“Second the motion and hurrah!” added Nellie Saunders.  “Also we should put a price on that ghost’s head—­offer a reward for the capture.  I’m willing to chip in, although as usual I’m a little short this week.”

Dozia had been going over the house with Miss Gifford and just then both returned to the recreation room.

“Does anyone know where Miss Duncan is—­Miss Shirley Duncan?” asked the matron, keeping her pencil at that name on her report pad.

Jane started involuntarily at the question.  She had been secretly wondering where the rebellious Shirley was during all the excitement.

“Oh, yes,” spoke up Margie Winters.  “She is outside visiting with her folks.  She told me this afternoon she had obtained permission.”

“Not from me,” declared Miss Gifford.  Then as if fearing complications she added more tactfully, “But of course I might not have been within reach and someone else may have given permission.  Will you just step in here, dear?” to Margie.  “I want to note what you say of Miss Duncan’s absence,” and while the reclaimed mutineers were being actually driven up the stairs by Jane, Dozia and the braver element, Miss Gifford was obtaining what clue she might as to Shirley Duncan’s whereabouts.

Herded successfully to second floor the visiting juniors set about distributing their charges into beds—­any beds in any rooms but “under covers” was the order.

“I can just about picture the parade trooping into the infirmary tomorrow,” said Dozia.  “Here, Betty, this solo cot for yours.  It is just your cute little size.  And those tosies,” with a playful thrust at a pair of shivering feet, “I think nervous freshies should wear slippers about their necks at night—­like we used to have our mittens on a tape, you know.  There,” finished the querulous Dozia.  “You would have to roll down stairs if another alarm sounded.  You’re a perfectly sealed packet.”  Just the tip of Betty’s head stuck out of the package.

Somehow all were finally settled and it was Sally—­Sarah Howland, who came to the rescue of the visitors.

“But you must rest,” she insisted, only a tell-tale pink rim around her blue eyes betraying the hysterical collapse she had so lately experienced.

“We are not the least bit afraid,” declared Dozia.  “In fact, we are rather anxious to meet said spook.  Which room might be one in proximity?  Where does the big noise seem to come from?”

“No more shows tonight, Dozia,” spoke Jane before Sally could answer.  “How much do you want for your money?  Isn’t a fire and a volunteer fireman’s comedy enough?”

“But I am dreadfully keen on spooks,” she was pinching Jane’s arm cruelly, “and I thought it was—­something weird that set off the original alarm.”

Sally winced.  “Here is a nice big bed,” she told them nervously, pushing back a door and disclosing a tranquil untrammelled room, all neat and orderly as if nothing unusual had happened in old Lenox.  “We call it the guest room but rarely have company to occupy it.  I am sure Miss Gifford will want you two juniors to make yourselves at home in it,” finished Sally with a quaver.  She could not entirely hide the fact of her anxiety to get Jane and Dozia behind a closed door.  Jane might have understood but Dozia was perplexed.