"You must take the first degree to-night," they were told. "The second will be several weeks later."

"Are we allowed to ask a question?" asked Betty respectfully.

"Oh, yes. But we may not answer it," was the cheering response.

"Why is the society called the 'Mysterious Four'?" asked Betty "All the freshman cla.s.s received notes, so the membership must be large; where does the four enter?"

"You'll learn that at the close of your first degree," said the spokesman with firm kindness. "Now you're to remain here for five minutes, and then go down to the study hall. Five minutes, remember."

They departed majestically, and the girls were left to spend their five minutes in discussion of the visit.

"I don't see why I have to belong," grumbled Libbie.

"It will do you good," said Bobby severely. "When I promised Aunt Elizabeth to look after you, I didn't know that meant I would have to risk my head by sleeping under 'Lady Gwendolyn' in two volumes--and fat ones at that"

Libbie had the grace to blush. Bobby, who was fond of books but whose taste ran to "Rules for Basketball" and "How to Gain Health Through Exercise," had put up a small shelf directly over her bed to hold her literary treasures. Libbie, exhausting the s.p.a.ce in her tiny corner bookcase had thoughtlessly placed the two heavy volumes of the story Bobby mentioned on top of her cousin's books with the awful result that the shelf broke in the night and spilled the books on the wrathful Bobby.

"Let's go down to the study hall," suggested peace-loving Louise. "The five minutes are up."

Down they trooped, to find a number of girls already there, for the most part looking rather frightened.

At five minute intervals other groups entered, until all the freshman cla.s.s was a.s.sembled.

"I don't care anything about this society," whispered Ada Nansen to Ruth Royal. "I wouldn't give fifty cents for an organization where no discrimination is shown in choosing the members. However, this is Mrs. Eustice's pet scheme, they tell me, and I want to stand well with her. Next year I'm going to get elected to the White Scroll, you see if I don't."

The Mysterious Four came in as the last group of girls were seated and slowly mounted the platform.

"Candidates," announced the leader, "you are summoned here to take your first degree. It is simple, but no shirking is to be permitted. You are to do the one thing that you do best. As your names are called, you will mount the platform and comply. Four minutes is allowed for decision--on the platform."

There was a gasp from the audience, and one could almost see the mental cog wheels of sixty girls going furiously to work.

"Betty," whispered the desperate Bobby, "what can you do best?"

"Ride, I guess," said Betty, recollections of Clover coming to mind.

There was a crashing chord from the piano. One of the veiled figures had seated herself at the instrument and now proceeded to play "appropriate selections" as the candidates performed their turns.

As the clever leader had foreseen, no one relished spending her allotted four minutes for reflection on the platform in full view of the audience, and the majority of the victims made up their minds with a rush.

After they had entered into the spirit of the thing, it was fun, and their shrieks of laughter aroused sympathetic smiles in other rooms. No teachers and no member of the other cla.s.ses were permitted to enter, but Aunt Nancy, the fat cook, and half a dozen young waitresses peeped in at the door and enjoyed the spectacle hugely.

Betty Gordon obligingly cantered across the platform on a chair and won applause by her realistic interpretation of western riding. Bobby convulsed the room with her imaginary efforts to cut and fit a dress, her mistakes being glaring ones, for Bobby never touched a needle if she could help it. Clever Constance Howard had gone for her ukulele and played it charmingly. Libbie insisted on giving the "balcony scene" from Romeo and Juliet, in which she was supported by the unwilling Frances, who was certainly the stiffest Romeo who ever walked the stage.

"Ada Nansen," called the leader, when the eight chums had made their individual contributions to the program.

CHAPTER XIV

A SAt.u.r.dAY RACE

Ada had been watching the others with a contempt she made little attempt to conceal. When her name was called she walked to the platform and faced the leader defiantly.

"What can you do best, Ada?" came the familiar question.

Ada smiled patronizingly.

"Spend money," she said briefly.

"Do that," said the young leader calmly.

"How can I spend money here?" demanded Ada angrily. "There's nothing to buy. I call that silly."

"Then you admit you can't spend money?"

"No such thing!" Ada stamped her foot, furious at such stupidity. "I say I can't spend it here where there is nothing to buy. You let me go to Edentown, and I'll show you whether I can spend money or not."

"The order of the first degree of the Mysterious Four is that the candidate must do what she can do best," repeated the veiled figure insistently. "What can you do best?"

"Sing," said Ada sullenly.

"Then do that."

And now the watching girls had what Bobby later admitted was "the surprise of their lives."

The girl at the piano fingered a chord tentatively, then struck into a popular song, an appealing little melody, the words a lyric set to music by a composer with a spark of genius.

"I picked a rose in my garden fair--" sang Ada.

She sang without affectation. Her voice was a charming contralto, evidently partially trained, and promising with coming years to be worth consideration.

"But it withered in a day--" went on the lovely voice.

The girls were absolutely mute. When she had finished the song, and she gave it all, they burst into a spontaneous storm of applause.

Ada barely acknowledged the hand-clapping. Her face had instantly slipped back into the old sullen lines.

"When she can sing like that, shouldn't you think she would be perfectly happy?" sighed Betty. "I'd give anything if I had a voice!"

As a matter of fact Betty had a clear little contralto of her own and she sang as naturally as a bird. But there was no denying that Ada's voice was exceptional.

After the last girl had had her turn the veiled leader mounted the platform and threw back her swathing net.

"She's the president of the senior cla.s.s, Mabel Waters," whispered a girl near Betty.

"I have the honor to welcome you all as members in good standing of the novice cla.s.s, first-degree, Mysterious For," announced Miss Waters.

"That's all there is to the name, girls--when we decided to form a new society here in school some one asked 'What's it for?' So our organization became the Mysterious F-O-R, and you'll find out as time goes on what the answer is. I might say, though, that happiness and good fellowship and a little spice of sisterliness are what we try to incorporate in the unwritten bylaws. And now I think Aunt Nancy has some cake and ice-cream for us."