his costume was a matter
for discussion that night.

The suspense of not knowing who was who ended with the unmasking after
the eighth dance, and amid exclamations and little shrieks of laughter
the masqueraders stood face to face.

"Elfreda Briggs! I might have known you would," laughed Arline Thayer,
shaking hands with "Sherlock Holmes," while Miriam Nesbit thankfully
lifted "Joan of Arc's" helmet and took off her mask.

"You're a perfectly darling 'Fauntleroy,'" admired Elfreda. "I suppose
Ruth was 'Sara Crewe.'"

"Yes," returned Arline Thayer. "Here come those eight white figures!"
she exclaimed. "Why, it is Miss Barlowe and her crowd. I don't know yet
what they were representing."

"The 'White Company,' of course," declared Elfreda. "There would be no
satisfaction in being 'Sherlock Holmes' if I couldn't solve all these
puzzles."

"Then live up to your reputation and tell me what famous work of fiction
this approaching rag-bag represents," laughed Miriam.

"My powers of deduction were strong enough to pierce the identity of
that bundle of rags," grinned Elfreda. "I knew Emma Dean by her walk,
but I don't know what she represents. Who and what are you, Emma?" she
hailed.

"'Never too Late to Mend,'" chanted Emma, flourishing a large darning
needle and attacking her rags anew. A shout arose from the little circle
of girls who had formed about her. "There is another still harder to
guess than mine. Over there," pointed Emma. "Look, girls!"

"What is it?" chorused half a dozen voices. "Well, I never! If it isn't
Grace and Patience!"

There was a concerted rush toward the two girls. "What in the name of
common sense is this illustrious combination?" asked Emma. "Why didn't
you choose something a little harder."

"We are easy enough to guess," returned Patience loftily. "That is, if
you are familiar with standard fiction."

"I'm not. I never was," declared Emma. "Tell us instanter!"

"Allow me to introduce you to the 'Cloister.'" Patience bowed low. "And
the 'Hearth.'" Grace saluted the company with a loud jingling of her
andirons.

"Oh," groaned Elfreda. "No wonder my powers of deduction failed. Who
could guess that Grace was representing a hearth? She looks more like a
section of a garden wall or the stone foundation for a new house,
or----"

"If my costume looks as stony as that, then I do look like a hearth, and
either your eyesight or your imagination is defective," declared Grace
in triumph.