It was all over. Nora had been made a Girl Scout. To celebrate the enrollment Jerry and Ted gave a "large party" at the Nest, and of all her memorable social functions, this to Nora seemed most delightful.

Every one came, even Becky the patrol leader, and in their uniforms all freshly pressed out, the white summer blouse being allowed for the festive occasion, the party looked quite novel, and the girls had a wonderful time, dancing, playing games and inventing new fun provokers at every turn. Nora as the guest of honor was honored indeed, and accepted her compliments most gracefully.

"It was all a matter of opportunity," said Ted aside to Jerry, referring to Nora's change of heart. "She is just as good a Scout as any of them."

This was a proud boast.

"The woods are full of them," said Jerry the champion of all girls, Scouts and near Scouts. "Just give them the chance."

But up in her own room Nora was pondering. "It's just like getting married," she reflected. "That is, I guess it is," she amended wisely.

"One must clear up every secret and fix all the old troubles when one gets married, and one must clear up all the old worries and secrets when she joins the Scouts," concluded the systematic, little self-appointed conscience cleaner.

There was that matter of the prince. Never did Alma mention it nor never did Nora hear any of the other Scouts refer to it without feeling guilty.

"I just ought to tell Alma the whole truth," she was now deciding. It was the day after the great event.

But came the thought of Alma's certain surprise that she, Nora, her true friend and confidante, should have deceived her so long.

Pride did not melt into humility with the bestowing of the pretty Scout emblem, so Nora did not see her way clear to tell that silly story of her Lord Fauntleroy escapade. She was repeating her Scout promise "To do my duty to G.o.d and Country and to help others at all times," and she mentally made the promise again.

"To help others." That clause charged her. Was she helping Alma? Did she not know, really, that the one glimpse of the person in velvets had left kind and considerate little Alma guessing ever since, and also that it had put her in a ridiculous position with her companions?

"I know, I'll write her a letter." The inspiration satisfied, and thus started the most remarkable correspondence--but let others tell it.

"She got a letter!" exclaimed Wyn.

"What's wonderful about that?" asked Betta.

"It's from the prince, that's what," declared the first speaker.

"Prince!"

"The very same," chimed in Treble, stretching her long self from the bench to the boat swing.

"What nonsense!" scoffed Betta. "Alma may be romantic, but she is not crazy." (Lucia to the contrary.)

"Just ask her," suggested Wyn. "She's hugging that letter as tight as tu' pence. I always told you Alma was madly in love----"

"Hush!" Doro's warning suspended operations along that line. Alma was upon them.

"Letter?" asked Wyn, innocently.

"Yes, and if you like you may read it. It's from----"

"The prince?" blurted Treble, shooting her hand out.

"I'm corporal," said Thistle, pompously. "Let me have it, dear."

"Perhaps I should read it myself," said Alma, pettishly, thus prolonging the agony. "It is so--personal."

"Yes, do," begged Wyn, coiling and uncoiling in sheer expectancy.

"Here's a seat," offered Betta.

"The sun's there," warned Thistle amiably. "Take this seat, Alma," and she moved over so generously, the bench all but tipped end on end.

Every one waited. Alma took out her letter--it was in her crocheted bag and one could see how she treasured it.

What a thrill!

But Treble pinched Betta and almost spoiled the start.

"I received it this morning," said Alma, "and, of course, it didn't come through the mail."

"How?" asked Wyn.

"Jimmie!" replied Alma.

"Oh-o-o-o-oh!"

The shout was mortifying, Betta came to the rescue.

"Jimmie isn't your prince--Alma?" she asked sweetly.

"Jimmie!" Alma's tone was caustic. "As if that freckled face----"

"Here! Easy on the Jimbsy!" warned Treble. "He's a perfectly fine little Scout, and if ever this patrol extends to co-ed----!"

"Let Alma read her letter," ordered Thistle, the corporal.

"How'd you say you got it?" persisted Wyn.

"Jimmie brought it."

"Where did he get it?" again asked the irrepressible Wyn.

"He was pledged not to tell, but just see the stationery." The envelope was pa.s.sed around; all commented favorably.

"You see," began Alma, "this was written as a confession."

The older girl shouted again. Treble nudged Wyn almost off the bench.

"Don't mind them, Alma, I'm listening," said Betta sharply.

"Oh, we all are," chimed in Doro.

Alma folded her letter. "If you are--going to--tease----" she faltered.