to wriggle out of the iron grasp that held her--in
vain! Then Gertrude Merryweather spoke.

"Miss Varnham, Miss Floyd, Miss Johnson, Miss White, Miss--who is
this?--Miss Haight. Found out of bounds and out of hours, making a
disturbance in the rooms. To be reported to the Principal. Go to your
rooms, if you please!"

Was this the Snowy Owl, gentle and friendly, beloved of all? No! it was
the Junior President and the Monitor of Corridor A. She might have been
an avenging angel as she stood there, tall and white and severe.

Her face softened as she bent over Peggy. "You can let her go now!" she
said. "We are here, Peggy, Bertha and I. It is all right! Let her go,
child!"

Slowly and reluctantly Peggy loosed her hold, and Blanche,
half-fainting, dropped upon the bed. She looked with feeble venom at the
two rescuers.

"Spying, eh?" she whispered. "Very dignified, I'm sure, for a president.
That little sneak Viola Vincent was here too, mind! Put her down in your
precious report."

"I don't see Miss Vincent here!" said Gertrude, coldly. "Go to your
rooms, if you please! I think I understand the case thoroughly, Blanche,
thank you. Will you go, or shall we help you?"

But Blanche preferred to go unaided. Silent as they had come, they slunk
away, flitting like shadows along the corridor. And when they were gone,
the two Owls sat down on the bed and took Peggy between them, and
rocked, and petted, and soothed her; for lo! the Goddess of Battle was
crying like a three years' child.

CHAPTER XIV.

ON SPY HILL.

Things were quietly managed at Pentland School; there was never any
outcry, any open flurry of excitement and gossip. Many of the scholars
never knew why five girls left school in the middle of the term. The
seniors who did know shrugged their shoulders, and said it was a pity to
have such things take the girls' minds off their parts--looking at
everything from the point of view of Senior Dramatics. The juniors
looked pretty sober for a week, even the sophomore spirits were dashed
for the time. But nothing was said openly, and after awhile the scared
whisperings died away, and work and play went on as usual. Poor little
Viola Vincent mourned deeply the loss of her mate. She herself had
escaped with a severe reprimand, having gone to Miss Russell to plead
Vivia's cause, and confessing frankly her own share in the escapade.
Vivia was anything but an agreeable girl; but she and Viola had grown up
togethe