at
the head of the table serving the soup which was passed along to the other
end by the girls themselves. In this case it was Miss Elting who was doing
the serving at the table at which the Meadow-Brook Girls were seated.

"This consomme certainly looks delicious," she said with a smile.

"From the smell I should say it must be," declared Jane McCarthy. "I know
I could die eating that soup."

"Be careful," warned a voice. "You may."

"I say girls, let's wait till Harriet samples it," suggested Hazel. "It is
her last chance at the soup. There's no telling what she might do to us."

"Yeth, that ith right," nodded Grace. "No poithon cup for uth."

"Taste it, darlin'," urged Jane.

Harriet with a good natured smile dipped her spoon in daintily, carrying
some of the steaming soup to her lips. She tasted the consomme gingerly,
then took another spoonful, and hurriedly put the spoon back in the dish.
A horrified expression appeared on the face of the Meadow-Brook girl.

"There! What did I tell you?" cried Margery.

"What is the trouble?" asked Miss Partridge.

"Oh-h-h!" gasped Harriet, making a desperate effort to control herself.

A girl on the other side of the table from Miss Burrell, sampled the soup,
then hastily dropped her spoon. Margery followed suit a moment later.

"How is it?" questioned Hazel.

"Please don't ask me," declared Margery gloomily.

Miss Elting made a wry face when she tasted the consomme, but said
nothing. Some went on eating, others laid down their spoons and leaned
back in their chairs. Tommy was the first to break the silence that had
settled over the table.

"There ith thomething the matter with thith thoup," she declared in a loud
voice.

"That's what I say," answered a voice.

"And I, and I, and I," cried other voices.

"Yes, I agree with you," answered Miss Partridge gravely. "Harriet what
did you put in the soup?"

"The usual ingredients."

Mrs. Livingston at this juncture sampled the soup. Her face darkened. She
swallowed a spoonful, then quickly laid the spoon on the soup plate.

Harriet had shrunk back into her chair. A deep flush rose to her face. To
cover her confusion she essayed to take some more soup, but the effort was
a failure. She simply could not eat the consomme.

"It tathteth to me like thoap," declared Tommy.

"I believe it is soap," spoke up Patricia Scott. "How perfectly
frightful!"

"I am afraid, Miss Burrell," said Mrs. Livingston, "that you ha