"Don't you take dictation in V b? Well, in our form we get it twice a week, and Miss Lodge makes us correct each other's books. We make it up to try and exchange with a girl whose writing's pretty like one's own; then, you see, we can alter things neatly, and allow full marks. It generally works, but it didn't yesterday."
"You mean to tell me you correct each other's mistakes!"
"Why not?" said Rona, not the least abashed. "Miss Lodge never finds out."
Ulyth collapsed into a chair. What was she to do with such a girl?
"Don't you know it's the most atrocious cheating?"
"Is it? Why, the whole form does it," returned the Cuckoo unconcernedly.
"Then they're abominable little wretches, and don't deserve to be candidates for the Camp-fire League. I'm thoroughly ashamed of them. Have they no sense of honour?"
The Cuckoo was looking perplexed.
"Ulyth Stanton, you're always rounding something new on me," she sighed. "I can't keep up with you. I keep my hair tidy now, and don't leave my things lying round the room, and I try to give a sort of twitter instead of laughing, and I've dropped ever so many words you object to, and practise walking down the passage with a book on my head. What more do you want?"