"It's absurd to give us an exam, when it's not even the middle of the term!" exclaimed Dora, in much indignation.
"And a viva voce, too! We always have written ones at Birkwood," said Agnes, "with properly typed questions."
"Suppose none of us pass? Miss Drummond will be absolutely savage!" said Phœbe uneasily.
"Yes; she was not at all pleased with our reports last week," agreed Lorna.
"She asked how it was I had so many mistakes in my German exercises, and why my problems were all wrong."
"And she looked at the writing in my book, and said it was a scribble," added Myfanwy.
"What are we going to take for the viva voce?" asked Aldred.
"Everything. It's to be from nine to eleven—a regular catechism in Roman history, and physical geography, and English literature, with grammar and parsing thrown in."
"Miss Webb said she would even ask us French verbs, and weights and measures," wailed Dora. "I know I shall fail! I'm no good at viva voces. I can remember the past preterite of s'en aller, or how many square yards there are in a square pole, when I'm writing an exercise, or doing a sum; but I never can think quickly enough when I'm asked point-blank. It all goes straight out of my head, and it's just coming back to me by the time the next girl is answering."
"Viva voces really are not fair," grumbled Myfanwy. "The nervous ones always do badly, however much they know."