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Title: Schoolgirl rivals

Author: Brenda Page

Illustrator: P. B. Hickling

Release date: December 16, 2024 [eBook #74919]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Cassell and Company, Limited

Credits: Al Haines


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SCHOOLGIRL RIVALS ***







[Illustration: Cover art]



[Frontispiece: "'Good game, Kitty, wasn't it?'" (_see page_ 44)]



  Schoolgirl Rivals


  By

  BRENDA PAGE



  With Frontispiece in Colour and
  Three Black and White Illustrations
  By P. B. HICKLING



  CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
  London, Toronto, Melbourne, and Sydney




First Published 1937

_Printed in Great Britain_




  CONTENTS
  
  
  CHAPTER
  
  1. First Impressions
  2. The Seniors of Carslake's
  3. The P. Squareds
  4. The Richoter Science Prize
  5. Trial by Jury
  6. The Richoter Results
  7. Sports Day
  8. Carslake's v. The Rest
  9. The Cycling Expedition
  10. A Night on the Downs
  11. The Truth of it All




ILLUSTRATIONS


"'Good game, Kitty, wasn't it?'" ... Frontispiece

"She swung round quickly as the Principal said sharply: 'Has someone
been interfering with your balances, Constance?'"

"'What rubbish is all this?' Duane asked"

"Crouched in a forlorn heap upon the floor, they found the runaway"




Schoolgirl Rivals



CHAPTER I

FIRST IMPRESSIONS

"Good-Bye, my dear child.  You are quite sure you will be all right
and have everything you want?  It's a straightforward run now to
Easthampton."

"Oh yes, I shall be quite all right, Mrs. Wade, and thank you very
much for all the trouble you've taken with me.  I'll sure never
forget it."

Mrs. Wade nodded and waved as the train moved out of the junction.
She had arrived in London off an Australian boat only the day before
and had been in charge of the Australian girl during the voyage over.
She had not seen her native country for twenty-five years, and so was
naturally feeling rather excited.  She turned away with her
conscience at rest, having successfully fulfilled her obligation.  To
be sure, her charge was a very sensible and practical girl, with a
mind and will of her own, and had given her no trouble.  Now she was
safely in the train that would carry her straight to her destination,
and Mrs. Wade could leave off worrying about her, and turn her
attention to the relations she had not seen for twenty-five years.

Left "on her own" for the first time in her life, Kitty Despard,
Australian born and bred, settled herself in her corner seat with an
inward feeling of mingled excitement and trepidation, but outwardly
with firmly set lips and resolute air.  She was a stranger in a
strange land, but Australians are not noted for either nervousness or
backwardness.

Staring out at the flying green landscape with unseeing eyes, she was
wondering for the hundredth time since her departure from home what
an English boarding-school would be like.  In the old-fashioned
story-books they were the most awful places; they had "crocodiles"
and "backboards" and lessons in "deportment."  But schools had
changed in later years.  She knew that English girls, as a whole,
were fond of sports, and in that, at any rate, she could hold her
own, for she had been brought up with half a dozen brothers and
sisters in a bush "township," where opportunities for tennis and
cricket were unlimited.

There was the question of lessons, of course.  Kitty had gone daily
by the school train to the High School in a neighbouring town.  She
had dodged as much work as she could, it is true, but she had one
strong point.  Jim and Billy always declared that she was as good as
they were at mathematics.

No doubt there would be some "snobs" at Easthampton, for Mrs. Wade's
sister, who had recommended the school to Kitty's father, had said
that all the scholars were the children either of well-to-do or
well-born families.  But there were sure to be some good sorts, too.

The train was a slow one, stopping at every station.  One of these
was apparently a junction of a small kind, for there was quite a
little bustle as a crowd of passengers from another train swarmed
across the platform.  Kitty's carriage was invaded by five or six
girls who clambered noisily in with the happy air of owning the whole
train.  Kitty realized with a start that they were evidently
Easthampton College girls, for they wore the same scarlet hatband
badge as she did.

"Van's further down," remarked one who was craning her neck out of
the window.

"We pick up Salome at the next station," added the tallest of the
party.  "Oh, here comes Paddy, late as usual, tearing down the steps
like mad.  She'll never do it."

The girl at the window had flung open the door and was shouting, "Hi,
hi, Paddy!" at the top of her voice, and gesticulating frantically.
As the train began to move, the late-comer rushed up to the carriage
door.  Half a dozen helping hands seized hold of various parts of her
person and she was hauled in, collapsing in a heap in the middle of
the carriage.  She picked herself up and subsided panting into the
seat next to Kitty.

"Your usual method of catching trains, Paddy!" remarked the tall girl.

"Never mind.  I did catch it, and that's all that matters, sure,"
returned Paddy cheerfully.  "Cheer-oh, girls, how d'you like coming
back to the grindstone?  Never ye mind; summer's before us, and
cricket and tennis.  Oh, the merry, merry month of May!" she began to
sing in a tuneless voice.

"Cuckoo!  Cuckoo!" sang somebody else; and there was a general
chorus, "Oh don't, Paddy!"

"Always optimistic.  You're very refreshing, Paddy, my child,"
remarked the tall girl when the hubbub had subsided.  "I came down on
the other line with Van, and she could talk of nothing but
matriculation."

"When every prospect pleases, and only man is vile," sighed Paddy.
"Hallo!" as her sharp eyes caught sight of Kitty's school hat resting
on the rack.  "Here's a new girl.  You _are_ a new girl, aren't you?
I'm sure I've never seen your face before."

Kitty replied in the affirmative, and the tall girl broke in:

"Are you really?  I'm so sorry I didn't notice it.  My name's Eileen
Gilbert, and as I happen to be a prefect it's very reprehensible
conduct on my part.  Do you come from far?"

"From Australia," replied Kitty.

There were exclamations from the listening girls.

"Begorrah!" said Paddy.  "But there's a way to come to school for
you!  Have you been in England long?"

"I only landed at Tilbury yesterday.  I came over in charge of a
friend of ours.  She saw me safely in the train for Easthampton and
has promised dad she'll keep an eye on me while I'm here."

"Poor thing," said Paddy sadly, "and won't she be feeling the loss of
it now!"

"The loss of what?"  Kitty's wits were not quite so sharp at that
moment as they usually were.

"Her oie, to be sure."

"Stop ragging, Paddy," interrupted Eileen.  Paddy, a girl with bright
black eyes, a merry face and untidy dark hair, merely laughed and
turned again to Kitty, who had already taken a great fancy to her.

"I don't believe we've ever had an Australian girl at Easthampton
before.  How old are you?"

"Sixteen--and a half."

"A little older than me.  I am only just sixteen."

"Do tell us your name," interrupted one of the smaller girls.

"Kitty Despard."

"Are you fond of sports?" asked Paddy eagerly.  "I've heard all
Australians are."

"Yes, very much," replied Kitty.

"Oh, good!  What house are you in?"

"Miss Carslake's."

"Oh!"  Paddy's tone expressed volumes.

"That mouldy show!  What an impression of Easthampton you'll get!
Now, it ought to have been Sheerston's----"

"Or Prince's," said Eileen quickly.

"Well, Prince's isn't so bad, though it's not up to Sheerston's----"

"Yes, it is.  It'll be top house this term, you'll see."

"No, it won't.  But--Carslake's!  It's a filthy hole."

"What do you mean?" inquired Kitty, feeling a little startled.

"Well, it's easily bottom house, and has got a most awful reputation
for slacking--which it deserves."

Eileen nodded.  "Yes, and it used to be top house once.  Now it's out
of the running even for third place.  Only two senior and a few
junior prizes went to it last year."

"And only one colour in the whole house," added Paddy.  "That's
Duane, of course, for hockey.  I should think she's safe to get her
tennis and cricket colours too, this term.  But just think of it!
Only one in the whole house!  Slackers isn't the word for that lot.
Miss Carslake sets the example and the girls follow the sheep."

"Of course you heard the rumour that Doreen was leaving?"

"Not really?  Won't it be funny if she does!  What with Betty leaving
suddenly at the beginning of the year, and now Doreen--why, there
won't be one sixth-former left in the house this term.  It's the
queerest thing I ever heard of.  What'll they do about a head
prefect?"

"Here's the next stop," said Eileen.

"Look out for Salome.  We'll ask her if Doreen really has left.
She's sure to know."

At the next station another addition was made to the party, a tall
girl with delightful hair, dark and wavy and bobbed, an
active-looking figure and eyebrows that were noticeable for their
straightness.  A remarkable girl--and she certainly had a remarkable
name, unless it was a nickname.  Paddy was obliging enough to whisper
to the new girl:

"That's Salome Hope, the head prefect of my house, Sheerston's;
frightfully clever at lessons and a triple colour--hockey, cricket
and tennis.  There isn't a girl to touch her in the school."

The whisper was a very audible one, like all Paddy's whispers.
Salome heard it quite plainly, and looked across at Kitty with a
laugh.

"One of the school celebrities, in fact.  Paddy is too, though she
refrains from mentioning it.  Are you a new girl?"

"Yes," answered Eileen.  "Kitty Despard, from Australia.  They've put
her into Carslake's.  Isn't it a shame!"

"Well, Carslake's is in need of seniors, it seems," said Salome.

"Is it true that Doreen has left?"

"Yes, unfortunately.  It puts the house into an unprecedented
position, having to descend to the Upper Fifth for a head prefect."

"Quite unprecedented.  Fortunately it'll only be for a term.  But
surely there are only a few seniors of any sort in Carslake's now?"

"Let me see.  Margaret, Sonia and Bertha in the Lower Fifth; Duane,
Hilary and France in the Upper--that's all."

"It's a pity Hilary is so delicate, and of course France would be
hopeless as head prefect.  I suppose it'll be Duane."

"Yes.  She's been chosen already."

"The best of the three," remarked Eileen, "and rather clever in her
way, I should think.  But a bit of a slacker, isn't she?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so.  But she's got her hockey colour.  That's always
a help."

"Rather," put in Paddy.  "And I remember her at tennis last year.  If
she had bucked up a bit she might have got her tennis colour as well.
She could bat too, in cricket.  Only she's so beastly erratic."

"That's it," agreed Salome, "you can't depend on her.  She's a queer
sort."

"Anyway, Carslake's can't come down any lower," said Eileen
philosophically.  "That'll be one comfort to her."

Then the conversation turned on other subjects, and a few minutes
later the train began to draw up.

"Easthampton!" cried Paddy, who thought she had been silent long
enough.  "Tumble out, everybody.  I'll look out for the school truck.
All light luggage is here, being only Easter vac.--except Kitty's, of
course."

Eileen, as a prefect, took the new girl under her wing.

"Run down to the luggage van and have your trunks brought up here.
Then they can go up to the school with ours.  There's plenty of time.
Paddy will be some while fetching Orpheus along with the truck; he
always crawls about like a snail."

As Kitty obediently went off down the platform with her long strides,
many of the girls turned round to stare after her as she passed, for
she was far from being an insignificant girl.  She was tall,
long-legged, and at a rather bony and angular stage of growth.  Her
face was very tanned after the sea voyage and, like the majority of
Australian girls, her complexion was nothing to boast about; she had
cropped, bright brown hair and alert grey-blue eyes; there was
something in her carriage and the active swing of her walk that
betrayed an outdoor life with plenty of exercise.

"This is yours, miss," said the porter obligingly.  "For the school,
miss?  Here's another one for the school.  Take them both up the
platform, Tom."

The second trunk, as Kitty noticed with a quick observant glance, was
very smart and expensive looking; and painted in white very
conspicuously across the top, in great contrast to Kitty's humble
initials, were these words: "The Hon. Duane l'Estrange Estevan."

Kitty was immensely tickled.

"My gracious!" she said to herself.  "What a name!  If it were mine I
should want to drown it.  An Honourable, too.  I sort of think, if I
run across her, I shan't hit it off with the Hon. Duane l'Estrange
Estevan.  That is to say, if she's anything like her trunk, or her
name."

Australians are far less tolerant in their criticisms than the
English, and Kitty was no exception, you see.

Returning to Eileen and her party, she found that a little shambling
man was loading a truck with the girls' hand luggage.

"Come along now," said Paddy.  "We can leave these things to Orpheus.
We call him Orpheus," she explained to Kitty, "because he blows the
chapel organ.  He's got an undeveloped cerebrum, you know, poor chap."

"Please, Paddy," remonstrated Salome.  "We're not in school yet!"

"Well, dippy on the dome then, if that's more suited to your
intelligence," retorted Paddy recklessly.

They set off from the station, Salome and Eileen leading the way,
Paddy and Kitty following, and the younger ones trailing along
behind.  They passed through the small town of Easthampton and after
half a mile's walk they arrived at Easthampton College.  Kitty's
first glimpse of that famous school was an imposing pair of iron
gates with a view beyond of trim shrubberies and lawns, a curving
drive, a pleasant red-bricked house, and a background of green
fields.  The gates were open.

"Easthampton is quite a little colony of itself," said Salome,
turning to Kitty with a smile.  "There are nearly three hundred girls
in the school, quite two hundred being yearly boarders."

"How many houses are there?"

"Four.  This is Sheerston's near the gate, my house and the biggest.
Carslake's is a little farther on down the drive.  Prince's and
Green's are the other side of the quadrangle, side by side.  The
school building is at the back of the quad, and beyond are the
playing-fields and the kitchen garden.  We have two big fields.  We
call them Big Side and Little Side, because one is used by the
seniors and one by the juniors.  The swimming-bath and gym are in the
playing-fields."

"Will you take Kitty along to Carslake's, Salome?" asked Eileen.  "No
Carslake's prefects came down in our train."

"Right-oh," replied Salome.  "It's not so far for me.  Come along,
Kitty."

They went off down the drive, past Sheerston's, till they came to a
somewhat smaller though similarly built building.

"Now, I'll hunt you out a senior and leave you in her charge," said
Salome.  "Your luggage will arrive presently and will be put in the
vestibule.  Then you unpack and carry your things up to your
dormitory.  Hi," seizing hold of a small girl who was in the
vestibule unpacking; "run up to the dormitories and unearth a senior
of some sort.  Isn't your head prefect knocking around somewhere?"

"I don't think she's come yet," replied the child.

"Then she ought to have," said Salome, "to look after her troublesome
young charges.  Never mind.  Anybody will do."

The girl disappeared, returning in a few minutes with the desired
senior.

"Hallo, Salome!" the new-comer exclaimed.  "What brings you in this
direction so soon?"

"A new girl.  Kitty Despard, all the way from Australia.  Kitty, this
is Hilary, one of your seniors," and after exchanging a few more
words Salome departed.

Kitty's new acquaintance was a rather small, slight girl with soft,
fair hair, pale, irregular features and dark, hazel eyes.  Her
manner, as she showed Kitty her cubicle and told her where to put her
things, was courteous and considerate, but quiet and self-contained.
Kitty had hardly finished unpacking before a bell rang and they went
down to tea in a big, cheery room, containing four or five long
tables.  The new girl was rather dazed by the chatter and laughter
and crowd of new faces.  She gathered little save that most of the
girls were smaller than herself, but that there was either a mistress
or a senior girl at the head and foot of each table.  She herself sat
next to Hilary, who presided at the foot of one of them.

The rest of the evening seemed still more dreamlike.  There was a
brief interview with the house mistress, Miss Carslake, who welcomed
her kindly, shook hands rather limply, asked her a number of
questions in a pleasant voice, and gave her hints on what she might
expect to find in her new life.

At eight o'clock another bell rang, and she was astonished when
somebody remarked, "Chapel."  She thought vaguely of Wesleyans and
Baptists, and looked to see what the others were doing.  Everybody
made for the vestibule and donned hats and wrappers of some sort.
Hilary considerately took Kitty in charge again.

"Get your hat.  It's chapel.  We only have morning chapel
usually--just a short service--but we always have evening chapel the
first and last night of term."

They crossed the quad with the others to the pretty little chapel
that adjoined the school building, meeting converging streams of
girls from the other houses.  Kitty, as if in a dream, knelt, rose,
and sat with the rest of the two hundred and fifty girls, but there
was something strangely impressive in the hearty chanting of the
solitary psalm, "I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills ... the Lord
shall preserve thy going out, and thy coming in," and the still
heartier rendering of the hymn:

  Lord receive us with Thy blessing,
  Once again assembled here.


Kitty was sitting near the organ and could not help noticing the
player, evidently one of the girls, for her bright chestnut hair hung
in a heavy mass down her back.  Kitty was so absorbed in examining
her aristocratic profile and admiring the elegant way in which she
wore her clothes, that she missed a considerable part of the lesson.

Afterwards came supper, an informal meal of hot cocoa and "pavement"
(a slice of cake), then bed bell and lights out, for the seniors, at
ten o'clock.  In spite of the strangeness of being enclosed in the
white-panelled walls of a daintily furnished cubicle, Kitty was so
tired and drowsy that before long her eyelids closed and she was
sound asleep.




CHAPTER II

THE SENIORS OF CARSLAKE's

With the clang of the everlasting bell in her ears Kitty awoke,
wondering for a few minutes where she could be, and almost thinking
she was back in her little bunk on board the _Wallaroon_.

Then she heard a yawn, and a sleepy voice, "Oh, bother!  Was that
rising bell?" and Hilary's voice in answer, "Yes, Peggy my child, it
was.  What's more, I can see it raining out of my window."

"Oh, blow!" said another voice.  "Shan't get up then.  Wake me by
twenty to eight, somebody, please, if I fall asleep again."

"Get up, you lazy kids," said Hilary sternly.  "It's disgraceful, the
way you lie in bed when you might have a run round the field before
breakfast or a turn in the gym.  No wonder we never get represented
in gym displays.  You know it's the rule to turn out when rising bell
goes."

"Bother the bell!" said the voice of Peggy.  "And you can't make us,
Hilary.  Duane is head of this dormitory, not you."

"Well, you ought to have a mistress sleeping next door, like the
other dormitories.  You'd have to alter your ways a little then.  Are
you awake, Kitty?"

"I should hope so," replied Kitty promptly.  "I couldn't very well
stay asleep with all this talking going on."

"Bless you, there are plenty who do.  Are you getting up?"

"Yes," answered Kitty, jumping out of bed with a spring.

"Good.  I'll take you along to the gym for a look-round before
breakfast.  Be ready by a quarter to eight, won't you?"

"All right," answered Kitty at once.  "Where do I get water from?"

"Oh, one of the juniors will get you hot water from the bathroom, if
you put your jug outside your cubicle."

Kitty was quite ready when Hilary knocked for admittance.  By that
time, the rest of the dormitory, from the noise they were making, had
evidently turned out.

"Half a tick," said Hilary.  "I must perform my usual morning's
task."  She raised her voice.

"Duane, are you awake?"

A sleepy voice made reply:

"No.  'Tisn't time to get up yet."

"Yes, it is," replied Hilary firmly.  "Hurry up and turn out."

"What's the time?" said the same drawling voice.

"A quarter to eight."

"Oh well, I can just do it in ten minutes.  Call me at ten to."

"I'm just going.  You'll be late one of these days.  You know last
term you were hardly ever properly dressed for breakfast."

"I'll count three and jump out on the 'three.'"

"Hurry up then."

"One----" began the speaker with the tired voice, and paused.

"Two----"

A still longer pause.

"Two and a half."

Another pause, then:

"Two and three quarters."

"Oh, go on," said Hilary.  "Two and seven eighths!  I'm going now,
anyway," and patience evidently not being her strong point, she
walked out of the dormitory, throwing a "Come along, Kitty," over her
shoulder as she did so.

Now Kitty's cubicle was next to the one belonging to the tired
individual.  She had been listening to the conversation with a
feeling of mingled pity and contempt, for slacking of any sort made
no appeal whatever to the vigorous, active Australian girl.  As
Hilary walked out, Kitty's glance fell on her wet sponge, lying on
the washstand.  Catching it up, she sprang lightly on to the edge of
the bed, caught hold of the top of the partition, and judging the
whereabouts of the invisible speaker's face by careful guesswork,
squirted the contents of the sponge over the partition.  Apparently
the shower of water found its mark, for there was the sound of a gasp
and a violent creak of the bed.  Kitty, judging discretion to be the
better part of valour, hastily dropped the sponge and slipped swiftly
out of the dormitory, catching Hilary up in the passage outside.

The two walked on together.

"Who's the girl you called Duane?" inquired Kitty, wondering why the
unusual name sounded familiar, till, the next instant, she remembered
the trunk at the station and its flaunting lettering.  Wouldn't the
boys at home laugh when she told them in her letter that one of her
first acts in England was to squirt water over a member of the
British aristocracy!

"Oh, you'll soon get to know who Duane is," replied Hilary.  "She's
just been appointed head prefect of our house.  She's in my form, the
Upper Fifth."

"Oh!" said Kitty, remembering the conversation in the train between
Eileen and Salome.  So this was the girl they had been discussing so
freely!  Somehow or other, though she had not seen her yet, Kitty was
quite sure she was not going to like her head prefect.

When breakfast was over, Miss Carslake announced that the Principal
wanted to see all the school prefects in her room that morning.  "She
also wishes to see all the senior girls of the house," the mistress
added; "so those who are not prefects must also be ready after
chapel."

Of course there was a certain amount of excitement at this unusual
proceeding, and many reasons were suggested for it.

"Shall I have to go?" inquired Kitty.

"Oh, yes.  Come along.  You're sure to be in the Upper or Lower
Fifth, so you must look upon yourself as a senior."

Consequently, about ten o'clock, Kitty found herself with the six
other senior girls of her house in the sanctum of Miss St. Leger,
Principal of Easthampton College.  She was very popular with her
girls, who were wont to declare that they could not imagine
Easthampton without her.

The seniors sat gravely on chairs in a little semicircle.  Kitty,
through hearing them address one another, had already learned their
names, and surveyed them interestedly, for these were to be her
future companions.  There was, first of all, the slight, fair Hilary,
insignificant in appearance but ready of tongue and decidedly shrewd
of brain.  Then there were the Lower Fifth-formers sitting side by
side.  Margaret Batt was liked by everybody; she was a nice, simple,
unaffected English girl, not brilliant in any way, but always ready
to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed it.  Sonia Edwards was a
pretty, golden-haired, smartly dressed girl, inclined to be vain and
rather empty-headed, though not ill-natured.  Kitty rather sweepingly
described her to herself as a "fluffy-haired, dressed-up doll."
Bertha Salter was not very prepossessing in appearance.  She had
straight, carroty hair, a sturdy but stockily-built figure, and a
rather heavy, sullen expression.  Kitty fancied she looked rather
sly, then quickly reproved herself for an unkind thought about a
total stranger.  The girl was very likely quite a decent sort.  She
couldn't help her looks.

There remained the other two Upper Fifth-formers.  The second of the
three prefects was the chestnut-haired girl who played the organ for
chapel services.  She was not exactly pretty, but there was something
distinctive about her carriage and dress.  Later, Kitty discovered
that Francesca Kent had a natural taste for art, and was firmly and
proudly convinced that she had what she called an "artistic
temperament," though in reality she had the sweetest of tempers.  She
was quite a character in the school.

Last, but not least, was the Hon. Duane l'Estrange Estevan.  Kitty
decided that there was nothing insignificant about her looks, at
least.  She was as tall and long-limbed as Kitty herself, but there
the resemblance stopped.  She was rather broader of shoulder, and
there was nothing awkward or angular about her.  Her hair was black
and thick and cut in a straight mediæval bob; her complexion was
inclined to be sallow; her eyes were very grey and formed a curious
contrast to her black hair and eyebrows, looking remarkably vivid and
luminous in their dark setting.  She lounged, rather than sat, in her
chair and listened with a blasé, preoccupied indifference to what the
revered Principal was saying.  Duane's voice was curiously soft, with
a decided drawl in it; her movements, too, were listless and
deliberate.  She was an English aristocrat from head to foot, Kitty
told herself, and Kitty had all a self-respecting Australian's
contempt for the English aristocracy.

Now the Principal was speaking to them, and Kitty's whole attention
was fixed on her words.

"I wanted specially to say just a few words to the older girls in
Miss Carslake's House.  I expect you can guess what I want to say.
To put it frankly, girls, I don't like to see one of the houses so
hopelessly below all the others in both school work and sports."

"Well, somebody must be bottom, Miss St. Leger," remarked Frances
Kent brightly.  Francesca loudly and frequently proclaimed that she
was not really interested in anything except art.

"True, Frances," replied Miss St. Leger, "but not always--nor in
everything--nor so easily."

"Oh, but surely, Miss St. Leger," protested Duane in her tired voice,
"it is not so bad as that."

Miss St. Leger smiled.  "Perhaps I was exaggerating a little, for
your own good.  I want to see you girls rouse yourselves, and make up
your minds that your house isn't going to take bottom place in
everything.  Let us look at a few facts fairly.  Last year this house
only carried off two prizes among the seniors, Frances first in
drawing, and Hilary second in English.  Neither did your juniors earn
the number they could have done.  You have plenty of intelligent
juniors, if they would only make up their minds to try.

"Now look at sports.  You are going to be bottom this year if you
don't make a big effort this term.  Are you going to win any cricket
or tennis matches, or any of the events on Sports Day?  As you are a
long way behind the others at present, you will have to make a big
effort to catch up."

"We are handicapped, Miss St. Leger," said Duane.  "We are so few
numerically."

"Yes, I know your house is smaller than Sheerston's or Prince's, but
no smaller than Miss Green's, and they are making quite a plucky
fight for scholastic honours and the House Sports Shield."

"I did not quite mean the number of girls in the house, Miss St.
Leger," the head prefect defended herself.  "I was referring to the
number of seniors.  After all, it is the seniors who form the
backbone of the house teams.  There are only seven of us;
Sheerston's, for example, have over twenty."

"True again.  Of course you have been unfortunate in losing three
senior girls in the middle of the school year--a most unusual
occurrence.  That is why I put the only new senior girl this term in
your house.  But it is quality, as well as quantity, that counts."
She looked at the listening girls, and a smile flashed over her face,
smoothing out its lines and wrinkles.  "You were studying Henry V
last term in the Upper Fifth, weren't you, girls?  Accept his point
of view, then--the fewer fighters, the greater share of glory," and
with a few more parting words of encouragement, she dismissed them.

Kitty found the rest of that day one whirl of "settling down."  First
of all, with half a dozen other new girls, all younger, she was put
through a searching oral examination by Miss Sheerston, in order to
be "placed."  Kitty, whose nerves hindered her, acquitted herself
more creditably than she had hoped.

Miss Sheerston was a queer, masculine-looking person, with a shirt
blouse, high collar, and grey hair strained back from her face, but
her manner was brisk, kindly, and invigorating in the extreme; her
own girls thought the world of their house mistress.  She praised
Kitty's mathematics, declared her French to be appalling, and finally
said, "You are sixteen, you say.  Well, I don't see why you shouldn't
make a shot for removal into the Sixth Form next term.  Only you
would have to give up any idea of taking extra classes, for the
present, and devote extra time to your French."

Kitty, feeling that she would have quite enough to cope with in the
Upper Fifth, and then in the Sixth, as it was, hastily disclaimed any
desire to take special classes, and so it was settled that she should
join the ranks of the most elevated members of her own house in the
Upper Fifth.

In her few leisure moments she was busily arranging her part of the
study she was to share with Hilary.  All Sixth-formers were entitled
to studies, of which they were very proud, sharing one between two.
As there were now no Sixth-formers at Carslake's, the four studies
were handed over to the Fifths, Upper and Lower.

Kitty rather wished she had been put in one of the other houses, not
because Carslake's was the bottom house and bore rather a poor
reputation, but because she was not particularly drawn to any one of
her companions there.  They were nice girls in their way, but there
was not one of them whose tastes were sufficiently in common with
Kitty's to make her desirable as a special chum.  Hilary was quiet
and reserved; besides, she was not allowed to play games, and half
Kitty's enjoyment and interest in life came from games and outdoor
exercises.  Frances Kent was a being from another world altogether.
So was the head prefect; her queer personality made no appeal to
Kitty, who liked people who said what they meant and called a spade a
spade and not a garden implement.

"If only jolly Paddy or that clever-looking Salome girl had been in
this house," she thought, regretfully, "they would have made things
hum between them.  But these are evidently a hopeless lot."

On the evening of the second day, Hilary came into the study with the
announcement, "All seniors to be in Cato's study at three-thirty
to-morrow."

Afternoon lessons finished at three-fifteen, and from then till
tea-time, at five, everybody was free to play games, go for a walk,
or, if it were very wet, amuse themselves indoors.

"Who's Cato?" inquired Kitty, looking puzzled.

"Cato?  Why, the Hon. Duane of course.  Nearly everyone gets a
nickname of some sort.  The meeting is to talk over Prinny's little
welcoming lecture."

"I don't see much good in talking," retorted Kitty.  "It's doing that
matters."

"Well, as far as sports are concerned, I don't see there's much we
can do.  Duane is the only one who is much good at them.  I'm forced
to be a looker-on, worse luck.  Somebody wants to explode a
bomb-shell in our midst and wake everybody up."

The seven seniors duly met.  Hilary and Kitty were the first
arrivals.  They found Duane sprawling in the easy-chair with a book
in her lap, and Frances, enveloped in an overall of bird-of-paradise
hue, busily dabbing at a large sheet of paper mounted on an easel.

"Come in, come in," called out the head prefect, in her soft drawl.
"I know France is taking up all the room with her horrible mess, but
you'll just have to sit down where you can--so long as you don't sit
down on tubes of paint.  You see what I have to put up with every
day!  Lumps of putty--I mean clay--everywhere."

"Don't rot, Duane," said France.  "Art's a serious matter.  There's
nothing funny about it, as some people seem to think."

"'Tisn't the art that's funny, my dear," returned Duane.  "It's the
artist."

"'But what is it supposed to be?" inquired Hilary, surveying the
artist's work with puzzled face.

The others, who had now all arrived, proffered various suggestions.

"A storm at sea," said Margaret.

"A futurist--or is it a cubist?--portrait of a lady," suggested
Bertha.

"No.  I've got it!" exclaimed Hilary.  "One of those puzzle
thingummies.  Little Red Riding Hood walking through the wood.  Find
the wolf."

"Don't talk rot," said the artist again.  "You know it isn't any of
those things."

"But seriously, France," argued Hilary, "it's like nothing on earth
that I've seen, anyway."

"Of course it isn't," said France, impatiently.  "You see, it's
upside-down.  It's a new idea; to paint a picture upside-down so that
you can visualize upside-down.  Don't you understand?"

"Well, who on earth wants to visualize upside-down?"

"Turn it up," said Duane, "so that we can see what it's meant to be."

France did so.  They all gazed at it in silence, till at last
Margaret said hesitatingly:

"Don't--don't you think you've got it a bit mixed up, France, and
the--the other way was the right way up after all?  That looked more
as if it might be something than--than this does."

The artist's face was a study of mingled feelings.  Everybody burst
into a roar of laughter, so that in the noise nobody heard the sound
of a knock, or became aware of Paddy's entry until they heard her
voice behind them.

"I say, is this France's upside-down picture?  Why couldn't you stand
on your heads and look at it, instead of turning it round?  'Twould
seem more worth-while painting it, if you did that."

Kitty could no longer hold herself modestly in the background, as
became a new girl.

"Let's try," she cried excitedly, and proceeded to balance herself on
her hands, feet in the air.  Of course, Paddy tried to follow her
example, till the indignant artist tumbled her over with a sounding
thump.  When the confusion had somewhat subsided Duane wanted to know
what Paddy was doing "trespassing on hallowed ground."

"How unkind it is of you, Duane," said Paddy, reproachfully, "when
I'm saving you a little journey.  Salome's sent over a copy of the
rules you head prefects drew up at the meeting."

"Same old rules, I suppose?" inquired Bertha.

"Oh yes," said Duane, carelessly.  "They're practically unaltered,
needless to say."

"Still," put in Paddy, "as you've a new girl here, I'd better read
them out for her benefit."

"You can if you like," returned Duane, indifferently, but with a
faint smile twitching the corner of her mouth.  She knew Paddy of old.

So Paddy picked up the paper, cleared her throat and began:

"No. 1.--No junior is allowed blacking on her boots more than once a
month.

"No. 2.--Juniors must wash at least once a day.

"No. 3.--Only members of house elevens allowed to wear carpet
slippers at hockey.

"No. 4.--Juniors must shut their eyes properly at grace, but seniors
can keep theirs open to see the juniors don't.

"No. 5.--Only members of the school first elevens allowed to wear
their sports blazers unbuttoned.

"No. 6.--Only girls with gym colours allowed to slide down the
banisters.

"No. 7.----"

"Here, stow it," interrupted Hilary, laughing.  "I should think Kitty
is of the opinion that that's enough for one go."

"Quite enough to convince me that Paddy has a very fertile
imagination," retorted Kitty, promptly.

"Sure," said Paddy, with a sigh.  "I was afraid my efforts would be
wasted on you.  You've lived long enough in the world to know a
little too much.  Never mind," brightening up, "we've a couple of new
juniors in our house, quite youngsters; I really think it's my duty
to instruct them in the rules of the school.  So I will, as sure as
eggs is meat," and she departed, chuckling.

"What about our meeting?" said Duane, when Paddy had disappeared.
"Seems to me we've got a pretty big job on, if we take on all
Prinny's little hints."

"Too late to do much this year," said France.  "If I take my first in
art again, I shall be quite satisfied."

"What about you others?" said Hilary, slowly.  "Let's see what we can
muster up in the way of prizes."

"Precious little, I bet," returned Duane.  "I'm in the running for
second prize in science, but Salome will take the first.  I can't
beat her."

"And of course I'm in the running for an English prize again,"
remarked Hilary.  "But one can never be certain."

Margaret declared she would try for a history prize and Bertha for an
arithmetic prize, but neither really thought much of their chances of
success.

"Lively, isn't it?" said Hilary, reflectively.  "We shall have to
stir up our juniors a bit if we want anything done."

"They're too busy squabbling amongst themselves," said Duane.  "You
know they have two rival societies on the go.  The Budmushes and the
something else--I forget what."

"The P. Squareds, whatever that may mean.  Sounds like an algebraic
formula.  Can't we put an end to it and get them to join forces?"

"Put an end to their blessed societies, you mean?" said Duane.  "They
wouldn't hear of it.  They're free to have as many secret societies
as they like, so long as they don't break rules.  By the by, there'll
be our usual inter-house cricket and tennis matches this term.  I
shall soon have to see about drawing up our teams."

Another silence.  The head prefect appeared on the point of dropping
off to sleep, and as nobody seemed to have anything to offer in the
way of suggestions or ideas, the girls made their departure in ones
and twos.  Kitty thought it had been a very feeble, ineffectual
affair altogether.  After the invigorating atmosphere brought into
the room for a few minutes by Paddy, it had seemed very flat and
lifeless.  Hilary alone had made some attempt to get a definite plan
fixed, and she had not succeeded.

Kitty hated the idea of belonging to such a slack house.  Couldn't
she do something herself?  She knew she was a good tennis and cricket
player, and later on she would play for all she was worth.  But the
playing of one girl wouldn't make such a great deal of difference
unless well supported.  As the week slipped by she turned things over
in her mind, until suddenly an idea flashed into it.  Of course, they
would think it frightful conceit on her part, but she didn't care
about that.  At least, it would give Carslake's the shock that was
necessary to wake up the house from its lethargy....

By the end of the first school week, Kitty was beginning to feel at
home.  She and Hilary were invariably the first to turn out in the
mornings, while the head prefect was equally certain to be the last.
Kitty never attempted to repeat her venture of the first morning,
leaving it to Hilary to arouse her lackadaisical head prefect.  She
wondered at first if Duane were aware of the identity of the
perpetrator of the outrage, but was not certain until one dinner-time
half-way through the week.  Dinner that day began with soup.  In
passing a plateful to the next girl, Kitty's arm was accidentally
jolted, the plate tipped up, and a liberal half of its contents
poured over the cloth and into the lap of her unfortunate neighbour.
The girl gave a loud exclamation, which drew everybody's attention to
Kitty's table, and there was a hush in the buzz of talk.  In the
silence, the voice of the head prefect, with its unmistakable drawl,
was heard all over the room.

"It's all right.  Merely a little accident with the soup.  Our friend
Kitty is evidently of the opinion that shower-baths are good for
people.  In fact, it has become quite a generous habit of hers to
treat people to them gratis!"

There was a general laugh, especially from the girls of Dormitory A
who remembered the previous incident.  Kitty, blushing somewhat at
finding the public amused at her expense, laughed also, to cover up
her confusion, and mopped up the mess with her serviette.  So Duane
did know who it was!  Well, she certainly didn't blame her for
getting her own back when the opportunity occurred.

On Monday morning Hilary cheered up the dormitory with the
information that for once it was not raining.  There were more
cheerful faces that day than there had been all the week.  When
morning school was over, as the girls were idling around waiting for
the dinner bell to go, Carslake's, on looking at its notice-board,
received quite a shock.  There, boldly written for all and sundry to
see, was a notice to the effect that Kitty Despard, as an Australian
girl who had just come from the Dominion, challenged any English girl
in the house who cared to accept, to a singles tennis match.

All through the dinner-hour the house, juniors and seniors alike,
could think of nothing but this audacious move on the part of a new
girl.  The news spread rapidly to the girls in the other houses, and
they were not slow to offer their criticisms when they all met at
afternoon lessons.  The Upper Fifth were really moved for once.  A
few gazed upon Kitty coldly; a few, who belonged to the other houses,
treated it as a huge joke; the majority looked somewhat askance at
the challenger.  Of course, it was pure, unadulterated cheek on her
part, but it required a good deal of nerve, and they rather admired
her for possessing so much As soon as the interval came, Paddy
agilely clambered over half a dozen desks to Kitty's side.

"Hallo, kid!  You've started well, say with a regular flourish of
trumpets.  I do admire your nerve though.  Carslake's wants shaking
up a bit."

"That's why I've done it," Kitty confided upon a sudden impulse, for
here was a kindred spirit.  "But don't tell anybody.  They think it's
just showing off on my part."

"Bless you, they'll forget all about that you put up a good enough
game to win your match," said Paddy consolingly.

Meanwhile others were attacking the Carslake girls.

"I say, Duane, I suppose somebody will accept the challenge, or else
it will look as though you've nobody good enough."

"You'll have to do it yourself, Cato.  There's nobody else who can
play decently in your house, is there?"

"There's Francie.  Now then, France, show what you're made of.  You
could stand on your head and serve, you know, and receive
upside-down."

"I'm going to have a try, anyway," retorted France, with spirit.  She
was quite indignant at this conceit on the part of the new girl, and
would not admit that in her inmost soul she rather admired her for
it.  But if Kitty hoped to move the head prefect, she was doomed to
disappointment.  That worthy was as imperturbable as ever, blinked
lazily once or twice, then murmured, "Oh, I don't mind having a
friendly game with her if she wants one.  I dare say it will be quite
a good match."

"We'll all be there to see the fun if it does come off," Paddy
promised.

The sun continued to shine; a spell of fine spring weather had
evidently set in, and by the following Wednesday summer sports had
begun at Easthampton.

The first event in which everybody was interested was the playing of
the challenge games between the new Australian girl and her own
house.  Carslake's decided that France and Duane, their two best
tennis players, were sufficient to uphold the dignity of the house,
and told themselves with satisfaction that if Kitty could beat them
upon their own courts, she would indeed be a welcome acquisition to
their ranks.

There was quite a crowd to see the first game, between Kitty and
Frances.  By mutual consent it had been agreed that both matches
should consist of twelve games, unless there was a tie, when a
decider should be played.  Vanda West, head prefect of Prince's, and
the school tennis captain, was umpiring.

The result was a foregone conclusion after the first two games.
France played with elegance and style, and showed an astonishing
fleetness of foot, but her strokes lacked force.  She put up a
gallant fight to the end, but she was helpless against Kitty's
lightning movements, smashing strokes and accurate placing.  She only
succeeded in winning one game out of twelve, a fact which did not
seem to trouble her in the least, for she smiled happily as she
congratulated the winner, then hurried off to her organ practice.

The next day, Vanda, as she joined the waiting group by the court,
said to Kitty, half jokingly, half earnestly:

"Play up, my child.  I've got one or two empty places to fill in the
school tennis eight, and Carslake's will have to supply me with
somebody to fill one of them.  You've a chance to get your tennis
colour, like everyone else, you know."

Kitty's second match was a far harder struggle.  Duane, who was a
picture of elegance in her short white tennis frock and scarlet
"colour," played with considerable skill, some of her strokes being
extremely powerful, particularly her service.  The spectators were
kept interested, for Kitty's game--especially her volleying--was
really spectacular.  In spite of her ability to retrieve nearly
everything Duane sent over the net, the first six games were
ding-dong ones, each player winning her service.  Duane, not so quick
and dashing as Kitty, at first held her own, returning Kitty's
deliveries by good anticipation and a wonderful reach.  Then Kitty
seemed to be playing on the very top of her form and gradually drew
ahead.  In the end her amazing vigour and lightning quickness gained
the upper hand, and she finished the victor by seven games to five.

"Well played, Kitty," said Vanda appreciatively.

Duane donned her blazer and sauntered across to the winner.  Kitty
was hot and panting and flushed; Duane showed no signs of exertion,
save that she was breathing more deeply than usual.

"Good game, Kitty, wasn't it!" she said, in her emotionless way.
"You're a fine player.  Can't think how you can fly about the court
at the rate you do, though."

"Oh, I like plenty of exercise," returned Kitty, feeling a little shy
and embarrassed at the congratulations showered upon her from all
sides.  She made her escape from the field as quickly as possible,
while the spectators gradually drifted back to their own quarters,
still discussing the match and the outstanding points of the play.




CHAPTER III

THE P. SQUAREDS

Kitty rolled over in bed and opened her eyes with a start.  What was
that?  She was sure she had heard someone moving stealthily down the
dormitory.  The next instant she heard the sound of a smothered
giggle and drew a breath of relief.  Of course it was only those
harum-scarum juniors up to some prank; and by the scuffling noise,
thought Kitty, nearly the whole of the dormitory seemed astir.

Just as the sounds diminished Kitty heard a bed creak, as if someone
had sat up suddenly, and a voice, which she recognized as Duane's,
saying:

"Who's that?  Is there anything the matter?"  Kitty gave a little
chuckle, then answered softly, "Couldn't say exactly, only I should
guess most of the juniors of this dormitory are taking a little
nocturnal airing."

"Oh, indeed!  Well, I'll soon make sure of that."

The bed creaked once again as Duane turned out of it.  Kitty, now
wide awake, and feeling rather amused and curious, slipped quietly
out too.  The head of the dormitory, looking very tall and striking
in a vividly-red dressing-gown, emerged at the same time, a lighted
candle in her hand.  She crossed to the opposite cubicle and, without
ceremony, drew back the curtain.  The cubicle was empty.  Quickly she
made a round of the dormitory; the nine cubicles occupied by juniors
were all deserted.  The only occupants of the dormitory at that
moment were herself, Kitty and Hilary, who could be heard breathing
deeply and steadily, soundly asleep.

"Shall we follow them, and see what they're up to?" asked Kitty
eagerly, only too willing for an adventure.

"No fear!" replied Duane with a yawn.  "Bed for me.  They'll only be
gorging themselves in the common-room, I expect.  Little wretches!
It'll do in the morning.  Good night."  Yawning again, she went off
into her cubicle, carrying the light with her.

Kitty hesitated, disappointed, but not caring to switch on one of the
lights, and at last decided that, under the circumstances, the most
discreet thing to do was to follow Duane's example.  In ten minutes,
the latter was breathing as regularly and as evenly as Hilary.
Kitty, lying awake, heard the delinquents return, and grinned to
herself as she thought of their surprise in the morning.  The head
prefect, for once, evidently intended to exert her authority and
enforce discipline.

Directly after morning lessons were over, at half past twelve, the
nine juniors who slept in Dormitory A were summoned to their head
prefect's study.  Here they found Duane, Hilary and Kitty.  The last
named had much ado to refrain from smiling as the nine
sheepish-looking juniors endeavoured to squeeze themselves into the
little room.  In the foreground was Peggy O'Nell, always the chief
spokesman for the juniors.  She was in the Fourth, an active,
mercurial girl with a mop of thick black curls, sparkling blue eyes
and a mischievous smile.  She had won her position as leader of the
juniors through sheer force of personality, and perhaps enjoyed a
larger share of popularity than any other girl in the house.  Close
behind her was her faithful follower and shadow, little Erica Salter,
Bertha's sister.

The friendship between the two was a curious one, for Erica was
several years Peggy's junior and in the lowest form.  She was a slim,
fair-haired, fairy-like child, of rather a timid nature.  In no
respect did she resemble her sister Bertha.  She adored the
high-spirited, masterful Peggy with a slavish devotion; in her eyes
Peggy could do no wrong.  On the other hand, Erica was petted and
made much of by the rest of the dormitory, because she was the
youngest, the "baby."

"You'll find standing room, if there's nowhere to sit down," remarked
Duane, in an affable drawl.  "Would you mind shutting the door behind
you?  Thanks so much.  Now we can get to business.  I suppose you
won't deny the fact that all nine of you left your dormitory in the
middle of last night?"

"Wouldn't be much good, would it?" replied Peggy, somewhat impudently.

Duane ignored the impudence, and went on in the same tone:

"I also presume you are aware that, since a girl broke her leg last
year at that same trick, it is one of the strictest house rules that
girls are not to leave their dormitories after lights out, except in
cases of necessity."

"Yes," said Peggy, "but I've heard you say yourself that rules are
like piecrust--made to be broken."

"True, my child, but that was before I was made a prefect."

"Well, we're not prefects--yet."

"Then allow me to point out that, if you wish to indulge in
rule-breaking you must so manage it that prefects don't get to know
of it."

"Perhaps," interrupted Hilary, "you wouldn't mind enlightening us as
to the reason for this midnight excursion?"

Silence!

The nine exchanged glances and glowered at the tall figure of their
head prefect with sullen determination.  Duane waited a few moments,
then said, with bland deliberation:

"Of course, if you are going to refuse to make a clean breast of the
whole affair the matter is beyond me.  I shall simply have to report
it to Miss Carslake and let her deal with you."

The juniors started, and exchanged frightened glances.  Lines or
order marks from prefects were not unusual punishments and could be
put up with, but "reported to house mistress" was a far more serious
affair, and a rare occurrence.

Duane crossed her arms behind her head and lounged back comfortably
in her chair, with the agreeable sensation of being mistress of the
situation.

"Well?" she said, serenely.  "Peggy, you seem to be the leader of the
party."

Peggy gulped.  "We--we--were only having a supper down in the
common-room."

"Oh, I see.  That was what I surmised.  There's generally some light
refreshment attached to your little affairs.  Most thrilling!
Barbara, suppose you tell me what were the eatables in this repast of
yours."

Barbara giggled.  It seemed to be an incurable affliction with her.
"Oh--er--sandwiches and cakes and--and lemon jelly.  We took our soap
dishes down to eat it from and made it in a Moab--I mean a wash-jug.
And--and," here Barbara, rather singularly, hesitated and blushed
furiously, "pork pies."

"H'm.  Quite a feast!  I almost wish I had been invited," murmured
the head prefect.  "Pork pies, too!  Now, I wonder--" she paused, as
a sudden thought struck her, and repeated again, "pork pies!  Of
course, there isn't any connexion between the--er--title of your
society and that article of diet?  I have often wondered what P.
Squared stood for."

The faces of the juniors were a study.  Peggy boiled over with rage.

"Yes, that's where we did get the title from," she flung out
defiantly, "and--and--it's beastly mean of you to get it out of us
like this.  I half believe somebody told you."

"No, no, merely intuition--aided by Barbara's self-conscious blush,"
assured Duane.  "I suppose the eating of pork pies at the beginning
of each meeting constitutes a sacred ceremony.  Oh well, I was young
myself once.  You do great credit to Miss Green's teaching.  I must
congratulate you on the intelligent way in which you have learnt
algebra.  Correlation of subjects, too, is one of the modern crazes."

She rose to her feet.

"Well, thank you for your frankness.  I will think the matter over
and decide on the sentence.  There's dinner bell, so you'd better
clear," and at the words of dismissal from the head prefect, who had
become aware that the other two seniors were no longer able to
control their merriment, the nine juniors gladly made their escape.
As they disappeared Hilary's face sobered suddenly.  She turned to
Duane.

"You'll report 'em, I suppose?  It's the only way to stop these silly
societies.  One wouldn't mind them, of course, but these kids are far
more enthusiastic over a cricket match between P. Squareds and
Budmushes than one between Carslake's and another house, and when
they actually cut school matches because their blessed society is
running a picnic or has a jape on against the other one, it's getting
more than a joke."

Such was the point of view of the seniors.

Among the juniors there was great indignation when Miss Carslake
called them together and, as a punishment for rule-breaking and
rowdyism, forbade the formation of secret societies among themselves.
Rarely did Miss Carslake arouse herself to such severity, but perhaps
she also was beginning to realize the backslidings of her house.

The juniors were treated to a long lecture in which the house
mistress advised them to devote their energies to more worthy and
less childish objects, and especially to endeavour to raise the
"tone" of the house and its prestige in the school.  This could only
be done by combining, with their seniors, to form a united house.
Then complaints from form mistresses of careless preparation, reports
from prefects of disciplinary troubles would cease, and both the work
and the play of the house would reach a higher level.

She left behind her an audience simmering with indignation, wrath and
outraged pride.

"Back up the prefects indeed!" cried Peggy.  "Prefects like ours?  No
fear!  Duane is a beastly sneak, that's what she is.  Other prefects
don't report little things like that.  She did it on purpose to put a
stop to the P. Squareds and Budmushes."

Daisy Carteret, leader of the Budmushes, was as indignant as Peggy.
An indignation meeting was held until the descent of an irate
mistress upon the common-room, demanding what their prefects were
doing not to put a stop to the din, summarily put an end to the
proceedings.  Thus nothing came of the indignation meeting, but after
Miss Carslake's drastic measures the atmosphere in the house was
charged with a good deal of electricity.

Duane took no notice of the hostility of the juniors, apparently
believing it the wisest--and easiest--plan to let their indignation
burn itself out, as no doubt it would do in time.  She said nothing,
even when one evening, on passing through the common-room in the
company of three other Upper Fifth-formers, there was an audible hiss
from one of the juniors.  Duane walked on with her usual leisurely
gait, Hilary flushed crimson, and France, who had been thinking out a
colour scheme for a design, looked round in a bewildered fashion.

But Kitty stopped dead, then swung round and spoke curtly and coldly.
"May I ask who that was meant for?"

"It's all right, Kitty.  That wasn't meant for you, nor for France.
You're a sport all right."

"I'm glad of that--for your sakes," said Kitty, still curtly, "and I
should be still more obliged if it wasn't meant for anyone else, not
when she's in _my_ company, at any rate," and she passed on, leaving
the juniors a little taken aback.

As she caught the others up in the passage, she said involuntarily,
lowering her tone, "if I were a prefect I'd never allow them to do
that to me.  Why do you, Duane?"

Duane looked at her.  Kitty had quite a shock when she saw the
unmistakable, and for once unconcealed, hostility in the other's
sleepy grey eyes.

"You happen to enjoy their popularity, you see," Duane replied,
coldly.  "Besides, you're not a prefect.  It isn't all jam to be head
prefect--at least, the jam's only there to hide the bread underneath."

"A sort of gilded pill," laughed Kitty, to hide her discomfiture, but
Duane walked on without reply.  Kitty felt a little miserable as she
brushed out her thick brown crop that night.  "I was right from the
beginning," she thought.  "I knew the Hon. Duane and I would never
hit it off.  It's rotten having your own head prefect for an enemy."

Girls in the other houses raised expressive eyebrows when, next
Wednesday afternoon, on the important occasion of the tennis match
between Carslake's and Prince's, while there was a goodly proportion
of the juniors of the latter house in attendance to support their
players, the Carslake juniors were chiefly conspicuous by their
absence.

"Sulking," explained France airily to Vanda.  "Had a row with 'em
last week.  They'll come round in time."

"Seems to me you are always having rows in Carslake's," retorted
Vanda, dryly.

Carslake's lost the match, but they put up a better fight than was
expected.  Kitty, indeed, played brilliantly again, and as a result
received her first colour from the hands of Vanda.  She was delighted
at the honour of being chosen to represent the school, though her
pleasure was rather spoilt when several of the juniors were heard to
rejoice openly that she had been given the preference over Duane.

May passed in a blaze of sunshine and ended on a more hopeful note
for Carslake's, the house gaining their first and most welcome
cricket victory over Green's.  They had previously lost to
Sheerston's (who possessed a very strong side), leading into the
field a team that had perforce to be composed largely of juniors, for
Bertha was in bed with a severe cold, and Sonia was but a broken reed
where games were concerned.  After the dismissal of Duane and Kitty,
except for a dogged stand by Daisy Carteret, the rest of Carslake's
innings was a mere "procession," so that when the house next took the
field against Green's, Paddy could be heard loudly propounding an
original riddle to the scorers in the pavilion.

"Why is Carslake's cricket team like a tadpole?"

"Because one day it'll be a frog," hazily returned Hilary, who was in
her usual post as scorer for her house.

"No, silly, because it's chiefly tail," retorted Paddy, triumphantly.

"You mean, 'and thereby hangs a tale,'" said Hilary, solemnly,
refusing to see the point since it was made against her side.

However, although Carslake's only succeeded in making a moderate
total themselves, Kitty's bowling was more successful this time.  She
not only bowled overhand with remarkable accuracy for a girl, but
managed to make the ball break in a formidable fashion; and supported
by some really smart ground fielding and catching on the part of the
juniors, she dismissed Green's for a more moderate total still,
leaving Carslake's victors by about a dozen runs.

This triumph acted as a badly needed tonic, and when, a week later,
the house also defeated Green's at tennis, the seniors began to
congratulate themselves that the "bad time" was over and the house
was at last looking up.  Alas! no one had the slightest presentiment
of the trouble that Fate had in store for them before that term was
ended.




CHAPTER IV

THE RICHOTER SCIENCE PRIZE

Everybody at Easthampton, new girls and old, knew all about the
Richoter Science Prize.  That and the Essay Medal were the
"scholastic plums" of the year, as Hilary said.  This year Salome,
the head prefect of Sheerston's, was undoubtedly the favourite for
the science prize.  But a good deal of excitement was aroused when
Duane, after returning from a rather mysterious interview with the
Principal, announced somewhat lugubriously that Miss St. Leger
strongly advised her to enter for the Richoter, and that Miss Vacher
spoke highly of her natural ability at the subject and considered
that she had a very good chance, if she did her best, of winning the
prize.

The other Carslake heroes naturally thought this a brilliant notion
on the part of the Principal.  Their house would now have a candidate
to represent it, and if, by any chance, Duane managed to win the
prize, what a triumph for Carslake's!  They solemnly assured their
doleful-looking head prefect that they would help her as much as they
possibly could.

The Upper Fifth, as a whole, freely gave their opinions on this new
entry for the Richoter.  Duane, they said, though a slacker, was
undoubtedly clever at some things, and would be a worthy opponent for
Salome and Eileen Gilbert and the other five or six candidates.
Whereupon Kitty, her enthusiasm for her house catching fire from that
of the girls of Sheerston's, Prince's and Green's, called out in her
clear, decided way, a remark which she would afterwards have given
worlds to have left unsaid, though it meant little or nothing at the
time.

"Duane will be something more than a worthy opponent to your girls.
She's going to win that prize, and we're going to use every means in
our power to bring it off.  You mark my words."

"I say, Kitty," remonstrated Hilary, a little later, "you needn't be
so deadly certain that Duane will win the Richoter."

Kitty laughed.  "When I hear the other houses boasting that one of
their own girls is practically sure of the prize, I simply have to up
and boast a bit for our poor old house.  No one else will."

"Oh yes, that's all right.  Only if Duane doesn't get it, you'll be
twitted no end," warned Hilary.

"Pooh!  I can stand that.  Besides, Duane isn't going to lose.  Why,
this is Carslake's Great Opportunity!"  Several other girls, passing
by, caught the last two sentences and smiled, half amusedly, half
curiously, at Kitty's emphatic words and tone.

There were only three weeks before the exam, but as all students
know, quite a lot of swotting can be done in three weeks if it
doesn't matter about neglecting other things.  The Carslake seniors
were as good as their word.  "Even better," as Duane remarked dryly,
to which Margaret said reproachfully, "Why, I do believe we're more
enthusiastic over it than you are!"

"Especially Kitty," returned Duane, with a half-mocking,
half-quizzical glance at Kitty that made her flush hotly.

The other prefects, Hilary and France, willingly took upon themselves
disciplinary duties which usually fell to the head prefect's lot, in
order to give her more time for study.  Kitty industriously copied
out lists of game practices, weekly reports, notices of sports or
debate meetings, and similar things which were part of the head
girl's routine, while much of Duane's ordinary preparation was
excused.  All this help was accepted by the head prefect readily
enough, until it came to assistance in early morning rising.  Hilary
and Kitty held themselves responsible for seeing that she was out of
bed ten minutes before rising bell, dressed by the time the bell
rang, and ready for three-quarters of an hour's hard study before
breakfast.  To this Duane most strongly objected, using the passive
form of resistance, and it says much for the patience and firmness of
Hilary and Kitty that, right up to the exam itself, Duane was
downstairs every morning soon after the rising bell.

It must be admitted, however, that to achieve this record, Hilary had
to resort to a novel stratagem suggested by Kitty's fertile brain.
This was the innocent plan of tying one end of a piece of cord round
Duane's ankle after she was in bed, and letting the other end hang by
Hilary's bedside.  Thus a good strong pull from Hilary woke Duane
effectually from slumber.  This worked very well the first couple of
mornings, but on the third Duane declined to get out of bed merely
because her leg was jerked.  Whereupon Kitty and Hilary attached
another cord, to the victim's arm this time, with the satisfactory
result that next morning an extremely vigorous pull on both cords
jerked her right out of bed and landed her amid a heap of tumbled
bedclothes upon the floor, where she was not allowed to remain for
long.

Carslake affairs, however, though much improved, were not yet
progressing with the smoothness of well-oiled machinery.  The fiery
Peggy and her devoted satellites were frequently coming into
collision with the prefects, and after one such incident, Peggy,
brooding over the lines she had been set that morning, was not
mistress of her temper at cricket practice in the afternoon and
disputed Duane's verdict of l.b.w. against her.  The head prefect's
temper was also strained by the unusual amount of work she was doing
just before the Richoter, and her customary imperturbable
indifference was ruffled and disturbed.

"I'm acting as umpire," she said sharply.  "You had better get off
the field if you don't agree with my decision."

Peggy looked at her, flushing with resentment.  "What do you mean,
Duane?"

"Mean?  What I say.  Either accept my verdict or else clear off the
field."

Peggy's hot flush faded.

"If I go now I'll never, never play in a match again if you're
captaining the team," she said, in a voice that trembled with anger
and humiliation.  Duane shrugged her shoulders indifferently.

"Please yourself.  Your services aren't indispensable," she returned,
coldly.

Peggy dropped her bat and walked off defiantly.  Little Erica Salter,
with a glance of mingled fury and reproach at Duane for treating her
idol thus, rushed off the field after her retreating figure.  The
juniors looked at each other uncomfortably, several being obviously
inclined to follow her example.  Then Kitty sang out cheerily, "Come
along!  Who's going in next?  It's my turn to bowl, and I hate
wasting time, you know."  The girls turned to her with relief, and
for the rest of the time it was Kitty's personality which dominated
the game, while Duane stood silently watching.

A little later, coming down the passage in her unhurried way, Duane
nearly ran into Erica.  The child's face was flushed and her eyes
bright.  She looked very pretty and childish as she planted herself
in front of the head prefect.  The latter had perforce to stop too.

"Why, Erica," she said, "do you want anything?"

"No," replied the child, fixing her bright eyes on the tall figure of
the head prefect and clenching her little hands.  "Only--only to tell
you that I think you're simply hateful."

"And why, pray, this flattering opinion of me?" inquired Duane
lazily, with a smile.

"Oh, you can laugh," said Erica, stamping her foot angrily.  "But I
think you were simply horrid to Peggy this afternoon and I hate you
for it.  I hope you'll have something nasty happen to you some day,
and then p'r'aps you'll be sorry you've been so nasty to other
people."

"Peggy will get over it all right in a day or two.  She'll be quite a
nice girl in a couple of years, when she's rubbed off the edges.
Don't worry your head over her--or me either.  Go along and play with
your dolls."

"Dolls!" said Erica, scornfully.  "I don't play with dolls now.  I'm
much too big."

Duane looked down at her with a sudden twinkle in her eyes.  "You're
not very big though.  But I do believe you're the prettiest little
kid in the school."

She stooped suddenly, caught the child impulsively in her arms and
kissed her.  Erica indignantly struggled free and ran off down the
passage as hard as she could.  Ten minutes later, Duane, with
wrinkled brows, was plunged deep in a last skim through a chapter on
chlorine, Peggy and such minor disturbances completely forgotten.

The examination opened with two written papers on the first day.  The
second day was devoted to the more important half of the exam, the
practical work.  The laboratory was given over entirely to the use of
the candidates; balances had been carefully cleaned and adjusted, as
all knew that accurate results depended very largely upon accurate
weighing and measuring; everything else that would be required had
been put in order.

Just after half-past twelve the candidates came trooping out in a
body, Miss Vacher, looking intensely important, bringing up the rear
and locking the door.  They were met in the hall by a large crowd of
girls who were eager to know what they had been doing, but inquiries
for details only resulted in the victims walking off arm-in-arm with
their own particular chums.

"Oh, don't ask any more questions," begged Eileen.  "Give us a rest
till we go back to it this afternoon.  Yes, Gwen, we're working three
at a bench.  I'm at the one just inside the door, in the middle, with
Salome on my right and Duane on my left.  In good company, you see.
No, we're only allowed to speak to Miss Vacher."

Meanwhile Duane, accompanied by the Carslake seniors, went off to her
study, where she dropped into the easy-chair with an air of fatigue,
while the others disposed themselves on the table and such chairs as
the little room possessed.

"We don't begin again till half-past two, one comfort," said Duane
dreamily.  "Give us plenty of time to digest our dinners.  I hope the
analysis of my compound works out right."

"Let us know if it does, won't you?" said France eagerly.

"Oh, certainly," replied Duane.  "I believe mine will come right,"
she added reflectively.  "I've a sort of feeling it will."

"In your bones, I presume," suggested Kitty maliciously.  Kitty was
always rubbed up the wrong way by Duane's airy manner of treating
even serious things.

"That's just it," assented Duane at once.  "Only I hope," anxiously,
"it won't turn out to be rheumatism after all."

Kitty laughed.  "Scored off me there," she said frankly.  "Hallo,
who's this?"

"This" proved to be a junior from one of the other houses.

"If you please, Duane," she said, "I've come from Miss Vacher.  She
wants a pipette out of the laboratory at once.  I think she's doing
some experimental work in her room and she said, as you had the key,
would you mind fetching a pipette for her?  She hopes it won't be
troubling you, and I'll take it back with me."

"Why on earth has Washer given the key to you, Cato?" asked France,
looking surprised.

"To mind it for her," replied Duane, with a laugh.  "You know what a
bother there was last year when poor old Washer lost the key in the
dinner-hour, and how eventually they had to break open the door and
get in.  Washer was dreadfully upset and didn't want a repetition of
it this year, so she handed the key over to me after we got outside,
and asked me to keep it till we went in again this afternoon."

There was a general laugh at Duane's explanation.  Inside the
laboratory Miss Vacher was as keen and as capable as Miss St. Leger
herself.  Away from science, she was the most hopelessly
absent-minded person it was possible to imagine.  She kept an army of
small girls constantly employed looking around for her possessions.

However, everybody seemed to take the explanation for granted, though
Kitty _did_ think that the science mistress's eccentricities were
responsible for a state of affairs that was not quite what it should
be.  Still, it was certainly not her place to say so.

Duane was eyeing the small messenger ruefully.  "Oh, bother Miss
Vacher!  What on earth does she want a pipette for just before
dinner!  It isn't soup day.  I'm so comfortably settled too, and
having a few minutes' rest.  I say, kid, if I gave you the key,
couldn't you slip along and get it?"

The girl looked doubtful.  "Better go yourself, Duane," advised
Hilary.  "You know the lab's out of bounds to-day for us folk.  I
shouldn't send a junior, in case of an accident."

"No, I suppose not," agreed Duane.  "I shouldn't like to get anyone
into trouble.  Still, it's an awful bore," and she yawned as she
spoke.

"I'll go if you like," Kitty volunteered.  "I know where the pipettes
are kept--over by the window--and it won't take me a minute."

"Thanks ever so much," said Duane.  "You're a brick.  Here's the key.
Of course, there's no need to advise you to give a wide berth to our
experiments."

"Of course not," replied Kitty.  "I shan't go near the benches.  I'll
be back in a tick."  She disappeared with a nod, and in a few minutes
returned and handed over pipette and key to Duane, who slipped the
key into her pocket and gave the pipette to the junior.  "Here you
are.  Trot it along--with Duane's love--and don't smash it on the
way.  Be sure you don't forget the love."

"Vacher was always rather smitten with you," remarked Bertha with a
grin.  "Now, any of the others would have handed the key over to
Salome.  She's your senior really."

"Yes, queer taste on Washer's part, isn't it?" returned Duane
complacently.

"Very," said France, bursting into a laugh.  "However, you make a
very well-matched pair."

"Yes, I suppose you're thinking that opposites meet," replied Duane,
undisturbed.  "There's only one thing in which Washer and I are
alike."

"What's that?"

"Our genius for science."

"Well, let's hope your genius will pull off the Richoter for you,"
put in Kitty.  "Then Carslake's can crow for once in its life.
There's the dinner bell.  You'll see our Richoter candidate doesn't
faint this afternoon through lack of nourishment, won't you, France?"

By two o'clock that afternoon the four houses were quiet and
deserted, all except the Richoter candidates being in their
classrooms.  Little did they dream, as the clock hand pointed to the
half hour and then crept onwards, of the drama that was being enacted
even then in the science laboratory.

The nine candidates had assembled punctually at two-thirty; Duane had
handed over the key to Miss Vacher and, Miss St. Leger also with
them, they had entered the room and taken up their former places to
continue their work.

There was several minutes' silence while the girls began to take
their compounds from the midget furnaces, preparatory to weighing.
Miss St. Leger and Miss Vacher were talking together in low tones
when a sudden exclamation from Salome made them glance up quickly.
With an expression of amazement on her face the girl was gazing at
one of the pans which she had just removed from her balance;
underneath the pan was a small gravel pebble attached to the pan by
means of a piece of plasticine.  She swung round quickly as the
Principal's voice, from just behind her, said sharply: "Has someone
been interfering with your balances, Constance?"  (Constance was
Salome's baptismal name.)

[Illustration: "'Has someone been interfering with your balances,
Constance?' asked the Principal."]

"It--it seems so, Miss St. Leger," stammered Salome.  "I tested my
balances to see if they were correct before weighing, and was
astonished to find one side much heavier than the other.  Then I took
off the pans to try and find the cause and discovered this piece of
gravel underneath one of them."

The faces of the Principal and the science mistress were very grave,
for it looked as if a deliberate attempt had been made to spoil
Salome's results.  Aware that the other girls in the room had paused
in their work to listen in astonishment, Miss St. Leger said
decidedly, "Continue your work, girls.  Constance, I will inquire
into this as soon as you have all finished your practical work.  Go
on now with your experiment."

The Principal stayed in the room till the time allotted for the
practical work was over, then she called them all together round the
bench where Salome, Eileen and Duane had been working and explained
to them exactly what had happened.  They looked at one another with
mingled feelings of discomfort and amazement.

Miss St. Leger first questioned Salome.  "When did you use your
balances last--I mean before your discovery at the beginning of the
afternoon?"

"This morning," replied Salome at once.  "Not long before we left.
We had to weigh our compounds before putting them into the midget
furnaces to heat during the dinner hour."

"You are sure they were correct then?"

"Quite sure, Miss St. Leger.  I always lift them before using, to
test and correct them, if necessary.  I distinctly remember testing
them this morning."

"Then that means that someone has tampered with them between then and
when we returned," interposed Miss Vacher.

"Exactly.  But surely it was not possible for anyone to touch them
while you were working in the room.  Constance, what do you say?  You
should be the best judge of that."

Salome raised her eyes frankly to the Principal.  "I have been
thinking of that, Miss St. Leger.  It seems quite impossible to me.
I did not leave my place after the weighing till we went out about
ten minutes later."

"And the nearest girls to you?"

"Eileen and Duane, and they were right at the farther ends of the
benches.  I am quite sure no girl in this room touched them then."

"Who was the last one to leave the room?"

"Eileen and I.  We came out together with Miss Vacher."

"You are quite sure of that?  No one was left behind, even for a half
minute or so?  It could have been done in a few seconds."

"I was the last out, Miss St. Leger," replied the science mistress,
"and I locked the door after me."

"Most extraordinary," said the Principal, "and there is only one key
to that lock in the school.  We found _that_ out last year.  The key
never left your possession during the dinner hour, I suppose, Miss
Vacher?"

The science mistress was looking far from happy.  "The key was not in
my possession, Miss St. Leger.  After last year--I mean, owing to my
unfortunate absent-mindedness--I decided to entrust it to somebody
else.  Duane took charge of it for me."

"Oh!"  Miss St. Leger's expression changed abruptly.  No longer did
she look puzzled, but keen and alert.  "I am rather sorry for that.
However, Duane will be able to answer that question for us."

Duane hesitated, looking across at the science mistress.

"Only once, Miss St. Leger.  Miss Vacher sent a junior asking me to
get a pipette out of the lab for her, as she wanted it for some
private work she was doing in her room.  I was--was feeling rather
lazy, so another girl offered to fetch it for me."

"Who was the girl who fetched the pipette?"

"Kitty Despard."

Miss St. Leger nodded.  "Ah yes, I remember.  The girl from
Australia, who came at the beginning of the term.  When was this?"

"Just before dinner."

"How long was she gone?"

"Only a few minutes."

"She gave the key back to you on her return?"

"Yes."

"What did you do with it then?"

"I put it back into my pocket."

"And it stayed there till you handed it to Miss Vacher?"

"Yes, Miss St. Leger."

"No one could have taken it and put it back again unknown to you, I
suppose?"

Duane shook her head decidedly.

Miss St. Leger turned to Eileen.

"Will you please see if you can find Kitty Despard for me, Eileen,
and ask her to come here.  She is probably down on the
playing-fields, as afternoon lessons are over.  Don't say anything to
Kitty or anyone else about what is happening here."

While Eileen was gone, the Principal again turned to Duane.

"You are quite sure no one else had use of the key except yourself
and Kitty?"

"Quite sure, Miss St. Leger."

"And--I am sorry to have to put this question to you, Duane, but
under the circumstances I must.  You yourself never went inside the
laboratory during the time the key was in your possession, and you
have no knowledge yourself of anyone who did so, except Kitty
Despard?"

"No."

"You give me your word of honour that you have spoken the truth?"

Duane flushed, but replied:

"Yes, Miss St. Leger."

On Kitty's arrival in Eileen's wake, the Principal turned to her.

"I have sent for you to ask you a few questions.  The matter is
rather a serious one, and I want you to answer me very carefully."

Kitty looked in unmistakable astonishment at the circle of serious
faces around her.

"You came to the laboratory during the dinner hour to-day to fetch a
pipette for Miss Vacher?"

Kitty's look of wonderment became more marked.

"Yes, Miss St. Leger."

"You went straight in and fetched the pipette?"

"Yes."

"Did you touch anything else in the room?"

"No, I don't think so."

"You did not touch the girls' experiments or their balances, for
instance?"

"Oh no.  I was specially careful not to go near them."

"You did not see anyone else about?"

"No, the corridor was empty.  In fact, the building seemed deserted."

"No doubt all the girls were in their houses waiting for the dinner
bell.  Are you quite sure you locked the door when you left the room?"

"Positive."

Here Miss Vacher interposed.  "Yes, we found the door locked right
enough when we returned in the afternoon, Miss St. Leger."

"One more question, Kitty.  You took the key straight back to Duane?
No other girl entered the laboratory while you had it?"

"No one, Miss St. Leger," replied Kitty, shaking her head.

Then Miss St. Leger explained to the puzzled senior what had
happened, but Kitty, with absolute candour, declared firmly that she
had not interfered with the balances and could offer no explanation
of the matter.  The other girls said exactly the same, and there the
inquiry ended for the time being.

The Principal walked restlessly across the room and stared out of the
window into the quad below.  "One thing is certain," she remarked;
"there are no ordinary means of entry into this room except through
the door.  Well, I shall probably call the whole school together for
a public inquiry.  Until then, I want you girls to understand that I
do not wish the matter to go any farther.  That will do, thank you,
girls.  I am sorry I have had to take up some of your time.  Miss
Vacher will take you into the Sixth Form room so that you can write
out your results before tea-time."

Tea at Carslake's that day was the usual cheery meal, and if Kitty
and Duane were unusually quiet and silent no one gave much heed to
them.  Consequently, it was quite a shock to all except Kitty and
Duane when, directly tea was over, the house mistress gave the order
to assemble at once in the hall.

"What on earth's up now?" exclaimed Hilary, as the little party of
seniors made their way across the quad to the school building on the
heels of their juniors.  "Duane, do you know?"

The head prefect paused a moment before she answered, "Yes, I think
so, but you'll know all about it in a few minutes."

As she spoke they entered the hall, finding it nearly full, with rank
after rank of waiting girls, all talking in subdued murmurs that now
and again broke into a clamorous buzz.  Silence fell abruptly as Miss
St. Leger entered and took her place on the dais at the farther end
of the hall.  The girls stood in their house places, Sheerston's and
Carslake's on the right of the wide central gangway, Prince's and
Green's on the left.  The Principal then gave the signal for
calling-over, a customary formality which only took place on special
occasions, and the four head prefects began rapidly calling the names
of the girls in their own houses, each girl answering, "Present."
With the calling-over the interest in the proceedings increased, if
possible, everyone being given the impression that the occasion was a
serious one.

Amidst a breathless hush, the Principal began to speak.

"You will be wondering, I know, why I have assembled the whole school
so suddenly.  I am sorry to say that the reason is a very unpleasant
one.  It is this.  A deliberate attempt was made to spoil the chances
of one of the Richoter candidates in the practical examination which,
as you all know, took place to-day.  You will be still more surprised
to hear," pausing as an amazed gasp ran round the room, "that the
girl upon whom this despicable trick was attempted is one of the most
well-liked and esteemed--perhaps the most popular girl in the school,
the head prefect of Sheerston's."  A low murmur was heard and all
heads turned involuntarily towards Salome, who coloured all over her
frank, open face, then paled as swiftly.

"That this silly, stupid attempt failed most lamentably does not, to
me, make it any the less serious."

The Principal then proceeded to explain the nature of the experiment
the candidates were working, and the apparatus being used.  She gave
the gist of the inquiry she had held in the laboratory that
afternoon, and then went on to say:

"So you see, it certainly seems that the only two girls who can throw
any light on this affair are Duane and Kitty.  If those two girls
will come forward I should like to question them again before the
school.  They have had a little time since my first inquiry to think
things over and may have thought of something which did not then
occur to them."

Conscious that the gaze of every soul in the room was on them, Duane
and Kitty advanced to Miss St. Leger's dais.  Of the two, Duane
betrayed the least emotion; her calm imperturbability stood her in
good stead now.  Kitty was pale and trembling a little, but she
looked the Principal straight in the face in her frank, fearless
manner, and when she spoke her voice was clear and steady.

"Do you still assert, Kitty, that you did not touch the balances when
you went into the laboratory this morning?"

"No, I did not touch them, Miss St. Leger," replied Kitty firmly.

"On your word of honour?"

"On my word of honour."

"You saw nobody near the laboratory when you were there?"

"No, Miss St. Leger," Kitty replied, and a kind of sigh rustled round
the listening ranks.  The Principal turned to Duane.

"The key did not pass out of your charge except when Kitty had it?"

"No, Miss St. Leger."

"Where were you after dinner when the rest of the girls had gone to
afternoon lessons?"

"In my study, resting.  I stayed until it was time to return to the
laboratory."

"And during that time you did not go to the laboratory yourself?"

"No, Miss St. Leger."

"That will do, thank you.  You may go to your places."

"Begorrah!" murmured Paddy under her breath to the next girl, "didn't
she look right through them!  I wonder they didn't sink through the
floor."

The Principal had turned to the girls and was addressing the school
again.

"If any girl here thinks she can throw any light on this affair, can
tell us anything that we do not at present know, will she please come
forward now."

There was silence.  The girls looked from one to another, but no one
spoke or moved out of her place.

"Someone in this room this evening is the culprit," continued the
Principal, in her most impressive tones.  "I will make my appeal to
that girl, whoever she is.  If she is sorry for an impulsive,
unconsidered act, the finest way to show her repentance, and the way
that calls for most moral courage, would be to come forward now in
front of the whole school and confess her guilty intentions."

Again the Principal paused and swept the rows of upturned faces with
earnest gaze.  Many paled and looked uncomfortable and apprehensive,
but no one stirred or spoke and the silence became so intense that
one could have heard a pin drop.

Then the Principal turned with a brisk movement and the tension
relaxed.

"I will not keep you any longer to-night, girls.  I shall let the
matter rest for a few days, so that the culprit may have a second
chance.  If she has not the courage to come forward and confess in
front of the school, it is my earnest hope that she will come to me
in private, remembering what I said a minute ago.  In the meantime I
will ask you all to behave quietly and sensibly and not start jumping
to any rash or foolish conclusions."

The assembly then broke up, the girls returning to their own houses.
The Principal and the mistresses lingered behind on the dais for a
few minutes.

"A most distressing thing to happen," Miss Sheerston said in her
incisive way.  "I would have staked my head that there is not a girl
in my house capable of such an act."

The other three house mistresses emphatically declared that they also
would have placed undisputed trust in every one of their older girls.
There was no character in the school who could be pointed out as
flagrantly dishonest.  Of course the younger girls were out of the
question; they did no science and were incapable of thinking out such
a plot.

But it was of Duane and Kitty that the mistresses were thinking
chiefly.  "It seems as if one of them must be guilty," Miss St. Leger
said reflectively, "and one of them a head prefect, too.  If only
Duane could have accounted for that half-hour or so alone after
dinner, then she would have been above suspicion.  I hate the thought
of suspecting her."

"Things look decidedly black against the other girl, Kitty Despard,"
Miss Green pointed out.  "We know she did go to the laboratory.  We
have only her word that she didn't touch the balance."

"And yet I am loath to suspect the girl," said Miss St. Leger
ruefully.  "I liked her straightforward, fearless look, and I reckon
myself a pretty good judge of character.  If she is guilty, then she
is the cleverest hypocrite for a girl I have yet come across.  How
have you others found her?"

"I like her," said Miss Carslake.  "She is not clever, but always
bright and open, full of high spirits but quite unassuming.  I
thought she had been doing a good deal to help the improvement in the
house."

"And a real sport on the field," added Miss Bryce, the games
mistress.  "I mean a sport in the best sense of the word."

"What puzzles me," said Miss Sheerston, "is the motive behind it all.
There must be a motive of some sort, that is certain.  Constance told
me herself she didn't know a single girl in the school who disliked
her or who bore her a grudge.  The plasticine and gravel offer no
clue.  There is plenty of the former in the lower form classrooms,
used by the little ones for map modelling and that sort of thing,
while the path outside is covered with small gravel."

Then Miss Prince proffered a suggestion.  "Do you think it is a
question, not so much of personal spite but of house rivalry, which
as you know is very keen, over examinations as well as over games?
That idea excludes Miss Sheerston's girls, of course."

"It might be," admitted the Principal.  "I have always encouraged
friendly house rivalry, because it raises the standard of work and
play.  But I should be extremely sorry and disappointed if it has
resulted in anything like this."




CHAPTER V

TRIAL BY JURY

Kitty would have died rather than show fear when questioned before
the whole school.  But as she made her way back to her house after
the inquiry her heart sank.  She realized already that, unless
something very unexpected happened, she would be enveloped in a cloud
from which it might be impossible to escape.  Suspicion rested upon
her and Duane alone, and she knew that if it came to choosing between
them, the unenviable choice of the girls would most certainly fall
upon her.  She had actually gone to the laboratory; no one could say
that of Duane.  One could only say she might have gone.  Besides, the
girls would not think lightly of doubting the word of one of the head
prefects, whom they had known for years, while she, Kitty, was still
little more than a stranger from a remote land.

"I declare, I believe Duane knows more of this affair than anyone
else does, only she's got the knack of keeping cool and never turning
a hair," thought Kitty to herself.

Instead of going straight to her study to do her prep she made for
the gym, feeling she would like a few minutes' exercise before
settling down to work.  Just as she reached the quad she ran into the
very girl who was occupying her thoughts.

"Hallo!" she exclaimed, "going to the gym?"

"Yes," replied Duane in her slow drawl.

"Right-oh! we may as well go across together, if you've no objection."

"Just as you like," replied Duane, though a kind of frigidity came
over her face, and her grey eyes gazed coldly past, rather than at,
the girl to whom she was speaking.

Kitty said nothing for a minute, though her sharp eyes noticed
everything.  "I do believe, in a way, she's afraid," she said to
herself with a curious kind of exaltation.  "Afraid of what I might
say to her."

Then as she fell into step beside Duane she remarked quietly, "I
wonder if it's dawned on you yet that we're both of us in a beastly
awkward position?"

"Oh, you mean about that wretched key business?" returned Duane,
looking bored.

"You know perfectly well I do," said Kitty, rather sharply.  "So why
pretend otherwise?  You know it's between you and me.  You didn't
lend that key to anyone else, did you?"

"I thought I answered that question at the inquiry."

"Well, don't get your wool off.  What I mean is, you didn't tell a
lie to shield anyone?"

"No, I certainly did not," replied Duane, still very coldly.  "I am
not in the habit of telling lies to shield others from the
consequences of their own acts.  If people wish to do such things
they must first make sure they have the courage to face it out
afterwards."

Kitty thought to herself that Duane seemed to have nerve enough to
face anything, despite, or perhaps because of, her lethargic
temperament.  But aloud she said, "Only, you see, I know I never
touched the wretched balance.  I never went near it.  And if I
didn't, who did?"

By this time they had reached the door of the gym.  As she put her
last query Kitty turned and faced Duane, looking her straight in the
eyes.  The head prefect's expression did not change; save for a
slight curling of her lip, not a muscle in her face moved.

"What's the good of asking me?  I was never clever at guessing
riddles," and with that she pushed the gym door open and walked in
without taking any further notice of Kitty.

"Failed dismally in the first round between us, Kitty, my child,"
muttered Kitty to herself.  "I didn't get much out of her, did I?
And yet, it only makes me more certain that she knows something about
it, in spite of her denials.  An absolutely innocent girl would have
been decent over it and met me half-way.  She was hardly polite to
me, and our head prefect has such beautiful manners as a rule.  Well,
she evidently intends to let me pay the piper."

Changing her mind suddenly, she turned away from the gym without
entering and went back to the seclusion of her own study.  The rest
of the evening passed very quietly in Carslake's, everyone being busy
with prep, and there was little public discussion of the Richoter
affair.  Even in Dormitory A after bed bell had gone, Hilary
summarily put a stop to a tentative attempt on the part of the
juniors to raise the subject.

The next day, the Richoter candidates heard the pleasing intelligence
that the Rev. R. Carstairs, who was keenly interested in the science
prize and who always had a hand in its organization, had invited them
all to spend the day at his house, punting on the river and
picnicking on its banks, with his lovely garden and strawberry beds
placed at their disposal.  Naturally the nine girls in question,
having received permission to go, did not hesitate in accepting this
generous invitation.

With the absence of these senior girls, two of whom were head
prefects and several others prefects, the houses felt themselves
suddenly free from a good deal of the control exercised over them out
of lesson hours.  Sheerston's and Carslake's were without a head, and
even Vanda West, at that disturbing time, felt the loss of Eileen's
steady support.  Consequently, the girls were a little out of hand
that day, and Vanda and Phyllis Knight, of Green's, were powerless to
check the conviction that ran like wildfire round the school, that
Kitty Despard was known by the seniors to be the girl who had meddled
with the balances.  One rumour even said that she had been seen
coming out of the First Form room on her way to the lab with a piece
of plasticine in her hand.

Cold looks were cast at Kitty by the Upper Fifth in class that
afternoon, and several cutting remarks addressed by girls to their
near neighbours in her hearing made her cheeks burn.  When, on the
playing-field, it was her turn to bat, some of the juniors looking on
hissed her as she walked towards the pitch.  This was more than Kitty
could bear.  Throwing down her bat she turned and faced them, flushed
and trembling with anger and indignation.

"What right have you to accuse me?  I know I went into the
laboratory, but that isn't proof that I did it.  You may think what
you please.  I don't care.  I can only say that I did not touch the
balances, and if you won't believe me I can't help it," and Kitty,
feeling nearly as desperate as her words, strode off the pitch and
left the field, her head still defiantly erect.  But once out of
sight of the girls some of her defiant courage forsook her.  She
threw herself down in a solitary corner of the grounds, hidden from
the players by the swimming-bath.

"I wish I'd never come to this hateful place.  The girls here are
perfectly horrid.  As if dad and the boys at home would ever dream of
doubting my word!  Oh dear! how on earth shall I stick it here if
they go on suspecting me!  But I vow I won't.  I'd rather go back
home--or to another school."

When the Carslake seniors came out from tea, a fresh notice on the
board caught Hilary's attention.  It ran as follows:


"Seniors are invited to attend a Matter of Special Interest and
Import to All, in the debating-room at 6.30 sharp.

"(Signed) Paddy, Sheerston's."


"One of Paddy's brilliant inspirations, I suppose," commented Bertha
with a slight sneer.  "Are you going, Hilary?"

"Of course," said Hilary with a laugh.  "We had better turn up.
'Twouldn't do for Carslake's not to be represented.  Margaret will
come too, I expect, and France, if she's not too immersed in her
latest Academy picture."

Paddy had intended that her little affair should be patronized by the
head prefects if possible, and had written out personal invitations
for their benefit.  The Richoter candidates had just returned from
their outing, laughing and talking light-heartedly, the shadow of
yesterday's events forgotten for the time being, when a junior came
up and presented Duane and Salome with a note each.

"Only one of Paddy's bright schemes," chuckled Salome.  "I shall have
to turn up to keep everyone out of mischief, I suppose.  Coming,
Duane?"

"I don't know.  Six-thirty!  There isn't much time, is there?"
replied Duane doubtfully.

"Half an hour.  Plenty of time to wash and change.  We're let off
prep, you know.  Come along.  Paddy and her confrères are rather good
when they get on the entertaining stunt."

"All right.  I shall probably be a bit late though, as I have to see
Miss Carslake.  However, I'll put in an appearance."

"By the by," one of the other seniors interjected, "I suppose nothing
fresh has turned up about that beastly balance affair?"

Salome grimaced, then shook her head.  "I asked Phyllis as I passed
her just now by the gates and she shouted back, 'No.'  I guess it
will remain a mystery for ever.  I wish to goodness I'd pulled off
the gravel without Prinny or anyone seeing me."

Goodly numbers of seniors made their appearance punctually at
six-thirty and took their seats.  When the room was full, Paddy, clad
in a tattered gown and a battered old mortar-board, vigorously rang
the lesson bell for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she began.  "I see upon the smiling faces
around me the predominant expression of curiosity.  I do not wish to
keep you on tenterhooks, my dear fellow-labourers, so I will get on
with the business right away.  It has come to my ears recently that a
grievous crime against the justice of this country has been
perpetrated.  One of the members of this community has been cast into
prison without a trial.  Now, my dear friends, you may not have read
for the Bar, like myself; you may not even have perused that
delightful little text-book entitled 'Raleigh's Elementary Politics,'
but at least you have all studied, with keen enjoyment, King John and
Magna Carta in history lessons----"

Cheers and groans from the audience were followed by a strange and
dubious silence as the meaning underlying Paddy's high-flown speech
dawned upon them.  The girls cast uneasy glances at each other, not
liking the turn affairs had taken.  Surely enough fuss had already
been made over that Richoter affair, and anyway, there couldn't be
much doubt but that Kitty Despard had done it.  Paddy was carrying it
a bit too far this time, they said to themselves.  There might be
trouble if Miss St. Leger got to know.

Someone voiced the opinion of the assembly by calling out, "What
price the inquiry in the Hall last night?  Don't you count that?"

There was silence.

Paddy gravely produced a huge pair of horn-rimmed spectacles and
perched them on her nose, then gazed freezingly in the direction of
the voice.

"The honourable gentleman over there is surely suffering from
delirium tremens.  If the honourable gentleman will wait until he
hears the charge----"

There was a laugh from some of the girls.  Salome, who had half risen
from her seat, dropped back into it.  The girls began to realize it
was evidently only one of Paddy's jokes; there would be nothing
serious and unpleasant happening, after all.

"As you have already guessed," went on Paddy briskly, "we propose
holding a proper trial by jury this evening.  The first step is to
arrange the court.  I will read out the names of the officers already
appointed and they will kindly take their places at once.  Having, as
you will doubtless acknowledge, the keenest discernment and the
readiest wit of you all, I have great pleasure in accepting the part
of the Judge myself.  Our learned friend, Mr. Frederick Lightfoot,
K.C., and Mr. William Pimple will be counsel for the defence and the
Crown respectively."

Amid general laughter Paddy's two chums, Flo Lessingham and Kathleen
Morris, came forward and took their places, having been previously
coached in the parts they had to play.  Paddy had two objects in view
in organizing this meeting.  One was the sheer desire for fun; in
Paddy's estimation, all things were legitimate objects for fun.
Secondly, she sincerely wished to help Kitty by turning into ridicule
much that was at present taken very seriously by the girls.  She
believed it would relieve the tension all round and make things a
good deal easier for the Australian girl, whom she had always liked
and whom she was loath to believe dishonourable.

Significant looks were again exchanged when Kathleen Morris brought
an action against "a well-known desperado, known among his intimates
as Kangaroo": glances, however, which ended in laughter as the charge
was read out.  The criminal was accused of entering Mrs. Mellish's
shop and stealing two ounces of bull's eyes and a bar of Fry's
chocolate.  By this time some dim notion of Paddy's underlying
purpose began to creep into Kitty's mind, for she knew that Paddy was
one of the few who had championed her cause.  At any rate, she would
show them that she, Kitty Despard, was not afraid of facing any trial
by jury, in farce or otherwise.  Paddy would rely on her to do so.
So it was with head erect and a smile on her lips that she walked up
to the "dock," and faced the girls with a free, fearless mien.

It was just at this moment that Duane entered, subsided quietly into
a seat by the door and glanced round the room in idle curiosity.  A
puzzled look crept into her face.  What on earth were they all up to?
Then, as she listened and gazed toward the "dock" with increasing
attention, the puzzled look slowly changed to one of realization and
at the same time another expression crept into her eyes--quite a
different expression.  It almost looked like horror.

The girls had been insensibly impressed by Kitty's fearless bearing.
As she stood there she certainly looked the last kind of girl to be
accused of anything dishonourable or despicable.  Salome drew her
straight brows together and her face became very thoughtful.

"Van," she murmured under her breath to the head prefect of Prince's,
"I believe that girl's telling the truth when she says she didn't
touch my balances.  Don't you?"

"But Salome, if _she_ didn't, it must have been----"

"Hush," said Salome with a quick gesture.

"No, I can't believe that either.  Bother it all!"

"Prisoner at the Bar," Paddy was saying with awful solemnity.  "Are
you or are you not guilty of this terrible and most depraved crime?"

"Not guilty," replied Kitty, clearly and unhesitatingly.

"We will now call the first witness," resumed Paddy, who had her
witnesses ready in the adjoining room and was confident of the effect
of their absurd appearance upon the audience.  "Constable----"  She
broke off abruptly.

There was a quick gasp from the audience; everyone became rigid.  One
of the listening girls had sprung to her feet, and now strode
impetuously into the centre of the room.  It was Duane, her face
strangely pale, her habitual lazy, unemotional expression gone,
giving place to a curious look of uncertainty, doubt, fear, even
horror.  One of the girls possessed with a vivid imagination
afterwards described it with relish as a "sort of haunted look."

She had jumped to her feet as if impelled by some force outside her
own volition; she spoke now, impulsively, stammeringly, the words
breaking from her as if she hardly knew what she was saying, twisting
her fingers together and looking from side to side.

"What are you doing?  What rubbish is all this?  I--it can't go on,
Paddy.  Kitty didn't do it, I tell you.  I--you see, I know she
didn't do it.  I--I'm not quite such a cad as to--I can't tell you
exactly."  She broke off abruptly.  Her glance crossed Kitty's.  The
Australian met hers steadfastly, unwaveringly.  The prefect's pale
face flushed crimson, and again words broke from her stammeringly.

[Illustration: "'What rubbish is all this?' Duane asked."]

"I--I'm sorry.  I have done you an injustice."  Again she broke off,
checking herself as if she suddenly realized what she was saying,
drew in her breath with a quick gasp and caught at the back of her
chair to steady herself.

There was a dead silence for the space of ten seconds.  The faces of
the girls were a study.  Duane had certainly betrayed herself this
time.  Her conscience must have been pricking her badly, or the shock
of hearing Kitty arraigned, as she thought, for committing a crime of
which she was innocent would not have made her give herself away so
completely.  But having been absent all day, she was probably unaware
of the outbreak of feeling against Kitty, and was not prepared for
the shock.

She was silent now, and had pulled herself together, regaining
something of her usual composure, though her agitation was still
betrayed by the nervous way she was biting her underlip.

But her guilt had been written unmistakably on her face during that
half-minute or so during which she had lost control.

Paddy made a desperate and heroic effort to get back to the state of
"as you were."  Needless to say, it failed dismally.  Nobody took any
notice of her, everyone being too occupied in staring open-mouthed at
Duane and Kitty.

The next minute Salome had pushed her way forward.  She was one of
the first to grasp all that Duane's few, incoherent, impulsive words
must mean; certainly she was the first to act.  She went up to Duane
and took her by the arm.

"Look here, Duane, what on earth do you mean by this bomb-shell?  If
you can prove that Kitty is innocent, for goodness' sake hurry up and
do so."

Duane looked at Salome.  "Well, Salome," she said in a low voice and
with a nervous little laugh.  "To tell you the truth I hardly realize
what I did say just now.  I--I lost my head a bit, I think."

"I think you did," Salome agreed grimly.  "Anyway, you've properly
upset your own apple-cart, as far as the girls here are concerned."

"You mean----"

Salome was no shirker.  "I mean everybody here is practically
convinced now that you and not Kitty Despard were responsible for
faking the balances.  Personally, I'm beginning to think Kitty is
innocent."

"Yes--yes, she is," said Duane hurriedly, and still in the same low
tone.  "I--I don't want her to suffer for something she never did."

"The question is," rejoined Salome curtly, "are you going to own up
to all you know?  You've said enough to convince everybody that you
do know something more.  We're all waiting to hear."

The indecision and doubt returned in full to the girl's face.  "Oh
no, not that," she said quickly.  "I only wanted to stop the
accusation against Kitty, you understand."

Salome's lip curled.  "Be a sport, Duane.  Don't keep anything back.
You'll only do yourself harm.  Honestly, it's your best policy."

Duane seemed to shrink a little.  "No, I tell you I can't do that,
Salome.  Look here.  I'm going to cut it."

"Wait a minute."

Salome turned round to face the seniors, from whom an impatient buzz
had broken out.  She held up her hand for silence and the noise
subsided, as everybody looked eagerly at her.

"Girls, I think the first thing to be settled is this.  Are you all
so positive now that Kitty is guilty, or are you willing to give her
the benefit of the doubt?"

"I guess we're giving it now," called out Paddy, and it was plain to
see that the others were of the same opinion.  Salome smiled across
at Kitty, who stood rather dazed and white-faced.  "It's all right,
Kitty.  You can sleep to-night with your mind at rest again, I think."

The girls swarmed round Kitty, generous in their apologies and
proffers of friendship.  Kitty laughed a little shakily.  "It's all
right.  But I'm glad you believe me now.  On my honour, I've told
nothing but the truth."

Salome spoke a few hurried words to Vanda, then turned again and
addressed the assembly.  "Duane says she hasn't any more to say just
now, girls.  We'd be awfully obliged if you'd slip back to your own
houses and leave it to us to settle this affair.  I'll let you know
what--what we decide, as soon as possible."

A few more persuasions and the girls, used to obeying their head
prefects, began to file out of the room, though casting many
disappointed and curious glances at the four who remained behind.
They thought it rather a shame that Duane should not be
cross-questioned and made to speak out in their presence.  Still,
being a head prefect did make a considerable difference--made the
affair all the more serious, too.

Salome took the lead, as usual.

"Well, it isn't any good staying here and doing nothing.  What have
you got to say about it, Duane?"

"I'm not going to say anything more to-night, Salome.  I must think
it over.  You must give me to-night to do that."

"I suppose you realize, Cato," said Vanda gravely, "exactly what your
startling interruption this evening means to you?  Probably by
to-morrow morning the whole school will have made up its mind that it
was you who were the culprit."

Duane looked at the floor.

"Yes; I do now.  I didn't realize it at the time."

"No.  I don't suppose you meant to give yourself away like that.
There are two courses open to you.  Either you must prove your
innocence or else own up to your guilt--if you are guilty."

"Prove my innocence?  And how can I do that, pray?"

"You should know best."

"But I don't."

"Anyway, it's plain enough that you know more about it than anyone
else.  You admitted Kitty didn't do it--and you had the key.  Look
here, Duane, _did_ you lend it to another girl whom you don't like to
give away?  It's the only alternative solution I can think of."

"No," said Duane impatiently, "or I should have said so at the
inquiry."  Then with a successful return to her old airy flippancy,
she added, "Well, good night, everybody.  I really can't be held
responsible for all the crazy conclusions the kids in this school
jump to."

The three prefects looked at each other as the door closed upon Duane.

"And that's that," said Phyllis Knight.  "Mark my words, Cato's
getting her nerve back again rapidly.  She'll have it all back by the
morning and will choose to brazen it out.  We shall only get airy
nothings for our pains in future, if I know Cato.  Well, I'm glad I
don't belong to Carslake's.  Good night, Salome, old girl.  Don't lie
awake worrying.  Good night, Van."




CHAPTER VI

THE RICHOTER RESULTS

As Salome had foretold, by next morning public opinion, in its fickle
fashion, had veered completely round and the majority of the girls
were of the opinion that Duane, and not Kitty, was the culprit.  It
seemed to be a matter more of feeling than cold reasoning, with many.
It occurred to a Lower Fifth-former that plasticine was particularly
handy in Duane's case, for lumps of it were always knocking around
the study she shared with Frances, the artist.  Others agreed that,
after all, the motive for spoiling Salome's results would be stronger
in Duane's case than in Kitty's, for Duane would benefit personally
and very practically if she succeeded in triumphing over her most
feared opponent.

The other prefects were intensely annoyed by Duane's manner, for the
next day she refused to reopen the discussion at all, declaring that
she had no more to say than what she had already said.  She refused,
their kindly-meant offers of help, and, in fact, seemed so flippantly
callous in her treatment of the affair that they left her alone in
disgust.

But Duane was to find out pretty thoroughly that the way of
transgressors is not an easy path to tread.  A stiff restraint of
manner in the Upper Fifth classroom was all the condemnation the
seniors would allow themselves to show; anything in the nature of
hooliganism was "bad form" and derogatory to their dignity.  They
left that to their juniors.

The Carslake juniors, however, had no intention of allowing the
matter to drop so readily, and were far more willing to accept the
belief that Duane, and not Kitty, was guilty for Kitty had always
been more popular with them than their head prefect.  After their
usual indignation meeting, Duane received a somewhat smudged sheet of
exercise-book paper requesting her resignation as head prefect of
Carslake's, a request to which she returned a decided refusal.

Thereafter the juniors did all they could in hundreds of little ways
to show their reluctance to acknowledge her authority, though they
did not dare to rebel outright.  The final inter-house cricket match
had to be scratched at the last minute because the juniors refused to
play in a team captained by Duane, while from the cricket committee
came a politely worded request that she should resign her place in
the school eleven.  A few days later, from the hockey committee came
the still politer intimation that with much regret they felt obliged
to withdraw Duane's hockey colour.  Cricket was practically over, it
is true, but for the next two terms hockey would reign supreme at
Easthampton.

Strange to say, Duane's own seniors were not so hard on her as the
rest of the school, France declaring sturdily that she had been
Duane's friend for the last six years and thought it would be
disloyal to allow the recent trouble to make any difference; Bertha
Salter, with a kind of defiance, was heard to declare that she even
had a sort of admiration for Cato and her "nerve"; while kind-hearted
Margaret could not refrain from proffering her sympathy to Duane for
the loss of her hockey colour.

"Yes, I'm afraid I shan't be able to show my shining genius at hockey
next term by scoring all the goals for the school," Duane agreed,
rather cheerfully than otherwise.  "However, I console myself with
the thought that the school matches are not the only ones played."

At first the other three head prefects wondered if they should go
further in the matter.  They could do no more themselves if Duane
continued obdurate.  Should they or should they not take this new
development to the Principal?  But there were other even more
important matters to engross their attention now.  Examinations had
begun.  The Upper Fifth were in the throes of the Senior Cambridge,
the Sixth departed "en bloc" to London for a week, to sit for
matriculation, while even the juniors had their own class
examinations to occupy their minds.

These were just finished when the Principal received the results of
the Richoter exam and summoned the school together in the hall just
after preparation to announce them publicly.  Intense, if subdued,
excitement prevailed when Miss St. Leger entered and took her stand
on the dais.

After a few opening remarks on the Richoter itself, explaining what
it was and that a yearly grant was awarded to the winner as well as
the honour gained in securing top marks, she went on, "And now for
the results themselves, which are very creditable.  Miss Vacher and I
were aware that two girls specially had particular talent for this
branch of work; we thought these two stood the best chance of gaining
most marks, but we were very curious as to which it would be.  These
girls, I may say, have run each other very close, heading the list
with only a difference of two marks.  Here are the marks of the
leading five, out of a possible total of 300:

  Duane Estevan   247
  Constance Hope   245
  Eileen Gilbert   239
  Grace Felton   225
  Florence Lessingham   201


"So you see that Duane has just beaten Constance by a very slender
margin, and with an excellent total of 247."

The Principal paused, naturally, for the clamorous applause that
should follow her announcement.

But there was no applause.

Instead, there was a dead silence that seemed to last for an
eternity.  "The most ghastly silence she had ever heard," Paddy
afterwards remarked with one of her unexpected Irishisms.  No one
moved or spoke, but all seemed to be staring straight ahead with
wooden countenances.  One or two stole a glance at the Carslake head
prefect.  She stood in her place, her gaze fixed on the floor, her
lips set tightly together.  Salome was crimson, knowing full well
that had her own name been read at the head of the list it would have
been the signal for a deafening outburst of applause.

On the Principal's face dawned a look of astonishment as she waited
for the applause which never came.  Miss Sheerston's brows went up
about half an inch, and the other members of the staff shifted
uncomfortably in their chairs.  Miss Carslake, who had entered
beaming all over her face, looked alarmed and her smile gradually
faded away.  Then the Principal's face became expressionless and she
went on in a matter-of-fact tone, as if nothing had happened.

"The other five candidates have all succeeded in gaining over half
marks.  I will read them out," and the tension relaxed with an
audible sigh of relief from the rows of listening girls.

At the order for dismissal everyone filed off back to the houses.
Salome wanted to seek out the winner and offer her congratulations,
but somehow felt that such a course was now impossible.  It would
seem such a farcical proceeding after that dreadful silence in the
hall.  She felt still more uncomfortable when one of her own seniors
said to her, "Hard luck, Salome!  Duane Estevan ought to have been
disqualified for her sneaking attempt at cheating."

Salome checked such remarks as well as she could, pointing out that,
whether Duane had attempted to spoil her experiment or not, her own
work must have been the best or she would not have gained the highest
total.

"Oh, she's clever enough.  We all know that," remarked one Upper
Fifth-former rather bitterly.  "In fact, she's a bit too clever
sometimes."

Meanwhile Duane had returned to her own house with the Carslake
seniors in an uncomfortable silence.  She herself uttered no words
and the others did not know what to say.  The climax came when they
entered the common-room.  The girls were standing about in idle
groups, though the supper bell had gone.  The head prefect spoke as
she passed through.

"You shouldn't be standing about like this, you know.  You ought to
be in the dining-room.  The bell has gone."

Everybody stopped talking and looked up.  No one moved, however; then
someone hissed deliberately and one or two laughed sneeringly.  Duane
bit her lip and the colour ran up under her skin.  For a moment she
stood irresolute, then turned and walked off.  The rest of the girls
went in to supper, but the head prefect's place was vacant.  After
supper the seniors drifted upstairs together into Hilary's study
where they conversed desultorily on the holidays, now very near.  In
a few minutes Duane appeared and sauntered into the room.  The six
girls looked up uncomfortably.  It was Duane who spoke first, with a
drawl that was more than usually pronounced.

"I've just given in to Miss Carslake my resignation of the head
prefectship."

"You've resigned, Duane?" stammered Margaret.

"No, you haven't really!" cried France.

"Yes, I have.  What else could I do?  As matters are, it's a mere
farce my being head prefect."

This was true enough.  No one, indeed, could gainsay it.

"What did Miss Carslake say?" inquired Hilary.

"Not much.  I think this evening enlightened her somewhat as to the
state of affairs.  She will leave it to the Principal to settle, of
course."

Miss Carslake, much disturbed, went straight to Miss St. Leger.  The
Principal sent for Duane late that evening, and it was some time
after bed bell when the prefect came up to her cubicle, though
exactly what passed between them in that interview no one but the two
concerned ever knew.  Next morning after chapel, when just about to
set out for morning lessons, the Carslake seniors received orders to
go to the Principal's room.  They found Salome, Vanda and Phyllis
already there.  The Principal, as was her wont, went straight to the
point.

"Of course you know, girls, that Duane told Miss Carslake last night
that she wished to resign her prefectship, giving as her reasons her
unpopularity in the school, in particular among her own juniors, who
seem to resent very much having to submit to her authority.  She
feels that under these circumstances she cannot properly discharge
her duties as head prefect.  Miss Carslake informs me that there was
some feeling in the house against the prefects at the beginning of
the term, chiefly owing to the suppression of rival societies amongst
the juniors, societies which were doing them no good.  This, I
understand, however, was only a temporary phase and would doubtless
have blown over in time--was in fact nearly forgotten--when the
unfortunate incident in connexion with the Richoter exam occurred.  I
am right in saying, am I not, that the school as a whole has made up
its mind to lay the blame on Duane?"

"Yes, that is true, Miss St. Leger," replied Salome, speaking for
them all.

"I have been very much occupied with examinations lately," continued
the Principal, "and hardly realized Duane's unpopularity and the
reason for it, until yesterday evening in the hall.  But, as far as I
can make out, there are no further proofs of either Duane's or
Kitty's guilt than those we discussed at the inquiry."

Salome tried to explain.  "You see, feeling was at first against
Kitty; then something Duane said--her attitude--I mean her manner,
convinced the school that she, and not Kitty, was the one
responsible."

"Ah, yes.  I have heard about that too.  The girls believe Duane was
on the point of making a confession, but drew back from doing so.  I
questioned Duane herself about it last night, but she assured me she
had never intended making a confession at any time."

"Yes, I believe she says that," assented Salome quietly.  The others
said nothing, realizing the futility of trying to explain
satisfactorily what actually had happened on the evening of Paddy's
mock trial.

"It appears, then, that it is a matter of 'feeling' in the school,
rather than of actual proof.  For my part, I still cannot see how one
girl can be adjudged guilty any more than the other.  Either _might_
have done it; we cannot definitely prove that either _did_ do it.  It
was because of this doubt in the matter, and also because both girls
bore an unblemished record in the school, that I decided to let the
matter rest.  You know, girls, one should be very certain of guilt,
before proceeding to inflict punishment."

"We have tried to be quite fair, Miss St. Leger," said Vanda gravely.

"Yes, I know that."  Miss St. Leger smiled.  "There isn't much I
don't know about the characters of the girls in my school, believe
me.  But I wish you had spoken to me of this exceedingly strong tide
of feeling in the school before, instead of taking the easier course
and doing nothing.  However, now I do know, I will tell you my
decision.  I have refused to accept Duane's resignation because, for
the two reasons I have just given you, I do not see that there is
sufficient justification for it.

"I want you to realize this also.  In taking on the head prefectship
in the third term of a school year and also in a house where the
juniors had already shown themselves to be a particularly unruly and
unbalanced set as a whole, Duane was accepting a far from easy task.
I don't think you girls understood quite how difficult her position
was."

"Oh, yes, we knew it was not an easy one," said Hilary earnestly.

"Then some allowances must be made for mistakes, for failures now and
again.  For one thing, it was an unprecedented happening for a
Fifth-former to become head prefect--to be head and yet not the equal
of the other head prefects.  Again, there was an unfortunately large
majority of juniors over seniors in Carslake's.  I am confident,
however, that there will be a great improvement after the holidays.
The older juniors will be seniors and will realize the responsibility
of their position more readily.  I am hoping that much of this
unpleasantness will be buried and put out of mind during the summer
vacation.  I would prefer, if the culprit cannot be discovered so as
to settle the matter beyond all doubt, that the affair should be
forgotten, or at any rate, laid entirely on one side.  I am hoping,
also, that Duane will have sufficient strength of character to live
down this feeling in the school against her.  You," addressing the
Carslake seniors, "will, I hope, back up your head prefect as much as
you can."

"We have always done that, Miss St. Leger," replied Hilary.  "It
isn't through us that Duane sent in her resignation.  But supposing
the juniors still refuse to acknowledge Duane's authority?"

"I do not think they will do that, with my authority behind the head
prefect's.  In fact, I shall see to it that they do not.  I will
speak to them about it, if necessary, but I think things will work
more smoothly after the holidays.  That is all I have to say to you
just now, girls.  I know I can rely on you always to do what you can
to help."

That term at Easthampton, however, was destined to end in a manner
befitting the rest of its troubled course.  The day after the
intervention of the Principal the baby of Dormitory A, little Erica
Salter, was taken to the sanatorium with a high temperature, her
illness being later diagnosed as a severe attack of 'flu.  Hilary was
the next one to fall a victim, and when, before the week was out,
half a dozen girls in Carslake's and as many in the other houses
joined them, Miss St. Leger decided that the best plan would be to
close the school before the epidemic grew worse; in any case, it
would only shorten the term by a bare week, and as examinations were
over, the only event that was left was the Sports Day, and that she
decided to postpone till early in the next term.

Great was the jubilation in the school when it was announced that
girls might communicate with their people and leave for the summer
vacation as soon as they could make arrangements to do so.  All
thoughts of lessons were abandoned and everyone commenced to pack
feverishly.  The dormitories and the vestibule presented a scene as
animated and busy as a London terminus on August Bank Holiday.

"Never seen it done so quickly," remarked France.  "Most new kids
commence packing at least a week before breaking-up day.  I remember
my first vacation, like all new girls, I was so frightened I
shouldn't get packed in time that I started three days beforehand.
That night, after bed bell had rung I discovered I had packed _all_
my nightdresses in the bottom of my trunk, which was downstairs
already locked and corded.  I was never in such a hurry to pack after
that."

It was astonishing how quickly the school seemed to empty as party
after party, some walking, some in taxis, set off for the station to
catch their trains.  The mistresses were busy taking the juniors to
the station and seeing them safely off, or delivering them into the
charge of the older girls.  Kitty, who was spending the holiday with
the Wades, departed with France and Margaret.  At last, a strange
silence settled over the school which had such a short time ago
buzzed with life.  The summer vacation had begun.




CHAPTER VII

SPORTS DAY

Sports Day had come and gone.  Carslake's was feeling extremely
pleased with itself, not to say jubilant; at last the house had
distinguished itself.  Perhaps the girls realized it really was time
they "bucked up"; perhaps Fortune, for once, was on their side.
Certainly they had done better than they had hoped for, and when the
points were totalled up Easthampton stared in amazement.

When the new term began, there were some changes in the school, as
was only natural.  For one thing, most girls had moved up a form;
this was specially noticeable in Carslake's, where the majority of
the turbulent Fourth had attained the dignity of seniors.  That
change, at least, was decidedly one for the better.  Of course, some
of the old familiar faces were gone.  Phyllis Knight had left and
Green's had a new head prefect.  Prince's mourned the loss of Eileen
Gilbert and others of the Sixth, but everybody was glad to see both
Salome and Vanda return and resume their old positions.  They had
matriculated well, but--as they both intended taking a university
course and were barely eighteen--they had come back to study for a
university scholarship, for which there was a special class at
Easthampton.

Kitty had been very pleased to hear that she had succeeded in passing
the Senior Cambridge, having been rather doubtful of success.  Hilary
had taken a Second Class, Duane a Third, while France and Kitty had
each achieved a pass.  The four girls were now Sixth-formers, their
successes having entitled them to their remove, while Kitty had been
exalted to the rank of prefect.  She felt herself to be quite an
important personage now.

Hilary unfortunately had not returned.  She had had a relapse after
reaching home, and her people had sent her away for a long holiday.
But she wrote to her form companions in a cheerful spirit, saying she
hoped to be back amongst them before very long, prepared for more
hard work.

Hilary's absence made quite an important difference in the relations
of the new Sixth at Carslake's--but that shall be explained later.
It would not be right to pass over Sports Day without entering into
the details of some of the Carslake triumphs.

They had made a good beginning in the high jump.  Salome was the
winner, beating the school record with a jump of 4 feet 6 inches, but
Kitty gained a very valuable two points in securing second place.
The obstacle race had fallen to Paddy, and Carslake's did not win a
point, nor in the tortoise race that followed.  But Peggy O'Nell won
the junior 100 yards in brilliant style, and Daisy Carteret was
second in the junior 220 yards.  The first and second places in
throwing the cricket ball were secured by Prince's and Green's
respectively, but Bertha was a close third with a good throw.

When the senior flat race finals began, interest increased.  The
half-mile had fewest entries, for it was naturally regarded as the
stiffest.  In this, the final, there were only four competitors, two
from Prince's, one from Sheerston's and one from Carslake's.  Each
house shouted encouragement to its own runners.  Vanda West was
generally reckoned to be the most likely winner, though several
hockey colours declared that Duane might "pull it off."

"You know," one of them declared as they lined up, "she can get down
the field before you can look round, when she's on the ball and
there's a chance for a shot at goal."

"You're right," said Gwen Parker, the former school right wing, who
had returned with several others to compete for her house, Sports Day
being officially a last year's event.  "I've found myself with all my
work cut out to keep up with her when she gets on the move in a
match."

"Still, Vanda can _stay_, and that's what counts in the half-mile."

"Yes, or else I should have had a shot at it," replied Gwen.

Then somebody shouted: "Mind you don't go to sleep in the middle,
Cato, thinking it's bedtime!"  And that fetched a general laugh.

The next minute the four were off, running with steady strides, Vanda
and Duane side by side and a few paces behind the other two.  At the
end of the second lap the two rash ones who had rushed ahead at the
beginning had dropped behind, panting and breathless.  Now Vanda and
Duane were in front, running neck and neck.  The pace was already
fast but Eileen increased it, hoping to gain the lead, and as they
entered the last lap, Vanda leading but Duane refusing to drop behind
by more than a yard, the yells of the Prince's girls increased in
volume.  The excitement was intense.  Even France, who was wont to
declaim emphatically that she had no patience with these "races and
things," hopped wildly about at Kitty's side and yelled to Duane as
she passed:

"Go it!  Remember the match against Winthorpe last year!"

The critical moment had come.  Duane quickened her long strides with
a scarcely perceptible effort, drew ahead of Vanda, and passed her,
despite her attempt at a spurt, increasing her lead all down the last
half-lap, "running," so France declared excitedly, "just as if it
were the hundred yards' sprint."

Kitty cheered with the rest, and as Duane, breathing hurriedly but
otherwise looking the same as usual, strolled up in her leisurely
fashion with her hands in her blazer pockets, she said impulsively,
"By Jove! you can run, then, Duane."

Duane's glance met Kitty's quizzically.  "Really think so?" she
drawled.  "Have I at last won a word of praise from you?  I can
hardly express my overpowering emotion."

Kitty's face flamed, and she fell back a step, feeling as if the
other girl had slapped her in the face.  "It was horrid of her to say
that," she thought to herself, feeling hurt and resentful.  "I really
did mean it quite sincerely."  Duane, meanwhile, went on after a
short pause, "It's your turn next.  Now show them that I'm not the
only gifted one."

Kitty looked straight at her just for a moment and her eyes sparkled.
"I'm going to," she snapped, and turned away, vowing that she would
win the quarter-mile or die in the attempt.  Strange to say, for once
Kitty was not thinking of the honour of Carslake's; as she lined up
for the race with lips set determinedly, the house was not even in
her mind, only the house's head prefect.

The faces of the Carslake girls became even more seraphic when Kitty
won the quarter-mile, by a bare half-yard.  After that there was a
short interval.  The afternoon was drawing to an end, and only two
events remained to be contested.  The excitement mounted when the
girls who were keeping account of the points scored, announced that
Sheerston's was leading, with despised Carslake's only one point
behind.

"We must win one of these last two," said Kitty desperately.
"Another first would probably do it."

But in the relay race, their luck deserted them.  All three girls ran
well, but Peggy, who was shaking with nervous excitement, muffed
taking the flag from Duane and lost a valuable three or four seconds
and the start Duane had given her.  Both she and Kitty made a
desperate attempt to overtake the leader, but found it beyond their
powers, and finished third.  They were now two points behind
Sheerston's, who had finished second.

There was still the 100 yards to be run.  The unhappy Frances, who
was Carslake's sole representative, found herself overwhelmed with
exhortations, advice and admonitions.

"It rests with you now, France," said Duane.  "Mind you run for all
you're worth."  France groaned.  "For goodness' sake stop that.  I
wish I'd never entered for the wretched thing.  You put my name down,
Duane, and you must be responsible for the consequences.  I don't
pretend to be able to run races.  I'm not an athlete, I'm an artist."

"Never mind what you are," said Duane.  "Just pull up your stockings
and run.  I know you can sprint a bit, for I've seen you dash across
the quad when you've been a bit late for class.  Imagine someone in
front is running off with your most prized picture.  Cheer up!  It's
only a hundred yards, so it won't kill you."

"I'll pose for you if you'll do your very best," urged Kitty.  "Next
Wednesday afternoon."

"No," replied France, with a funny air of dignity.  "I don't want any
bribes.  Though I've entered for this race under protest, I'll run my
very hardest," and she nodded her head determinedly.

France took her place with a painful expression on her face.  "Looks
as if she were going to have a tooth out, doesn't she!" whispered
Peggy O'Nell to her right-hand neighbour, with a chuckle.

The flag fell.  For a few breathless seconds there was nothing to be
seen but a flash of black-clad legs, then the runners threw
themselves headlong at the tape and burst beyond it.  There was
scarcely an inch between the first three girls, or so it seemed to
the watchers, but the judges gave out the results; France first, Gwen
Parker second and Paddy third.  Carslake's had gained three points
and Sheerston's one; and the day ended in Sheerston's and Carslake's
tying for first place.

So, strange to say, it was France who was the hero of the occasion.
She found it decidedly a pleasant sensation, and began to plume
herself complacently, remarking in a confidential tone to the other
seniors: "You know, I always did rather fancy myself as a winger at
hockey, if only it weren't such a waste of time using all one's spare
minutes just to play a game."

"And that's where you're going to play in future," said Duane firmly.
"A girl who can sprint like you can is wasted anywhere else.  We'll
make it a fair bargain.  You come to practices regularly and we'll
pose for your blessed Academy pictures, or National Gallery
portraits, whichever it happens to be.  I'll even," she ended, in a
burst of generosity, "come now and again and blow your organ for you
when Orpheus is indisposed."

France eyed her study-companion reflectively.  "If you can summon up
enough energy to come and blow the organ, I'll play in all the house
matches; so there," she declared.

The results of Sports Day had certainly improved matters at
Carslake's.  There was no open rebellion against the head prefect's
rule, though now and again there were little unpleasant moments which
showed that the house would never quite forget the fact that their
head prefect's reputation had a deep and ineradicable stain on it.
There was not the same cheerful alacrity displayed in obeying Duane's
wishes as in obeying those of the other Sixth-formers; obedience was
shown, but it was a grudging obedience and would probably never be
anything different.

The following evening Duane was alone in her study, seated in her
favourite attitude--that is to say, leaning in the depths of an
easy-chair with her feet across another chair--when Kitty entered.

"Hallo!  What is it?" inquired Duane, looking up from her book.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," said Kitty, politely.

"Not at all.  I'm only finishing off that wretched paraphrasing set
us for prep.  Couldn't get it done before."

There was a pause till Kitty recollected she had not yet explained
the reason for her visit.  "Oh, by the way, France told me you had
something to say to me.  That's why I looked in."

"Oh, I see.  It's nothing of much importance.  Any time would have
done.  I thought, until Hilary returns, you might as well dig in here
with France and me.  It's lonely having a room all on your own."

Kitty flushed in surprise.

"Oh, but I don't mind that.  I don't want to cause you any
inconvenience."

"Not at all.  There's heaps of room for three here, if we clear some
of France's litter."

Kitty looked uncomfortable.  "Was it you or France who thought of
this?"

"Does it matter who thought of it?" returned Duane, carelessly.

Kitty was silent again, feeling still more uncomfortable.

"Thanks all the same," she said, at last, "but I don't think I will."

"Why not?"  Duane, not unnaturally, wanted to know.

Kitty felt herself turning crimson and blurted out, "Well, you see,
it might be rather awkward."

"Awkward?  How?"

"What I mean is that you and I aren't exactly friends."

Duane lifted her glance now, and kept it fixed on Kitty, but merely
remarked coolly:

"Aren't we?"

"You know we are not," replied Kitty, a little impatiently.  "We
never have been.  We felt--felt antagonistic the very first moment we
met each other."

"You did, I suppose," rejoined Duane.  "I don't know that I felt
anything at all.  However, that's no reason why we need go on being
antagonistic, is it?"

"What do you mean?" demanded Kitty, bluntly.

Duane leaned back in her chair and smiled lazily at Kitty.

"Why shouldn't we be friends now?"

Kitty flushed again, and moved uneasily, her agony of embarrassment
mounting.  Duane tilted her chair back and went on cheerfully:

"You don't seem in a hurry to speak.  After all, there's no reason
why we shouldn't be friends, is there?"

"I'm sorry," Kitty blurted out.  "I'd rather not.  You see----" she
stopped.

"Well?  Out with it!"

"It's the Richoter," poor Kitty went on, growing hotter and hotter,
and angry with herself for feeling so uncomfortable under Duane's
lazy, quizzical glance.  "I--you see--I couldn't be friends
with--with anyone who----"

"Oh, that's it, is it?" said Duane.  "You're mighty particular."

"I don't want to seem a prig.  If it had been anything else--but--but
that kind of thing----"

"Then, the Richoter affair aside, your only prejudice to admitting me
to your--your circle of friends, would be gone?"

"I don't know," replied Kitty, frankly.  "You can't _make_ yourself
be friends with anyone, you know.  At any rate, I don't think so.
We're so utterly unlike, aren't we?"

"Are we?  Then do you think that people must be alike to be friends?"

"They must have tastes in common," replied Kitty, firmly.  "At least,
so it has always seemed to me."

"Why not give it a trial?" suggested Duane.

Kitty stood irresolute, conscious that in some curious indefinable
way she was attracted by the other girl's proposal and yet repelled
at the same time.  The affair was settled by the abrupt entrance of
France.

"Oh, hallo, Kitty!  I suppose Duane's told you about digging in with
us till Hilary returns?  What's that?  Doesn't want to?  Why not?"

"She says we're antagonistic," replied Duane.

"What nonsense!" said France, very firmly.  "What on earth does she
mean?  You bring your things along, Kitty, and I'm sure we shall
enjoy each other's company while we're here," and Kitty rather
reluctantly gave way.




CHAPTER VIII

CARSLAKE'S v. THE REST

France stepped back and surveyed her plasticine model of Duane's
profile with an air of satisfaction.

"I say, girls," she remarked, conversationally, "I really think
Carslake's is being treated with due respect at last.  I don't think
the other houses have yet recovered from the shock we gave them on
Sports Day."

Kitty looked up from her book, as if relieved to find an excuse for
so doing.  "If only we can keep our new reputation," she said
seriously.  "We mustn't get slack again."

"We must give them another shock," said Duane, sleepily.  "A real
startler this time.  I'll think something out."  She yawned with a
muffled, "Goodness, how sleepy a fire makes one!" and silence settled
down again in the study.  A little later, however, there was a
message from Miss Carslake, "Would Duane please bring along her
weekly report.  It should have been brought earlier in the evening."
This report was a record of lines or punishments of that description
imposed by any of the prefects during the week.

"Oh, hang!" exclaimed Miss Carslake's disgusted head prefect.  "She
was out when I went before, and of course she must start bothering
when I'm comfortably settled down.  D'you think I might send the book
along for once without going myself?"

"I shouldn't advise you to," replied Kitty, in a discouraging tone.
"I don't suppose for a minute that would satisfy Miss Carslake."

"Cut along and get it over," advised France, grinning.  "It won't
take very long."

With much grumbling the head prefect lowered her long legs to the
ground, pulled herself up and took her departure.  When she returned
a little later it was in the company of the other three
Sixth-formers, and there was an unusual air of animation about her.

"I say, girls, an idea!" she announced, when they were all inside.
"Why not take a leaf out of Kitty's book!  I suggest challenging the
rest of the school to a hockey match--Top House v. the Rest."

"That practically means," said Margaret, judicially, "Carslake's
against the school first eleven.  It sounds quite mad to me.  What do
you say, Kitty?"

"Well, I certainly agree with Duane that it would cause a sensation
in the school," replied Kitty, shrewdly.  "However, the weak point in
the idea, as far as I can see, is that we shall get such a licking
that we shan't be able to lift up our heads again."

"I don't see why we should," from Duane.

"But you don't really think we should stand the slightest chance
against the school eleven?" protested Bertha.

"Oh, come, Bertha," remonstrated Duane, "you and Kitty, of all
people, to be so faint-hearted over a hockey match when both of you
are practically certain of getting your hockey colours before the end
of the season!"

"But three can't beat eleven."

"I'm not proposing they should.  Leave it to me to get up an eleven.
This house has been so used to holding humble opinions about itself
that it can't get out of the habit.  You forget one or two things:
that there are sixteen seniors now, where last year there were only
six; as that quite half of the old school eleven left last term and
there will have to be a big proportion of new colours in it.  I will
guarantee to get quite a respectable line of forwards from our Lower
Fifth, if we older ones can manage the defence."

"And supposing they refuse to accept our challenge, as being beneath
their dignity?" said Sonia.

"They won't do that.  We should be able to say they were afraid to
accept it.  A challenge is a challenge."

Silence, while everybody looked at each other.  "Well, what about
it?" asked Duane.  "Will you do it or not, if the Lower Fifth are
willing?"

Kitty was the first to respond.

"I'm on," she said, impulsively.  "Though I believe we haven't the
slightest chance of winning.  All the same, the idea's a gorgeous one
and for pure cheek takes the biscuit.  I wish I'd thought of it
myself."

Carslake's hockey challenge certainly did cause a sensation in the
school.  Some girls treated it with ridicule, a few were angry, all
agreed that it was awful cheek on the part of the much-despised
Carslake's.  The challenge was accepted, however, with the firm
resolution that the challengers should be punished for their cheek by
such a beating as had never yet been seen on the school
playing-fields.  Carslake's tried to assume a careless, confident,
nonchalant air, but the only one of them who really succeeded was
their head prefect and that because the pose was a natural one.
Inwardly they were all quaking at their temerity, even such bold
spirits as Kitty and Peggy O'Nell, and looking forward to the match
with feelings of apprehension.

Duane, with an undue amount of deliberation, had drawn up her team.
"I've put Bertha and Edith in their usual positions at right back and
goal," she explained.  "Kitty, I want you to be the other back.
Halves--Margaret, myself, Mary.  Forwards, wings--France and Peggy.
Yes, France, you must play, and what's more you'll have to run as
you've never run in your life before, not even on Sports Day."

"I'll do it," said France heroically, "for the honour of the house.
Even if it means dropping dead half-way through the match."

"Dropping dead!  Rubbish!" returned Duane, with unusual energy for
her.  "Daisy, you must take centre-forward.  I'll help you all I can.
Inners--Barbara and Rosalie.  That's the best we can do, I think!"

The match was fixed for Wednesday, and the Carslake girls practised
diligently in their team positions whenever they had the chance.
Kitty enjoyed these practices immensely and played left-back with
great vigour--perhaps, sometimes, with more vigour than skill.
Duane's attitude towards these practices amused her very much.  She
did not play herself, but, wrapped in her coat with its high fur
collar, stood by the side of the ground, leaning gracefully upon her
stick and giving advice and criticism on the play by means of a
remarkable flow of cutting remarks, directed chiefly against the
forwards and halves.  According to her, they were slow and
hesitating, they used neither their sticks nor their feet properly,
their shooting was miserably feeble and their passing most inaccurate.

At any rate, Kitty reflected, Duane certainly seemed to know all
there was to know about the theoretical side of hockey.  She also
seemed to have the knack of surprising everyone by pulling off the
most unexpected things, in an almost accidental kind of way.  Kitty
was astonished that she did not feel so much annoyed and
irritated--as she certainly would have done three months ago--as
quietly amused.  She put it down to the fact that she was getting
used to Duane and her ways.

She found that Bertha was quite a reliable partner to have at right
back; she was sturdily built, and, if inclined to be a trifle slow
against quick forwards, she stuck to them like a leech.  She was a
queer, reserved girl with little to say for herself; Kitty divined
that there was a certain streak of sullen obstinacy in her character.

The day of the match came at last.  Everybody seemed unusually
restless during afternoon lessons, and as soon as dismissal bell rang
there was a general stampede for the playing-fields.

The Carslake eleven gathered in a little group inside one room in the
pavilion.  "Oh dear," sighed Peggy, "I feel most frightfully squirmy
inside.  For mercy's sake, Edie, don't let any shots through."

"Can't help it sometimes," mumbled Edie, wriggling nervously.

"Don't look so glum, everybody!" cried Kitty, looking around.  "We're
not beaten yet, you know."

The youngest members of the team brightened up at this, for there
certainly was something cheering in the sight of Kitty, looking so
vigorous and dependable.  Kitty glanced curiously round at their
captain.  That worthy stood in her favourite attitude--viz. leaning
gracefully on her stick, a well-worn weapon with a heavy crook, guard
and rubber-bound handle.  She, too, was quite a striking figure in
her perfectly fitting tunic ending well above her knees, as
unperturbed as ever.  "Time we were on the field," she said.  "Just
remember this, please.  Whatever happens, you forwards are to keep
forward."

"Here, Duane," remonstrated France.  "You're not going to play with
that watch on, are you?"

"Watch?" said Duane, vaguely.  "Oh--er--no, of course not.  I quite
forgot it.  Here, mind it for me, one of you kids."

"You've got shoes on too," struck in Margaret, reprovingly.  "I
thought Miss Bryce said nobody was to play matches in shoes unless
she had pads on."

"Can't help it if she did.  I never could play in boots--can't run.
Don't worry, Margaret.  I'll look out for my shins if you'll look
after yours."

They all scrambled out of the pavilion and the two teams lined up on
the field.  The school eleven certainly looked a stiff lot to tackle,
for Easthampton boasted of one of the best ladies' elevens in the
county.  The centre-forwards bullied off and for the first twenty
minutes both sides continued to strain every nerve to keep up the
pressure.  The wise prognosticated that the pace could not last; the
weaker side would not be able to keep it going.

On the wings France and Peggy, as fast as their opponents, were
always dangerous and several times carried the ball right to the goal
circle, but could not break through the school defence.  Carslake's,
too, was defending gallantly against a dashing forward line.  Duane
in the centre held Paddy and her two inners in check, and more than
one of the onlookers remarked, "Cato's playing a good game to-day."

The Carslake captain had quite a distinctive style.  She never
appeared flurried, and, for hockey, was even unhurried.  She played
with neat adroitness, using both stick and feet with remarkable
dexterity, invariably successful in robbing the attacker of the ball
just at the right moment and hitting away without pause, as hard and
accurate as a machine.  The danger came from the wings, for the
Carslake half-backs were comparatively weak and too slow to hold the
school forwards.  Kitty and Bertha found their work cut out for them
in that quarter, while, by a tacit understanding, Duane held the
centre.

But the pace was bound to tell.  The end of the first twenty minutes
found the lighter side being slowly overwhelmed and pressed back.
The forwards made their attacking dashes at longer and still longer
intervals, while the halves were back with Kitty and Bertha,
resisting desperately.  Twice Edith saved, but the school were not to
be denied.  A furious attack swept the ball over the goal line, then
the left wing broke through, and when half-time sounded the school
were leading by two goals to nil.

The Carslake team walked off the field and into the pavilion, looking
tired and dispirited, with the feeling that worse things were in
store for them in the second half.  Public opinion was the same, for
it was obvious that Carslake's were tired out and worn down by the
pace, while the school felt as fresh as ever when they thought of the
lead they had gained over their opponents.

"If it weren't just for a few--Duane, Kitty and Bertha," remarked one
of the team, "we'd be all over them, and they wouldn't have a look
in.  Those three are as hard as nails, I know, but even they won't be
able to keep us out much longer.  It'll be a walk-over next half."

Meanwhile, in the pavilion, the younger members of the Carslake team
dropped down wearily upon the nearest seats.

"Oh dear," gasped Daisy, "I feel nearly dead-beat."

"And I've got the stitch," added France, dismally, for the artist,
good though her intentions might be, was not in the form to stand a
gruelling match like this.

When Duane entered everybody seemed to glance spontaneously towards
her, as the central figure in the whole affair.  After all, it was
she who was responsible for it.

She stood looking at them for a moment in silence.  Her pale, rather
sallow-complexioned face was flushed, her hair for once was ruffled
and untidy; her light grey eyes shone vividly in their dark setting.

"Hallo!" she greeted them.  "What are you all looking so dismal
about?"

"We're not looking dismal exactly," protested Peggy,
"but--well--they'll walk over us in the second half, Duane."

"And why on earth," demanded Duane, "should they walk over us?"

"We're dead-beat.  I feel as if I couldn't run another step," with a
weary sigh.  "I simply couldn't get past those backs."

"And I've got the stitch," added France, lugubriously.

"And my heel rubs."

"Oh, of course, if you're going to lie down on the grass and _let
'em_," said Duane slowly and with supreme scorn, "I've no doubt they
_will_ walk over you."

Peggy flushed.  "Of course, we'll do our best.  But all the same, it
was ridiculous to think we could do anything against the school
eleven."

"Well, naturally," said Duane, sharply, "if you're giving in like
this, it is hopeless.  Only please realize that the match isn't over,
so we haven't lost yet.  I haven't been accustomed to playing in a
team that sits down half-way through a match and says it's beaten.
I, for one, certainly don't admit it, and I'm going on playing and
sticking to it while I've a breath in me, if I'm the only one in the
team left on the field.  You stick to me and I'll stick to you.  I
will, on my honour, and what's more, I'll see you through somehow."

The last words came out in a rush.  The girl was still facing them,
the blaze of an unconquered spirit lighting her brilliant eyes.

For a moment, nobody stirred or spoke.  Then Kitty jumped to her
feet, and crossed over to the head prefect's side.

"I'm sticking to you, Duane," she exclaimed, clearly, driven by an
impulse she did not stop to analyse.  "There'll be two to play on to
the end, anyway."

"And so am I," in Bertha's more deliberate tones.

"And I."  France, too, sprang impetuously to her feet.

The spirit of the leader was as infectious as a disease.  Everyone
was on her feet now, eager and enthusiastic.  It was as if a flame
had suddenly been lit, spreading like a flash from one to the other.
It was a different team entirely from the one that had entered the
pavilion a few minutes ago.

Duane surveyed them a moment in silence.  "That's better," she said,
quietly.  "I guess, if you're not very big, you're game anyway."

"There's the whistle," cried somebody, and the forwards ran out
laughing and talking.  The bigger girls followed more decorously.
Duane laid her hand lightly on Kitty's shoulder.

"Thanks, Kitty," she said, in a low voice.

"What for?" said Kitty, awkward and embarrassed.  "For backing you
up?  And what else should I do?  You're the captain of this team."

The game began again after much the same fashion as in the first
half.  The school eleven, who had expected to find their work much
easier now, were astonished to discover that their opponents were
playing with a new burst of energy and enthusiasm, sticking to it
determinedly.  The spectators, too, were surprised, and generously
conceded that if Carslake's had rather too much cheek, their hockey
eleven certainly had plenty of grit.

The game went on, and no addition was made to the score.  True, the
school forwards were getting most of the play, but they could not
break through the defence.  Kitty cleared the ball away time after
time, vowing inwardly that they should not get through again.  Bertha
stuck to it with sturdy resolution; that streak of sullen obstinacy
in her character served her in good stead now.  Duane had lost a
little of her unflurried, machine-like precision, and nearly all of
her casual coolness, but her hitting was as clean and as hard as
ever, and Paddy was checked and held in her most desperate rushes.
France was gasping for breath, and Daisy was limping painfully.

"Hurt?" inquired Duane, as they halted for a twenty-five bully.

"No, not much," replied Daisy, bravely.  "But I'm afraid I can't run.
I've twisted my foot over."

Somebody shouted out, "Buck up, the school!  Only ten more minutes!"

"Get behind me," said Duane, quickly.  "I'll play centre-forward for
the rest of the game."

Now Paddy had the ball.  But before she could pass, Duane had tackled
her, taken possession of the ball, and swung it out to Peggy.

"Now then, Peggy!" she cried.  "Take it down on the wing."

Peggy responded pluckily, and gathering all her remaining energies,
spurted for all she was worth, then centred wildly with her last
effort.  Before anyone realized what was happening Duane had caught
the ball on her stick, passed the right-back with a swerving run, was
inside the circle, and without pausing had shot for goal.  The ball
rose in the air, twisting and spinning, and passed between the posts
and far beyond like a streak of lightning.

The Carslake supporters cheered frantically at this unexpected
dénouement.  But the next few minutes' play was still more amazing
and bewildering.  Duane took the bully now, and with the adroitness
of one thoroughly at home at centre-forward, secured the ball and
passed it to her forward.  But the forwards had fought so well that
they were almost "done"--little more could be got out of them.  The
school forwards were on the ball and had swept it right to the goal.
Edith, on her knees, brought off the best "save" of her experience,
and Kitty cleared the ball away, hitting right down the centre with a
splendid shot to Duane, some instinct telling her what to do.

Duane stopped the ball with her foot and was off like a flash,
running like a hare and with a control of the ball that at such a
speed was amazing.  The centre-half was out-distanced and Duane held
on her way.  With a feint to the right she dodged round the back,
swerved sharply and, hardly pausing to steady herself, shot with all
the strength behind her strong arms and shoulders.  The ball skimmed
over the ground and curled round the inside of the post.  Carslake's
had equalized.

Dazed and taken aback, the school lined up in their places, hardly
realizing what had happened.  Perhaps their astonishment was their
undoing, for Duane and Daisy had wriggled the ball through at the
bully, and before the school could pull themselves together, Duane
was racing down the field again.  Just before she could be tackled
she passed the ball with delightful accuracy to France, who was quite
uncovered for the moment.  To her everlasting credit, that budding
artist rose to the occasion nobly, for in spite of her "stitch," she
carried the ball well into the enemy's quarters and without
attempting what she knew was beyond her powers, centred again to
Duane.  The pass was not an easy one, but once more Duane had bobbed
up in the right spot, and made no mistake in intercepting it.  With
her amazing swerve she was past the first back, but before she could
shoot, the goalkeeper, running out, had tackled her.  However,
Duane's stick was still behind the ball and the impetus of her dash
carried her forward a few staggering paces to drop on her knees just
beyond the posts, while the ball rolled gently over the line and came
to rest a foot or two beyond.  It was one of the most curious goals
ever scored on the ground.

Duane was on her feet, a little pale, and panting audibly now; she
picked up her stick and walked back to the centre, unheeding the loud
cheering and commotion that was going on around.  Hardly, however,
had play restarted, than the whistle rang out, loud and prolonged.
The great match was over, and Carslake's had defeated the Rest by the
extraordinary feat of scoring three goals in the last ten or twelve
minutes' play.




CHAPTER IX

THE CYCLING EXPEDITION

The room commonly known as the "boot-room" was crowded to overflowing
with girls.  Most of the house, in fact, with the exception of the
half-a-dozen senior girls, seemed to be there.  The hockey players
were busy changing their muddy boots and washing their hands in the
basins, where there was plenty of hot water and soap.  The rest were
all busy chattering excitedly to them about the match.  Needless to
say, the whole house was jubilant and hardly knew how to contain
itself.

Amidst the babel of excited tongues, a remark from one of the team
was always listened to with respect and interest.  "Who would have
dreamed it?" Babs was declaiming.  "Shan't we crow over the other
houses now!  I really can't imagine how we did it."

"There's no use blinking at the facts," retorted Peggy, bluntly.
"'Twas Duane that did most of the doing.  We all did our best, but it
was Duane who won the match for us."

"There wasn't a player on the field to touch her," declared Daisy.

"Yes," agreed Peggy.  "Didn't she run those last two dashes down the
field!  There wasn't one who could overtake her.  And when she shot
for goal, she didn't give the goalkeeper much chance."

"Her shooting always was fine," another girl remarked.  "I can
remember it in the matches last year."

"But doesn't it seem simply rotten," came from Peggy, slowly, "that a
player like her shouldn't be in the school eleven, playing for the
school.  Of course I know--" she paused, uncomfortably.  "Well, I
suppose it's her own fault and the hockey club were right enough to
drop her and--and all that.  But, dash it all, it seems such a waste!
I bet she's the finest centre-forward Easthampton's ever had."

"And knowing that she can play like that," added Daisy, thoughtfully,
"she must hate being out of all the big matches."

Little Erica Salter had been standing near by listening eagerly,
motionless, her hands hanging down by her sides, her eyes, with a
very rapt look in them, fixed on Daisy and Peggy as they were
speaking.  The emotional, sensitive child was plainly stirred to the
depths by the thrilling happenings of the afternoon, of which the
tingling sense of excitement and triumph still pervaded the whole
atmosphere.  She spoke up suddenly, when Daisy had finished:

"But supposing--just supposing Duane never did it after all?"

"Well then, it would be jolly hard lines on her, that's all I can
say," replied Peggy.  "But I don't see why we need bother our heads
about that.  Duane must have done it.  Nobody else could have."

"But supposing another girl had done it, and kept it secret?"

"Then all I can say is that she'd be the meanest sort of creature
alive," returned Peggy, decidedly, "and if she were ever found out,
the girls would jolly well make the school too hot to hold her."

Erica clasped her hands nervously together, and said with solemn
conviction, "I'm sure she would deserve everything she got."

Just at that moment the door opened, and in came Duane, Kitty and the
other hockey players, having washed and cleaned themselves in their
own cubicles.  They had come to change their muddy footgear.

"Great Scott!" exclaimed Duane, in her soft familiar drawl.  "What a
crowd!  The whole house seems to have assembled in the boot-room,
evidently under the mistaken impression that it's a hotel lounge.
Clear out, you kids.  Don't you know tea bell's gone?"

There was a general scramble for the door.  Kitty, drawing on a pair
of indoor shoes, was overcome with laughter at the sight.  In a very
short time the room was cleared of all except the hockey players
themselves.

"Hurry up, girls," Duane advised.  "You know Miss Carslake hates
anyone to be late in to meals.  Everyone ready?"

Daisy stretched her arms above her head.  "Oh dear!  I'm sure I shall
be stiff all over to-morrow.  But it was worth being stiff for the
rest of the term.  I say, Duane," she added, half hesitating, half
wistfully.  "We didn't let you down, did we?  Towards the end, you
know."

Duane, her hand on the door-handle, turned and faced them, lounging
back against the door with easy, unstudied grace, aristocrat in every
line of her.

"Let me down?" she repeated.  "No, of course you didn't.  I tell you
what, you kids, you played up like heroes, and the house ought to be
jolly proud of you.  Kitty and Bertha were as good as the school
backs any day, while Peggy's run got us the first goal, and France
rose to the occasion nobly at the last one.  Anyway, you've given the
old place the shock of its life."  She smiled at them with eyes that
had grown suddenly brilliant, and for the moment everyone, even
Kitty, forgot all about the Richoter and all that had happened the
previous term.

"But it was you who scored the goals," said Peggy, honestly.

"Of course," returned Duane, lightly.  "Didn't I tell you that was my
one particular forte.  Wait tell our next house match and we'll see
what we can do then."

She pushed open the door and led the way out, France remarking that
Miss Carslake could hardly row them for being a few minutes late for
once, after the glory they had brought upon the house.

The next day, Wednesday, being half-holiday, Miss Carslake had
arranged to take some of the girls on a cycling expedition to the
downs, where recent excavations had disclosed traces of both early
Celtic and later Roman habitation.  The house mistress, who took the
senior history classes in the school, was apt to wax enthusiastic
over neolithic remains or mediæval architecture, and during the
summer months organized many walking or cycling expeditions to see a
prehistoric barrow on the downs, or a little village church with a
Norman chancel, or an architectural curiosity such as a low side
window or a hagioscope.

Some twelve or fifteen girls had given in their names to the head
prefect as desirous of going.  Duane was in her study that evening,
making out this list, when there came a timid tap on the door and
Erica Salter entered.

"Hallo!  What is it?" inquired Duane, glancing up.  "You, Erica!
What's up?"

"Nothing," said Erica.  "That is--"  She glanced at Kitty, who was
also in the room writing letters, but there was evidently nothing to
be afraid of from that quarter, and Erica continued, "That is to say,
I--I want you to ask Miss Carslake if I can come to-morrow to
Stretton Downs, Duane."

"You!  'Fraid not, Erica.  You're too small."

"I'm not so very," protested Erica.  "And I'm used to cycling.  I've
got my bike here."

"It's too far for you," said Duane decidedly.  "Nine miles there and
back."

"But I've often cycled as much as that in a day, at home in the
holidays.  Really and truly I have."

"Bertha's not going, is she?" asked Duane, glancing down at her list.

"No.  She doesn't want to.  She said she hated anything to do with
history.  But ask her if I haven't cycled just as far these summer
holidays."

Duane hesitated.  "But what on earth do you want to go for, kid?" she
said somewhat impatiently.  "You're not interested in Celtic and
Roman remains.  Goodness knows if I am, for that matter, but I
suppose I'm expected to be."

Kitty, of course, had been listening to this conversation.  Something
in the child's obvious eagerness touched her.  Besides, Erica had
never looked very well since that bad attack of influenza the last
term.  Her face was paler and thinner, her dark eyes looked bigger.
It even seemed to Kitty that there was something strained and tense
in her expression and attitude, though probably that was merely
imagination on her part.  She broke in with:

"Oh, let her go, Duane, as she seems so very keen.  If she gets tired
I'll undertake to give her a push."

Duane shrugged her shoulders in her characteristic fashion.  "I
suppose, since Kitty takes your part, I shall have to put your name
down.  Kitty's quite capable of pushing herself and you too; in fact,
she'd doubtless enjoy the double burden."

Kitty glanced sharply at Duane.  Was she trying to be nasty, or was
it merely her flippant, cynical way of talking?  Impossible to tell.

Kitty glanced once more at Erica, who was exclaiming gratefully, "Oh,
thank you _ever_ so much, both of you!  You _are_ two dears," and
said in a low voice to Duane:

"I don't think the child's looking very fit, do you?"

Duane frowned slightly, then turned to Erica.  "I suppose you haven't
anything on for the rest of the evening?"

"No.  Nothing special.  I wanted to read, but it's so noisy in the
common-room.  It makes my head ache."

"Sit down in that chair then, for a bit," said Duane abruptly,
pointing with the handle of her pen to the easy chair in front of the
hearth.  "Kitty and I are both busy, so it will be quiet enough in
here."

The child hesitated, flushing up.  "Are you sure I shan't be in your
way?"

"Quite."

"Then I should just love to."

She curled herself up in the chair before the fire, and there was
silence in the room, broken only by the scratching of pens.  Erica
sat quiet and still, her dreamy gaze wandering from Duane to Kitty,
and from Kitty to Duane, and in her soft dark eyes was the
whole-hearted if childish hero-worship that is so common and natural
between small schoolboys and girls and their seniors, the girls and
boys who are at top of the school.  Presently, the warmth from the
fire making her drowsy, she dropped off to sleep, her head against
the back of the chair.

"She's asleep," said Kitty softly, glancing up.  "I thought she
looked tired."  She nibbled her pen-handle, then went on
hesitatingly, "I say, Duane, I'm--I don't pretend to be very
observant and all that, but it has struck me that the kid is--is
worrying over something--has got something on her mind."

Duane did not look very much impressed.  "What on earth should she
have on her mind?  Besides, there's her sister.  It's her business to
see if the kid's worried by anything."

"Well, I don't know much about Bertha," went on Kitty, hesitating.
"To tell you the truth, I never did take to her much.  But----"

"Oh, I'm not her great chum, either," interrupted Duane.  "Still, I
do happen to know that Bertha thinks the world of Erica and can be
trusted to look after her as much as anybody.  But I think the child
gets bad attacks of homesickness, all the same.  However, she'll grow
out of that in time.  All decent girls are happy enough at
Easthampton."

Some inexplicable impulse prompted Kitty's next words:

"Are you?"

"Do you mean to infer that I'm not decent?" said Duane dryly.

Kitty flushed crimson.

"You know I didn't mean that."

"No, I didn't.  I thought perhaps you were still thinking of the
Richoter," returned Duane calmly.

"Well, I wasn't," said Kitty bluntly.  "I was merely asking a
straightforward question.  I'm afraid I'm not used to playing about
with words, and I'm not clever at it like you."

"It comes in handy sometimes," murmured Duane.

"Yes, I suppose it does, when you don't want to give a
straightforward answer to a straightforward question," retorted Kitty.

"Or when you don't want to tell the truth," added Duane, with
laughter in her eyes.  "Hallo, there goes the junior bell."  She laid
her hand on Erica's shoulder, and shook her gently.  Erica opened her
eyes and blinked drowsily.

"Your bell has gone, kiddie," said Duane.  "I tell you what.  I'm
going to carry you upstairs to bed and send Bertha along with a glass
of hot milk.  You'll sleep like a top after that."

"But--I'm much too heavy," protested Erica, as the head prefect
stooped and lifted her out of the chair in her strong young arms.

Duane laughed contemptuously.

"Oh, I'm pretty strong, in spite of my frail appearance."

She turned at the doorway, evidently holding with ease the younger
girl, whose fair silky hair formed a striking contrast to her own
dark colouring, and glanced across at Kitty, saying flippantly:

"Don't look too despondent, Kitty.  Cheer yourself up with the
thought that you won't have to listen to my gifted conversation much
longer.  Hilary returns to-morrow evening.  She'll tell you plenty of
home truths if you want straightforward answers.  Sorry it's not in
my line."

When she had disappeared Kitty put down her pen and stretched
herself, then gazed round the little room.  It would seem quite
strange to be back again in her own study.  She really had got quite
used to the company of France and Duane, and their somewhat unusual
little ways.  In fact, Kitty was rather troubled and uneasy when she
discovered that not only had she got used to the present arrangement,
but that she did not look forward at all to going back to the old one.

"Of course that's only because changing about is rather upsetting,"
she reproved herself.  "Francie's a dear in many ways, but you don't
really want to stay on here with Duane, of all girls."  Why, she had
nearly provoked a squabble that very evening!  Kitty felt she had not
yet recovered her equanimity from the little passage of arms.

* * * * * *

"Oh, dash!"  Kitty surveyed her bicycle gloomily.

"What's up?"  Duane, her foot on her pedal ready to mount, paused and
looked back.

"My back tyre's down as flat as a pancake."

"A puncture?"

"'Fraid so," replied Kitty gloomily.  "I'll see if I can pump it up,
though."

A brief examination proved the fact beyond a doubt.  Kitty looked at
Duane.  The two had been the last to leave the farmhouse--where the
cycling party had had tea--and were the only girls left behind, the
others having ridden on a minute or two before Kitty's discovery.

"You ride on and overtake the others," she said.  "I'll mend the
puncture and come on afterwards.  If I scorch I might catch you up
some time.  Only it won't be long before it gets dark."

"Oh, I'll lend a hand," said Duane good-naturedly.  "I've got my
lamps.  Besides, Miss Carslake wouldn't like one of us to be left
alone."

"As to that, I'm quite capable of looking after myself," returned the
Australian girl rather impatiently.  "But it's good of you to stay,
though, and keep me company."

The two girls were accustomed to mending their own punctures.  They
had some difficulty at first in locating this one, but with the aid
of a bucket of water borrowed from the obliging farm people, found it
and patched it up.

"That's done at last!" exclaimed Kitty with a sigh of relief, as she
unscrewed her pump.  "Now we can get on.  Hallo, who on earth's this?
Why," in great amazement, "it's Bertha!  What on earth is she doing
here?"

They hailed her, and in another minute Bertha had ridden up and
jumped off her bicycle.  They could see that she was in a state of
great agitation.

"Is Erica with you?" she called out breathlessly.

"Erica?  No, she's with the others, I expect," answered Kitty
quickly.  "They went on ahead some time ago.  Didn't you pass them?"

"Yes.  She wasn't with them.  They told me she was behind with you.
I wasn't sure of it, but I just said nothing and came on to find you."

"But what are you doing here, Bertha?" asked Duane, for Bertha had
not been one of the members of the cycling party.

"As you know," Bertha answered hurriedly, "I went over to Sheerston's
this afternoon.  When I came back I found Erica had left this note
behind for me, and I can tell you it nearly knocked me over when I
read it.  I borrowed a bike from one of the girls and came on as fast
as I could, hoping to get here before you left."  She had pulled an
envelope from her pocket as she spoke, and handed it over to Duane.
The head prefect read it through quickly and silently.  Her face was
grave when she handed it back.

"Great Scott!  So that's why she was so anxious to come on the
cycling expedition, is it?  Poor little kid!  But why on earth should
she choose this way in which to run away from school?"

"I knew she was unhappy," replied Bertha, in a curiously hard tone.
"She's been miserable ever since she's been back.  I don't know what
made her make up her mind, but she told me she wished she could run
away home.  I told her not to be silly and that I shouldn't hear of
such a thing.  I meant to see she didn't get any pretext for
permission to go into town.  Then, as she says here, one of the
weekly boarders told her she knew this part of the country, and you
were going not far from her home, at Frattenton, and Frattenton's on
the main line for _our_ home--no changing."

"Where exactly is this place, Frattenton?" asked Duane quickly.

"The other side of the downs--four or five miles away.  The road to
it runs right over the downs."

"And it's the nearest railway station from here?"

"Yes."

During the couple of minutes taken by this hurried conversation,
Kitty had stood silent, listening, not knowing what was really the
matter, but gathering that it was something serious.

Neither offered to show her the note; she realized that there was
some mystery about it that Duane and Bertha both knew all about, but
that they did not wish to share with anyone else.  She did not ask
any questions, but waited to see what would be required of her.

Duane turned to her.

"Erica's gone," she explained.  "She's run away home.  She's slipped
off across the downs to Frattenton, to the railway station there."

Kitty nodded.

"What's to be done?" she said curtly.  "I don't like the look of
those downs.  There's a heavy mist coming on and it's already getting
dark."

"Let's hope she's there by now then," said Duane.  "Look here, two of
us had better ride after her, and the third one return to school and
let Prinny know what's up."

"Who's to go back?" asked Bertha.

"You had better," answered Duane, speaking in decisive tones for
once.  "You're done up already with scorching so hard, I can see, and
you've got no lamps.  Kitty and I are fresh.  That is to say, if
Kitty doesn't mind a tiring ride now."

"I'm on," said Kitty briefly.

"Then we'll make a start.  Cheer up, Bertha.  We'll see she's safe
somewhere or other and find out what's happened to her, all right."

"I know you will."  Bertha tried to muster up a smile as she turned
her bike round.  "You're a sport if ever there was one, Duane."

The next instant she had disappeared round the bend, and Duane and
Kitty were left alone again, this time with a feeling of
responsibility resting heavily upon them.

"Better just ask about the road, at the farm," suggested Kitty
sensibly.  "We neither of us know it."

A few brief questions elucidated the information that the road wound
over the downs to Frattenton, that it was a lonely road, but that
there were few turnings of any importance, and then one had to keep
to the left.  The two girls mounted and sped off, determined to cover
the greater part of the way before darkness settled down.

The first mile was a long drag uphill, but the girls struggled gamely
on.  Presently, to their relief, they found themselves on high but
fairly level ground, and were too hot with their exertions to feel
the chill, penetrating damp that was settling upon everything.  They
made short work of the next couple of miles.

Up till now they had met no sign of habitation.  Here, however, at
the corner of a cross-road, was a small, thatched cottage.  The place
looked deserted, but remembering the directions given them, they held
on to the left.  The road dropped down into a little hollow.  Here
they came across another house, a square, stone farm-house this time,
with three or four children and a couple of dogs playing about in the
roadway.

They dismounted and inquired of the eldest child if she had seen a
girl of about her own age, riding a bicycle, pass by within the last
half-hour.  The girl shook her head, and on being questioned declared
that they had been playing in the road for quite a long time, but
that she had seen no one pass except Farmer Wootten's wagon.  The
smaller children said the same.

Duane looked at Kitty rather perplexedly.

"Funny they should have missed her.  She can't have passed here very
long ago."

The girls mounted again, but had not gone very far--only round the
next bend--when they came across a horse and cart and two road
menders, just preparing to leave their work of laying down granite
and start their return journey to Frattenton.  Here the two cyclists
were brought "up against it" very definitely, for both men stated
positively and convincingly that no one had passed that way for the
last hour save a man driving a farm wagon, for they had been working
on the road all the time.




CHAPTER X

A NIGHT ON THE DOWNS

The two girls stood and looked at each other in dismayed silence.

Kitty thought rapidly.

"If she _has_ come this way, it must have been in the last half-hour.
I remember seeing her leave the tea-table when the other girls did,
and thought she was with them when they went to get their bikes.  I
wasn't more than twenty minutes mending that puncture, so that we
weren't more than half-an-hour behind when we left.  And we've most
likely reduced that, for we've covered the ground quicker than she
could, I bet."

"Then, if she has not passed here," Duane demanded, "where is she?"

"There's only one turning she could possibly have mistaken for the
Frattenton road.  You remember the one where that cottage was."

She turned to one of the men.

"Where does the road to the right, a little way back, go to?"

"That!" replied the man.  "That don't lead to nowhere, miss.  That be
only a road fur th' farm carts.  It ends in a sheep track across th'
downs."

"And how far on is Frattenton?" inquired Duane.

"Barely two miles, miss."

"Well, if she has passed here she's there by now all right," remarked
Kitty.  "Only, supposing she's taken the wrong road and is wandering
over the downs now?  I know what downs are."

"We'd better make inquiries at the cottage," said Duane briefly.

So they hurriedly pedalled back to the little thatched cottage, and
after some trouble succeeded in routing out an old woman with a
sweet, quavering voice and some difficulty in hearing distinctly.
However, when they had explained their errand, she was most eager and
voluble in giving them information.

Why yes, to be sure, a little lady on a bicycle had come to the door,
maybe half an hour back, and asked if she were on the right road to
Frattenton.  The kindly old soul had invited her in to rest a minute
by the fire and have a glass of milk, "for she had looked so
tired-like, and 'twas a long pull along the Frattenton road."  The
offer had evidently been too much for Erica to resist, for she had
left her bicycle outside and gone in.

"And how long has she been gone?" interrupted Duane quickly.

"A matter o' ten minutes or perhaps a quarter of an hour, I should
say, miss," quavered the old lady.

"And did you see which road she took?"

"Why no, miss.  I didn't go down to th' gate wi' she.  You see, my
rheumatics is that bad----"

But Kitty and Duane, with a hurried thanks, were already outside the
door and running down to their bikes.

"Just missed her at the turn here, then," said Duane.  "Jove, but
it's getting thick!"

"Better light up," said Kitty quietly, and they lit their lamps with
fingers that trembled with impatience.

"What luck for us those road-menders were there," said Kitty as they
pedalled forward.  "Or else we should have been nearly in Frattenton
by now.  Bother it, it's uphill again!"

"And getting jolly rough too," added Duane, as she bumped violently
over a big stone.

The road was certainly getting rough.  Presently great ruts appeared
in it and the two cyclists had to go very warily.  To add to their
difficulties a thick, chill mist was settling over the downs in
addition to the falling darkness.  Soon it would be impossible to see
many yards ahead, even with their lamps.

"One thing," observed Kitty, "if our progress is slow, so is Erica's.
She can't be very far ahead.  In fact, I wonder she hasn't turned
back by now, realizing that this can't be the main road."

"I wonder if she has any lamps," said Duane uneasily.

The next minute her front wheel ran into a rut; the bicycle skidded
sharply and threw her off.

Kitty dismounted.  "Hurt?" she inquired.

"Oh no," replied Duane with a laugh.  "Came off on my feet all right.
But I guess we'd better walk, and wheel our bikes.  It'll be just as
quick in this awful mist and darkness."

The two girls pressed forward with dogged courage.  They were neither
of them timid or nervous, each had confidence in the other, and no
doubt, but for the anxiety of Erica's safety, would have enjoyed it
as a "real adventure."

"Hallo!  What's this?"  Kitty came to an abrupt halt.

"Erica's bike.  She's left it by the roadside and gone forward on
foot.  There's her front lamp on it, unlit--but perhaps she had no
matches," a surmise they afterwards found out to be fact.

"We'd better leave ours here too.  They're more nuisance than use now
we can't ride them.  We can take the front lamps with us."

So they propped their bicycles by the side of the road, which was now
little more than a track.  The dense mist had settled down thicker
than ever, so that they could hardly make out the ground at their
feet, and the lamps only seemed to light up and reveal a few yards of
greyish vapour.  It all felt very weird and mysterious.

To go on now had become a matter of real danger.  But Erica was
somewhere ahead, in the darkness, alone, and to go back was
impossible.

The two girls shouted and halloed at the top of their voices, but the
mist only returned the echoes of their own cries.

"Coming on?" asked Duane curtly.

"Of course," returned Kitty as briefly.

"We must keep to the track though.  Won't do to get lost ourselves."

They stumbled forward again, neither of them daring to voice their
secret fear that Erica, frightened and lonely and without a light,
had wandered off the track when the mist and the darkness had
descended so quickly, and was lost on the downs.  Such a possibility
made them both shiver.  They stopped at brief intervals and shouted,
Kitty raising piercing calls of "Coo-ee!" and then listening
intently, but with no result.

It would be hard to say how far they had gone--their only guide was
the track, which they dared not leave and which they followed mainly
by the feel of it beneath their feet--when at last Kitty's sharp ears
caught a faint, answering call.  They advanced, shouting again, and
again came the faint answer from the darkness.

Kitty halted.  "It's from our left somewhere, not ahead.  Come on."

They turned to their left and by the light of their lamps advanced
cautiously over the down turf, guided by the voice.  Before long, a
dark mass loomed up with startling suddenness in the pale rays of
their lamps.  It was a shepherd's hut, and inside, crouched in a
forlorn heap upon the hard, bare floor, they found the runaway.

[Illustration: "Crouched in a forlorn heap upon the floor, they found
the runaway."]

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come.  I'm so c-cold and t-tired."

"However did you find this place?" asked Kitty, peering around.

"You see, the road got so rough," Erica replied in a tired voice.  "I
left my bike and walked, and then I knew I must have taken the wrong
road; but I was so tired, I didn't want to go all the way back.  I
thought perhaps it would lead to some houses or a village if I kept
on.  But it got so dark and I was frightened.  I couldn't see my way
and then I was wandering about and I ran right into this hut.  Oh, I
wish I was home.  I heard you calling at last, but there's a big
blister on my heel, and I--I c-can't walk any more."

The child was worn out and exhausted; moreover, she was shaking with
cold.  Duane slipped off her heavy coat with its big fur collar and
cuffs.  "Just put this on a minute," she said, "and it'll warm you,
for I was simply boiling after the rate we've pounded along to catch
you up."

She glanced at Kitty, who was investigating their little shelter by
the light of a lamp.  The place had evidently been quite recently
inhabited, for it was in excellent repair and as dry as a bone.  On
the other hand, it was quite bare, consisting of absolutely nothing
but walls, roof and door.  True, there was a fireplace, but as Kitty
remarked, it was no good without any fuel, and of fuel, wet or dry,
there was not a stick to be had anywhere, and they had no implements
with which they could break away any of the boarding of the hut.

"If we could only get a fire," sighed Kitty wistfully, "we'd stay
here the night.  It would be quite jolly.  But we should simply
freeze otherwise.  I'm sure it'll freeze if it gets much colder."

Duane went to the door and peered out.  The mist was covering
everything with icy drops of water, and it was densely black
everywhere.  She drew back with a shiver.

"I say, Kitty, do you think we should find the track again?  Then, of
course, we could get back to the Frattenton road.  We could carry the
kid between us."

"The point is," replied Kitty, somewhat grimly, "that if we risked
the chance of finding the track and failed, ten chances to one if we
should be able to find the hut again.  In that case we should be
wandering about the downs in this icy mist, and Erica, for one, isn't
in a fit condition to do much wandering.  On the other hand, if we
stay here for the night,"--she looked at Duane with a faint
smile--"I've no doubt we shall need all our courage if we are going
to stick it."

"Oh, your courage is all right," said Duane carelessly.

"And--I sort of--believe you've got plenty too," muttered Kitty under
her breath.  Then aloud, "Well, let's have a little rest and make up
our minds what to do."

It was the discovery of the straw that settled the matter--a big
truss of it in the corner, dry as a bone, and clean and fragrant.
They did not waste time considering the reason for its being there,
but decided to settle down in the hut, now that they had something
that might keep the warmth in their bodies.  They spread it on the
floor and curled up on it, wishing that there was twice the quantity
so that they might burrow right in.  They were all wearing their big
coats, and Kitty and Duane were quite warm from their hard cycling
and walking; but Erica was shivering with cold.  So Kitty and Duane
set to work vigorously to rub her arms and legs until the blood began
to circulate again.

They huddled up together on the straw, with Erica in the middle.  It
was to Duane, Kitty noted with some surprise, that the child turned
for comfort and protection, and the bigger girl seemed to respond
with a queer, sympathizing tenderness that Kitty had never dreamed
her capable of.

"I thought you two were ancient and bitter enemies," she said with a
laugh.

"I thought I hated Duane once," responded the child with quaint
gravity.  "But I don't now.  It was very silly of me.  Duane is a
dear," with an affectionate, almost passionate hug.

"Duane is an ass," said that person herself, "and Kitty is one too,
to let two lamps go on burning when one would do."

"You made a rhyme," murmured Erica sleepily.

"Oh, there's nothing I can't do if I like to try," said Duane
modestly.  "You know, I didn't say what kind of an ass I was, did I?"

"No.  What kind are you?"

"A geni-ass."

"Oh!  You are silly!"  A gleam of fun struggled with the sadness in
the child's face.  "And I'm a horrid little pig, that's what I am."

"What rubbish!" said Duane hastily.  "I say, Kitty, you haven't gone
to sleep, have you?  Do you know it's not much past seven o'clock?"

"Is that all?  How awful!  No, I don't feel a bit sleepy."  She tried
to imitate Duane's gay, careless flippancy.  "What shall us do?"

"Well, something fairly primitive.  Not even as elaborate as 'noughts
and crosses,' seeing we've neither pencil nor paper."

"Nor much light to see with," added Kitty.  "We shall have to pretend
we're Indians in a wigwam."

"Or Eskimos in a snow hut.  I hope you're warm enough, little Eskimo?"

"Oh, yes, I'm lovely and warm now," replied Erica.

"We are disciples of the Simple Life," continued Duane.  "What could
be a simpler way of living than this?  Erica, think how years hence
you'll tell your grandchildren and your great-grandchildren how you
were lost on the downs and spent the night in a wooden hut with the
howling of savage wolves outside, thirsting for your blood."

"But that would be an awful whopper," objected Erica.  "There aren't
any wolves left in England."

"Aren't there?  What a pity!  However, to come back to our original
question.  What shall we do to pass away the time?"

"You and Kitty can tell stories," suggested Erica brilliantly.

"Good gracious!  But I don't know any," protested Kitty in alarm.

"Can't you tell one out of your head?"

"But how can I, when there aren't any in there?"

"Well, Duane will, then."

"Very well," said Duane resignedly.  "What sort of a story do you
want?"

"I don't mind."

"It'll have to be a nonsensical one then.  I couldn't tell a sensible
one in a senseless place like this.  No genius could.  Let me see,"
thoughtfully, "did I tell you the story of my uncle?"

"No."

"I'm afraid it's rather sad, but never mind.  It was something most
extraordinary that happened to my Uncle Bill--or was it my Uncle
John?  Never mind, it was one of them.  It must have been, because
they're the only two uncles I've got.  Well, he was standing one day
in front of his fire, when a dreadful thing occurred.  His backbone
melted."

"What!" gasped Erica.

"His backbone melted.  Of course, that made him very ill, but
fortunately the doctors knew what to do.  They packed him round in
ice and it froze again, and now he's walking about just the same as
ever."

"I don't believe it," cried Erica scornfully.  "It couldn't happen."

"I don't know about that.  I'm telling you just what he told me."

"Then your uncle was only telling you stories."

"I think that depends on which uncle it was.  You see, Uncle John is
a very truthful man.  But my Uncle Bill probably doesn't always tell
the truth."

"Then it was your Uncle Bill who told you about it," said Erica
conclusively.

Kitty had been struggling to repress her mirth.  At last she said:

"Can't you tell us something a bit less gruesome than that?"

"Oh yes," cried Erica, "a happy-ever-after one."

"In that case it'll have to be a fairy story," decided Duane.  "Very
well then."

She began her story while the other two listened, the light of the
bicycle lamp flickering on the little group, picking out in
particular the clear-cut, aristocratic profile of the narrator.
Kitty lay looking at it dreamily and finding a curious pleasure in
doing so, never realizing until now what a fascinating face it could
be to watch, not exactly for any particular beauty of feature, nor
even for the vividness of the light grey eyes in their dark setting,
but for something elusive in its rather sleepy expression.

"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a king over a far Eastern
land, and this king had three tall, brave sons.  The two eldest were
said to be the handsomest men in the whole kingdom, but though the
youngest was just as big and strong, and his hair was just as golden
and his eyes as blue, he had a thorn in the flesh----"

"Like St. Paul," interrupted Erica eagerly.

"Yes.  Only we don't know what St. Paul's was, but we do know the
prince's----"

"Then what was it?" put in Kitty.

"Don't interrupt or you'll mix me up," said the narrator severely.
"Let me see, where was I?"

"At the beginning, I should say," said Kitty.

"One day there came a herald from the neighbouring kingdom.  Everyone
knew he came from the neighbouring kingdom because he wore his
master's coat-of-arms----"

"What was the coat-of-arms like?"

"Oh--er--two lions couchant and one pard rampant upon a field of
azure.  He stood on the steps of the king's palace, blew his
thingummyjig--I mean his trumpet, and shouted, 'Oyez!  Oyez!  Oyez!
To all busybodies whom it may concern.  Anyone bringing back the
stolen princess to her sorrowing father, King Baldhead, will be given
her hand in marriage and half her father's kingdom.'  At that, there
was great commotion everywhere.  The three princes sent for the
herald and asked him how the princess had been stolen.  He told them
that she had been carried off in the wink of an eye by a dreadful
witch disguised as a whirlwind.  The princess's father had consulted
her fairy godmother and she said that he who wished to rescue the
princess must follow his nose until he found her.

"'That is an easy matter,' quoth the eldest prince.  'I will set out
at once,' and he called for his finest horse and his ten
body-servants and rode out in state, giving orders that no one else
was to set forth on the quest.  Because he was so handsome he was
vain, and because he was vain he was selfish.

"A year passed away and he did not return.  Then the second prince
set out in the same manner, for he also was vain and selfish, and at
the end of a year he had not returned either.

"Then the youngest prince, who was neither vain nor selfish, told his
father that he too would try his luck.  He, however, set out alone
and on foot, for he said he thought he could follow his nose better
thus.  And when he had walked and walked without stopping for three
days, the earth suddenly opened in front of him and out stepped the
princess.  She smiled radiantly upon him, and said, 'Dear prince, you
have broken the witch's spell and set me free,' and they went back to
her father hand in hand."

"And what about the other two princes?  What had happened to them?"

"Oh, they were never heard of for seven years, and then the eldest
one came riding along.  He had followed his nose right round the
world until he got back to the place from where he started.  And
exactly a year later, the other one turned up."

"But I don't see," objected Erica in a drowsy voice, and opening one
sleepy eye, "why the youngest prince found her and they didn't."

"Oh well, you see, that's just where the point of the 'thorn' comes
in.  The two oldest princes had Grecian noses, but the youngest
prince had a crooked one.  Consequently he'd been going round and
round in a circle, and when he'd gone round twelve times that broke
the spell, you know, and the earth opened.  Don't you remember the
fairy rings?"

"But how could the princess marry a prince with a crooked nose?"
murmured Erica, with a last effort.

"Oh, I've no doubt the fairy godmother could put that straight.  I
don't see the use of having a fairy godmother if she couldn't do
little jobs like that," replied Duane.  Erica, however, had not
heard.  She was fast asleep.  "Supposing one of them had had a
retroussé nose," remarked Kitty meditatively.  "What would have
happened then?"

"He'd have made a journey to heaven, doubtless," retorted the
story-teller.

There was silence for a little while, save for Erica's steady
breathing.  Then Kitty said softly, so as not to disturb her:

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Talk--like that."

"Talk rubbish, do you mean?"

"If you like to put it that way.  Just as if you hadn't a serious
thought or a care in the world--as if our situation
wasn't--well--decidedly an uncomfortable one?"

"Oh, I don't know.  Because I'm a geni-ass, I suppose."

"Shall I tell you what I think?  You just do it to keep everybody's
spirits up and be cheerful."

"You mean, to make out to people I'm not afraid or I don't care?
Yes, perhaps I do," replied Duane, with a note of thoughtfulness in
her voice.

"But I don't mean that a bit.  You do it just because you aren't
afraid."

"Oh, am I not?  I feel in an awful funk at times, but I should feel
frightfully humiliated if I let anyone see or guess it."

There was another pause.  Duane was evidently in a thoughtful and
unusually serious mood, for she went on:

"I've an unfortunate manner, I believe, but I've been brought up to
think it correct and couldn't get rid of it now if I wanted to try.
I always ambled along here happily and serenely enough till all the
Carslake Sixth-formers took it into their heads to leave and Prinny
sent for me and informed me that she intended giving me the honour of
the head prefectship.  I funked it horribly, but Prinny was a dear
and I had to take it on.  Honestly, I meant to do my best, though I
felt rather crushed.  Do you remember that frightfully serious jaw
Prinny gave us, the beginning of last term?  But I'm terribly lazy, I
know, and as I said, I've an unfortunate manner and I'm afraid I made
a hopeless mess of things."

Duane gave her explanations with matter-of-fact, almost impersonal
simplicity.  Kitty's thoughts were in such a jumble that she hardly
knew what to say.  She felt she must say something of what was in her
mind, though, so she blurted out:

"That's all nonsense.  A mess, indeed!  Look at Sports Day--look at
the hockey match----"

"Oh well, I do happen to be fairly decent at hockey," said Duane
curtly.  "It's the one thing I'm proud of.  But that doesn't make me
a success as a head prefect, does it?"

"Success or not," returned Kitty, "the house has pulled itself
together again, and taken up its proper place in the school, and the
head prefect takes the glory as well as the responsibility.  That's
only fair."

Duane grunted.

"By the by, I've some news to tell you.  I had a letter from Hilary
this morning.  The doctors think she had better not come back after
all.  Say she wants a complete rest from studies for at least a year,
if her headaches are to be cured.  Rough luck on Hilary, isn't it?
She's keen on her work."

"Yes.  I'm awfully sorry," said Kitty sincerely.  "She was clever
too, and a good sort."

"Oh yes, Hilary was always decent.  Though I fancy she didn't quite
approve of me.  It's rather hard lines on you too, having your
study-mate taken away.  A pity!" with a mocking note in her voice,
and the drawl back again.  "But perhaps you can still put up with
France and me."

"Yes.  I'm sorry we took a dislike to each other at the beginning,"
said Kitty in a low voice.

"You did, you mean.  I never disliked you."

Kitty looked surprised.

"Why yes, you did.  Besides, don't you remember how I squeezed a
sponge over you?"

"Oh, that!  I thought it was frightful cheek on your part, but then,
I've plenty of cheek myself."

"And when I challenged you to tennis?"

"And beat me?  Did I look so furious?"

"You never turned a hair.  But I thought you were simply wild,
inwardly."

"Perhaps I was.  But I hope I'm sportsman enough not to show it."

"Oh, you're a sportsman all right," said Kitty with conviction.  "But
if you didn't dislike me extremely, how did you feel about me?"

"Oh, I rather liked you when I first saw you.  I thought you looked a
decent sort and a thorough sport, and I said to myself that you'd
make a welcome addition to the house.  And then I saw that you
disliked me for some reason or other--in fact, rather despised
me--and so I just didn't care.  I was rather sorry, but I wouldn't
have let you see it for worlds.  Perhaps, too, my pride was hurt."

"Yes, I did dislike you and feel rather--contemptuous," confessed
Kitty, laughing under her breath.  "You see, I'd never met anyone
like you before.  You were quite a new experience.  It began when I
first saw your name painted right across your trunk, 'The Hon.  Duane
l'Estrange Estevan,' and I said to myself, 'What a name!'  I had a
horror of anything aristocratic and a great contempt for laziness in
any form whatever, and I thought you were both.  I'm beginning to
have my doubts about the laziness, however."

"We'll put it down to my 'unfortunate manner,'" conceded Duane
generously, "though I won't deny it."

"Your manner is all that it should be," declared Kitty firmly, "so
don't try to alter it.  You couldn't be you without it.  I was a
silly fool."

"Then you really think that we might become quite good friends in
time?"

Kitty flushed.  "I'd be proud," she said in a low voice.

"And the Richoter?  Have you forgotten that?"

Kitty's flush faded.  Yes, strange to say, she had forgotten all
about it.  It had never once entered her head.

"Yes, I have.  I don't care a hang about the Richoter," she replied
sturdily.

Duane ran a gentle hand over the fair silky head nestling so
confidingly against her shoulder, and a smile lit her eyes and then
hovered on her lips--a smile that was strangely sweet.

"Yes, hang the Richoter!" she repeated softly.

A little later and all three girls were sleeping soundly.  But the
time when they needed all they had of pluck and endurance was yet to
come.  As the hours passed, the chill, raw, penetrating cold crept
through the thin covering of straw and through their thick overcoats.
They awoke in the early hours of the morning when it was still inky
dark, cramped and cold right through.  By the feeble light of the
remaining lantern the mist could be seen hovering in greyish wisps in
the bare hut.  They tramped up and down the narrow space at their
disposal and went through all the drill tables they could remember,
to keep circulation flowing.  The two older girls looked after the
younger as best they could, realizing that she was not only the
youngest but the frailest physically of the three.  As Duane remarked
cheerfully, she and Kitty were "as hard as nails."

The colder they grew, the higher Duane's spirits seemed to rise, and
the more nonsense she talked.  Kitty and Erica had not her aptitude
in that way, but they showed their grit by their readiness to laugh.
Kitty came to a better realization of the head prefect's character in
those three hours before the dawn.  The Australian had as much
courage as any one, but the other girl's was of a kind she had not
understood till now; it sprang from a pride that would meet danger or
death with a laugh and a jest rather than a prayer; the same pride of
race that sent the old French aristocrats to the guillotine as if
they were driving to the King's levee at Versailles.

Erica, too, never murmured.  Duane and Kitty declared she was a
little brick.

The three hours seemed like years.  At last, however, a faint grey
light began to filter into hut.  The girls crept out, with chattering
teeth, and taking it in turns to carry the crippled Erica pick-a-back
until they should find their bicycles, set off in search of the cart
track that was their only guide.




CHAPTER XI

THE TRUTH OF IT ALL

The Principal received a telephone message in the morning from
Frattenton, to the effect that the missing ones had arrived safely in
the early hours, having spent the night in a shepherd's hut on the
downs.  Miss St. Leger, with a heart considerably lightened, recalled
her search parties and sent back instructions for the girls to be
brought to Easthampton by train, after they had been fed and cared
for by the kindly owners of the George Inn at Frattenton.  The school
went in to afternoon lessons with the excitement of the morning
calmed down, and a little later the three girls arrived.

Nurse insisted on sending Erica to bed at once, with hot blankets and
bottles, but the two seniors protested that they felt none the worse
for their adventure, for they had been given hot baths and had their
clothes thoroughly dried at Frattenton.  Indeed, they looked none the
worse.  Nurse gave in, on the condition that they went to bed early
in the evening and had a "proper night's rest."

The two received a summons from the Principal to tea in her room.

"We're honoured," said Duane to Kitty with a laugh.  "It's only on
very special occasions that girls have tea with Prinny."

A few minutes later found them comfortably ensconced in easy chairs
before a bright fire, in the Principal's charming little
sitting-room, with cups of tea in their hands and plates of the same
delicate and fragile china on their knees.  The Principal talked to
them pleasantly while they had tea, and Kitty thought what a charming
woman she was; though, to be sure, nothing out of the ordinary to
look at!

Then, after the maid had cleared the tea-things away, she drew a
chair up next to Duane's and said with a sudden change to gravity:

"And now, Duane, for a very serious little talk.  I want to know
exactly what happened in this distressing affair of the Richoter
examination.  I know, of course, that there has been a good deal of
trouble in the school over it and that you have been very much
concerned in it.  I want to hear your version of the affair--all you
know about it."

Duane hesitated, looking perplexed.  Miss St. Leger, who was watching
her closely, went on quietly:

"Need I say that I already know almost all there is to know?  The
cycling expedition and its sequel have at last brought things to a
head, I am thankful to say.  I insisted on an explanation from
Bertha, and under the circumstances she could do nothing but give me
it: I have seen the note for her which Erica left behind.  But I want
your version of the story as well--all of it."

Duane drew a deep breath.

"I was hoping that it would never come out," she said with a faint
smile, "and yet of course, now it has--well, I do feel relieved."

"Yes, I can quite realize that," said Miss St. Leger, somewhat dryly.

"You know who did it, then?" queried Duane.

Kitty was sitting forward in her chair, tense with eagerness.  The
mystery that had puzzled her and the rest of the school for so long,
was to be revealed at last.

"Yes, little Erica Salter was the culprit."

Kitty uttered a cry of surprise.

"Erica Salter--that child!"

Duane nodded.  "Yes."

"But surely--" stammered Kitty, "she could not think of such a thing
herself.  Why, what does a child like her know of chemistry
experiments?"

"That is one of the little points I want Duane to make clear," put in
Miss St. Leger.  "Yes, Kitty can stay and hear, since I believe she
also narrowly escaped serious trouble over the affair."

"Through my incorrigible laziness," added Duane, with a drawl in her
voice.  "How I blessed Miss Vacher at that moment for disturbing me!"

"Begin at the beginning," advised Miss St. Leger.

So the head prefect told her story, quite simply and with some
embarrassment, her two listeners hanging intently upon every word.

It seemed that Erica, in her blind, childish adoration of the
redoubtable Peggy O'Nell, regarded that rebel's natural enemy, the
head prefect, in the light of a hateful tyrant.  Her highly-coloured
imagination, in fact, exaggerated and magnified the attempts of the
prefect to put down the junior leader, and after the ordering-off of
Peggy from the sports field, her seething indignation crystallized
into a fierce determination to avenge the insult offered to that
much-wronged damsel.

How this was to be accomplished she had no idea; probably her
feelings would have calmed down before long without any harm whatever
being done, but a few chance words from Bertha--words not said in a
very kindly spirit--put the whole idea into her head, an idea which
would otherwise have never entered it.

The Richoter candidates had been giving an account of their morning's
experiences in the laboratory, when they left it for the dinner hour.
Bertha, with Erica, had been among the listeners.  Strolling off
afterwards, the older girl, speaking her thoughts aloud, had said
with a laugh:

"Now, a very simple way of upsetting any of their apple-carts would
be to meddle with the balances just now.  A little weight stuck
underneath the pan with a piece of putty would do the trick.  Simple
but effective, eh?"

It had been carelessly spoken and Bertha did not dream that anyone
had taken notice of her words, or in fact heard them, save her little
sister; and Erica, fired by impulse, resolved in that way to avenge
the wrongs done to Peggy and her confreres by the tyrannous head
prefect, who was so mean and horrid to them.

It never occurred to Erica that the laboratory door might be
carefully locked to ensure against any tampering with the unfinished
experiments.  A weight?  A little piece of stone would do.  Putty?  A
bit of plasticine out of one of the tins in her classroom, which was
quite near the laboratory!  The school-rooms would be deserted now;
no one would see her.  What could be simpler?  And if Duane didn't
get her experiment correct, it would serve her right.  Oh yes, she
deserved it all!

Had Erica paused to think, it would never have been done.  But the
blind impulse aroused by her passionate adoration of Peggy, drove her
straight into the school and up the stairs towards the laboratory.

It was the most extraordinary coincidence that she should be
following close on the heels of Kitty, intent on Miss Vacher's
errand, though Erica was just too far behind to see her; and also a
coincidence that Erica, slipping in noiselessly in her drill shoes
(it had been drill last lesson that morning), should neither be seen
nor heard by Kitty, who at that moment was at the other end of the
room beyond the high-backed benches, pausing in the act of hunting
for a clean pipette in order to gaze out of the window to see the
reason for the loud noise of a motor engine misfiring on the country
road outside.  Neither knew of the other's presence.  Erica had done
her work in a few seconds and was gone before Kitty recrossed the
room with the pipette, and left, locking the door again behind her.

But the point of the whole affair lay in the fact that Erica, who had
not stopped to think, and was in such a state of agitation as hardly
to know what she was doing, made a mistake over the balances and
weighted Salome's instead of Duane's.  She had heard Eileen describe
herself as in the middle of the first bench near the door, with
Salome on her right and Duane on her left, but she did not stop to
consider which would be Eileen's right and which her left; there was
the end of the bench conveniently just inside the door, and in her
agitation it did not dawn upon her that Duane might be at the other
end.  "Which shows," Duane put in somewhat quaintly, "that she was
not cut out for a conspirator, at any rate."

Then had come the inquiry in the hall and with it so complete a
realization of the enormity of the thing which she had done, that the
highly-strung, sensitive child, with visions of awful punishments
floating before her eyes, could no more come forward and confess her
guilt in front of them all than she could have taken wings and flown.

"Up to then," went on Duane, "I knew no more about the affair than
any of you.  All I knew was that the keys had never left my
possession during the dinner interval save once.  I had not done it
myself; I could only think Kitty was the culprit.  I am afraid,"
looking across at Kitty, "I did you an injustice there."

"And I," responded Kitty with a smile, "knew _I_ hadn't done it, and
I could only think _you_ had.  We were both mistaken.  Of course,
what put us all on the wrong track was the fact that it was Salome's
balances that had been meddled with.  She's so popular with all the
girls.  We could only put it down to motives of house jealousy."

"Well, up till the evening, as I said, I was as much in the dark as
anyone," continued Duane, and went on to narrate how she had received
a visit from Bertha and a white, trembling Erica, who had confessed
to her older sister what she had done, knowing that Bertha would
somehow help her.  Bertha, startled and horrified, had sternly
enjoined the younger child that on no account must she breathe a word
of it to anyone else until she, Bertha, gave her permission.  Bertha
meant that it should never have been found out, if _she_ could help
it, no matter what happened.

But she had to do something to calm the frightened,
conscience-stricken child.  They could tell Duane, she said, and ask
her advice.  She was the one Erica had meant to injure.

So Bertha, in the interview that passed between the three girls, had
paved the way by explaining that Erica was in trouble and wanted
Duane's advice, but she must first promise not to say a word to
anyone else.  Duane, never dreaming what the trouble really was and
thinking it was just some childish scrape Erica had been inveigled
into, gave her word.  Even she could not conceal her amazement and
dismay when she heard the "confession."  She was troubled and
perplexed, more so than she had ever been in her life before, and did
not know what she ought to do for the best.  She tried to persuade
the child to go to the Principal and confess, pointing out that Miss
St. Leger could be trusted to understand and would not be harsh on
her.  Erica, however, in her over-wrought state, could not credit
this.

On the other hand, Bertha, too, was fiercely determined that, if
possible, it should never be known, pointing out that Erica was but a
child and had not realized what she was doing, and that in time the
whole affair would die down and be forgotten.

"It was Bertha's influence against mine," Duane explained, "and of
course, Bertha's was the stronger."

Duane, moved by the pitifulness of the child's shrinking fear and
whole-souled repentance to a tenderness which, in spite of all her
faults, she was evidently capable of feeling, tried to comfort her,
resolving that if Erica could not summon sufficient moral courage to
confess, and if she felt happier in the knowledge that her
wrong-doing would never become public, she, Duane, would help keep
the secret.

The next day had been passed in the visit to the vicar's house, and
Duane had heard nothing of the scene in the sports field, and the
feeling against Kitty that had arisen.

On her return she had hurried straight from an interview with Miss
Carslake to Paddy's mock trial, entering late and just in time to
hear the charge against Kitty.

"I thought, of course," she explained, "that it was a deadly earnest
affair, and I was so horror-struck that for once I lost my head
completely.  I don't know what I blurted out--something to the effect
that I knew for certain Kitty had not done it----"

"In such a manner as to convince everyone that you were the
conscience-stricken culprit yourself," finished off Miss St. Leger.
"That was it, was it not?"

"Yes," admitted Duane.  "Afterwards I knew I had made an ass of
myself.  Still, in a way I was glad, for if the girls had gone on
believing Kitty guilty, it would have put me in an awful hole,
knowing all the time that she wasn't.  So I consoled myself with the
reflection that it was all for the best."

"And were content to shield someone else at your own expense," said
Miss St. Leger bluntly.

"Easiest way," returned Duane with a shrug.  "I'm in the habit of
choosing it."

"Sometimes, perhaps," said Miss St. Leger cautiously.

"Then what did you mean by saying you were sorry you had wronged me?"
asked Kitty eagerly.

"Oh, I was merely referring to my wrongly believing that you were the
culprit, the day before."

"And, of course, everybody took it in rather a different way."

"There isn't much more to be told," Duane continued.  "I must admit
it bothered me sometimes last term when I saw that Erica still
worried over the affair, but I thought she'd get over it in time.
But she didn't, and what happened yesterday was the result."

Miss St. Leger nodded gravely.

"I gather from this note that it was the hockey match that decided
her."  She glanced again at the note in her hand, and read it out:


"DEAR BERTHA,

"I can't stand it any longer, having people think Duane did it and
knowing all the time it was me.  But I'm not brave enough to confess
to everyone, and so I'm going to run away home this afternoon.  I'm
going to try and slip away from the others and get a train at
Frattenton.  Gracie Morris whose home is at Frattenton told me the
way.  I am sorry.  I hate myself for being such a coward.  But after
yesterday afternoon I felt I just couldn't go on being such a little
pig, though Duane says it's all right and I mustn't worry my head
about her.  Please will you tell them all about everything after I
have gone.

  "Your loving sister,
        "ERICA."


There was a short silence.  Then Duane said slowly:

"I'm glad she tried to own up at last.  You know, I think she would
have done so long ago if it hadn't been for Bertha.  She's got heaps
of physical courage."

There was a very kind look in the Principal's eyes as she turned
towards Duane, and laying her hand on the girl's shoulder, said
gently:

"So am I.  But I don't think it was altogether by herself that she
decided to own up.  I think someone helped her, if unconsciously."

Duane looked puzzled.

"How do you mean, Miss St. Leger?"

"Why, I think in the end it was your influence and not Bertha's, that
proved the stronger."

"I should jolly well think so," added Kitty emphatically.

Duane flushed and looked uncomfortable.  She had told her story with
brief simplicity, plainly and unvarnishedly--not as it has been
related here.  But her two listeners, knowing the dramatis personæ so
well, had imagined clearly and vividly all the details and side
issues that Duane had mentioned so baldly.  The girl had, to a great
extent, dropped her flippant, blasé manner to tell the story.  Now,
for a moment she succeeded in throwing off the reserve in which she
had been trained to hide her emotions, as she had done before Kitty
in the hut last night.

"I--Miss St. Leger, perhaps I made an awful mess of things," she said
in a low voice.  "When you talked to me that day you asked me to--to
take on the head prefectship, and I promised you I would do my best
for the house.  I honestly meant it.  I--it made me feel a bit sore
sometimes, when I could see quite plainly I wasn't succeeding, and
how the girls disliked me----"

"Yes, I know," interrupted Miss St. Leger.  "But you remember that I
told you, knowing well enough your task was a difficult one, that if
the juniors were insulting or refused to acknowledge your authority
in any way, or if you found yourself in difficulties, you were to
come to me and I would settle things for you.  As you never came,
perhaps I hardly realized how badly things were going sometimes."

Kitty broke in, with a chuckle, "Duane wouldn't ask for help from a
soul.  I know her and her pig-headed pride by now.  If she were dying
she'd never admit herself beaten."

"But I did," said Duane, smiling.  "The Richoter complicated things a
bit, and, frankly, I didn't want to come to you about it, Miss St.
Leger----"

"No," interrupted the Principal.  "As I said before, you were so busy
shielding that child at your own expense that you didn't want me to
smell a rat.  For I shouldn't and didn't believe it of you, you know.
You have been long enough in the school for me to know you, and what
you are and are not capable of doing, pretty well by now.  However, I
believe you had a partiality for the child and that prejudiced you."

"But one couldn't help being sorry for her, Miss St. Leger.  It
seemed so absurd to hold her responsible.  She's such a
tender-hearted, timid little thing really.  She wouldn't hurt a fly
if she could help it."

"But I could be trusted to see that too," remarked the Principal,
somewhat dryly.

"Oh yes, Miss St. Leger," replied Duane quickly and with an eagerness
that was almost passionate.  "Of course, I knew that.  If it had only
rested with you!  But it was the publicity that would have followed
that the child couldn't have faced, the realization that everyone in
the school knew and somehow despised her.  She thought all the girls
would be simply disgusted with her.  I couldn't make her believe
anything else."

"The truth is," said Miss St. Leger, "that you are much too
soft-hearted for your job."

"I soft-hearted!" Duane exclaimed indignantly.  "Whatever next!  But
anyway," with a mischievous gleam in her grey eyes, "I did realize my
limitations, Miss St. Leger.  I was reduced to sending in my
resignation at one time, and you know you refused to accept it."

"We were a lot of idiots," Kitty interposed with much vigour.  "I was
a new girl, it is true, but the others ought to have known you were
far and away above doing a petty, spiteful thing like that."
Needless to say, Kitty was referring to the Richoter trouble.

Miss St. Leger rose.

"Well, I'm not going to keep you here any longer.  The girls will be
dying to see you again and hear about your adventures.  Besides,
Nurse is going to pack you off to bed early.  Duane, I think Miss
Carslake is anxious to see you for a few minutes, so you had better
go there first and then come along to the hall."

As Duane disappeared the Principal turned to Kitty.

"You can come along with me, Kitty.  I gave orders for the girls to
assemble in hall after tea.  We shall find them there now."

Kitty understood without being told that she meant to make a public
announcement concerning the Richoter examination.

When they arrived they found the girls waiting.  The Principal
motioned Kitty to follow her upon the dais, turned to the sea of
expectant, upturned faces, and addressed them briefly.

"I want a misunderstanding cleared up this evening, girls, a
misunderstanding that has been amongst us too long.  You have for a
long time been treating one amongst you with grave injustice.  I am,
of course, referring to Duane.  May I state most emphatically that
the two girls upon whom suspicion appeared to rest for attempting to
spoil Constance's chances in the Richoter examination are both quite
innocent.  We have just discovered the whole truth of the matter."

There was a stir among the crowd of girls, a quick intake of breath.
They had naturally guessed that there was something more than met the
eye in this last mysterious affair in which, it was whispered,
Bertha's little sister Erica had tried to run away from school, and
Duane and Kitty had gone after her.  Now, at last, they were going to
know everything.

The Principal's face had been softened by a smile.  "You'll be rather
surprised to hear that I'm not going into any long explanations
myself.  I'm going to leave Kitty, here, to do that.  She's an
authority on the subject, having had first hand information, and I
fancy she'll plead Duane's cause better than I could.  I'll give you
till prep time, girls, and when prep bell rings the prefects will see
you all go quietly to your classrooms as usual.  Is that understood?"

There was a prompt and eager chorus of "Yes, Miss St. Leger," and the
Principal took her departure, still with that half-smile about her
lips.

Kitty found her task strangely congenial, and though according to her
own statements she believed in deeds and not words, on this occasion
she found it surprisingly easy to be fluent.  Perhaps the breathless
interest with which she was listened to, broken only by eager
questions from one or other of the girls, spurred her on.  Not until
every smallest detail was described to them were her hearers
satisfied.

"I tell you what," announced Paddy loudly, when Kitty had finally
come to a full stop.  "There's no getting away from the fact, you
girls, that we've treated Cato pretty shabbily."

Paddy's remark was unnecessarily obvious.  The girls, big and little,
looked at each other rather shamefacedly, and were all of the same
opinion.  Peggy was expressing herself forcibly to her followers:

"Come to think of it, we are rather a lot of chumps, you kids.  As if
a girl who played the game like Duane did in that match against the
school, could do a mean trick like that!"

Then Salome had sprung upon the dais and was speaking:

"There's just another thing, girls.  As it happens, far more fuss has
been made over the affair that it--it deserves.  We must remember
that Erica Salter is little more than a child, and did not realize
fully what she was doing.  I am sure, by Kitty's account, she has
suffered enough, and we mustn't be hard on her.  The best thing to do
is to put the whole affair away and forget it as quickly as we can."
She paused a moment, then had one of the "nice" ideas that were part
of the secret of Salome's well-deserved popularity, and concluded
with a smile, "We won't be nasty to little Erica, if it's only out of
regard for all the trouble Duane's taken to try and keep her from
being unhappy and miserable."

Everybody signified their assent by stamping on the floor, and Vanda,
as a head prefect, also thought it the proper thing to add her
opinion:

"We shall have to make it up a bit to Duane for treating her so
shabbily, shan't we?"

"Rather!" came an enthusiastic chorus from everybody.

Then Kitty had an inspiration.

"I say, girls, I've got a brain-wave.  Duane'll be coming along in a
minute, you know, when Miss Carslake's finished with her.  Isn't
there a match against St. Magdalene's to-morrow?" and Kitty proceeded
to impart her "brain-wave" to her interested audience.

When Duane, a little later, strolled into the hall with leisurely
step and tranquil mien, and found the whole school assembled there
and regarding her with ludicrously solemn, immovable faces, a little
of her coolness deserted her.  She eyed them uneasily for a moment.
Why this remarkable silence?  Why did they all stare at her so hard?

Then Salome called from the dais at the top end of the room:

"Oh, is it you, Duane?  Just the person we want.  Come along up here.
We have a little business transaction to carry out."

Duane recovered her customary calm, and, mounting the dais, bowed
exaggeratedly to Salome.

"Well met by gaslight, proud Titania."

Somebody giggled, then subsided with a little squeak.

Salome looked at Duane.  "The school sports club have great pleasure
in presenting you with this," she said gravely and very distinctly.
"They have also put your name down in the eleven for the match
against St. Mary Magdalene's to-morrow, and hope you will play.  They
also wish me to say," and there was a slight tremor in her voice,
"that they are quite convinced that you have always worn it with
honour in the past, and they know you will continue to do so in the
future."

The tension relaxed with a tumultuous burst of applause.  Duane, her
old hockey colour tightly clutched in the hand that hung at her side,
bit her lip hard to control its trembling.  But only for the moment.
With the loud, delighted yells of "Speech, Speech!" from everybody
sounding on all sides, she turned and faced them, speaking in the old
familiar drawl as soon as the noise had died down.

"I see by your anxiety to hear me that you are well aware I speak
with authority and not as the scribes"--loud cheers--"or perhaps I
should say, the juniors--but on this occasion I'm not going to say
much.  I will convince the hockey club of my earnestness by the
number of goals I shall score on its behalf to-morrow.  When they see
shots falling about the St. Mary's goalkeeper like--like leaves in
autumn----"

Everybody, amid laughter, realized that it was apparently the same
old Cato talking and not some unfamiliar heroine of fiction.  The
rest of the speech was never heard, for someone struck up "For she's
a jolly good fellow," and they continued it till prep bell put an end
to the din.

Smiles and kindly words were seen everywhere in Carslake's that
evening.  Kitty and Duane were actually going in to supper
arm-in-arm; France and Margaret beamed with delight at everybody.
The girls in Dormitory A were squabbling as to who should fetch their
head prefect's hot water, but Duane settled the matter by asking
Erica if she wouldn't mind doing it, and as Erica took the jug, a
happier look on her face than there had been for many a week, no one
said an ungenerous word or gave her an unkind look.

When Miss Carslake came round to switch off the lights there was a
very hearty "Good night" in response to hers, and the house mistress
went on her way happily conscious that one could say of her house at
last, "All's well."



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