do you really feel so bad about it, Aggie?"

"I--I---- Why, my heart will be just _broken_ if I can't act in _The
Carnation Countess_," sobbed the Corner House girl.

"Oh, cricky! Don't turn on the sprinkler again, Aggie," begged Neale, in
a panic.

"I--I just can't help it! To think of there being a play acted in this
town, and I might be in it!" wailed Agnes. "And now it's just out of my
reach! It's too mean for anything, that's what it is!"

She threatened to burst into another flood, and Neale tried to head the
tears off by saying:

"Don't cry again, Aggie. Oh, don't! If you won't cry I'll try to find
some way of getting you out of the scrape."

"You--you can't, Neale O'Neil!"

"We--ell, I can try."

"And I wouldn't want to get out of it myself unless the other girls
escaped punishment, too."

"You're a good little sport, Aggie. I always said so," Neale declared,
admiringly. "Say, that reminds me!" he added, suddenly. "Were all the
girls up before Mr. Marks?"

"All who went over to Fleeting that day, do you mean?"

"Yes. All that were in that car that broke down."

"Why--yes--I think so."

"Huh!" grunted Neale, thoughtfully.

"All but one anyway."

"Hullo! Who was that?"

"The girl who wasn't in Mr. Marks' office?"

"Yes. Who was missing of that bunch of berry raiders?" and Neale
grinned.

"Why--Trix," said Agnes, slowly.

"Ah-ha! I smell a mouse!"

"What do you mean by that, Neale O'Neil?" cried the girl.

"Nothing significant in the fact that our festive Beatrice was not
there?"

"No. Why should there be?" demanded Agnes.

"And who do you suppose furnished Mr. Marks with his information and the
list of you girls' names?"

"Oh, the farmer!"

"Old Buckham?" cried Neale, startled.

"Yes," said Agnes. "Mr. Marks said so."

Neale looked both surprised and doubtful. "Then why didn't Buckham give
in Trix's name, too?"

"Oh, I don't know, Neale. No use in blaming her just because she was
lucky enough to escape."

"Oh, that's all right. I'll go to my Lady Beatrice, get down on my
shin-bones, and beg her pardon, if I wrongfully suspect her," laughed
Neale. "But, I say, Aggie! did Mr. Buckham come to see Mr. Marks about
it? Did he say?"

"No. I think Mr. Marks said the farmer wrote."

"_Wrote?_" cried the boy. "Why, I don't believe Bob Buckham _can_ write.
He's a smart enough old fellow, but he never had any schooling. He told
me so. He's not a bad sort, either. He must have been a