The handwriting was a trifle cruder than that of most girls of her own age, but she hardly noticed that. Feverishly, she tore open the envelope, and read,

"DEAR MARJORIE,

"I was very glad to receive your letter so soon, hardly hoping anyone would want to correspond right now. I guess when you hear that I am a mill girl you will not want to correspond. I have worked in Trenton going on four months now and I like it very much.

I go to night school and there I met my girl friend and we started the Scouts here. I am only a tenderfoot now, hoping to be a second-cla.s.s Scout before summer. Our troop never went camping yet.

We are too poor.

"Hoping that you will still want to write to me even though I do work, I am yours truly,

"JENNIE PERKINS."

"But she doesn't say whether she ever lived in New York, or where she comes from!" cried Marjorie, in despair. "I'm just as much in the dark as ever!

"I'll just have to get it out of her, bit by bit. And maybe, even if she isn't Frieda Hammer, Pansy troop could help her a whole lot."

So Marjorie decided to write to her again immediately, telling her more about the troop, their hikes, and their good times. She posted the letter Sat.u.r.day morning. She knew, of course, that she and Ruth were taking the Sunday train to Miss Allen's.

As they entered the main hall, Ruth remarked that they might as well stop in the post-office.

"We probably won't get anything," she said; "but somebody might have written here."

Marjorie's heart bounded with sudden joy when she beheld a letter in her own mail-box. It was registered, too; evidently the post-mistress had signed for it. Seizing it hastily, she looked expectantly at the postmark. Her hopes fell; it was stamped "New York." She was disappointed at this fact, but nevertheless she opened the letter eagerly; for school girls do not receive registered letters every day.

The first thing that caught her eye was a well-known greenback.

"Money!" she cried. "Look, Ruth--twenty--thirty--thirty-five dollars!"

"Who from?" asked Ruth, with surprise.

Marjorie turned the paper over in which the bills were enclosed, and discovered some writing, which she proceeded to read aloud, while Ruth listened with increasing amazement:

"From Frieda Hammer for canoe and carfare belonging to M. Wilkinson and Pansy troop Girl Scouts."

"And postmarked New York!" repeated Marjorie, not knowing whether to be glad or sorry at its receipt. For she rejoiced that Frieda had paid back the Scouts' money, but all her hopes of her unknown correspondent being Frieda were dashed to the ground. For, undoubtedly, she concluded, the girl was still in New York!

CHAPTER XXII

THE PIONEER BADGE

"I do not believe our benefactor, whoever he is, picked out the hardest test in Scouting," remarked Ruth, as Captain Phillips finished explaining the requirements.

"I agree with you, Ruth," a.s.sented Miss Phillips. "But we shall have a hike every Sat.u.r.day night during April to study and practice the different requirements. The final hike, to learn how to build a lean-to, will be to the Boy Scouts' cabin; for they are going to teach us.

"Now," she concluded, "there is one thing more I want to talk about--and that is the money we have in the treasury. Counting what Frieda Hammer just returned to Marjorie, there is about three hundred dollars--a little more, perhaps. That is a lot of money for a troop like ours. And since we earned it to use for our 'Good Turn,' I don't think it would be right for us to spend it upon ourselves. But what do you all think?"

"I agree with you perfectly, Captain," said Edith Evans. "Just because one plan failed, that is no reason why the troop should stop all of its good work. I suggest that a committee be appointed to visit the local charity organization, and find out where a.s.sistance is most needed."

But before anyone else could speak, Marjorie jumped to her feet.

"Captain, are we sure that we have failed with Frieda? Doesn't the very fact that she returned the things she took, of her own free will, show that wherever she is, she is progressing? You all know that the Frieda Hammer we knew at camp would not have considered it wrong to steal, or would even have thought of returning the goods! So it's just possible, don't you think, that she may turn up? Couldn't we wait just a little bit longer?"

Lily and Doris, who both knew how close the project was to Marjorie's heart, spoke in favor of waiting until the first of June.

"That will still leave us time to spend the money before the seniors, who helped to earn it as much as any of us, leave," put in Ethel, who usually took sides with Marjorie in a discussion.

Ruth said nothing; she knew it would be of no avail. For by this time she was beginning to realize Marjorie's popularity, and considered it more discreet not to oppose her openly.

Accordingly, Marjorie got her way. She had two months left in which to trace Frieda, and, if she found her, to offer her a new chance. The whole affair had grown to be an obsession with her; it seemed as if she desired it more than anything else in the world.

It was still very cold when the first Sat.u.r.day in April arrived; but Miss Phillips told the girls to be prepared to hike, no matter what the weather might be. Early in the afternoon they started off, well fortified against the cold.

"We are going to the cabin to-day," announced the Captain, as they walked along in a group. "Mr. Remington and two of the boys will be there to give us a lesson in the use of an axe."

"Which two boys?" asked Doris innocently, betraying the fact that she was more interested in the boys than in learning woodcraft.

Everybody laughed.

"I won't tell you!" replied Miss Phillips, ever mysterious; and each girl secretly hoped it was the boy she liked best.

"It certainly is cold for April," remarked Ethel.

"Yes; it's an east wind, too," observed Miss Phillips. "And in this part of the country, that means rain."

"How do you know it's an east wind, Captain?" asked Marjorie.

"Well, I happen to know that we are walking towards the north, and since I can feel it blowing against me on the right side, I naturally know it to be an east wind," explained the Captain. "If I didn't know which direction is north, I couldn't tell an east wind from a west wind. But I can tell you how to determine which quarter the wind is from when it is not blowing strong enough to feel it against you. There are several simple ways: one is to watch the way smoke travels; another is to note the movement of the treetops. But sometimes you have neither smoke nor trees at hand; then the best method is to put your forefinger in your mouth and moisten it, and hold it up in the air: the side which feels coolest is the side the wind is blowing on. I've never known that way to fail, in my own experience, even when there did not seem to be a breath of air stirring."

All the girls who heard this description, immediately stuck their fingers into their mouths and then held them in the air, to try it.

"Mine feels the same temperature all the way around," observed Ruth.

"Oh, that is because there is too much wind to-day," replied Miss Phillips. "You can really tell better by that method when the wind is just perceptible, than when it is strong."

They reached the trolley line, upon which they rode for several miles, and then hiked the remaining distance. It was not yet three o'clock when they arrived at the cabin.

"Hurray for the Girl Scouts!" shouted a familiar voice, and d.i.c.k Roberts and Marjorie's brother Jack flung open the wooden door. Mr.

Remington, behind them, echoed a more dignified welcome.

"Did you bring the axe?" asked Marjorie.

The Scoutmaster pointed to a leather sheath, fastened to his belt.

"Here's my _Plumb_," he said; "it's the official Boy Scout axe. I always carry it when we go into the woods."