"Isn't it a case for the prefects?" asked Irene, addressing the President.
Agnes's forehead was drawn into a series of puckers.
"We hate telling," she sighed. "The fact is the prefects in this school aren't quite what they ought to be. They think they do their duty, but they're too aloof and high-handed and bossing, and the consequence is they're not popular, and the girls would as soon complain to a teacher as to Rachel or Sybil or Erica. It simply isn't done. Yet those kids need a champion. There are several abuses among them that I've noticed myself."
"Guess we've got to take it on then and 'champ'," murmured Delia.
"Poor little souls, it's a shame to steal their 'bikkies'; we'll have to stand over them and act as fairy godmothers," said Sheila.
Peachy bounced suddenly in her seat.
"Sheila Yonge, you've given me an idea—yes, an absolute brain-throb. What the Camellia Buds ought to do is to turn the sorority into an Amalgamated Society of Fairy Godmothers, and each of us take over a junior to look after and act providence to. It's what those kids are just aching for—only they mayn't know it. What good are prefects to them except as bogies? They skedaddle like lightning if they see so much as Rachel's shadow. They each ought to have one older girl whom they can count on as a friend."
"A kind of buddy?"
"Something of the sort, but more like a foster-mother."
"I vote we ask them all to a candy party, and each adopt one," suggested Delia warmly.