“Oh, tell me! Do!” called Josy, in mock excitement from behind.
“You’re a silly, horrid, teasing thing,” cried Sybil, whipping round, and addressing the advancing couple; “and I won’t tell anyone—so there!”
“Gretta, bring Sybil to walk in the last rank,” called Miss Read’s voice from behind. “She really must learn to behave in a more orderly way while we’re out.”
“It’s my fault, Miss Read,” exclaimed Josy, in a contrite voice; “I was teasing her.”
“Then you ought to know better, Josy,” said the house-mistress severely. “Talk to your own partner, and don’t be silly.”
The procession moved on again, and the discussion was over for a time, but it came up again in the dormitory that night while the girls were undressing for bed. Everyone in Dormitory 3, as in every other room in the school, was keen on the Hope-Scott prize, and every tongue was wagging over the possibilities of being the winner.
“One thing is, I suppose,” announced Josy, “to think out the very bravest thing you can think of, and then to set to work to do it, however hard it is; but d’you know, I can’t think of anything to do, though I’ve thought and thought. Lessons and things like that bother me most, and, of course, they couldn’t count as braveness, could they? Now, if we were only in King Arthur’s time—we had it in Literature last term, and it was ripping!—things to do would come hopping up every half-hour—questing beasts, and fair maidens in distress, and wounded knights! Then you just had to nip in with a sword and there you were! There was no wondering what to do; adventures just came naturally!”
“Miss Slater said that if we waited and looked out we would be sure to find something brave to do, but we were to be careful not to miss it if it looked small,” said Gretta, who had been bothering over the matter all day. “Of course, I don’t know school, but I’ve never done a single brave thing at home, I’m sure.”
“And I’ve been at school for two years and a term, and I’m sure I’ve never done anything brave,” added Josy.
“I know a brave man,” came in decided tones from Margot’s cubicle. “I’m sure the motto on the shield is true of him!”