uld betray
the troop's confidence, and make them wish that they had never
considered the undertaking.

A dull, dreary rain on Saturday morning seemed to presage failure for
the girls' plans at the very start. It was always dismal, Marjorie
thought, to go anywhere in the rain, but especially to a new town.
Frieda would receive a bad impression of the place from the beginning,
and, if she had any tendency toward homesickness, the inclemency of the
weather would only help to intensify it.

"I certainly am glad we planned this party, Lil," she observed, as the
girls were donning their Scout uniforms. "That will probably be the only
bright spot in the day for Frieda."

"You forget," said Lily reprovingly, "that Frieda is to be met by our
Captain!"

"That's right, Lil! She's lucky!"

She looked dreamily out of the window, not seeing the rain, but thinking
of the first time Miss Phillips had talked with her. From the very start
she had meant more to Marjorie than any of the sorority girls.

"And yet," she added wistfully, "Miss Phillips didn't seem able to make
much impression upon either Frieda or her mother before. Oh, I do hope
Ruth is mistaken!"

At half-past two, fourteen Girl Scouts, all in uniform, were concealed
on the first floor of Mrs. Johnson's house. Two of the girls were in the
cellar-way, three in the roomy kitchen, two under the dining-room table,
four behind chairs and the sofa in the living-room, one underneath the
sofa, and two in the dining-room closet. While they tried not to become
hilarious, for they expected their guests at any moment now, suppressed
whispers and giggles were heard from time to time from all parts of the
downstairs.

Mrs. Johnson, apparently the only person in the room, sat in a chair
beside the table, knitting a white sweater for Frieda. Marjorie,
sprawled at full length under the sofa, was making vain attempts to keep
up a conversation with Lily and Ethel, who were behind it.

Suddenly a step was heard on the porch, and instantly a hush fell upon
the room. The girls in the dining-room and kitchen became silent, too,
as Mrs. Johnson answered the bell. But the Scouts' hearts fell as they
distinguished the deep tones of a masculine voice.

"Michael Doyle, the plumber, told me to come here and look at the
kitchen sink," they heard. "I'm his helper. Didn't you send for someone,
Mrs. Johnson?"

"Why, to be sure!" replied their hostess genially, opening the door to
admit the m