The next day conditions were no different.  Patricia, who was preparing salads for an “honor” finally threw up her hands in disgust.  She declared she could stand it no longer and if some of the girls didn’t remove Harriet from the kitchen, she, Patricia would have to get out herself.  Somehow this word reached Mrs. Livingston, with the result that Patricia herself was asked to drop her “honor” work in the kitchen for the present.

It was a blow to Patricia Scott.  She had not looked for this result, and though she had not made the complaint in person, her criticism of Harriet had been a boomerang that had returned and hit Patricia.  This made the girl even more bitter against Harriet than before.

The following two days brought with them less friction in the kitchen.  Harriet Burrell’s soups delighted the girls and the guardians; many were the compliments bestowed upon the blushing Harriet.

It was now the fifth day of Harriet’s soup-making; the last in the test for the “honor.”  It seemed a foregone conclusion that the young woman had won her bead for this achievement in cookery.  Harriet naturally felt gratified.  It meant something to win even one bead in the Camp Girls’ Association as every member of the organization had soon come to know.  No girl ever had won all of the “honors” these “honors” covering so many fields of achievement as to make this well-nigh impossible.

“Well, Miss Burrell,” smiled the Chief Guardian that evening after they had sat down to the tables and grace had been said.  “I suppose you will be entitled to wear a new bead to-morrow.”

“I hope so, Mrs. Livingston,” answered Harriet with a blush.

“Wait till you try the thoup,” suggested Tommy.

“I agree with you,” said Hazel.

“Your friends do not seem to have the same confidence in your soup making that the rest of us feel,” smiled Miss Partridge.

“Perhaps that is because they know my shortcomings better than you do, Miss Partridge,” replied Harriet.

A close observer might have seen Patricia and Cora exchange meaning glances.

There was a lively chattering along the tables while the girls were waiting for the serving of the first course, the soup.  This was brought to the table in great tureens, one for each table, the guardian who sat at the head of the table serving the soup which was passed along to the other end by the girls themselves.  In this case it was Miss Elting who was doing the serving at the table at which the Meadow-Brook Girls were seated.

“This consomme certainly looks delicious,” she said with a smile.

“From the smell I should say it must be,” declared Jane McCarthy.  “I know I could die eating that soup.”

“Be careful,” warned a voice.  “You may.”

“I say girls, let’s wait till Harriet samples it,” suggested Hazel.  “It is her last chance at the soup.  There’s no telling what she might do to us.”