“Yes,” announced Alice, “we’re all going--that’s the reason we are here. I’ve heard of parties where nobody came but the hostess, but a party without the hostess would be rather odd!” She seated herself comfortably on the couch, and the others followed her example. Marjorie listened incredulously to what she had told them. “You’re invited too? Why, that’s perfect! But why didn’t papa tells us?” “Oh, you know he’s always strong on surprises,” remarked Lily. “I think this is a dandy. But don’t stand there like a bump on a log, Marj! We’ve got to dress.” In less than ten minutes the girls announced their readiness to start. Florence Evans reminded them both, however, not to forget their flowers. “Flowers?” repeated Lily. “Oh, yes, I’d forgotten. Of course we seniors all have them.” “Seniors?” questioned Marjorie, a trifle regretfully. “We’re graduates now, Lil. Florence and Alice and Daisy are the seniors now.” But in spite of the imminence of the separation, Marjorie became gay again. The evening promised to be very enjoyable, almost, it would seem, a repetition of old good times. Mae Van Horn, Doris Sands, Alice Endicott, Florence Evans, Daisy Gravers, Lily, and herself--with the exception of Ethel Todd, all of the dear old senior patrol that shared the wonderful experiences of last summer would be together. Surely it was no time for regrets! Linking arms, and humming the Girl Scout Marching-song, they proceeded across the campus to the village. All the girls wore dainty summer dresses, with light wraps or silk sweaters, and went without hats. There were no bobbed heads now among the group; the style was considered passé, and the girls with short locks disguised them with nets. They reached the inn just in time, and found Mr. and Mrs. Wilkinson waiting for them on the porch. Two tall white benches on either side of the door seemed to invite them hospitably to be seated. The girls gratefully dropped into seats. “Why is the door closed?” asked Marjorie, after she had expressed to her parents her appreciation of the delightful surprise party. “I guess it’s cold inside,” replied Mr. Wilkinson, with a twinkle in his merry brown eyes. “Oh it isn’t, papa! You’re hiding something!” cried his delighted daughter. “I know you!” “You aren’t satisfied, then?” he asked. “You want something more? Some young men, I suppose?” “No I don’t!” protested Marjorie, emphatically. “I hope John and Jack went home, as they expected, for I’d rather have the girls all to myself tonight!” “Well then, what is it you do want?” he pursued. “Nothing, papa. I’m perfectly happy. But I just asked a simple question: why, on such a warm night as this, should the door be closed, when there is a perfectly good screen-door in front of it?”