d to Ulyth.

The chums talked the matter over earnestly.

"Something's happening at the side gate at eight o'clock, and they've
got a password; that's clear," said Lizzie.

"Then I think it's our plain duty to go and investigate," returned
Ulyth. "If the worst comes to the worst we could report ourselves, and
tell Teddie why we went. She'd understand."

"I hope it won't need that," fluttered Lizzie nervously.

The girls were not allowed out of the house after preparation, so any
excursions into the garden were distinctly against the rules.

Feeling very culpable at thus breaking the law of the school, Ulyth and
Lizzie crept quietly from the cloak-room door soon after eight had
struck. It was not yet dark, but the sun had sunk behind the hills, and
the garden was in deep shadow. They passed the tennis-courts and the
rose parterre, and ran down the steps into the herbarium. Just at the
outskirts of the shrubbery a small figure was skulking among the bushes.
At the sound of footsteps it gave a low, peculiar whistle, then advanced
slightly from the shadow and stood at attention, as if in mute challenge
of the new-comers. Irene Scott, for it was she, was evidently on sentry
duty. No one with a knowledge of camp-life could mistake her attitude.

"We'll bluff it off," whispered Ulyth, and, taking Lizzie's arm, she
marched quietly past, murmuring: "John Barleycorn".

The effect of the password was electrical. Irene looked immensely
astonished. She had certainly not expected such knowledge on the part
of seniors.

"Are you in it too? Oh, goody!" she gasped; then very softly she called:
"All's well!" and, turning, dived back among the bushes.

Lizzie and Ulyth pushed on towards the side gate. It was open, and
inside, under the shelter of a big laurel, stood a woman with a basket.
She was a gipsy-looking person, with long ear-rings, and she wore a
red-and-yellow handkerchief tied round her neck. As the girls approached
she uncovered her basket with a knowing smile.

"I've brought plenty to-night, Missies," she said ingratiatingly.
"Cheesecakes and vanilla sandwiches and coco-nut drops and cream wafers.
What'll you please to have?"

"Are you selling them?" asked Ulyth in much amazement.

The woman glanced at her keenly.

"I've not seen you two before," she remarked. "Yes, dearie, I'm selling
them. They're wholesome cakes, and won't do you any harm. Try these
cream wafers."

"No, thanks! We don't want anything," st