time."

"They've all been warned," declared Seldon Ames. "Good-bye, then, until
to-night." The two boys raised their caps and swung down the street,
while Mary and Ethel stopped for one more look at the precious pin that
in later days was to mean far more to their schoolmate, Marjorie Dean,
than they had ever dreamed.

CHAPTER II

GOOD-BYE, MARJORIE DEAN

"Whatever you do, don't laugh, or speak above a whisper, or fall up the
steps, or do anything else that will give us away before we're ready,"
lectured Clark Grayson to the little crowd of happy-faced boys and girls
who were gathered round him on the corner above Marjorie Dean's home.
"We'd better advance by fives. Seldon, you go with the first lot. When I
give the signal, this way," Clark puckered his lips and emitted a soft
whistle, "ring the bell."

"Right-o," softly retorted three or four boyish voices.

Clark rapidly divided his little squad of thirty into fives, and moved
toward the house with the first division. Two minutes later the next
five conspirators began to move, and in an incredibly short space of
time the surprise party was overflowing the Dean veranda and front
steps. The boy who had been appointed bell ringer pressed his finger
firmly against the electric bell. There came the sound of a quick
footstep, then Marjorie herself opened the door, to be greeted with a
merry shout of "Surprise! Surprise!"

"Why--what--who!" she gasped.

"Just exactly," agreed Clark Grayson. "'Why--what--who'--and enough
others to make thirty. Of course, if you don't want us----"

"Stop teasing me, Clark, until I get over my surprise, at least," begged
Marjorie. "No, I never suspected a single thing," she said, in answer to
Ethel Duval's question. "Here are mother and father. They know more
about all this than they'll say. They made me believe they were going to
a party."

"And so we are," declared her father, as he and Mrs. Dean came forward
to welcome their young guests, with the cordiality and graciousness for
which they were noted among Marjorie's friends.

"Come this way, girls," invited Marjorie's mother, who, in an evening
frock of white silk, looked almost as young as the bevy of pretty girls
that followed her. "Mr. Dean will look after you, boys."

Once she had helped her mother usher the girls into the upstairs
sleeping room set aside for their use, Marjorie lost no time in slipping
over to the dressing table where Mary stood, patting her flu