, trying to calm the troubled
scene. "Nobody knows exactly where Miss Pierson lives and she will be
out of sight before we can catch her."

The three girls ran lightly out of the basement of the fine old building
that was the pride of Oakdale. It was large and imposing, built of
smooth, gray stone, with four huge columns supporting the front portico.
A hundred yards away stood the companion building, the Boys' High
School, exactly like the first in every respect except that a wing had
been added for a gymnasium which the girls had the privilege of using on
certain days. A wide campus surrounded the two buildings, shaded by elm
and oak trees. Certainly no other town in the state could boast of twin
high schools as fine as these; and especially did the situation appeal
to the people of Oakdale, for the ten level acres surrounding the two
buildings gave ample space for the various athletic fields, and the
doings of the high schools formed the very life of the place.

But we must return to our three girls who were hurrying down the shady
street, followed in a more leisurely and dignified fashion by Miriam and
her friends. The shabby figure of the little stranger had just turned
the corner as the girls left the High School grounds.

"Come on," cried Grace breathlessly, leading the way. Having once made
up her mind, she always pursued her point with a fine obstinacy
regardless of opinion.

When they had come to the cross street they saw their quarry again, now
making her way slowly toward the street next the river. This was the
shabbiest street in Oakdale, though no one knew exactly why, since the
river bank might have been the chosen site for all the handsomest
buildings; but towns are as incorrigible as people, sometimes, and
insist on growing one way when they should grow another, without the
slightest regard for future appearances.

And so, when little Miss Pierson stopped in front of one of the smallest
and meanest cottages on River Street, the girls knew she must, indeed,
be very poor. The house, small and forlorn, presented a sad countenance
streaked with tear stains from a leaky gutter. An uneven pavement led to
the front door, which bore a painted sign: "Plain Sewing."

They paused irresolutely at the gate, and were taking counsel together
when Miriam Nesbit passed with her friends. She pointed at the door and
laughed.

"Really, that girl's conduct is contemptible!" exclaimed Grace, giving
the wooden gate a v