“Put it on! No, indeedy. I’m glad it’s on your side of the curtain,” declared Gloria, “for I do get strange fancies concerning the thing. The more I try to solve the mystery of the original owner, the further I get from it. Do you suppose there is some one here not really a pupil——”
“Maggie?” mocked Trixy.
“No. Of course not Maggie. But there are rather queer folks sauntering around. There’s the official mender, for instance. That one who wears a wig to hide her shaved head, according to Pat. Now, she might really own a trunk, and those home-made beads look rather like her. Just imagine me wearing a gift from her.”
Trixy laughed uproariously at the possibility, and she finally decided with Gloria, that the necklace had better be kept in seclusion.
“But I had an adventure this morning,” again promised Trixy.
“Tell me about it,” begged Gloria. “Was there a nice woozy old tramp in it or, mayhap, a plumed knight?”
“Neither. But let’s take our constitutional. These walls—might have ears,” cautioned Trixy.
“So secret as that! Goody!” Gloria executed a little skip over to the curtained closet, snatched her cap off a hook and clapped it on her head. “Every one seems late this morning,” she remarked. “We can have the birch lane all to ourselves. Hurry and give me the thrill. I’m famished for it.”
But as they tried to slip out, more than one hail from peekers in doorways demanded to know whence and why, and evading the rebound of Pat, who dashed into the “lav” and intended to dash out again, was not altogether a simple matter. In fact, the tower stairs were finally used as a means of escape.
“Hurry!” whispered Trixy. “The side door is open.”