“I couldn’t explain things to the others,” she began. “I wish only you three to know the rest. It was Mignon who put the servant idea in my head. When you and she called on my god-mother that day, Marjorie, I was amused to find that she thought me a maid. I was merely helping God-mother straighten the house while Hulda was away. It came to me in a flash that it would be fun to pretend poverty and see what happened. So I made God-mother promise to keep quiet about the real me. I’m glad now that I did. It has shown me how splendid girls can be. I love the Lookouts, every one, but I know Jerry and Connie won’t feel hurt if I say I love Marjorie best of all.
“Before I came here, I went to a select boarding school near New York City. I didn’t care much for it and when God-mother visited us last summer she urged me to try a year of high school for a change. That’s how I happened to come here. Only one person in Sanford found me out, your friend Laurie Armitage. It happened that he had seen me do that Dance of the Night at an open air performance which we gave for charity at the boarding school. The moment he saw me in that black robe he recognized me. I made him promise to keep my secret. As for my dancing, I’ve always loved to dance. My mother, who died years ago, was a professional dancer. My father is Alfred Lynne, who owns so many fruit ranches in California. Now have I explained myself satisfactorily?”
“You have.” Jerry drew a long breath. “I must say you kept your secret well. I’ll tell you frankly, I tried my hardest to find out who you really were. I never believed you were what you pretended to be. I can’t get over it.”
“Nor I,” echoed Marjorie. To herself she was thinking that she now knew who had sent Lucy Warner the ten dollars. Irrelevantly she added: “You’ve done a great deal for Lucy Warner, Ronny, and for Sanford High School. I didn’t deserve the honor of having the scholarship named for me. I hardly know how to thank you for such a wonderful thing.”
“I offered the scholarship especially for Lucy,” admitted Veronica. “I have always felt sorry for her. I knew she wanted to go to college, and I thought she would win it. She is a very stubborn but very brilliant girl. As for you, Marjorie, you deserve the best that life can give you. It’s eminently fitting that your name should be perpetuated in Sanford High School. Isn’t it, girls?”
Veronica’s question elicited an affectionate response from Jerry and Constance that caused Marjorie’s hand to cover her ears in playful protest against such lavish appreciation of herself.
“You are hopeless, all of you,” she declared, a slight tremble in her clear tones. “You forget that I’m just plain Lieutenant Dean with a long hike ahead of me through the Country of College. As a freshman at Hamilton I’ll be a very insignificant person. Whatever I’ve been or tried to be in Sanford won’t count there. But your faith in me will count for a great deal. Trying to live up to it will keep me out of mischief. Then I can’t help but be a good soldier.”
THE END
The Girl Chum’s Series