"With the envelope in her hand she hesitated and glanced round
guiltily." ([See page 128].)

Monica and the Fifth

BY

BRENDA PAGE

Author of "Schoolgirl Rivals"

With Four Illustrations in Colour
and Black and White
By ELIZABETH EARNSHAW

CASSELL AND COMPANY, LTD
London, Toronto, Melbourne and Sydney

First published 1928
Printed in Great Britain

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

1. [The First Day]
2. [Enter the Black Sheep]
3. [An Amazing Confession]
4. [Allison Interferes]
5. [The Hockey Shield]
6. [Nat gets Her Chance]
7. ["Not Playing the Game!"]
8. [Thrills for the Fifth]
9. [While the Cat's Away]
10. [Lost, Stolen or Strayed?]
11. [The Telegram]
12. [Sentence is Delayed]
13. [A Sensational Paper-chase]
14. [A Riddle is Solved]
15. [Allison Tells a Story]
16. [Nat makes a Discovery]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

["With the envelope in her hand she hesitated and glanced round guiltily"] ... Frontispiece

["Everyone gazed at her with unrestrained curiosity"]

["'Jumping Jehoshaphat,' exclaimed Madge, 'what have you been doing to your study!'"]

["For one horrible moment she hung there suspended by her hands"]

Monica and the Fifth

CHAPTER I
THE FIRST DAY

The first day of a new school-year at colleges and boarding-schools is of necessity devoted entirely to the arrival of the boarders, unpacking and settling down. St. Etheldreda's was no exception to this rule. Undoubtedly the busiest girl in the whole school on that important Tuesday—the first day of the autumn term—was Madge Amhurst, late of the Fifth Form, but now promoted to the double dignity of the Sixth and a prefectship. Madge had been selected by the house mistress, Miss Perkins, to receive and take charge of all the new girls, and she was performing her first duty as a prefect with remarkable conscientiousness; not that Madge was always so painstakingly conscientious, but she was the possessor of a fluent and ready tongue and was never so happy as when exercising it well in airing her views. Though liked by her school companions she could not always obtain an audience willing to listen to her; now at last was a splendid opportunity; for the greater part of a day she could hold the stage to her heart's content.

The rule at St. Etheldreda's was that all girls, save in very exceptional circumstances, should be in the school before six-thirty on Tuesday evening. Throughout the afternoon Madge was seen wandering round the building with an ever-lengthening train of small girls at her heels, very much, as Nellie Barthe remarked with a broad grin, like a fussy old hen with a family of newly-hatched chicks, all wearing the forlorn and miserable appearance of newcomers in a strange and unknown world.

By four o'clock, Madge had collected a following of eight or nine youngsters and was still walking them round. She was greeted with broad smiles by girls whom she passed in the various rooms and passages, but seemed quite unperturbed by their amusement at her expense, and looked both busy and business-like with her pencil tucked clerically behind one ear and in her hand the list with which Miss Perkins had provided her. She finally halted her little band in the Blue Dormitory, with another glance at the list she was carrying and then at the watch on her wrist.

"This, my dear children," she remarked with a wave of her hand, "is the Blue Dormitory, so called, as you may guess for yourselves, from the tasteful cream and art-blue scheme of decoration. I think I have already told you that we are now in the Annexe, which has been recently added to the main building, to which it is connected by a covered-in passage. Most of the dormitories are in the Annexe, also the common room, senior studies and assembly hall."

She consulted her list again. "Which of you is Norah Maguire? Sure, and it's you, is it, begorrah? This is the haven where in future you will enjoy your nocturnal slumbers, Norah. In other words, cubicle No. 4 is yours. You are the last on the list, I think. Here is the wardrobe where you will hang your things, and this, of course, is your chest of drawers. I haven't missed anyone out, have I?"

There was a murmured chorus of "Noes."

"A little refreshment will be provided at half-past four," Madge continued pleasantly, "and as the tea-bell will ring shortly I don't think it's much use starting to unpack till afterwards. Now, is there anything you would like to know about your cubicles?"

After a few moments' silence one small, curly-haired girl spoke up.

"Are we allowed to hang any pictures in our cubicles?"

"Why yes, certainly, only you mustn't knock nails into the outside walls. There's a picture rail on the wall, so that difficulty is easily overcome. You can also use drawing-pins. Of course there are certain dormitory rules about lights, talking and so on, but you'll find a list of them hanging just inside the door, also a list of the occupants of the cubicles. Hot water? You get it from the bathrooms when you want it. By the by, you are expected to knock before entering another person's cubicle—a senior's, at any rate. Anything else you want to know, Matty?" tapping the small girl on the head with her pencil.

"My name isn't Matty. It's Margaret."

"Too long," replied Madge cheerfully. "I haven't time for more than two syllables just now."

"Please," inquired another rather timidly, "do we do anything else this evening besides unpack?"

"Yes. I'm to take you to see Miss Julian—the Principal, you know—at six o'clock. Then at half-past six we assemble. It's the usual proceeding. Announcements are made, we are all welcomed back and of course are all exhorted to roll up our sleeves for the year's work and put some elbow grease into it. Also you get a few words for the good of your soul, though fortunately Prinny's sermons are brief and to the point. Of course, you needn't listen, but as you are new kids perhaps it would be wise for you to do so this first time.

"That's all that happens to-night. Prinny may tell you what class you are in, or if you haven't already been to school you may have to sit for tests to-morrow morning. But really, if you're sensible kids you can have an awfully good time here. There are several societies you can join, the dramatic and the indoor games, for instance. The dramatic get up a play every year, and the indoor games play draughts and chess and table-tennis and so on. As for the outdoor games, well—" Madge was warming to her work. "Now that summer term is over I may as well tell you you'll soon have to make a very important decision." Madge's expression grew portentous. "You will have to choose which to join, the hockey club or the netball club."

"Can't you play both?"

"Play both!" Madge was horror-struck. "Indeed no! Not that there's any rule about it, but it simply isn't done. You must choose one or the other. I am secretary of one of the clubs, but I won't tell you which," she added modestly, "as I don't wish to influence you unfairly. Naturally, it is by far the better game of the two. Hark! There's tea bell."

She counted them round to see if all were present, then marshalled them downstairs with a wave of her hand and an encouraging: "Come along. En avant, mes enfants!"

Tea was in the beautiful old dining-room, one of the oldest parts of the original building, a long, lofty room with glorious oak panelling and great worm-eaten oak beams across the ceiling, carefully preserved through several hundred years. No one came to St. Etheldreda's without being impressed by this room, particularly as it had the added advantage of looking out on three sides to green lawns and leafy trees.

From tea till the bell rang again for assembly at six-thirty the school was like a hive of busy bees, swarming and buzzing. The hall where the girls assembled every morning for prayers and every evening for roll-call, and also on state occasions such as Speech Day, was in the Annexe, and had a wide platform at one end and a small gallery at the other.

Madge Amhurst found herself among a little party of Fifth-formers, as she made her way down the corridor.

"Any new girls for the Fifth?" inquired one of them, Irene Eames.

Madge shook her head. "There is only one new senior so far, who I expect will go into the Fourth. There's another who hasn't turned up yet, though. She has the 'flu or something, and will probably be coming next week."

Irene nodded, disappointed. "What a pity! It's rather interesting having new girls in your form and wondering what they'll be like."

"Miss Perkins said she thought this girl who hasn't arrived yet would be put into the Fifth," replied Madge.

Five minutes after the bell had sounded a goodly number of girls had assembled in the hall. St. Etheldreda's was not as big as many of the modern English boarding-schools, nevertheless its numbers were not inconsiderable, averaging between seventy and eighty, all boarders. The lowest age at which a girl could be admitted was ten, for there was neither a kindergarten nor a preparatory department.

After the girls came the mistresses and finally the Principal herself, tall and slight, with hair turning grey rather early, and the possessor of a quiet manner and a voice of peculiar charm, low-toned but very clear and distinct. Standing on the platform at the end of the room she began to speak, saying how pleased she was to see familiar and smiling faces again, but declaring that she would not keep them very long as she knew many had had long journeys and were doubtless beginning already to feel tired. She touched lightly on the work of the coming year, impressing on them the need for a good beginning, followed by steady work throughout the year.

She then read out the list of the new prefects and their chief duties. At this, of course, all heads were turned towards the back row, where stood the five or six new Sixth-formers, who tried hard not to look self-conscious when they heard their names. They came forward to the platform to receive their prefects' stars, which the Principal fastened on the fronts of their dresses, and were heartily clapped by the rest of the school.

When this commotion had subsided Miss Julian continued:

"There is just another little announcement I wish to make. I know how glad you all are to see our last year's Head Girl back among us for yet another year."

Fresh applause, whose sincerity no one could doubt, for Allison Ravenel had been the most popular of all St. Etheldreda's Head Girls and was still the best-liked and most admired girl in the school.

"Unfortunately," Miss Julian went on, "things are not quite the same this year. With very great reluctance Allison has asked me to say that she feels unable to carry out the multitudinous duties of a Head Girl this year. She has returned to study for a university scholarship and as it is a matter of very great importance to her that she should win it if she possibly can, she feels she must devote her whole time and attention to her studies. I have consulted the other prefects and they are extremely anxious that she should not relinquish her position as Head Girl while she is here; they declare that they are ready and willing to undertake her work and to relieve her of most of her duties. I have accepted their kindly offer, and if the rest of the school are willing to back up the prefects in every way I am sure the arrangement will work satisfactorily. Will all those girls who willingly and gladly agree to do so, raise their hands?"

A forest of hands immediately shot up. Miss Julian nodded her satisfaction, then glanced across at the tall, fair-haired, eighteen-year-old Head Girl. "Perhaps Allison wishes to answer you for herself," she suggested.

"I can only say thank you all very much for your kindness," Allison answered. "It was entirely the prefects' idea that I should retain the Head Prefectship. Of course, if at any time they need my help I shall be only too pleased to do anything I can. I did not like trespassing so much on their good nature, but they insisted on it."

Already most of the seniors, at least, knew the reason for Allison's anxiety to win a university scholarship. Her people had recently lost money, and without the scholarship Allison, with several younger brothers and sisters yet to be educated, would be obliged to give up all idea of continuing her education at a university.

A voice came from the back row, the voice of Deirdre Samways, one of the members of the hockey first eleven, saying in anxious tones: "I hope this does not mean that Allison will be giving up games as well. The school cannot afford to lose her services."

Allison answered for herself. "I am resigning the captainship of the hockey club, as I may not be able to attend all the practices and the meetings. But Miss Julian says I should be silly to give up playing, as outdoor exercise is necessary when you are studying hard, so I shall be only too pleased to turn out for matches."

There was a sigh of relief from the hockey enthusiasts, for was not Allison the best centre-half the school had ever possessed and an invaluable pivot for the team?

"And now," the Principal was saying, "as all except the new girls know, it is my custom at the beginning of each school year to present to you a little thought of some kind that may help you in your school life. At the end of the year I generally refer to it again to see if it really has been of any help to us.

"I suppose it is the aim and endeavour of everyone to get as much as possible out of life, and you are all, I am sure, trying to get all you can out of your school life.

"It is right that we should have ambitions. Many girls, I know, are working to win scholastic honours, to do well in the public and school exams or to take home better reports at the end of term; others perhaps are trying to distinguish themselves in one particular subject, their music or in some other branch of art; girls who are already in school teams are anxious to win honour for themselves on the playing fields, and those who have not a place as yet are keen to obtain one; girls who cannot yet swim unaided have perhaps made up their minds to be more successful in the baths this coming season.

"I am always pleased to see such ambitions. But this year I want you not only to think of how much you can get out of school life, but also of how much you can put in—how much of kindliness, consideration for others, service, even small personal sacrifices, to give some instances of what I mean. You girls, living together in what we call a 'community life,' have so many opportunities of 'putting in' as well as 'getting out,' of making our school life here happier and brighter and jollier for us all. I am not going to say any more on that subject, but don't forget the thought I want to give you for this year."

Miss Julian said little more, for, being a woman of wisdom and experience, she was content to press home what she wanted to say and then to leave off before seeing the first fidgety movements that told of weariness or boredom on the part of her youthful audience. The assembly came to a close with a hymn and a brief prayer, and the girls were then dismissed with the injunction that the rest of the evening till supper bell was their own to pass as they wished, but that classes would begin at nine o'clock the next morning as usual.

CHAPTER II
ENTER THE BLACK SHEEP

One afternoon a week later the Fifth commandeered the common room for a special meeting to arrange an impromptu cricket match for the next Wednesday afternoon, the weather being so unusually hot that it was impossible to start winter games in real earnest. They were about to begin the meeting, when an excited exclamation from a girl sitting curled up in a corner of the big settee attracted everyone's attention.

"Oh, I say, girls, just listen to this!" She held up the letter which she had been reading while waiting for the meeting to start.

"Letters already, Glenda?" remarked Ida Preston. "Why, we've only been back a week. Not from home, surely?"

"No," replied Glenda. "This came by the afternoon post and it's from my cousin, who lives at Croftdene. She thinks her news might be of interest to us. It has given me a thrill, anyway."

"Something about St. Etheldreda's?" asked Irene Eames in surprise.

Glenda nodded. She was a tall girl of striking appearance, always beautifully dressed, with dark hair and eyes and a rather dramatic way of talking. She delighted in creating sensations and had a large following among the Fifth. In fact, she and her friend—red-haired, hot-tempered, clever Irene Eames—were the acknowledged leaders of the form.

"I should just think it is," Glenda replied with emphasis. "It's about this new girl who hasn't turned up yet. It seems she's a real bad lot, according to my cousin, who thinks we're in for a lively time."

"Does she know her, then?"

"No, but—well, I'll tell you how it is. A lady named Mrs. Whiddon recently came to live in the old Grange at Croftdene. My aunt and cousin went to call, and before the acquaintance was many weeks old they discovered that Mrs. Whiddon had a niece, who was so naughty and troublesome she didn't know what to do with her. She sent her away to a boarding-school last term, and"—here Glenda paused with great dramatic effect—"she was expelled!"

There were exclamations of incredulous wonder from Glenda's little audience.

"It's quite true, because it comes from the girl's own aunt and guardian," declared Glenda. "At the end of the term—she was only there a term—the Principal wrote and asked Mrs. Whiddon to take her niece away, as she was quite unmanageable and would have a bad influence on the other girls."

"I wonder what she did," breathed Betty Cairns, awestruck. "It must have been something dreadful."

Glenda shook her head. "I don't know. Mrs. Whiddon didn't say. Mustn't she be a bright specimen, though—the niece, I mean!"

"And this girl is coming to St. Etheldreda's," said Irene slowly. "Surely Miss Julian doesn't know what sort of a character she has?"

"But she does!" Glenda retorted triumphantly. "She offered to take the girl into her school—give her a trial, so to speak. It seems her mother was a very dear old friend of Prinny's and she's doing it for her sake, I suppose."

The girls looked at one another, but no one said anything.

"What I think," continued Glenda, "is that it's rather hard lines on us to have a girl of this sort foisted on us. If she's too bad a character for one school to put up with, then she isn't good enough for St. Etheldreda's."

"Hear, hear!" came from one or two listeners.

"Well," said red-haired Irene, the top girl of the form, "we aren't all saints by any means, but I've never yet heard of a girl at St. Etheldreda's who has had to be threatened with expulsion. I don't want to chum up with a girl of that sort."

Glenda held up her letter. "My cousin says it's a good thing for me I am warned in time, as she knows how lacking I am in common sense and a 'sense of balance,' whatever that means. Rather a knock for me, what?" and she joined heartily in the laugh against herself.

"Still, perhaps it is rather fortunate we have got to know about this girl," Muriel Graves observed thoughtfully. "Otherwise we might have had a few shocks."

"Forewarned is forearmed," added Irene. "We shall know how to deal with her—or rather, how to steer clear of her," and there was a murmur of agreement from the others; the rest of the form were apt to be easily swayed by its two strongest characters, Irene and Glenda.

Suddenly a new voice, hitherto unheard, came from the direction of the wide hearth.

"I say, don't you think the fairest thing would be to give the kid a chance?" said Nathalie Sandrich.

All eyes were immediately turned on the new speaker, a rather big girl who had somewhat the appearance of a lanky, ungainly young colt; that is to say, her hands and feet seemed to be too large in proportion to the rest of her, while she did not appear to know quite what to do with her elbows and knees—faults which would probably be remedied when she had finished growing. She had a shock of bright brown hair, irregular features, plentifully besprinkled with freckles during the summer term, and a rather wide mouth which displayed beautifully white, even teeth when she smiled.

Nathalie Sandrich, usually known as Nat, had, as she herself declared, only one talent, a perfect genius for "putting her foot in it."

Strange to relate, when a difficult catch at cricket was muffed—a catch upon which the fate of the match rested—the unhappy fielder was sure to be Nat Sandrich, though Nat was quite a good cricketer. Should it be discovered that one of the girls walking down the church aisle for Sunday morning service was displaying an enormous hole in her stocking, above the heel of her shoe, one took it for granted that the girl would be Nat although, as she pointed out, she did quite as much darning as any other girl in the school. When the position lists of the term examinations were posted up, the name of Nat Sandrich was invariably the very last on the Fifth Form list, though one could not by any means call her a dull or stupid girl. She was unfortunately the member of a Fifth Form unusually diligent and intelligent at their lessons, and suffered in comparison; she also generally managed to lower her chances further by omitting to head one of her papers or number some of her questions, thereby losing marks to which she would otherwise have been entitled. On the whole Nat was popular with her school companions, for she had a cheerful disposition and often amused them, but they were inclined to regard her with a kind of tolerant, good-natured contempt.

All eyes were now on Nat, as she made her suggestion so abruptly.

"What exactly do you mean, Nat?" asked Irene.

"Only that I think you ought to give the kid a chance," repeated Nat, "by treating her as if you'd never heard any of that," pointing to Glenda's letter. "Just imagine she's an ordinary sort of girl and you've never heard anything against her. She may not be so bad after all. Perhaps there was a mistake at the other school. Besides, you can soon judge what sort of a girl she is for yourselves. It isn't fair to her to form a prejudice against her before you see her."

Here was a new point of view. Glenda looked annoyed, for though she was not an unkind or ill-natured girl at heart, she did not like to see the startling effect produced by her news counteracted.

"I hardly see how a mistake could have been made," she said loftily. "Her aunt's opinion of her seemed to coincide with that of the Head Mistress of the school. I don't think it's at all nice of Prinny to plant down such a character in our midst."

But Nat stuck to her guns. "Prinny wants to give her another chance or she would have told us what sort of a girl this new kid was," she insisted. "Besides, don't you think that's the sort of thing she meant when she talked about 'putting in' as well as 'getting out'? It isn't being very kind or considerate."

"Good gracious! It's never Nat preaching!" cried Irene with an amazed expression "What will happen next?"

Nat was crimson to her ears. "I'm not preaching," she denied, with as much indignation as if she had been accused of breaking all the ten commandments at once. "I've never preached in my life. It's only that I don't think it's fair——"

"Good for you, Nat," broke in a clear voice from behind, and everyone looked hurriedly round to see Allison standing just inside the door. She had entered unnoticed in the commotion some few minutes ago and now came forward. "Nat is right," she went on decidedly, "I don't know how you got hold of this tale. Miss Julian was particularly anxious that rumours of this sort should not get about."

The girls were eager to explain the source of their information and were already feeling a little ashamed of themselves, for they were good-hearted girls in the main and even those strong-minded spirits, Irene and Glenda, were anxious to keep the good opinion of the popular Head Girl.

Allison smiled round upon the circle of Fifth-formers.

"Then is it agreed that Nat's idea be adopted, and we all decide to forget what we've just heard in Glenda's letter and give this new girl at least a fair start? Then it won't be our faults if she doesn't take advantage of it."

Everyone agreed, with outward heartiness at any rate. "As a matter of fact," Allison then continued, "it's about the new girl that I came to speak to you. She's just arrived."

Naturally this announcement caused great excitement.

"Is she coming into the Fifth?" asked Irene.

"Yes. Miss Julian is giving her a trial with you, though I believe she is a little below the average age. As a senior she'll be entitled to a study, of course. Which of you will volunteer to take her in?"

There was silence. Everyone looked stealthily at everyone else, but no volunteers were forthcoming.

At last Nat said, with a sigh: "I suppose I ought to, as I'm the only one with a study to myself at present. But I don't want to. I like a peaceful life."

"Oh, you needn't necessarily be the victim," replied Allison. "It can easily be otherwise arranged by somebody changing studies with you."

Still no one moved or spoke.

Allison looked across at Nat. "You'll have to take it on," she said with a twinkle in her eyes. "No one else will."

Nat groaned. "All right," she replied resignedly. "I suppose you can't expect the girls to upset their present study arrangements. But I don't look forward to the prospect."

"If she can't get on with you, Nat, then she won't get on with anyone," Allison said decidedly, adding with another twinkle: "You will have to put up a notice on the board, publicly announcing that you will not hold yourself responsible for any of your partner's debts or misdemeanours. Here she is, I believe," as the door opened and Pamela Preston looked in.

"I've brought her along; Allison," said the prefect. "She's taken her things upstairs to her cubicle and partially unpacked."

"Right-oh!" Allison nodded her thanks. "I'll introduce her to her future form companions and leave her to their tender mercies."

Pamela vanished, leaving her charge standing just inside the door.

Naturally everyone gazed at her with unrestrained curiosity, and rather to their disappointment did not see anything about the new girl that looked at all dreadful or desperately wicked. In fact, there was something rather childish about the solitary figure, in spite of her fifteen years; an impression due to the slightness of her build, her height, which was rather under than above the average, the shortness of her tunic and her straight bobbed hair, black near the roots and ending round her ears in a kind of rusty brown. Like the rest of her figure, her features were small and delicately cut, her complexion olive and her eyes grey-blue, under lashes that were long and dark. She came forward apparently without either shyness or eagerness, as Allison called to her.

"Everyone gazed at her with unrestrained curiosity."

"Your name's Monica, isn't it?" the Head Girl asked with a friendly smile.

"Yes, Monica Carr," was the brief response, but there was no return of Allison's smile.

"Well, these are girls of the Fifth, which will probably be your form. I'll just introduce you to two or three of them, then I'll clear off and leave you to make friends. This is Irene, the top girl. This is Glenda, the shining light of the dramatic society, and here is Ida Preston, the most accurate netball shooter we have ever possessed. Oh, and this is Nat. I mustn't forget Nat, as you are to share studies with her."

The girls, true to their compact, greeted the newcomer with as much naturalness as they could simulate, and Allison, her mind relieved, took her departure.

"'Fraid we shall have to postpone our meeting," observed Glenda. "The tea bell will soon be ringing. We must have it later. Come along to my study about half an hour before supper bell, those who wish, and we'll fix up our match arrangements then."

Nat turned to the girl who stood silently at her side. "Come along and I'll show you our study," she suggested. "Then if you've any books and things you want to keep there you can bring them down."

The new girl followed Nat along the passage which led to the row of senior studies, added to the school accommodation when the Annexe was built. She listened silently as Nat, who was a sociable soul, chatted cheerfully. She was not very responsive, however; not even when Nat, with obvious pride, ushered her into the little room, remarking:

"To a certain extent we are allowed to furnish or decorate our studies as we like. It's rather fun to see the different ideas different girls have. This study is rather bare at present, but the girl who was to share it with me left last term and took her belongings with her, and I haven't had time to hang up my pictures yet. The table, chairs and cupboard are school furniture, but the little bookcase is mine. My youngest brother made it for me, so that accounts for the shelves not fitting properly. Perhaps you would like to suggest things—what colours we should choose for curtains, table-cloth, cushion-covers and so on—or perhaps you have some pictures you would like to put up. I'm afraid I'm not very artistic about that sort of thing."

No gleam of animation or enthusiasm lightened the new girl's face. "I didn't bring anything like that with me," she said, speaking for the first time, in a voice that was low-toned and with a husky note in it. "I didn't know. Besides, I haven't anything, except one or two dressing-table ornaments that will do for my cubicle."

"But perhaps you'll have a few original ideas," persisted Nat. "Then we might look round and buy what we want."

"I don't often get original ideas," was the discouraging reply.

Nat rubbed her nose thoughtfully, reflecting dismally that this was not a very bright beginning and held out few hopes for a jolly future. However, you couldn't always judge new girls from first impressions. Some of them felt very strange and awkward and homesick at first, poor things. She tried again, meaning to be comforting.

"I hope you don't feel homesick, because really there isn't any need. Of course, some of the younger girls are, though we haven't any very young ones. Last year we had a new girl—quite a big girl in the Fourth—who cried and cried every night for a whole week, till her nose was so red the others said it gave her a most disreputable look! Now she cries every time we break up for the holidays."

"Well, I haven't any intention of crying, either now or when we break up. As for being homesick, I haven't a home to be sick for."

"Oh, haven't you? What a shame!" Nat said sympathetically. "Where will you go for the holidays?"

"Oh, I've a house I can go to—my aunt's house. It's very large and comfortable, and you can have everything you want there—but a house isn't a home."

"Haven't you a father or mother?"

"No."

"Nor brothers or sisters?"

"No."

"How horrid for you!" Nat had not been at all attracted by the new girl, but now her ready sympathies were enlisted. No wonder she was so queer and stiff!

"Have you been to many schools?" she continued, with another attempt to be friendly.

"No, I was only at one for a term last year."

"You've had a governess then, I suppose?"

"No."

"Oh!" Nat wondered how a girl was educated, if she neither went to school nor had a governess. "I suppose your people taught you at home?"

"No."

After this brief denial, conversation languished. The new girl volunteered no information about herself and did not seem to want to know anything about her new surroundings, so Nat racked her brains for a further topic of interest.

"Do you play games at all? That always helps at school. Even girls who aren't much good at anything else get awfully popular if they can shine at games."

"No, I can't play any games."

Nat was completely taken aback.

"Not any at all? But surely you must have played something. Not cricket or tennis or netball?"

The new girl shook her head.

"Nor hockey?"

"No, I don't think so. What is hockey like?"

"Oh, it's a topping game. You chase up and down a field and swipe at the ball with your stick whenever you get the chance. You'll have to play something here. Games are compulsory, unless you're excused for medical reasons. You haven't a weak heart or varicose veins, I suppose?"

"I don't think so."

"Then you'll have to learn," declared Nat firmly.

"I don't mind if I do."

Silence fell again. Nat did not like to continue the games topic, for the new girl displayed not the slightest interest or enthusiasm in it. She glanced at the clock. Only five minutes before the tea bell rang. A new thought struck her.

"I say, this is one of the days when you have to speak French at meals. No English is allowed at the senior tables under penalty of a penny fine. Do you know much French?"

"Not a word."

Nat gazed incredulously. "Not really? Honest Injun, you're not pulling my leg?"

"Indeed, no. I was never taught French."

"Never taught French! I forgot you've never been to school nor had a governess."

Nat looked hard at the new girl, but there was no sign of mischievous propensities in her expression; she merely appeared bored at having to answer all these tiresome questions.

"Then I'm afraid it's rather hard lines on you," Nat remarked. "You'll have to sit still and say nothing all tea-time."

The new girl looked up and for the first time spoke with some warmth in her voice and manner.

"I don't mind that at all. But I'm jolly hungry. Suppose I want some sugar in my tea or some more jam or cake, and it isn't within reach, can't I ask for it?"

"Not in English. Only in French."

"But I can't speak French."

Nat scratched her head in perplexity. "We must think of some way out of the difficulty. I'm afraid I couldn't possibly teach you the French names for everything on the tea-table before tea bell goes. I'll tell you what. You must just say: 'Passez-moi cela, s'il vous plait,' and point to what you want."

The new girl put her head on one side and regarded Nat with a flicker of impish mischief in her face.

"But it's rude to point."

"Then you must manage to point without being rude. Jerk your head or make a graceful gesture. That's the best I can do for you, anyway."

"What is it I have to say."

"'Passez-moi cela, s'il vous plait.' It means 'Pass me that, please.' Say it after me ten times, then you'll know it by heart."

A few minutes later Monica was escorted to tea by Nat. The big oak-raftered and panelled room with its long tables covered with snow-white napery was a cheery sight, especially when filled with seventy or eighty hungry schoolgirls and echoing with the chatter of their voices. The new girl sat quiet and silent by Nat's side, subdued by the crowds of strange faces, the buzz of strange voices. Curious glances were cast at her by some of the Fifth Form girls who had heard of her reputation, but on the whole they were too busy satisfying their appetites and racking their brains for French phrases to take much notice of Monica.

At her table Glenda Vaughan, tall and good-looking in her dark, handsome style, was holding everyone's attention with her endeavour to relate a humorous story in French, and her love of dramatic effect was shown in every varying tone of her voice, every flash of her dark eyes.

"Attention, mes enfants," she commenced. "Je vais vous dire une petite conte—une conte très-très drôle," and in somewhat remarkable French she endeavoured to relate how the witty young French guest asked his French hostess a riddle. Why was she like the teapot? Here Glenda paused, gazed round triumphantly, then continued: "Et le jeune homme répondit: 'Parce que vous êtes pleine de bonté.'"

Everyone looked puzzled. No one laughed. As a matter of fact Glenda was the only one at the table who might be said to possess linguistic talent and she was very proud of her French. Besides, she had studied up this little story very carefully in order to make an impression.

Nat, who was steadily working her way through her third slice of bread and butter before embarking on cake, paused in the act of helping herself to raspberry jam. "Mais, quel jeune homme stupide! Quel est le joke?" she demanded. "Je—je ne le vois pas."

Glenda, annoyed, flounderingly tried to explain in a mixture of French and English, disregarding the possibility of a fine. "Que vous êtes bêtises! Pleine de bonté—full of goodness; pleine de bon thé—full of good tea. Comprenez?"

Ida Preston burst out laughing while in the act of drinking from her cup, with the natural result that she choked and fell to coughing violently, much to the delight of her unfeeling table companions.

Miss Moore, the mistress in charge that day, stopped chatting to Allison and glanced severely across at the scene of this sudden commotion.

"Comment donc! Qu'avez-vous, Glenda, Irene? Taisez-vous."

While Glenda was wildly searching for a suitable answer in French, Nat's voice was raised in cheerful explanation.

"C'est Ida, Mademoiselle. Elle est trop pleine de bon thé," and from table number two there came a shout of ribald and unseemly mirth at Nat's ready answer.

CHAPTER III
AN AMAZING CONFESSION

The Fifth Form watched the new girl with secret but close interest for the next two or three days, expecting to see some kind of exhibition of the wickedness that had given her such an unenviable reputation. But for the first few days nothing at all startling happened. The new girl seemed quite harmless, as Ida Preston declared to a little circle of Fifth-formers who had gathered in their classroom and were awaiting the arrival of their form mistress, Miss Bennett.

"Sulky thing, I call her," said Betty. "Not a word to anyone, yet doesn't seem at all shy—just sullen. Nat isn't very keen on her as a study-mate, I believe."

"Fancy not knowing any French!" chimed in Nora Miles. "She can't take French with us."

"No. She's going into the Third Form for French," replied Irene. "But she's coming into the Fifth for all the other subjects, so I suppose she can't be such a dud. Wonder if she's clever!" Irene, though she pretended not to care, was secretly very proud of the position she had held as head of the class for the last two or three years, and it would be a severe blow to her were she to find herself in any other place but the top when the class examination list was posted up.

"I tell you what I'm most curious about, girls," said Glenda. "I'd give my last pot of gooseberry jam to know why she was expelled from her school last term."

Glenda's voice was naturally clear and distinct, and in the interest of the subject she had forgotten to speak in low tones. Every word carried quite distinctly to the ears of the very girl they were discussing, for Monica was just entering the classroom in Nat's company. They first became aware of her entry when a voice came in prompt answer to Glenda's speech:

"Would you really like to know? Because I can tell you if you would," and they looked up to find Monica calmly regarding them from the doorway. They gazed back for a moment or two without answering. Monica advanced into the room, her hands twisted in her belt in lieu of pockets, her attitude one of careless defiance. Yet she looked such a slender slip of a girl for her fifteen years. She halted and spoke again, in hard matter-of-fact tones.

"I cheated in the exams. It was the geometry paper in the Cambridge Junior, and I carried a geometry book into the exam room under the front of my tunic. They caught me copying out a theorem which formed one of the questions."

Had she announced that she had committed a murder her listeners would not have been more horror-struck.

"Cheated in a public exam!" gasped Glenda. "What did they do when they found out?"

"Turned me out of the room," replied Monica hardily. "And of course that was the end of the exam for me."

"How awful you must have felt!" said Betty, and Ida inquired, her eyes wide and wondering: "Weren't you awfully sorry afterwards?"

"I should hope so," Irene struck in with something approaching a sneer.

Monica shrugged her shoulders. "No, why should I be sorry? Everyone cheats some time or other. It isn't in cheating you make the mistake, it's doing it so that you are found out."

"If that's how you feel about it," said Glenda with scorn, "I wonder Prinny had the cheek to expect us to associate with a girl of your principles. I said so all along."

"Here comes Miss Bennett," broke in Nat hurriedly from the doorway, and the Fifth hastily sought their desks.

Miss Bennett had been looking forward to the passing-up of her new form, for they had the reputation of being a steady, hard-working lot; "swots" they were dubbed, half in contempt, half in admiration, by some of the other forms. It is true they were also inclined to be self-complacent and rather addicted to pluming themselves on their cleverness, but as Miss Bennett pointed out to Miss Moore, one couldn't have everything and it would be a relief to be in charge of a hard-working form after the previous harum-scarum, happy-go-lucky, hoydenish Fifth. Miss Moore had agreed, adding with a sigh that she was afraid the new Fourth were going to follow in the steps of Miss Bennett's old form.

The first period that morning was devoted to a Scripture lesson, and while the majority of the class conscientiously endeavoured to trace the genealogy of the numerous kings of Israel and Judah, the new girl fidgeted restlessly in her seat, now gazing round the room at the pictures hanging on the walls, now scribbling aimlessly on her desk with her pencil. She certainly did not appear to be giving much attention to the lesson, but Miss Bennett, for some reason or other, chose to take no notice of her. Just as the bell went and Miss Bennett was rising to go out, Monica appeared to wake up. Her hand shot up suddenly and as Miss Bennett, pausing on her way to the door, looked inquiringly at her, she said in a breath: "Please, Miss Bennett, how do we know Solomon was a poor man?"

Miss Bennett frowned. "Don't waste my time, Monica. You must know Solomon was one of the richest of all the Jewish kings," she said sharply and swept from the room.

For a moment there was silence in the room. Then Glenda observed to the class in general: "What on earth is that new kid babbling about?"

The "new kid" looked up from the little holes she was punching in her desk with the point of her pencil and answered for herself. "I thought Miss Bennett ought to know. Solomon must have been either very poor or very mean, or he would have had a bed to himself. Why, we only read this morning that he slept with his fathers."

The Fifth was just digesting this when Miss Andrews arrived on the scene, but by now they had become aware that there certainly was something peculiar about the new girl. Had she really meant to be cheeky to Miss Bennett or was she merely very stupid? They watched her stealthily as the Latin lesson began. Latin, strange to say, was a subject that was disliked by most of Miss Andrews' scholars, who voted it difficult and uninteresting and a horrid grind for examination purposes; there were even some who went so far as to declare it the bugbear of their school life.

Now they were called upon, one after the other, to quote certain lines which they had memorized from their readers, and with a few hesitations most of the class acquitted themselves well. When it came to Monica's turn she rose readily enough in her seat and declaimed what was evidently meant to be:

Cæsar adsum iam forte,
Hannibal adsum adhuc.

but which sounded, as she pronounced it, very like:

Cæsar 'ad some jam for tea,
Hannibal 'ad some 'addock.

The class giggled. Miss Andrews, who had a gentle, peace-loving disposition, looked at her new pupil for a moment, puzzled and undecided what to make of her, then said reprovingly: "I presume you have been taught the old style of pronunciation, Monica. You will have to learn our less antiquated methods as quickly as you can."

The lesson proceeded, the class struggling in the quagmires of the Second Punic War. The passage they were construing was not an easy one. Even Irene found herself hopelessly tied up in knots. Yet another shock was in store for the Fifth that morning, for when Miss Andrews for the first time called upon the new girl to see what she could do, Monica stood up and translated with an unruffled ease and fluency that left the rest of the class gasping; with unerring skill she pounced upon correct tenses and cases; grammatical difficulties that had puzzled the class were solved without hesitation, and the jigsaw pieces slipped smoothly into their proper places. Miss Andrews, delighted at the discovery that her new pupil was proving to be a decided acquisition to the Latin class, let her continue, which Monica did with apparent enjoyment, and had finished the page and was half-way down the next before the relentless bell proclaimed the close of the lesson.

By the end of that week the chief topic of conversation in the Fifth was the newcomer, Monica Carr. The girls could not make up their minds whether to be annoyed and angry at her unexpected ways, or rather thrilled. So far she had done nothing desperately wicked, it is true, though the Fifth were constantly wondering what she would do or say next. They decided that she was clever in a way, in spite of her ignorance of French. Sometimes she was so inattentive in class that she had to be severely reprimanded by the teachers; sometimes she would work as hard as anyone, particularly during Latin lessons, when she earned much praise from the delighted Miss Andrews, who had at last found a pupil who apparently shared her love for that classical language. Not infrequently was she seized with a spirit of devil-may-care mischief, when she would sit in her desk with her arms folded and her legs tucked under her seat and ask all manner of absurd questions of a harassed mistress, setting traps for her, baiting her, pitting her sharp wits against hers, and seemingly quite as impervious to snubs and reprimands as she was to praises. Secretly the girls were a little surprised at the leniency of the mistresses towards the newcomer and her changeable moods.

On one occasion the Fifth had entered their classroom to find the blackboard adorned with the following witticisms on the names of some of the girls:

Q. Why walked Nora Miles?
A. Because Ida Preston.
Q. What gave Lorna Payne?
A. Because she Rhoda Hunter.
Q. Why came Elizabeth Forth?
A. To see Nellie Barthe.

They were in the act of reciting them aloud and laughing loudly over them, when Miss Bennett entered.

Miss Bennett was annoyed, for she was the martinet of the school and her sense of humour was not highly developed. She was still more annoyed when, on turning the blackboard to the other side in the middle of the lesson, there was displayed to view in extremely large printing that hackneyed old saying: "Suffer fools gladly," and she coldly announced that unless the blackboards were cleaned and ready for use when the mistress entered for the first period of morning or afternoon lessons the girls would not be allowed to enter the classroom till a mistress was actually present.

No one discovered the identity of the adorner of blackboards, but the Fifth, though they enjoyed a good laugh in class, were indignant at this threat to curtail their liberty and took care to see that in the future their blackboards were swept, without being garnished.

CHAPTER IV
ALLISON INTERFERES

The Fifth had succeeded in arranging a cricket fixture for Wednesday half-holiday as the weather still continued too warm for hockey and netball, and had challenged the rest of the school. Irene was captaining the Fifth, having pressed nearly the whole of the form into the team in order to complete it. She and Betty Cairns went in to open the batting for the Fifth.

Nat sat on one of the forms near the pavilion with Monica by her side, with the laudable intention of initiating her into the science of the noble game. Monica, needless to say, had not been asked to play and seemed rather relieved when she heard that her services would not be required.

"Now," said Nat in explanatory tones, "those two girls you see at the wickets are going to bat."

Monica gazed across the green field. "Yes, I suppose so, as they appear to be holding bats," she remarked with a touch of irony, then added with a genuine attempt to appear interested: "Which one is playing for your side and which for the other side?"

Nat looked puzzled. "I don't quite see what you mean. Our form is playing a school eleven, as there aren't enough girls in the Sixth to make up an eleven of their own."

"Yes, but what I meant was, which girl is batting for the Fifth and which for the school?"

Nat burst out laughing. "Why, both batsmen are on one side, of course."

"And all those other girls?"

"Oh, they are all on the other side and trying to get the batsmen out. There is the bowler; the wicket-keeper—the girl with the pads on—and the rest are fielding."

It was Monica's turn to look astonished. "What, two against one, two, three—ten, eleven! I don't call that a bit fair."

Nat chuckled, and some of the other girls who were sitting around watching and who had overheard, joined in the laughter. Prudence Preston of the Fourth, and the third of the Preston sisters—the three were known at St. Etheldreda's as the "Milestones"—jumped eagerly to her feet. She was a very keen netball player and a dashing little centre. Her eldest sister Pam was the netball captain and goal defender, and both were always on the alert for new recruits for their side.

"Has the new girl decided which games club she is joining, Nat?" she inquired.

Nat shook her head. "She says she knows nothing about either game. But of course, she'll play hockey. Anyone with any sense knows it's the better game."

Prue fired up at once. "Not a bit of it! Netball is a far superior game."

Nat looked supremely incredulous. "How do you make that out? Netball is tame compared with hockey."

"Hockey makes you round-shouldered, so a famous doctor once said."

"Netball's a soft game," Nat countered, adding conclusively: "Look at Allison's black eye last year and the time when Madge Amhurst had a front tooth knocked out. Whoever heard of anyone getting a black eye or black-and-blue ankles at netball! Anyone can last through a thirty minutes' netball match, but you've got to be up to form to last to the end of seventy minutes' gruelling hockey."

Prudence brought up her reserves. "All the same, netball's a superior game. It's more hy-hygienic." She brought out the last word with a visible effort.

Nat's face assumed a perplexed expression. "More—what was the word you used?"

"Hy-hygienic."

Nat shook her head. "Never heard of it." She turned gravely to Glenda, who was standing behind. "You don't happen to have a dictionary with you, Glenda? This Fourth Form youngster is using such extraordinary words."

"Not on the cricket field," Glenda replied, grinning broadly.

Prudence wriggled uneasily. "I'm sure that's the word," she said, though there was a shade of hesitation in her tone. "It means—it means a thing is good for you, keeps you healthy and all that."

Nat shook her head again, then as if seized with a sudden inspiration: "I know what you're trying to say. You mean 'hypothetical,' not 'hygienic.'"

Whether Prue was convinced or not can never be known, for just at that moment there was a shout from the field and Glenda said hurriedly:

"Betty's wicket's down. You're in next, Nat. Hurry up and get your pads on."

Monica did not stay with the spectators long after Nat's departure. Already rumours of the new girl's wicked record had leaked out in the school, and as she sat there alone she was conscious of curious glances cast at her by many of the younger girls, who were also onlookers of the game—of sly nudgings and whisperings in their ranks, whisperings which she knew were about herself. No one spoke to her or came near her, though they all stared hard enough. She had made no friends in her own form during her first week at the school and even her relations with her own study-mate, awkward, blundering Nat, whom she regarded with some contempt since she had discovered her to be the occupant of the lowest seat in the class, did not progress very much; though that, she admitted, was chiefly her own fault.

There wasn't anything very exciting to watch on the cricket field; privately she thought it decidedly slow. Getting abruptly to her feet she strolled off and, fetching a book from her study, sought out a quiet spot in the summer-house by the now deserted tennis lawn and settled down to read in undisturbed tranquillity.

She was not, however, the only one who sought solitude that September afternoon. She had not been reading many minutes before there was the sound of a footstep outside, a shadow darkened the entrance and Allison entered with her book under her arm, intent upon a couple of hours' hard "swotting."

She stopped when she saw the summer-house already occupied.

"Oh, I didn't know there was someone here," she exclaimed. "I thought all the school would be on the field or out for a walk this lovely afternoon. I shall have to find another lonely nook."

There was no response, although any other girl in the school would have at once jumped to her feet and offered to go instead. Allison knew it, but made no remark as she turned to walk away. Then she altered her mind and turned back suddenly, with a quick, keen look at the slight figure of the girl who sat on the seat, with her legs curled under her, and her dark, short hair tumbling about her forehead as she bent again over her book.

"You are the new girl I introduced to the Fifth, Monica Carr, aren't you?"

Monica looked up in surprise at being addressed and a wary look crossed her face. This was the senior girl of the school, she knew. What had she got to say to her? If she was going to begin to preach to her——

"How do you like the Fifth?" Allison asked in quite a friendly tone.

"I haven't thought much about them. They seem very pleased with themselves always," replied Monica calmly.

Allison laughed. "Oh, they are quite a nice lot really, but they've always been looked upon as a model form because they do their lessons conscientiously, so they've become rather self-satisfied. How do you like Nathalie?"

"Nathalie?" Monica stared uncomprehendingly.

"Nat Sandrich. Nathalie's her real name, you know, but it doesn't fit very well."

"All right," replied Monica indifferently.

Now Allison, chancing to meet Nat that morning, had asked her a similar question—how was she getting on with her new study-chum?—and Nat had confessed ruefully that the new girl didn't seem to have the least wish to be really friendly with her.

Allison's next question was rather more unexpected. "And now you've told me what you think of the Fifth, I'm rather anxious to know what the Fifth thinks of you."

"As to that," said Monica in a hard tone, "they had made up their minds about me long before they saw or heard me. My aunt took good care to let the Principal know what a naughty, unmanageable creature I was, so that the girls might have due warning to beware of the dog."

Allison propped her back against the door-post and decided that she could very well spare ten minutes or so from the study of advanced mathematics.

"Yes, I believe it is true that your aunt made no attempt to hide from Miss Julian the fact that you had already been expelled from one school. She could hardly do otherwise. But it is also quite true that Miss Julian did not wish this to be known by the girls themselves and that she wanted you to have a fair opportunity to make a fresh start. It was pure chance that led to the publication of your lurid past. One of the Fifth Form girls had a letter from relatives who had made the acquaintance of your aunt, and from whom they received their information."

Allison paused and once again looked hard at Monica.

"It doesn't matter much how they got their information, does it?" said Monica, flushing up suddenly. "They were ready enough to condemn me before they had even seen me."

"No, you are wrong there," replied Allison with energy. "Of course, they were a bit heated over it at first and not unnaturally objected to a girl with such a bad reputation becoming one of their companions, joining their hitherto select little circle. But Nathalie Sandrich spoke up and said she thought it only sporting to give you a fair chance and to judge you by their own impressions of you, without prejudice. I had come into the room unnoticed and I heard all she said. I think she had in mind a few words Miss Julian said to us the first evening, words which she wanted us to take for our motto this year," and very briefly Allison outlined the Principal's speech. "The rest of the form soon came round to Nat's point of view and agreed to her proposal that they should make no mention of their knowledge of your past when you came, receiving you like any other new girl. It isn't altogether their fault if you snubbed their attempts at making friends and gave them a bad impression of you before you had been here a couple of weeks."

Monica stirred restlessly. "I don't want their friendship," she muttered, then added after a pause: "Besides, from what you say they were all ready to be nasty to me when I arrived—except Nat."

"Well, Nat spoke up for you," said Allison sharply. She went on in a gentler tone: "Nat's a nice kid, even if she does miss important catches at cricket and turn up at school parties with one stocking inside out. You won't come to much harm through her, if she's your friend."

Monica lifted her head with a jerk from the close inspection of the toe she was rubbing into the ground. "If she were my friend I shouldn't care if she turned up at school parties with no stockings on at all," she flared suddenly, and picking up her book she walked out of the summer-house.

Allison looked after her thoughtfully. "Funny kid! I wonder what she meant by that last outburst? Well, I've done my best to square things a bit for Nat, but from the way in which I've heard she plays up in class I don't envy Nat her study-mate."

When Nat came into her study to do her prep that evening—the two senior forms being entrusted with the privilege of doing their prep in their own studies and at their own time—she found Monica seated at the table with exercise-books, ink and pens spread out in front of her, apparently already hard at work.

Nat stared.

"Hallo! Why this unusual industry?" she demanded. "'Tisn't Latin prep to-night and that's the only prep I've seen you tackle in real earnest so far."

Monica looked up. "I have made a resolution," she declared. "At least, I've a new ambition."

"What's that?"

"I'm not going to waste any more time. I'm going to swot hard and I'm coming out top in the next term exam."

Nat sank limply into a chair, overcome with amazement. "Whatever made you think of that?"

"Well," replied Monica, "when I first came I didn't care a toss how long I stayed. I shouldn't have minded if I had been expelled the first day. But I've got a new idea for getting my own back on the sanctimonious Fifth. I'm going to give them a nasty little jolt by beating them all at their own game, so to speak. Nothing I could possibly do will annoy Irene Eames, for instance, as much as being beaten by me."

Nat gazed at Monica in wonder. "That's true enough," she said slowly. "I can't think how you can find out such things so quickly."

"Haven't you any ambitions then?" asked Monica. It was the first time she had sought the other girl's confidence.

"Oh yes, only I don't aim as high as you," Nat admitted ruefully. "I've three ambitions at present. First, to come out anywhere above bottom place in a school exam. I'm so tired of being twitted at home by the boys when my report arrives. It's developed into a sort of family joke. Secondly, to get a place in the hockey first eleven before I leave school. And thirdly, never to darn another stocking in my life."

Monica burst out laughing for the first time since Nat had known her. "Well, they are modest enough," she commented. "I should say the first rests with yourself. As for the second, I don't know anything about hockey. But the last is easy enough. You can pay one of the maids to keep your stockings mended for you, I expect. Now let me get on with my prep. I've quite made up my mind about seeing my name heading the exam list," and nodding her head decisively she bent over her books once more.

CHAPTER V
THE HOCKEY SHIELD

The Sixth and Fifth were holding a meeting in the former's classroom. Madge Amhurst was in the chair—that is to say, she occupied the mistress's dais—-and the rest of the girls found seats at desks or window-sills or on hot-water pipes. The subject under discussion was, they considered, of great importance. Should St. Etheldreda's compete this year for the Secondary and High Schools' Hockey Shield or should they not? The competition was open to any schools in the county, but till now St. Etheldreda's had not entered for it, chiefly because they did not consider themselves capable of raising a team good enough to justify their competing. Madge, who as usual had a good deal to say, was stating the case in favour of entering. Madge, of course, was one of the hockey players.

"It's like this," she was explaining. "Last year most of the Sixth played netball and had no interest at all in the hockey, and we had to draw chiefly on the younger girls for an eleven. It isn't much good putting in a team of youngsters when it's a case of playing some of the best elevens in the county. Nobody minds being beaten in a sporting game, of course, but we didn't want to make sillies of ourselves—expose ourselves to ridicule and all that. But this year the school is in a very different position as regards hockey. The present Sixth, with the exception of Pam, all play hockey and so do a good many of the Fifth. There are also several very promising players in the Fourth. Personally I think we could get up a team good enough to play any other school in the county."

"What does Allison say about it?" asked Deirdre Samways, one of the prefects.

"Allison thinks we've a very good chance. She's in favour of entering."