There was a stir in the audience and Margaret was conducted to the platform by her patrol leader.  Captain Clark then pinned on her coat the new badge, with the words of commendation, and this concluded, an usher advanced with the bouquet.  The captain glanced at the card before indicating that the testimonial be presented.  It was inscribed merely—­“A Friend.”

Everyone was puzzled.  It was very unusual to give hot-house flowers in May.  Then a side door was heard to creak on its hinges and the pretty stranger, Rose Dixon, was just seen passing out.

“I wonder why she left?” Madaline asked Grace.

“Oh, I don’t know, but I would like to leave myself,” unexpectedly retorted Grace.

“Sick?” persisted Madaline.

“No—­just tired,” and no one knew better than Grace what a conscience prodder such a meeting as this proved to be—­that is “no one” except, perhaps, Rose Dixon.

CHAPTER X

TELLING SECRETS

Determined to wait no longer than the very next afternoon, Grace asked both Cleo and Madaline over to her front porch directly after school, assuring their acceptance to her invitation by the lure of “a big secret to tell them.”  Needless to say, they came, and there, in the shadow of the yellow and white honeysuckle blossoms, with busy bees buzzing in and out of the honey-filled cups, Grace disclosed the story of her second trip to River Bend Woods.

The girls were fascinated.  To think the tied-up man had written a letter!

“Yes, but,” argued Grace.  “I am a little timid ever since.  See, he says he hopes he can lasso me some day with my own rope!  Just suppose he does!”

“Oh, I am sure he was just joking there,” wise little Cleo ventured.  “He just said that to tease you, for teasing him.”

“Maybe,” replied Grace rather tonelessly.

“Let me see it again,” begged Madaline, reaching for the well-fingered little sheet of paper.  “But he says,” she read, “he liked your courage, and he hated to spoil all your nice scout knots.  That must mean he is a good friend.”

“Oh, it might just mean the opposite,” gloomed Grace, who had read the letter so many times every syllable weighed a clause to her.  “He may have meant that merely in sarcasm.”

“Who ever do you suppose he was?” asked Madaline foolishly.

“Is, you mean,” corrected Grace.  “He didn’t die, so he still is.”

“Of course, that’s what I mean.  Only he isn’t there now, so he was, I think,” insisted Madaline, without taking any offence at the crispness of Grace’s manner.

“Whether he is or whether he was, we might get along better if we tried to guess who he could possibly be,” Cleo assisted.  “Have you the least idea?”

“Not the slightest.  You see, that sheet of paper came out of a notebook, and anyone could own a notebook or even find one,” Grace speculated.