“Let’s each take a different direction. She’s around the woods somewhere, because she wouldn’t dare stay around Hillcrest for fear of meeting the girls, and there aren’t any woods the other side of the village. I’ll go north of the campus, and Dorothy, you take the Retreat woods, and Virginia, you cross the road by the gates, and go through those pastures there, and you might look by the birch tree, though she’s not likely to be there. And let’s all remember that if any girl tries to join us, we’re to treat her abominably, so she’ll know she isn’t wanted. It’s mean, but there’s no other way to do, because Vivian’ll never come back if she thinks any one else knows. Whoever finds her first, will give three loud calls in quick succession; and if by any chance we don’t any of us find her, we’re all to meet at the station for the five o’clock. But I know we’ll be successful.” They started, each in the direction signified; and while they hurried through the woods, thinking only of Vivian, and of how if they ever found her, they would make her so happy she would forget all that had passed, the object of their thought and search crouched on the top of the big rock back of the Retreat, and hoped that the surrounding trees hid her quite from sight. When the station agent half an hour ago had told her there was no train before five o’clock, her heart had sunk. What should she do? She could not linger around Hillcrest, for she was sure of meeting some of the girls. There was no place in which to hide near the village; and to walk to the nearest town ten miles away and take the train from there was out of the question. There seemed nothing to do but to retrace her steps toward St. Helen’s, and hide in the woods until time for the next train. Then she must trust to luck, and run the risk of meeting the girls. Meanwhile, there was no time to lose. It was fifteen minutes to three already, and in half an hour the girls would be through with study hour and out-of-doors. She hurried, up the village street, and out upon the country road, still in her sweater and little school hat. Her mother would doubtless be surprised to see her dressed that way, she thought to herself as she ran. She would wire her from Springfield. Yes, she would be surprised, but when she had heard the whole story, she would pity Vivian and welcome her home. And her father would probably laugh at her, call her a silly little girl, and then engage a tutor for her. It would not be easy to tell them, and might be very hard to make them understand; but she could bear that more easily than to stay at St. Helen’s with the remembrance of Imogene’s words in her ears.