drop myself. Now, what ever are we going to do?” Vi dropped down in a pathetic little heap on a convenient rock, looking up at her chums wistfully.

   Violet Farrington was always a little wistful when in trouble, like a small girl who can never understand why she is being punished. But just now this wistfulness irritated Billie Bradley, who was very much given to quick action herself, and she turned upon Vi rather snappily.

   “Well, you needn’t just sit there like a ninny,” she cried. “Get up and help us think what we can do to get out of this mess.”

   “Mess is right,” said Laura Jordon gloomily.

   And it must be admitted that the girls were in rather a trying situation. Their botany teacher at Three Towers Hall, where they were students, had sent them into the woods to gather some rare ferns which they were to use in the botany class the next day.

   That was all very well; for if there was anything the girls loved it was a trip into the woods. They had started off in hilarious spirits; and then—the impossible thing had happened.

   They had gathered the ferns, turned to go back

   to Three Towers, and found, to their absolute dismay, that they did not know which way to go. There was no getting over the fact. They were absolutely and completely lost!

   For almost an hour now they had been wandering around and around, getting deeper into the woods every minute, until they had finally begun to feel really frightened. Suppose they couldn’t find Three Towers before dusk? Suppose they should be forced to stay in the woods all night? These and a hundred other thoughts had chased themselves through their heads, but they had said nothing of their fears to each other. The girls were thoroughly “game.”

   But now had come this new complication. It had begun to rain. Hopelessly lost in the woods and a storm coming on! It was a situation to try the patience of a saint. And the girls were not saints. They were just happy, fun-loving, lovable specimens of young American girlhood who could upon occasion show rather alarming flashes of temper.

   “I’m not a ninny,” Vi protested hotly; but Billie was already started on a different train of thought. She caught Vi’s wrist in hers and her eyes were big and round as she looked from her to Laura.

   “Suppose,” she said in a whisper, “we should meet the 

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