ecretary.

"You can keep the accounts, and read aloud the minutes of the meetings,
and all those sorts of business things better than anybody," declared
Hetty.

"If I don't happen to forget which country I'm in, and add things up as
cents and dollars, instead of pence and shillings!" laughed Gipsy.

"We'll soon pull you up if you do, never fear!"

Now that her crusade was successfully accomplished, Gipsy settled down
to enjoy life at Briarcroft as well as the limited circumstances
permitted. She had already made several warm friends among both the
boarders and the day girls. Meg Gordon in particular was inclined to
accord her that species of hero worship often indulged in by
schoolgirls. She brought offerings of late roses or autumn violets from
home, and followed her idol about the school like a love-sick swain. She
would sit gazing at Gipsy during classes in deepest admiration, and was
ready to accept her every idea as gospel. Meg was rather a curious,
abrupt girl in many ways, and though she had been a year at Briarcroft,
had hitherto kept very much to herself. Her sudden and violent devotion
to the newcomer caused no little amusement in the Form. She was promptly
nicknamed "Gipsy's disciple", and subjected to a certain amount of
teasing on the score of her attachment.

"You agree with every single thing Gipsy says," laughed Norah Bell. "I
believe if she declared the trees were pink and the houses green, you'd
uphold her!"

"Do you wear her portrait over your heart?" enquired Daisy Scatcherd
facetiously.

"It was a very bad snapshot you got of her," remarked Ethel Newton.

"It certainly didn't do her justice," returned Meg, taking the matter
quite seriously. "I'm going to have a new camera for my birthday, then
I'll try again. But no snapshot could make Gipsy look as sweet as she
really does."

"Not to your love-lorn eyes!" giggled the girls.

"Meg's a perfect joke at present," said Ethel Newton to Daisy Scatcherd.
"She copies Gipsy slavishly, even to doing her hair the same, and those
two big bows of ribbon don't suit her in the least, however nice they
look on Gipsy."

"And yet she's rather like Gipsy, just like enough to be a kind of pale
copy--an understudy, in fact."

"You've hit it! Understudy's the very word. She's absolutely forming
herself on Gipsy."

Curiously enough, Meg Gordon really bore rather a marked physical
resemblance to the object of her worship. She was slim, and dark, and
about