ined the locker. But a close search of her room that noon
revealed no trace of the missing pin. Hot tears gathered in her eyes,
but she brushed them away, muttering: "I won't cry. It isn't lost. It
can't be. Oh, my pretty talisman!" She choked back a sob. "I sha'n't
tell mother unless it is really hopeless. It won't do any good and
she'll feel sorry because I do. It's my own fault. I should have seen
that my butterfly was securely fastened."

On the way home from the school that afternoon Marjorie reported the
loss of her pin to Irma, Jerry and Constance, who had returned for the
afternoon session.

"What a shame!" sympathized Jerry. "It was such a beauty."

"I'm so sorry you lost it," condoled Irma.

"So am I," echoed Constance. "I don't remember it. I'm not very
observing about jewelry, but I'm dreadfully sorry just the same."

"It was----" began Marjorie, but a joyful whistle far up the street and
the faint ring of running feet put a sudden end to her description.
Lawrence Armitage, Hal Macy and the Crane had espied the girls from
afar and come with winged feet to join them. Their evident pleasure in
the girls' society, coupled with the indescribably funny antics of the
Crane, who had apparently appointed himself an amusement committee of
one, drove away Marjorie's distress over her loss for the time being,
and it was not until later that she remembered that she had not
described the butterfly pin to Constance.

CHAPTER XVIII

PLAYING SANTA CLAUS TO CHARLIE

The next morning Marjorie wrote a description of her pin. It was placed
at the end of the basement corridor above a small bulletin board, where
those who passed might read. She wondered if the loss of her talisman
would bring her bad luck. Before the day was over she gloomily decided
that it had, for during the last hour Miss Merton accused her of
whispering to the girl across the aisle, when she merely leaned forward
in her seat to pick up her handkerchief. Smarting with the teacher's
injustice, Marjorie politely but steadily contradicted the accusation,
and two minutes later found herself on the way to Miss Archer's office,
Miss Merton walking grimly beside her.

Miss Archer had been through a particularly trying day, and was
irritable, while Miss Merton was consumed with spiteful rage at
Marjorie's "impertinence," and did not hesitate to put her side of the
story forward in a most unpleasant fashion. The principal turned coldly
to Marjory wi