be," finished Terry. "But I'm game. I like fog.
It's good for the complexion."

"If you and Terry go, I'll come, too, of course. But I think you're on a
wild-goose chase," declared Sim.

"But I tell you he looked exactly like the poster!" affirmed Arden. "I
stood here looking at him, with my mouth open like a fish, while he
waited for me to speak. I was so surprised I just had to stammer
something about forgetting what I came for, say I'd be back later, and
run away. I don't know what he thought of me."

"Maybe he can't think. Anyhow, come on, Sim. But make it snappy. I've got
something else to do more important than this," said Terry.

Arm in arm the three girls, a little nervous when they realized what
would happen if they were caught breaking the campus rule in effect
against them, started for the station. Arden hurried them impatiently,
but Terry was in one of her teasing moods and refused to be hastened,
pausing now and then to remark on the beauty of the night and attempting
to point out, in the dense fog, places of interest on their brief
journey.

At the station a quick look through an end window showed the waiting room
to be unoccupied except for a man standing near the big white pot-stove.

"There he is--the agent!" whispered Arden. "He's come out of his coop."

"You'd think he was a chicken!" chuckled Sim.

"Oh, be quiet!" Arden begged. "Now you two go in and look at him."

"Aren't you coming?" asked Terry.

"No. I'll wait outside here. I don't want him to see me again. You two go
in. Get a good look at him. Ask for--for time-tables. Oh, I'm so
excited!"

"Don't be so nervous," Terry admonished. "You'll be so disappointed if
you're wrong. However--come on, Sim!"

Terry and Sim, with none of the reluctance Arden was sure she would have
experienced, marched around to the door. Arden drew back into the shadows
of the fog and waited. She heard her chums enter, dimly heard the murmurs
of their voices as, presumably, they asked for time-tables and caught the
squeak of the door hinges again.

"Where'd she go?" Terry murmured. Evidently she and Sim could not see the
hidden Arden.

"I hope this isn't her idea of a joke, to get us here and then run back,"
grumbled Sim.

"No! No! Here I am!" exclaimed Arden, coming forth out of the gloom. "Did
you--was he--is he----"

"Arden, my pet," began Terry, flipping a damp time-table, "we fear for
your reason, we, your devoted friends. That agent looks no more like the
picture of Harry Pangborn than you do!"

"No?" gasped Arden. "I thought he was the very image of the poster
picture."

"Sorry, Arden," Sim continued. "But you'll have to do better than this to
claim the reward. That's that, and as I'm dripping with dampness, I'm
going back where it's light and dry and warm and where I can eat."

"Yes, let's go back!" agreed Terry, feeling a little sorry for Arden.

Arden looked sadly at her chums. "And I was almost sure," she murmured.
"Don't you think there's a small, a tiny resemblance?"

"Not the slightest!" chorused Terry and Sim.

"Well, then, we must get back, I suppose. But I certainly feel like a
balloon that has suddenly lost its gas." Arden sighed.

Slowly the three started down the station platform to the walk that led
across the tracks and on to the college. As they were about to leave the
shadowy shelter of the overhanging roof, Arden, who was in the lead,
reached back two cautioning and restraining hands toward Terry and Sim.

"Wait!" she whispered.

"What is it?" they asked.

"Ye gods! Here comes Henny--our reverend chaplain! He mustn't see us here
at this hour! Oh, what shall we do?"

Arden was in a panic of fear.




                             CHAPTER XVIII
                               In Hiding


The tall, slim figure, like a black ghost in the white fog, was
approaching with measured stride, characteristic of Rev. Dr. Henry
Bordmust.

The three girls, toward whom he was unwittingly walking, looked wildly
around for a place to hide. The platform was clear except for some
benches, now holding only dripping fog drops.

"Inside--quickly! Perhaps he won't notice us!" whispered Arden.

"Perhaps he will, though, and we mustn't take a chance!" objected Terry.
"Don't forget, we're over here without permission."

Forward stalked the tall black figure, splitting the fog into damp,
swirling masses of mist as he trudged along.

"Come on, girls!" hissed Sim. "He's almost here! We can hide in the
baggage room at the end of the station."

Quickly the girls scurried around the corner of the building toward the
baggage room. Fortunately the door was open. Inside, showing beneath a
small incandescent lamp, hung high, festooned with cobwebs and dust, were
several trunks, valises, suitcases, and boxes. Some of the pieces of
baggage and express seemed to have been forgotten, uncalled for or lost a
long time. Dust was thick on them.

"It isn't very bright," whispered Terry. Which was true. The high little
light only made the gloomy shadows and corners more gloomy. "I wonder if
there are rats here?" Terry breathed in alarm.

"Oh!" gasped Arden. "Why do you have to think of things like that? Stop
it!"

"Hush!" cautioned Sim. "I hear footsteps coming this way."

"Shut the door!" begged Terry.

Arden pushed it so that it was almost tight in the frame. There it stuck.
It would close no farther.

"Look!" she murmured. "The light will show around the cracks and the
sill. We can't shut it off. Oh, what'll we do? If he comes in here he'll
be sure to see us. We were better off outside. Then we could run and
vanish in the fog."

"He may not come in here," spoke Sim hopefully.

"Oh, but he's coming--or someone is--right this way!" gasped Terry.

They were in real panic now--fluttering about seeking concealment. Once
Arden and Terry bumped together in their mad race around the little room,
but they hadn't a giggle among them.

"Here--in here!" Sim suddenly hissed from a distant corner. "I've found
some kind of a big packing box with a hinged cover like a trapdoor. We
can hide in that."

"Can we all get in?" asked Terry. "I don't want to be left standing
outside like this."

"I think we can make it," Sim answered. "We must try, anyhow. Here,
Arden----" She held out her hand, and Arden grasped it. "Now, Terry! I'll
guide you. It's very dark in this corner, but I can make out the box.
I'll climb in first and you two follow."

Terry and Arden half heard, half saw Sim partly climb and partly fall
over the side of a great box in one corner of the dim room.

"Come on, Arden," Sim urged. "It's easy."

Arden put one leg over the side and raised herself up by her hands as if
climbing a fence. As she did so there was a ripping, tearing sound.

"My good stocking and part of my leg, too! Oh, dear!" lamented Arden.

"Get in quickly. Never mind about that!" urged Sim. "All right. Cuddle
down. Now, Terry!"

"Oh, this is awful!"

"Don't talk! Climb in! Shrink a little, Arden!" commanded Sim. "She
thinks she's in bed and taking more than her half."

"I'm not!" Arden affirmed. "But I'll shrink all I can!"

"That's better," voiced Sim. "Now, Terry!"

"Here I come! Oh! Oh!" Her voice indicated lamenting terror.

"What is it?" Sim wanted to know.

"I can see out through the crack in the door. The station agent is headed
right for this place, and Henny is with him. Oh, they'll find us, sure!"

"Not if we stoop down and keep still!" declared Sim. "Why don't you come
in, Terry?"

"I can't! I'm caught--or something."

"Well, pull yourself loose! You've just got to!"

"Here goes!"

Again the ripping, tearing sound.

"My best skirt on a big nail!" sighed Terry. Then she flopped over the
side and down upon Sim and Arden.

Despite the discomfort of their positions and the imminent danger of
detection, Terry began to giggle. It was quickly infectious, and Arden
and Sim held grimy hands over their mouths to stifle the dangerous sounds
of hysterical mirth.

They could hear the voices of the chaplain and the station agent just
outside the baggage-room door. They were surely coming in, the girls
thought, though whether to detect the culprits or for some other reason
could not yet be determined.

Suddenly Sim reached up and pulled down the large, hinged cover of the
packing case. It was light but strongly made.

"Oh, we'll smother!" protested Arden in a whisper.

"No, we won't! There are plenty of cracks for air," said Sim.

Hardly was the cover down, shutting the girls inside the now very dark
case, than the door of the baggage room was pushed open and, through
cracks in the packing case the girls could see Rev. Dr. Henry Bordmust,
dressed neatly in black, step in ahead of the agent in his blue coat with
brass buttons. With the two men wisps of fog drifted into the room.

In the closeness of the box, Arden tried vainly to push Sim's left elbow
away from her ribs. Terry was slowly settling down, half on Arden, with
her legs twisted around Sim's neck. Sim had the best position, as she was
the smallest. Her eyes were on a level with a crack between the lid and
the top edge of the box. She squinted to accustom her eyesight to the
dimly lighted room. She saw the chaplain looking at a tag on a worn and
dusty trunk.

The reason for his visit now seemed obvious. He wasn't after the girls.

"Have you any trace of that trunk of mine yet?" asked the chaplain.

"No, sir, I haven't," the agent answered, following the example of the
clergyman and looking at several labels on various pieces of baggage.
"But that there trunk ought to be around some place, if it was shipped
when you say it was."

"Of course it was shipped when I say it was!" testily replied the Rev.
Henry. "Why would I say it was if it wasn't, my good man? This is the
third or fourth time I've been over here looking for it. I've been
expecting it over a week now. Come, be a little quicker! You ought to be
able to find it for me!"

"Yes, sir, I am looking. It might have got over in behind this here
packing case. Lots of things get behind these cases. They are shipped up
here filled with raw silk for the factory over at Tumeville. But
sometimes the drivers take the silk out here and leave the empty cases to
be shipped back. I'll have a look back of this case."

With hearts that beat faster than ever, the girls could look through the
cracks in their prison and see the agent approaching their hiding place.

"Somebody musta left this case unfastened when they emptied it," muttered
the agent. "It's dangerous, with the nails sticking out of the cover like
the way they do. I'll tap 'em in."

With an iron weight from the platform scale near him, the man hammered
down the nails projecting from the lower side of the lid into the front
rim of the box.

He had nailed the girls in! With just a couple of whacks!

Hardly daring to breathe, lest they betray their presence, Arden, Terry,
and Sim listened speechless.

"Nope, nothing behind this case 'ceptin' some old valises nobody ever
called for," reported the agent, peering behind the big box after his
nailing work.

"How about this pile of trunks?" asked the chaplain, his voice, this
time, coming from a distant corner of the room.

"I'll help you look there, sir, but I don't believe what you want's
there," the agent replied, as he shuffled away.

The girls breathed more freely, and Sim hoarsely whispered:

"Heavens! We're nailed in!"

"Oh, Arden! What a pickle you got us into!" gasped Terry.

"Hush! They'll hear us! Wait until Henry goes out," counseled Arden.
"Then we'll try to force the cover up with our shoulders."

There was a sudden silence as the agent and the clergyman peered at
another pile of trunks. The girls could hear their hearts beating and
Terry, interested in the phenomenon, inquired cautiously whether it was
Sim's heart she heard or her own.

"It's your own, silly!" replied Sim. "I'm almost smothered! I wish they'd
go out so we could breathe! Don't hiss so; they'll hear you."

"That there trunk of your'n might have got over in th' freight office by
mistake," said the agent. "S'posin' we look there."

"Suppose we do," agreed the chaplain, who was fast losing what little
patience he had.

Then the two men left the baggage room, and on his way out the agent
pulled the switch controlling the dim and dirty ceiling light.

The imprisoned girls were left in darkness!




                              CHAPTER XIX
                              Strange Talk


"It seems to me," remarked Terry disgustedly, as the agent pulled the
door of the baggage room shut and his footsteps and those of the chaplain
died away in faint echoes, "it seems to me that we just get into one
scrape after another. This is a pretty kettle of fish!"

"Or something!" gloomily agreed Sim.

"Can you turn around so you can be sort of on your hands and knees?"
asked Arden, ignoring Terry's remark. "Try it. Sim and I will squeeze
away over to one side."

"Oooff!" grunted Terry as she attempted to change her position. "I'm
almost over! Don't mind if you get a black eye, Sim. It will only be from
my elbow."

"I shall mind, though, so you'd better fold up your arms. There! She's
over, Arden. Now I'll do it!" said Sim.

Sim accomplished the feat more easily than had Terry, and then Arden did
it. All kneeling, they braced with their legs and arms, arched up their
backs, and tried to force off the nailed lid of the packing case.

"Heave!" exclaimed Arden, having heard this expression used by the
foreman of a gang of section men on the railroad near the college
grounds. "Heave hard!"

All together they raised their backs.

"Ouch! That doesn't do any good! We're in here for the night unless
someone comes back to release us!" groaned Terry.

"Rest a minute," advised Arden. "Then we'll try it again. Once more--all
heave!"

But the second try only made the box shift a little on its base.

"We must make some noise! Bang on the sides or yell or scream! We must
get out of here!" Arden was getting desperate.

"Hey! Hey!" shouted Terry. "Come back! Let us out! We're smothering!
Hey!"

"Hurray! Hurray!" screamed Sim.

"What are you cheering for?" demanded Terry.

"That wasn't a cheer. But I can make my voice carry farther that way than
any other."

"Help! Help! Help!" appealed Arden shrilly.

They listened, their hearts beating fast from fear and the exertion of
shouting. They thought they heard footsteps approaching.

Then, by the rays of light streaming through the fog from the station
platform, as they peered out of the cracks in the box, they could see the
door of the baggage room flung open. Near it stood the agent.

"He's alone, thank goodness!" said Sim.

"Help!" cried Arden again.

"Let us out!" shouted Terry.

"Fer th' love of cats, who are you? Where are you?" exclaimed the agent,
for the voices were muffled.

"In this packing case! You nailed us in!" answered Arden.

With a muttered expression of great surprise, the agent picked up the
same scale weight he had used to drive the nails partly in, and by
pounding on the lower edge of the cover he forced it up, flung it back,
and let the rays of the overhead light, which he had switched on, flood
upon the three disheveled girls in the big box.

"My sakes!" cried the man. "What are you girls doin' in there?"

"You shut us in," Sim answered, standing up and stretching, as did her
chums. "We didn't want Dr. Bordmust to see us, so we hid in this box."

"Then," continued Terry, "you nailed it shut."

"How was I t' know you was in there?" demanded the agent, with much
justification. "It's a lucky thing, after Dr. Bordmust left, not finding
what he was after, that I come back here t' make sure I'd switched off
the light for th' night."

"Very lucky," agreed Sim.

"I never could of heard you yellin' once I got back t' my office," went
on the man.

"We're awfully glad you came here. Thanks, so much!" murmured Terry, with
much relief.

"Where you from--Cedar Ridge?" asked the agent.

"Yes," Arden answered, "and we're in an awful hurry to get back. Supper
must have started," she told her chums.

"I guess so," sighed Sim. "I only hope there's some left."

"We'll explain to you another time," continued Arden. "Come on, girls!"
she urged.

The girls, a trifle stiff from their cramped positions, climbed over the
side of the box. This time there were no ripping or tearing accidents.
The agent stared uncomprehendingly at the trio as they landed on the
floor of the baggage room and shook their garments into some semblance of
order. Then they hurried out, Sim flinging back a perfunctory but none
the less sincere "thank you," as they pushed past the agent and again
went out into the cold, damp fog.

As they hurried along the platform they heard the agent muttering to
himself:

"What'll them girls do next?"

"Good old air!" breathed Terry as they ran along. "I never thought it
could be so welcome, even all messed up with fog as it is."

"We were very lucky to get out," murmured Sim. "Suppose he hadn't come
back and no one ever found us until years later, when we'd be only
skeletons! What a scandal for the college!"

"Very cheerful, Sim," replied Arden. "Now we're late again and we shall
just have to dash back."

"I never did so much dashing in my whole life. I'm always running to some
place or hurrying away from it, by golly!" complained Terry. "Tomorrow
I'm going to take time out and just _sit_!"

"Well, you can't sit now. It's almost supper time, if not already past
it. One more last dash for dear old Cedar Ridge!" pleaded Arden. "Be a
sport, Terry. I know it was all my fault. But I'll translate your French
to make up for it."

So the girls dashed through the pea-soup fog toward the college. They
went around to the rear door, where they would be less likely to be seen.
A few yards ahead of them, as they reached the college grounds, as far as
they could see through the swirling mist, were two dim figures. Arden and
her chums slackened their pace.

"It's Henny talking to someone!" gasped Sim. "Compose yourselves, girls.
Be very demure!"

"I hope he doesn't stop us," Terry remarked. "Who is he talking to--or
should I say 'whom'?"

"You should say 'whom,'" declared Arden.

"Well, anyhow, I said it," countered Terry.

"I knew what you meant," responded Arden. "But look!" she whispered.
"Isn't Henny talking to Tom Scott, the gardener?"

"Yes, he is," said Sim.

Composing themselves, the three girls walked at an ordinary pace along
the shrubbery-lined path that led to the rear door of the dining hall.
The chaplain and the young gardener were in earnest conversation,
somewhat off the path on the edge of a large round flower bed. Just as
the three reached the two men, who did not seem aware of their approach,
the girls could hear the Rev. Henry ask, somewhat crossly:

"How much longer are you going to keep this up? It's dangerous! I don't
like it at all. I am almost resolved----"

"Just give me a little longer chance," pleaded the other. "I have almost
settled it. I'll see you again."

Then Tom Scott faded away in the fog and darkness, and the chaplain,
muttering something the girls could not catch, turned back toward his own
residence near the chapel.

Now he caught sight of the girls, and turning toward them, and by doing
so disturbing more wisps of the swirling fog, he greeted them in his most
benign manner with:

"Good-evening, young ladies! Walking in the fog?"

"Yes, Dr. Bordmust, we like it," answered Arden, with a great assumption
of innocence.

"Hum--er--yes," mumbled Henny. "Though it isn't good for old throats,"
and coughing raspingly, he swung on his way.

"That's lucky!" exclaimed Terry as they hurried on.

"What do you suppose they were talking about?" asked Arden.

"As if we could guess," sighed Sim. "But I know one thing," she added as
they slipped in at the door, "if that agent at the station doesn't tell
anyone what happened, we're all right."

"Hello, freshies!" exclaimed a voice close to them. "Rather late to be
coming back from the station, isn't it? I was behind you all the way from
the post office."

The three whirled around. The speaker was Jessica Darglan, smiling
sardonically.

"I thought," she continued, "that you three were campused. But that's
your worry," and she brushed past them and went into the dining hall.




                               CHAPTER XX
                             A Dire Threat


"If Jessica Darglan tells where she saw us," said Terry, next morning,
"we're sunk!"

"She won't. Nobody could be so mean," remarked Arden as she combed her
hair in front of the bureau.

"You never can tell, Arden," supplemented Sim. "Some people take a
positive delight in doing things like that."

"There's nothing we can do about it, even if she does. So we won't worry
until we get a notice to go see Tiddy," decided Terry.

"I meant to ask you after supper last night," began Arden, "did you two
think any more about what Henny was saying to Tom Scott as we came
along?"

"I didn't pay much attention," confessed Sim. "I was too busy being
demure."

"Well," went on Arden, "he said something about it being dangerous and
asked Tom Scott how long he was going to keep it up."

"Sort of funny," admitted Terry. "That's the second time we have heard
those two talking together. I wonder what it all means?"

"It doesn't worry me much," declared Sim as she pulled on her stockings.
"Because I think I'll go home the way I planned in a few days. I'll leave
before I'm expelled for going out while campused."

"Oh, Sim! Do we have to go over all that again?" pleaded Arden. "Can't
you stick it out? If we have to be expelled, let's all go home together."

"Don't go, Sim," begged Terry. "We're just beginning to enjoy it here.
You know, deep down in your heart, that last night in the station was
fun, even if it was uncomfortable."

"I'll talk about it later," answered Sim. "I have an early class this
morning. See you when I get back." She gathered up her books, gave a last
look in the glass, and hurried down to breakfast without waiting for her
friends.

Back in 513, Arden and Terry went on with their dressing. If Sim felt
like being alone, it was wise to let her go. They would see her at
breakfast, anyhow.

But at the table Sim devoted herself to Jane Randall and seemed
deliberately to be avoiding her roommates. For, as she finished her meal,
Sim linked arms with Jane and started for Bordmust Hall, leaving Terry
and Arden by themselves.

"Sim is in one of her moods," remarked Arden as she swung along beside
Terry. "But she'll forget all about it by lunch time."

"I think she's awfully disappointed about the pool. And being campused,
while it doesn't make a great deal of difference, just rubs Sim the wrong
way. She hates to feel that she is being persecuted," observed Terry.

"It doesn't bother me a bit," declared Arden. "I'm keeping occupied by
trying to straighten out this mystery and get the reward money."

"You have an even disposition," suggested Terry. "We are not all as lucky
as you."

Terry sighed deeply and shifted her books from her right arm to her left.
Arden and she trudged silently along up the hill to Bordmust Hall.

The fog of the night before had blown away, and the distant hills
shimmered in a soft blue light. The leaves were beginning to fall, and at
the steps of Bordmust the head gardener, Anson Yaeger, was raking the
lawn with sullen viciousness.

As the girls reached him he stopped moving the rake and looked at them
penetratingly. His little beady eyes narrowed into bright slits. Resting
part of his weight on the rake he shook a grimy finger at the freshmen.

"You're two of them girls I seen down in my orchard!" he snarled. "You've
no right there! Mark my words, no good will come of it! And don't concern
yourselves with what's none of your business. There's things going on
around here that nobody knows about but me. I wouldn't like to see you
hurt, foolish as you are!"

Terry and Arden stood dumbfounded. Completely taken by surprise, they
moved on past the surly gardener and involuntarily looked back at him
without attempting to answer him.

The heavy, thickset man in tattered overalls and an old-fashioned, gray
coat-sweater looked over his shoulder with wild eyes, as though expecting
someone to come along and stop his tirade.

"If I was to tell you all I know," he went on, "what with alarm bells
ringing and all, you'd pack up and take the next train home. Why, last
night----"

Terry nudged Arden, murmuring:

"Don't let's stand here like a couple of ninnies and let him talk to us
this way. Come on! I think he's a little crazy!"

Arden pulled away from Terry. "But I want to hear what he's saying."

Anson heard them whispering.

"Heedless young things!" he scolded. "You'll be sorry if you don't do as
I say." Turning abruptly, he picked up the rake that had slipped to the
ground and shuffled off through the rustling leaves in the direction of
the orchard.

"There, you see!" exclaimed Arden. "I told you there was something weird
down in that old orchard!"

"I've a good mind to follow him and see where he's going," said Terry.
"What do you say, Arden, to a little more sleuthing?"

"I'm game," Arden answered. But even as she spoke the electric bell in
Bordmust Hall announced the beginning of the first classes.

"We can't go now," said Terry. "We'll have to let it wait."

"Yes," agreed Arden reluctantly.

The two girls entered the building, having a last glimpse of the
mysterious gardener still shuffling his way through the rustling leaves
toward the orchard where so many strange things had happened.




                              CHAPTER XXI
                             A Bold Stroke


With great difficulty Arden concentrated on her French literature.
Daudet's "My Old Mill," seemed very silly and unnecessary. Who cared
about a sleepy French town, drowsing under a provincial sun? A real
present-day mystery story would have been much more interesting and to
the point.

Twice Mademoiselle cautioned Arden to pay more attention and finally
called upon her to translate aloud. Arden arose and stumbled through two
paragraphs which she had known perfectly the night before.

"That will do, Mees Blake," drawled the gentle Frenchwoman. "Eet is
obvious you have not prepared ze assignment. You will please geeve me a
written translation, tomorrow morning, of today's work."

"Yes, mademoiselle," gulped Arden and sat down.

The events of the last few days were too much for even the conscientious
Arden. She simply could not put her mind on the lesson but sat looking as
though all that mattered in her life was the charming essay the girls
were studying. In reality, however, Arden's mind was far away from the
little mill town.

While her classmates went on with their somewhat halting translations,
Arden decided on a bold stroke. In her free period, directly after
mathematics, she would go alone over to town and hurry to the police
station. There she would inquire as to the latest developments of the
Pangborn case. If there was nothing to be learned no one would be the
wiser for her daring escapade. For escapade it was, viewed in the fact
that she was campused: forbidden to leave the precincts of Cedar Ridge.

Suddenly Arden felt something of a thrill go through her.

"I'll do it!" she exclaimed impulsively and half aloud. Then she looked
very foolish as her classmates stared wonderingly at her.

"Mees Blake, you are behaving very strangely today," said the French
teacher. "Please compose yourself."

Arden shook her head as if in compliance and smiled weakly.

"I wonder what that gardener, Anson, was talking about?" she mused. "I'm
sure he knows what strange mystery is in the orchard, anyway." Mentally
she reviewed the startling happenings since she and her chums had come to
Cedar Ridge. It was all so puzzling. On wings of thought Arden flew over
to the little stone building in town--Police Headquarters. Boldly
entering, she announced to the officer in charge her solution of the
baffling case of the missing heir and claimed the reward and then, in
triumph, presented it to the dean for the repair of the swimming pool so
Sim would remain in college.

"All a daydream, though," murmured Arden.

As the bell rang, marking the end of the French period, Arden recovered
herself with a start. Quickly gathering up her books and papers, she
hurried to her class in mathematics.

This was worse than the preceding session. Now she was absolutely unable
to concentrate in the least. Her poor brain whirled with visions of
geometric figures punctuated with policemen in the disguise of gardeners.
She flunked miserably and heard, with a sigh of relief, the ringing of
the bell for which she had waited so impatiently.

When the mathematics class was dismissed, Arden left hurriedly, for once
getting away without Sim or Terry. She took a short cut across the hockey
field and crawled through a hole in the hedge after a hasty and fearsome
glance backward to observe if anyone might be observing her.

"Not yet, anyhow," she sighed with relief.

This route brought her much nearer her destination.

Arden hastened along the peaceful main street of the suburban town still
clutching her books. In front of a two-story building of mellowed red
bricks, partly overgrown with dull green and bronzed ivy, she stopped.
Two bright green lamps on each side of the doorway were in readiness to
leap into emerald illumination of the sign POLICE HEADQUARTERS which
caught and held her attention.

"Dare I go in?" she mused.

She dared. Gathering together all her courage, she opened the heavy door,
its knob of bright brass, and entered. Inside a rather large bare room
all was serene. The dark wooden floor was scrubbed immaculately clean.
Behind a heavy desk of light oak, around which high lights played on a
glaring brass rail of heavy proportions, a man was reading a paper. Arden
could see him around one end of the desk, his two thick-soled shoes
elevated and his hands holding the paper.

"Ah--a-hem!" she coughed when, after several seconds, he did not seem
aware of her presence.

With a rustle of surprise the paper was lowered, displaying a red-faced
middle-aged man who looked considerably startled. When he noticed Arden
he lowered his feet from the desk and tried to look business-like.

"I didn't hear you come in, young lady," he began. "What can I do for
you?"

"Good-morning," Arden replied. "I didn't mean to startle you." To gain
time to think, she remarked about the beauty of the morning.

"Very nice day," agreed the chief, for it was the head of the small
country department whom Arden had intruded upon: a fact she observed when
he donned his cap, officially, and buttoned his gilt braid-encrusted
coat, which gaped wide open. He arose and stood at attention behind the
desk, smiling as he asked:

"Is there something I can do for you?"

"Well--yes. That is--you see----" Arden was quite flustered. But gaining
control of herself she began again:

"I am at school--Cedar Ridge. The college, you know."

The chief nodded helpfully, and a little look of wonder came over his
face. It was seldom he came in contact with the college girls.

"I saw a circular in the post office, across from the college," went on
Arden. "It was about a man named Harry Pangborn, who is missing and----"

"Oh, yes," interrupted the chief, very interested now. "The Pangborn
poster--the place is full of them. Missing person posters. We put them up
in public places and sometimes forget to take them down."

Arden felt something of a chill.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Are they so old, then?"

"Some are. What did you want to know?"

"That one about Harry Pangborn." Couldn't the chief have heard the name
at first?

"Yes," he answered, without much encouragement.

"It says a thousand dollars reward," Arden reminded him.

"Just a moment." He smiled at her from behind his heavy desk, a safe
breastwork, and went to a filing cabinet. Running his fingers along the
tops of a row of cards he brought out one that had a poster fastened to
it. "Is this the one?" he asked, holding it out to Arden.

"That's it!" she answered. "I'm sure I've seen that man's face somewhere
around here--in town, perhaps. Don't you know anything about him?"

"Hum! No, not much. That's rather an old and dead case. We haven't much
to go on about him. I don't think you've seen _him_. If he was around
here any place, you can be sure we'd have apprehended him and claimed the
reward ourselves."

"Oh," murmured Arden, rather dismayed. "Then you don't think there's a
chance that I might have seen him?"

"There's a bare chance, of course. But you want to make pretty sure
before you turn a man in as a person missing and for whom a reward is
offered. False arrest or detention is rather a serious charge, you know."

"Yes, I know; that is, I suppose it is."

Dispirited, Arden looked down at her dusty oxfords. Another of her
cherished plans had fallen through. She took a long breath and, looking
at the chief again, remarked:

"Well, thank you--very much. I must get back to class now." She turned to
leave.

"Just a moment!" called the chief rather sharply. "Why are you so
interested in this man?"

"Oh, of course." Arden smiled disarmingly. "Only just so I might claim
the reward if I found him and have our college pool repaired. The
swimming pool, you know. It's broken."

"Yes?" encouraged the chief.

"Yes. It seemed like a good way to get the money. A friend of mine is
awfully disappointed that she can't swim. I mean she can swim, but with
the pool broken she can't, and so I was trying to help and--and----"

Arden was at the end of her resources. She turned and fled--beat a most
undignified retreat as she told herself later. But the chief was not so
easily disposed of.

"Just a moment!" he called rather sharply, and came out from behind the
desk.

"Oh!" gasped Arden to herself. "Is he going to arrest me--detain me for
questioning just because I have asked about the poster? If he does--what
a terrible disgrace on top of what has already happened to me!"

But the chief was kindly sympathetic and soon had drawn from Arden all
the story. She told him everything, about Sim's failure, her late return,
about being campused and having to hide in the packing case. At this last
the chief could not restrain a smile.

"So that's why I wanted to find this man and claim the reward," finished
Arden. "You see?"

"Oh, yes, I see," admitted the chief, going back behind his massive desk.
"And I'm sorry. I can't help you any. We don't know where this missing
young fellow is any more than you do. But don't forget I'll always be
here if you need me, and I'll help you all I can."

Arden murmured her thanks, promised to remember, and, bidding him
good-bye, left the building. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Standing for a composing moment on the sidewalk in front of police
headquarters, Arden looked up and down the quiet street.

"Oh, my heavens!" she suddenly exclaimed. "Here comes Toots Everett!"

And indeed it was. Toots, with her hair freshly finger-waved, was walking
briskly in Arden's direction.

Without waiting to greet her, Arden cut across the street and hurried
back to the college.




                              CHAPTER XXII
                            Arden Admits It


The clatter of dishes and the clink of glasses vied with the chatter of
eager young voices as the girls began their evening meal at Cedar Ridge.
The dining room was brightly lighted, and each table, seating twelve
students, was fully occupied.

Arden and her friends began passing the food among themselves.

"Gold fish again!" announced Jane Randall as the waitress put a large
dish of creamed salmon in the center of the table.

"And boiled potatoes and beans," Terry added before that number of the
bill of fare was in evidence.

"What do you guess for dessert?" Jane asked Terry. "Library paste or
pie?"

Terry considered a moment, during which time Sim, on her left, held a
heavy white plate beneath her nose.

"Library paste--always on Tuesday," Sim finished, giving the college
slang name to cornstarch pudding of a pale yellow hue. "I could do nicely
with some extra food tonight."

"Good idea, Sim," remarked Mary Todd. "What do you say we raid the
kitchen later?"

"Fine!" agreed Sim. "We'll get Arden, Terry, Jane, Ethel, you, and me.
That makes a good-sized party."

"You come for us, Mary," Terry suggested. "Knock on our door when you're
ready to go, and we'll have a feast."

"All right. It's settled."

It was quite possible in that noisy room to be talking to one girl at the
head of the table while the girl at the other end knew nothing of the
conversation. So it was very surprising and equally diverting when
Elizabeth Kilmore, sitting some distance away from Terry and her chums,
announced forcefully:

"Gather round! I have some choice gossip!"

"Let's have it!" begged Sim. "Brighten up our lives a little."

"I got it from an upper-class girl who got it from somebody else who had
it from some other individual along the grapevine route," said Elizabeth,
"that a freshman has been arrested."

"No!" gasped two or three girls in a chorus.

"Never!" murmured others.

"Well, at any rate, she was seen coming out of police headquarters here
in town this morning. What do you make of that?" asked the triumphant
Elizabeth.

The girls looked at one another smilingly. Such exciting rumors did not
often come their way. It was fun to speculate on the fate of such a
student caught in the toils of the police. Ah!

Arden, as the echoes of this choice gossip went around the table,
maintained a discreet silence. She had not yet told her roommates of her
trip to town that morning, but she could readily understand, now, that
when they were back in 513 she would have some explaining to do. But, for
the time being, she decided to try to change the subject. So she remarked
casually:

"It was probably nothing. Lots of people in this town look like college
students. See how the natives try to copy our clothes."

"Always belittlin', Arden," remarked Terry. "Can't you let us enjoy the
scandal? Heaven knows things have been pretty quiet around here of late."

"If you ask me, more likely it had something to do with a minor traffic
violation," Arden continued. "You're all very silly. Please pass the
bread, Terry!"

Terry reached for the bread plate but, at the same time, shot Arden a
quick appraising look. Arden took a slice and innocently asked for
further plans of the night raid.

"We'll call for you girls in 513 about half-past ten--after lights are
out," Jane said.

The others nodded assent. The dishes continued their barrage of sound,
successfully concealing the plans from those not included in them.

As Sim had foretold, at the close of the meal large bowls of "library
paste" made their appearance. Arden's particular group decided to forego
it and make something else, later, take its place. Forbidden sweets were
always more tasty.

When the meal was at an end, the dean, suddenly and somewhat out of the
ordinary, signaled for silence by tapping a bell kept for that occasional
use at her right hand at the faculty table.

Immediately a hush descended over the noisy room. Miss Anklon arose and
stood teeteringly and frostily in her place, having pushed back her chair
to make room.

"A story has come to my ears," she began, "to the effect that a student
of Cedar Ridge was seen at police headquarters here in town today. It
seems incredible to me. However, I wish the girl who has allowed herself
to cause such a horrid rumor to circulate to come to me before
twenty-four hours pass and explain herself."

She gave the bell another "ding," and the conversational flood was at
once loosed again, but with new import.

So the dean had also heard the rumor. Worse and more of it!

Terry herded Arden and Sim through groups of chattering and surprised
girls, at the same time whispering:

"Arden Blake, you know something about this! Come upstairs!"

Arden nodded silently. Sim objected to Terry's bustling about and tried
to hold back. But Terry, well versed in the art of telling her friends
something without being overheard by others near by, soon had Sim
tractable and under control.

Safe in the sanctuary of their room, Terry started in.

"Well, Arden, what did you do this time?"

"Oh, don't be so smart, Terry! I didn't do anything."

But her face flushed.

"What do you know about the college student seen coming out of police
headquarters?" demanded Sim. "Come on--come clean, as the detectives
say--at least, in books."

"I know all about it!" calmly replied Arden. "I am that girl!" she
announced in her best stage manner. "I'll tell you all about it," and she
did.

"Are you going to Tiddy?" Sim wanted to know.

"I think not--little one," drawled Arden, still calmly but with firm
decision, as her friends could tell by the look in her eyes. When Arden
made up her mind, it was made up. "It would be useless to explain," she
continued. "Besides, I really didn't do anything."

"Well, if you're found out, it might just as well be murder--we'll all be
sent home," Terry decided.

"You're right, Terry," Sim agreed. "We ought all to leave for home before
we suffer the ignominy of being sent."

"Not tonight, at least," Arden temporized. "I may as well be hanged for a
sheep as a lamb. I say let's wait until something really happens.
Besides, I think it will be lots of fun to raid the kitchen."

"Do you think Tiddy has any real evidence?" asked Sim.

"Let's try to guess what we shall find to eat in the raid," said Arden
demurely.

"My dear roommate," laughed Terry, "you are, without doubt, a peer in the
art of changing subjects. But I do agree with you about the raid. We must
all wear tennis shoes and carry flashlights."

"Let's get our work done quickly, then," proposed Sim, "and wait, with
what patience we may, for Jane," and she swept her chums a bow in her
latest amateur dramatic rôle.

With unusual willingness, the three girls began to open their books, look
for pencils and paper, and soon the room was in silence as they labored
at their lessons for next day.




                             CHAPTER XXIII
                          The Injured Chaplain


The three freshmen in 513 worked diligently and with a minimum of
conversation. Now and then Arden inquired about the spelling of a word,
or Terry put a question as to the correct ending of a Latin verb, but on
the whole their time was well occupied.

At about nine o'clock the lights all over the dormitory building were
dimmed for a moment, a warning that in five minutes more they would be
extinguished in every room. Arden announced happily that she had finished
her assignments.

"I have, too!" cried Terry. But Sim sighed deeply as she said:

"I just made it. But I think my math is all wrong."

"Never mind," soothed Arden. "Perhaps you're a genius. Lots of them can't
do math for a cent."

The lights went out suddenly, and the girls threw themselves on their
beds to await Jane Randall's knock, summoning them to the pantry raid.

Arden and her chums must have fallen asleep, for they were startled when,
some time later, Jane, afraid of knocking too loudly on their door pushed
it open and tiptoed in. She groped her way to Terry's bed, shook her and
hissed:

"Wake up! It's time to go!"

"Oh!" gasped the startled Terry, the other two echoing her surprise with
their own. They had no idea that they had slumbered.

Silently they took their flashlights and crept down the darkened
corridor. The kitchen was far below on the same floor with the dining
room. The kitchen was bright enough by day, for there were windows on
three sides, but it was as dark as a cave at night. A large long
table-bench ran the length of one side of the room. On this the plates
were served to be carried into the dining hall by waitresses. Above the
bench were racks for holding dishes. Gleaming pots, pans, and kettles
hung on the wall near the huge stove, its fire now banked for the night.
Shining copper tanks for hot water to make tea and boil the coffee caught
and reflected the beams from flashlights carried by the marauders.

Unaccustomed to the strange place, the girls all stood still for a few
moments to get their bearings. Arden gave a sudden frightened squeal as a
startled mouse ran across her foot.

"Oh," she gasped. "The place is overrun with the little beasts!"

"Hush!" cautioned Jane Randall. "That watchman may hear us. He comes in
here on his rounds."

"Where's the food, Jane?" whispered Terry, advancing farther into the
room which, somehow, had a spooky atmosphere.

"It ought to be around here some place," Jane replied cautiously.

"Ah-a-a-ah! Pies!" suddenly exclaimed Terry as she opened the door of a
large cupboard.

"Let's take a few. They are for tomorrow, I suppose, and must have been
baked late this afternoon. What do they smell like, Terry?" asked Sim.

"They all smell pretty much alike to me. I'll take four, one off each
shelf. We ought to get a variety that way," suggested Terry.

The other girls were silently exploring, by means of their electric
torches, the dark corners of the kitchen. They decided against taking
bread or rolls as being too unromantic for a midnight feast. Jane
convinced them that milk would do nicely to wash down the food, and it
was when Arden opened the door of the immense refrigerator that she made
the prize discovery of the evening.

"Look what I've found!" she exclaimed. "Two roasted chickens!"

"Lovely!" breathed Sim. "Come over here, kids! Arden has struck a gold
mine!"

Temporarily leaving their own investigations, the other girls crowded
around the ice box and focused their lights on the innocent browned
birds.

"The sight of them makes my mouth water!" announced Sim. "But we must
have enough food, now, with these as a background. Milk, pie and roast
chickens! Lovely! Let's take them and go quickly before we are caught."

Arden reached in and lifted out one of the doomed chickens. She turned
half around to hand it to Sim, who was waiting to take it, when the whole
party of girls was suddenly frozen into immobility with terror.

For through the silence of the night sounded mournfully:

Dong! Ding-dong! Dong! Dong!

It was the old alarm bell again sonorously clanging at the mystic hour of
twelve--the hour when "witches, warlocks an' lang-nebbied things" are
free to roam.

"Heavens! What's that?" gasped Jane Randall, though well she and the
others knew.

"It's that bell again," said Arden unnecessarily. She stood holding
firmly to a leg of the chicken while Sim dug her fingers into the soft
browned flesh beneath a wing. They laughed over it later, of course. But
just now terror gripped them.

Terry was holding the pies so tightly in her fright that her fingers
punctured the crust and went messily into the fruit beneath. They all
stood like children who had been playing "statues"; in just the positions
they had assumed when that ghostly bell began to toll.

It stopped for a moment and then began to peal again, if anything more
loudly than at first. Then the girls came back to life, and while it was
still clanging the second time, Arden had presence of mind enough to
close the refrigerator door, to stave off discovery as long as possible
if the authorities entered the kitchen. Then, with the other girls, who
were also holding to the food they had captured, Arden ran to the low
windows on the north side of the kitchen. They all crowded close to the
glass casement and peered out into the night. The bell sounded more
clearly from this vantage point.

"Who can be ringing it?" murmured Jane. "I hate bells or whistles in the
night. It always seems so--ghostly!"

"Stop it!" someone implored.

"I'd like to run around outside and find out about it," declared Terry.
"Of course, it must be _someone_ pulling the rope. Bells don't ring of
themselves."

"Maybe the wind," suggested Mary Todd.

"The wind couldn't ring that old bell," declared Arden. "It's too heavy
to be swayed by what little breeze there is tonight. And it's high up on
the wall, under a sort of canopy. No, someone pulled that rope."

"But the rope is high up, out of reach from the ground," said Sim who had
noticed that fact.

Puzzled, alarmed, and in momentary fear of being discovered in the
midnight raid, the girls stood at the window. It was in a sort of
extension of the building and faced the north, so that from it a view
could be had of the rear college grounds leading down to the orchard.

It was at this scene the girls were now gazing, some illumination being
furnished by a pale and watery moon now and then hidden by scudding
clouds.

Suddenly Ethel Anderson clutched Arden by the arm, so violently as almost
to cause the dropping of the chicken, and Ethel exclaimed:

"What's that dark thing on the lawn near the orchard?"

"Where?" asked several, crowding closer.

"There!" Ethel pointed at a moment when the moon came out of the clouds.

"Looks like a black dog, to me," Terry said. "Or perhaps----"

Terry's sentence was never finished, for Arden broke in with:

"It's a man! A man crawling on his hands and knees! It is! Look!"

The last wisp of cloud was wiped from the face of the moon. The form of
the crawling man was seen plainly.

"Oh, heavens!"

"We must tell someone!"

"What'll we do?"

"We must wake Tiddy!"

"Oh, let's get out of here!"

"Who is it?"

Questions, exclamations, fearsome gasps and excited advice all tripped
pell-mell from the girls.

Then, quickly, Arden took control of the situation.

"Hush, girls!" she calmly advised. "All of you keep quiet. Now, just a
moment, please."

Her calm voice had its effect, and they all grew quiet, though there was
not one whose breathing came naturally. Arden managed to raise the lower
sash a little way.

And then, through this opening, as the girls watched the black, crawling
figure, came a voice feebly calling:

"Help! Help! Help!"

"It's Henny!" exclaimed Terry as she and the others recognized the
squeaky voice of the aged chaplain. "Dr. Bordmust; and he's hurt!"




                              CHAPTER XXIV
                           The Dean Explains


The mysteriously tolled bell had ceased ringing now. Fascinated, the
girls remained at the window looking at the prone black figure of Rev.
Dr. Bordmust lying on the edge of the sinister orchard. That the orchard
was sinister at least Arden, Sim, and Terry were ready to testify.

The last cry for help from the aged chaplain and the final echo of the
tolling bell came together.

"What shall we do, Arden?" murmured Terry.

"We must do something!" insisted Jane.

"Yes, it's sort of up to us, since we're here on the scene," agreed Sim.

"The dean will have to know about this," suggested Terry.

"But there's something else to do first," spoke Arden.

"What?" chorused her chums.

"That poor man is hurt," went on Arden. "He needs help, and we must hurry
to get it. I'll tell you what. We three," she motioned to herself and her
roommates, "are already campused. Whatever happens can't make much
difference to us, even if we're caught now. We'll go out and see what we
can do to help poor Henny, and you others go tell Tiddy."

"A good idea!" assented Sim. "Jane, you and the others can take the food
with you when you go to tell Tiddy. It's a wonder she or some of the
others haven't been aroused already by the bell. But when you go to her,
hide the food, somehow. No use wasting it after all the trouble we had
getting it."

"No, indeed," said Ethel Anderson.

Quickly the two groups separated. Arden, Sim, and Terry hurried out of a
rear door, which they unlocked, while Jane and the others, stuffing the
pies, chickens, and bottles of milk under their big sweaters, hastened to
take word to the dean.

Arden, Sim, and Terry ran with all the frightened speed they could summon
across the damp grass of the rear campus toward the edge of the orchard.
By another gleam of moonlight they had a glimpse of the chaplain resuming
his painful crawling after a period of rest following his cries for help.

When he saw the girls running toward him, Dr. Bordmust, as if giving up
the fight, now that assistance was at hand, collapsed on the leaf-strewn
ground.

Terry was the first to reach him.

"Are you hurt, Dr. Bordmust?" she asked. "What happened?"

"Do tell us! Tell us how we can help you," appealed Sim.

"Are you badly injured?" faltered Arden.

"My leg--I think my right leg is broken," he faltered. "It is very
painful. I cannot bear my weight on it. That is why I had to crawl
along."

"Did you fall?" asked Arden.

"Not exactly. I was struck by something--something attacked me as I was
walking through the orchard. It was some great, black, rushing shape that
threw itself upon me. I went down heavily--I could feel the bones of my
leg snap. I--I must have lost consciousness--for a time, at least. When I
came to, I found myself lying beneath a tree. I managed to get this far,
and then the pain----"

"We heard you call for help," said Sim.

"You heard me--up in your room?" His voice was querulous.

The girls did not care to go into particulars.

"We have sent someone to bring help," said Arden, kneeling down beside
the aged chaplain. "But can we do anything to ease you until help comes?"

"Rest yourself, Dr. Bordmust," Sim begged. She sat down in the wet grass
and lifted the tired white head into her lap.

"You--you are very kind, young ladies," the chaplain murmured. "I shall
see that----"

"What's the matter?" suddenly cried Arden as she saw his head sag queerly
to one side.

"He's fainted, I guess," answered Sim.

"Oh, dear!" wailed Terry. "The poor man! But here come the girls and the
dean, I think, and two men. Now we'll be all right."

"At least he will, though as for us----" Arden did not finish.

An excited throng of students and others hurried toward the three alarmed
freshmen surrounding the chaplain. The dean, rather neatly dressed in
spite of the hurry under which she had donned her garments, was in the
lead.

Behind her was Miss Lucant, the college infirmarian. Then came Jane and
her chums with the gardener, Anson Yaeger, and his helper, Tom Scott,
bringing up in the rear.

"You certainly got a lot of help in a short time, Jane," whispered Arden
as the girls mingled.

"Oh, the dean was quick enough once she was awake. She sent me for Miss
Lucant and had one of the girls telephone to the gardener's house to
rouse him. Tiddy certainly got organized quickly!"

Miss Anklon, who even had the forethought to bring a flashlight with her,
focused it on the pale face of the chaplain, who still was stretched on
the ground, his head in Sim's lap.

"Take him to the infirmary at once!" the dean ordered.
"Anson--Tom--you'll have to get some sort of a stretcher to carry him.
That leg, to me, looks to be broken."

"It is," said Arden.

The dean flashed a look and a gleam of light on her but said nothing, nor
did she ask how Arden knew.

"I'll have to run back and get a board--or something," said Anson. "A
stretcher is what we need, but----"

"We can pull a door off the old tool-shed!" suggested Tom Scott.

"Do that," advised the dean. "Lose no time."

Tom Scott hurried off in the darkness, before Anson could make up his
mind what to do, and soon came back with a light door. On this Dr.
Bordmust was carefully rolled, Sim pulling off her sweater to make a
pillow for his head, and then the gardener and his assistant started on
the melancholy journey to the college hospital.

Having seen this procession on its way, the dean spoke sharply to the
nervous girls.

"Go at once to your rooms," she ordered. "We shall have something to say
about this in the morning."

Realizing that they could do nothing more, and feeling that they must
have excited the dean's curiosity by all being dressed at that hour of
the night, Arden and the others hurried into the dormitory and dispersed
to their various rooms.

Meanwhile Dr. Bordmust, who had recovered consciousness, was taken to the
infirmary, where Anson and Tom carefully undressed him and put him in
bed, with an elderly teacher, who was also a nurse, to look after him. A
physician was hurriedly summoned from town and set the broken leg. This
much the girls guessed from observation and rumors that floated along the
corridor's grapevine route. For none of those engaged in the raid felt
like going to bed at once.

And as the food had escaped the watchful eyes of the dean, it having been
successfully hidden under sweaters, it was available for the
post-midnight feast which was soon under way. Nor was the usual caution
necessary, with the excitement over the chaplain's strange adventure
still seething.

As the girls ate they talked, naturally, each of the two groups telling
the other their parts in the affair. They all admitted it was a queer
mystery.

"Do you think the bell had anything to do with it?" Sim wanted to know.

"It might have been rung to draw our attention away from the orchard,"
suggested Arden.

"But no one was paying the least bit of attention to the orchard in the
first place," objected Terry.

"But why was Henny there in the orchard at midnight?" Jane Randall
propounded. "He had no business there."

"No more than we had in the kitchen," suggested Arden.

"But he _was_ there," declared Mary Todd.

"And something attacked him," said Sim.

"And if you ask me," said Arden positively, "I think that whatever it was
that came at us, the night we had to get apples for the sophs, attacked
our chaplain."

"Well, what was that?" demanded Ethel.

"I don't know," Arden had to admit.

The girls were silent a moment, and then Sim asked:

"Did you have much trouble rousing Tiddy?"

"Yes," Jane answered, "she sleeps like a horse. We couldn't make her
understand for the longest time. She never even noticed how we all bulged
with food, and I think she didn't hear the bell at all."

So they talked until there was nothing left to eat though there was still
much to wonder at. Arden hid the milk bottles in a closet. Jane Randall
opened the door and was followed out by the other visitors to 513, who
stole silently down the dark corridors and to their own rooms.

In spite of all the excitement, Arden and her roommates were soon sound
asleep.

The next day the very walls of Cedar Ridge must have vibrated, so great
was the talk. Rumors of the wildest sort were passed from girl to girl.
Arden and her friends were a little afraid to tell of their part in the
night's adventure and so listened to the various stories and volunteered
nothing.

At lunch, when the whole college was assembled, Tiddy rang her little
bell, and immediately a deep hush followed the talk, laughter, and
clatter of dishes.

"Young ladies," began the dean, "so ridiculous are the rumors that are
rife here today that I feel I must do a little explaining. Rev. Dr.
Bordmust, while strolling through our orchard last night, was attacked by
a huge black ram which knocked him down, and in the fall our chaplain's
right leg was broken below the knee. The ram, which it is learned is a
savage beast, broke loose from a near-by farm."

There were uneasy twistings and turnings on the part of the girls, and
many whispered comments, despite the frowning warnings of various
teachers scattered about the room.

"But you need have no further fears," the dean went on. "The beast has
been caught and penned up securely. It will be kept under restraint from
this time on. So no one need have any fears of going into our orchard--if
she has occasion to go there."

"So this is what the taxi-man must have been hinting at," thought Arden.
"Though why he didn't dare speak of it I can't imagine. And I suppose it
was the ram that knocked me down. I was lucky!"

"This is the explanation of the greater part of the night's alarm, young
ladies," continued the dean. "It is all very simple. It is unfortunate
that Dr. Bordmust was injured, but he is now resting comfortably, and
another clergyman has been temporarily engaged, so there will be chapel
service--as usual." The dean smiled with dry humor, having noted flashes
of joy on the faces of several students at the idea of escaping from
morning devotions.

"Dr. Bordmust has asked me, as a favor to him," stated the dean, "not to
punish the girls who were out of their rooms against rules after hours.
They kindly went to his assistance and summoned much-needed help. I am
happy to accede to our chaplain's request, for I know the whole
undergraduate body is extremely fond of him. I will ask no questions of
those girls. In fact, I hereby publicly thank them for their great
presence of mind. There is only one thing I must insist on."

There was a portentous pause, and the dean ended the silence by saying:

"If the ringing of the alarm bell was done as a joke--please don't repeat
it." She smiled benignly. "Now you may go on with your lunch."




                              CHAPTER XXV
                           Arden Is Convinced


Silence--a somewhat stunned and portentous silence--followed the dean's
explanation and remarks. Then a buzz of talk began. It spread all through
the room, for the orchard mystery had grown to greater proportions than
the faculty of Cedar Ridge had believed.

Arden secured the attention of Sim, who was excitedly talking to Terry,
and propounded this:

"Do you seriously think that what Tiddy said just now is true? Or, at
least, do you think it is a logical explanation? It sounds fishy to me.
If it was a ram that hurt Tom Scott and the chaplain, the beast planned
his attacks with almost human cleverness."

"Oh, I don't know," Sim answered. "I suppose it's possible----"

"But not probable," Arden interrupted.

"Oh, let's forget about it," suggested Sim.

"I wonder," thought Arden as they finished lunch and walked from the
dining room to the sun-flooded campus, "I wonder if Sim is going to do
anything about the pool? She didn't seem much interested in the way the
dean solved the mystery."

"What do you think?" inquired Terry. "Aren't you satisfied, Arden, with
the dean's statement?"

"It satisfies me, Arden, m'sweet!" drawled Sim. "I find this sun very
satisfying, too," she went on as she stretched her arms high above her
head and ran her fingers through her thick hair.

"You, also, Terry?" inquired Arden.

"Yes," Terry answered. "You'll have to look further for doubters of the
dean." She threw herself down on the warm grass and opened her Latin
grammar for a last look before class.

Arden stood over her chums in uncertainty, for now Sim had joined Terry
on the grass. The sun was bright, the sky unclouded and of a deep blue.
Arden pulled her bright red sweater down lower over her tweed skirt and
adjusted a small scarf about her neck. Cedar Ridge was not a particularly
"dressy" college, nor did it have a reputation for displaying on its
campus carelessly dressed students. Rather a happy medium was struck.
High heels were out of place. One could not make a swift last-minute dash
up the boardwalk to Bordmust Hall in open pumps, as several girls had
found out to their sorrow.

Arden and her chums dressed in sports clothes, topped, usually, by the
inevitable mortar-boards. Now that hazing was over, the college settled
down to a peaceful routine, with not so much stress on the poor freshmen.

"Well," Arden finally remarked, "I must say you girls show very little of
the stuff which made our country the great place it is today. You have no
curiosity. That's your trouble!"

"My trouble is not enough sleep," murmured Sim drowsily.

"Latin will be the death of me," declared Terry.

"Then I'll leave you to yourselves," announced Arden, turning away. "I'm
off to see what I can see."

"Not mad, are you?" questioned Sim.

"No, just curious." Arden was soon beyond talking distance.

She was a little surprised, though she would not let Sim or Terry know
it, that they took the dean's explanation so calmly and believingly.

"For my part," reasoned Arden to herself, "I'm going to find out if an
old black ram really caused all the scares and trouble."

Once her mind was made up, Arden acted quickly. Her next class was an
hour away. There was time enough, she knew, as she swung off in the
direction of the orchard. She went in through the hedge entrance. It was
dark and gloomy there, even with the sun shining, and for a moment the
girl hesitated. But she kept on, and was soon in the grove of gnarled and
fantastic trees. The sun was shining down through their twisted branches
and glinting on the vari-hued apples. Arden drew in a deep breath of a
tangy perfume.

She picked up a red and yellow apple, wiped it off on her skirt, and bit
into it. Distinctly it was good. She walked on farther. All was serene.
There was no ram, no sign of a ram, though Arden did not really expect to
find one roaming about. But she did think she might see the marks of the
beast's feet. But she saw none.

"And there's no one lying here unconscious and injured by any black
beast," said Arden smiling a little at her conceit. She walked over to a
corner where stood a shed in which were kept barrels and ladders for the
harvesting of the apples. It was nearly time for the harvest now.

The door, that had been taken off for use as a stretcher the night the
chaplain had been attacked, had been replaced. The door swung open, and
Arden had a glimpse inside the shed of various farm implements.

"Ho, hum!" she yawned. "I guess the girls and the dean were right.
There's no use trying to find anything different. I shall have to admit I
was wrong, and I don't want to, for really I don't believe in that ram
story. If I could only find something else to bear out my theory."

She was looking around the orchard, gazing toward distant corners for
something she could investigate when she was startled by a rustle of
dried leaves caused by some feet pattering rapidly among them. There were
a whistling snort and a loud sniff.

Arden wheeled about and screamed in terror.

Rushing straight at her, with lowering head and menacing horns curved in
the typical design of such creatures, was an immense black ram. The
animal must have been hiding behind a tree. Attracted by Arden's presence
in the orchard, and perhaps incensed by her red sweater, it had come to
give battle.

Snorting in rage, like a miniature bull, and scattering the leaves with
his pounding feet, the ram was coming on, Arden thought, like an express
train. For one wild moment she felt resentful against the dean who had
said the beast was now securely penned. Then Arden turned and made a jump
for the tool shed.

She got inside just in time, pulling the door after her. And a moment
later the whole structure was shaken as the ram butted his horns against
the thin portal.

"Oh, my gosh!" gasped Arden. And as there followed a moment of silence
and inaction on the part of the creature, she saw a hook on the inside of
the door and slipped it into the staple.

Then came another butting attack on the door.

"He'll break it in!" cried Arden, her heart beating fast. "It isn't very
strong. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do?"

The ram was snorting, puffing, and blowing outside the shed. Arden could
hear him pawing in the dried leaves. Then for the third time he rushed
with those heavy curved horns at the barrier which kept him from the
human he wanted to attack.

"No wonder Tom Scott and the chaplain were hurt with such a creature as
that rushing at them!" gasped Arden. "Oh, dear! I wish I'd taken the
dean's word. It's a ram all right. A terrible ram!"

She wondered if a human voice in command would have any effect on the
creature. She would try.

"Go away! Get out of here!" she ordered through a crack in the door. She
waited. She heard nothing. Perhaps the beast had gone. She loosed the
hook a little, making a crack wide enough out of which she could look.
The ram hadn't gone. He was balefully eyeing the shed from a little
distance, and when he saw the door move again he lowered his head and
butted it harder than before.

"Oh, this is awful!" groaned Arden. "I guess I'll have to stay in here
until he goes away or falls asleep. I suppose rams do sleep, sometimes.
This is what I get for doubting Tiddy. I wonder if there is a back door
that I could sneak out of while he's butting the front one?"

But there was no rear exit, as Arden discovered when she peered through
the jumble of ladders, barrels, and tools. Sheds aren't usually built
with two doors.

There was nothing to be done but to wait for a rescue or until the ram
should get weary of the siege and raise it.

"When the girls find out about this they'll have the laugh on me all
right!" Arden ruefully mused.

The ram was quiet again, but Arden thought it useless again to give any
orders or to tantalize the brute by partly opening the door. Time was
passing. It was getting late. She would soon be due at her class. If she
did not appear, her chums might think something had happened to her and
start a search.

"But I didn't tell them where I was going," Arden reflected. "They don't
know where to start looking, and they'll never imagine I came to the
orchard after all that's happened.

"'Oh, to be in England, now that Spring is there'--or any old place but
in this shed," the imprisoned girl murmured. She was getting panicky.
Almost without knowing what she was doing, Arden found herself shouting:

"Go away, ram! Go away!"

She paused and caught her breath suddenly. She heard voices outside; men
talking. The sounds came nearer. Someone said:

"That certainly was a mighty poor job you did on that pen, Anson. The ram
got out without half trying. There he is now, down by the tool shed. And
by Jove, Anson, I believe he's got someone penned in there! He wouldn't
act that way unless there was someone in the shed. Look, there he goes,
butting the door!"

It was Tom Scott. Arden recognized the voice. And Anson Yaeger, the grim
farmer, answered:

"I did as good a job as I could with the wood I had. I'd like to see you
or anybody else----"

"Never mind that now!" interrupted Tom. "The thing to do now is to catch
that ram again! He's dangerous. Come on!"

Arden could hear footsteps running now, and though the ram once more
butted the door, nearly cracking some of the boards, she knew that rescue
was on the way.

There was silence outside the shed for a moment, and then Tom Scott said:

"You slip around back, Anson, and sort of hold his attention by peering
out at him around the corner. While you're doing that, I can slip up
behind him and get this rope around him. I'll lasso him, and we'll
hog-tie him, cowboy fashion."

"Very well," agreed the farmer.

Arden could not see what they did, but she was told, later. Tom, who had
provided himself with a noosed rope when he and Anson started out in
search of the escaped ram, skillfully tossed it over the beast's head
from the rear. The noose fell in a choking loop around the ram's neck,
and Tom pulled tight.

The surprised animal turned to charge Tom, but by this time Anson
attacked him with a heavy timber, knocked him down, and both men threw
themselves upon the creature. He struggled and bleated, but was soon well
tied so he could not move.

"Good work, Anson!" complimented Tom.

"Hum!" was the grunted answer. The farmer was winded.

Arden was debating with herself whether to come out and show who the ram
had imprisoned or to wait until the men had taken the beast away. But she
had no choice, for Tom said:

"Now we'll see what unfortunate this ram was after."

"I'm going out," Arden told herself and unhooked the door.

Tom Scott and Anson fairly jumped with surprise as they saw her.

"He chased me in here," she volunteered. "I got in just in time, but I
didn't dare come out again."

"No, it's wise you didn't," said Tom, smiling at her. "This is a
dangerous beast. I thought he was after someone, the way he stood near
this shed. Your red sweater must have attracted him. Not hurt, are you?"

"No, only frightened. At least I was. I'm so glad you came."

"Well, he can't hurt you now," chuckled Tom, looking at the bound ram.
Anson said nothing. "He's a tricky beast. Worked his way out of the pen
we shut him up in temporarily until his owner can dispose of him. I
believe the dean has threatened to make a complaint unless the ram is
removed from around here."

"I hope he goes," said Arden. "The orchard will be safer without him and
less--less mysterious."

"Mysterious?" questioned Tom, somewhat wonderingly.

"Yes. But I must be going. I'll be late for my class. Thank you for
rescuing me."

"It was a pleasure," Tom said, bowing and smiling. "Also a pleasure to
choke the beast that gave me such a whack."

Still Anson Yaeger did not speak. He seemed to be glaring at Arden with
his little beady eyes almost hidden under shaggy brows. But Arden was
looking only at Tom Scott. She could not seem to help it. And he was
looking at her. Arden began to feel embarrassed. It was as if, she said
later, she had met the good-looking gardener at some previous time but
could not remember where. She was puzzled and annoyed.

"Well, I really must go!" she announced, and this time she did, hurrying
past the bound and recumbent ram that seemed to eye her with much
malevolence. But he was helpless now.

Arden hurried up through the orchard, turning for a final look at the
scene of her latest adventure. She saw Anson bringing a wheelbarrow out
of the shed to be used in taking the ram to a new prison. Then she ran to
Bordmust and reached it just in time for English lit.




                              CHAPTER XXVI
                             The Challenge


Terry and Sim were in other rooms, so Arden did not see her chums until
after the last class of the day. Then she met them on the steps of
Bordmust, where they usually waited for one another.

If ever Arden astonished Terry and Sim, it was on this occasion, when she
related her startling adventure with the ram.

"No, never!" gasped Terry in disbelief.

"Yes," asserted Arden.

"Oh, my aunt's cat!" shouted Sim, and then she and Terry went into spasms
of laughter. Though they realized Arden had been in some danger, the
funny side of it was now uppermost in their minds.

"Let's go over to the orchard and look around," suggested Terry as their
mirth subsided.

"There won't be anything to look at, now that Arden is out," said Sim.

"I know," answered Terry, "but I'd like to see what the place looks like
now that the danger is removed and the mystery solved."

"I guess you're one of those persons who go around gathering souvenirs
from houses where murders have been committed," laughed Arden.

"The sort who sneaks up on the Sphinx and knocks a chip off the nose for
an Egyptian tidbit," suggested Sim.

"Come on," urged Terry. "We haven't anything else to do, and we can't go
anywhere, as we're still campused, and it's a nice day."

"All right," assented Sim.

The girls were in a jovial mood as they started toward the orchard, which
had been bereft of some of its peril and mystery by the dean's
announcement and by Arden's rather perilous adventure.

This was several days after the night of the kitchen raid, the ringing of
the bell (which was as yet unexplained), and the attack on the aged
chaplain by the vicious black ram. During those days the college had
buzzed with talk and rumor, and among the chums of Arden and her two
friends considerable was known about the midnight taking of the chickens,
milk, and pies.

But the bottles had surreptitiously been restored to the kitchen, the
bones of the chickens had been successfully disposed of, and there was
nothing left of the pies save a few grease spots on several sweaters.
Whether the dean knew about the raid and chose to ignore it or whether
she was still in blissful ignorance, Arden and her friends neither knew
nor cared.

"Sometimes I think she knows all about it but doesn't say anything
because of what we did for Henny," said Sim.

"Anyhow, she hasn't piled any more punishment on us, so why should we
care?" asked Terry.

"That's right," agreed Arden. "But though that part seems to have blown
over, we still haven't found out why Henny was in the orchard at
midnight."

"And we probably won't until you locate that missing Pangborn chap and
get the reward so the swimming pool can be repaired," said Sim, a little
sarcastically, it seemed.

"Don't talk about it!" begged Arden. "I guess I'm a failure as a
detective. As for the pool, perhaps around Christmas we can prevail on
our respective families to chip in and subscribe enough to fix it."

"That's a thought!" exclaimed Sim. "I must remember that!"

What the dean publicly had said about the ram was quite true in the
matter of its ugliness, as Arden could testify. A farmer not far from the
college grounds owned the big black brute, kept for stock exhibitions. It
was larger than the average ram, with immense horns, curving back over a
hard head, and when free would run to attack any persons who crossed its
path. The beast was supposed to be kept secure in a barn or field but had
managed to get out more than one night, roaming afar, and was said to
have killed several dogs which had had the temerity to attack it.

"Probably it was attracted to our orchard by the apples," suggested Terry
as the three walked along, talking of the brute's acts.

"It must have been attracted to me also," murmured Arden as she recalled
the circumstances of the hazing and how she was knocked down by what she
thought was a dark whirlwind.

"Henny couldn't have been in the orchard as a hazing stunt to be attacked
by the beast," said Terry thoughtfully. "What was he there for?"

"Perhaps wandering under the midnight stars to think up a theme for a
sermon," suggested Sim.

"Maybe," said Arden, though her voice had no conviction in it. "Well,
here we are," she added as they left the campus lawn and found themselves
under the first row of trees in the orchard. It was the first time since
the hazing they had entered it without fear or apprehension. It was very
calm and peaceful this bright morning.

"It was right about here," said Arden, indicating the base of a large
tree, "that the ram knocked me down that night, and over there is the
shed where I locked myself in," she added, pointing.

"And there is where we found Tom Scott," Terry said, indicating the spot.

"Here, Terry," said Sim, breaking off a twig from one of the old gnarled
trees. "Here's a souvenir for you."

"Thanks, darling," remarked Terry sarcastically. "What kind of apples are
these, anyhow?" She picked up a fairly good windfall and gingerly took a
small bite after shaking off an ant or two.

"I haven't any idea," answered Arden, and then, as she remembered
something, she suddenly asked: "Oh, Sim! What about that man you saw in
the orchard with a lantern the night Mr. Newman brought you back from New
York?"

"Oh, yes!" said Sim. "Why, it must have been someone looking for the ram,
who was on the rampage then. How disgustingly simple mysteries always
turn out to be!"

"Not so simple," Arden objected. "How about the bell and the missing
Pangborn chap?"

"Oh--well," Sim temporized. Then, as a distant rustle of footsteps in the
dried leaves was heard, she added in a lower voice: "Here comes your
hero!"

Arden glanced toward where Sim indicated. Tom Scott, the good-looking
young fellow who was assistant to grim and dour old Anson Yaeger, was
swinging along beneath the trees toward the girls. As he caught sight of
them he paused, looked behind him as if to see that a way of retreat was
clear, and then, with a shrug of his shoulders as if shaking off a
weight, advanced again.

Not only to the eyes of Arden, but to those of her chums, it was evident
a great change had taken place in Tom Scott. For one thing, he no longer
wore blue overalls. He was attired in a well-fitting gray business suit.
Instead of clumsy boots his feet had on neat ties well polished.

"How nice he looks!" murmured Terry. "Why!" she exclaimed. "He's shaved
off his mustache. I'm sure he had one when I saw him raking up leaves a
couple of days ago!"

"Yes, he has," agreed Sim. "But what of it? I think he looks better
without it."

"Hush! He'll hear you," warned Arden. She was staring in a strange manner
at the young man.

"He's coming right this way," went on Sim in a low voice. "Can't we do
something besides standing here and staring at him as though we came here
purposely to see him? Walk, talk--do something!"

"Let's pretend we're after some apples," suggested Terry, stooping down
but gathering only a small nubbin.

Sim followed her example, but Arden appeared to be fascinated by the
oncoming Tom Scott. She did not move or speak. She just stared at him in
a way that would have drawn rebukes from her chums had they seen her
fixed gaze.

Tom Scott came on, grinning cheerfully, as he was close to the girls,
disclosing white, perfect teeth.

"Altogether too good-looking for a gardener at a girls' college," Sim
found herself reflecting as she looked up.

"We--we thought we'd take a few apples," faltered Terry. "I suppose
there--there's no--objection."

By this time she and Sim were aware of Arden's queer actions or, rather,
lack of action, for Arden was still motionlessly staring.

"Try one of these," suggested Tom Scott, reaching up and picking off a
perfect apple from a branch over his head. "You'll find the flavor rather
good." He handed the apple to Arden.

"Thank you," she said, in a toneless voice. "What kind is it?"

"Spitzenberg. A very choice variety. You'll not find many of them around
here. This is the only orchard I know of where they grow."

"How nice--I mean how strange," murmured Arden. She was not looking at
the apple. She was looking at Tom Scott, and she asked: "Have you
recovered from your--your accident?"

"Oh!" He laughed. "You mean when the black ram butted me? For it was the
sable beast that knocked me out. Yes, thank you, I'm all over that. It
wasn't much. Too bad I didn't do for that beast before he had a chance at
the chaplain. He fared worse than I did--the chaplain, I mean."

"Yes, he did," agreed Sim. "But you saved Arden from the same ram."

"It so happened," admitted the good-looking gardener.

"Thank you," said Terry as Tom gave her an apple like the one he had
handed to Arden and then passed one to Sim.

"Well, I must be going," said Tom Scott. "I have an errand in town
and----"

"Just a minute!" cried Arden excitedly. In all this time she had not
removed her gaze from the young man's face, not even to munch her apple,
as Terry and Sim were doing with theirs. "Wait, please----!"

The young gardener stood uncertain, his eyes roving from one girl to the
other and back to Arden.

"You--you----" faltered Arden. "I know! Yes, I'm certain now! You are
Harry Pangborn!"

"Arden!" gasped Sim. "Arden!"

"What are you saying?" exclaimed Terry, dropping her half-eaten apple.

"This is the man we saw in the post office!" went on Arden, her words and
breath coming rapidly. "I mean he's the picture we saw--I mean he is the
original of the man wanted in the police poster. You are, aren't you?"
she challenged.




                             CHAPTER XXVII
                               A Telegram


For a moment it seemed as if the young man was going to deny Arden's
statement or at least flee from the scene. But again he smiled in a
disarming and friendly fashion, shrugged his shoulders as though getting
rid of another weight, and, spreading his hands in a helpless and
surrendering gesture, said:

"Yes, I am Harry Pangborn. You have found me out. I thought it wouldn't
be long after I shaved off my mustache. Well, I'm just as glad it
happened this way since it had to happen. I was about to end the little
masquerade, anyhow."

"Oh, please let us end it!" begged Arden. "I mean if we are allowed to
tell----" She seemed confused and blushed.

"Yes, I know," said young Mr. Pangborn. "Well, have it your way. I would
rather see you profit by it than anyone else. You did me a favor the
night the ram came at me."

"But what does it all mean?" asked Sim.

"Why did you give up your inheritance of millions to come here as a
gardener's helper?" asked Terry.

"It's a short story, simple enough, and perhaps you may not believe it,"
said Harry Pangborn, "but I just didn't want my inheritance."

"Not your grandfather's wealth?" asked Arden.

"Well, perhaps it would be more exact to say I was in no hurry for it.
Oh, I'm not going to pass it up altogether," he laughed. "But here's the
story briefly. As the poster explains, I disappeared about the time I was
to inherit a large sum. But there was nothing criminal in it, and I
wasn't kidnaped as some thought. All my life I have wanted to be the
owner of a big farm estate, ever since I used to go to my grandfather's
farm when I was a boy. I knew I could inherit the farm all right, but I
wanted to know something about running one, especially an orchard, since
I hope to raise fancy apples.

"I figured that the best way to learn from the ground up, so to speak,
would be to get a job on a farm or an orchard. I knew I couldn't do it
under my own name. I'd have a lot of tabloid paper reporters after me--a
millionaire apple grower and such rot. So I just quietly disappeared, as
I knew those in charge of the estate I was to inherit would object, and I
roved around. I finally landed here, and I may say I like the place very
much." He smiled frankly at the three attractive girls. "I liked
everything about it but the ram. But now the time has come to end the
masquerade. I've learned what I wanted to learn. Old Anson is a good
teacher, if he isn't all he should be in other ways. He taught me many
secrets of the soil."

"Why did you happen to come to Cedar Ridge?" asked Arden. "The poster
said you might be found around here."

"I know it did. I ran a risk in coming here. But I didn't just happen to.
You see, my grandfather and Rev. Dr. Bordmust are old college chums. I
had that in mind when I came to this college farm as assistant gardener.
In case of accident I wanted someone who knew me to know where I was. So
I told my story to your chaplain, swore him to secrecy, though much
against his will, and then I just let matters drift along.

"More than once Dr. Bordmust urged me to give up what he called my mad
scheme, and he half threatened to disclose everything. But I prevailed on
him to wait just a little longer. But finally, one night just before he
was hurt by the ram, he came to see me in my garden residence and said he
would keep silent no longer. Then, as I had gotten all I wanted to in the
way of apple knowledge, I agreed to do the disclosing myself. This made
Dr. Bordmust easier in his mind. It was when he was going home through
the orchard, after leaving me, that he was attacked. I can't tell you how
badly I felt over it."

"Yes, it was too bad," agreed Arden, still gasping with astonishment.

"Say," broke in Sim, "was it you who rang the alarm bell?"

Harry Pangborn smiled again and said:

"No! It was Anson who did it."

"Anson!" chorused the surprised three.

"Yes. I am on my way to the dean now, before I go to town, to tell her
she had better get rid of her gardener. I can do it freely, as it can be
proved I have no ulterior motive since I am giving up my place. But old
Anson is a man with a warped mind and a queer sense of humor."

"Why did he ring the bell?" asked Terry.

"And how?" asked Arden.

"He reached up with a long-handled rake and tangled the teeth in the
rope," said Mr. Pangborn. "That was his method. As for his reason, well,
it may have been one of several.

"But slyly ringing the alarm bell with the rake and then running away
wasn't all of his peculiar sport," went on Mr. Pangborn.

"What else did he do?" asked Terry.

"Once I caught him perched up on the ledge of one of the high gymnasium
windows, peering in. He jumped down and ran away as I came along the
walk, but I had a chance to see him, and also to note that he was wearing
some kind of a mask, that of an evil old man."

"Oh!" gasped Sim. "The face you saw at the dance, Arden!"

"Yes, it must have been," Arden agreed.

"Oh, then you saw that trick?" asked Mr. Pangborn.

"I just had a glimpse of a face at the window," Arden answered. "Then the
bell rang, and we all hurried out to try to solve the mystery."

"Yes, that was the night," young Mr. Pangborn agreed.

"But what could he hope to gain by such a trick?" asked Arden. "He really
didn't frighten me."

"I think that was to have been the start of a campaign on his part for a
certain purpose," the late Tom Scott answered. "He probably thought the
girls would report to the dean about a strange face peering in at them
out of the night. Then Anson, very likely, might have offered to drive
the Peeping Tom away, which he could easily do by just ceasing his own
antics. In this way he would be commended, I think he expected."

"How strange!" murmured Sim.

"He must be crazy!" echoed Terry.

"Do you think," asked Arden, "that he may have done it all as a joke?
Perhaps he was joking the time he threatened Terry and me."

Mr. Pangborn indicated his disbelief in the joke theory by shaking his
head. Then he added:

"He may have had very queer ideas as to what was a joke, but I really
think he was building up a case for himself."

"A case for himself?" asked Terry.

"Yes. When he had rung the bell enough times and it had become a sort of
terrifying mystery, I think he intended to have it solved in a way that
would not implicate him and so gain credit and perhaps a raise in wages.
That's only a theory, but it may be true. One night I spied on him,
discovered his trick, and was preparing to denounce him when the chaplain
forced me to give up my masquerade. So it's all over, and you are the
first, outside of Dr. Bordmust, who knows my secret. And I suppose you
won't keep it long?"

"We just can't!" said Arden. "As soon as I saw you coming along just now
I knew you were the man of the poster. I half recognized you before, but
the mustache deceived me. I've done a lot of foolish things trying to
remember the two faces--yours and the one on the poster."

"Well, anyhow, Arden," said Sim, "it was fun doing it."

"Yes, it was," Arden agreed. "But, Mr. Pangborn, will you let us notify
the police or lawyers and claim the reward?"

"I would prefer to have you notify the lawyers," he said genially.

"We don't want the money for ourselves," Terry made haste to explain. "We
are going to give it to the dean to have the swimming pool repaired for
Sim."

"For Sim?"

"Yes," exclaimed Arden, indicating the blushing Miss Westover. "She
threatens to leave college because she can't go in the pool."

"Arden!" rebuked Sim.

"Then you will let us notify the lawyers that you are here?" persisted
Arden.

"Please!" begged Terry in a way she had.

"Well," he laughed, "I suppose I must. I guess my little adventure is
over. Go on--tell on me!"

"How wonderful!" cried Arden, while Sim and Terry looked at each other
happily.

"I had about made up my mind, Arden," said Sim, "not to go home after
all. Now, of course, I'll stay, with the prospect of the pool. I'll stay
until I'm sent home."

"That's fine, Sim!" Arden declared. "Everything is coming out so
beautifully!"

"We can have the pool fixed, Sim isn't going to leave us, and the horrid
old ram is caught," murmured Terry.

"And the mystery of the bell is explained," added Sim.

"Have you a piece of paper?" suddenly asked Mr. Pangborn after a vain
search in his own pockets.

"We nearly always carry books and papers," said Sim, "but this
morning----" She looked helplessly at her chums.

"Here!" exclaimed Arden. "Use the back of this envelope. It's the letter
you gave me to keep, Sim. I was always afraid she'd mail it herself if I
left it around," she explained to Terry, "so I've been carrying it with
me."

She handed the crumpled envelope to the young man, who had managed to
find a pencil, and he wrote on it quickly. He handed the envelope back to
Arden.

"There," he said. "That's a telegram to my lawyers. Sign your name, send
it, and the reward is yours."

"You won't run away meanwhile, will you?" asked Arden shyly.

"No, I'll stay around or go and give myself up, as you direct--just so
you'll get the money." He seemed happy to comply.

"Thanks, so much!" Arden said warmly. "Do you mind if we go send this
telegram right away--before we have to report in class?"

"Run along," he said, laughing. "I'll go telephone my people and relieve
their anxiety. Though I don't really believe they were worried. I've
traveled pretty much around the world alone and been out of touch with
them for months at a time."

"Good-bye!" chorused the three freshmen as they literally "ran along" to
the main building to telegraph the surprising message to the lawyers
named on the poster. Harry Pangborn, a quizzical smile on his face,
watched them go.

"Well, it was fun while it lasted," he murmured as he swung on through
the orchard. "And I think it did me good. Those are mighty pretty girls.
I wouldn't mind knowing them--after I come into my kingdom," he chuckled.
"Perhaps I may. Who knows?"

The girl at the college telephone switchboard was almost as excited as
the breathless Arden, who asked to be connected with Western Union and
then dictated the startling news of the missing heir.

"This will be something for the papers!" thought the telephone operator.
And it was--later.

Terry and Sim waited impatiently outside the booth for Arden to emerge.
Girls clustered around them, and many were the exclamations of wonder,
delight, and surprise as the news was told.

"Now we must go inform the dean," said Terry as she came out, flustered
but triumphant.

On the way to Miss Anklon's office the girls passed the college post
boxes, where each girl had a niche of her own, with a dial lock, for
incoming mail. Sim begged them to wait while she looked in her box. There
was a letter slanting to one side.

"Oh, I have one!" Sim announced as she twirled the combination and took
out the missive.

"Who's it from?" asked Terry before Sim had half read it. But she was
quick to answer:

"It's from Ed Anderson. He wants me to go to a dance during the
Thanksgiving holidays. I didn't think he'd ever speak to me again after
the way I disappeared at the tea dance."

At this news Arden and Terry decided to look in their boxes.

"You're not so much!" Terry cried. "I have a letter myself. It's from
Dick Randall!"

"Me too!" announced Arden, succinctly if not grammatically. "It's from
Jim Todd."

"What fun!" exclaimed Sim. "And the holidays begin the end of next week."




                             CHAPTER XXVIII
                          A Disturbing Message


Hardly realizing the good fortune that had come to them so unexpectedly,
and while they were rejoicing over their letters and the prospects of the
Thanksgiving holidays, with dances in the offing, Arden, Terry, and Sim
saw one of the college messengers making her way toward them through a
throng of other students. For the messengers were young women who, like
the waitresses, were working their way through Cedar Ridge by making
themselves useful to the dean.

"I have a message for you," said this girl, without smiling. She looked
at Arden but included Sim and Terry.

"A message for me?" Arden exclaimed. Could the Pangborn lawyers have sent
the reward money by telegraph already?

"Yes, you three young ladies must report to the dean at once."

"Whew!" faintly whistled Sim.

"What's the idea?" asked Terry.

"I'm sure I don't know," answered the bearer of what was generally
considered ill tidings. "But you had better see her at once."

"Come on!" urged Arden. "Let's get it over with. I had half a mind to go
there, anyhow, and tell her the news."

"Maybe she's heard it already," suggested Terry.

"More likely," suggested Sim gloomily, "she's heard we were trying to
flirt with the good-looking assistant gardener and we're going to be
expelled. If she sends us home, Arden, don't you give her a penny of that
reward money!"

"No!" exclaimed Terry. "Not a cent!"

"Well," said Arden doubtfully, "I don't know----" and then she urged her
two chums on toward the dean's office while little groups of other girls,
among which strange rumors were filtering, watched the three freshmen,
with a variety of expressions.

"Come in," greeted Miss Anklon as Arden knocked. And when Sim and Terry
had filed in behind her it needed but one look at the smiling face of the
dean to let them know they were meeting her on a different footing than
ever before.

"For Tiddy was actually _grinning_!" Sim told some of her friends later.

"Please be seated, young ladies," invited the dean, indicating chairs.
"And, not to make them anxious seats for you, I may say that news of your
good fortune has preceded you here. Mr. Pangborn has just left me and has
told me all about it. I congratulate you, and I hope you will put the
reward money to good use."

In a chorus Arden, Terry, and Sim breathed audibly in relief.

"And about the bell," went on Miss Anklon. "I am sorry if, even remotely,
I suspected you or any of the girls of that trick. I shall make a public
announcement about it. Sufficient to say now that I have dismissed Mr.
Yaeger as gardener and we shall have a new one in a few days. I never
realized what a strange mind he had until Mr. Scott--I should say Mr.
Pangborn--enlightened me."

Arden and her chums began wondering if this was all the dean had summoned
them for--to congratulate them and inform them about old Anson. It was
not in her nature to be thus trifling.

"This is not all that I asked you to come here for," resumed the little
dark-faced dean. "It was to warn you----" Her telephone rang, and she had
to pause at a most critical point as she answered into the instrument,
saying: "I am engaged now. Call me in five minutes." Then to the waiting
three: "I want to warn you not to talk too much about this matter for
publication, for I realize that it must get into the papers and I desire
no unseemly publicity for the college. Also, I wish to caution you about
wildly spending that thousand dollars reward which, Mr. Pangborn informs
me, will soon come to you. I wish----"

"Oh, Miss Anklon!" Arden could not refrain from interrupting, though she
arose and bowed formally as she did so. "Didn't Mr. Pangborn tell you
what we are going to do with the money as soon as we get it?"

"No, he didn't."

"Wasn't that nice of him?" whispered Sim to Terry. "He knew we would get
a kick out of telling for ourselves."

"Why, Miss Anklon," went on Arden, "we have decided, we three, for Terry
and Sim will share the reward with me, we have decided to donate it to
the college."

"To the college?" The dean plainly was startled.

"Yes. To repair the swimming pool."

A momentous silence followed Arden's dramatic announcement, and then the
dean said, "Oh!" and "Ah!" and "Er!" She was plainly taken by surprise
and was as near to being flustered as the girls had ever seen her. But
she found her voice and usual poise in a moment and said, with as much
warmth as she was capable of:

"Why, young ladies, this certainly is most generous of you. I cannot
adequately thank you now. That will come later--more formally and
publicly. But are you sure you want to do this?"

"Oh, yes, Miss Anklon!" answered Sim and Terry together.

"We decided that long ago," added Arden.

"Well, it is indeed fine of you," Miss Anklon said, fussing with the
papers on her desk and not looking at the girls. "You have shown a very
laudable college spirit." The three freshmen smiled a little weakly and
shifted about. "I can be generous, also, young ladies!" the dean remarked
more firmly as she looked at them again. "I think your gift deserves some
immediate recognition. That is--suppose we forget all about your being
campused?" she asked, and smiled disarmingly.

"Oh!" murmured Arden and her chums. For they had felt hampered by the
campus rule even though they had not strictly kept it. Then Arden added:

"Thank you ever so much! We appreciate it ever so much!" And she told
herself: "Hang it, I meant to say 'greatly' in that second sentence." But
the dean smiled again, held up a restraining hand as Terry and Sim
evinced indications of opening up a barrage of thanks, and with a
dismissing gesture said:

"I suppose you will want to tell all your friends the good news. You may
go now, and--I hope you enjoy yourselves!"

"Really, she's human after all!" murmured Sim as the three hurried down
the hall to find anxious girls awaiting them.

Then such talk as buzzed in Cedar Ridge was never known before! Arden,
Terry, and Sim were overwhelmed with questions, and their room resembled
Times Square at a subway rush hour.

"This rates another pantry raid!" declared Toots Everett who, with other
sophomores, came in to congratulate the three.

That second pantry raid was much more successful than the first, which
had, however, ushered in the solution of the orchard secret and the
ending of the peril beneath the gnarled trees.

"Well, here's to our holidays!" exclaimed Arden at the midnight feast,
drinking from a glass of milk in one hand. The other held a piece of pie.

"Long may they wave!" chanted Sim.

"Pass me some chicken," mumbled Terry.

A week later, after many crowded hours, and perhaps it may be said after
as minimum an amount of study as was ever noted in Cedar Ridge, Arden and
her friends were waiting on the station platform at Morrisville for the
train that was to take them home for the Thanksgiving recess.

Jerry Cronin, the taxi-man who had first driven the three to the college,
was sauntering around waiting for a fare. He smiled at the girls, and
they nodded. They knew him better now, for they had frequently used his
car.

"I guess you're glad it's all over," he remarked, coming closer to where
they stood and taking off his cap.

"What?" asked Arden.

"That there orchard business. You know," he was almost whispering now, "I
couldn't tell you about it at first. I dassn't. But I warned you, didn't
I? Here's how it happened. Now that old Yaeger is gone I can tell. I
caught him up to some of his tricks once, making scares and all that. And
once I saw him drive that old black ram into the orchard at night. I
couldn't figure out why, but now I know. That there young gardener told
me. Yaeger was planning some credit for himself.

"Yep, I caught him at it, and when he saw I knew, he threatened that if I
told he'd see that I didn't get any more college taxi trade, so I had to
keep still. But now I'm glad I can tell."

"And we're glad it's over," said Terry.

The girls resumed their own talk as the taxi-man walked away.

"Wasn't it thrilling when Arden gave the dean the reward check!" Sim
exclaimed, her arm through Terry's.

"It certainly was! And wasn't Harry Pangborn nice when he posed for those
newspaper photographers?" Sim inquired.

"Swell!" laughed Arden. "And the party the girls gave us last night in
the gym--lovely! Everything has been just wonderful. I can hardly wait to
get home to tell Mother and Dad all about it. I could write so little in
my letters."

"Don't forget our dance Thanksgiving eve," Sim reminded her chums.

"As if we'd forget--when those nice boys are coming!" exclaimed Arden.
She turned to look at the college. The buildings were outlined by a
glorious red sunset. "I can understand, now, how one becomes attached to
one's Alma Mater. Cedar Ridge _is_ a dear old place," she concluded.

"And to think," murmured Sim, "I wanted to leave it!"

"Oh, well," said Terry, "I can understand. I'd have done the same thing
if I was as crazy as you are, Sim, about being an expert swimmer and
diver. You couldn't help it."

The girls lapsed into silence and looked at the gray stone buildings
standing so bravely in the gleam of the red sun. The chapel spire seemed
to pierce the blue sky and the white clouds now beginning to be tinted
with rainbow colors. Bordmust Hall seemed to peer shyly at the departing
girls from its distant hill. In the window of his official manse, Dr.
Bordmust, recovering from his injury, looked out of a window near which
he was propped up and smiled.

The girls waved friendly hands at him, and he waved in return.

"A jolly gentleman, after all," commented Terry.

"We must call on him when we come back," suggested Arden.

"I suppose we will be coming back," murmured Sim.

"Of course!" exclaimed Arden. "We're going to have a lot more adventures
at Cedar Ridge."

"But I doubt if any will be like the ones we've just finished," laughed
Terry.

That remains to be seen. And those who are curious to learn may do so in
the next book of this Arden Blake mystery series. It will be entitled
_The Mystery of Jockey Hollow_.

The girls walked on.

"Look!" Sim suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the swimming pool soon to be
repaired. Its windows were a glory of red and gold from the setting sun.
"It's doing its best to announce the fact that it will no longer be a
despised vegetable cellar. Oh, girls, I'm so happy!"

"So say we all of us!" chanted Arden.

The puffing train came at last and stood at the station, panting for
breath, it seemed, as if to get up courage to take away so many happy,
laughing, chattering, and joy-bubbling students. As it pulled out of the
station along a row of bare trees, the three freshmen of 513 had a
glimpse of the stone deer of the campus looking at them with startled
eyes.




      *      *      *      *      *      *




Transcriber's note:

--Silently corrected a few typographical errors (but left nonstandard
  spelling and dialect as is).

--Rearranged front matter to a more-logical order.



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