"Not with us," declared Dorothy confidently. "She'll never find out who's done it, even if she does think it didn't happen to be there by accident. She'll probably be awfully ratty with Geraldine, though. She despises people who are afraid of mice. Don't you remember how down she was on Dora Wainscott last term because she screamed when one ran across the dining-hall one day?"
"But won't it get out before Geraldine gets into bed?" said Phyllis, longing to carry out the trick, yet half afraid of incurring the wrath of her beloved Muriel. Phyllis was as "gone" on the head girl as Muriel would ever permit any of the girls at Wakehurst to be.
"It won't if we tuck the bedclothes in tightly," replied Dorothy. "Come along, Phil, and let's put it in now. We shall just have time before prayers if we buck up. You scoot ahead and see if the coast's clear while I come behind with the mouse. Remember, you left your handkerchief up in the dorm, and felt you were going to sneeze in Chapel, but couldn't find Sister to ask permission to fetch it, if we meet anyone."
The coast proved to be quite clear, however, and the handkerchief excuse was not needed, which was, perhaps, just as well. The two had used it some half-dozen times already this term, although barely a fortnight had gone by. Arrived in the Pink Dormitory, Dorothy produced a candle and a box of matches,—both were strictly forbidden in the dormitories on account of the risk of fire, but that was quite a minor detail with these two girls,—and having cautiously struck a light, the two proceeded to deposit the mouse in Geraldine Wilmott's bed.
It was not a very difficult proceeding. The mouse was quite a baby one, and far too scared to make any effort to escape when Dorothy shook it out of the trap and covered it up securely with the bedclothes. Phyllis had already tucked the sheets in tightly so as to cut off any possible avenue of escape. And then the two conspirators made haste to restore the trap to its place under the boot-lockers and take their places in Chapel, the bell for prayers having already sounded.
The plot succeeded beyond their wildest anticipations. The occupants of the Pink Dormitory were just about to get into bed that night, and Muriel, as dormitory monitress, was waiting to turn the lights out, when there came a piercing scream from Cubicle Thirteen. The next moment a slender night-gowned figure burst into the corridor, shaking in every limb. A dozen heads were thrust out from behind curtains to see what was the matter, and the head girl came hurrying down the dormitory to investigate the cause of the disturbance.
"Why, Geraldine! What is the matter? Who has been frightening Geraldine Wilmott like this?" demanded Muriel sternly, as she joined the group of girls clustering round Geraldine.
"Nobody's been frightening her. She just screamed, and we came out to see what was the matter," said Phyllis Tressider, with an air of innocence and anxious solicitude. Had Muriel been watching her closely she might have suspected that extreme innocence, but as it was she was too much taken up with Geraldine to heed it.
"What is the matter, Geraldine?" she asked again, putting her hand kindly on the trembling girl's shoulder. "What happened? What was it frightened you so?"
"It was a m—m—mouse! It was in my bed. It jumped out at me when I was getting in. It's in my cubicle now. Oh, catch it for me! Do catch it!" the girl wailed. "I do hate mice so!"