“I was awfully surprised when she asked me to play,” confided Grace to her chums on the way home from school that afternoon.

“Oh, that’s nothing,” said Jessica.  “She ought to feel honored to think you consented.  You are really an Oakdale celebrity, you know.”

“Please remember when you are basking in the light of her senior countenance that you once had friends among the sophomores,” said Nora in a mournful tone.

“I consider both those remarks verging on idiotic,” laughed Grace.  “Don’t you, Anne?”

“Certainly,” replied Anne.  “But let me add a word of caution.  Don’t allow this mark of senior caprice to turn your head.  Remember you are——­”

“You’re worse than the others,” cried Grace, “Let’s change the subject.”

Saturday proved a beautiful day, and with a light heart Grace started for the links with her golf bag strapped across her shoulder.  The senior whose name was Ethel Post, sat waiting for her on one of the rustic benches set under a tree at one side of the starting place.  She greeted Grace cordially and the two girls set to work without delay to demonstrate their prowess as golfers.  The caddies, two small boys of Oakdale, who could be hired at the links by anyone desiring their services, carried the girls’ clubs and hunted lost balls with alacrity.

Miss Post found that Grace was a foeman worthy of her steel.  The young girl’s arm was steady, and she delivered her strokes with decision.  Grace came out two holes ahead.

Miss Post was delighted.  “I hope you will golf with me often, Miss Harlowe,” she said cordially.  “It is so seldom one finds a really good player.”

“I am fond of all games and outdoor sports,” replied Grace, “but I like basketball best of all.  Did you attend any of our games during the winter, Miss Post?”

“No,” answered the senior.  “I am not much interested in basketball.  I really paid no attention to it this year, and haven’t attended a game since I was a freshman.  Speaking of basketball,” continued Miss Post, “I picked up a paper last fall with a whole lot of basketball plays written on it.  It was labeled ‘Sophomore basketball signals,’ and I turned it over to one of the girls in your class.  She happened to be on the team, too, and seemed very glad to get it.  I presume it was hers, although she didn’t say so.”

At the mention of the word signals, Grace pricked up her ears.  As Miss Post innocently told of finding the list, Grace could hardly control herself.  She wanted to get up and dance a jig on the green.  She was about to learn the truth at last.

Trying to keep the excitement she felt out of her voice, Grace asked in a low tone, “Whom did you return it to, Miss Post?”

“Why, Miss Nesbit,” was the answer.  “I was inside the campus when I found it, and just then she passed me on the walk.  I knew she was a sophomore, and thought it best to get rid of it, as I would probably have forgotten all about it, and it never would have been returned.”