There was silence in the ranks of the juniors. The big girls were smiling, the little ones looked at one another doubtfully, and the head girl waited with her foot put forward. The etiquette of the junior playroom was tremendous, and although forty-five sets of fingers were itching to be at the knot in the head girl’s bootlace, nobody could move until Jean Murray did.
‘You can do it, if you like,’ she said to Barbara indifferently.
‘Oh, no,’ said Barbara, quickly. ‘I shouldn’t think of it.’ This time, her sacrifice was genuine, for Margaret had kissed her just before dinner and told her she was a ‘good little soul,’ and the feeling of the youngest girl in the school had considerably changed in consequence with regard to the head girl’s boots.
‘Of course,’ said Margaret Hulme, drawing back her foot, ‘if nobody wants––’
A murmur ran along the ranks of the juniors, and Babs suddenly whispered something in Jean’s ear. Then the two children joined hands and presented themselves solemnly before the head girl.
‘Please,’ said Barbara, quickly, ‘we’ve settled it.’
‘It’s about time,’ observed Margaret.
‘We’re going to halve it,’ added Jean, in a great hurry.
‘What? My foot?’ asked the head girl.
The wit of the head girl produced a storm of laughter in the cloakroom. When it subsided, Barbara was ready with her explanation.