“Yes,” said Eliza crossly, adding with a frankness that might have been disconcerting to anybody but Amanda: “And I thought you were crazy even to think of it. You haven’t a chance in the world beside Billie Bradley or Rose Belser or any of those girls.” “I know I wouldn’t as a rule,” admitted Amanda, her small eyes gleaming with triumph. “But with this book,” she caressed the little volume fondly, “_they_ won’t have a chance against _me_!” “And still I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” snapped Eliza. “I wish you’d stop grinning to yourself and get to the point—if there is one,” she added under her breath. “All right,” said Amanda, too delighted with her own cleverness to notice her shadow’s bad temper. “Listen then, and I’ll tell you just how I came to think about it. “I was rummaging through some books on the top shelf one day, trying to find one I needed, when down behind the rest of them I happened to come across this little old book of biographies of the great generals of the world. It was covered with dust, and so old and shabby-looking that I was sure it hadn’t been touched in an age.” “Yes,” said Eliza impatiently, as Amanda paused for breath. “Of course that was before the composition prize was offered, so I put the book back where I found it and forgot all about it. But now——” she paused and the “Shadow” saw a gleam of light. “And now,” Eliza finished, “you think you are going to get material enough out of this musty little old book to take the prize away from Billie Bradley. I see.” “Oh no, you don’t see.” It was Amanda’s turn to be impatient. “I’m not going to try to write an original composition at all. Listen,” she lowered her voice to a whisper although they two were the only ones in the large room. “I’m going to copy it from this book—word for word!” For a moment Eliza stared at the grinning girl, pop-eyed. Then as the daring of the thing sank into her muddled brain she sank back in her chair and shook her head slowly. “Don’t do it,” she said. “If they should find out——” “But nobody’s going to find out,” cried Amanda, as gleeful as though the coveted prize were already in her hands. “This is an old book, and probably nobody in this place has even heard of it. Say, won’t that Bradley girl’s eyes stick out when she sees me walking off with the prize? Oh my, oh my! This is the time I’m going to settle _her_!” It was just about this time that a furor was caused in the school by the disappearance of articles belonging to the students. The articles were small and seldom valuable—so insignificant were some of them, in fact, that the owners never missed them until the report of numerous other losses spread through the school and woke them to the realization that they, too, were victims of the petty thief—whoever she was. For that the guilty one was one of their schoolmates there seemed to be little doubt. For what outsider would care for such things as pencils and erasers and old jackknives?