“Well, in that case I shouldn’t be going back to school to-day, with the prospect of being invited over to the girls’ house every fortnight or so during the term—rather jolly that would be.” Tom winked at his sister as he spoke, and then they laughed together.
“I should feel just awful at the prospect of Compton Schools if you were not going to be there too,” she said with a little catch of her breath; and then she cried out that they must hurry, or they would certainly be late for the train.
It was a scramble to get their things out of the cloakroom, to get on to the platform, and to find a place in the Ilkestone train. At first they had to stand in the corridor, then a voice from farther along the corridor called to them “Tom Sedgewick, there is room for one here Is that your sister? Bring her along.”
“Some of our crowd are down there; come along and be introduced,” said Tom, catching Dorothy by the hand and hurrying her forward. “It is Hazel Dring, and Margaret Prime is with her. They are pals—if you see one, you may be sure the other is not far off.”
Hazel Dring was a tall girl with fair hair and a very nice smile. Margaret Prime was smaller, a quiet girl with a rather shrinking manner, as if she was afraid of being snubbed, Both of them greeted Dorothy in the friendliest fashion. They made room for her to sit with them, although they were already crowded; and they were so kind that she had to be glad she had met them on the train, although secretly she would have chosen to be alone with Tom.
“You are not a scholarship girl, are you?” asked Hazel. “You look nearly grown up.”
“I am not clever enough for a scholarship girl,” Dorothy answered with a little sigh; “Tom has the brains in our family. I am seventeen, and I am to have one year at the Compton Schools.”
“Just long enough to win the Lamb Bursary,” cried Hazel eagerly. “I expect you will be in the Sixth, you are so big; and if you are, you will be eligible for the Mutton Bone.”
“The Mutton Bone!” Dorothy looked puzzled, even frowning, as was her wont when perplexed.
Margaret laughed, then answered for Hazel. “That is what we call the Lamb Bursary—a term of affection, mind you. We would not cry it down for worlds; it is the top strawberry in the basket of the Compton Schools, and there are a lot of us going to have a try for it this year.”