Marjorie looked dismayed; this was just what the joker, whoever she was, wanted. She sighed wearily; then a sudden idea came to her.
“Go ahead, Alice,” she whispered, “we’ll make her life pretty hot for her once we get her on the ranch. We’ll make her change her attitude, and wish that she had never seen the members of Pansy troop! One poor old lady hasn’t much chance with eight scouts!”
Alice’s face brightened at the suggestion, and she hastened to do as Marjorie wished.
“And now, Doris, will you get the flag out of my trunk, and we’ll salute it with our new officer. But you must take your hat off, Miss Proctor.”
Marjorie had been standing beside the stranger’s chair, and with a sudden movement, she reached over for her hat, and, as if by accident, pulled off her wig. The short, black hair of a young man was visible underneath.
“Now, Walter Brooks!” she cried, triumphantly, “suppose you ’fess up!”
The boy, who had encountered difficulty all along in controlling his laughter, now let himself go, and burst into hysterical mirth. The girls, too, dropped into chairs, holding their sides, and wiping the tears from their eyes.
“I was trying so desperately to get away,” he said, “before Miss Wilkinson was sure of her suspicion. But she was too quick for me!”
“What ever made you guess, Marj?” asked Alice. “I was too mad to think of anything like that.”
“I guessed,” replied Marjorie, slowly, “because Lily and I knew there was no real Miss Proctor, so somebody must be playing a joke on us.”