of golden brown hair her pale face looked out with a sweetly appealing air which made her extremely attractive. In her serviceable gown of plain brown linen, made in simple fashion, she was in wren-like contrast to the more gaily-dressed girls who stood about the locker room.

“How are you, Miss Browning?” greeted Marjorie genially. “I am glad you are going to be a senior. You gave me quite a surprise. Girls, this is Veronica Browning.” Marjorie named in turn those of her schoolmates who stood nearest to herself and Veronica. Among them were Jerry, Constance Stevens and Harriet Delaney. The trio greeted her in a far more friendly fashion than was shown by the others.

The newcomer bowed to them pleasantly, her calm face betraying no sign of the unkind speeches she must undoubtedly have overheard. Not troubling herself to greet Veronica, Mignon seized her hat, slammed the door of her locker shut and switched out, followed by several girls who were impatient to learn more of the stranger’s history.

“Won’t you walk down the street with us, Miss Browning?” asked Jerry. “The rest of our crowd will be here in a minute. Here they come now,” she added as Muriel Harding, Irma Linton and Susan Atwell appeared to the accompaniment of the latter’s jolly giggle.

“Thank you. I should like to walk with you,” smiled the girl in gentle, well-bred fashion. “I hardly expected to meet any of my classmates so soon. I am lucky, I think.”

“It’s our duty as good seniors to make you feel at home,” asserted Marjorie, proceeding to present the last three arrivals. “Now that you know a few of us, suppose we move on. If Miss Merton happens to come this way she will hear us talking and feel it her duty to scatter us.”

Those who have read “Marjorie Dean, High School Freshman,” “Marjorie Dean, High School Sophomore,” and “Marjorie Dean, High School Junior,” need no special introduction to her and her friends. They already know the many events, happy and unhappy, that transpired during Marjorie’s three years at Sanford High School. Transplanted from her home in B—— at the very beginning of her freshman year, to the thriving little city of Sanford, Marjorie took up her school life there with a determination to find and hold fast to all that was finest and highest in it. Despite many trials and misunderstandings which fell to her lot, her resolve to be true to herself never faltered, and each year at high school brought fresh pledges of loyalty from those who had learned to know and love her.

Now, in the first week of her senior year, she was again exerting her kindly influence in behalf of the stranger within her gates.

As the bevy of girls moved through the corridor to the main entrance of the school, she slipped her arm through that of the new girl and said cheerily, “I am sure you will like Sanford High, Miss Browning. I felt quite lost when first I came here. Now I’d be more lost if I had to leave it. Where did you live before you came here?”

“In California,” answered Veronica. “I was born there. You know, I suppose, that I came East with—with—Miss—Archer.” She hesitated slightly on the last words. “I should like to tell you something,” she continued frankly. “I heard what that black-eyed girl was saying about me as I came into the locker room. Of course I wish to be friends with you and these nice girls you go with—but—well, perhaps you ought not to pay too much attention to—one—in my position.”

Marjorie gave Veronica’s arm a gentle little squeeze. “Now I am sure you don’t know us very well. We choose our friends for what they are, not because of social position or any such foolishness. You really mustn’t mind Mignon. She has been—well—brought up rather differently from the rest of us. We——” Marjorie stopped in confusion. “There are some things I can’t explain,” she went on slowly. “It seems rather queer in me to ask you to like Mignon, but if you will try to think of her as kindly as you can, it will help her a great deal. I’m afraid that’s not very clear,” she concluded in embarrassment.

“I think I understand,” nodded Veronica. A shade of the peculiar smile that Marjorie had noted on first sight of her at Miss Archer’s flickered briefly about her mobile lips. “After all, I am here for study. Under the circumstances I can’t really expect to take much part in the social side of high school. I have had so many——” She suddenly ceased speaking, with a little catch of breath.

“Oh, you must come to my home to see me and come to my parties, too,” put in Marjorie quickly. “I wish you to meet my mother and father. I call them General and Captain. I am a Lieutenant. So is Connie Stevens. We all belong to a little army of our own. It’s a game a friend of mine and I used to play when we were little girls and we’ve never outgrown it.”

“How pretty!” The fair, sensitive face of the other girl broke into radiant, smiling beauty.

Marjorie thought her more fascinating than ever when she smiled. “I must tell you a secret,” she confided impulsively. “I liked you the minute I saw you at Miss Archer’s. I am sure we shall be good friends.”

“Here is my hand to seal the bargain,” laughed Veronica. “You have come to mean a great deal to me already. I never thought that——”

“It’s not fair in you, Marjorie Dean, to monopolize our brand-new senior,” called Jerry Macy. They had now left the school building and were swinging down the street in pairs, Marjorie and Veronica bringing up the rear.

“Come on.” Seizing her companion by the arm, Marjorie propelled her forward until they bumped gently into Jerry and Irma, who were just ahead of them. “Here we are,” she announced mischievously.

“Such boisterous conduct.” Jerry drew down her plump face in imitation of Miss Merton. “I’m not complaining on my own account, but I have to protect Irma from your onslaughts.”

“That’s the same as saying I need a guardian, Jeremiah,” teased Irma. “You know it’s really the other way around.”

“They are such jolly girls,” commented Veronica. “When I was——” She stopped. Abruptly changing the subject she began to remark on the beauty of the huge maples that stood sentinel-like on both sides of the street.

Marjorie agreed rather absently that they were indeed magnificent trees. Inwardly she wondered if Veronica had the habit of so abruptly chopping off her speeches. For all her apparent frankness there was a curious baffling side to her that Marjorie was at a loss to understand. It reminded her of the puzzling way in which Constance Stevens had behaved when first they met. She reflected that perhaps this girl felt the weight of poverty even as Constance had once felt its pressure. On the other hand, Veronica appeared outwardly to accept it with the utmost serenity.

Perhaps the other girl may have glimpsed something of what was going on behind Marjorie’s tranquil face. Casting a sidelong glance at her pretty companion, her strange smile lived again, to die in a fleeting instant. “I must leave you here,” she said, as they reached a cross street that led to the avenue on which the Archer homestead was situated. “Better think over what I told you. Remember I am Miss Archer’s ‘servant girl.’” She laughed musically as though she rather enjoyed thus reminding Marjorie of her humble status.

“You are my friend,” responded Marjorie gravely. “Please remember that. Good-bye. We’ll see each other again this afternoon.”

Nodding a smiling farewell to Marjorie and the