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For the School Colours

By ANGELA BRAZIL

"Angela Brazil has proved her undoubted talent for writing a story of schoolgirls for other schoolgirls to read."—Bookman.

• The School in the South.
• Monitress Merle.
• Loyal to the School.
• A Fortunate Term.
• A Popular Schoolgirl.
• The Princess of the School.
• A Harum-Scarum Schoolgirl.
• The Head Girl at the Gables.
• A Patriotic Schoolgirl.
• For the School Colours.
• The Madcap of the School.
• The Luckiest Girl in the School.
• The Jolliest Term on Record.
• The Girls of St. Cyprian's.
• The Youngest Girl in the Fifth.
• The New Girl at St. Chad's.
• For the Sake of the School.
• The School by the Sea.
• The Leader of the Lower School.
• A Pair of Schoolgirls.
• A Fourth Form Friendship.
• The Manor House School.
• The Nicest Girl in the School.
• The Third Class at Miss Kaye's.
• The Fortunes of Philippa.

LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, Ltd., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.

"WHAT'S THIS? WHAT HAVE THEY SENT ME?" SHE GASPED

[page 199]

FOR THE
SCHOOL COLOURS
BY
ANGELA BRAZIL
Author of "A Patriotic Schoolgirl"
"The Luckiest Girl in the School"
"The Madcap of the School"
&c. &c.
Illustrated by Balliol Salmon
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY

Printed and bound in Great Britain

Contents

Illustrations

FOR THE SCHOOL COLOURS

CHAPTER I
Enter Avelyn

"It's the limit!" exploded Laura.

"An atrocious shame!" agreed Janet.

"Gives me nerve shock!" mourned Ethelberga gloomily.

"You see," continued Laura, popping the tray of her box on to the floor and sitting down on her bed, so as the better to address her audience—"you see, it's been plumped upon us without any warning. Miss Thompson must have arranged it long ago, but she never let out so much as a teeny-weeny hint. If I'd known before I came back I'd have asked Father to give a term's notice and let me leave at Christmas. Crystal clear, I would."

"Rather! so would this child."

"I guess we all should."

"I call it so mean to have sprung it on us like this! I really couldn't have believed it of Miss Thompson. She's gone down miles in my estimation. I can never feel the same towards her again—never! Those Hawthorners! Oh, to think of it!"

"What's the matter?" asked a fourth voice, as another girl, still in hat and coat, and carrying her travelling-bag, entered the dormitory.

"Irma! Is it you, old sport? D'you mean to say you haven't heard the news yet?"

"Only just this minute arrived, and I've flown straight upstairs. I met Hopscotch in the hall, and asked, 'Am I still in the Cowslip Room?' and she nodded 'Yes,' so I didn't wait for any more. Has anything grizzly happened? You're all looking very glum!"

"We may well look glum," said Laura tragically. "Something particularly grizzly's happened. You remember that day school at the other side of the town?"

"The Hawthorns—yes."

"Well, it's been given up."

Irma flung her hat on to her bed and her coat after it.

"That doesn't concern us," she remarked contemptuously.

"Doesn't it? Oh, no, of course—not in the least!" Laura's voice was sarcastic. "It wouldn't have been any concern of ours—only, as it happens, they've all come on here."

Irma turned round, the very picture of dismay.

"What? Not here, surely! Great Minerva, you don't mean it! Hold me up! I feel rocky."

Laura looked at her, and shook her head in commiseration.

"Yes, that's how it took us all when we heard," she remarked. "You'd better sit down on your bed till you get the first shock over. It's enough to make a camel weep. I couldn't believe it myself for a few minutes, but it's only too true, unfortunately for us."

"The Hawthorns! Those girls whom we never spoke to—wouldn't have touched with a pair of tongs!" gasped Irma.

"You may well marvel," sympathized Janet.

"But what's Miss Thompson thinking of? Why, she always looked down so on the Hawthorns! Wouldn't let us arrange matches with their teams, and kept us away from them at that bazaar as if they'd been infectious. It's been the tradition of the school to have nothing to do with them."

"Traditions have flown to the four winds. There'll be nearly fifty Hawthorners turning up by nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Nearly fifty! And we were only thirty-six ourselves last term! Why, the school will be swamped!"

"Exactly, and with day girls too. When there were twenty-four boarders to twelve day girls, we could have things pretty well as we liked, but if we've to hold our own against sixty or so—well!"

"It'll mean war!" finished Ethelberga, setting her mouth grimly.

"But what's possessed Miss Thompson to do such an atrocious thing?" cried Irma in exasperation.

"£, s. d., my child, I suppose. Miss Perry was giving up the school, and Tommiekins bought the connection. She's completely veered round in her opinions. She told Adah Gartley they were nice girls, and would soon improve immensely at Silverside. 'I hope you'll all make them welcome,' she said to Adah."

"Welcome!" echoed Irma, Janet, and Ethelberga eloquently.

"It wouldn't have been so bad," continued Laura, "if just a few of them—say a dozen—had been coming. We could have kept ourselves to ourselves and quite ignored them. But we're being absolutely cuckooed out. Do you know that our recreation room has been commandeered for an extra class-room?"

Howls of dismay issued from the trio now seated on Irma's bed.

"Yes, you'd hardly believe it, but it is a fact," ran on Laura with dismal volubility. "When I went to take my painting things there I found our tables and easy chairs gone, and the whole place filled up with new desks and a blackboard."

"Where are we going to sit in the evenings?" demanded Ethelberga fiercely.

"Goodness only knows! In the dining-room, I suppose."

"We evidently don't count for anything with Tommiekins now," said Janet bitterly. "The Daisy dormitory has been taken for a class-room, and an extra bed has been put in each of the other dormitories to make up. Didn't you notice, Irma, that there are five here now, instead of only four?"

"Why, so there are! What a hateful cram! Who's to have the fifth?"

"I asked Hopscotch, and she said, 'A new girl.' I couldn't help flying out at that, and she simply sat flat upon me and withered me. Told me to go away and mind my own business, and she was coming round to inspect the Cowslip Room in half an hour, and I'd better get on with my unpacking."

"Oh, she will! Why didn't you tell us that before?" exclaimed the others, bouncing up with considerable haste, and setting to work again to empty their boxes.

"I forgot. I can think of nothing but those wretched Hawthorners. It's made me feel weak."

"You'll feel weaker still if Hopscotch comes in and finds you with nothing unpacked!" observed Laura sagely, stowing underclothes in her middle drawer with the utmost rapidity. "I advise you to make some sort of a beginning, even if you don't put things away tidily. Fling them in anyhow, stick a blouse for a top layer, and straighten them up afterwards. Don't let her see them still inside your box."

For a few minutes the girls suspended talk for work. Laura's flaxen head vibrated between box and wardrobe. Janet arranged her dressing-table and replaited her dark pigtail. Ethelberga hung up a selection of photographs, and placed her nightdress inside its case; Irma spread her bed with her possessions, preparatory to filling her drawers, and comforted her ruffled feelings with the last pear-drop in the paper bag she had brought with her.

The dormitory was of fair size, and though the girls might grumble, contained ample space for the fifth bed. It was a pretty room with a yellow wall-paper, and chintz curtains with little bunches of cowslips on them. There were pictures of cowslips also on the walls, and all the pin-cushions and hair-tidies had yellow ribbons. The window looked over the garden, and behind the belt of trees that bordered the lawn gleamed the grey waters of the estuary, where ships were stealing out from port into the dangers of the great waters. The girls prided themselves upon this view, though at the present moment they were too busy to think of it. Three years' previous experience had taught them that, when Miss Hopkins made a tour of inspection on the first afternoon of term, she meant business, and woe betide the luckless slacker who had gossiped and dawdled instead of bestowing her property in her own lawful drawers. If she had announced her intention of visiting them shortly, she might certainly be trusted to keep her word.

Their expectations were not mistaken, for before the half-hour had expired the door opened, revealing the short stout figure and rather angular features of the second mistress. The girls jumped up and stood obediently at attention, ready to go through the usual routine of dormitory superintendence. Miss Hopkins, however, was not alone. In her wake followed a girl of fifteen, whom she bustled in, in a hurry.

"This is your dormitory, Avelyn—the Cowslip Room, we call it. Here's your bed, and these are your dress hooks and your drawers. The janitor's bringing your box upstairs. Oh, he's here now! Put it at the end of the bed, Tom, please. I suppose you have the key, Avelyn? Then you'd better unlock it at once. These are your room-mates—Laura Talbot, Irma Ridley, Janet Duncan, and Ethelberga Carnforth. Girls, this is Avelyn Watson. I hope you will make her welcome. Begin your unpacking now, Avelyn. I shall be back directly to see how you are getting on."

Miss Hopkins, whose duties on the first day of term were multifarious, withdrew as hurriedly as she had entered. Her visits generally resembled the brief career of a whirlwind—sometimes her pupils considered that they carried equal desolation.

The new girl remained standing by the bed, and for the moment made no effort to obey orders and unlock her box. She was pretty—her four critics decided that point at their first glance—her chin was softly rounded, and her nose was small and straight. Her general colouring was brunette, but the big wide-open eyes were grey as the estuary outside. She flushed vivid pink under the scrutiny of her room-mates. For a brief instant they thought she was going to cry, then she winked rapidly and began to whistle instead.

"I shouldn't advise you to whistle too loud," counselled Janet, by way of breaking the ice.

"Miss Hopkins is only in the next dormitory, and she's got a crusade on against whistling—at least she had last term, and I don't suppose she's changed her tactics; she doesn't generally."

"Do the eternal snows change?" murmured Ethelberga.

The new girl stopped with her mouth puckered into a button. A look of consternation spread over her face, then passed into a smile.

"I was told I'd have to be jolly careful and mind my p's and q's here!" she remarked cheerily. "I've been just five minutes in the school, and my first impressions are that Miss Thompson aims at unadulterated dignity, and that Miss Hopkins is concentrated essence of fuss. Am I near?"

"Not so far off!" laughed Laura. "They can exchange characters sometimes, though. I've seen Miss Hopkins ride her high horse and be dignity personified, and on the other hand I've seen Miss Thompson more ruffled than a head mistress has any business to be. You'll soon get to know them."

"I suppose I shall. Whether I shall altogether like them is another question."

"You'll like Silverside!" gushed Irma. "It's a perfectly delightful school—at least it used to be. We're afraid it is going to be utterly and entirely spoilt now."

"Why?"

"Because it's being invaded. It used to be quite small and select, more boarders than day girls, you know. And now we've just had a horrible shock—the whole of another day school is being plumped upon us—a school we've always despised. We're too indignant for words."

Avelyn, who was fumbling with the lock of her box, lifted her head.

"Don't you like them coming?"

"Like them! Sophonisba! How can you ask such a question? We've always looked down on them so fearfully. Why, if we met any of them in the street, we used just to stare straight through them, as if they didn't exist. They wore dark-blue coats and horrid stiff sailor hats with coloured bands, for all the world like an institution. I tell you we simply wouldn't have touched them."

"You'll have to know them now."

"To a certain extent, worse luck! But they needn't think we'll be friendly with them, for we shan't. We shall keep a strict line drawn."

Avelyn had lifted the tray of her box on to the floor, and was busy taking books from the bottom portion. She was too intent on her occupation to reply. Irma, whose writing pad and fountain pen had just come to hand, was hastily scribbling a letter home; Ethelberga, leaning out of the window, exchanged greetings with a schoolmate in the garden below; Janet's vision was focused on her drawers; and Laura had just come across the postcard album, which she was afraid she had forgotten to pack, and was rejoicing in its possession. For five minutes or so the girls were engrossed with their own affairs, then the attention of the room was concentrated again on Avelyn.

"You haven't told us yet where you live," said Laura, looking up suddenly from the contemplation of post cards.

"My home is at Lyngates just now."

"Where's Lyngates?"

"About twenty miles from here."

"You say 'just now'. Haven't you lived there long?"

"Only since last spring."

"You've brought very few clothes and things with you," commented Irma, who had been watching the unpacking of the new girl's box with critical eyes. "You'll never get through a term on those, I should say."

"There isn't any need to bring so many things when I'm going home for the week-ends."

"For the week-ends? Heavens! You don't mean to say you're a weekly boarder?"

"Why not?"

An expression of deep consternation spread over the faces of Avelyn's four room-mates. Their disapproval was evident, and they voiced their objections.

"We've never had such a thing as a weekly boarder before!"

"You'll be away all Saturdays and Sundays!"

"You'll be out of all the fun!"

"Almost as bad as being a day girl!"

"Miss Thompson said once that she didn't approve of weekly boarders."

"I can't understand Tommiekins, she's changed so lately."

"Have you ever been to school before?"

"Why, yes," replied Avelyn, smoothing out the folds of her evening dress, and hanging it on the hooks behind the curtain. "Though not since last Christmas."

"To boarding school?"

"No; it was a day school."

"Where?"

"I went to The Hawthorns in Harlingden."

If a bomb had fallen in the dormitory it could not have caused a greater upheaval. For a moment the girls stared at Avelyn as if scarcely crediting her statement.

"Do you mean to say you're one of those wretched Hawthorners?" exploded Janet at last.

"I used to be, but I suppose I'm a Silversider now."

"And we've got you in our dormitory!" gasped Laura.

"So it seems."

"Miss Thompson ought to be thoroughly ashamed of herself!" fluttered Ethelberga.

"You'll be rid of me on Saturday and Sunday, remember," returned Avelyn bitterly.

At this crisis, the clamour of the gong for tea fortunately put an end to an extremely embarrassing situation. The four room-mates fled, leaving their new companion to follow them to the dining-room as best she could. When she entered, they were already seated at table, and did not look in her direction. She took a seat next to a complete stranger, who indeed handed her the bread and butter, but vouchsafed no single word of conversation.

When the meal was over, the original inmates of the Cowslip Room retired to a secluded portion of the garden, and held an indignation meeting. For the first frenzied five minutes they allowed their wrath full swing, and vibrated between a dormitory strike and writing to their parents to beg for instant removal from the school. Then reason reasserted itself, and decided the impracticability of both methods. Previous experience had shown them that their head mistress was a tough dragon to tackle, and scarcely likely to be coerced by even the best organized dormitory strike, while in her heart of hearts each knew that, after paying her term's fees in advance, her father would need some very solid cause of complaint to justify so extreme a measure as a return to the bosom of the family. They began to discuss the matter more sanely.

"The fact is, she's here, and I suppose we can't get rid of her," admitted Irma.

"After all, she's a boarder!" ventured Ethelberga.

"Only a weekly one," qualified Janet.

"And a Hawthorner!" added Laura.

"She said she hadn't been to school since last Christmas," commented Ethelberga.

"Why, so she did! Then she's had a sort of a break from The Hawthorns, and in a way she's making a fresh start here."

"I suppose so."

"If she'd be loyal to Silverside, though we could never like her, we might bring ourselves to tolerate her."

"A boarder's a boarder!"

When the girls returned to the Cowslip Room, they found their new companion with emptied box putting the last of her possessions into her drawers.

"Look here, Avelyn Watson," said Laura. "We've been talking you over. Although you go home for the week end, you're still a boarder, and at Silverside boarders are a very different thing from day girls, as you'll soon find out. If you've had two whole terms away from those Hawthorners, just forget them, and consider yourself entirely one of us. If you do that, we'll count you on our side; but if you've anything to do with day girls, we'll cut you dead."

"I don't quite understand," returned Avelyn.

"You soon will!" said Janet significantly.

"I advise you to think it over," added Laura.

CHAPTER II
An Invasion

The changes which were taking place this term at Silverside certainly marked a new era in its traditions. Up till now it had been essentially a boarding school. There had, indeed, been day girls, who had shared the classes and some of the games, but they were in the minority, both in numbers and in influence. They had had no part in the various guilds and societies, and had been made by the boarders to feel that they were inferior beings who did not count. The mistresses, themselves resident, had been accustomed to view the boarders as the more important factors, and arranged everything to suit their convenience. It had been the unwritten code of the school that to be a boarder meant to procure preferential treatment.

Miss Thompson, however, was a level-headed woman, who marched with the times. When the opportunity arose of acquiring the connection of The Hawthorns, the large day school at the other side of the town, she closed with the bargain, and decided upon an entire change of tactics. Henceforward Silverside was to be run as the girls' day school of Harlingden. The house was large, its accommodation had hitherto exceeded the needs of the pupils, there was plenty of room for added numbers, and even in war-time it would be possible to run up a corrugated iron or portable wooden building to serve as lecture hall and gymnasium. The big garden already contained several tennis courts, and there was a field close at hand which might be rented for hockey. Altogether, Miss Thompson congratulated herself that she had performed a most excellent stroke of business, and she looked forward to establishing a very flourishing educational centre, and to laying by a comfortable provision upon which she might retire when the burden of teaching grew too heavy for her to bear.

Certainly, Silverside was most excellently situated for the purpose she had in view. The property had been bought some years before the town of Harlingden had expanded, and while land was still cheap. The house stood in its own beautiful grounds, on the top of a hill commanding a fine view over the estuary. It was breezy and healthy, with large lofty rooms, big windows, and ample accommodation in the way of side doors and bathrooms: just sufficiently in the country to allow of walks through fields and woods, yet near enough to the town to permit most girls to return home for their mid-day dinners. As a day school, it was far more conveniently situated than The Hawthorns. Harlingden, formerly a moderate-sized and not particularly important town, had since the outbreak of the war been turned into a great munition centre; the Government, attracted by the advantages of the estuary, had established large permanent works there, together with a shipbuilding industry. In a few short years the population had doubled. Fresh suburbs sprang up like mushrooms. In the Silverside district this was particularly noticeable, for where formerly there had been quite a rural walk between hedges, leading to the town, there now stood rows of neat villas with stuccoed fronts and balconies, and conspicuously new gardens.

The boarders at Silverside, who preferred country to town, greatly deplored this suburban growth. They had always begged to take their walks in an opposite direction, and had ignored Harlingden and its industries as persistently as possible. The advent of about fifty day girls into Silverside they regarded as neither more nor less than an alien invasion. They sat together in a tight clump when school opened at nine o'clock on Wednesday morning. Until the new gymnasium could be erected, it was difficult to find a room large enough to accommodate everybody. The old drawing-room had been emptied of furniture and fitted with forms, and here, by sitting very close, the girls managed to cram themselves in for the opening ceremony. Miss Thompson, elated at heart, but more stately and dignified than ever in manner, addressed her pupils in a short speech.

"As Silverside is entering on a new chapter of its career," she began, "I should like to put before you all, as briefly as possible, what I consider to be the ideals of the school. Those who have been here some years already know our traditions, but it will do them no harm to hear them again, and those of you who are new will, I hope, understand, and be prepared to accept them with equal readiness.

"First of all, we stand for Work. We are living in very strenuous times, and it is the duty of all who love their country to do their best. Every faithful struggle with your lessons here makes you more fit to help your country by and by. If you have no ambition for yourselves, remember that you are part of a great nation, and as such you must not slack, but do your bit to raise the general standard of education. You'll find there's a joy and a satisfaction in mastering rules of arithmetic or irregular verbs, when you feel that you are doing it not only for yourselves but for the general good. Then there are certain other things for which Silverside has always stood—truth and straightforward dealings, and a spirit of unity and of loyalty to the school. We have striven to establish a high tone here, and at all costs let us preserve it.

"This term there is a very large proportion of new girls, and hence a big opportunity for everybody. There will be inevitable changes, and much pioneer work to be done, and each girl may find a chance of taking a share in consolidating our traditions. I trust that old and new will join hands and do their utmost to work together harmoniously for the good of the school, and the influence which, through you, it may exercise on the community later on."

At the end of Miss Thompson's speech the girls separated, and went to their class-rooms. At the eleven o'clock "break" they poured into the garden. They stood about in little groups, eating packets of lunch, and talking. Adah Gartley, Isobel Norris, and Joyce Edwards, the three eldest boarders, kept together. To them presently advanced two of the invaders, a ruddy-haired girl of perhaps seventeen, and a stout, dark-eyed girl a trifle younger.

"Our names are Annie Broadside and Gladys Wilks," began she-of-the-chestnut-locks. "If we'd stayed on at The Hawthorns, one or other of us would have been head this term. You look about the oldest of the old lot here, so perhaps you'll tell us how this school's managed. Do you have monitresses, or prefects, or what? Miss Thompson didn't mention a word about that in her speech. We'd like to know."

Adah glanced at her rather superciliously.

"We've never had anything of the sort here," she replied.

Annie Broadside's eyes grew round with amazement.

"What? No prefects or monitresses? How in the world did you manage, then?"

"We didn't find them necessary," maintained Adah stiffly.

Gladys Wilks whistled, and looked eloquently at her friend.

"Of course it was a very small school," she remarked, "so I dare say you somehow muddled on; but now—surely there'll have to be something of the sort instituted?"

"Those juniors will give trouble if there's no one to tackle them," added Annie. "Just look at them over there!"

The juveniles in question were certainly behaving with a lack of decorum entirely foreign to the former atmosphere of Silverside. They were, in fact, engaged in jumping over Miss Thompson's most cherished flower beds, with disastrous consequences to the pet geraniums and calceolarias.

"The little hooligans!" exclaimed Adah, rushing to the rescue of the unfortunate flowers. "Here, get away, you kiddies! this sort of performance isn't allowed. Stop, this minute!"

The five long-legged children who were making a display of their jumping agility called a temporary halt, and stared aggressively at Adah.

"Who says it's not allowed?" enquired a pert ten-year-old, who was evidently the ringleader.

"I do."

"Are you a teacher?"

"No."

"A prefect or a monitress?"

"No."

"Then, what are you?"

"I'm a boarder," announced Adah with dignity.

The junior sniggered rudely.

"Boarders have no right to interfere with us, that I can see. We'll do as we like. Come along, girls, follow the leader!" and, turning, she made a long leap across the bed, landing in the edging of blue lobelias.

Adah stood by, raging and impotent. She would have interfered by force, but very fortunately at that moment the school bell rang, and the irrepressible juniors desisted from their occupation and raced one another to the side door. Adah followed thoughtfully. Her brain was a whirlpool of new impressions, most of them not at all favourable, and she had not yet had time to assort them and put them into mental pigeon-holes. One idea loomed large. Silverside was going to be an utterly different place from what it had been before. That brief tussle had revealed much. Hitherto the little girls had been well-behaved children, rather in awe of their elders, and easily held in check; these new juniors seemed a different generation, and a very perverse and untoward one.

Everything, indeed, was changed. Her form room overflowed with strangers, and there was a new mistress, whose methods were different from those of Miss Hopkins. Adah, mindful of her position as oldest pupil, did the honours of the school, showing teacher and girls where books, exercise paper, and other necessaries were kept, but she performed this charity more in the spirit of noblesse oblige than with any goodwill.

When the last of the day girls had taken her departure after four o'clock, Adah heaved an immense sigh of relief, and sent a scout round to call a boarders' meeting for 5.15 prompt.

Immediately after tea, therefore, all the resident pupils of Silverside assembled in the summer-house at the bottom of the garden. They had chosen that spot because it was secluded, and they were not likely to be disturbed. Their consultations were to be of a private nature, and they did not wish any mistress to overhear them. The summer-house was not very large—much too small, in fact, to contain twenty-four girls—but some squatted on the steps, and some on the window-sills, and some overflowed on to the lawn. Adah, seated on the little rustic table, looked round to see that her full audience was assembled, and opened the proceedings in a voice that trembled with indignation.

"It seems to me, and I expect to most of you, that matters here have just about come to a crisis. The school's turned topsy-turvy. It's been invaded by this horde of day girls, and everything is altogether different. Now, Silverside has always existed for the boarders. Miss Thompson has recognized that, and we've had a great many special privileges. It's we who have set the tone of the school, and made Silverside what it is. As long as we outnumbered the day girls that was pretty easy, but, now that this huge flock has trooped in, it may be a difficult matter to cope with them. We must make up our minds what we intend to do. Has anybody any suggestion to offer?"

"I thought of writing to my father, and asking him to take me away at Christmas," propounded Irma, flushing with nervousness at the sound of her own voice.

Adah gazed at her with an expression of mingled amazement and sorrow.

"Irma Ridley, I shouldn't have expected this from you! Leave the school, indeed! Where's your loyalty? I hope you haven't been spreading such an abominable notion. No, indeed! We Silversiders mustn't desert the old ship. We've got to stick to her, and steer her course for her through very troubled waters. Don't let anyone suggest ratting again."

Irma, covered with confusion, blushed yet more furiously. The sentiment of the meeting was against her, and she felt that she had blundered badly. She murmured an incoherent apology, and began nervously tying knots in her pocket-handkerchief.

"Surely someone has a better suggestion to offer than this?" said Adah, her clear blue eyes searching the faces of her companions. "Please don't be afraid of airing your opinions."

"Silverside must stick to its traditions," ventured Joyce Edwards. "We mustn't let everything be swamped by the invasion."

"Let's make a Boarders' League," proposed Isobel Norris, "and pledge ourselves to hold together and support one another—a kind of Blood Brotherhood, you know."

"The very thing!" agreed everybody.

The idea was so manifestly satisfactory that each girl wondered why it had not occurred to herself to suggest it. To bind themselves in so close a bond of union seemed picturesque and romantic in the extreme. It appealed to their imaginations tremendously.

"We shall be fighting for the school colours!" said Adah, with a light of enthusiasm shining in her blue eyes. "It's we, the little band of old pupils, who are to preserve the ideals of the school. These new girls must be made to realize that they're at Silverside now, and not at The Hawthorns."

"I guess we'll rub it into them," murmured Laura Talbot to the still-confused Irma.

It was a new girl after all, however, who made the really practical suggestion of the meeting. Avelyn Watson had sat very quietly during the proceedings, feeling herself in a somewhat awkward position. She had been a pupil at The Hawthorns for two years, but her mother had never really liked the school, and had removed her from it the preceding Christmas. Avelyn had come to Silverside quite ready to embrace its traditions and to erase The Hawthorns from her memory. To be confronted with more than fifty of her old schoolfellows, some of whom had to-day claimed affectionate intimacy with her, had been somewhat of a shock. She did not quite know where she stood. She was not sure whether the boarders were disposed to receive her into the bosom of the League, or if they would regard her as among the aliens. One fact, culled from former experience, rose to her lips. She was too shy to state it publicly, but she bent towards Laura Talbot and whispered:

"Tell them, if they want to do anything, they ought to have prefects—you see, I know!"

Laura immediately broached the suggestion as her own, and gained the whole credit for it. The idea, hinted at by Annie Broadside and Gladys Wilks in the morning, had been fermenting in Adah's brain all day, and she grasped at it eagerly.

"It would give us just the authority we want," she agreed. "We'd better make a deputation and speak to Miss Thompson about it. Who'll go with me?"

The Principal, busy and burdened with a hundred new cares, sat in her study that evening answering letters from parents. She pushed away her papers rather wearily as the deputation, consisting of Adah Gartley, Isobel Norris, Consie Arkwright, and Joyce Edwards, entered the room with a kind of bashful assurance. She was tired, but she was always ready to listen to what her girls had to say. It had been her invariable rule to meet them half-way. She heard them now patiently, asking many questions, for they were shy in stating their case, and did not at first explain their objects lucidly. When at length she had got at the gist of the matter, she leaned back in her chair and thought for a moment or two before she replied.

"What you say is very true. The influx of another school into Silverside may certainly endanger our old traditions. I look to you boarders, who have been with me for years, to uphold every principle for which we have hitherto stood. I agree that you might find your task very difficult unless you were armed with some authority. We have never had school officers before, but that was because we did not feel them a necessity. I will try the experiment and see how it answers. You four are among my oldest pupils. You know what Silverside has stood for in the past, and you shall help to mould its future. I appoint you prefects, and give you power to report to me, or to any other mistress, breaches of discipline which come under your notice, and in certain cases to take off order marks. Adah, who is the eldest, and was first in last term's examination list, shall be head girl. I will announce this at nine o'clock to-morrow. My great object is to amalgamate the two schools into one as quickly as possible, and I trust that you will not show any favouritism towards old girls, but will give the new ones equal justice."

"We'll do our best, Miss Thompson," declared Adah, Isobel, Consie, and Joyce in an obedient chorus.

And doubtless they really meant to do their best; but schoolgirls are prejudiced beings, and apt to be conservative to the core. They had decided beforehand that the former pupils of Silverside, and the boarders in particular, had the sole prerogative of high ideals, culture, and gentility, and that such refinements could not, and did not, exist among those who had come from The Hawthorns. In their minds the division was as complete as that between the sheep and the goats. They looked upon the Hawthorners as heathen, and upon themselves in the light of missionaries. They set to work very patronizingly to make their influence felt. Now, there is nothing which most people resent so much as patronage. The Hawthorners had been happy enough in their old school, and they were keenly insulted at being given to understand that they were regarded by the Silversiders as inferiors. They held indignation meetings of their own on the subject.

"Why should those stuck-up things lord it over us?" exploded Annie Broadside.

"They're not as clever as we are. We beat them easily in class," added Gladys Wilks.

"I should just think we do. They're simply not in the running at maths.," declared Gertrude Howells.

"And yet they're prefects, if you please."

"At The Hawthorns prefects were always chosen from those who got the highest marks in the examinations."

"You were top last term, Annie, and would have been head girl if the school had gone on."

"You were only two marks behind me, Gladys, and you know Miss Perry hadn't counted the botany papers. It was really a toss-up between us."

"Well, we're both out of it now."

"Very much so."

"I don't call it fair that these four boarders should have all the authority."

"It isn't!"

"If they think we're going to knuckle under to them they're very much mistaken."

"Giving themselves such airs about being old Silversiders, and treating us like inferiors!"

"Can't we do anything?"

"Let's form an 'Old Hawthorners' Guild', and vow to stick to one another. There are more of us than of them, and we'll beat them in lessons and at games, and let them see who's inferior."

"Right you are! You shall be captain, Annie."

"Then you shall be secretary, Gladys."

"I know everybody will be only too delighted to join."

"They will. But don't let those Silversiders know one single word about it."

"They shan't, indeed!"

"We're here, and the school is as much ours as theirs!"

"Our old set will follow us, and not care a toss about the prefects!"

Adah and her fellow-officers had indeed made a terrible mistake by their superior and patronizing ways. Instead of welding the school into one, as Miss Thompson had hoped and intended, they had entirely alienated the new element and had set up a most unhappy barrier of division. Silverside resolved itself into two parties, each apparently determined to misunderstand the other, and obstinately resolute not to mix. Miss Thompson, anxiously watching the result of her experiment, saw only the surface of things, for most of the trouble lay below, deeper than the ken of head mistresses. The teachers were aware of an undercurrent of discontent, but could not absolutely discover the reason. Only the girls themselves knew that the school was split into rival factions, between whom there was going to be war.

CHAPTER III
Walden

As Avelyn Watson is one of the central figures of this story, it will be well to go back some months, and follow the events which preceded her appearance at Silverside. Though apparently trivial enough, they are important, because if they had not happened, she would have come to school as a day girl instead of a boarder, and the part which fate put into her hands to play could never have been acted.

It all began with Daphne forgetting to change her wet stockings. Daphne had done many imprudent things before, and had suffered more or less from them. This time Dame Nature, tired of having her laws flouted, determined to teach her a lesson. The specialist who was called in to consult with the family doctor made an exhaustive examination of the case, then pronounced his verdict.

"She mustn't live in the town. If you want her to grow up into healthy womanhood, a year or two in the country is an imperative necessity."

Up to the time when Sir Basil Hunter delivered this ultimatum, the Watsons had always lived in Harlingden. Daphne and Avelyn could remember the old days when Daddy had been alive, and Mother's hair had been brown and not grey; and she had laughed as gaily and easily as they did now. That was many years ago, and to David and Anthony, at any rate, their father was little more than an enlarged photograph on the dining-room wall. They had all been born in the comfortable, commonplace house in Gerrard Square, and had taken it and its uninteresting view, and its smoky little garden, together with the round of town life, entirely for granted. Then the change came. Mrs. Watson, thoroughly alarmed at the doctor's diagnosis, and nervous over the health of her whole family, took immediate steps to carry out his advice. She let the house in Gerrard Square, and removed into the country. The place she selected was a tiny village named Lyngates, two miles from the station at Netherton, and twenty miles away from Harlingden. Its pure air, gravel soil, and record of sunshine were exactly what Daphne required; the boys could go in to town every day by train, and thus continue at King James's School, and Avelyn, who was sufficiently like Daphne to make the fatigue of a daily train journey seem a risky experiment, could be sent as a weekly boarder to Silverside.

By a most fortunate chance, Mrs. Watson came across the very little property she wanted. It was an old farm-house, with a few outbuildings at the back, and a field or two for poultry—the doctor had suggested that Daphne should interest herself in poultry. It was smaller by far than No. 7 Gerrard Square, but big enough for their requirements.

"With present war prices, and income-tax what it is, and four children to educate, I consider I'm very wise to make the move," she decided, "though I should never have had the courage to do it if Sir Basil Hunter hadn't been so emphatic."

So the house, gardens, outbuildings, and fields that composed the small holding were bought and paid for, and formally transferred by deed from their former owner, George Hethersedge, yeoman, to the possession of Helena Watson, widow, and the bargain was complete. That it was a bargain the children had no doubt. So many extra things were included that were never even mentioned in the title-deeds—the thrushes and blackbirds and tits in the garden, the wagtails that flitted up and down the little stream, the owls that sat and hooted in the elm tree at dusk, the wild bees' nest in the bank, the ferns in the crannies of the old wall, the morning view when the sun shone over the valley, and the calm, quiet sunsets when the sky was aflame with rose and violet. It was the most exciting experience to explore their new kingdom. They were always making fresh discoveries. Up till now, beyond their annual summer holiday at some seaside resort, they had had no practical knowledge of the country. To live side by side with Nature was like being transferred into another world.

To Mrs. Watson, no less than to her children, the change was welcome. She had often pored over Nature books from the library, and they had been wont to stir in her a vague yearning to get away from bricks and mortar and chimneys, and spend a sylvan year somewhere far from the sound of trams or steam hooters. She chafed sometimes against the monotony of her daily shopping and household cares. She longed for lanes and woods, but there seldom seemed time to go for walks at Harlingden; it was a long way from Gerrard Square into the fields. We are such creatures of habit, that it had never struck her to uproot herself and reorder the lives of herself and her children; and if Daphne had not forgotten her galoshes, and thus brought about the visit of Sir Basil Hunter, the family might have remained town birds to the end of the chapter. As it was, they stepped into a fresh inheritance. They named the house "Walden", after Thoreau's famous Walden, a book which her mother loved, and which Avelyn was just beginning to read and appreciate; the magic of its radiant love of Nature, and the breadth of its philosophy appealed to her strongly.

Though the Watsons' Walden was quite unpretentious, it was certainly more comfortable than the shanty in Concord, Massachusetts, where Henry David Thoreau spent his immortal two years and two months. There was a sitting-room on each side of the little hall, a big kitchen and pantry behind, and four bedrooms upstairs. Outside, across the yard, was a cottage, with a lower room which could be used as a den for fretwork, painting, carpentering, or the pursuit of any other cherished hobbies, and an upper storey containing two extra bedrooms for emergencies. The stable and barn were interesting, and held dim, cobwebby recesses, where bats hung head downwards, and a brown owl sometimes perched blinking upon the cross-beams.

In front was a small raised garden, bordered by a very wide ivy-covered stone wall. The house stood on the slope of a steep hill, so that this wall overtopped the road below like a crag. When you leaned your arms on its golden sweet-scented ivy blossom, or sombre berries and smooth leaves, you could look out over a tract of country that spread for miles—green meadows, hazel copses bursting into leaf, thick woods that hid the stream whose rushing waters yet made themselves heard, the reedy reaches of a river, and fir-clad hills that melted faint and blue into a misty horizon. There was a patch of gravel in front of the wall, and a rustic garden seat, dilapidated, but firm enough for occupation. The site made a natural outdoor parlour: a yew tree, grown slantwise with the prevailing wind, formed an umbrella overhead. At the side of the cottage, between the yard and the kitchen garden, purled a shallow little brook, at the edge of which grew watercresses and marsh marigolds. It was spanned by a bridge made of rough slabs of stone. Beyond the stables lay a couple of small meadows, containing an upper reach of the stream, and a little marshy tract interspersed with gorse and alder bushes.

The Watson family had reviewed the whole premises slowly, critically, and with unbounded satisfaction.

"It's the sort of place you read about in a novel," sighed Daphne, whose tastes were romantic. "Somehow you feel as if anything could happen here—interesting things, I mean. Mysteries and tragedies, and—and even——"

"Love affairs!" finished Avelyn promptly. "Perhaps they may—sometime."

Avelyn was at the stage when life is full of dreams. It was her constant amusement to imagine all kinds of delightful but wildly improbable future happenings for Daphne, for herself, and for the boys. The number of castles in the air which she constructed would have built a city. They were all shadowy and unsubstantial, but none the less fascinating for that. Walden appeared to her, as to Daphne, an appropriate setting for golden visions.

David and Anthony, still in the age of blunt uncompromising frankness, regarded the new home from a practical standpoint.

"It's top-hole!" decided David. "I'll have a thingumjig—what d'you call it?—lathe, I mean, inside that cottage, and a joiner's bench. There's a man in the village who says he's got one to sell cheap, and a vice with it. I'm going to make a rabbit hutch, and all sorts of things."

"There are trout in that part of the stream up the field," beamed Anthony. "Not very big ones, but certainly trout. I saw them jump. The boy who brought the telegram yesterday told me that he catches them with his hands. He knows of sixteen birds' nests on the road to the station, and he's got a young hedgehog at home. I'm going to just sit and sit in the field when it's getting dark till I see one for myself."

"I shall grow ten years younger when I've had a summer here," announced Mrs. Watson to her flock. "You won't know your poor old mother very soon. The country air's making her so frisky and juvenile, she wants to run about like a girl!"

"Do, Muvvie darling! We love you in your skittish moods," implored Avelyn. "When you wear that short skirt and that rush hat you don't look a day older than Auntie Belle—truly! You never climbed up step ladders in Gerrard Square!"

"I've begun to do many things I never did before," laughed Mrs. Watson, "partly from necessity. If I could have found anybody else to go up the step ladder, perhaps I shouldn't have tried. We've all got to work if we want to make the place look nice. It'll be worth it when we've finished."

Walden had been empty for two years before its owner sold it, and, though it was in a fair state of repair as regarded masonry and woodwork, it sadly needed decorating. The question of its repapering and painting had been the one hitch in the proceedings, for, when Mrs. Watson had sought to obtain estimates for its renovation, she found that, in the present war-time shortage of workmen, no firm would undertake to carry out a job so far in the country. For three horrible days matters had seemed at a dead-lock, and the purchase of Walden (not quite concluded) had trembled in the balance. But Daphne's white cheeks brought all Mrs. Watson's native obstinacy to the fore. She was determined not to be vanquished. She enquired in the village, and secured the services of an old soldier who used to be handy-man at the Vicarage, and with his experienced aid and the willing, though unskilled hands of her young flock, she determined to do up Walden herself. She secured lodgings for a few weeks at a farm close by, and the family devoted the Easter holidays to the purpose. It was a new experience for them, and they enjoyed it thoroughly. Armed with pails of distemper and whitewash brushes, they splashed away at the walls, painted woodwork, stained floors, or laid linoleum. They made a delightful discovery in the dining-room, for, when they came to tear down the old wall paper, they found an overmantel of ancient oak beams. The fireplace was large and old-fashioned, with ingle nooks on either side, the woodwork had been completely covered with paper and plaster, but when this was cleared away, and it was cleaned, stained, and varnished, it presented a most quaint and handsome appearance. The great beam that spanned the hearth had a flat surface, and on this Mrs. Watson decided to carve a motto. The family put their heads together over it for many days. They looked up mottoes in books, and consulted their friends, but could not find exactly the right one. Daphne and Avelyn were in favour of English, but Mrs. Watson and the boys plumped for Latin, and finally evolved the following:—

Post laborem haec requies haec felicitas.
(After work, here is rest and happiness.)

"When you've finished your lessons in the evenings, we can make a circle round the fire and talk about the day's doings; and it will seem a centre for the whole house and for our lives," said Mrs. Watson. "I believe this little home is going to be far more precious to us than Gerrard Square."

To the children the doing up of the establishment was the utmost fun. Thoreau himself could not have obtained more enjoyment from his "Walden" than they did from theirs. There were many humorous incidents; as when Anthony sat down in the colour wash pail, or when Daphne dropped a pot of pink paint on the top of David's head, or when Avelyn poured in paraffin by mistake, instead of methylated spirit, to thin the varnish. It was a proud day when at last colour wash and paint were dry, and the floor was swept and cleaned, and the vans arrived and the furniture was carried in. Mrs. Watson had sold most of the heavy possessions which they owned in Gerrard Square, and had bought in their place tasteful antiques which suited the house far better, and gave it an air of quaint culture and comfort. When all was arranged it looked a charming little abode, and thoroughly in harmony, from the black beams of its ingle nook to the carved settle and gate-legged oak table, or the framed samplers on its walls.

Many surprising incidents happened in the first days of occupation. Very early one morning, as Daphne and Avelyn lay in bed, they were awakened by a tweeting and whirr of wings, and found that a pair of newly-arrived swallows had flown in through the open window, and were whirling overhead, evidently with designs on the big cross beam for nesting purposes. The sight of the girls, who sat up in bed, seemed to annoy them, for they twittered with anger, scintillated rapidly round the room, then flashed out through the window into the spring sunshine.

"Well," exclaimed Daphne, "this certainly is living in the country! Actually swallows in our bedroom!"

"The poor darlings!" declared Avelyn. "They've had a horrible disappointment. They'd made up their minds to have their nest on that beam. I remember Martin Jones pulled down a swallow's nest before he whitewashed, and said they had built there last year, and had got in because the window was broken. They must think we're dreadful intruders. They were scolding us as hard as they could in bird language."

"Shall we hang out a notice: 'To Let, Eligible Quarters for Swallows'?" laughed Daphne. "We might even put nesting boxes round the walls, and extend the invitation to other birds."

To anyone who wished to study natural history, Walden certainly offered advantages. There was a friendly robin that domesticated itself, and would fly into the dining-room at meal times, hop on to the table, and even perch upon the loaf. He would haunt the kitchen in quest of crumbs, and grew so cheeky that when Ethel, the maid, who resented his occasional flounders into her pudding dishes, drove him out through the window, he would merely fly round the corner and pop in again through the open door.

As at first the Watsons possessed neither dog nor cat, their garden became for that spring at any rate a veritable bird sanctuary. A pied fly-catcher built in the thatch of the summer-house, a pair of gold-crested wrens swung their dainty cradle under a pine bough, a nettle creeper nested in the long grass of the orchard, cole tits and blue tits haunted the yew tree, a family of young water wagtails issued from a hole under the stone bridge, and a wood pigeon took possession of the top storey of a fir tree, to say nothing of the blackbirds, thrushes, robins, and other everyday birds that availed themselves of the hospitality of the bushes.

"I thought I owned Walden, but I'm beginning to doubt it," said Mrs. Watson. "It seems to me that the wild creatures put in a prior claim, and come unasked to share it."

"They're welcome, bless 'em!" murmured Avelyn, fondling a newly-fledged and quite undismayed young missel-thrush, which she had temporarily taken from its nest just outside the drawing-room window.

Some of the incidents which happened were decidedly funny. The Watsons were not used to the country, and had to learn by experience. One morning they had left some washing in the field, and found that a neighbour's calves had strayed through a hole in the hedge and were contentedly sucking stockings and pyjamas, and reducing them to a jelly-like pulp. It took several sharp lessons before the family grasped that cardinal rule of country life: "Keep your gate shut". On the first Sunday of their occupation they had gone to church, and on returning had strolled into the dining-room, to find three pigs comfortably in possession. A wild scene ensued, for the intruders, instead of allowing themselves to be chased through the door, careered madly round and round the table, squeaking and grunting in protest, and finally jumped on to the sofa, and made their exit through the open window, knocking over books, work-baskets, and pots of geraniums in their hurried flight, and completely flattening a bed of young pansies that had just been planted.

One night the family, who had sat up later than usual, heard stealthy steps in the garden, and, fearful of burglars, issued forth in a body, armed with the poker and other implements of aggression, only to find a melancholy donkey cropping the grass beyond the laurel bushes, with apparent appreciation of its superior juiciness.

These little adventures, however, added a spice of excitement to their existence. They agreed that life at Walden was supremely interesting.

Daphne, who was nearly eighteen, had finished with lessons, and for the summer term Mrs. Watson allowed Avelyn also to stay at home and run wild. She had been growing fast, and a rest was considered good for her. David and Anthony left the house every morning at half-past seven, walked to Netherton Station, caught the train to Harlingden, and proceeded to King James's School, where they spent the day and dined, returning home by about six in the evening. They were sturdy boys of fourteen and twelve, and enjoyed the daily expedition. Time had often hung heavy on their hands out of school hours in Gerrard Square; it was now agreeably filled in with a railway journey and a walk across fields where birds' nests might be found, and where they sometimes saw stoats and squirrels.

To the whole family the first sylvan spring and summer had been one long round of delight. By the end of August they felt that town had faded away from their mental vision, and that they had become "sons of the soil".

In September Avelyn began school again as a weekly boarder at Silverside. She had left The Hawthorns the preceding Christmas, and the nine months' absence, with the intervening removal to Lyngates, had very much blurred its memory. She had liked some of the girls, though she had never made any really intimate friends there. She had been mildly sorry to leave, but the regret had soon worn off. She had come to Silverside quite ready to hallmark herself with the stamp of her new school, and centre her interests there. To find that the greater part of "The Hawthorns" was now incorporated with "Silverside", and that the boarders identified her with her old set, had struck her somewhat as a shock. What attitude she should adopt she could not quite determine. She wanted to think over the situation carefully before she committed herself to either side.

CHAPTER IV
An Encounter

The little freehold of "Walden" was a triangle, consisting of about two acres of land. Its base abutted on the high road, and its apex was wedged into another and much larger estate. The owner of this property resided at Lyngates Hall. The Watsons had as yet only seen him in the distance, but they knew from report that he was a naturalized German, and that his name was Hockheimer. They had heard rumours that he was not popular in the district. So long as he kept his live stock on his own side of the hedge, Mrs. Watson did not concern herself about her neighbour. When his cows strayed into her field she drove them back, and had the gap securely mended to prevent further trespassing. She considered that to be the end of the matter, and did not give Mr. Hockheimer another thought. As for the young people, they had not yet realized his existence. They discovered it one day quite suddenly and unpleasantly.

The second Monday morning after her start at school, Avelyn was walking to the station with her brothers to catch the 8.15 train. The weather was still fine and summer-like, and the late September sunshine gilded the yellowing nut trees, and turned the dew-drops in the long webs of gossamer into diamonds. There was an exhilaration in being up and out so early. The three marched along very cheerily, chatting as they went. As they rounded the corner beyond the smithy, they could see, about two hundred yards in front of them, a little figure in blue sports coat and tam-o'-shanter, also making its way in the direction of Netherton.

"Who's that girl?" asked Anthony. "We see her every day; she goes in to Harlingden by the same train that we do. She must be going to school, because she always has a satchel of books with her."

"It looks like Pamela Reynolds," returned Avelyn. "She's new at Silverside this term, and, now you speak of it, I remember somebody told me she came from Lyngates, but I'd quite forgotten all about it till this moment. I don't even know where she lives. Shall we sprint and catch her up?"

The Watsons hurried their footsteps, and by dint of what might be termed a forced march overtook Pamela on the brow of the hill. Avelyn greeted her by name from behind. She turned, surprised. She was a fine-looking girl of nearly fourteen, with wide-open honest brown eyes, a clear pale skin, and bronze-brown hair, which curled at the ends, and had a tendency to make little rings round her forehead. She was really pretty when she smiled.

"Hallo!" she exclaimed. "I never expected to see you here! Aren't you Avelyn Watson? I thought you were a boarder!"

"So I am, but only a weekly one. I come home from Friday to Monday. Do you like being a day girl? Isn't it a long way to go every morning?"

"I don't mind; I used to have much farther to go to school when we lived in Canada."

"Used you to live in Canada?"

"Yes, I was born there. I've only come to England lately."

"I haven't met you about Lyngates before."

"We've only been here a month."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Just my mother and I."

"Do you like England?"

"Pretty well. It's too cultivated after Canada. All these little walls and hedges to divide the tiny fields make me laugh. It's like a dolls' country. And I hate the high roads. Look here—there's a short cut through that wood to the station. I go that way nearly every day. Will you come?"

The Watsons were perfectly ready to explore anything in the shape of a new path or by-lane. They helped Pamela to open the gate, and followed her into the wood. The long vista of trees was delightful. The short grass under foot was a vivid emerald green, there were patches of yellowing bracken, clumps of crimson and orange toad-stools, spindle bushes covered with scarlet berries, and trails of pale late honeysuckle twining over the brambles. From the direction they were taking, they must be cutting off a long corner on their way to the station.

They had walked for perhaps a few minutes, and were strolling on, chatting as they went, when they suddenly heard a shout in front of them, and someone came crashing through the undergrowth and stood barring their path. The somebody in question was undoubtedly very angry. He was a fair, short, stout, roundabout little man, with a big blond moustache. His light-blue eyes flashed, and his large teeth gleamed unpleasantly as he spoke. But he not only spoke, he shouted.

"What are you doing here? Do you know this wood's private property? You've no business to be in it! Get out as fast as you can, the same way you came! Be quick about it, or I'll know the reason why. I could have you all taken up for trespassing if I liked. Why, Pamela!"

Pamela was standing staring at the surly objector, with a look of mingled amazement, disgust, and defiance in her clear eyes.

"It's my fault, Uncle," she replied calmly. "It's a short cut to the station through this wood, and to-day I brought these—friends"—she hesitated for a moment over the word—"with me. I come this way nearly every morning."

"Then you won't do it again!" thundered the short man. "Don't let me ever catch you here any more, or any of your friends. You may understand that once and for all, and I'll be obeyed. Go back, I tell you!"

He waved them savagely in the direction of the gate through which they had come.

"Mayn't we go on just this once?" pleaded Pamela. "I'm afraid we'll miss our train."

"Then miss it! What do I care? It's your own faults for trespassing, and I hope you'll all get into trouble at school. You richly deserve it. Back, I tell you, you young rascals!"

With an angry man raving like a lunatic in their path, there was nothing for it but to beat a retreat as speedily as they could. When they had passed through the gate, David looked at his watch.

"Five past eight! Thunder! We shall have to sprint if we want to catch that train."

There was no time for comment. All four immediately set off running. Each, perhaps, was buoyed up with an obstinate determination to reach the station by 8.15 in spite of the unamiable hopes of the owner of the wood. They only wished he could be there to see them defeat his prophecy. In spite of such hindrances as bumping satchels, streaming hair, and, in Anthony's case, a trailing bootlace, they panted along, and covered the ground somehow. They could hear the train rumbling in the distance, and could see the smoke of the engine as they raced down the last hill. By the greatest of good luck a special cargo of milk-cans and butter baskets had to be placed that morning in the luggage van, and the extra two minutes spent in stowing them away saved the situation. The guard was just waving his green flag as the Watsons and Pamela, scarlet with their exertions, popped into the last carriage.

For a few minutes they were too breathless to speak. It was Anthony who first found words.

"Well, of all raggy old lunatics commend me to that one!"

"Strafe the baity old blighter!" gasped David.

"I never heard of such meanness!" put in Avelyn. "Actually to want us to miss our train!"

"I'd have knocked him over for two pins," declared David savagely.

"Wish we'd tried!" growled Anthony.

"I don't know who he is, but he's no gentleman!" exploded Avelyn, divided between her ruffled clothes and her ruffled feelings. "Sorry, Pamela, if he's your uncle, but I can't help saying what I think."

Pamela was leaning back in a corner. She had taken off her blue tam-o'-shanter, and was trying to re-tie her bronze-brown hair. She looked up quickly.

"You needn't mind me. You can say anything you like about him. I only wish he wasn't my uncle. We don't choose our relations, do we?"

"Nobody'd choose him if they could help it, I should think," replied Avelyn frankly. "What's his name?"

"Mr. Hockheimer."

"The Mr. Hockheimer who lives at The Hall?"

"Yes."

"Why, he's a German, isn't he?"

"Yes, but I'm not! I'm as English as I possibly can be."