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."
"Yes, but would she play herself?" asked Glenda. "Everyone knows Allison is far and away the best player we've got, and her presence in the eleven would make all the difference."
"Yes, she said she would love to play, and also promised to turn out to the practices beforehand and help in pulling the team together."
"Let us see what sort of a team we could put in the field," suggested Irene sensibly, for as the school had not yet played any hockey matches with outside teams this term, the membership of the new first eleven had not been finally decided.
Madge, aided by various suggestions from the rest of the assembly, drew up a probable team, and after a good deal of argument it was universally agreed that the team really consisted of first-rate material, every position being filled satisfactorily with one exception, that of goalkeeper.
"That's the weak spot," said Madge ruefully. "Two reliable backs and the best centre-half in the county, but not a single candidate for goalkeeper."
"Who was goalkeeper last season?" asked Pam Preston.
"Ethel Denham, till she left. Then, as no one else would volunteer to fill the vacancy we played three backs. That wouldn't do here."
"Who's the second eleven goalkeeper?"
"A Fourth-former, but she isn't any good except for junior games. She hasn't much idea of clearing quickly or of stopping anything really fast."
The girls looked at one another in perplexity till Deirdre Samways said slowly: "I suppose Pam wouldn't consider playing in goal for the hockey eleven? Don't you remember last year, when the netball pitch was under water, Pam joined us in hockey practices and kicked the ball out for us as if she'd done it all her life? She's our best wicket-keeper too."
All eyes were turned to Pam. Here was an idea!
"If Pam could keep goal at hockey anything like she does at netball!" exclaimed Glenda. "She is as quick as lightning."
"That's all very well," Pam interrupted. "But what about netball matches? If they happened to clash with yours I couldn't be in two places at once."
"Oh, bother the netball!" Madge exclaimed impatiently. "I think it ought to be made a junior game for the smaller ones. Everyone knows it's you Prestons who keep it going. There wouldn't be a team worth calling a team if it weren't for you three."
Here a voice from somewhere behind was heard as a head bobbed up from one of the back row desks. "I've joined the netball team, let me tell you," said Monica loudly.
Nat pulled her down into her seat with a violent jerk at her skirt, saying in a fierce whisper, "Sit down, whippersnapper! Everyone knows you joined the netball club out of sheer contrariness, because practically all the Fifth play hockey."
The Sixth-formers ignored this unseemly interruption as beneath their notice. Several of them were imploring Pam to "think it over."
"Well, I won't refuse right out," said Pam reluctantly at last. "But I won't make any promises. You must give me a day or two to consider."
The meeting finally adjourned upon the decision to enter St. Etheldreda's as a competitor for the shield and it was left to Deirdre Samways, the new captain, to arrange practices with the help of Madge, the club secretary. Madge, beaming with satisfaction, clambered down from her high seat and was in the act of turning to follow Deirdre out of the room when a voice murmured just behind her:
"Excuse me, but is this your handkerchief or is it the blackboard duster?" and Madge turned hastily to behold a slight, dark-haired girl holding out a handkerchief towards her.
"Er-thanks," she replied dryly. "Yes, it is my handkerchief and not the other article you mentioned. I must have dropped it."
She departed with Deirdre, chuckling. "Cheeky little thing, that new girl," she confided to Deirdre, "in spite of her childish look. I wish our pattern Fifth joy of her."
Deirdre pinned upon the notice-board a list of the schools who had entered for the shield, and Nat, with Monica, stopped behind to read the list.
"That's the school at present holding the shield," remarked Nat, pointing to one of the names. "They have won it two years in succession and are entitled to keep it if they win it this year. I believe they are awfully hot stuff."
"Fairhurst Priory," Monica read aloud. "Why, that's the school I was at last term."
"Really!" said Nat, "the school you were ex—Of course, you didn't see them play hockey," she hurriedly altered her sentence. "It was the summer term. Oh dear, I suppose there is prep to be done. I think I'll trot round first and see Ida about the book she's going to lend me."
"Please, not now," said Monica. "I want you to hear me say my Dick II first. I can always learn by heart better when I've someone to hear me say it."
"Bother you and your wretched lessons," grumbled Nat, but nevertheless she followed Monica into their study.
Since Monica's resolution to win the top position she had given little trouble in class and had proved to be the most zealous of pupils during the last fortnight. Miss Andrews, indeed, would have forgiven her a good deal for the sake of her prowess at Latin. Some of the girls wondered how long this enthusiasm for work would last, and if the new girl were really as clever as she intended them to believe—apart from her knowledge of Latin, in which she had evidently been well grounded. Glenda Vaughan shook her head darkly and said: "Wait and see."
Monica had not, however, kept an entirely unblemished conduct sheet, having fallen from grace and scandalized the entire school the previous Sunday. It happened in this way. Personal possessions were not allowed to be left about in the common room and passages under pain of confiscation, and it was one of Madge's prefectorial duties to confiscate any property she found left about in these public places after supper bell had rung. The careless owners, after a preliminary warning, were punished by the exaction of a penny fine from their pocket money, the fines being collected by Madge and placed in the offertory bag at Sunday service.
The girl who had most property confiscated was allotted the task of taking the money to church and placing it in the bag during collection, to make the impression of her forgetfulness deeper, so to speak. This rule had been made to check carelessness and slovenly habits and continual complaints of lost property—though the idea of allotting the task of placing the money in the bag to the chief offender had long ago originated with the prefects themselves.
Sometimes several weeks would pass without a single fine, but this particular week there seemed to have been a perfect epidemic of forgetfulness, and Madge had collected one and twopence in penny fines and handed the money over to Monica on Sunday morning. Monica had dutifully carried the money to church and, on receiving the bag from the girl next to her, had held it in her left hand while she proceeded very deliberately to drop fourteen pennies into it, one at a time. She was among the last to receive the collection bag, and the hymn being a short one, the organist was very softly extemporizing till the collection was finished. Thus the sound of each penny falling with a musical chink into the bag was heard all over the church. There were rustlings and scrapings, as all heads were turned and all eyes focussed on that one particular corner of the congregation, while the girls around had difficulty in restraining their titters as Monica solemnly continued dropping her pennies till the last was safely in. The sidesman at the other end of the row gazed in a kind of mesmerized trance from which he did not arouse himself till Prue, very red in the face, handed the weighty bag back to him.
Until the last girl had filed out of the porch, the school continued to be the centre of attraction to the congregation, who stared at them with far more attention, I am sorry to say, than was given to the retiring choir and clergy. Monica had succeeded in making St. Etheldreda's very conspicuous that day.
Nat, who had been sitting in another row, hastened to place herself at Monica's side when they formed up outside the church for the return journey.
"What you want is a keeper," she said darkly. "I shall never dare trust you away from my side after this. If I had been next to you, you wouldn't have held the bag long enough to drop many pennies in, I can assure you. Prinny will be wild. You'll have to face the music."
Monica made no reply, merely humming aggravatingly a line from Chu Chin Chow, which sounded something like this:
"Chinking, clinking, clinking, chinking,clinking on the ground.Forty thousand pieces——"
"You'll be crying, not singing, by the time Prinny has rolled you in the dust and sat on you," Nat warned her.
"Well, I might have done worse," replied Monica blithely. "I might have made it halfpennies instead of pennies."
After tea the next day Monica was duly sent for by the Principal, and returned a little later to her study. Much to Nat's relief there were no traces of tears.
"What did she say?" she inquired. Monica seized hold of her prep books and, dropping them on the table, sat down.
"Oh, not much after all," she replied briefly. "Now don't talk, there's a good fellow. I want to do an extra French exercise, besides prep."
Nat sighed. "Oh dear, I wish you wouldn't swot so much! You make me feel so lazy," she said.
St. Etheldreda's played their first match for the shield on their own ground a couple of weeks later. As there were quite a number of schools competing and the county was rather a straggling one, the competitors had been divided into two groups, North and South. A defeated team dropped out of the competition, and the two surviving teams—one from each group—met in the Final. It was hoped to finish the tournament before the Christmas vacation, so the matches were hurried on as fast as possible.
St. Etheldreda's had had a good practice the day before the match and Deirdre Samways, having put another player into her place, was watching the team critically and felt really satisfied at the progress the first eleven had made in so short a time. She was still watching the play with close attention when a voice at her elbow remarked in calm, critical tones:
"Your wing player—Irene—isn't bad, but she isn't nearly as good as one of the other Fifth-formers."
Deirdre glanced round. The voice came from a slightly-built girl clad in a brown coat, wearing no hat and with the look of some stray elf or fay, who was standing by her side apparently taking the greatest interest in the play. For a moment Deirdre could not think who she was, then she remembered the queer new girl whose disturbing ways had caused so much talk in the Fifth.
"Whom do you mean?" she asked curiously.
"Nat Sandrich," replied Monica. "She's tremendously fast, and clever too. I can't think how it is she hasn't got a place in the first eleven."
Deirdre was not at all a clever girl. Her interests were chiefly in outdoor pursuits, particularly games, a subject on which she was always willing to talk.
"Why, what do you know about it?" she demanded.
"You see, I'm rather interested in hockey, though I don't play much myself," was the airy reply. "As for the girl I was telling you about—Nat—lots of these crack players I've seen in county matches weren't much better than her."
"County matches?" queried Deirdre eagerly. "What county matches have you seen?"
"Oh, several. And last year at that International game at—let me see, what was the name of the place?"
"Merton Abbey perhaps," interjected the hockey captain.
"Yes, that was it. As I was saying, I really can't think why you overlooked one of the best players in the school," and Monica, shaking her head wonderingly, sauntered off down the field, her hands in her coat pockets, still gazing critically at the twenty-two perspiring players rushing frantically up and down the ground. Deirdre, somewhat impressed, repeated the conversation between herself and Monica Carr to Madge and Pam Preston as they went off together at the end of the practice. (Pam had been persuaded into promising to play for the hockey club in the shield matches.)
Madge burst into a roar of laughter.
"International matches! County matches!" she gasped. "Why, Nat herself told me that the new kid didn't know a hockey stick from a cricket bat and had never bothered to watch a game of hockey in her life. I don't suppose she's even seen Nat play. I'm afraid she was just pulling your leg, Deirdre. She seems the sort that's up to anything."
"Even to cheating in a public exam," added Pam. "Or there was a rumour in the school to that effect at one time. Still, perhaps there wasn't any truth in it."
Deirdre, who was the possessor of an even, placid disposition, only smiled. "But perhaps Nat really is a good player," she said. "She's pretty good at most games, isn't she?"
"Yes, quite," replied Pam. "Only she's generally an unlucky sort of player—falls down or something just at the critical moment."
"Yes," added Madge. "Don't you remember last sports day, how she led all through the obstacle race and at the very last obstacle, when everybody thought she was bound to win, she got stuck while crawling between the rungs of the ladder and could move neither forwards nor backwards? They had to get a hatchet to knock out the spokes before they could release her."
"Of course I remember," replied Deirdre, "especially Nat's face when they appeared with an enormous hatchet. Till then she had been rather pleased at the sensation she was creating," and the three prefects went off laughing at the recollection.
St. Etheldreda's was jubilant at the result of their first match. They gained a victory by three goals to two over a large High School from a neighbouring town of some size. Allison was particularly pleased for, as she pointed out to the other Sixth-formers in the eleven, this early triumph would give the team both enthusiasm and confidence. She also declared it was her belief that this was the best team the school had ever produced.
The only fly in the ointment was the attitude of the netball partisans, many of whom were very indignant at Pam's inclusion in the team, and although they themselves had had no match that afternoon they had shown their resentment by refusing to appear on the field as spectators and supporters.
A week after this match Nat was alone in her study busily writing letters when there came a tap on the door and Madge, who was accompanied by Allison, looked in.
"There you are, Nat," she said. "I just called to say that you are down as reserve for the match next Saturday. We are playing away, you know. It will be all right for you, won't it?"
Nat nodded. "Yes, I can come, of course," she replied. It was not the first time she had been picked for the rather unenviable position of reserve in first eleven matches.
"Thanks," said Madge. Then, her glance wandering round the room, she exclaimed: "Jumping Jehoshaphat, what have you been doing to your study!"
"'Jumping Jehosaphat,' exclaimed Madge, 'what have you been doing to your study!'""'Jumping Jehosaphat,' exclaimed Madge, 'what have you beendoing to your study!'"
Her curiosity aroused by Madge's exclamation, Allison also entered and gazed around. All the walls were covered with what appeared to be large notices, the words of which were printed in big, clear lettering, so that even a short-sighted person could not fail to read them easily. Madge turned from one wall to the other, reading aloud:
"After the gerundive the agent or doer is expressed by the dative case."
"When the English verbal noun is intransitive it is translated by the Latin gerund, when transitive by the gerundive."
"To is à before a town, en before a country."
"Verbs which take an infinitive without a preposition—aller, désirer, daigner——"
She broke off her reading to exclaim: "My goodness! What's the idea, Nat? Is this what they call the Montessori system? I didn't know you were as keen as this on educating yourself."
"It isn't me at all," replied Nat lugubriously and ungrammatically. "You don't imagine I should decorate the place in this way, do you? It's my new study-mate, Monica Carr. She spends all her odd minutes writing out these rules and hints, and when they've been up about a week a fresh lot takes their place. She says she's bound to learn them when she's always staring at them. The trouble isI'vegot to stare at them too. Sometimes I sit here for half an hour at a time with my eyes shut."
"And you are trying to write home too, aren't you?" sympathized Madge. "You'll be putting isosceles for sausage, and parallel for pudding, and tangent for tangerine, and ending up 'Cordialement à vous' instead of 'Heaps of love'!"
Allison was smiling. "So it's the new girl, then, that's so keen on learning?" she said.
"Well, you see, she's made up her mind she's coming out top of the exams this term. She wants to crow over the Fifth, and she seems a person who can be very obstinate when she gets an idea into her mind. There's French and Latin on one wall, as you see, and maths on the second. That's the last theorem we've learnt, also the formula for arithmetical progression or something of that sort. The third wall is devoted to history and geography. Everywhere I go now I see '1832, the Reform Bill' dancing before my eyes, and when I shut them it's even plainer."
"You poor soul!"
"Yes," continued Nat, who seemed to find it a relief to air her grievances. "She took down my pictures, and when I protested she said that she wouldn't have done so if they had been Raphaels or Rubens, but as they were only pictures of dogs, and extremely ugly ones at that, it didn't matter much. I had three very nice ones, a St. Bernard, a bulldog and a bloodhound."
Madge shuddered. "I shouldn't think it's very jolly to sit looking at the picture of a bloodhound all the evening, either," she murmured.
"The other girls have nicknamed this study the Chamber of Horrors," continued Nat, "and wherever I go they sympathize with me. I'm getting so tired of it. But A. A. doesn't mind in the least."
"A. A.?" questioned Allison.
"That's Monica's new nickname. The Ablative Absolute they call her, because she's such a dab at Latin and picks out ablative absolutes with unerring instinct. Sometimes when we're about together they call us 'Accusative and Infinitive.' I object very strongly to being called an Infinitive."
"You'll survive it," said Madge consolingly, and Allison remarked: "I hope you don't find her too unbearable?"
"Oh no. We're not really bad friends at all. I can't say I liked her at first; she was so hard and unfriendly. But somehow we get on better now. I suppose we've got used to each other. At times I really find myself quite liking her."
"Then she can't be such a desperate character after all," declared Madge. "Only bad in spots perhaps."
"Like the rest of us," added Allison. "Come along, Madge. We really must be going." She nodded good-bye to Nat. "I'm so glad you two are on better terms. Only don't follow her example and work too hard, Nat."
"Couldn't if I tried," replied Nat as the two seniors departed.
Five minutes later Monica came in.
"There's a netball match on Saturday," she announced, "and I'm playing in the team. Centre-attack—though I'm not quite sure where that is. Pam's playing hockey and two others of the team are laid up with very bad colds, so they are rather hard up for players. They don't want to have a team composed entirely of youngsters, so they've called upon me to assist them in their difficulty."
"They must be in a bad way," was Nat's unflattering comment.
"That's what I told them. But Ida, who is captaining the team in Pam's absence, said I was quick and could jump, and that was pretty well all that was necessary in netball. She and Prue are awfully wild with Pam for deserting them, as they call it. What about you? Have they asked you to captain the team on Saturday?"
"No," sadly, "I'm not in it. Still, they've put me down as reserve, so I shall be able to go with the team and see the match. You also get a free tea. I know this school—last year they gave us doughnuts and cream buns."
"Well now," said Monica disgustedly, "and after all the fibs I told Deirdre Samways! My imagination strained to its furthest capacity for nothing!"
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. You'd be shocked at all the stories I told on your behalf. Will you hear me say this theorem, to see if I can truthfully put Q.E.D. at the end, please?" and the discussion on netball and hockey was dropped for more serious subjects.
Saturday turned out cold and dry, an ideal day for hockey. The St. Etheldreda's eleven, feeling thoroughly fit and keen, set out in good time to catch the train that was to carry them to the field of action. As Irene and Glenda, two of the last to leave, were walking down the drive towards the gates, a hurrying, panting figure emerged from the house and caught them up before they were out of the school premises. It was Monica.
"Oh, Irene!" she gasped. "Miss Bennett—wants to see you—about something rather important—won't keep you—two minutes."
Irene turned round in surprise. "Whatever does Benny want me for?" she said. "Doesn't she know I'm catching this train?"
"Yes. But she said she wouldn't keep you more than two minutes," the messenger repeated.
"Right-oh! Suppose I must go. You walk on, Glenda, and I'll catch you up afterwards. Luckily we've plenty of time."
Glenda nodded. "Don't run it too close," she warned. "You don't want to miss the train."
"Pas de danger," replied Irene as she turned and hurried back into the school. Monica preceded her into the corridor that led to the Annexe. "This way," she said. "Benny came to your study to look for you, and when I told her you'd just left for the station and offered to run after you she said she'd wait for you there to save time. She didn't want to run any risk of your missing the train."
As she finished they arrived at the door of the study which Irene shared with Glenda, and without pausing Irene hurriedly pushed it open and entered.
She gazed round in anger and astonishment. "Why, she isn't here!" Barely had the words left her lips before there was the slam of a door behind her, and though she sprang round like a flash, the key turned in the lock a second before she could seize the handle and wrench the door open. In vain she tugged and shook it.
"Let me out, you little wretch!" she cried furiously. "This is one of your abominable tricks, I suppose."
There was a chuckle from the other side of the door. "'Will you come into my parlour?' said the spider to the fly," Monica sang softly and aggravatingly.
Irene banged upon the door and even kicked it in a most unladylike manner, "What have you done this for?" she demanded hotly. "Let me out at once or I shall never catch my train."
Again came that aggravating chuckle. "That's exactly what I don't want you to do," Monica replied. "Then Nat will get a look in. Don't you think it clever of us to work it out so beautifully? It isn't a bit of good banging on the door or shouting from the window. There's no one anywhere about. I looked to see before I came after you. The girls have all gone out to hockey or netball or for walks, and Miss Cazalet, the only mistress whose room is near, has gone with the hockey team, as you know. As for the window, it overlooks the kitchen garden and I'm sure there's nobody there now."
Irene glanced round in despair. According to the little clock ticking loudly on the mantel-piece it would take her all her time to catch the train even if she were released immediately. She went to the window and shouted, but there was no one in sight; her cry was apparently heard only by a few straggling cabbages below, so she returned to the door and resumed her fruitless pounding. There was no response to her calls and bangings. Evidently Monica had gone.
More than half an hour elapsed before Irene escaped from her prison.
A Second Form youngster on an errand to one of the dormitories heard her and, greatly surprised, released her by turning the kev which was in the lock on the outside.
Irene had the traditional quick temper which accompanies red hair. On being released she made a bee-line for Monica's study, but, as was to be expected, it was empty. For a minute or so she stood in the middle of the little room, struggling to control the wave of anger and indignation that shook her. Her gaze travelled slowly round the room, passed over the dreadful notices that covered the walls, and finally rested on a letter lying on the mantelpiece and addressed in very black square handwriting to Miss M. Carr.
Irene picked it up and turned it over. The envelope had been torn open and she could catch a glimpse of the letter inside, written in the same black, square caligraphy. Till now, Irene, though of a hot-tempered, rather jealous disposition, sometimes doing and saying things in the heat of the moment which she afterwards regretted, had never been tempted to do anything actually dishonest. She hesitated as she turned the envelope over, but the temptation was overwhelming. In another moment she had pulled out the letter, opened it and was swiftly scanning the written lines:
"Dear Monica (it ran),
"You mustn't be surprised to hear from me, for I promised when you left I would write, and when I heard you were at St. Etheldreda's from one of the girls who has a young cousin there I just made up my mind I would write straight away.
"How on earth did you get into a school like St. Etheldreda's? This girl who has a cousin there says they are a dreadfully goody-goody lot. Did they know you were expelled from Fairhurst? Couldn't have done, I suppose. What a joke on them! Do write and tell me about it. You ought, you know, for I was the only girl here who would chum up with you. We were the two black sheep together, weren't we, though I would never dare do half the naughty things you did quite openly, for fear of being found out. Secretly I admired your audacity and defiance enormously. I am in the Lower Fifth now, so I have to be a lot more sedate and proper. People will soon begin to think I am quite a model character. What form are you in?
"Do you realize we are still in the same county, and what is more our schools are both competing for the Hockey Shield? If we both knock out all the teams in our respective districts we may meet in the Final. Doesn't that make you smile? I think St. Etheldreda's stands a very good chance of winning that shield. You defeated Stavely High School, I saw, and they are as good as any school in this county. We played them in a friendly game a fortnight ago and only drew.
"Do you still hate rules and regulations and persons in authority as much as ever? If you are the same as you were here, don't you think it would be fun to put a little spoke in their wheel—I mean, in St. Etheldreda's hopes of winning the shield? I know how clever you are and how full of ideas always. I should love to see if you could pull it off—I know I couldn't.
"Write and tell me what you think of this idea. Also please write soon.
"Your one-time friend,"Lilian."
Irene sniffed audibly as she finished reading. "What a precious pair of correspondents!" she thought. Then once again temptation seized her. Wasn't this document worth keeping? By showing it she could also show up Monica Carr's character pretty thoroughly, should it ever be necessary. As for its being a mean trick, hadn't Monica just played the meanest of tricks upon her! Again the temptation proved overwhelming. Irene slipped both the envelope and the letter into her pocket and walked out of the room.
It was evening before the hockey team returned. When Nat pushed open her study door, Monica was ensconsed comfortably in the wicker easy-chair, for once neglecting her lesson books. She looked up as Nat entered, threw her book on the table and inquired eagerly: "Well, how did you get on? Did you win?"
Nat shut the door behind her and leaned her back against it. She looked very big and strong in her sports' tunic. After a moment she demanded in uncompromising tones: "Why did you lock Irene in her study, so that she missed her train?"
Monica tossed back her short locks with a little defiant gesture that was characteristic of her.
"To prevent her playing in the match, of course. I wanted you to get a chance of playing, as you were the reserve. Did you play?"
"Yes, I played," replied Nat slowly, adding in a tone Monica had never yet heard from her: "Did you expect me to thank you?"
Monica looked at her, startled. Never before had she seen easy-going, sweet-tempered Nat look so coldly scornful and indignant.
"We wondered what on earth Miss Bennett wanted to see her for," Nat continued. "We thought it such a shame when the train arrived and there was still no sign of Irene, and we had to go on without her. Deirdre told me I should have to play in her place. Naturally I was pleased. Here was my opportunity at last, and I told myself I meant to make the most of it. I played up with all my might and for once I didn't distinguish myself by doing anything silly. We won three—one, and two of our goals were scored by Madge off my centres.
"When it was over Allison told me that I had played up splendidly and you can't think how pleased I was. I was patting myself on the back all the way home. Then, when we got back to St. Etheldreda's there was Irene ever so angry, with the story of being locked in by a trick. She even thought, from something you said, that it was planned between us so that I could get into the eleven. Luckily, Allison and most of the others believed me when I said I knew nothing about it.
"Do you think I felt so jubilant after that? Do you really think I wanted to win a place in the eleven by making use of a mean trick like that? I would rather a hundred times never have played. It wasn't playing the game at all," Nat finished up, with a final outburst of indignation.
Monica had made no attempt to interrupt her, nor did she speak when Nat finished. She merely went slowly to the bookshelf and, taking down several books and a bottle of ink, placed them on the table. Her small, delicately-cut features were set in a hard, frozen look. Nat's temper flared up in a final spurt.
"And I'm not going to hear you say your Latin verbs nor your Dick II, so you needn't waste your breath asking me. I'm going to finish my prep in Ida's study," and collecting the books she required, she stumped out of the room with the air of one shaking its dust off her feet. Left alone, Monica stared immovably at her lesson books for quite five minutes; then, pushing them on one side, she returned to her easy-chair.
The Fifth did not quite know whether they were enjoying themselves or not. Last year's Fifth Form would have had no doubts at all about the matter, but the present Fifth were on the whole a law-abiding set. Thrilled, however, they certainly were.
The morning had commenced with Latin. The girls appeared tired and little inclined to rouse themselves to great efforts; probably they were still feeling the effects of the recent strenuous match and the celebrations which followed the victory. Glenda, who had no great love for Latin in her best moments, was frequently occupied in tenderly rubbing a painful bruise on her left leg and consequently missed a good deal of Miss Andrews' exposition on semi-deponent verbs. Miss Andrews had no sympathy whatever with hockey and its after effects; but her gentle, dreamy temperament often found it difficult to be as severe and strict as she thought necessary.
"Really, girls," she remonstrated, as one after another failed to grapple successfully with the examples and exercises in their books. "You seem to have left your brains still asleep on your pillow when you got up this morning. Monica," calling upon her favourite Latin pupil, "show the rest of the class what can be done by means of a little concentration."
Monica picked up her book and with the most careless air imaginable made an even worse attempt than any of the previous ones. Poor Miss Andrews stared in bewilderment as her model pupil stammered and hesitated, making the wildest and most ludicrous guesses.
"That will do, Monica," she said stiffly. "I do not think you are trying in the least. This exercise must be done again by the class to-night, as returned work."
The Fifth sighed with relief when the bell announced the end of the period. They aroused themselves to pay better attention to Miss Moore's English lesson, which came next and which luckily presented no great difficulties. When the last period arrived Miss Bennett, the energetic, announced that she would give them an impromptu test on their history preparation and the Fifth, with rough note-books and pencils in front of them, settled down to write brief answers to the questions hurled at them in quick succession. Then books were exchanged and the girls corrected each other's answers, afterwards handing back the books to their owners. In order of form, the girls then called out the results of their work. These proved to be fairly satisfactory till it was the last girl's turn, and the Fifth held their breath as Monica said calmly: "None, Miss Bennett."
Miss Bennett looked as if she could hardly believe her ears. Never in al her experience had a senior girl failed to answer a single question in a test on prepared work.
"Bring your rough book to me, Monica," she ordered and as Monica obeyed, Glenda, who had marked it, turned red to the tips of her ears. The page which Monica presented to Miss Bennett was destitute of anything in the way of history answers, but was decorated instead with a sketch representing a grim-looking female with turned-down mouth, clad in academic gown and seated at a desk, and possibly, though there wasn't much facial resemblance, intended to be Miss Bennett herself. Underneath was printed an inscription, which ran as follows:
"Elle est plaine de bong tay."
Miss Bennett was a very different person to deal with from the meek, dreamy Miss Andrews. She ignored the drawing and asked sternly:
"Why did you not attempt to answer the questions?"
"I couldn't do them," Monica replied.
"Why couldn't you do them? The questions were on work set for your preparation."
"I didn't do the preparation."
Miss Bennett tapped impatiently on the desk with her fingers. "But why didn't you do the preparation? If you were unwell, or had any other reasonable excuse, why didn't you come to me and tell me so?"
Monica gazed doggedly at the floor. "I hadn't an excuse," she muttered. "I didn't do the prep because I didn't want to."
Miss Bennett looked again at the paper on her desk, and perhaps it was the sight of the sketch that hardened her heart. "Go to your study, Monica," she said sharply, "and stay there till you are told you may leave. Take your history book and learn the work which you have not prepared."
When Monica had departed Miss Bennett turned to the class. "Which girl shares Monica's study?"
"I do, Miss Bennett," replied Nat.
"Will you please find room in one of the other studies for the time being, Nathalie? I do not wish any girl to hold communication with Monica for the present. Of course, if you have books or anything in the study which you require, you may fetch them."
The bell at twelve-thirty announced the end of the morning's lessons.
"What a gay morning we have had!" said Ida. "It isn't much good trying to play Benny up, is it?"
"I thought all that industry was too great to last," observed Glenda sagely. "Even poor Miss Andrews had a shock. Monica Carr won't get to the top of the class if she refuses to do her prep when she thinks it too much trouble."
Irene said nothing, but she knew that she was hoping Monica would remain long in this difficult mood of defiance, so that her work might suffer. Secretly, Irene had already begun to feel that this new girl, who seemed so quick and ready in many ways, was a rival to be feared; one who might possibly succeed in wrenching the coveted laurels from her. She thought of the purloined letter upstairs, locked in her own writing-case, and wondered if Monica had sought for it very long.
"What was on the page that made Benny look so sour, Glenda?" someone was asking, and at Glenda's description of the drawing and inscription the Fifth went out chuckling. It certainly was rather funny, they decided.
Probably the most uncomfortable girl in the Fifth that day was Nat, though she could not have accounted for this strange feeling. It was not entirely because she was shut out of her own study. During the dinner hour she did not go near the room, neither did Monica appear at the dinner table. Her dinner was sent to her, so evidently she ate her meal in silent loneliness.
That evening, however, Nat and the Fifth had other things to think of besides their own particular black sheep and her delinquencies. Miss Julian and Miss Bennett were taking them to a large neighbouring town, where a good-class travelling company were giving a performance of one of the Shakespearean plays that the Fifth and Sixth were studying that year—"A Midsummer Night's Dream." Monica would have gone with the rest had she behaved herself that day, but now she was left behind. Considering this a sufficient punishment for her misdemeanours, Miss Bennett informed Monica just before the party set out that she was at liberty to leave the study and follow her ordinary pursuits.
After Miss Bennett had gone Monica still sat reading, but by half-past seven she had finished her book. It was an exciting story, and for a little while she had lost herself in its contents. Now she put it aside, and gazing round the study she realized suddenly and overwhelmingly how quiet and lonely it was. For some minutes she sat brooding, but the silence and loneliness became more than she could bear, and springing to her feet she hurried out into the passage. How quiet it was in that part of the house; not a single sound could be heard from any of the studies, not a single crack of light shone from under their doors!
Very soon, Monica reflected, the Fifth and Sixth would be enjoying themselves at the theatre, laughing at the funny antics of Bottom and his fellow-artisans. Well, she, Monica, could make her own fun. Walking to the end of the corridor she heard the sound of voices in the common room. It would be the lower forms, just released from prep in their classrooms. During the winter months their prep hours were from five-thirty to seven-thirty, and from then till half-past eight they were free to do what they pleased. She would join them. The Fourth were a lively set, not nearly as stodgy as the conscientious Fifth.
It appeared that the netball champions of the Fourth and Third had called a meeting of their supporters. Pam's two independent younger sisters had never approved of their sister's inclusion in the hockey eleven—especially Prue, the youngest. She was particularly indignant just now because the netball club had arranged their most important fixture for a date in the near future, and Pam had informed them that she would be unable to play, as St. Etheldreda's would be engaged in their third shield match on that very same day. Prue and the other netballites considered that they had just cause for grievance.
As Monica quietly entered the room and took a seat, Prue was in the act of declaiming loudly: "No Preston was ever content to sit down with folded arms and, like Mr. Micawber, wait for something to turn up. Words are of no use. Have we not protested in vain? No, we have got to show them how much we resent it."
Monica's eyes brightened. The evening need not be so dull, after all! The opportunity for a little fun was there in front of her. She had only to grasp it. She rose to her feet and walked forward.
"As one of netball's most enthusiastic exponents," she interrupted—this was hardly true, but Prue and her friends were too much impressed by the long words to trouble about their accuracy—"may I address a few words to the meeting?"
Prue hesitated. The new girl was reputed to be a bit "queer." But, after all, she had joined the netball club in spite of the fact that practically all the Fifth played hockey. She had also played in the last netball match and had not acquitted herself badly, beyond breaking most of the rules in the game through ignorance or over-excitement. Prue mentally recalled Monica's part in the match. Yes, she had certainly been pulled up by the referee for running with the ball once or twice, for holding it longer than three seconds, for getting offside and once for inadvertently kicking the ball. On the other hand she had been extremely quick in running and jumping to intercept the ball, had held her passes well, and passed quite accurately herself, and had seemed to enjoy the game thoroughly once she had got into it.
"Right you are," said Prue, jumping down from the chair on which she was standing. "Fire away."
"I don't want to say much—just two or three words," replied Monica modestly, then lowering her voice she added in grave tones: "Has it ever occurred to you what is the real object of the seniors?"
Her audience stared at Monica in perplexity.
"No. What do you mean?" from Prue.
"Well, being a senior myself," Monica continued solemnly, "I naturally hear more about their point of view than you girls in lower forms. I think they are working with the idea of making netball entirely subsidiary to hockey—just a form of exercise for the very youngest girls in the school—or even to abolish it altogether. They intend to make hockey the winter game of the school, and everybody above, say, the Second Form will be compelled to play it."
The netballites looked at each other in horror. Prue shook with indignation. "I shouldn't be surprised in the least if you are right," she declared. "All the more reason why we should do something to show we are not going to be put down so easily. Can anyone suggest a plan?"
No one could, though all agreed emphatically—if vaguely—that something ought to be done. After a short silence a few tentative suggestions were put forward, but rejected as not being suitable or feasible. Finally the meeting came to an end with the resolution that another should be called in a day or two's time to see if fresh ideas were forthcoming—the members to rack their brains well in the meanwhile.
Prue left the room arm-in-arm with her chief friend, lively Meggie Mellows. Monica caught them up outside, laying her hand on Prue's shoulder.
"I say, Prue, I have an idea. Would you like to hear it?"
Prue nodded eagerly.
"Suppose we were to take all their hockey sticks and hide them," was Monica's suggestion. "Think what a stew they would all be in! If the sticks didn't turn up before match day we could promise to find them on condition that Pam played in the netball match, instead of the hockey match. It is quite easy to get hold of the sticks. They are all kept in the gym room."
Prue's eyes began to sparkle. Then her face fell. "Yes, but where could we hide them so they couldn't be found? Short of digging a hole in the garden and burying them—and for that we've neither the time nor the tools—where could we put them? They'll search everywhere, every nook and corner."
Monica bent forward and whispered earnestly in the ears of the other two girls. When she had finished, Meggie was giggling and Prue smiling broadly.
"It might work," Prue admitted. "They might not think of looking there. Anyway, it's rather a lark."
"Who's going to do it?" asked Meggie. "One alone can't carry all the sticks."
"I should think we three would be sufficient," replied Monica. "The fewer in the secret the better. I shouldn't tell the other girls. A secret shared by so many would cease to be a secret, you know."
"That's true," agreed Prue. "I'll go and get the key while the staff are still at dinner. I know just where it hangs in Miss Cazalet's room, 'cause I've fetched it for her more than once. You can skirmish around and see that there's no one hanging about near the gym room. With all the Fifth and Sixth away it's an opportunity we shan't get again."
The gym room, which was situated at the back of the building, was plunged in darkness Meggie switched on the light at one end, and by the time Prue had joined them, holding up the key in triumph, she and Monica had noiselessly piled all the hockey sticks and pads they could find into three heaps on the floor. Meggie had also found three balls, one used for practices, the other two kept for matches. Each burdened with a heavy load, the three conspirators slipped out of the door that led from the gym room into the garden behind and vanished in the shadows. Ten minutes later they reappeared, and joining the girls who belonged to the indoor games club, played draughts or ludo in the library with serene and innocent faces till the supper bell rang.
While this dark deed was being planned and carried out at school, the innocent victims were enjoying themselves thoroughly at the theatre. The only one whose thoughts were not given wholly to the play was Nat, and though she laughed as heartily as the rest when Bottom was "translated" into an ass, she could not keep herself from constantly wondering how the black sheep of the form was spending her lonely evening. The part of Puck was taken by a young girl, and somehow the slight, graceful little figure darting to and fro in the dimness of the stage, bent on impish mischief, reminded Nat of Monica. Many times she had seen the cold, unfriendly expression of her little face soften and sparkle with just that look of impish roguery. She pictured her sitting alone in the study all the evening, with the hard, bored look on her small features, little dreaming that while the real Puck was busy laying traps for unsuspecting mortals on the stage, the other was similarly occupied at school.
The curtain descended on the happily united lovers, rose again for the "tedious brief scene" of young Pyramus and his love Thisbe, and descended for the last time on Puck's good night to his audience. Laughing and chattering, blinking and yawning, the party of schoolgirls caught the last train home, and by the time they entered the gates of St. Etheldreda's the clock in the steeple of the parish church was striking half-past eleven—an extraordinary time for St. Etheldreda's girls to be out of their beds.
"Hot cocoa and sandwiches will be served in the library, girls," said Miss Julian, smiling at all the bright, happy faces round her, as they trooped into the hall. "Then I shall expect you all to get to bed and to sleep as quickly and with as little noise or commotion as possible. No chattering in the dormitories, mind."
There was a chorus of promises of obedience to the Principal's wishes; and when the cocoa and sandwiches had been disposed of round the still glowing fire in the library there was a general movement for bed. As Nat was on her way upstairs she slipped into the passage on to which the studies opened, intending to fetch a pair of indoor shoes which she had left in her room. To her amazement a shaft of light shone beneath the door. Had Monica forgotten to switch off the light before leaving? Had it been overlooked by the mistress who made her nightly round to see that no lights were left burning? Hurriedly she pushed open the door, and gave a gasp of amazement to find the room occupied.
Monica sat there, huddled up in a chair, with her elbows propped on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring fixedly at the opposite wall and apparently lost in thought—or dreams. On the table in front of her lay what looked like an oblong piece of cardboard, but at second glance proved to be a picture or photograph.
"Whatever are you doing here?" exclaimed Nat. "Why aren't you in bed?"
As Nat spoke Monica turned the photograph over, so that it lay face downwards.
"I did go up when bed bell went," she explained. "I was the only one in the dormitory, and it seemed so queer and lonely that after Miss Moore had come round and put out the lights I crept down here again, and read until I heard you come in. I was just going upstairs again."
"It was rather a shame, being the only one left out of it," Nat agreed. Then, touched by Monica's forlorn words and look, she added impulsively: "I say, I'm sorry I made such a fuss over that business about Irene and the hockey match. I expect I sounded an awful prig. Let's forget it, shall we? I'd much rather be in my own study with you—even with all those horrible things on the walls—than pushing myself in with other girls who don't really want me, nice though they are about it, and where there isn't room for my big feet."
Monica made no reply. She had picked up the piece of cardboard from the table and was unconsciously twisting and turning it between her fingers, her head lowered so that her face could not be seen. In the bright electric light Nat saw a tear splash on the polished surface of the little table.
"I say," she exclaimed, alarmed. "You're never crying, are you? Don't you feel well, or something?"
Monica looked up, blew her nose vigorously and laughed, though her eyelashes were wet. "No, I'm not crying," she averred, "and I don't feel in the least ill. All the same, I'm glad I shall have somebody to talk to to-morrow. It was miserable sitting here alone all day."
"That's all right then," said Nat cheerfully, "and now hurry up and come along to bed, or we'll get into a row." She switched off the light and in another minute they had gained the dormitory, where the rest of its occupants, tired and sleepy, were already tumbling into bed. Nat saw Monica into her cubicle, then nodded a cheery good-night and pulled back the curtains over the entrance. Monica drew out the photograph she had tucked under her arm, looked at it and sighed. Then she dropped it into one of her drawers, pulled off her clothes and slipped into bed a second before Miss Bennett looked in at the dormitory door, said, "Good-night all," and switched off the light. In spite of that sigh, Monica dropped off to sleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow. The pleasant recollection of Nat's cheerful face and wide smile as she pulled back the curtain was her last mental vision before she lost consciousness.
Nat was not so lucky. A tiresome knot in a string delayed her nearly five minutes, with the result that she had to finish undressing in the dark, finally falling to sleep blissfully unaware that the stockings she had pulled off and aimed at the chair at random had, instead of finding their true destination, dropped with uncanny precision into the water jug and its liquid contents.
The next day was wet, so that the girls were obliged to amuse themselves indoors in their recreation time. Consequently there was no hockey practice, but it was not long before someone noticed the absence of the sticks from their accustomed place in the corner of the gym, half a dozen girls of the Fifth and Sixth, who were considered old enough to use the apparatus without the supervision of a mistress, having enjoyed themselves there that afternoon.
When it was realized that the sticks really had been spirited away by some mysterious agency and that nobody had the least idea where they were, there was a considerable sensation in the ranks of the hockey club members.
"Can it be burglars?" one Fourth-former suggested. "They might have broken into the school during the night."
"Burglars? Nonsense!" replied Madge briskly. "What burglar would bother to break into a place just to steal a pile of old hockey sticks! No, somebody has hidden them for a lark."
"But who?" demanded Deirdre. "And where?"
The group of girls in the gym room looked at each other in perplexity.
"It's my opinion," Irene said shrewdly, "that some of the netball girls have done it to annoy us. You know how indignant they were because Pam consented to play for us."
This was voted the most sensible suggestion yet proffered.
"If that's so, then Prue Preston knows something about it," Deirdre declared. "She's the ringleader of the Fourth."
"Yes," added Irene, "and it was done while all the seniors were at the play, depend upon it."
Some of the girls departed to see if they could learn anything from the Fourth or Third, while the rest scattered far and wide to search every spot where the sticks might possibly be hidden. Half an hour later they drifted back to the gym room to report failure in every direction. The Fourth and Third Forms, not to mention the Second, had stoutly denied all knowledge of the missing sticks, and seemed as genuinely surprised at their disappearance as the seniors themselves, though the netball players seemed amused at the news. As for Prue Preston, everybody affirmed that she had been with the rest of the Fourth all the evening after prep time, first in the common room at a meeting and then playing draughts with the indoor games club. Monica Carr had also been with them.
Tea bell put an end to the search, but it is to be feared that the prep of many of the Sixth and Fifth suffered that night from lack of the usual time and care bestowed upon it. Girls gathered in groups in each other's studies, still discussing the mystery and suggesting hiding-places, but all efforts proved fruitless. One or two lucky girls, who had not put their sticks back in their proper places after the last game, still retained possession of them, but two people alone could not play hockey and until the rest of the sticks turned up there could be neither practice nor match.
The second day was also wet, and Madge and Deirdre organized a thorough search of the whole premises, resolving that should the sticks be anywhere within the school bounds they should be unearthed.
The end of the search found a hot, dusty, tired and short-tempered band of hunters. No success had rewarded their efforts, and to add to their humiliation, numbers of smiling netball players had followed them everywhere, offering various absurd suggestions and displaying obvious delight in their quandary.
"I don't believe they are hidden in the school," Madge declared. "Is there any place we haven't searched? Of course, we can't go poking our noses into mistresses' rooms—but then, they can't be there. Did you search the boxrooms thoroughly?"
Two exceedingly grubby and dusty Fifth-formers stoutly affirmed that they had looked into every box and trunk—even the hatboxes—and that not a spider nor a cobweb had escaped their sharp eyes. Glenda, Irene and several others had searched all the dormitories, examining wardrobes and doors and peering under the beds. Madge had even inquired of the kitchen staff if they had seen any traces of the sticks in their domains, and had been informed with cheerful smiles that no one had seen them since the gym room had last been swept.
"I hope," Madge added, with a gallant attempt to be frivolous, "the cook didn't think I was accusing her of having designs on our sticks for firewood, or even for serving up in the stews!"
No one laughed, however. The matter was too serious.
"What annoys me most," said Glenda stormily, "is that crowd of netballites following us round with broad grins on their faces. I'm quite sure they know something about it, in spite of their denials. I searched their cubicles well, but with no results. After all, you can't hide a score of hockey sticks in any nook or cranny—or even one stick, for that matter."
Nat and Monica were there, both having been as indefatigable in the search as anyone. Monica was humming a tune from the Mikado under her breath, and now and again breaking into words:
"Here's a how-de-do,Here's a pretty state of things!"
Then Deirdre arrived on the scene and reported that she had bearded the lion in his den—the lion being the head gardener and groundsman, a particularly surly and cross-grained person—and had even persuaded him to unlock the gardener's shed and allow her to go inside.
"We looked in the bicycle shed," concluded Deirdre. "As for the garden, they weren't hidden under the winter greens, which are about all there is growing in it this time of the year, and Baines got quite annoyed when I suggested they had been buried in the soil, and said nobody had been digging in his garden unbeknown to him and we needn't look forward to a spring crop of hockey sticks!"
"The flowers that bloom in the spring, tra-la,Have nothing to do with the case!"
hummed Monica, breaking into a new tune. Nat seized her by the arm and pulled her into the passage.
"Look here, you imp of mischief," she said in a fierce whisper. "I believe you're at the bottom of the whole affair. You were here while we went to the play. Tell me, where have you hidden them?"
"Nowhere," retorted Monica, "they aren't hidden, at all." Pulling her arm away she walked off, singing softly: "Beautiful Mabel, would if I could, but I am not able," and leaving Nat to stare after her and rub her nose in greater perplexity than ever.
During the whole of that October week it rained continuously—as it not unfrequently does in October—and the girls were obliged to remain indoors most of the time. In addition to this, Miss Cazalet, the games and drill mistress, was confined to her room with an attack of influenza. So the members of the staff were not surprised at there being no hockey practices and were not aware of the mysterious disappearance of the hockey sticks; while the girls, both because they preferred to tackle their own problems and also because they did not like to be made to look ridiculous, did not carry any complaints to them about it.
They knew now that it was the work of the netball players, or some of them, for the morning following the search, Madge had found in her study a dirty, begrimed sheet of paper, with the following message inscribed on it in straggling, printed characters:
IF THE NETBALL KAPTANE WILL PROMISS TO PLAY FOR HER TEEM IN THE NEXT MACHE THE MISSING ARTIKLES WILL BE FOUND.
SINED—ONE WHO NOES.
P.S. SHE MUST RITE HER NAME IN THE TEEM ON THE NOTISS-BORD.
The Fifth and Sixth surveyed this illiterate epistle with disgust.
"It's positively childish, writing such nonsense to us," declared Madge. "Anyone would think we were kids in the Second Form, whose favourite recreation was playing at Red Indians. I am convinced this is the work of that harum-scarum young sister of yours, Pam."
Pam herself, who in her time had been one of the biggest pickles in the school and who even now, when she had attained the dignity of the Sixth, regarded life more or less as a joke, chuckled delightedly.
"Shouldn't be surprised. She's just like I was when I was her age. Mischievous lot of young imps!"
That week was decidedly a trying one for all those in authority. Never had the Fifth prepared their work in such a careless, slovenly manner; never had the Third and Fourth been more restless and inattentive and brimming over with mischief. Even the select little band of Sixth-formers, never noted for over-working themselves, seemed to have caught some of the prevailing atmosphere of restlessness. Miss Bennett, who was not very interested in the girls, beyond seeing that they worked well and adhered rigidly to the school rules, put it down to the incessantly wet weather. Miss Cazalet, who took more interest in the girls' pursuits outside lesson hours than any of the other mistresses, was still in bed.
Punishments were more numerous that week than usual. The prefects found it difficult to maintain their dignity and authority in the face of the smiles and giggles of the younger girls; by the end of the week tempers were becoming frayed, especially when, at the prefects' weekly meeting, the Principal observed that some of the girls in the school seemed to have got a little out of hand that week and gently suggested that the prefects should use every effort to get things running more smoothly. Madge was greatly tempted to explain the reason for all the disturbance, but refrained; for during recent years it had been the prefects' unwritten law never to take their troubles to the Principal unless they had failed entirely to master them themselves. When Miss Julian had dismissed the meeting, they held a gathering of their own in the study shared by Madge and Deirdre.
"A silly sort of mess we're in," the usually placid-tempered Deirdre declared disgustedly. "This is Friday and the match is next Wednesday, and still we can only muster a couple of sticks between the lot of us. Not only that, but those juniors are getting a good deal too big for their boots—positively cheeky this last week."
"If we give in to them now," said Madge tragically, "our prestige is gone for ever."
"All for nothing too," said Pam, still more amused than annoyed. "I've just had a letter by the afternoon post, cancelling the netball match. Our opponents can't play next Wednesday after all, and their secretary suggests another date—the following Saturday or Wednesday."
At this point in the discussion there came a knock at the door and in walked Allison.
"I've left the swotting for a bit," she explained with her cheerful smile. "I heard Prinny had given you a wigging at the prefects' meeting, so I simply had to come along and see if I could be of any use. Otherwise, it's sheer farce calling myself the Head Girl."
"We didn't want to disturb you, knowing how busy you are with your scholarship work," said Madge ruefully. "You know we promised you at the beginning of the term we would take everything off your shoulders."
"Yes, but when things aren't going very smoothly I couldn't stand outside, not for fifty scholarships," Allison declared with energy. She perched on the edge of the table. "What's the trouble? Haven't those missing sticks turned up yet?"
"No," replied Madge and explained the recent developments, showing Allison with rather a sheepish air the document sent by the "one who noes."
Allison could not help chuckling as she read it.
"They're holding hostages for you, Pam," she said, then her expression becoming more thoughtful she added: "Did you say the netball match is postponed?"
Pam nodded and showed Allison the letter she had received from the opposing netball secretary. Allison again looked at the mysterious epistle from the "one who noes."
She gave a little laugh. "It's simple enough," she said. "Accept their proposal as gracefully as possible. As the netball match is postponed, Pam can turn out for both teams without upsetting anyone. They on their side must keep their bargain and return the sticks if Pam promises to play in the 'next netball match'—as it says here. Then I hope it will be a case of all's well that end's well."
"Why, of course that's the way out!" cried Madge. "What muffs we were not to think of it ourselves!"
"Well, I think you were," said Allison candidly. "Perhaps Pam had better not mention at first that the netball match has been postponed, then their disappointment will be greater when they find they haven't got their own way entirely and Pam is still playing for the hockey team."
Already faces were brightening.
"Thanks awfully for your help, Allison," said Deirdre. "You are a brick."
"No," replied Allison, "not a bit of it. It's you who are the bricks for not wanting to worry me with prefects' affairs. I do appreciate it, I can tell you. Suppose you all come along to my study and have a cup of tea. I've a cake just sent from home, and I think I can persuade Ethel to let me have the tea on a tray from the kitchen." The prefects accepted the invitation with alacrity.
Before the day was ended a list appeared upon the notice-board, headed: "Team chosen to play in the netball match against St. Margaret's," and against the position of goal-defender appeared Pam Preston's name. There was great excitement in the group of netball players who had gathered round to read it.
"Pam's playing," Prue declared excitedly to Meggie. "They've given in."
Though Prue had followed Monica's advice and had not divulged the hiding-place of the sticks to any of her other followers, of course they all knew by now that she was one of the instigators of the plot. There was no need for any more secrecy. Very soon the facts would be known to the whole school, so she and Meggie lost no time in satisfying the curiosity of their companions and related the story to an admiring and appreciative audience—and with a considerable amount of complacency on the part of the narrators.
Going to their study directly after breakfast the next morning Madge and Deirdre found another sheet of dirty notepaper lying conspicuously on the table, and quickly read the following message:
ALLTHO THE SWIMING BARF IS CLOSED AT THE END OF SEPT. NO DOUT MOST OF THE HOKKEY XI ARE IN NEAD OF A GOOD WASHE.
ONE HOO NOES.
Madge's face was a study. The slower-witted Deirdre merely looked dazed.
"Well, if we aren't a set of prize idiots!" spluttered Madge at last. "No one ever thought of looking in the swimming-bath. That's where our sticks are. Just because it's been closed and locked up for the winter, we didn't give it a thought. Besides, who would dream of hiding anything in a swimming-bath! And we went so near—we searched the gardeners' shed and looked under all the cabbages!" For a moment conflicting emotions struggled for the mastery, then her sense of humour prevailed and she burst into a roar of laughter. Deirdre, recovering from her bewilderment, followed her companion's example, for nothing is more infectious than laughter; and the two girls sat and rocked till the tears rolled down their cheeks.