“No, I wouldn’t do that; it wouldn’t be fair, for it’s only our suspicion, and we may be on the wrong track altogether.”

“But what am I to do?  Sit still and let some horrid thing perhaps go on that I might stop?”

“I’ll tell you what you might do.  You might say to Marian that you had got an idea that somebody was going to play a trick on her birthday,—­upon her and some unsuspecting person; that you didn’t know what the trick was to be, and you might be all wrong in your suspicion that there was to be one, but you thought that you ought to put her on her guard.  You might say this to her without mentioning a name.”

“Oh, Anna, Anna, what a cautious little thing you are with your ‘mays’ and your ‘mights;’ but you are right, you are right, and I’ll go to Marian this noon, and say just what you’ve told me to say, and not a word more.”

CHAPTER II.

Mary thought it would be a very easy matter to say to Marian what Anna had suggested, but it wasn’t so easy as she thought.  Marian was a year older than herself, and that meant a good deal to a girl of fifteen,—­a year older and more than a year beyond her, with the experience of Washington city life and schools during the winter months.  In fact, to Mary, who had not seen her for the past few months, she appeared so experienced and grown-up, as she came into the room to meet her, that that young person felt all at once very young and awkward, and as a consequence made such a boggle of what she had to say, that Marian, entirely misunderstanding, exclaimed in amazement,—­

“You want me to get up an April joke on my birthday, Mary?  I couldn’t think of such a thing; I hate April jokes.”

“No, no, you misunderstand,” burst forth Mary; and then, forgetting all her awkwardness, she made her little statement over again, and this time succinctly and clearly.  And now it was her turn to be amazed; for before she had got entirely to the end of her statement, Marian starting up pulled a note from her pocket and cried, “Read this, Mary! read this!”

It was Angela’s cordial note of acceptance.

“And she had no invitation from me.  I never invited her, I scarcely knew her,” went on Marian.

“She had no invitation from you, but she thought she had.  It isn’t Angela who is playing a trick upon you.  Somebody has played a trick upon her,—­has written in your name.  Oh, don’t you see? She is the innocent person I meant.”

“But who—­who is the guilty one,—­the one who has dared to do this?” cried Marian.

“I can’t tell you yet whom I think it is, because I haven’t any proof, and it wouldn’t be fair to call names unless I had sure proof.”

“Well, look here.  All my notes were sealed with my monogram seal, but I used a variety of colored wax.  Everybody is interested in comparing seals now, and so can’t you make an excuse to Angela that you want to compare the seals in the different colors, and borrow her note of invitation, and then bring it to me?  If I could see that note, I might know the handwriting, and then I’d know who played this shabby, cruel trick.  And I ought to know, that I mayn’t suspect an innocent person.”