Lilac Hill was as charming a spot as any that our big City Park could boast. Though known as a hill, it was but a slight knoll with surroundings of lilac shrubs, which, in May would always show a riot of bloom; this knoll sloping down to a pond, with islands, boats and aquatic plants. Lilac Hill had known many a picnic and similar outings; for Branton Hills folks, living for six days amidst bricks and asphalt, just had to go out on Sundays to this dainty knoll, living for an hour or so amongst its birds, blossoms and calm surroundings. City traffic was far away, only a faint rumbling coming to this natural sanctuary; and many a mind, and many a worn body had found a balm in its charms.
But that mystifying card! From whom was it? What was it? Why was it? “Oh, hum! Why rack brains by digging into it?” was Branton Hills’ popular thought. “But,—go and find out!” That, also, was our Organization’s thought as May sixth was approaching.
“My gracious!” said Nancy. “It sounds actually spooky!”
But calm, practical Kathlyn said:—
“Spooks don’t hop around in daylight.”
May sixth had just that warm and balmy air that allows girls to put on flimsy, dainty things,
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