e a cloud, lay over the
bed ready for its wearer.

The girls were hurrying, as the time was growing short. Elizabeth stood
ready to slip into the simple white frock which Joe Ratowsky had brought
from Bitumen a few days before. She took up her dress and then laid it
down again, and turned to the mirror pretending to put a stray lock in
place.

"Hurry, you'll have no time to waste, Elizabeth. You must get in early if
you wish a seat."

Just then a knock came at the door. Without waiting an invitation, Nancy
thrust her head in. She had not yet dressed; but was wearing a bright
kimono, her yellow hair streaming over her shoulders.

"Mary, hurry up to the chapel anteroom. Oh, don't wait to dress. There's a
change in the program and every one who is to take part must come at once.
Hurry! They are waiting for you."

Picking up the belt she had just discarded, and fastening it as she
walked, Mary hurriedly quitted the room. The anteroom was a small place
fitted up like a parlor, at the side of the stage and on a level with it.
A single pane of glass fixed solidly in the wall gave the occupants a view
of the stage, yet they could not be seen by the audience. It was here the
teacher of oratory sat during the performance. At times, it served as a
dressing-room.

The curtain was down. In order to save time and steps, Mary ran across the
stage, between the scenery. At her hurried knock a key was turned, and the
door of the anteroom opened wide enough to allow her to slip in.

"Hush!" the doorkeeper whispered, carefully locking the door after
admitting her.

Landis, Mame, Anna Cresswell and a dozen others were already there.

"Are we all here now?" whispered the doorkeeper. They began to count. The
light was so dim that they could barely distinguish faces.

"Fourteen," said Landis. "That is all."

"Be sure," admonished the keeper of the keys in sepulchral tones. "I would
not for worlds have one absent."

"That's all." "Fourteen." "We're all here." "Do tell us so that we can
hurry back to dress!" came from the members of the group.

At this, the girl with the keys drew her chair close to a second door
leading into a dark, unfinished attic. Over the door which was nailed shut
was a small transom. As she mounted the chair, Mary Wilson for the first
time recognized her as a Miss Bowman, a special student in music, neither
a Middler nor a Senior.

"Then," said Miss Bowman, lifting her hand with the key in it to the open