And Catherine chimed in with: “Oh, wouldn’t it be great if we could make a player out of Muriel? We haven’t anyone on our side as light on her feet or as quick as Marianne Carnot. Just because of that I’ve actually been afraid that we might lose out on the great day.” Then, to the wide-eyed listener, Faith explained: “On Thanksgiving every year we have a tennis tournament. Marianne and her friends are the opponents of Gladys and her chums. Of course, naturally we are eager to win. Now, Muriel, if you are willing, we will train you. Not that we expect you really to bring victory to our side; that would be asking too much, since Marianne Carnot was the champion tennis player in the English boarding school that she attended before she came to America. She has three medals to prove her frequently made boast, and, moreover, we have seen her play.” Then, as the surveillant of the dining hall gave the signal, the pupils rose and left.
In the lower corridor, near the office of the principal, Faith paused. “Wait a minute,” she said softly. “I am going to ask Miss Gordon if we may take our lunch. I do not have to return to the school until three o’clock, just in time for my violin lesson.”
The permission was readily granted and then the four girls went to their rooms to dress for the hike.
Muriel was happier than she had supposed she would be ever again, and she actually smiled at her reflection as she donned her sport skirt, sweater and tam.
When she was dressed, Muriel stood gazing idly from her window.
CHAPTER XXVI.
MURIEL RECEIVES A LETTER.
When Muriel Storm returned from the hike to the woodlands and found upon her desk a letter from Gene Beavers she did indeed rejoice, and without stopping to remove her hiking apparel, she curled up on her window seat to read the missive, which, as usual, was couched in the simplest words.
The two weeks of tutoring which Muriel had received from Faith had helped her to read with far greater ease. The lad told of his long illness which had resulted from the cold, stormy weather, the rough voyage and the damp, foggy climate of London.
He had seen nothing of the city since his arrival, but even though they were living in one of the fashionable outlying districts, he could hear the distant roar of the traffic, and now he yearned to be back on Windy Island, where only were to be heard the sounds of nature.
When Gene wrote that letter he knew nothing of the tragedy of the lighthouse, for although Faith had mentioned it in a letter to Helen, his sister had thought best not to sadden him with news that might be a shock to him, for she well knew how greatly he admired the old man who had been keeper of the light.