“I never stopped to think what he might do, father,” said Grace ruefully.  “The honor of the senior class was at stake, and I knew that I had to get that money somehow.  Besides, I had notified Chief Burroughs as to my whereabouts, and sent word for you to wait for me, so he was really cornered, that’s why Eleanor locked the door.”

“Grace, you are incorrigible,” sighed her father, “but if ever again you find yourself in a snarl over the rashness of your friends, then remember that I am the wisest person to consult.  It may save you considerable worry, and will be at least a safer method.”

Nevertheless, he could not refrain from smiling a little as he added, “What do you propose to do with this money?”

“Deposit it in Upton Bank, to-morrow,” was Grace’s prompt reply.

“And in whose name?” asked her father.

“In Marian Barber’s father,” said Grace steadily.  “This time it will be safe, for she has learned her lesson.”

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MESSAGE OF THE VIOLIN

The news of the finding of the lost money in the haunted house came out in the evening paper, and set the whole town of Oakdale agog with excitement.

The sensational robbery at the close of the Thanksgiving bazaar was too bold to have been forgotten, and the news of the recovery of the hard-earned money was a matter of delight to the public-spirited citizens of the little northern city.

The haunted house soon lost its ghost reputation, and was ransacked by small boys on the hunt for sliding panels and hidden treasure until the owner of the place, who had been absent from Oakdale, took a hand in things and threatened severe penalties for trespassing, which greatly cooled the ardor of the youthful treasure-seekers.

As for Grace Harlowe and Eleanor Savell, they were the bright and shining lights of the town and the darlings of the senior class.

The two girls had become firm friends.  After the excitement of the finding of the money had worn off, they had had a long talk and had cleared up all misunderstandings.  Eleanor had confessed to Grace that long before they had been brought together she had secretly tired of the old grudge and had longed for peace.

“After Edna Wright and I quarreled, I began to see things in a different light,” Eleanor had confided to Grace, “and the longing for the companionship of your kind of girls took hold of me so strongly it made me miserable at times.

“How I did envy you when you all went to the house party at Christmas, and I was wild to go to New York and see Anne, although I suppose I am the last person she would care to see.

“It wasn’t just the good times, either, that I coveted, it was that sense of comradeship that existed among you girls that I didn’t at all understand last year.”

“But, Eleanor,” Grace had said, “if you felt that way, why were you so determined to expose poor Marian Barber!”