"Stand up, Frieda," commanded Miss Phillips, pleasantly, and the girl shuffled to her feet, still keeping her eyes fixed on the piano.

"Mrs. Johnson, this is Frieda Hammer. Frieda, you are very lucky to have such a lovely home, and such a kind, adopted mother! Won't you shake hands?"

The girl thrust out her hand awkwardly, still avoiding the eyes of the older woman. "A bad sign"--thought Mrs. Johnson, unconsciously--"she never seems to look anyone in the eyes."

"I will take you to your room, my dear," she said. "Then you can come down again and have something to eat!"

This last remark was made with a side glance at Miss Phillips, and a twinkle in her eye. But for once the latter did not respond; she was so discouraged and mentally worn-out, that she had completely forgotten the surprise party.

"Don't want nuthing!" protested Frieda, rudely. And, seizing her bag, she followed Mrs. Johnson up the stairs.

As soon as she was out of sight, the girls began to move cautiously from their hiding places. But suddenly they all stood perfectly still, arrested by the unbelievable words they now heard, which Frieda literally shouted at kind Mrs. Johnson.

"You ain't a-going to put me in the attic!" Her bag fell to the floor with a bang. "I didn't come here to be no servant girl! I knew there was a trick to it!"

"But, my dear----" Mrs. Johnson's soft voice pleaded in words that were not distinguishable to the girls below.

By this time the Scouts were gathered about the piano. Frances sank on the sofa and buried her face in her hands, and Miss Phillips sighed deeply. Marjorie looked frightened, as if something dreadful were about to happen. Ruth alone was unaffected; she had been right from the first!

"Oh, Ruth!" cried Frances, forgetting all about the surprise party. "If we only had taken your advice!" Her voice died in a wail.

"Sh!" cautioned Marjorie. "Oh, girls, don't let's give up! Please! Let's try our song. Maybe that--and the ice-cream----"

But to her dismay, she received no word of encouragement from Miss Phillips. Their Captain seemed to have reached the lowest depths of despair.

Ethel, however, struck the chord, and the girls chimed in weakly. Then, the music, strengthening their hopes as it progressed, made them more cheerful. Loudly, they brought out the words of the chorus:

"Frieda dear, Frieda dear, we're so glad you're here!

Frieda dear, Frieda dear, your Scout friends are near----"

and they fairly shouted the name in hope of evoking some response.

But none came; in five minutes Mrs. Johnson reappeared with wet eyes.

She felt so sorry for the Scouts.

"It's no use, girls," she said, sadly; "she wouldn't come down. And when I stepped out into the hall to show her the big closet for her wraps, she locked the door in my face!"

Marjorie burst into tears and hid her face on her room-mate's shoulder.

She felt as if she had never been more disappointed, even when she failed to make the Scout troop.

"Don't cry, dear," said Mrs. Johnson, "she'll come around in time. Now let's have the party, anyway. Suppose you change it, and have it in honor of me instead! Day after to-morrow is my birthday!"

Marjorie looked up, smiling through her tears; and the girls all went out to prepare the refreshments. Miss Phillips flashed Mrs. Johnson a grateful look; the tact and good sense of the older woman had prevented the misfortune from becoming a tragedy.

CHAPTER VII

THE j.a.pANESE FeTE

When the disappointed girls left Mrs. Johnson's home at the conclusion of the surprise party, Marjorie probably looked most dejected of all.

She resolutely avoided Ruth's society, feeling that she could not bear her "I told you so" att.i.tude; instead, she sought Lily, who seemed to understand how she felt. The girls walked in silence; Lily knew her room-mate well enough now to realize that talking would not help, and she discreetly refrained from intruding upon her thoughts.

When they reached their own room, Marjorie threw herself upon the bed with a sob. Lily sat down beside her and put her arm around her neck.

"Marj, please don't take it so hard," she begged. "It won't do any good."

"Of course it won't," Marjorie replied, brokenly. "But I cared so much about her liking us."

"Well, she may, yet. Maybe she was frightened--and homesick. Why don't you go down to see her all by yourself?"

The suggestion brought Marjorie a ray of hope. She dried her eyes, and squeezed Lily's hand gratefully.

"I certainly will do that!" she exclaimed. "Thank you for suggesting it."

The following day, Sunday, was mild and beautiful; Marjorie was so glad to see that the rain was gone, and so hopeful about her new project, that she felt quite cheerful again. She selected one of her prettiest dresses--a pale pink voile--and also wore her pink silk sweater which matched it so perfectly.

"I won't bother with a hat," she thought. "It's so warm, and it will seem more informal without one."

It was only a few minutes' walk to Mrs. Johnson's house, and she reached it in no time. With trembling fingers, she rang the doorbell. The woman herself answered the summons.

"How do you do, Mrs. Johnson?" she said pleasantly. And then, just as if she were paying an ordinary call on one of her own friends, "Is Frieda in?"

Mrs. Johnson smiled. "Yes. Do come in, and sit down--Marjorie--isn't that your name? Let's talk a little first, and then I'll call her."

Marjorie sat down upon the edge of the sofa, and leaned forward eagerly.

She was curious for news of this strange girl, who so baffled everybody, even Miss Phillips and kind Mrs. Johnson.

"She isn't civilized, Marjorie," said the older woman. "That's exactly what it is; she has lived with people all of her life who have no conception of morals, or manners, or training, and she simply acts like a sort of mental savage."

"But there were the Brubakers--her father worked for Mr. Brubaker. Don't you suppose----?"

"No; I don't suppose she ever saw anything of them. She is used to wandering about just as she pleases. Whatever education she has acquired was probably beaten into her by some rough, country schoolmaster."

Marjorie sighed hopelessly.

Mrs. Johnson read her thoughts. "But it isn't hopeless, my dear," she added softly. "Frieda is a human being, with a soul. And she is young, too. If we can keep her here, away from her parents' bad influence, we may yet be able to civilize her. Don't give up yet!"

Marjorie was unconsciously encouraged by these words. But she wanted more definite details of the girl's behavior.

"I sent her supper to her last night," said Mrs. Johnson, "by Annie, the girl who comes in to help me cook and wash dishes. She said that Frieda opened the door and snarled at her something which she could not understand, except the word 'servant,' and s.n.a.t.c.hed the food and slammed the door in her face.

"She did not appear at breakfast, but I heard her go out for a walk; and when she came back, I was home from church and had dinner on the table. I asked her to come in, and she followed me to the dining-room.

"When I introduced her to father and mother, and Mr. Johnson, she paid not the slightest attention. Her manners at the table were terrible; she evidently knew nothing about the use of a knife and fork. She ate greedily, as if she were very hungry. And, by the way, I think the girl is decidedly undernourished.

"Immediately after dinner she went to her room again. Now, if you want to go up and see her, you can do as you like. You know the facts."