"Are you looking for anything?" she asked, meaningly.

"Oh, dear, no!" returned Muriel. "At least, I thought I'd dropped a piece of indiarubber; but it doesn't matter, I've two or three others."

Enid waited a moment to let her pass, then, following, found all the class collected in a group outside the pantry door, talking over the examination and comparing the answers to the sums.

"What have you got for No. 5, Vera?" said Kitty Harrison. "Wasn't it a most horribly difficult one?"

"Dreadful! I couldn't do it at all. I got my statements in such a muddle, I had to leave it."

"What's your answer, Muriel?" asked Cissie Gardiner.

"270 bales of silk, but I don't believe it's right."

"Most of the others have 340 bales."

"Which others?"

"Why, Patty Hirst, and Beatrice Wynne, and Ella Johnson. Patty has most of her sums right, I think."

"She may well have," sneered Maud Greening, "if she copies other people's," she added under her breath.

"I don't even look at anyone else when I'm working," observed Muriel, pointedly.

"We've never had cheating in the Upper Fourth before," put in Vera Clifford.

"It's only the kind of thing one might expect, though," said Kitty Harrison. "Some people aren't as particular as we are."

Poor Patty, who was standing near, flushed red with indignation at these imputations, but did not know how to defend herself. Enid, however, flew to the rescue.

"Look here!" she cried. "If you've anything you want to say, I wish you'd say it straight out, instead of these back shots. If you think Patty was trying to cheat this morning, I can tell you you're much mistaken."

"Oh! you've taken up Patty Hirst," said Maud, "and of course you say she's always in the right. I'm afraid it's no use your trying to make excuses for her."

"I don't want to," declared Enid. "I only want the truth, and Muriel knows perfectly well that it was mostly her fault."

"I don't know anything about it," said Muriel. "I can't help people looking over my shoulder."

"Not when you ask them to!"

"I don't know what you mean."

"Copying is called sneaking in boys' schools," said Kitty Harrison.

"And so are other things," said Enid. "Look, girls! what do you think of this? I saw Muriel pass it to Patty during the exam."

She drew the piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it round for everybody to see. It was written in Muriel's rather peculiar handwriting, so there was no possibility of a mistake. There it was in black and white: "How do you state Question 5? Ought the answer to be in bales of silk or days?"

It was Muriel's turn now to flush red; she really had not a word to say for herself, and turned hastily away. Her three friends looked extremely blank, and Maud Greening murmured something about a mistake.

"Well," exclaimed Cissie Gardiner, "who talked about cheating, I should like to know?"

"And said it was called sneaking?" said Maggie Woodhall.

"I think some people can be very deceitful," said Winnie Robinson.

"She oughtn't to have been going to show Muriel how to work sums in the middle of the exam., though," said May Firth.

"She doesn't understand exams.; she never had them at her other school," explained Enid, "so she didn't really know she oughtn't. Did you, Patty?"

"Indeed I didn't," declared Patty. "I won't do such a thing another time."

"Well, there's a vast difference, at any rate, between wanting to help people and trying to copy their sums," said Winnie.

"I hope you all thoroughly understand the matter now," said Enid.

"If I were Patty I should want that note to be shown to Miss Rowe," suggested Cissie Gardiner.

"It's exactly what I'm going to do with it. Give it me back at once!" cried Enid. "Muriel thoroughly deserves to get into trouble."

"No, Enid, please don't; I beg you won't!" pleaded Patty.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to."

"But why? Miss Rowe ought to hear about it."

"Oh, it really doesn't matter! Now that all of you know I didn't mean to cheat, I don't care. I hate tell-tales."

"I should care," declared Winnie.

"It's no use getting Muriel into trouble," said Patty.

"It would serve Muriel right," said Enid, indignantly. "Patty, you're a great deal too good-natured."

"No, I'm not. Please let me have the note, Enid."

"I don't think I will."

"But it's mine. It was written to me, remember."

Enid relinquished the incriminating piece of paper very reluctantly, and looked on with disfavour while Patty tore it to shreds.

"I'm fond of justice," she said, "and Muriel Pearson has got off too easily. Patty, I'm not sure if you're not a little too good for this world! I couldn't have torn that note up myself, and yet on the whole I like you for it. You're one of the nicest girls I've ever known!" And throwing her arm affectionately round Patty's waist, she walked with her along the passage to the classroom.

During an interval in the hockey practice that afternoon, Muriel found an opportunity to speak to her cousin.

"How stupid you were this morning, Patty!" she said. "What possessed you to lean over my desk and whisper?"

"What else could I do, when you'd asked me how to work that sum?" replied Patty.

"Why, of course you should have written me a note back, and handed it to me underneath the desk."

"But I'm afraid that wouldn't have been fair," objected Patty.

"Quite as fair as whispering."

"I didn't know either was wrong. You shouldn't have asked me."

"Oh, don't begin preaching to me! You contrived to make it very unpleasant for me, at any rate, and I shan't soon forget."

"Muriel! You know I never meant——"

"I don't care what you meant. Enid Walker has been telling Phyllis Chambers, and Phyllis won't put my name down for the hockey final. It's too bad."

"I'm dreadfully sorry."

"What's the use of being sorry? You should have managed better. I'm out of the match on Friday, and it's entirely your fault. I wish you'd never come to The Priory at all!" And Muriel walked away with such a sulky expression on her face, that no one at that moment would have called her pretty.

Patty knew it was no use trying to justify herself further. Muriel was determined to be angry, and having secured what she considered a grievance against her, would make that an excuse for avoiding her altogether. She could only hope that her cousin would not give a distorted version of the story in any of her letters home, and allow Uncle Sidney to believe that she had been unkind. That would indeed be most unjust, especially as she would have no opportunity of ever explaining the true facts of the case.

"She surely couldn't!" thought Patty. "It would be too untruthful. I hope she never mentions me at all when she writes. Oh, dear! How hard it is when you know you ought to be friends with someone and you can't! If only Muriel were Enid or Jean, how different it would be! I shouldn't have a single trouble left in the world, and life at The Priory would be just delightful."



CHAPTER VI

Albums

"I want you to put something in my album, Patty," said Winnie Robinson one afternoon, producing a dainty little volume reserved for souvenirs of her friends. "You're clever at drawing, so please let it be a picture, and if you can colour it, so much the better."

"I hope I shan't spoil your book," replied Patty, turning over the leaves to look at the various artistic efforts and poetical quotations with which about half the pages were filled.

"Of course you won't! I expect yours will be one of the nicest. I want every girl in the class to either paint or write something, and then I shall have a keepsake of the Upper Fourth. Maggie Woodhall drew this pretty little dog, and Ella Johnson those roses, and Enid has promised to make up a piece of poetry on purpose."

"It was only half a promise," declared Enid.

"Then you must write half a poem."

"Suppose the Muse deserts me?"

"Oh, rubbish! You can always make up verses. They seem to flow just as if you turned on a tap."

"Have you an album, Patty?" enquired Avis.

"No," said Patty. "I never saw one like Winnie's before. It's something quite new to me."

"Oh! then you must get one. They're the fashion just at present, and every girl in the class has one."

"We're rather fond of fads at The Priory," explained Winnie. "We have a rage for some particular thing, and are quite silly over it for a while, until we grow tired of it, and take up something else. This is about the fifth craze since I've been at the school. They never last long."

"The first was foreign stamps," said Enid. "Don't you remember how keen we were about collecting them, and how we envied May Firth because she had an uncle in Persia?"

"Maggie Woodhall got several stamps from Mexico," said Avis. "I think her collection was one of the best."

"I was very enthusiastic about mine," said Enid. "I exchanged three new lead pencils once for a Japanese stamp, and I asked Mother for an album for my birthday present. It was a beauty, too. Then, in the holidays, I went to stay with my godmother, and she had a whole pillow-case full of old letters, mostly foreign ones. She let me tear the stamps off all the envelopes, and I got at least twenty new kinds. I was delighted with them; but when I came back to school the fashion had changed, everybody was tired of stamps, and nobody cared to look at mine, so I gave the book to my brother. The boys in his class were collecting, and he was only too pleased to have it."

"I believe crests came next," said Avis reflectively. "Vera Clifford introduced them, because she was so proud her family has one of its own. She put it on the front page, and showed it to everybody."

"Yes, and she never forgave Doris Kennedy for making fun of it."

"What did Doris say?"

"Well, you see, the Clifford crest is a lion holding a shell, and the motto is a Latin one which means, 'Do not touch!' Doris said the lion was holding a purse, and the motto meant, 'What I've got I'll keep'. It was a good hit at Vera, because she's very stingy, although she has plenty of pocket money. She only gave twopence to the Waifs and Strays Fund—it was less than anybody else in the class; and she'll hardly ever lend her things, either, though she often borrows from other girls."

"She used all my Indian ink last term, and never gave me any back when she bought a new bottle," said Winnie. "She's certainly rather mean."

"The crests looked beautiful when they were pasted into albums," said Avis. "Beatrice Wynne used to paint borders round hers in red, and blue, and gold. Her book was like an old illuminated manuscript."

"It was a difficult craze, though, to keep up," said Winnie, "because we couldn't most of us collect enough crests to fill a book. Post-marks were much easier. We used to arrange them according to the different counties they were in. Miss Harper encouraged that fad; she said it taught us geography."

"So it did; but we made the most absurd mistakes sometimes. I remember putting Abingdon down under Devonshire, and Ilkley under Lincolnshire. I used to have to look the places up in the atlas. It was rather too like lessons to be very popular, so we all took to drawing pigs instead."

"Drawing pigs!" exclaimed Patty.

"Yes, with your eyes shut. It's most amusing to have a pig book. You get each of your friends to close her eyes tightly, and then draw a pig, putting in its tail and its eye, and to sign her name to it afterwards. You can't think what funny pictures people make. The eye's generally in the middle of the pig's back, and the tail twirling away anywhere but in the right place."

"All except Miss Harper's pig," said Winnie, "and that was because she drew the eye first. It wasn't quite fair, because you're supposed to put it in last of all; but of course none of us dared to tell her so. I have it in my book still, signed E.J.H.; it's got the most impertinent snout, and large peaked ears. I'm sure she must have been practising drawing pigs before she did it."

"Ghost signatures were nearly as much fun," said Enid.

"What are those?" enquired Patty, to whom all these schoolgirl pastimes were unknown.

"You have a special autograph book for them," explained Enid. "You double a page in half, and write your name inside exactly on the crease of the paper; then you fold the two halves together again without blotting it and press hard. It smudges your signature into such a queer shape. Everybody's comes out differently. One looks like a caterpillar, and another like a butterfly, or perhaps a fish's backbone. Ella Johnson's was the exact image of an oak tree."

"And Maud Greening's was like a pressed fern," said Winnie. "Do you remember the fad we had for pressed flowers and skeleton leaves? We used to keep them inside all our books."

"Yes, we soaked the leaves in water till they turned into skeletons. We pressed the flowers in blotting paper, and they were often lovely."

"Some of the girls were quite sentimental over them. Cissie Gardiner had a pansy picked from Wordsworth's garden at Grasmere, and a sprig of rosemary that she said came from the grave of Keats. Her aunt brought it to her from Rome, where he's buried. She pasted it on to a piece of paper, and wrote underneath: 'Here's rosemary, that's for remembrance. I pray you, love, remember.' She said Keats was her favourite poet. She thought it was so romantic for him to die so young of a broken heart, and she admired his portrait at the beginning of his poems, and if only she could have lived a hundred years earlier, then perhaps she might have known him."

"It was all Cissie's fault that we lost our collections," said Avis.

"What happened?" asked Patty, who found the reminiscences interesting.

"Well, we used to keep the leaves and flowers inside our books, and look at them during class whenever we had an opportunity. One day, during grammar, Cissie was sitting gazing at her piece of rosemary, and, I suppose, thinking of Keats, for she didn't hear when she was asked a question. Miss Rowe repeated it, and Cissie gave such a start that all her treasures fell from her book on to the floor. Miss Rowe looked very grim, and told her to pick them up, and ordered each girl to take every single leaf and flower out of her book also. Then she made Cissie collect them all, and fling the whole pile into the grate. Poor Cissie was in tears. She tried hard to save her sprig of rosemary: she begged Miss Rowe to let her keep it, and said she'd put it away in her drawer, and never bring it to class again; but Miss Rowe said she wouldn't encourage such nonsense, and the best place for it was the fire."

"It was just like Miss Rowe," said Enid; "she always uses what my father calls 'drastic measures'. Cissie's tired of Keats now. She's made a hero of General Gordon instead, and has his portrait hanging up in her bedroom, with a piece of palm over it. She says she should like to marry a soldier some day, only she'd be so afraid of his getting killed."

"Cissie's a goose," said Winnie; "she can think of nothing but soldiers since her brother went to Sandhurst. She even drew one in my album, and it's not particularly well done. Patty, are you going to paint anything for me, or are you not? I'll leave the book with you for a week, and at the end of that time I shall expect to see something nice."

Patty was rather clever at drawing. She could copy very exactly, and even make original sketches sometimes. Mr. Summers, the art master, thought well of her work, and had praised her study of a group of apples more highly than those of the other girls. It was quite a consolation to Patty to excel in something. She found the afternoon spent in the studio the pleasantest in the whole week, and wished the drawing lessons came oftener. She was not without a secret hope that some of her work might be considered good enough to secure a place in the small exhibition of Arts and Crafts which was held yearly at the school, and to which only very creditable efforts were admitted. The neat drawings with which she illustrated her botany schedules were the admiration of her classmates, though they did not always meet with the appreciation from Miss Harper which they deserved. On one occasion Patty had taken immense trouble to copy a harebell as an example of the order Campanulaceae. She had shaded it carefully in Indian ink, with very fine cross hatchings, and hoped it might win an extra mark, or at any rate a word of approbation. Disappointment, however, was in store for her. Miss Harper handed back the book with the remark:

"If you would spend less time on drawings, and more on the subject-matter of your exercises, Patty Hirst, I should be better satisfied with your work."

"It's so difficult to remember all those long, hard botanical terms," Patty complained afterwards to Jean. "I love the flowers, and I like to paint them and learn their English names, but I don't care in the least if their stamens are hypogynous or their cotyledons induplicate! I think it spoils them to pull them to pieces. They look so much prettier just as they're growing!"

The painting of a spray of honeysuckle which Patty did for Winnie was so beautifully done, that it was greatly envied by the other girls, all of whom begged for contributions to their own albums, and kept the little artist quite busy on half-holidays, or in any other leisure moments which she could spare. It was such a pleasant occupation that Patty did not grudge the time spent over it, and she was magnanimous enough to forget old grievances and to allow even Vera Clifford, Maud Greening, and Kitty Harrison to have specimens of her work, though Enid said they did not deserve it.

"They wouldn't any of them sit next to you when we were playing games last night," she declared, "and they were quite rude, and left you out altogether in the proverb questions. I think it is very cool of them to ask you. As for Muriel, I wonder she can bear to look at the lovely poppies you painted in her book, when she treats you so horridly."

It was Patty's birthday on the 24th of October, and for fully a week before that event she could not help noticing an unusual amount of mystery in the conduct of her friends. Several of them would be talking together with the greatest animation, and would drop suddenly into silence on her arrival. Enid twice began a sentence and stopped in the middle at a warning glance from Jean; and once, when Patty came unexpectedly into the classroom, there was a scuffle, the lid of Winnie's desk was banged down violently, and Winnie herself, together with Avis Wentworth and Cissie Gardiner, looked extremely conscious, as though they had been almost caught in some act which they wished to keep a secret. Patty wondered mildly why Enid seemed so anxious to ascertain whether she preferred red or blue, and whether she did not think a bright colour was always nicer than black; and she could not understand why her friend should one day be poring over a catalogue from the Stores, nor why she shut it up in such a hurry, remarking rather pointedly that Miss Lincoln had lent it to her.

"It's a queer book to choose!" laughed Patty. "I thought you were halfway through 'A Chaplet of Pearls'? I shouldn't think it's very amusing to read lists of groceries and household linen."

"On the contrary, I find it most interesting," replied Enid. "I never knew before how much shopping one could do at the Stores. They seem to have a department for everything."

On the morning of the birthday most of the members of the Fourth Class hurried away after breakfast with conspicuous haste. Patty stayed for a few minutes in the refectory to talk to some of the fifth class girls, and was in the middle of a conversation with Olive Hardman and Bella Ashworth, when Jean entered in search of her.

"Come, Patty," she said, "you're wanted in the classroom."

"Why, it's too early. It's only twenty-five minutes to nine," said Patty.

"Never mind. The girls are all there waiting."

"Waiting for what?"

"Waiting for you."

"Why for me?" asked Patty, in much surprise.

"Come along and you'll find the reason," replied Jean, taking her arm and leading her down the passage without further delay.

Considerably mystified at Jean's impatient hurry, Patty was still more astonished to discover the whole of both the Upper Fourth and the lower division collected round the fire in the schoolroom, and evidently anticipating her arrival with much eagerness.

"Here she is!" cried Jean. "Now, Enid, you can begin."

"We want to wish you very many happy returns of the day, Patty," said Enid, who seemed to be acting as mouthpiece for the rest. "And we hope you'll accept this birthday present; it's from us all."

"Thank you so much," said Patty, taking the offered parcel and beginning to untie the string. "I never expected that any of you would remember my birthday. Why, how lovely! Oh, it is good of you! The very thing in all the world I'd rather have than anything else."

The object which lay under the many folds of tissue paper was an album. It was bound in bright-blue morocco with gilt edges, and had smooth pages inside for writing, interleaved with pages of drawing paper for water colours. At the beginning was neatly printed:

PATTY HIRST

With love from the Fourth Class.

It was certainly a very appropriate present for the girls to have made, and one which Patty appreciated immensely. She had greatly longed to possess an album of her own, but had not liked to ask her mother to buy her one, and the beauty of this handsome gift far surpassed all her dreams.

"You'd done such lovely paintings in our books, that we felt we wanted to put something in yours," said Avis, "though I'm afraid our productions won't be very nice. I can't draw a stroke, and my writing's not at all elegant. I think you'd better not ask me."

In spite of Avis's protestations, Patty naturally asked her and the rest of the class for contributions, and the twenty-one souvenirs which resulted went a long way towards filling her volume. They varied much, both in quality and quantity, from Maggie Woodhall's fine pen-and-ink drawing to May Firth's washy little attempt at a landscape, or the short poetical quotation signed "Beatrice Wynne". Cissie Gardiner, always of a romantic turn of mind, copied "Has sorrow thy young days shaded?" from Moore's Irish Melodies, in her neatest handwriting. Naughty Winnie, who liked to make fun of Cissie, added a version of her own on the opposite page, which greatly destroyed the sentiment of the first, and provoked much laughter in the class. It ran thus:—

"Has sorrow thy young days shaded? Are schoolbooks and inkpots thy fate? Too soon is thy fair face faded By working at Euclid so late. Doth French thy bright spirit wither, Or Grammar thy happiness sear? Then, child of misfortune, come hither, I'll weep with thee tear for tear."

"It's too bad!" said Cissie. "It spoils my verses; and Moore's my favourite poet just now. I like him far better than Keats; I think his pieces about soldiers and glory are simply splendid."

All the girls exerted themselves so much on Patty's behalf, that her album seemed to bring out an amount of talent lying dormant in the class which nobody had suspected before. Inspired by Winnie's original lines, several of the others set to work to make up verses, and the results were so satisfactory, that the authors felt themselves quite budding poetesses. Ethel Maitland, a quiet girl in the lower division, astonished everybody by the following composition, which was the more unexpected as nobody had ever considered her in the least clever.

TO PATTY

I thank the chance that doth afford Th' occasion fair and happy, Upon this page to thus record My gratitude to Patty. Within my album she hath wrought A picture of red roses, All painted with most cunning skill, The prettiest of posies. Had I but talent, in return A masterpiece I'd draw her, But failing that, I pen these lines Which now I place before her.

"It's not very good," declared Ethel. "It was so hard to make it scan properly. I know 'happy' and 'Patty' don't really rhyme, but what else could I put? The last line's rather tame, but then again I couldn't find a rhyme for 'draw her'. I thought at first of putting 'And hope they will not bore her', or 'To show how I adore her', but perhaps it's better as it is."

Patty, who had no talent for poetry, was immensely impressed by these lines. She showed them to everybody in the class, and Ethel's work was much admired until it was entirely eclipsed by a contribution from Jean Bannerman. Jean had drawn a funny picture of a kitten with a pile of books under its arm. She had copied it from a magazine, but the verse which she wrote under it was her own composition. She called it:

AN ENTHUSIAST

Her head well stored with copious knowledge, Miss Fluffy Purrem goes to College, Secure that never yet she's failed. Her subjects will not be curtailed: On catacombs she'll wax ecstatic, Yet much objects to be dogmatic. She's great on ornithology, And also on astrology; She lets the Dog Star go astray, But revels in the Milky Way. She claims the Manx to be a nation, And holds strong views about cre(a)mation; At Mewnham they declare she's sure A first-class trypuss to secure.

This delighted the girls, because the kitten's face really looked a little like Patty's, which was round too, and what Jean described as "purry",—"that's to say, looking pleased at everything, as if she were purring," she explained.

Enid had reserved her efforts until the last, and her page in the album was considered the very best of all. It was headed by a picture which was a curious notion of her own. When glanced at casually it might be taken for a sketch of a crocodile, but when examined closely it showed that the body was made up of girls walking along two and two, the smaller ones tapering down in height, and vanishing in the distance to form the tail. Though the details were not particularly well drawn, the whole effect was wonderfully good, and as "crocodiling" was the popular term at The Priory for walking two and two, the idea was most appropriate. Enid described it in the accompanying verses:

THE BALLAD OF THE SWEET CROCODILE

Oh! haven't you heard of the sweet crocodile? It lives in the mud on the banks of the Nile. 'Neath the tropical sunshine it sits with a smile, And feeds on the niggers who live by the Nile. Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile! It lives in the mud on the banks of the Nile.

But if you must live in this cold British isle, It's not often you'll meet with the sweet crocodile. The specimens here are as far as they're few, And we treasure them carefully up in the Zoo. Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile! It doesn't thrive well in this cold British isle.

Yet if about Morton you'll walk for a mile, You may see an uncommonly sweet crocodile. It looks very neat, with its trim little feet, And the people all smile when the creature they meet. Oh, the sweet crocodile! The sweet crocodile! It walks about Morton for many a mile.

But if you'll examine this sweet crocodile, You'll see it's composed all of girls in a file. And there's one, who's called Patty, with such a sweet smile, That the people all rave on this sweet crocodile. Oh! this Patty of mine, with the extra sweet smile, She's a gem in the tail of the sweet crocodile.

This proved by far the most popular of all the contributions to Patty's album, and as numerous girls from other classes asked to look at the crocodile picture, the book was in danger of too much wear and tear, and at Miss Harper's suggestion it was placed temporarily in the school museum, so that everybody might have a chance of seeing it, yet it should be safe from careless hands. Enid was, of course, asked after this to compose so many poems for so many various albums, that had she consented her collected effusions might have filled a volume; but she steadfastly declined.

"I made this up specially for Patty, and on purpose to try and make her album a little different from anybody else's," she declared. "If I wrote verses and drew pictures for you all, there'd be nothing particularly out of the common about this. I don't intend to do a single thing for one of you, so please don't ask me again, for I shall only go on saying 'No'."



CHAPTER VII

Patty's Pledge

November days found Patty thoroughly settled down at The Priory, and quite accustomed to all the rules and regulations which obtained there. On the whole she was happy, but there were still a few difficulties with which she had to contend. Life in a large school, among so many companions of various dispositions, was a totally different affair from what it had been in her quiet home at Kirkstone. Though Miss Lincoln did her uttermost to uphold an extremely high standard of conduct among the girls, Patty found there were many who were capable of little meannesses, slight lapses from the strictly straight path, and acts which were not at all in accordance with her ideals of honour. It sometimes needed a good deal of moral courage to keep to what she knew was right. It was not pleasant to be laughed at and called "straitlaced", because she would not evade rules or join in certain doubtful undertakings. No one liked fun more than Patty, when it was open and above-board, but she could not bear to be mixed up in anything which seemed sly or underhand. In her bedroom particularly she found cause of trouble. Her three companions, Ella Johnson, May Firth, and Doris Kennedy would get up after Miss Rowe had made her evening rounds, relight the gas, and read storybooks in bed, a proceeding which was, of course, absolutely forbidden. They were quite angry with Patty when she ventured to remonstrate.

"We're not going to have you interfering with us, Patty Hirst. If we like to light the gas again we shall do so," said May.

"But if Miss Rowe catches you, you'll get into the most terrible scrape," said Patty.

"She won't catch us; we're too careful. I can put the gas out in a second if anyone's coming."

"You might find you had put it out a second too late, and what would you do then?"

"It will be quite time enough to decide when it happens," said Doris. "Don't bother! You can go to sleep yourself, if you want to, but we three mean to enjoy ourselves."

Patty, however, found it impossible to go to sleep. She lay awake, listening anxiously, afraid of hearing Miss Rowe's step in the passage, and wondering what the consequences would be if it were discovered that the occupants of No. 7 were astir after 9.30 p.m.

"Somebody might be walking through the garden and see a light in the window," she suggested to the others. "Suppose it were Miss Lincoln herself! How dreadfully angry she'd be!"

"Miss Lincoln's always safely in her study at this time," said May. "No one's in the least likely to interrupt us, or to know anything about it, unless you're mean enough to tell."

"You know quite well I'm no tell-tale," said Patty, indignantly. "You've nothing to fear from me. I only wish you wouldn't do it. Why can't you read the books downstairs? You've plenty of time after prep."

"Because Miss Rowe'd take them away. We're only allowed to have books from the school library, and these are some that Doris brought with her from home. They're most exciting. I simply must finish mine."

"Oh, May, that's worse than ever!" exclaimed Patty, "if they're books you know you oughtn't to read."

"Please be quiet, and mind your own business, Patty Hirst!" cried May, angrily. "We're not going to ask your leave for everything we do."

May, Ella, and Doris knew perfectly well that they were in the wrong, but they tried to justify their conduct to each other by calling Patty "priggish". They treated her in as cool a manner as possible, and generally had some secrets to whisper about in a corner of the room, making her feel how little they cared for her company, and how much they would have preferred Beatrice Wynne in her place. Patty, who hated quarrels, and would rather have been on friendly terms with everybody, disliked these unpleasant bickerings with her room mates; but as she would not yield her point, and they would not relinquish their practice, she had perforce to remain on rather distant terms with them. In school, too, she found that everything was not quite what might have been desired. Several of the girls helped each other openly with their French composition. They would meet together before class and compare sentences, hastily correcting errors, and copying each other's work to such an extent that one essay was simply a duplicate of the other, faults and all. Mademoiselle was not a very observant person, and in consequence never discovered what was taking place, though the similarity in the mistakes might easily have aroused her suspicions. The history exercises also gave wide scope to those who were not absolutely scrupulous. Miss Harper left much to the girls' sense of honour, trusting them completely, and never subjecting them to the strict surveillance which was practised by Miss Rowe. As a rule her plan met with excellent results, though unfortunately her confidence was sometimes abused. At the end of each chapter in the history book were a number of questions, which were given as a weekly exercise. The class was supposed to prepare the chapter first, then, opening the book at the page of questions, to write the answers entirely from memory. A few did so, but I fear a large proportion of the girls yielded to the temptation thus placed in their way, and would take surreptitious peeps to supply missing dates or names. It seemed hard that the conscientious ones should often be obliged to lose marks, while those whose standard of right was lower won words of approval from Miss Harper for their correct exercises. Patty's particular friends—Enid, Winnie, and Jean—were among those to whom honour meant more than marks; but Avis, who was a much weaker character, sometimes allowed herself to slip, condoning her conduct by telling herself that everybody else did the same. Avis was seated close to Patty one morning during the half-hour allowed for the writing of the history exercise. She was not well prepared, and she was just refreshing her memory from the forbidden chapter, when suddenly she caught Patty's frank blue eyes fixed upon her with such a surprised and reproachful gaze, that she flushed scarlet with shame, and turned the pages of her book hastily back to the questions.

"I really never thought about it," she explained to Patty afterwards; "at least I suppose I did think, but I knew all the others were looking up what they had forgotten, so I supposed it didn't matter."

"Enid never looks," said Patty, gravely.

"Well, I won't do it again; I won't indeed."

"I was wondering," said Patty, "if we couldn't get up a little society, and ask the members to take a pledge to be absolutely honest about our lessons. Would you join?"

"Of course I would," said Avis, heartily. "I'd be very glad to. So would many of the girls, I'm sure. We all hate being unfair, only it seems too bad when two or three take an advantage and get the best marks."

Patty set to work without further delay, and managed to enrol thirteen names on her list of honour. Enid, Winnie, and Jean were naturally willing recruits, as were also Cissie Gardiner, Maggie Woodhall, and five of the lower division, including Ethel Maitland. Beatrice Wynne, after a little hesitation, added her signature, but May Firth, Doris Kennedy, and Ella Johnson refused point-blank.

"It's just another of your absurd fads, Patty Hirst," said Ella. "You're quite a new girl, it's only your first term here, and I think it's very conceited of you to be always trying to make out you're so much better than anyone else."

"Oh, Ella, you know I don't!" said poor Patty.

"Yes, you do," snapped Ella.

"You're not a monitress, Patty Hirst," said May Firth, "so I can't see why you should concern yourself with our affairs."

"Do your own exercises, and leave us to do ours," said Doris Kennedy. "We don't want to belong to your silly society."

After meeting with such a rebuff, Patty felt very diffident about mentioning the matter to the remaining members of the class. She had no wish to be considered self-righteous and interfering, but, all the same, she thought she was bound to try and use her influence to set straight what was certainly a doubtful practice, and she meant to persist even at the risk of being called hard names. She found Muriel and her three friends alone in the recreation room one afternoon, and screwed up her courage sufficiently to broach the subject to them.

"I wasn't aware that anybody cheated," said Muriel coldly, pausing for a moment in the letter she was writing. "If they do, by all means get them to take your pledge. It doesn't concern me."

"Nor me either," said Vera. "I go my own way, and don't trouble about other people."

"We thought perhaps you'd join, as so many of the girls have done so," said Patty, timidly.

"It's quite unnecessary," said Vera, "and for Maud and Kitty too. You'd better take it to the Fifth Class."

Kitty Harrison said nothing, but she came to Patty afterwards and asked that her name might be placed on the list.

"I think I can persuade Maud too," she said; "only you must promise faithfully not to let Vera or Muriel know anything about it. I'm glad you've got it up, Patty, because we all did really look back at the chapter in the history exercises, even Vera, though she won't confess it. Nobody will dare to cheat now that so much notice has been taken of it, and we'd all rather not, if everyone else will keep square. I always felt dreadfully mean, only I didn't like losing marks."

It was a great triumph for Patty to have won both Kitty and Maud to her side, and she had the added satisfaction of afterwards securing the two members of the lower division who had at first refused. Thanks to her exertions, the standard of the class seemed undoubtedly raised, and the Fifth Form girls, who shared the recreation room, and heard most of what was going on, took up the idea, and formed a society of their own. It was as if Patty had cast a stone into a smooth pond, and the ripples were spreading in an ever-widening circle. Without in the least realizing it, her school-fellows were influenced by her pleasant, sunny, unselfish ways. She had set a fashion of doing little kind, considerate, helpful things, which many of the rest began unconsciously to follow. There are always a large number of girls in a school who drift along without any special aim, yet are ready enough to respond to anyone who draws out the best that is in them. If one companion succeeds in avoiding little evils and inconsistencies, keeping her temper, and showing forbearance and self-restraint in all the small daily acts, her character will begin to invade other lives, and uplift them in spite of themselves. Patty was not aware that she had made any difference at The Priory, and certainly never for a moment intended to set herself up as an example; but without knowing it she had given a helping hand to several who, but for her, might never have made any endeavour to mount to a higher level. Avis in particular was far more conscientious than before, and Enid, who had hitherto been content if her half-learnt lessons did not win a scolding from Miss Harper, began to put more zeal into her work. She was a bright girl, and could easily win class laurels if she wished, though she disliked any continuous efforts. Her essays were full of originality, and she was quick at understanding anything which required reasoning, but she had little patience for remembering dates and facts, and was not capable of Patty's steady plodding. Though both Maud Greening and Kitty Harrison had become more friendly, Vera Clifford and Muriel still held aloof from Patty, and it was owing to them that an unpleasant incident occurred one day which caused the latter much distress. Patty's talent for drawing was well known in the school; she was clever at portraits, and with a few rapid lines could make excellent likenesses. The girls were fond of asking her to do sketches for them on scraps of paper, which they would afterwards keep inside their lesson books as great treasures. Among others, Patty had drawn a capital picture of Miss Rowe, showing her classical features and her coils of smooth, fair hair. It was regarded as her masterpiece, and Cissie Gardiner, its lucky owner, was quite envied by the rest of the class. Cissie placed it inside her Merchant of Venice, and for several days rejoiced in its possession. One morning, however, the Upper Fourth was reading Shakespeare with Miss Rowe. This lesson was always held in the lecture-room instead of in the classroom, where Miss Harper was teaching the lower division, and the girls sat on chairs arranged in a semicircle round their mistress. Cissie could not resist taking a peep at her portrait, and handed it to her neighbour to admire, who passed it on to the next girl, so that in course of time it found its way down the class to Vera Clifford. Now Miss Rowe was rather handsome, but she happened to have a scar down the side of her forehead, which slightly spoilt her good looks. Patty had naturally left this out in her sketch, but Vera, who had not the same nice feeling, took a pencil and, nudging Muriel, who sat next to her, put in the mark, which showed only too plainly across the brow.

"What are you doing? Pass it back at once!" whispered Cissie anxiously.

Her ill-judged concern, however, had the unfortunate effect of calling Miss Rowe's attention to the piece of paper.

"What have you there, Vera?" she asked.

Vera tried to hand the sketch back quickly to Maud Greening, and Maud made a valiant effort to slip it inside her Shakespeare; but as Maggie Woodhall happened at that instant to jog her elbow, she dropped the book, and the paper fluttered on to the floor, almost at the teacher's feet. Miss Rowe picked it up and looked at it critically.

"To whom does this belong?" she enquired sharply.

"It's mine, Miss Rowe, please," said Cissie.

"Did you draw it?"

"No, Miss Rowe."

"Then who did?"

"Patty Hirst," said Cissie, who had not seen Vera's alteration, and thought the portrait so flattering and talented that she saw no reason for withholding the artist's name, and, indeed, considered Patty might well be proud of such an achievement.

"Then I think Patty Hirst might employ her time more profitably," said Miss Rowe, and, turning very pink, she tore the picture across, and threw it into the waste-paper basket.

Cissie rescued the fragments afterwards, and pieced them together, and when she discovered the addition which had been made, her wrath and indignation knew no bounds. As for Patty, she was nearly heart-broken at the affair. She genuinely liked Miss Rowe, and could not bear her to think that she would have been so cruel and indelicate as to call attention to her one blemish. Even Vera was penitent, for though she had had the bad taste to alter the drawing, she certainly had not intended it to fall into the hands of the mistress herself. The hard part of it was that no one liked to explain, because to refer to it at all would only have seemed to make matters worse; so the girls consoled Patty as best they could, but it was a long time before she could get over it. Perhaps on the whole the occurrence made Vera a little less nasty to Patty. She was a proud, but not altogether an ungenerous girl, and she was genuinely sorry to have thus thrown blame on undeserving shoulders. But for Muriel's influence she would have been almost ready to follow the example of Kitty and Maud, and if not to make friends, at least to treat with tolerance a companion who was so particularly inoffensive, and so willing to meet an apology halfway.

The war which Patty waged in her bedroom still went on as before. Every night one of her companions would relight the gas, in spite of all entreaties. Sometimes Patty would get up and turn it out, greatly to the wrath of the others, who would retaliate next day by hiding her brush and comb, or dropping her cake of soap into her water jug. It was a most unpleasant state of affairs, and seemed likely to continue indefinitely, when an incident fortunately happened which led to a truce.

One November afternoon, when the girls were returning from hockey, Patty, in strolling through the shrubbery, noticed that the gardener, who had probably been unstopping one of the gutters, had left his ladder leaning against a wall, thus giving access to the flat roof of the lecture hall. Patty at home had sometimes been called a tomboy, and she could not resist climbing up to see what the world looked like from the top. She had reached the leads, and was on the point of stepping over a large spout, when she heard the sound of laughter on the roof, and stopped to listen. Someone was evidently already there, and, recognizing the voices of Doris, May, and Ella, she decided not to follow them. An idea had suddenly occurred to her, and acting upon it at once she descended to the ground, then, very gently removing the ladder, she laid it at the foot of the wall. The gardener's wheelbarrow, full of dead leaves, stood conveniently near, under the shelter of a large rhododendron, so she sat down on it, and waited for what she knew was bound to happen. I believe there was a little mischief in her eyes, for Patty liked a joke as well as anybody, and she thought the occasion offered considerable opportunities for fun. She had not to wait long. In a few minutes her three room mates, who had explored the roof as far as they dared to venture, returned to the spot where they had left the ladder, and were much astonished to find it gone.

"What a nuisance!" said May. "Ward must have taken it without our hearing him. I wonder where he is?"

"We shall have to call," said Ella; "perhaps he hasn't gone very far."

None of the three noticed Patty, who was hidden by the rhododendron, though by peeping through the leaves she was able to see them perfectly well.

"Coo—e—e!" cried Doris, as loudly as she could.

"Cuckoo!" shouted May, hoping some passing companion might be within earshot.

"What are we to do?" said Ella, when their calls had been repeated several times without rousing the faintest reply.

It was rather a lonely part of the garden; most of the girls had run from the hockey field straight into the house, and the gardener was at that moment partaking of tea in the kitchen. Patty, who had counted on all these points, remained quietly under cover, and suppressed her laughter as best she could.

"I don't know; we can't possibly jump it," said May, peeping over the edge to judge the distance between herself and the ground, and drawing back with a shudder.

"We shall have to wait till Ward comes back," said Doris.

"Suppose he's put the ladder away, and doesn't intend to come back?" suggested Ella.

"Then we'll have to stay here all night," said May.

"Oh, rubbish!" cried Doris. "Let us give one more good call; somebody's sure to come."

The combined efforts of three pairs of lungs raised a lusty shout, but beyond a slight echo there was no response.

"It's getting so dark. It must be almost tea-time, I'm sure," groaned Ella.

"They'll miss us at tea, I expect," said Doris.

"Yes, but they won't know where to look for us. They'll hunt in every place except the right one. No one would ever dream we were on the roof," said May dismally.

"Call again," said Ella, who was waxing tearful.

"Cuckoo!" tried May once more, with a tinge of despair in her voice.

This time Patty judged it discreet to come to the rescue, and emerging quietly from the shade of the rhododendron on the far side, she strolled up in a casual manner.

"Why, what are you three doing there?" she exclaimed, with well-feigned surprise.

"Oh, Patty! is that you?" cried Doris, with great relief. "Ward has taken away the ladder and we can't come down. I wish you'd go and fetch him."

"He hasn't taken the ladder away; it's lying on the ground under the wall," replied Patty.

"Then put it up for us, that's a sweet girl," said Ella, in a far more civil tone than she generally used.

"I don't know, on the whole, that I will," answered Patty.

Her three companions gasped.

"Why not?" asked Doris.

"Don't tease, Patty! It's getting dark and cold," said May.

"Do be quick, Patty!" said Ella.

"It would be colder still if you spent the night there," said Patty. "Think how nice it would be for me, though, to have the bedroom all to myself!"

"Patty, you can't really mean to leave us here!"

"If I put the ladder up, I shall expect something in return," declared Patty.

"All right. Go on. What do you want?"

"You'll all three have to promise never to light the gas again after Miss Rowe's turned it out, and not to read books that aren't allowed."

"Don't be stupid, Patty; we've argued that point so often."



"Very well," said Patty, briefly, pretending to walk away.

A despairing wail from the girls, however, brought her back.

"Don't go! Won't you take anything else?" entreated Doris.

"Not a single thing," said Patty, firmly.

"How mean you are!"

"There's the tea bell," said Patty. "You'd better decide quickly, because I can't wait."

"Suppose we promise only to read books out of the library," began Ella, "and light the gas sometimes?"

"Good-night!" replied Patty, turning this time as if she really meant to go.

"We'll promise! We'll promise!" cried the three shivering figures on the roof.

"Everything?"

"Yes, if you like."

"On your honour?"

"On our honour."

"Never again?"

"Never."

"It's a bargain, then. Now you may all come down."

Patty reared the ladder against the wall, and held it steady while her companions descended. She felt in good spirits, for she had enjoyed the fun of keeping them imprisoned, and had been able by guile to extort a promise which her strongest protests had hitherto failed to gain from them.

"They don't know I hid the ladder," she said to herself as they all hurried in to tea, "and I don't mean to tell them. It's a grand victory for me. I shall hold them strictly to their word, and now at last we shall have a little peace in No. 7, and I shan't have to lie awake every night listening in fear and trembling for Miss Rowe."



CHAPTER VIII

A Great Disappointment

As December passed by, and the term drew to a close, Patty's impatience began almost to get the better of her. No thirteen weeks had ever appeared so long. She felt as if she had been away from home for years, and she yearned for a sight of all the loved faces. Letters, though very well in their way, were unsatisfactory things, especially the children's, which contained little news for the amount of paper covered, and consisted mostly of wishes for her return, with a whole page of crosses meant to represent kisses at the end. Now at last, however, she could count the remainder of the term by days instead of weeks, and her fancy was busy painting in rainbow colours a picture of her arrival, first at the station, where perhaps her father would meet her, and then at the dear, well-known door, where her mother would be waiting to clasp her in the warmest hug, and all the younger ones would be watching eagerly to welcome her back again. It was such an enthralling prospect that Patty's eyes shone whenever she thought about it, and she sometimes executed a little dance of delight in the privacy of her cubicle, to let off some of the effervescence of her spirits.

"Only four days more!" she said to herself one night. "I suppose I shall manage to get through them somehow! I wonder if it seems as long to Mother and the others! I've never looked forward to anything so much in my life. It makes me wild with joy to think it's so near."

Poor Patty! In the midst of her pleasant anticipations a bitter disappointment was in store for her. It seemed hard indeed that all her cherished plans must suddenly and ruthlessly be destroyed; but it takes a mingled warp and woof of joy and sorrow to weave the patterns of our lives, and a piece of dark background is sometimes needed to bring the brighter parts into full relief. The very next morning a letter arrived from Mrs. Hirst, containing such bad news that Patty had to read it twice over before she entirely grasped the full meaning of its tidings. Three of the younger children were ill with scarlet fever, Rowley seriously so, and Robin and Kitty quite poorly enough to cause a certain amount of anxiety. The small patients had been carefully isolated, and so far the other children were well; but they were of course liable to develop the complaint, and needed careful watching. In the circumstances it was quite impossible for Patty to come home. She must not venture within danger of infection, for even if she did not take scarlet fever herself, it would not be right to allow her to go back to school after the holidays from a house where there had been sickness.

"Uncle Sidney and Aunt Lucy have very kindly invited you to Thorncroft," wrote Mrs. Hirst, "so you will return with Muriel, and will, I hope, have a pleasant holiday there. It is hard for us all to miss our Christmas together, but you must be a brave girl, darling, and look forward to seeing us at Easter instead. I cannot even write to you often, because I am nursing our invalids, and Father has to disinfect my letters carefully in the surgery before he considers it safe to forward them. Milly, however, shall write you a postcard every day, to say how we are, and you will be constantly in my thoughts, though I may not be able to do more than send you a brief message."

To Patty it seemed as if the sun had suddenly gone out. That she must forego all her home joys and spend the holidays with Muriel was indeed a great hardship.

"Muriel won't want me, I know," she sobbed, "and it won't seem like Christmas at all to have to spend it at Thorncroft. Oh, how I wish I could have gone home first, before the children were taken ill, and then I could have helped to nurse them! Easter is months and months off. I don't know how I'm going to live till I see them all again."

After one storm of grief, however, Patty, like a sensible girl, dried her eyes, and tried to put on a bright face and make the best of things as they were. It seemed no use bemoaning her misery, and spoiling all her friends' happiness by dwelling on her troubles, so she managed to interest herself in Enid's packing, and to sympathize with Jean's choice of Christmas presents, though it was hard to listen to the others' glad plans when her own had suffered such shipwreck. It is a great accomplishment to be able to smile outside when we are crying inside, and I don't believe Patty could have done it if she had not been so accustomed to forget her own side of a question, and engross herself in other people's affairs. As it was, her power of self-mastery helped her to be brave and cheery in spite of her disappointment; but it was not an easy task, and it cost her best efforts to smother her grief, and keep up to anything like her usual level of good spirits. It is sometimes more difficult to practise the little self-denials and do the unlauded acts of courage than to make one supreme sacrifice while the world applauds; so I think Patty deserved to be called a heroine for her small victory, which nobody noticed, just as much as if it had been a great one. She had, at any rate, one compensation to console her. Jean Bannerman also lived at Waverton, and would travel home with Muriel and herself, and she hoped it might be possible to see something of Jean during the holidays. The breaking-up day arrived at last, and Patty, after a warm good-bye to Enid, Winnie, and Avis, was put with her two companions under the guardianship of Miss Rowe, who escorted them to the junction, and saw them safely into the northern express. Even though she was not going to her own home, Patty felt rather cheered at leaving The Priory and starting upon a journey; and the prospect of Christmas and its attendant festivities was an enlivening one.

She had a kind welcome from her uncle and aunt, and her cousin Horace, who had returned from school the day before, also seemed pleased to see her. Patty always liked Horace much better than Muriel. He was far kinder to her, and would often ask her to help him with his photography, or to arrange his cases of beetles, butterflies, and moths, entertaining her the while with accounts of his adventures at school, some of which were of such a thrilling description that she suspected they were made up for her benefit. Muriel, who preferred to keep her brother to herself, was jealous of this intimacy; she did not want to include Patty in their family life, and though she did not dare to say so to her parents, she secretly resented her cousin's presence. The two girls were necessarily thrown much in each other's company, and so overbearing did Muriel prove sometimes, that it needed all Patty's self-restraint to prevent a quarrel. It was not pleasant to be ordered about, told to fetch and carry, and receive no thanks for her pains; and particularly disagreeable to be given to understand that she was an unwelcome visitor, who ought to consider herself very fortunate to have been asked at all. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Pearson had any idea how unkind Muriel was to Patty in private; they were proud of their pretty little daughter, and fondly liked to think she was everything they could desire: their love made them blind to small indications of character, and so long as they saw no glaring fault they thought all was well. Muriel from her babyhood had been accustomed to expect her own way in everything. Her father, mother, and brother had made a pet of her, and spoilt her so entirely that she had grown up a very selfish girl, and even the influence of school life, wholesome though it was, had not been able so far to undo the ill effects of her home training. The first few days at Thorncroft were naturally occupied with preparations for Christmas. Patty was very anxious to send some little gifts home to the children, and spent much time and thought planning how she could most advantageously lay out the few shillings of pocket money which she possessed. It was a difficult matter when there were so many presents required, and one which demanded serious consideration. In lack of any other confidant, she talked it over with Muriel.

"There's the tray-cloth for Mother, which I worked at school," she said. "That's quite finished, and it looks very nice, only a little crushed. Aunt Lucy says Emma shall iron it out for me. I wish I could think of something for Father. Can you suggest anything?"

Muriel shook her head.

"I can't," she replied. "I'm in the same difficulty nearly every year. There seems nothing you can give to a gentleman that he really cares for. I've made shaving cloths, and cigarette cases, and match-box holders, and heaps of other things for Father, and he always says 'Thank you!' and puts them away in his drawer, and never uses them. He must have a whole pile of my presents somewhere."

"I thought of a blotter," said Patty, "but I know it would only be left lying about in the surgery. Father has a stylo. pen, and hardly ever needs blotting-paper. The little ones give him useful things—boxes of matches, and railway guides, and cakes of soap."

"Cakes of soap!" laughed Muriel.

"Yes, why not? They can't think of anything else to buy. But I wanted something nicer. I wish someone would publish a book on how to make Christmas presents for one's father."

"They might suggest things, but they couldn't guarantee his using them when they were made."

"It's much easier for the children," said Patty, "because I know exactly what they'd like."

"That's no trouble, then," yawned Muriel. "We shall be going into town to-morrow. You'll have plenty of choice at Archer's."

"Too much, I'm afraid," said Patty. "I shall want to buy all I see."

"Well, if I were you, I should get them each a shilling toy, and then one wouldn't be better than another," said Muriel carelessly, rising and putting an end to a conversation of which she was growing tired. "I'm thankful to say my presents are all arranged."

It was easy enough, Patty thought, for Muriel to suggest shilling toys in such an airy manner, but quite an impossibility to provide them for seven brothers and sisters when her small green purse only contained a half-crown and a new sixpence. Her gifts would have to be very modest ones, and it would take much ingenuity to make her money last out. Emma, her aunt's maid, came to the rescue by hunting out a large bag of coloured wools and helping her to make a ball for the baby. This Patty knew would delight him, and would leave her a little extra to spend upon the others. On the day before Christmas Eve, Mrs. Pearson took Muriel and Patty to town with her, and after visiting several places, the carriage finally drew up at Archer's, a large general store where toys and all kinds of fancy articles were sold. The shop was so crowded that it was quite difficult to obtain attention from the overworked assistants, and Mrs. Pearson was obliged to wait some time before making her purchases. It had been a busy morning for her; she was not strong, and by the time she had bought what she needed, she was thoroughly tired.

"You children must be quick, if there is anything you want," she said, consulting her watch. "I particularly wish to be home by half-past twelve, so I can only allow you ten minutes for your shopping. Where shall we go first?"

"To the book department," said Muriel promptly. "You know I haven't spent the present Aunt Ida sent me yet, and I want to choose something nice."

"Wouldn't it do another day, dear?" suggested her mother.

"No, I'd like to buy it now, and then I can have it to read on Christmas Day. Do come, Mother!"

The book department was upstairs, and proved as crowded as the floor below. After some difficulty they managed to find a place at the counter, and Muriel was soon occupied in turning over the pages of various fascinating stories, hesitating so long over her choice that the ten minutes soon lengthened out into a quarter of an hour.

"Do be quick, Muriel!" Patty ventured to whisper. "Aunt Lucy wants to go home, and I haven't bought one of my presents yet!"

"Oh, bother!" replied Muriel. "Do you think you'd have this historical tale, or this school story, if you were choosing?"

"The school one," said Patty, "though either looks nice. Here's the assistant. If you buy it now, perhaps Aunt Lucy would take me to the toy department for just five minutes."

"I can't make up my mind yet," said Muriel. "I'd rather look at a few others first. Hand me that one bound in green. Yes, and the red one too. Oh, don't be a nuisance! Your Christmas presents will have to wait. I'm not going to decide in a hurry just to please you."

Poor Patty thought Muriel would never finish her purchase. She examined book after book, till at length even her mother waxed impatient, and declared she could stay no longer.

"It is twenty minutes past twelve now," she said, "and I have made an appointment at half-past to meet the superintendent of the Sunday School about the Scholars' Christmas Tree. I should not like to keep him waiting, and I am afraid I shall be late as it is. You must choose at once, dear, and come."

It took almost five minutes longer to secure the services of the assistant, who in the meantime had been attending to somebody else, and to wait while she wrapped the book in paper and fetched the change: so when at length Muriel was able to take her parcel, Mrs. Pearson was most anxious to start for home.

"I suppose there's no time for me to buy anything?" ventured Patty, timidly.

"Oh no, dear!" said her aunt. "We must hurry away at once; you should have mentioned it before. What did you want to get?"

"Some little presents for the children," said Patty. "I've brought my purse with me."

"I am sending them a parcel to-morrow," said Mrs. Pearson, "so that will do for you as well. You shall help me to pack it if you like. Dear me, it's nearly half-past twelve already! How very annoying! Jackson must drive home as quickly as he can. I shall have to apologize to Mr. Saunders. He's always so punctual, I'm sure I shall find him in the breakfast-room when we arrive."

Patty entered the carriage in a very dejected frame of mind. It seemed so hard, when the money had been in her pocket all the morning, that she should have found no opportunity of spending it. She had wished so much to send Christmas boxes to the little ones, and though she knew her aunt's gifts would probably be much handsomer than any she could have afforded, she felt it was not at all the same as if they were her own.

"It's the first Christmas I've ever been away from home," she said to herself, "and I wanted everyone to have a remembrance from me. They'll be so disappointed, and think I've taken no trouble over them. I haven't even any cards to send them."

In spite of her efforts she could not get over her disappointment, and as she sat by the breakfast-room fire after lunch, the tears began to well up in her eyes at the thought of the delightful parcel which she had hoped by now to be packing up and despatching. Muriel, seated in the opposite armchair, was absorbed in her new story, and beyond occasionally asking Patty to poke the fire or put on more coals, took no notice of her cousin, and did not see that anything was wrong. Patty tried to fix her attention on "The Daisy Chain", which she had just begun to read, but the description of the large family made her think of her own, and she felt so wretchedly homesick and miserable that big drops blurred her eyes and fell down on to the pages of her book. She was wiping them up carefully with her pocket handkerchief when the door opened suddenly, and Cousin Horace made his appearance.

"Hello!" he cried cheerily. "I thought I should find you two in here! Muriel, Mother wants you for a minute in her bedroom."

"What for?"

"Your new dress has come, I believe."

Muriel jumped up with alacrity and went upstairs, and Horace, taking her vacant chair, stretched himself lazily, and put his feet on the fender.

"I don't know what it is about holidays," he remarked; "they make a fellow want to do nothing but lounge. Don't you feel the same, Patty?"

"I'm not sure," said Patty, so very chokily that Horace sat up and examined her with critical eyes.

"Why, what's the matter?" he exclaimed.

"Nothing," said Patty, "at least, not much."

"But you're crying."

It was such a self-evident statement that Patty did not reply.

"Have you been quarrelling with Muriel?"

"No. Oh no!"

"Then what is it?"

"It seems hardly worth while telling."

"Of course it is. Look here, Patty, you and I are chums. If you've anything on your mind, just reel it off and get rid of it. Perhaps I can help."

"It's only about the children," began Patty.

"Well! Go on! What about them?"

"I meant to buy them some presents, and there was no time when we were shopping this morning, and Aunt Lucy isn't going into town again before Christmas, so I can't get them at all now," said Patty, blurting out her trouble as briefly as she could.

"Is that all?" asked Horace.

"It's quite enough for me," replied Patty, wiping her eyes again.

"Why, my dear girl, that's easily remedied. Put on your hat and jacket and I'll take you to town in the tramcar. It's only half-past three, and we'll soon buy what you want."

"Oh! Would Aunt Lucy really let us?" cried Patty, brightening up at such a delightful prospect.

"Why not? We'll go and ask her. Stuff that handkerchief in your pocket, and come along now."

Horace knew exactly the right way to wheedle his mother, and very soon persuaded her to allow them to start on their expedition.

"Patty must put on her fur," said Mrs. Pearson. "It is much too cold and foggy for Muriel to go out. I heard her coughing last night."

"I don't want to go, thanks," said Muriel, who looked a little annoyed. "Horace can please himself. I thought he said he was going to develop my films."

"I'll do that another day. Be quick, Patty, or you'll find everything bought up before you get there! I expect the shops will be crammed as full of people as they'll hold."

It was in very different spirits indeed that Patty buttoned her boots, and, donning her outdoor garments, joined Horace, who was waiting for her in the hall. It was freezing keenly, and the ground crunched crisply under their feet as they walked down the drive. They were obliged to wait nearly ten minutes for the tramcar, and it was bitterly cold standing at the corner of the road, but Patty did not mind in the least when she thought of her errand. It was almost dark before they reached the town, and the streets looked bright and cheerful, with their many gas lamps and electric lights shining out through the murky atmosphere. Everyone appeared to be busy with Christmas shopping, and the pavements were crowded with people gazing at the presents displayed in the windows: and almost all seemed to be carrying a number of parcels. There was such a happy, cheery feeling in the air, in spite of the fog, that Patty felt inclined to smile at everybody she met, even the conductor who came to collect their fares, or the stout woman who sat next to her, and whose large basket was such an inconvenience. She was beaming with joy as she and Horace left the car at the terminus and walked down the main street, looking at the gay shop windows as they went.

"I hope you've made a list of your presents," said Horace, "and then we shan't waste time. I think the best plan is to go to a shop, ask for what you want, and insist upon having it. Don't let them show you half-a-dozen other things, and try to persuade you they're quite as good."

"I haven't made a list," said Patty, "but I want to buy eight presents, and only spend three shillings. It allows just fourpence-halfpenny for each, or if I could spend a little less on some of the children's, I might afford rather more for Father's."

"Whew!" exclaimed Horace. "It requires rather careful calculation. You'll have to be uncommonly economical, I'm afraid. What can you possibly buy for fourpence-halfpenny that's worth having?"

"A great many things," said Patty. "Toys, of course, for the little ones. It's far harder to choose presents for Basil and Milly, and it will be terribly difficult to get one for Father, I'm sure. Why, there's Uncle Sidney! He's seen us, and he's crossing the street."

"Well, Patty," said Mr. Pearson, "what are you and Horace doing here?"

"We've come shopping," explained Horace. "Patty's going to hunt bargains to send home. She wants to buy eight Christmas presents for three shillings. Isn't she plucky?" he added, with a meaning glance at his father.

"You had better take her to Archer's stores," said Mr. Pearson, "and see what you can find there." Then, putting his hand in his pocket, he drew out a sovereign and slipped it into his niece's hand. "This is my present to you, Patty," he said. "Perhaps you would rather have it now than on Christmas Day. Spend it just as you like, my dear," and he hurried away almost before she had time to say "Thank you".

With such wealth at her disposal, Patty could now afford to be extravagantly generous, and I think she never enjoyed any afternoon in her life more than the one spent in Archer's stores. I fear she tried Horace's patience, after all, by looking at a great many unnecessary articles; but in the end she secured exactly what she wanted, and emerged from the crowded shop in such a state of bliss that he forbore to scold, and took her various packages instead—a great self-denial on his part, for he was a young gentleman who considered it much beneath his dignity to carry a parcel. I do not know which delighted Patty most, when she opened her treasures on her return, whether it was the pair of thick driving gloves for her father, or the books for Basil and Milly, or the wonderful toys for the little ones. Mary, the nurse, had not been forgotten—a pretty handkerchief-box was to bear her name; and there was even a bottle of scent for Anne, the kitchen servant, and a pencil-case for Hughes, the coachman.

"They'll be so surprised," she said. "I'm sure they won't expect such lovely presents as these."

"These aren't nearly so nice as the things Mother's sending them," said Muriel, turning over the toys in a rather disdainful manner.

"No, but they'll like them all the same, because they come from me. It will be so delightful to write 'From Patty' on each."

"Well, I should hardly have thought it worth while to go into town on purpose to buy them, and especially to drag poor Horace out on such a cold, foggy afternoon," said Muriel.

"She didn't drag me out, Sis; it was I who suggested it," interposed Horace. "Why can't you let her enjoy her presents without finding fault with them?"

"I'm not finding fault."

"Yes, you are."

"You're quite absurd about Patty."

"And you're not very kind."

"It's the first time you've ever called me unkind," said Muriel, flushing angrily. "I think it's horrid of you to run away from me for a whole afternoon and then speak to me like this! You're unkind yourself!"

And throwing down the humming top which she had been examining, she stalked out of the room, and banged the door behind her. Horace, who was extremely fond of his sister, followed, and succeeded in making peace. Muriel was mollified when he played chess with her all the evening, and forgave him for what she considered his neglect; but his championship of Patty did not make her love her cousin any the better.



CHAPTER IX

An Afternoon with Jean

If Patty had to rub her eyes rather vigorously with her pocket handkerchief on Christmas morning, I think there was every excuse for her. To be in a home which was not her own home seemed in some respects almost harder than being at school, for however kind relations may prove, they can never quite take the place of one's family on such a festival as Christmas Day. There were, of course, no presents for Patty from Kirkstone, nothing but a much-disinfected letter, which Aunt Lucy viewed with great uneasiness, and insisted that her niece should throw into the fire directly she had read it.

"I have such a horror of scarlet fever," she declared. "Neither Horace nor Muriel has ever had it, and germs can certainly be conveyed through notepaper. It will be wise, I think, to burn some sulphur pastilles in the room, and you had better wash your hands, Patty, with carbolic soap, as you have touched the letter. I hope your mother won't write to you very often. It would be much safer simply to send telegrams to say how the children are getting on. I'd really rather you didn't receive postcards from Milly."

"But Milly is quite well, and doesn't go near the ones who are ill," pleaded Patty.

"She might develop the disease at any time, though," said Mrs. Pearson. "It's wiser to run no risks. I shall write to your father to-day, and mention the matter."

To lose Milly's daily postcards was a sad blow.

"I'm sure it's not necessary," thought Patty. "Father is so careful; he wouldn't let there be the slightest danger. Still, I suppose Aunt Lucy is nervous, and of course when I'm staying here I can't have letters if she's afraid of them. I do hope she'll let me go and have tea with Jean. I shall be dreadfully disappointed if she says 'No'."

Jean's invitation was the event to which Patty looked forward most during the holidays, but it was a little doubtful whether she would be allowed to accept it, as, though they did not live far away, the Bannermans were not personal friends of Mr. and Mrs. Pearson. A letter arrived one morning from Jean, addressed to Muriel, asking both the girls to tea on the following Thursday, and, to Patty's dismay, her cousin at once declared that she did not intend to go.

"Jean Bannerman's all very well at school, but I really don't want to know her during the holidays," said Muriel. "I see quite as much of her at The Priory as I want. Do you think we need accept, Mother?"

"Well, darling, I must think about it," said Mrs. Pearson. "I have never been introduced to Mrs. Bannerman, and I don't usually let you go to houses where I don't visit myself. Still, on the other hand, I shouldn't like you to disappoint your schoolfellow or hurt her feelings."

"She won't be disappointed; she doesn't care about me in the least," said Muriel.

"Then why does she ask you?"

"I'm sure I don't know," replied Muriel, who never paused to consider that the invitation was also for Patty, and to consult her wishes on the subject of accepting it.

"I hardly know what excuse we can give," said Mrs. Pearson doubtfully.

"We must give some," persisted Muriel, "because the Holdens said they were going to ask me for Thursday, and I particularly want to go there. I expect I shall hear from Trissie this evening. Can't we wait till to-morrow to answer Jean's letter?"

Muriel's expected invitation arrived the following morning, and furnished her with the excuse she needed for refusing the one from Jean.

"I shall write to her and say we can't either of us accept," she said decisively.

"Because you are both engaged for that afternoon," added Mrs. Pearson.

"Well, the Holdens haven't invited Patty," said Muriel, "but of course it doesn't matter."

"If I ask Mrs. Holden to include her in the invitation, I am sure she will do so," said Mrs. Pearson.

"If it won't make too many," began Muriel, frowning at the suggestion.

"Oh, Aunt Lucy!" cried Patty, waxing bold, "if the Holdens haven't really sent me an invitation, may I have tea with Jean instead? I should so like to go."

"It would certainly be a good way out of the difficulty," said Mrs. Pearson. "I think that will be quite the best plan. You had better write, Muriel, and say that you have an engagement yourself, but your cousin will be pleased to accept."

Patty had never expected such luck as to be able to spend a whole afternoon with Jean without Muriel accompanying her, and she found it quite difficult to repress her delight. The time fixed was three o'clock, and punctual to the moment she started off, under the escort of one of the servants, to walk to the Bannermans' house, which was only a short distance from Thorncroft. Jean was watching for her at the window, and flew to the front door to welcome her.

"Here you are at last!" she exclaimed, when her friend was safely inside the hall. "I'm simply rejoiced to have you all to myself! I was obliged to ask Muriel too, but I'm so glad she couldn't come. Now we'll have a glorious time. Come into the drawing-room to see Mother, and then we'll go upstairs to my bedroom. I have ever so many things I want to show you."

Jean was the fortunate possessor of a particularly pretty little bedroom. It was furnished partly as a sitting-room, and a fire had been lighted there that afternoon, so that the two girls might indulge in a private chat. Patty sank into a cosy basket chair, but she did not stay there long, as she kept jumping up to look at the many treasures which decorated the walls, and about most of which Jean seemed to have some story to tell. Over the mantelpiece hung a fine pair of ram's horns that had been polished and mounted on an oak slab.

"They came from Scotland," said Jean, "and they're a souvenir of an adventure that Colin and I had when we were staying at our Uncle's."

"What happened?"

"We went out one day for a walk by ourselves on the hills. We had wandered a long way, and climbed over a stone wall into a field, when suddenly we heard a curious noise, and saw an old ram stamping its feet at us. 'We'd better run,' said Colin. 'It'll be after us in a moment;' and just as he spoke, the ram set off as fast as it could in our direction. You can imagine how we rushed down the hill. The ram looked so fierce, we were dreadfully frightened, and I thought perhaps it would gore us like a bull. At the bottom of the field there was a stream. Colin called to me to get across by the stones, and I tried, but I was in such a hurry that my foot slipped, and I fell into quite a deep pool up to my waist. The ram seemed at first as if it meant to follow me, for it came a little way into the water; but it changed its mind, and turned round and went up the hill again. Colin fished me out of the water, but I was dreadfully wet, and so out of breath with running, I felt as if I couldn't walk home; so he took me to a farm close by, and the people dried my clothes. They were very kind, especially when they heard about the ram. They said it was really a savage one, and it might have hurt us if it had caught us. They were obliged to kill it that autumn, and they sent the horns to Uncle as a present; and he had them mounted, and gave them to me. When I see them hanging there, I often remember how fast Colin and I ran that day."

"I should think you have splendid times in Scotland."

"So we do. We go there nearly every summer, and stay either with Grandfather or one of our uncles. When we're at Grandfather's we have to go to church on Sunday in the boat across the loch. It's so nice, especially if we go to the evening service, and row back just at sunset. Then on weekdays we go fishing. I caught a salmon all by myself last year. I was so proud. Grandfather didn't touch my line, he only told me what to do. We took a photo. of the salmon, and I had it framed. It's there, hanging on the wall. You must look at it, and at some of my other pictures."

"I like that picture best," said Patty, smiling, and pointing to a corner where there was a little stained-glass window opening on to the landing. Against the outside of this two noses were flattened, and two pairs of eyes were plainly visible gazing into the room with deep interest, while a peculiar noise, something between giggling and snorting, seemed to indicate that the owners of the eyes and noses were making an effort to subdue their mirth.

"Nell and Jamie!" cried Jean, springing up in a hurry. "They are the most outrageous children!"

There was a loud scuffle, the sound of a falling chair and of flying footsteps, and by the time Jean reached the door no one was to be seen, though a doll, dropped in the hurried flight, afforded some evidence of the intruders.

"I suppose they wanted to peep at you," said Jean. "Mother told them they must be good this afternoon, and not bother if I wanted to have you to myself. As a rule they cling to me like burs from morning till night."

"Oh, do let us go to see them!" said Patty.

"Very well, but you don't know what you're undertaking," said Jean, leading the way to the nursery. "You won't get rid of them all the rest of the time you're here."

Nell and Jamie proved to be roguish-looking little people of seven and five, with round, pink, dimpled cheeks, and crops of beautiful thick auburn curls. They were the babies of the household, and Patty could see that Jean, though she affected to find them troublesome, was secretly immensely proud of them, and pleased to have an opportunity of showing them to her friend. They were not at all shy; both climbed readily upon the visitor's knees, and began to talk in a most friendly fashion.

"We're going to be very good," announced Jamie, whose small fingers were busy examining Patty's brooch and locket. "We're not going to do anything we oughtn't."

"So you say," said Jean, "but you haven't asked Patty if she likes her locket opened. Be careful, Jamie! You'll break the hinge if you bend it back. Don't let him, Patty! Put him down if he's a nuisance."

"I like to nurse him," said Patty. "He reminds me of my little brother Rowley. I think I'll take off the locket and put it in my pocket, and then it can't come to any harm. What a heavy boy you are, Jamie, for your age! I'm sure you weigh as much as Nell."

"'Cause I eat more," said Jamie. "I can always win when we have bread and butter races at tea. How do you like my new blouse? Nurse only finished it half an hour ago. She made it on purpose because you were coming. She said I had nothing else to put on."

"Oh, Jamie, I'm sure she didn't!" exclaimed Jean. "You have a whole drawer full of clean blouses."

"They're all dirty now, every one," confided Nell. "He had on five yesterday, and two this morning. He spilt his porridge down one at breakfast, and he nursed Floss in the other. She had just come in from the garden, and her paws were so muddy."

"I'm afraid he's a handful!" said Patty, kissing the pretty little fellow who clung round her neck in such a coaxing manner.

"He certainly is," said Jean. "What do you think he did last Sunday? He had promised to be extra good in church, and he was so quiet, we thought he was behaving beautifully, and then I looked, and found he was rubbing his face along the hot-water pipes, and had made black smears all across his cheeks, and on his white sailor collar. He's an extremely naughty boy sometimes, I can assure you. Nell, I wish you'd go and find Colin. He wants to see you, Patty, very much; but he's so dreadfully shy with girls, I don't know whether we shall be able to persuade him to come into the room after all."

Nell returned in a few minutes, hauling the bashful and unwilling Colin by the hand. He was a boy of thirteen, like Jean in appearance, and rather gruff and abrupt in his manners, until he found that Patty was not so formidable as he had imagined, and that she had a brother the same age as himself, who had also won a prize for the long jump at his school sports.

"Colin's still at a preparatory," explained Jean, "but he's to go to a public school next year, either Marlborough or Rugby—Father can't quite decide which."

"Which would you rather?" enquired Patty.

"Rugby, because a fellow I know is there," replied Colin, decisively.

"I shall go to Rugby too, when Colin does," announced Jamie confidently.

"No, thanks! I wouldn't take you with those curls. You may go to The Priory with Jean," said Colin teasingly.

"Would you take me without my curls?"

"They'd certainly have to shear you first."

"Then I'll cut them off now, my own self!" cried Jamie, jumping from Patty's knee and rummaging in his nurse's workbasket for her scissors, which his sister promptly took away from him.

"Look here, Curlylocks!" she said. "If you cut your hair you won't get any more chocolates. No, not a single one ever again. I should give them all to Nell to eat instead. It's quite true. I mean it. I do indeed."

"I don't want to go to school yet," declared Nell. "Jean says you have to sit so still in class, and not even whisper. Miss Thornton tells me to run six times round the room when I begin to get tired."

"I'm afraid Miss Harper wouldn't let us do that, however much we might fidget," laughed Patty. "I should like to see her face if we suggested it. Is Miss Thornton your governess?"

"Yes; she comes every morning, but we're having holidays now. I like holidays best."

"So do most people," said Jean; "but it's not much of a holiday for anybody to sit nursing two big children. Come along, Patty! I want Colin to show you his birds' eggs. He's got quite a nice collection."

"Us too!" cried the little ones, holding out beseeching hands. "We won't touch a thing."

Colin, however, was firm in his refusal.

"No, thank you," he said. "I'd as soon let Floss loose among my birds' eggs as trust you two."

"But we'd promise."

"I don't believe your promises. You'd break them in three seconds, and the eggs as well. You smashed all those I gave you last term. Here, you may have this blue chalk pencil and draw pictures. Don't quarrel over it more than you can help."

The collection of birds' eggs was kept downstairs, so, leaving Nell and Jamie in the nursery, the girls went with Colin to the breakfast-room, where there were Jean's foreign stamps to look at afterwards, and a large album full of picture postcards. Mr. Bannerman came in for tea, and was so pleasant and jovial and full of fun, that he entertained them all for more than half an hour with his jokes and stories. He had travelled much in his youth, and had many tales to tell of wild adventures in far-off countries, or amusing experiences nearer home. He joined afterwards in playing games, in which the little ones were also included; and the time passed away so quickly, that Patty could scarcely believe it was eight o'clock when Aunt Lucy's maid arrived to fetch her home.

"I expect you had a stupid afternoon," said Muriel, on her return, "one of those tiresome duty visits that have to be paid now and then, worse luck!"

"On the contrary, I enjoyed it immensely," said Patty.

"Why, what did you do? I can't imagine there'd be anything exciting at the Bannermans'."

"Oh! we played games, and looked at birds' eggs, and postcards, and things."

"That doesn't sound interesting in the least. You should have been at the Holdens'. They have a pianola and a gramophone, and we were trying over all the new pantomime songs."

"I liked being with Jean."

"I don't know what you see in Jean. I think she's a most stupid, commonplace girl. I'm not at all anxious to be friends with her in Waverton, and I'm very glad I couldn't go to-day. You were welcome to my share of the visit if you enjoyed it, but please don't suggest to Mother to invite her back, because we haven't an afternoon free, and I'd rather not ask her if we had!"



CHAPTER X

The Caesar Translation

Patty heaved a sigh of relief when she found herself back again at school. With the exception of the one afternoon at Jean Bannerman's, she had not enjoyed her holidays. A month spent in Muriel's society had been of little pleasure; indeed, almost every day it had needed constant effort to keep her temper, and to submit patiently to her cousin's whims. Muriel, taking advantage of Patty's forbearance, had ordered her companion about, and treated her in such a haughty and disdainful manner, that the latter had sometimes felt her position nearly unbearable. At The Priory at least she could be independent; she could select her own friends, with whom she might mix on equal terms, and could secure a standing of her own, apart from Muriel's scornful patronage. It was delightful to once more meet Enid, Avis, and Winnie, and to make plans for various cherished schemes to be carried out during the term; even May, Ella, and Doris proved more friendly, and chatted quite pleasantly with her in their bedroom about their experiences: while Cissie Gardiner and Maggie Woodhall greeted her with enthusiasm.