“I propose,” exclaimed Chub, jumping up, “that I go to my recitation. When’s the next meeting?”
“The secretary will issue a call for it,” answered Dick.
“Seems to me,” suggested Roy, “that the name ought to be the Ferry Hill _School_ Improvement Society; people might think we were trying to improve the Hill.”
“Settle it to suit yourselves,” cried Chub, making a dash for the door. “I’m off.”
Methuselah, who had been dozing for some time, awoke startled, and broke into angry remonstrances. “Well, I never did!” he screeched hoarsely. “Can’t you be quiet? Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing! Stop your swearing!”
And the first meeting of the small but very select Ferry Hill School Improvement Society broke up in confusion.
A few days later Harry sat at the little desk in her room, her feet twined around the legs of her chair, her head very much on one side and a pen in her hand. Before her, on the pink blotting-pad, were four postal cards. Two were already written on, and a third was under way:
There will be a meeting of the F. H. S. I. S. at the rooms of the Society (this means the barn), at 4 o’clock on the afternoon of January 16th. As the object of the meeting is to perfect a permanent organization, a full attendance is desired.
Harry laid down her pen with a sigh of relief, and wiped some of the ink from her fingers by rubbing them on the edge of the blotter. Then, getting a new grip on the chair legs with her feet, she took up the last postal. At that moment Mrs. Emery passed the open door, smiled and entered.
“What are you doing, pet?” she asked, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder, and glancing at the postals.
“Oh!” Harry gave a start and looked up in surprise. “Mama, you mustn’t see!” she cried. “It’s a secret!”
“A secret? Well, my dear, I wouldn’t write it on postals then,” laughed her mother. “Don’t you know that any one can read it that way?”
“Well, it isn’t a secret--exactly,” explained Harry. “But it’s something you and papa mustn’t know about, yet. Are you reading it?”
“No, I’ve stopped, dear. But what is the F. H. S. I. S?”
“That’s it! That’s the secret. It’s a society.”
[Illustration: “‘Mama, you mustn’t see!’ she cried. ‘It’s a secret!’”]
“Don’t you think, pet, that you are a little too young to belong to secret societies?” asked Mrs. Emery smilingly.