"We must stop her from going if possible," said Miss Julian. "It will save her a useless journey, as well as unnecessary anxiety."
"Glenda and Nat are outside," interposed Irene eagerly. "They both have bicycles in use. Shall I tell them to cycle to the station and stop Allison?"
Miss Julian nodded approval without inquiring what Nat and Glenda were doing outside in the passage when they should have been at dinner, and two minutes later both girls, hatless and gloveless, having stopped only to snatch their coats, were wheeling their machines out of the bicycle shed. In another two minutes they were pedalling furiously down the road that led to the station.
The school was perhaps a mile and a half from the station and fortunately the road, even when it passed through the town, was not much frequented by traffic; for Nat and Glenda paused for nothing their headlong career and did not slacken speed for a second till they jammed on their brakes and flung themselves off before the station entry.
"It's all right," gasped Nat, pointing to the station clock. "Five minutes yet before the train is due. My, didn't we scorch! I bet we could have given Jehu himself a start and then beaten him."
Allison was standing at the ticket office in the act of asking for her ticket when both her arms were seized from behind and she was violently dragged away, to the astonishment of the booking-clerk.
Jerking herself round, she beheld the crimson but familiar faces of the two St. Etheldreda's girls.
"No need to take a ticket, Allison!" cried Glenda. "That telegram was a fake. Prinny 'phoned through to your home. There's nothing whatever the matter with your mother."
The worried, anxious look vanished from Allison's face and was replaced by a dawning expression of joy and relief. "Are you sure?" she demanded.
"Absolutely sure," replied Nat. "Prinny sent us after you post-haste to stop you from starting. You're coming the other way with us—to the hockey match."