There were a few masqueraders, however, whose fictitious identity was shrouded in mystery. No one could fathom the significance of a certain tall figure, dressed in rags, who stopped short in her tracks at frequent intervals, and, producing a needle and thread, sewed industriously at her tattered garments. A black-robed sister of charity, accompanied by a strange figure who wore a shapeless garment painted in dull gray squares to represent stone, and wearing a narrow leather belt about its waist from which was suspended on either side two small andirons, were also sources of speculative curiosity. So was a young woman in white with a towering headdress composed of a combination of the Stars and Stripes and the flag of France. And no one had the remotest idea concerning the eight white figures who marched four abreast and would not condescend to break ranks even to dance.
"Sherlock Holmes" was there with his violin tucked under one arm and a volume of his memoirs under the other. He evinced a strong preference for the society of "Joan of Arc," while "Sarah Crewe," "Little Lord Fauntleroy," and "Rebecca of Sunnybrook" traveled about together, a seemingly contented trio. "The Three Musketeers" were gorgeous to behold in their square-cut costumes, high boots and wide feathered hats, but the sensation of the evening was "Peter Rabbit," who came to the dance attired in his little blue, brass-buttoned jacket, brown khaki pantaloons and what seemed to be the identical shoes he lost in Mr. McGregor's garden. His mask was a cunning rabbit's head that was drawn down and fastened at the neck by a funny soft tie. Who "Peter Rabbit" was and where he had managed to lay hands on his costume was a matter for discussion that night.
The suspense of not knowing who was who ended with the unmasking after the eighth dance, and amid exclamations and little shrieks of laughter the masqueraders stood face to face.
"Elfreda Briggs! I might have known you would," laughed Arline Thayer, shaking hands with "Sherlock Holmes," while Miriam Nesbit thankfully lifted "Joan of Arc's" helmet and took off her mask.
"You're a perfectly darling 'Fauntleroy,'" admired Elfreda. "I suppose Ruth was 'Sara Crewe.'"
"Yes," returned Arline Thayer. "Here come those eight white figures!" she exclaimed. "Why, it is Miss Barlowe and her crowd. I don't know yet what they were representing."
"The 'White Company,' of course," declared Elfreda. "There would be no satisfaction in being 'Sherlock Holmes' if I couldn't solve all these puzzles."
"Then live up to your reputation and tell me what famous work of fiction this approaching rag-bag represents," laughed Miriam.
"My powers of deduction were strong enough to pierce the identity of that bundle of rags," grinned Elfreda. "I knew Emma Dean by her walk, but I don't know what she represents. Who and what are you, Emma?" she hailed.
"'Never too Late to Mend,'" chanted Emma, flourishing a large darning needle and attacking her rags anew. A shout arose from the little circle of girls who had formed about her. "There is another still harder to guess than mine. Over there," pointed Emma. "Look, girls!"