Grace took the list and read: "'Mrs. I. Rosenfield, Miss Alice Gwendolyn Jones, Mr. Percival Butz, etc.' Good heavens!" she cried, "there's not a single person on this list who has anything to do with Oakdale High School. Mr. Percival Butz," she laughed. "The idea of a man buying perfume. Really, girls," she added in despair, "we've been wasting our time. I can't see that any of us has made the least headway. I have called on almost every freshman in the class and inquired what her favorite perfume is, and I know some of them thought I was silly. Anyway, not one of them claimed to use sandalwood." "The stupidest girls would be the ones who would be most likely to want to copy the papers," observed Jessica, "but those girls are much too nice to believe such horrid things about. I went to see Ellen Wiggins and Sallie Moore yesterday afternoon. Neither of them use perfume. Sallie Moore told me she had an orris root sachet that had almost lost its scent. Which reminds me," she continued, "why couldn't this handkerchief have been scented by some other means than just perfume. Perhaps it was put into a mouchoir case with sandalwood powder." "Why, of course," exclaimed Grace. "Jessica, I never thought of asking who had been buying sachet powders. You have a great head." "Must I go back and ask all those storekeepers for more lists?" demanded Nora. "No, child," replied Grace. "Just give us time to think first." "It's time to go to Miriam's anyhow," observed Jessica. "Perhaps some sort of inspiration will come on the way," and the three girls set out for the tea party. As they paused to admire the beautiful flower beds on the Nesbit lawn Jessica said: "Have you inquired Miriam's favorite perfume?" "Oh, yes," answered Grace. "She said she liked them all and had no favorites." "Why are all these strange young women breaking into my premises?" demanded a voice behind them. "David Nesbit," cried Grace, "where have you been all this time? You never seem to find the time to come near your old friends any more." "I have been busy, girls," replied David. "Never busier in my life. But I believe I've struck it at last. It will not be long, now, before I turn into a bird." "Oh, _do_ show it to us!" cried Grace. "Where is the model?" "In my workroom," he replied. "If you are very good, and will promise to say nothing to the others, I'll give you a peep this afternoon. When I signal to you from the music room, by sounding three bass notes on the piano, start upstairs and I'll meet you on the landing. You may ask why this mystery? But I know girls, and if all those chattering freshmen are allowed to come into my room they are sure to knock over some of the models, or break something, and I couldn't stand it."