"But what could we do?" asked Phyllis doubtfully. "Ghosts aren't allowed ever since the Green Dorm scared that little kid, Molly Forest, into fits last winter. Besides, Muriel would be down on us like a ton of coal if we tried on anything of that sort. And I don't want to get into Muriel Paget's bad books if I can help it."
The conversation was taking place in the boot-lobby, a favourite haunt of the two chums since they had discovered that after supper they usually had it entirely to themselves. Dorothy was perched up on the top of one of the lockers, and Phyllis was just climbing up beside her, when a sudden click near by made them both jump down with a little scream.
"What was that? Did you hear it, Phil?"
"It came from underneath this shelf, I think," said Phyllis, stooping down to reconnoitre. Then she thrust her hand under the row of boot-lockers with a little laugh.
"It's a mouse, caught in Bennett's mousetrap. I was in here when he was clearing the boots away yesterday, and he told me he was going to set one, because he was sure there was a mouse in the lockers somewhere. Look, here it is! Isn't it a darling?" And she held up a wooden and wire cage, in which a small mouse was held captive.
Dorothy clasped her hands with a sudden inspiration.
"The very thing!" she exclaimed delightedly.
"What is?" inquired Phyllis, mystified.
"Why, that mouse! It will do to frighten Geraldine with, splendidly. We'll put it in her bed to-night, and she'll scream like anything when she finds it there. That'll show Monica that you weren't much out when you said she was a funk."
"I say! It would be rather a lark," said Phyllis, her eyes dancing with mischief. "It won't make Muriel ratty, though, will it?"