, she thought she heard the
creak of an opening door when she was halfway down the drive. Slightly
winded from her mad dash, she paused outside the gate, flushed and
triumphant. Whether the door had opened or not, she had at least
succeeded in doing what she had set out to do.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CONCLUSION.

Miss Susanna Hamilton was not the only one to receive an overwhelming
surprise that night. Opening the door of her room Marjorie found it
dark. With a sharp exclamation she groped for the wall button and
flashed on the light. Sheer amazement held her in leash for a moment.
The first thing upon which her gaze became fixed was a huge white banner
tacked above her couch bed. It bore in large red lettering the legend,
"Merry May-day to Marjorie Dean, Marvelous Manager." On the bed,
covering it completely, was an array of May baskets that made her gasp.
There they were, the very ones she had admired most when her friends
were making them.

A trifle dazed at her sudden good fortune, Marjorie stood in rapt
contemplation of her friends' tributes. Before she had time to go nearer
to examine them, sounds of stifled laughter informed her that she was
not alone.

"You may just come out of those dress closets, everyone of you," she
called, a tiny catch in her voice. "I know perfectly well that's where
you are."

Silence followed her command. Suddenly a louder burst of laughter
greeted her ears. From the closets on both sides of the room her chums
emerged, fairly tumbling over one another.

"If you will go out by yourself on secret basket-hangings you must
expect things to happen while you're gone," Jerry playfully upbraided.

"I never dreamed of any such lovely surprise." Marjorie looked almost
distressed. "And I was so mean to my little pals. I wouldn't tell 'em
who my violet May basket was for. You shouldn't have taken all this
trouble for me, dear children. I'm not worth one little bit of it."

"Go tell that to the second cousin of your grandmother's great aunt,"
was Leila's refreshing response. "We all have good taste. Don't belittle
it. Since you feel a wee bit conscience-stricken over the violet basket,
you may square yourself by telling us who it was for."

"I can guess," boasted Muriel. "It was for Miss Humphrey."

"No." Marjorie shook her head.

"Then I don't know; unless it was for Doctor Matthews," Muriel essayed
with an innocent air. "You have a speaking acquaintance with him, I
believe."

A s