"I've had such a lovely time!" said Cissie. "My brother Cyril was home from Sandhurst, and he took me to the Military Tournament. I think there's nothing in the world equal to cavalry. I mean to be an army sister when I grow up. We saw a staff of nurses do field drill, and carry a wounded officer to a Red Cross tent. (He wasn't really wounded, of course, but he pretended to be.) They looked just too sweet in their uniforms. Grey always suits me, doesn't it? I wish there'd be another war in South Africa, so that I might volunteer to go out."

"You won't be grown up for four years, dearest, and then perhaps you'll be tired of soldiers, and like poets again," said Maggie, putting her arm affectionately round her friend's waist. "Did you have nice holidays too, Patty?"

"Yes, thank you," replied Patty, as truthfully as she could.

She had decided that it was wiser not to tell any of her friends how unhappy she had been at Thorncroft. For Uncle Sidney's sake she would be as loyal as she could to Muriel, so, suppressing all mention of the many disagreeable episodes of her visit, she merely described the parties and the afternoon at the pantomime with as much detail as possible, leaving it to be inferred that she had enjoyed herself. The spring term was generally regarded at The Priory as a time of particularly close study and increased work. In the autumn there were lectures, concerts, or other little dissipations to break the monotony of school life; the summer term was arranged specially to allow extra time out-of-doors; but from January to April the girls were expected to put their shoulders to the wheel, and commit to memory such a number of pages in their textbooks, that Avis declared it amounted to hard labour.

"The worst of it is," she complained, "that each teacher expects you to give all your time to her particular subject. Miss Harper looks reproachful if I can't say my history, and Miss Rowe scolds if I miss in my grammar. Then Mademoiselle gives me yards of French poetry and two or three irregular verbs to learn, and Miss Lincoln asks me why my essay is so short. I could spend the whole of prep. over just one lesson, and then not know it properly in the end. Unless I take my books to bed, I can't possibly get through everything that's set me."

"You should do as I do," said Enid. "I learn the beginning of the history portion almost by heart. Then I look very intelligent and attentive, and when Miss Harper asks me a question, I rattle off a long answer nearly word for word from the book, at such a tremendous rate that she can scarcely follow me, and says, 'That will do, Enid'. It makes her think I know the whole lesson, and she keeps questioning the other girls who've hesitated and stumbled."

"She'll catch you some day," said Winnie. "Miss Harper's too clever to be taken in by any such tricks. She's sure to ask you a question at the end quite unexpectedly, and what will you do then?"

"Trust to luck," said Enid. "She'll perhaps think I've forgotten for once. I manage my essays for Miss Lincoln rather well, too. When I can't remember any facts I make up a line or two of appropriate poetry, and put 'as the poet says'. It fills up splendidly. Miss Lincoln said once she didn't recognize all my quotations, but she always gives me a high mark!"

"You can't do that kind of thing with Mademoiselle," said Avis.

"No, I own it would be no use to try. When one has forty lines of French poetry to recite, one's obliged to set to work and get it into one's head. But I mean to manage better in the conversation class. My eldest sister has just come home from Paris, and she's taught me the French for 'How is your throat?' and 'Do you feel a draught?' Mademoiselle always has a cold, and wants the window shut. She'll think I'm so sympathetic, and be sure to put 'excellent' in my report."

"I can manage French, and do pretty well in history and geography, but I can't learn Latin," groaned Winnie. "I didn't mind so much when we only did sentences, but now we've begun Caesar it's simply detestable. I'm an absolute goose at translation."

"So am I," echoed Avis, mournfully. "I don't think Latin was ever meant for girls. My brother did Caesar two years ago, and he's in Virgil now, though he's a year younger than I am. It seems quite easy to him, but I never know which verb goes with which substantive, or whether a thing is a nominative or a genitive. I look out all the words in the dictionary, and learn their meanings, but I can't make the least sense of them until Miss Harper shows me how they fit into the sentences. Why isn't Latin arranged like English? Everything seems turned the wrong way."

"I don't know," said Winnie. "I should think it must have been difficult for a Roman baby to learn to talk. Miss Harper says it's good mental exercise for us, and we must try to use our brains."

"Mine will wear out," said Avis. "They never were very strong, to begin with. I always forget everything I have learnt the term before; I do indeed. I knew the whole of 'Lycidas' by heart last year, and I can't remember a line of it now. Miss Rowe says my head is like a sieve. You ought to like Caesar, at any rate, Cissie, because it's all about soldiers."

"I don't care for Roman soldiers," said Cissie; "at least, not in Caesar, though I rather like them in stories. I love the one in Puck of Pook's Hill, who had to set out for the great wall; he was a perfect dear. If Rudyard Kipling could have written that wretched De Bello Gallico it would have been so different, and so much nicer."

"I should think it would!" said Enid laughing. "Much too nice for us. They choose the driest books possible for schools. Patty, why don't you grumble too? It's quite aggravating to see you looking so complacent."

"I grumble over mathematics, at any rate," said Patty.

"But not over Latin?"

"No, I rather like it."

"How can you like it?"

"I don't know why, but I do."

"There's nothing to like."

"Yes, there is; it's rather fun to try and turn the words into sentences."

"You're not very good at French translation, and yet you always make sense out of Caesar. I can't think how you manage it," said Avis.

"Ah, that's my secret!" answered Patty. "I shan't give it away, or else perhaps you'd all do as well."

"Is it really a secret?" asked Beatrice Wynne, who had joined the group.

"Of course it is," said Patty mysteriously. "One of those things you can't explain and wouldn't if you could."

"Oh, do tell me!" implored Beatrice.

"No!" said Patty, shaking her head solemnly. "A secret is a secret, and you mustn't ask questions."

"I'll find out some day," returned Beatrice. "I love discovering secrets."

"Don't be too sure of mine," said Patty. "You won't find it out, because——"

But here she shook her head with the air of a sphinx, and, leaving her sentence unfinished, took up her music-case and went to practise.

Now, Patty had only been having a little fun with Beatrice. She had meant to say, "because there is no secret at all", and to have explained what was really the fact, that she had helped her brother Basil so often at home to prepare his Latin translation that the earlier part of De Bello Gallico was already familiar to her. Thinking, however, that it would be possible to continue the joke, and that it would be amusing to excite Beatrice's curiosity over nothing, she had preserved her mystery for the present, intending to explain it on some future occasion. In view of events which followed, it proved a most unfortunate occurrence, and one which she afterwards bitterly regretted. Her innocent remark led to conclusions quite unforeseen, and so disastrous that she would have given much if her words had never been uttered; but once spoken they were impossible to recall, and the mischief was done. Blind as yet to what was to happen in the future, she spent half an hour at the piano, and then went to the classroom to fetch a book which she had forgotten. It was a pouring wet afternoon, and as it was quite impossible for the girls to play their usual game of hockey, they were allowed to amuse themselves as they liked until tea-time. As a rule the classroom was empty between three and four o'clock, and Patty opened the door, expecting to find the room unoccupied. To her astonishment, Muriel was seated there, busily engaged in writing, and evidently copying something from a book which she held on her knee. She started guiltily at her cousin's entrance, as if she were being caught in some act which she did not wish to be discovered, turned crimson, and, thrusting the book into her desk, banged down the lid, and pretended to be tidying the contents of her pencil-box. It was so unusual to find Muriel at work out of school hours, that Patty could not help expressing her amazement.

"Why, what are you doing here?" she exclaimed.

"I might ask you the same," returned Muriel. "I suppose I have as good a right to come to my desk when I want as anybody else has!"

"Why, of course," said Patty. "I was only surprised."

"Then I wish you would keep your surprise to yourself. I can't think why you should always be following me about."

"Oh, Muriel, I wasn't! I only came to fetch my history."

"And I only came to do some of my lessons in quiet. The recreation room is a perfect Babel."

"So it is," said Patty. "I thought I'd learn my dates quietly in here."

"Can't you learn them in prep.?" asked Muriel.

"Not so well. I want the extra time for my Latin. It's such a stiff piece for to-morrow. Don't you think so?"

"I haven't looked at it yet," replied Muriel, in a rather strained voice, and avoiding Patty's eye.

"Why, Muriel," cried the latter, who had come close to her cousin, "what are you writing now? 'There remained one way through the Sequani.'"

"I wish you'd mind your own business. I was only scribbling nonsense to try my new pen," said Muriel angrily, tearing up her piece of paper. "Do leave me alone!"

Patty sat down at her own desk, and, taking out her history book, was soon deep in an effort to master the dates which Miss Harper had set for the next day's lesson. Muriel went on for some little time arranging her pencils and indiarubbers in a very discontented and annoyed manner.

"Look here, Patty, I wish you'd go!" she said at last.

"Go! Why?" asked Patty.

"Because you disturb me."

"But I wasn't saying it aloud."

"It doesn't matter. I can learn things much better when I'm quite alone."

"You're never alone at prep."

"No, I wish I were. I could get through the work in half the time. You're interrupting me now by talking."

"Then I won't talk," said Patty, taking up her book, which she had laid down; "I won't say a single word."

"The very sight of anyone in the room is enough to stop me learning properly. I haven't done a single thing since you came here."

Patty was on the point of saying, "It's your own fault, then;" but the thought of Uncle Sidney stepped in, and she refrained.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked instead.

"To go and leave me in peace. You can learn your dates in a corner of the lecture room or in the studio."

It was rather hard to be thus ordered away from the quiet place which she had chosen, and Patty stood hesitating whether to comply or not, when the question was settled by the ringing of the tea bell, and both girls were obliged to hurry to the refectory. Patty did not think much of this incident at the time, only setting it down to Muriel's caprice, and being quite accustomed to her cousin's ill humours; but in the light of after events it wore a different aspect. One morning at nine o'clock, when Miss Rowe had taken the register, and the girls were in their places waiting for school to begin, Miss Harper entered the room with an extremely grave look on her face. Instead of commencing the lesson as usual, she stood for a few moments without speaking, and her silence filled her class with an uneasy apprehension that all was not right.

"Girls," she said at last, "something has happened which gives me more pain than anything else I have experienced during the five years I have taught at The Priory. Yesterday the monitress, when tidying the room, found this book, which she very rightly brought at once to me. I regret to tell you that it is a translation of Caesar's De Bello Gallico; in fact, what is commonly known as a 'crib'. That any girl in my class could so have lost her self-respect as to condescend to use it to prepare her lesson, fills me with shame, as it shows such an absolute lowering of the high standard of honour which we have always tried to maintain. I ask each of you now, do you know who is the owner of this book, or can you account for its presence here?"

There was no reply. Every girl looked at her neighbour, but nobody had any information to volunteer. Muriel's eyes were fixed on her atlas; she did not appear the least affected by Miss Harper's words, though a keen observer might have noticed she was a little paler than usual. Patty's heart beat quickly. Quite suddenly the horrible remembrance flashed across her of the book which Muriel had replaced so quickly in the desk. Muriel had certainly at the time been writing a translation of the Latin lesson, though she had denied it flatly; and it was a curious coincidence that she should have seemed so unreasonably angry with her cousin for staying in the room. Was the book hers? Patty blushed hotly at the very idea. What ought she to do? It was impossible to tell her conjectures to Miss Harper in the presence of the whole class. If Muriel were guilty, she would surely confess the matter herself. It could not be necessary to turn informer and voice suspicions which, after all, might prove to have been entirely groundless. Nevertheless, she felt uncomfortable, and as Miss Harper's steady glance was fixed upon her she could not meet the searching eyes, and dropped her own uneasily.

"I ask you again," said the teacher, with reproach in her voice, "does any girl know anything of this occurrence? I promise I will inflict no punishment if whoever is guilty will only honestly confess."

Once more her brown eyes scanned her class narrowly, and once more Patty dared not look her straight in the face.

"Very well," said Miss Harper, "I shall not seek any further to find the owner, though the initials P. and H. intertwined on the title page might possibly give me a clue. The girl to whom it belongs will find her own conscience her severest judge; she will surely feel, without further remark from me, how contemptible is her conduct. I scarcely know what to do with this book," she continued, holding up the translation as if she did not like to touch it. "I will not take charge of it, as I consider it unworthy to be in existence. This will show you best how I regard it;" and, tearing its pages across and across, she flung it into the fire. "Now, girls, open your Caesars, and we will begin the lesson."



It was the most miserable Latin class which the girls ever remembered. Each one was afraid to construe well, for fear she might be suspected of having done her preparation with the aid of the translation. Miss Harper made no comments, and gave neither praise for good work nor blame for bad. She took the marks as usual, and at the end of the hour left the room without referring again to the subject. I am afraid Miss Rowe, who followed with geology, did not find her pupils particularly intelligent that morning. She was obliged several times to correct them sharply for wandering attention, and was annoyed at the many wrong answers to the questions which she asked. The girls were unable to fix their thoughts upon either glaciers or moraines; all were counting the minutes until lunch-time, when they could rush from the room to discuss the burning question of the ownership of the translation. As Patty walked down the passage at eleven o'clock to the pantry, she noticed Vera Clifford nudge Kitty Harrison and whisper something she could not hear. Most of the girls were collected in a little group near the door, talking eagerly, and some of them looked curiously at her as she passed.

"I don't believe it!" cried Enid's indignant voice. "It's quite untrue and impossible!"

"You'll never persuade me, not if you try all day," said Winnie.

"She always gets such good marks for her Caesar," said Maggie Woodhall, doubtfully.

"Well, she told me herself it was a secret how she did it," declared Beatrice Wynne. "She said she couldn't explain it, and wouldn't if she could, and if we knew we might all do it equally well. Could anything be clearer than that?"

"And the initials were P. H., for Patty Hirst!" added Ella Johnson.

Patty, as she took her lunch, could not help overhearing what was said by the group round the door. At first she did not quite understand the drift of the conversation, but at Ella's remark a light suddenly dawned upon her. Putting down her glass of milk, she turned abruptly to the others.

"Girls," she cried, "surely you can't suspect me of owning that wretched 'crib'?"

"Then whose is it if it's not yours?" asked Beatrice Wynne.

"I don't know, any more than you. But one thing's certain, I've had nothing to do with it. Why, I wouldn't have soiled my fingers by touching it!"

"How about the initials?" enquired Ella Johnson, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice.

"I don't know. It never occurred to me till this minute that you could connect my name with them."

"It's a funny coincidence," sneered Vera Clifford.

"I suppose the book must have been brought to school by somebody," said Kitty Harrison.

"It was not brought by me," said Patty. "I've no means of proving anything, but I've always been called truthful at home, and I think my word ought to hold good at The Priory too."

"Then whom does it belong to?" persisted Kitty. "Do you know anything at all about it?"

"Nothing," answered Patty; but the horrible suspicion lurking in the corner of her mind made her voice falter just a little, and some of the girls drew their own conclusions.

"Look here," said Enid, "I'd as soon believe Miss Harper smuggled that 'crib' into school herself as think Patty did! She's absolutely incapable of such a thing, and you all know it as well as I do. Why, it's Patty who's always tried to make us be fair over our work! She simply couldn't cheat. Hands up, all those who don't believe this hateful story!"

Jean, Winnie, and Avis held up their hands at once, and so, to the astonishment of most of her companions, did Muriel. Cissie Gardiner and Maggie Woodhall followed suit, but the others looked doubtful.

"I suppose we must accept Patty's word," said Beatrice, rather stiffly. "Still, it's a funny thing, and I wish it hadn't happened."

"Very funny, certainly, for the one who started the pledge," said Vera Clifford, under her breath.

"We shall find it out some day," said Enid. "I'm determined Patty's name shall be cleared. How any of you can be so idiotic as to connect her with it, I can't imagine. Never mind, Patty dear! We know you better than to believe such rubbish. Don't trouble your head about it, for it simply isn't worth worrying over. Everyone with a spark of sense will agree with me, and I'm sure Miss Harper will think the same."



CHAPTER XI

The Summer Term

In spite of Enid's advice not to worry about the Caesar translation, Patty could not help taking the matter deeply to heart. Though none of the girls openly accused her, she felt that the unjust suspicion clung to her, and that many were undecided whether to consider her guilty or innocent. That she, of all in the class, the one who had striven so hard for the cause of right and honour, should be obliged to remain with this blot upon the white page of her school career, seemed the greatest trial which she could be called upon to bear. The worst of it was that she could not even discuss it freely with her friends. The more she thought about the affair, the more sure she felt that the book must have belonged to Muriel, and the latter's rather conscious manner only confirmed her suspicion. The class, finding that Muriel disliked to hear the subject mentioned, naturally concluded that she was ashamed for her cousin's name to be connected with anything dishonourable, and by common consent never alluded to it in her presence. Muriel avoided Patty more than ever, confining herself strictly to Vera Clifford's company, and keeping aloof from the rest of the girls, who, indeed, found her so supercilious and disagreeable that they were not very anxious to be on friendly terms with her. Miss Harper, since burning the translation, had not referred to it again; yet, though she did not apparently relax any of the trust which she usually placed in her pupils, all were conscious of an increased vigilance in her observation of them.

"She's watching us," said Avis one day. "I can't quite describe how, but I feel as if Miss Harper knew all that I was doing and saying, and even thinking. I believe her eyes and ears must be sharper than anybody else's. She seems to notice such tiny little things, and then speaks of them quite a long time afterwards. She remembered perfectly well, I'm sure, that it was Beatrice Wynne who used always to borrow other people's pencils last term and never give them back, because when Beatrice lent her one yesterday she said so pointedly that she should return it."

It was impossible to tell from the teacher's manner whether she considered the translation had really belonged to Patty. Her remark at the time about the initials certainly favoured such a supposition, but she made no difference in her behaviour, and, indeed, several times praised Patty's work during the Latin lesson. The ownership of the book seemed likely to remain an unsolved mystery, one of those unpleasant occurrences which happen sometimes in a school, to the grief of the mistresses and the consternation of all concerned. The only thing which it was possible for Patty to do was to live the affair down, and trust that time and patient waiting might one day re-establish her reputation absolutely and beyond a doubt in the opinion of both teachers and comrades. The remainder of the spring term passed without any special event, and by Easter Mrs. Hirst wrote to say that the children were now in the best of health, that scarlet-fever germs had long ago been disinfected away, and that all the family were looking forward eagerly to her return. Patty thought there never had been such a meeting, or such glorious holidays as followed afterwards. It was almost worth while to have been absent for seven whole months to experience the joy of such a warm welcome as she found waiting for her at home. The little ones clung to her like flies round a honey pot, and even the baby, grown out of all knowledge, soon made friends with the sister whom he had forgotten. She had several delightful drives with her father when he went on his rounds, and in the long chats with her mother, after the younger ones were in bed, she was able to pour out most of her troubles, and get that comfort and good counsel which mothers always seem to know best how to give.

"I wish Muriel would like me better!" confided Patty. "It seems no use; however hard I try to be nice to her, everything I do is always wrong. Am I really keeping my promise to Uncle Sidney, when she never gives me the chance to be her friend?"

"Certainly, if you are trying your best," said Mrs. Hirst. "We cannot force our friendship where it is not wanted. You can await your opportunity of doing Muriel a good turn; some day she may appreciate you better. Kindness is never wasted, and even if it does not seem to have any immediate result, it is doing its own quiet work, and may return to you afterwards in ways which you never expect. We rarely find people exactly to our liking, so the best plan is to pick out their good points, and ignore the disagreeable side as much as we can. One of the greatest secrets in life is to know how to smile and wait. I am sure you will never regret being patient with Muriel, and who can tell that she may not change her views, and learn to value what she now throws away."

Patty went back to school much consoled, and in a far more cheerful frame of mind. She was determined that she would not let Muriel's unkindness distress her any more. She would not avoid her cousin, but, on the other hand, she would not make advances which would lay her open to a rebuff, or give any opportunity for that scornful treatment which had hurt her so much in the past. As her mother suggested, she would be ready to help if occasion offered, but there seemed no need to press services which were evidently neither desired nor welcome. Having settled that point with her own conscience, Patty began thoroughly to enjoy the summer term. The Priory was delightfully situated in the midst of pretty country, and the girls were allowed many rambles in the woods or on the heathery common. Occasionally the botany class would make an excursion, under the superintendence of Miss Rowe, to obtain specimens of wild flowers, which they afterwards pressed and pasted in books; and once Miss Lincoln took the whole of the lower school to hunt for fossils among the heaps of shale lying at the mouth of an old quarry. She herself was both a keen geologist and naturalist, and tried to interest her girls in all the specimens of stones, flowers, birds, or insects which they found during their walks. "If you will only learn to talk about things instead of people," she said, "you will avoid a great deal of disagreeable gossip and ill-natured conversation. The wide world is full of beautiful objects, and the more you know about them the less concern you will take over your neighbours' doings and failings. Real culture consists largely in being able to discuss things instead of persons. If you will lay up plenty of interests while you are young, you will find you have been like bees gathering honey, and you will have a store to draw upon for the rest of your lives quite independent of all outside happenings, or good or bad fortune which may come to you."

It was not every day, of course, that the girls could be taken for long country walks; there were many other occupations at The Priory which were quite as delightful. During the summer term the callisthenic class was given up, and swimming was held instead in the large bath beyond the gymnasium. Patty, who had not yet had any opportunity of learning to swim, looked forward with great eagerness to her first dip. The bath was very nicely arranged, with a broad walk round it, where onlookers could stand and watch, a row of small dressing-rooms at each side, and a platform at the deep end, from which diving might be performed. Patty found that she and Jean Bannerman were the only ones in the class who had not already had some practice in the water. The two beginners donned their costumes and made their initial plunge together, therefore, at the shallow end. They would have been quite content to splash about like ducks, watching the more advanced members, who were floating and swimming as if in their natural element; that, however, Miss Latimer would not allow. Placing a lifebuoy round Patty's waist, she decreed that she must commence to learn her strokes, and showed her carefully how these ought to be done. There was a long plank across the bath upon which the teacher could stand, and by means of a rope attached to the lifebuoy, could hold up her pupil until she had mastered the art of keeping herself afloat. Patty found it a great deal more difficult than she had at first imagined. She floundered and struggled helplessly in her efforts to carry out Miss Latimer's directions, foolishly opened her mouth in the water, spluttered, choked, and was very glad to take a rest, and allow Jean to have a turn instead. The latter, who had bathed often at the seaside, got on much better, and was able to inspire Patty with confidence for fresh efforts when she plucked up her courage to try again.

"You needn't be in the least afraid," said Miss Latimer encouragingly. "Everyone finds it hard at first, just like learning to ride a bicycle, or to skate, or any other unaccustomed mode of locomotion. You will soon get used to the movements, and then you will never forget them all your life; it will be as easy and natural to you as walking."

"I wish I'd got to that stage," said Patty. "Just at present I feel like one of those toy tin floating ducks that has lost its tail, and over-balances when you put it into the water. I can't remember that I ought to use both my arms and my legs. How well you managed, Jean!"

"I was practising on my bed this morning," said Jean. "Cissie and Maggie showed me the strokes. It's really rather like what a frog does, isn't it?"

"Come along; I can't waste time," said Miss Latimer. "I can give you each one more turn with the lifebuoy, and then I shall expect you to hold one another up, and try by yourselves."

By the third lesson Patty had improved so much that she was able to manage without assistance, and Miss Latimer declared that she must swim the entire length of the bath alone, from the steps to the deep end. All the class stopped floating and diving, and sat down on the edge to watch her, so that it was somewhat of an ordeal to have to perform her feat before a row of laughing eyes. She did very nicely, indeed, in the shallow part, where she could put a surreptitious foot to the bottom; but when it came to the middle, and all had to depend upon her aquatic skill, she grew nervous.

"Go on, Patty, you're all right!" called Enid.

"Throw your neck back!" cried Miss Latimer.

"Go on, Patty, keep it up!"

"Don't be done, Patty!"

"She's going under!"

"No, she's not!"

"Keep at it, Patty!"

"Don't be afraid!"

"You'll get across all right!"

In spite of her companions' encouraging remarks, however, Patty did not succeed this time. I suppose she forgot to keep her neck thrown back, or to draw in her breath properly; at any rate, up went her heels, and down went her head, and she seemed suddenly to turn a kind of somersault in the water. Instantly all the members of the class dived to her rescue, so bent on putting into performance the life-saving which they had practised, that they almost pulled her to pieces in their efforts.

"Oh, you've nearly dragged my arms off!" cried poor Patty, when at last she was in safety at the shallow end again.

"You might have been drowned if it hadn't been for us!" exclaimed Cissie Gardiner, hysterically.

"Hardly that, while I was standing by," remarked Miss Latimer, with a smile. "But Patty has given you such good practice in rescuing a drowning person, that you ought to be quite grateful to her."

"Oh, Patty, you did look funny! You came up spouting like a whale!" said Enid.

"I didn't feel funny," returned Patty. "It was horrid. I thought I was swallowing half the water in the bath."

"You won't want any tea, then!" declared Winnie.

"Yes, I shall."

"Patty must try again another day," said Miss Latimer. "She will soon gain a little more confidence, and I expect after a few weeks she will be diving at the deep end as readily as any of you. We will take the life-saving again now, with Enid to play the part of a drowning person. I was not at all satisfied with the way you pulled Patty out of the water. If such an accident had happened in a river, or in the open sea, I am afraid some of you would have been in danger yourselves."

Miss Latimer proved a true prophet, and Patty found that long before the summer term was over she was able to both dive and float, as well as swim easily round the bath. She was delighted with her new accomplishment, and began to plan already whether it would be possible to persuade her father to leave his patients and take his family to the seaside for a few weeks during the holidays, so that she might have the satisfaction of teaching the little ones what she had learnt herself.

"If he really can't spare the time," she confided to Enid, "there's a big pond at the end of a pasture near a farm, about a mile from our house. I'm sure it would be quite safe, and we could all bathe there, even Kitty and Rowley. I could float a plank on the water to hold them up while they're learning their strokes, or perhaps Mother's air cushion would be of some use, if she'd lend it to us. Basil can swim already—he learnt in the river near his school—so he'd come and help, and I'm sure they'd all enjoy it immensely, even if they only splashed about and did nothing else."

The two great recreations of the summer term at The Priory were tennis and cricket. A few girls indulged occasionally in croquet and archery, but that was only in spare time, and during the couple of hours devoted daily to outdoor exercise everybody was expected to take part in one or other of the principal games.

"You'd better choose definitely which you mean to go in for, Patty," said Winnie, "and then stick to it. If you've any aspirations towards being a tennis champion, I should advise you to keep to the courts, and practise every minute you can; but if, on the other hand, you like cricket better, I shouldn't bother with tennis if I were you."

"Winnie's right; you can't serve two masters," said Enid. "It will take your whole time if you want to do anything at tennis. The Chambers are all so splendid at it, it needs a good player to have any chance against them."

"But Miss Latimer's very hard to satisfy at cricket," said Winnie.

"So she is. She certainly doesn't allow any slack practice."

"She pegged my right leg down once to prevent my moving it, and she's most severe on a crooked bat," said Avis.

"She recollects everybody's average scores for whole years back," said Winnie. "I can't think how anybody can have such a memory."

"Miss Lincoln's the funniest," said Cissie Gardiner. "When I lost a wicket last Wednesday, she said: 'That must be because you got a bad mark for Euclid, my dear!' As if mathematics had anything to do with cricket."

Winnie laughed.

"Miss Lincoln always says: 'Those who do well in school will be equally successful in athletics'; but it's just a pleasant little fiction, like nurses telling you if you eat crusts it will make your hair curl, and it never did, because I used to finish even the hardest and most burnt ones, and my hair's as straight as a yard measure, while my little brother, who leaves all his, has a regular mop of close ringlets."

"Which do you play, Avis?" asked Patty.

"Tennis. I'm no good at all at cricket. I miss the easiest catches, and get the ball tangled in my skirts. I used to play with my brothers at home, but they always called me 'butterfingers'; so I've quite given it up, and I won't even field for them now. They tell me girls are no good at cricket."

"They should see Dora Stephenson," said Enid. "She plays as good a game as any boy, I'm sure. Miss Latimer's tremendously proud of her batting."

"Yes, I often wish I could take her home to have a match against the boys," replied Avis. "How astonished they would be! I think our old gardener would have a fit. He doesn't at all approve of girls' cricket, and told me once that 'young misses weren't meant to be lads', and I should 'only make a bad job of it'. He rolls the tennis court most beautifully, though, when he knows I'm coming back for the holidays."

"Which are you going to choose, then, Patty, cricket or tennis?" asked Enid, going back to the original subject of the conversation.

"I won't decide until I've had a good turn at each, and see which I can manage best," said Patty, diplomatically.

"All right! There's to be a match on Saturday, and I'll ask Miss Latimer to let you be in it. It's a scratch team from the Lower School against prefects and monitresses. I've no doubt we shall be badly beaten, but it really doesn't matter. It's only for practice."

"Do the prefects play well?"

"I should think so! They're very keen on it. Dora Stephenson reads up Ranjitsinhji, and Meta Hall goes to all the county matches when she can get the chance. You'll have to play up, Patty, if we want to make any score at all."

"Don't expect too much," said Patty. "I might send a catch first thing. I've played at home with Basil, but I don't know how I shall get on here."

At Enid's special request, Miss Latimer included Patty in the scratch team for the following Saturday afternoon, so that she might be able to show her capabilities and give her companions an opportunity of judging whether she might be considered fit for a place in the Lower School eleven. The prefects went in first, and the mistress, who had a keen eye for the future possibilities of her pupils, noticed with approval that Patty was not fielding like a novice, that she caught her ball neatly in her hands, instead of stopping it with her skirts, and threw it up promptly with an accuracy of aim not always common among girl players. Wishing to test her further, Miss Latimer called to her at the next over, and told her to take her turn at bowling. It was Dora Stephenson's innings, and the Lower School knew that a struggle was in store. Dora's record scores were well known, and it often seemed almost impossible to put her out. Patty walked up, quaking at the prospect of her encounter.

"Oh, Miss Latimer!" said Beatrice Wynne. "Are you sending in Patty to bowl now? It's rather hard on our side, isn't it?"

"I know what I am about, Beatrice," replied the teacher. "Go on, Patty, and don't be nervous. Let us all see what you can do."

Patty's first ball showed a science that made her companions open their eyes wide. It was a curious way of bowling, half under, half over arm, such as none of the girls had seen before, and which seemed to prove most baffling. For three balls Dora merely slogged; the fourth, to her extreme surprise, got her out.

"A duck! A duck!" cried the opposite side, in raptures of delight. To have taken her wicket in the first "over" was a success such as they had never expected, and a triumph for the Lower School not to be forgotten in a hurry.

"It was well bowled, certainly," said Dora, meeting her defeat with dignity. "I didn't think Patty could have done it. Oh, I don't grudge you a wicket! I'm only too glad to see good play, I assure you, for the credit of the school."

"It was nothing but luck, I believe," said Patty, when her friends crowded round to rejoice over her. "I daresay I couldn't do it again."

"Yes, you could," declared Enid. "It was that peculiar twist that bowled her. You'll have to teach it to us. Where did you learn it?"

"An uncle from Australia stayed with us last summer, and he showed us. Basil and I used to practise it every evening. Basil can do it far better than I can."

"You do it quite well enough. You've made your reputation this afternoon, and you're sure to be put in the Lower School eleven. Miss Latimer never says much, but I can see she's pleased with you. I'm so glad, because this really settles the question. You mustn't think of tennis again, but stick to cricket."

Patty was glad to have scored such a success. She had not been specially good at hockey during the winter, and was only a moderate tennis player, so it was pleasant to find one game in which she had a chance of excelling, and of gaining credit for her team as well as for herself. For once she tasted the sweets of popularity, and had the satisfaction of hearing even Vera Clifford offer her congratulations.

"I suppose I couldn't expect Muriel to do so," she thought. "She knows about it, though she wasn't watching the match, because I heard Cissie Gardiner telling her. She's the only one in the class who hasn't mentioned it. Of course it doesn't matter in the least; still, it would have been so nice, when I'm her own cousin, if she had said just a single word to show that she cared."



CHAPTER XII

Playing with Fire

The Fourth Class, including the members of both upper and lower divisions, was by far the largest at The Priory, and, in the opinion of Miss Lincoln, the most unruly and difficult to manage. During her many years of teaching, she had always found that girls between fourteen and sixteen gave more than the usual amount of trouble. They were too old to be treated as children, and had already begun to set up standards of their own; indeed, they thought they knew most things a little better than their elders. They were impatient of discipline, yet their ideas were still crude and unformed, and they had not the judgment nor self-restraint which might be counted upon in the higher forms. It was a phase of character which she knew would soon pass, but it required judicious treatment, and she felt that a mistress needed to be both kind and firm to exercise the right influence at such a crisis in the young lives under her charge. Miss Harper, who was popular with her class, could always tame the most rebellious spirits, and maintain perfect order; but with Miss Rowe it was a totally different affair. She was not generally liked, and, taking advantage of her youth and lack of experience, many of the girls were as naughty as they dared, and defied her authority on every occasion. Amongst the ring-leaders in what may be called "the opposition", I regret to say Enid Walker held a foremost place. She was a very high-spirited, headstrong girl, who resented any restraint; she either took a violent fancy to people, or disliked them equally heartily: anyone who could gain her affection could lead her most easily, otherwise she was apt to prove so wayward as to cause a teacher to despair. Unfortunately Miss Rowe had not discovered the right way to manage Enid; for some time matters had been rather strained, and by the summer term it was a case of undeclared war between pupil and teacher.

"It doesn't matter what I say or do, Miss Rowe's always down on me!" declared Enid.

"Well, you really go rather too far sometimes," said Avis. "Miss Rowe knew perfectly well this morning that you dropped your atlas on purpose, and that it was you who tied Cissie's hair ribbon to her desk."

"Miss Rowe can be quite nice sometimes," said Patty. "When we were on the common yesterday, she found two new orchises, and gave them to me to press."

"Oh, you always manage to say something for everybody!" said Enid. "You're too good-natured, Patty. I can't bear Miss Rowe."

"But why?"

"'I do not love thee, Doctor Fell, The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know, and know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell,'"

quoted Enid. "That's how I feel, exactly."

"Perhaps she feels the same about you," suggested Winnie.

"Perhaps she does, but I don't care in the least. I don't like her voice, nor the cold way she looks at me and says, 'Now, Enid!' She's only an assistant teacher, and I'm not going to obey her as if she were Miss Lincoln or Miss Harper. She needn't expect it."

Certainly poor Miss Rowe found Enid a very trying pupil. Her attention was ever wandering, and she was invariably engaged in some mischief calculated to distract the rest of the class. She would sometimes give a wrong answer on purpose to raise a laugh; she could never lift the lid of her desk without letting it fall with a bang; and the contents of her pencil-box seemed always ready to disperse themselves over the floor. One morning the girls were having a lesson in grammar, and were diligently repeating Latin derivations and Anglo-Saxon suffixes, when some chance called Patty's attention to Enid. She noticed the latter open her desk stealthily, and draw out a tiny paper box, which she placed on her knee, and covered with her pocket handkerchief. Patty wondered what she was doing. It was evidently something which required great secrecy, for Enid glanced carefully round to see whether anyone was watching her; then, as nobody except Patty appeared to be looking, she drew away a fold of her handkerchief, cautiously opened the little box, and out hopped a huge grasshopper, which bounded straight on to Cissie Gardiner's blouse. Patty was so fascinated by gazing at it, and wondering where its next leap would take it, that she started when Miss Rowe asked her a question, and for once failed with her answer.

"Ad, ante," she began, but could get no further. Her eyes were glued to Cissie's blouse, and Cissie, noticing she was the cause of Patty's hesitation, looked down at her sleeve, and sprang up with a scream.

"Take it off! Somebody take it off!" she entreated. At this point the grasshopper promptly hopped away, no one could see where. Each girl naturally thought it might be on herself, and, jumping up, shook her skirts frantically. The class was instantly in the greatest disorder. Ella Johnson and May Firth stood on their seats, loudly protesting their horror of all creeping or crawling insects.

"Don't let it come on me! Oh, don't!" wailed Kitty Harrison.

"It's there!" exclaimed Maud Greening.

"Where?"

"It's hopped on to Doris."

"Oh! It will go down my neck!" shrieked Doris.

"No, it's hopped off again."

"It's on Maggie Woodhall's desk."

"Catch it, Maggie!"

"I daren't! I daren't!"

"Squash it with your ruler."

"I couldn't! I hate squashing things!"

"It's gone again."

"It will be on me next!"

"There it is on Maggie's desk again."

"Girls! Girls! Calm yourselves and keep still!" cried Miss Rowe's measured voice. "Maggie, sit down at once!"

The teacher strode across the room, and, catching the grasshopper in her hand, put it safely out of the window, then turned again to her agitated class.

"Order!" she said sternly; and after waiting a few moments until her pupils had regained their self-control, she continued: "Who let loose that grasshopper?"

"I did, Miss Rowe," replied Enid, promptly.

"Then you will leave the room at once, Enid. You will take a bad mark for conduct, and you will learn two pages of Greek chronology, and repeat them to me to-morrow morning before nine o'clock. Go immediately!"

Enid obeyed with as much noise as she could; she was in a naughty frame of mind, and enjoyed banging the door after her. She did not greatly care about either the bad mark for conduct or the Greek chronology, though she had an uncomfortable qualm when it occurred to her that the episode might possibly come to Miss Lincoln's ears. For this once, however, she was safe. Miss Rowe was anxious to manage her troublesome class without constant reference to the headmistress, and thought it better not to report the affair. She determined, nevertheless, that Enid, being the centre of so much mischief, should move from her desk, and, instead of sitting in the second row from the back, should be in front, directly under her teacher's eye. She mentioned her wish to Miss Harper, who ordered Enid to change places with Beatrice Wynne, and to transfer her books to her new desk before the next morning. Enid was furious.

"I won't go!" she declared to her companions. "Not unless Miss Rowe drags me there."

"You'll have to!" said Avis.

"I don't know about that. No one can force me to do a thing I don't want, not even Miss Lincoln."

"Miss Lincoln would expel you if you didn't do what you were told."

"I shouldn't care!"

"Oh, Enid, don't be silly! It can't make such a difference where you sit. I'll help you to move all your books, and put your new desk tidy," said Patty, hoping to pour oil on the troubled waters, and adding: "You'll have one advantage. You'll be close to Miss Harper in the botany class, and she'll hand you the specimens first. I wish I might change instead of you. I always envied Beatrice when she was pulling off petals, and we were craning our necks to try and look."

"It's easy enough to see the bright side for somebody else," grumbled Enid.

"Let us have our removal now," continued Patty, wisely taking no notice. "Beatrice is quite ready; aren't you, Beatrice? We'll lay all the things on the seat, and dust the desk inside before we put them in."

"I wouldn't do it for anybody but you," said Enid, allowing herself to be persuaded.

Beatrice soon emptied her desk, and it did not take very long to arrange the books in their new quarters. The alteration was effected almost before Enid realized it, and the storm which Patty had dreaded for her friend's sake was avoided. Nevertheless, Patty was not easy about Enid.

"She'll be getting into serious trouble some day," she thought. "I wish she would behave better in Miss Rowe's classes. Things can't always go on like this, and if Miss Rowe were to tell her to report herself in the library, I don't believe even Enid would like to face Miss Lincoln and find her really angry. I know I shouldn't."

It seemed no use for Patty to try remonstrances. Enid only laughed, and would not listen to her.

"Patty, you're a dear!" she declared. "I love you the best of any girl I know, but even you can't persuade me to like Miss Rowe. It's no use. We're flint and steel, or frost and fire; or oil and water, or anything else you can name that oughtn't to go together, and won't mix. The very tone of her voice annoys me."

"Why should it?"

"It's so prim. The way she pokes out her chin and says 'Enid!' is most disagreeable. It always makes me want to be naughty. Yes, it does; don't shake your head. I've told you a hundred times I'm not good like you, and I simply can't be. I'm like a bottle of soda-water with the cork popped, and I have to fizz over sometimes."

It was unfortunate that Enid should have taken such a dislike to her teacher, for she kept up a state of ill-feeling among the girls which otherwise would probably have died away. Absurd trifles were magnified and made much of, and ridiculous grievances were nursed and cherished. One day Miss Rowe set the upper division a grammar exercise consisting of two questions. The first was long and very difficult; it was on the origin of the English language, and required a certain knowledge of various Anglo-Saxon roots, a list of words derived from ancient British, and some account of the Norman-French period. The second and shorter question was simply a sentence to be parsed. No one in the class had a good memory for derivations. Fourteen out of the fifteen members spent the half-hour racking their brains and biting the ends of their pens in vain endeavours to complete their answers to Question 1, so that when it was time to hand in their exercise books, they had written very little, and that little was mostly wrong. The exercises were corrected and returned the next day, and each girl, with the solitary exception of Ella Johnson, found she had received a bad mark.

"It's too disgusting!" said Beatrice Wynne. "I don't believe even Miss Rowe herself could have answered that question without looking at the book."

"How did you manage it, Ella? You're the only one who's scraped through," asked Avis.

"I didn't attempt it," said Ella. "I did the parsing instead."

"You mean to say you didn't do Question 1 at all?" exclaimed Kitty Harrison.

"No, not I."

"How abominably unfair!" cried Enid. "I thought everybody had to begin with the first question. All the rest of us took so long over it, that we hadn't time for the parsing, and yet we got bad marks, and you, who hadn't even tried, got a good mark. It's just like Miss Rowe's meanness."

"It's really too bad," said Winnie. "Someone ought to go to Miss Rowe and ask her about it."

"Yes, so they ought."

"Who will, then?"

Nobody volunteered for the disagreeable task, and Avis suggested that Winnie herself might be suitable.

"I daren't, after the snubbing I got yesterday," said Winnie. "She wouldn't listen to me."

"I think it would be best if we were to draw lots," said Enid.

"No, don't draw lots, it seems like gambling," said Avis. "Suppose we count as we do for games? Stand in a circle, and I'll begin. Are you ready?"

"The first one who gets 'out' will have to go and tell Miss Rowe what we think, then," agreed Enid.

"'One, two, three, four, Jenny at the cottage door," began Avis. "'Eating cherries off a plate, five, six, seven, eight. One, two, three, out goes she.' Why, it's you, Winnie, after all."

"I wish it wasn't," groaned Winnie. "However, I suppose I shall have to go. Miss Rowe's in the studio, so I'll ask her now and get it over."

"Tell her we don't think it's fair," said Enid.

"And that Ella ought to have a bad mark too," said Kitty Harrison.

"Oh, you mean thing! It's not my fault," protested the indignant Ella.

"You can say we might all have done the parsing if we'd begun it first," said Beatrice.

"And don't forget to say there wouldn't have been time to answer two such long questions," said Maggie Woodhall.

"I'll do the best I can, but don't expect too much," replied Winnie. "Stay here, all of you, till I come back."

Winnie returned in about five minutes with a doleful face. "It's no use," she assured the girls, "I can't make Miss Rowe understand the point at all. She would only say: 'You wrote a very ill-prepared exercise, which did not deserve a good mark, and if you think I am going to excuse bad work you are quite mistaken'."

"It's just what I expected," declared Enid. "Miss Rowe carries everything with such a high hand, she won't take the trouble to listen properly when one tries to explain."

"It's a shame!" said all the girls, indignantly.

"I wish we could find some way of paying her out," said Enid.

"What could we do?"

"Let me think. I know! Suppose we none of us say 'Good morning' to her when she comes into the schoolroom to-morrow to take the register."

"Oh, yes! That would be splendid, and then she would see our opinion of her."

"Every girl must vow she won't say it, even you, Patty!"

"I think you're very silly," said Patty, "but I shan't be there myself. I always have my music lesson at nine o'clock on Friday mornings."

"So much the better," said Enid. "You were the only one I thought might spoil it. Will everybody else promise?"

All gave the required assent. The girls were anxious to air their grievance, and this seemed the most feasible way of showing their teacher their displeasure. At five minutes to nine on the following morning, they were seated in their places waiting for the second bell to ring. Miss Rowe entered punctually, and turning to the class as usual said: "Good morning".

There was no reply. She waited a moment in much astonishment.

"Good morning, girls," she said again.

Still there was dead silence in the room.

"I will give you one more chance. I cannot believe that you can be so deliberately and intentionally discourteous. Good morning, girls."

What would have happened at this juncture, whether the girls would have still persisted in defying their teacher, and so have obliged her to report their conduct to Miss Lincoln, or whether they would have given way with an ill grace, it is impossible to say. Fortunately for all concerned, Miss Harper was rather earlier than usual that day, and arriving in the schoolroom exactly at the critical moment, she saved the situation. Her greeting was answered by a chorus of "Good morning", which might be intended for both mistresses. Miss Rowe had the good sense to take no further notice, and to proceed at once to mark the register; and as she did not refer to the subject afterwards, the girls felt doubtful whether their little mutiny had been quite so effective as they had meant it to be.

"I wish Miss Rowe wasn't so horribly particular," said Avis, tidying her possessions ruefully a few days afterwards. "She says she's going to look at all our desks this afternoon, and give forfeits for any that are in a muddle. I haven't rummaged to the back of mine for ever so long. I scarcely know what's in it. Why, what's this? It's actually a box of fusees. I remember now, I brought them from home. I'd quite forgotten I had them."

"Oh, do give them to me!" cried Enid. "They make such a lovely hissing noise, I like to hear them go off."

"You'd better not strike them in class, then," replied Avis.

"Do you dare me to?"

"Why, even you wouldn't do such a risky thing!"

"Oh! What would Miss Rowe say if you did it in the very middle of Euclid?" said Cissie Gardiner, with round eyes of delighted horror.

"Then I will, just to show you I dare. I'm not afraid of Miss Rowe!" declared Enid, appropriating the box and putting it in her pocket.

The girls laughed, not believing for a moment that she really intended to carry out her threat. The bell rang, Miss Rowe entered, and lessons began before they had time to say anything more about it. Euclid was not a favourite subject with the Upper Fourth. It was considered dry, and the half-hour devoted to it was regarded as more or less of a penance. In the very middle of the fifth proposition, when Miss Rowe had changed the letters on the blackboard, and was endeavouring to make Vera Clifford grasp the principle of the reasoning, instead of merely repeating the problem by rote, Enid's head was bent low over her desk, and her fingers appeared to be busy with something.

"Y G K = D F O," droned Vera in a melancholy voice.

Suddenly there was a striking sound, and a loud, long hiss.

"Oh! oh! oh!" came in a subdued chorus from all sides.

"Enid, what are you doing?" cried Miss Rowe, sharply.

For answer naughty Enid held up the hissing fusee in a kind of daring triumph, but as she raised her head her long curly hair, which was floating loose, brushed against the burning spark, and in an instant blazed up, setting fire also to the sleeve of her thin lawn blouse. With a wild shriek she dropped the fusee, and, springing from her seat, would have tried in her terror to rush from the room had she not been prevented by Miss Rowe, who, with admirable presence of mind, seized the duster from the blackboard, and with only that and her bare hands succeeded in stifling the flames. The whole class was in a panic. Jean Bannerman ran at once for Miss Hall, the teacher in the next room, and in a very short space of time Miss Lincoln herself arrived on the scene. Finding that Enid and Miss Rowe were the only two hurt, she carried them off at once to apply first aid until a doctor could be summoned, leaving Miss Hall to try and calm the agitated girls. Cissie Gardiner was sobbing hysterically, and all were offering versions of the accident in such a state of excitement, that it was difficult to understand their accounts.

"Enid Walker lighted a fusee?" repeated Miss Hall, almost incredulously. "Then she alone is responsible for this unhappy occurrence. I can only trust that neither she nor Miss Rowe is seriously injured. Girls, go back to your desks. I must return now to my own class, but I will send a prefect to you as soon as possible. I trust to your good feeling to work in silence at your preparation for to-morrow."

Miss Rowe and Enid were taken to the sanatorium, which was always kept in readiness to receive urgent cases. Both were suffering greatly from the shock: Miss Rowe's hands were badly scorched, and Enid had a severe burn on her arm and also on her neck. The doctor, having completed his dressings, ordered them both to be kept very quiet, and not to receive visitors until he gave his permission. It was several days, therefore, before Enid was allowed to see any of her school-fellows, and when the nurse at last declared that she might have a friend to spend half an hour with her, she fixed her choice at once upon Patty. The latter had been two or three times a day to the sanatorium to enquire how the invalids were progressing, so it was with great eagerness that she now knocked at the door. She was admitted by the nurse, and after a warning not to excite her companion, was shown to Enid's room. Enid was lying on the sofa, her arm swathed in bandages; some of her pretty hair had been cut away, and her face looked white, with dark circles round her eyes, as if she had not slept. Patty, after a rapturous greeting, sat down on a chair by her side, and began to tell her the school news.

"Everybody sent all kinds of messages," she said. "It seems so funny in class without either you or Miss Rowe. Have you seen Miss Rowe? Are her hands very bad?"

"They're both bandaged up," replied Enid. "She won't be able to use them for some time. Wasn't it brave of her to rush at me with the duster? Do you know, she's been so nice. We had a long talk last night, and she told me ever so many things. She meant to go to Girton when she left school, but her father lost all his money, and she had to begin to teach at once, so that she could help a younger brother. She's paying for his education herself, and he's doing splendidly at his school, and she's so proud of him, and hopes he may win a scholarship. If I'd only known all this, I wouldn't have made it so hard for her. I'm as sorry for that now as I am about her hands being burnt."

"I always thought Miss Rowe was nicer than you imagined. I'm so glad you've found it out," said Patty.

"I expect she's one of those people who improve on acquaintance," continued Enid. "I couldn't bear her at one time, and now I believe I'm going to like her immensely. You can't think how jolly she can make herself. I'll never be naughty in her class again, or let anybody else be, if I can help it. On my honour I won't!"

Enid was as good as her word. When she and Miss Rowe were well enough to again take their places in school, the young teacher found, to her surprise, that all her trouble with the Upper Fourth was at an end. The girls regarded her in the light of a heroine, and her new popularity gave her an influence over them which her efforts at strict discipline had not been able to gain.

"She seems quite different," said Winnie, voicing the feelings of the class. "She's far pleasanter than she used to be, and now she doesn't order us about so much, we don't seem to want to do so many things we oughtn't. She's really very pretty, you know; her nose is just perfect, and her hair is so thick and fair. Of course she can't compare with Miss Harper, but still I like her ever so much better than I did before, and I vote we give her a tremendous clapping on Speech Day."



CHAPTER XIII

The School Picnic

Towards the middle of July the girls at The Priory began to look forward with eager anticipation to the annual picnic. In the minds of most it was the great event of the summer term, and eclipsed even Speech Day. Patty, who had not yet experienced the joys of such an excursion, was anxious to learn something about it, and made many enquiries of her friends.

"It's the loveliest fun," said Avis. "We have special saloon carriages engaged on the train, and lovely baskets of lunch, and Miss Lincoln lets us buy toffee and chocolates if there are any shops. I wonder where we shall go this year, and if it will be to the country or the seaside. Has anyone heard?"

"Phyllis Chambers said she believed it was to be Moorcliffe," said Winnie.

"Where's that?"

"It's a dear little seaside place near Chelstone. There's a nice sandy shore, and Phyllis says she shouldn't be surprised if we were allowed to take our costumes with us and bathe."

"Oh, how glorious! I do hope we shall."

"I believe it depends on the tide," said Winnie.

"Why on the tide? How absurd!"

"No, it's not absurd. The sea goes out very far at Moorcliffe, and leaves a large sandy bay. You don't want to walk half a mile to the water. If the tide's up in the morning, and we can get our dip then, it will be quite right, because there will be time for our costumes to dry afterwards in the sun; but if it's not high water till afternoon, we shall have to do without our swim. It would be impossible to carry back more than seventy dripping bathing-dresses."

"Unless we chartered a tank for them and put them in the luggage van," laughed Enid. "I hope the tide will be nice and accommodating. Hasn't anybody got an almanac?"

"Miss Lincoln is planning it all out, and is to tell us on Saturday."

"I don't think it depends entirely on the tide," said Beatrice Wynne. "I was talking to Miss Latimer, and she says she knows of a splendid pool under the cliff, which is always quite deep enough to swim in at low water. She's going to tell Miss Lincoln about it."

"If we don't arrange for Moorcliffe, we shall probably go to Bradley, and look over the Castle," said Maggie Woodhall.

"I hope not," said Cissie Gardiner. "I've seen several castles, and they're all alike. You walk on the battlements, and peep down the well, which is half filled with rubbish and ferns, and an old woman unlocks the dungeon, and shows you a rusty chain, and then you eat sandwiches in the courtyard. I'd far rather go to the sea."

Cissie's wish was gratified, for on Saturday morning Miss Lincoln gave the welcome announcement that she had decided the picnic should be at Moorcliffe on the following Thursday, provided that the weather was favourable, and that no unforeseen event occurred in the meantime.

"Miss Lincoln always puts in a warning note of that kind," said Enid. "I wonder what she expects to happen. Does she imagine we shall all catch scarlet fever, or break our legs, before Thursday?"

"I should hope not, but of course it might be wet. If it's a pouring day, we're to go on Friday instead," said Avis.

"To-day, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday to get through," said Jean. "It's a frightfully long time. I feel as if Thursday would never come."

"So do I. I should like to go to bed, and sleep straight through till Thursday."

"You lazy girl! Suppose you didn't wake, and we left you behind?"

"You wouldn't do that," declared Avis. "I shall be up first of all, you'll see."

In spite of the girls' impatience, the longed-for Thursday came at last, and proved such a fine, clear, beautiful day, that there was not the slightest hesitation as to whether they should start or not. Avis fulfilled her promise of early rising by getting up to watch the dawn, and tried to make her sleepy room mates share her enthusiasm, an attention which they scarcely appreciated when they discovered that she had roused them three hours too soon. Long before the usual bell rang everybody was up and dressed, which did not bring breakfast any the quicker, though it allowed the girls time to work off some of their spirits by a run round the garden. Punctually at a quarter to nine o'clock a row of omnibuses arrived to convey the seventy-three pupils and their ten teachers to the station. Each girl carried her bathing costume and towel in a neat parcel, and large hampers of lunch were in readiness.

"Miss Lincoln's taking the cricket tent," announced Cissie Gardiner. "There it is, all wrapped up with its poles and pegs. Miss Latimer and Miss Rowe are going to put it up on the beach, and then we can undress and dress there again when we bathe. It's not very big. I'm sure it can't possibly hold more than six of us at a time, so we shall have to go in relays, and be very quick."

Patty felt at the high-water mark of bliss when she found herself seated on the top of an omnibus between Enid and Jean, with Avis and Winnie close by. She could have wished the drive longer, but when they reached the station, and found the saloon carriages ready for them, labelled "Special Excursion—Reserved", she was as anxious to get into the train as she had been to remain on the omnibus. There were, of course, many little excitements. Winnie nearly left the parcel containing her bathing-dress on the seat near the booking office, only remembering it just in time; Maggie Woodhall's hat blew away over the line, and had to be recovered by the guard; and one of the luncheon baskets fell off the truck as the porter was wheeling it along the platform, much to Miss Lincoln's dismay, till she discovered it was luckily not the one which held the breakables. Each mistress was to be personally responsible for her own class, and for the day the six prefects were given as full powers of authority as the teachers; so Miss Lincoln hoped that with so many people to look after them, her lively pupils might find no opportunity of getting into mischief, or running into danger. All were able to take their places at once in the carriages which had been waiting for them in a siding at the station, and were shunted on to the Chelstone train when it arrived. The porters banged the doors with their usual vigour, the guard waved his green flag, and at last they were off for their delightful excursion. It was less than an hour's journey to Moorcliffe, so by half-past ten the entire school was walking in a procession through the small village, across the cliff, and down on to the beach. The tide unfortunately was low, so Miss Lincoln was glad to avail herself of Miss Latimer's knowledge of the place to find the cove where there was a convenient bathing pool. It was some little distance along the shore, and the girls were much tempted to linger to pick up shells or sea urchins; but the prefects urged them sternly on, assuring them that they would find plenty more of such treasures, and that time was passing quickly by.

"When you consider how small the tent is, and how many of us have to take it in turns to use it, you'll understand we need the whole morning for our bathe," said Phyllis Chambers.

They at last reached the sheltered nook among the rocks which Miss Latimer had chosen. The sea, retreating far into the distance, had here left a wide and fairly deep pool, through which flowed one of the many channels that intersected the bay. It was a pleasant spot, far enough from the village to promise retirement, and the sparkling water lapping gently in the sunshine looked inviting. Aided by a band of willing workers, Miss Latimer and Miss Rowe soon erected the tent; the girls effected their changes of costume with lightning speed, and in half an hour a passing stranger might have imagined the coast to be invaded by an army of mermaids. Jean, who had brought her camera, took several snapshots of the lively scene.

"It reminds me of pictures I've seen of colonies of seals basking about on the rocks," she declared. "Now, Patty, put yourself in a picturesque attitude. I wish I dare ask Miss Rowe to let down her lovely hair, I'm sure it would look so nice."

"Violet Chambers is swimming on her back," said Enid. "I'm so glad to have the opportunity of watching her. I heard she could do it, but we never get a chance to see the Second Class girls in the bath."

"And Mabel Morgan is trying to make a wheel," said Winnie. "Oh, look at her! Isn't she clever? There! She's come to grief over it. I expected she would."

"I haven't any accomplishments," said Avis. "I can only paddle round and round the pool and float. I wish I were in the channel over there, and could swim for a couple of miles."

"I heard Miss Lincoln tell Miss Latimer she was very glad the tide was low, because it was absolutely safe here, and if we were in the real sea, she should not know a moment's freedom from anxiety until she saw us all out again."

"Miss Lincoln is quite ridiculous! What harm could happen to us? Of course the pool is better fun than the swimming bath at The Priory, but it's nothing to feeling yourself on big waves."

"We're going to Devonshire for our summer holiday, and I shall be able to have some glorious swimming there, I expect," said May Firth.

"You'll have to mind not to get into a current," said Ella Johnson. "We were staying in Cornwall last year, and my brother was nearly carried out to sea by one. He declared it must have been the Gulf Stream; it was so tremendously strong, it whirled him along, and he felt quite helpless. All he could do was to float and to call, hoping somebody might hear him. No one did for a long time, and he had drifted ever so far from land, when at last a boat was passing, and some fishermen picked him up. They told him it was very dangerous to swim there, when he didn't know the coast."

"It's all right if you don't get cramp," said Avis. "That must be dreadful. Once when we spent our holidays at Whitby we had such an adventure. We were walking along the shore, and we saw a young lady swimming a little distance out. Suddenly she flung up her arms and shrieked, and went down into the water. My father threw off his coat and his boots, and swam to the spot where she came up. He managed to catch hold of her by her hair, and get her back to land. She was quite insensible, and I thought she must be dead; but my uncle, who's a doctor, was with us, and he immediately began the treatment for the drowned, just like Miss Latimer teaches us in the swimming lessons. I helped to work her arms up and down and to rub her, and at last she opened her eyes. We were so relieved. She called at our lodgings afterwards to thank us, and said she had gone for a little afternoon dip alone; and she supposed the water must have been colder than usual, because all at once she felt a terrible pain in her leg, and could not move. She said it was the most awful sensation to feel she was sinking, and not to be able to save herself."

"It was lucky for her that your father was close by to rescue her!"

"Yes, and Uncle Arthur too, to bring her round afterwards. I don't think it's very safe for girls to go swimming alone."

No mermaids could have had a pleasanter time idling about in the pool than Patty and her friends. They tried various performances in fancy swimming, which, however, were quite unsuccessful, though they all assisted to hold each other up during the experiments. They were in the midst of a frantic effort to dance the Lancers in two feet of water, when Miss Latimer called to them to come at once; and as the limited accommodation of the bathing tent necessitated that the girls must make their toilets in relays, they were obliged reluctantly to tear themselves away, and in due course join the others, who were sitting on the sand letting their loose hair dry in the sun and wind. Everybody was very ready to open the luncheon baskets at half-past twelve. The sea air had given fine appetites, and the provisions vanished steadily. Each class had brought its own special hamper, and there was a great deal of laughter when those of the Third and Fifth Classes got changed by mistake, the thirteen indignant members of the former only receiving the amount which had been intended for ten. The upper and lower divisions of the Fourth feasted separately, the one under the auspices of Miss Harper, and the other with Miss Rowe, as it would have been impossible to pack lunch for twenty-two girls in one hamper, unless, as Enid suggested, they had used a clothes basket for the purpose. After lunch, Miss Lincoln insisted that everybody should take half an hour's quiet rest lying on the beach.

"Many of you were awake at daylight," she said, "and you have been racing about and exciting yourselves since before breakfast-time. I am afraid you will all be thoroughly tired out by evening, so I forbid anyone to speak; and if you can go to sleep, so much the better."

I hardly think Miss Lincoln expected her injunctions to be absolutely obeyed; at any rate, a certain amount of whispering went on among the girls, who collected in little groups to take the required repose, while a low laugh every now and then did not indicate sound slumber. Avis piled up a pillow of sand, and closed her eyes complacently, until she found Winnie was tickling the end of her nose with a piece of seaweed; Enid lay curled up under the shadow of a rock, looking at her watch every few minutes; and Jean and Patty played a silent game of noughts and crosses on slabs of smooth stone. The moment the half-hour was finished the girls sprang up, and commenced to chatter with renewed avidity, showing in their own lively fashion that they were not yet tired, however they might feel by the end of the day. The classes separated during the afternoon, some going for walks on the headland, and others strolling farther along the beach, searching for cockles on the sandbank, or throwing stones at a mark. They all met at four o'clock for tea at the small hotel on the edge of the cliff, where tables and forms had been set out in the garden, and the innkeeper and his wife and two daughters were busily bustling about, carrying plates of cakes and buns, jugs of milk, and trays full of cups and saucers, to meet the requirements of their army of young guests. It was a merry meal, for everybody was full of jokes and fun. Miss Harper told amusing stories, and Miss Lincoln asked riddles, and Miss Rowe forgot she was keeping order, and chatted almost like one of the girls themselves.

"I could sit here all afternoon," said Enid, "just watching the sea and the boats and the people down on the shore below. If I could only get up a second appetite, I should like to begin tea over again."

"You can have some more if you like. Miss Lincoln doesn't limit you," laughed Avis.

"No, thank you. The copybooks say: 'Never attempt impossibilities'. I shall go and sit on the edge of the cliff."

"Come with me," said Winnie, "and we'll have a game of golf just to ourselves, with two sticks and an indiarubber ball. You can't think what fun it is. I was trying on the common a little while ago. Will you come too, Patty?"

"No, thanks," said Patty. "I should only spoil sport. I mean to go down on to the sands again. You can call to me when you've finished, and perhaps I'll come up; but I won't promise, because I like the shore the very best of all."



CHAPTER XIV

On the Rocks

"Our train will start at half-past six," said Miss Lincoln, when tea was finished, and the girls were standing in little groups in the hotel garden, wondering what to do next. "All who like may go on to the beach again, or on to the cliffs, but no one must walk farther than the white farm near the flagstaff. You must return immediately you are told, and be at the station by a quarter past six."

The girls dispersed, some to wander along the shore to find a few more shells, mermaids' purses, or strips of ribbon seaweed; some to climb to the top of the cliff by the flagstaff; and others to play games on a piece of common near the white farm that Miss Lincoln had appointed as a boundary beyond which they must not venture. Patty, who was hunting for sea anemones in the small pools among the rocks, noticed Muriel and her friends, Maud, Vera, and Kitty, hurrying as fast as they could along the beach in the opposite direction from the village.

"Where are you going?" called Phyllis Chambers, who was engaged in taking down the bathing tent.

"Oh! nowhere in particular," they replied, stopping as if they had been rather caught; "only just for a little stroll, to say good-bye to the waves."

"You mustn't go beyond the next point of rock; Miss Lincoln said so."

"Miss Lincoln said nothing about the shore. She said the white farm on the cliff," replied Maud, rather sulkily.

"Well, that rock is exactly underneath the farm."

"We were only going to peep round the point. It wouldn't take five minutes," said Muriel.

"I can't allow it, all the same," said Phyllis, firmly.

"I'm sure Miss Lincoln never meant——" began Kitty Harrison, but she was interrupted by Phyllis.

"Miss Lincoln has put me in authority for this afternoon. I have her orders, and I tell you you're not to go."

Looking very cross and disconsolate, the four girls sat down on the sand a little distance away, to grumble and discuss the situation.

"I don't believe Miss Lincoln meant exactly what she said," declared Kitty.

"I'm sure she didn't. It's only Phyllis who's so proud of being prefect, and likes to show her authority," agreed Maud.

"I don't see why we should do as she tells us; she's only a schoolgirl like ourselves," said Vera.

"I expect she wanted to be nasty, and pay us out for what happened last week in the gymnasium," said Muriel.

"It's too bad!"

"It's an absolute shame!"

"Suppose we were to go after all," suggested Vera tentatively.

"But Phyllis would stop us."

"She won't see. She's taking the tent poles and walking up that path towards the hotel. She'll be round the corner in half a minute."

"Why, so she is!"

"If we're quick we could be beyond the point before she comes back."

"Then come along at once."

"Yes, don't let us waste a moment."

The four girls jumped up, and, hurrying off, went away round the rock with such record speed, that by the time Phyllis returned to fetch the remainder of the tent they were well out of sight. Imagining that they must have walked down the beach towards the village, Phyllis did not trouble to go and look for them, so the only person who knew the real direction they had taken was Patty, who happened to have overheard most of the conversation, and to have seen their hasty flight. Having examined as many sea anemones as she cared to, Patty climbed up a steep little track on to the cliff again, and spent a blissful half-hour by herself, lying in the sunshine on a bed of purple heath, watching the white sails of the boats in the distance, and a steamer far out on the horizon. From her point of lookout she had a very good view over the whole of the large bay. How fast the tide was flowing in! The sandbanks, which only ten minutes ago had gleamed yellow in the sunshine, were now covered with water, and a huge white wave appeared at the mouth of the estuary, advancing with threatening speed.

"It must be the tidal wave that Phyllis spoke about," thought Patty. "She told us how dangerous it is on this coast, how it comes in with a great rush, as fast as a man can run, and floods all the bay quite suddenly. I expect that was the reason Miss Lincoln wouldn't let us go far along the beach this afternoon. Why! Surely that cannot be Muriel and the others such a long way out upon the sands! I thought they would have been back before now. Yes, it is! And their backs are turned to the sea! They're sauntering along as calmly as if the tide were going down instead of rising. Oh, why don't they look round and hurry?"

Patty sprang to her feet and waved her handkerchief frantically, but the girls were not looking in her direction, and took no notice. What was she to do? She felt, at all costs, they must be warned. She would be obliged to disregard Miss Lincoln's orders, and to go along the beach and tell them of their danger. There was not time to run back and ask permission. Nobody else was in sight, so she must decide on her own authority that it was expedient for once to disobey. Scrambling quickly on to the shore by an even more precipitous path than the one by which she had ascended, Patty made what haste she could along the sands towards her companions. She shouted to them while she was still a considerable distance off, but though they waved their hands in reply, they did not come any the faster.

"How stupid they are!" thought Patty. "Can't they see the water behind them? They walk as if they were strolling round the quad."

With an extra effort she hurried on, and reached them out of breath and panting.

"Why don't you make haste?" she gasped. "Didn't you hear me call?"

"It's all very well to say 'Make haste!'" replied Maud. "We can't get Muriel along."

"I've hurt my foot," said Muriel. "I slipped on a stone, and I think I must have sprained my ankle. It hurts dreadfully when I lean any weight upon it. Let me have your arm, Patty."

"Don't you see how fast the tide's rising?" said Patty, giving the asked-for assistance. "If we're not very quick we shall be surrounded."

"Why, so we shall!" exclaimed Vera. "I didn't notice it before. Come along at once. We must run."

"I can't run," said Muriel fretfully, "you know I can't. I can scarcely even limp as it is."

"You must," said Maud, taking her other arm; "that is, if you don't want to be drowned."

"Don't pull me, Maud," cried Muriel, "you're hurting me. Oh, I can't go any faster! My foot will give way underneath me."

"What are we to do?" said Kitty blankly. "The water's rushing round on both sides of us! If we don't get across that piece of sand in front directly, we shall be on an island."

"Let us make a chair of our hands," suggested Patty, "and try to carry Muriel. See, Maud! Clasp my wrists like this, and I'll clasp yours. Muriel, sit down! Now, then; one, two, let's step together."

"She's too heavy; I can't manage it!" exclaimed Maud, dropping her burden on to the sands.

"Then you try, Kitty."

"No, no! I'm not so strong as Maud. Oh, look at the water!"

"Come along, girls," shouted Vera, "we must run for our lives! It's no use our all being drowned."

"Maud! Kitty! Vera! You don't mean to leave me?" shrieked Muriel.

"Quick! Quick!" was the sole reply she received, as her three friends took to their heels, and, without even turning to look at her, dashed across the narrow belt of dry land which led between two channels to the safer bank of shingle beyond.

"The cowards! The mean cowards!" cried Muriel, white with anger and alarm. "Patty, are you going too?"

"Not without you," replied Patty, sturdily. "Here, I'll help you up, Muriel, and we must push on, even if we have to wade. Catch hold of my arm again, and try to walk."

"It hurts so; my foot won't hold me. Oh, the pain is so bad, I must stop for a minute!"

Patty looked round desperately. Their situation was indeed most dangerous. The one path to safety was already covered, and even if they were able to hurry on fast, it was doubtful whether they would be able to wade to the shore. They were cut off on every side, and their little island was each moment diminishing in size.

"We must climb on to these rocks," she exclaimed. "Let us scramble up the tallest; perhaps it may be above high-water mark. Put your arms round my neck, Muriel, and I'll carry you as well as I can."

Almost sinking under her cousin's weight, Patty staggered along till she reached the jagged, seaweed-covered rock, which she hoped might afford them a temporary place of security. Groaning with pain, Muriel managed with Patty's help to drag herself slowly to the summit.

"Why did I come?" she said. "It was all Vera's fault. She persuaded us to go, and then kept taking us a little farther and a little farther every time we wanted to turn back. We shall be drowned; I know we shall."

"I don't think so," returned Patty hopefully. "The top of the rock is quite dry, as if it weren't covered at high tide. I believe we shall be safe, only we may have to stop here for a very long while."

"Let us call for help," suggested Muriel.

Both girls shouted at the pitch of their voices again and again, but there was no response, except from the sea birds which they disturbed on the adjacent cliffs.



"How long shall we have to stay here?" enquired Muriel presently.

"Why, until the water goes down again."

"When will it go down?"

"What time is it now?" asked Patty.

Muriel consulted the little watch which she wore in a strap on her wrist.

"Exactly six o'clock," she replied.

"Then it will be high tide about eight or nine, I suppose, and I don't think it will be low again until nearly midnight, or early in the morning."

"How dreadful! Won't anybody come to fetch us off?"

"I don't see how they could reach us. Look at the sea! It's rushing between the rocks like a mill-race. Any ordinary boat would be dashed to pieces, and there's no lifeboat at Moorcliffe."

Muriel shuddered. The water had indeed overflowed the whole of the sandbank, and now swirled in a foaming current round the foot of their retreat, rising every moment a little nearer to them. Following the tide had come a dense sea fog, that drifted down the bay, veiling the sun, and, creeping round the rock, wrapped the girls in its clammy, concealing folds, cutting them off effectually from all possibility of being seen from the neighbouring cliff. In a few minutes the whole prospect was blotted out; they seemed in a world of white mist, as absolutely isolated and alone as if they were in mid-ocean. Trembling with fear, Muriel turned to Patty.

"Do you think anybody knows where we are?" she asked.

"I can't say. Vera and the others would, of course, tell Miss Lincoln, but she wouldn't know exactly where to look, and no one could find us in this fog."

"Do you think the sea'll rise any higher?"

"Yes, a little. It can hardly be full tide yet."

"Patty! I don't know whether I shall be able to swim with my hurt foot. Suppose the water comes right over the rock, you won't leave me like the others did, will you?"

"Never!" said Patty, putting her arm round her cousin. "We'll either both get safely to land, or both go down together."

"Will you promise?"

"Faithfully."

"Thank you. I know you always keep your promises," said Muriel.

She did not speak again for a long time, but sat holding Patty's hand tightly, and gazing under a horrible fascination at the green, foam-flecked water that was creeping so stealthily nearer to them. How cold it looked, and how cruel! How easily it could swirl away their light weights, and dash them against those jagged points opposite, or sweep them out into the midst of those long waves, the white crests of which were just dimly visible through the wall of fog! Inch by inch it rose; it was only a foot now from the top of the rock, far above the line which they had supposed was high-water mark.

"I think we had better both take off our tennis shoes," said Patty. "If we're obliged to swim, you could perhaps manage to float, and I could pull you along."

"Patty, aren't you terribly afraid?"

"No, not very. Not so much as I thought I should be."

There was silence for a few minutes, and then Muriel said:

"I can't think how it is you're not afraid."

"Because God can take care of us here as well as anywhere else," answered Patty, quietly.

"Do you really think He will?"

"I'm going to ask Him now."

"Then so will I," said Muriel, kneeling by her side on the rock.

"Lighten our darkness, we beseech Thee, O Lord, and by Thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night."

How often they had repeated the familiar collect in church or at evening prayers in the big schoolroom at The Priory, sometimes with little thought for its meaning; and how different it sounded now in the midst of the real peril and danger that surrounded them! A great wave came suddenly dashing up and poured over their feet, and the two trembling girls looked with white faces as the shoes, which they had taken off and laid beside them, were swept away and lost in the depths below. Many fresh thoughts came to Muriel then—thoughts such as had rarely troubled her before. In the mist and the rushing water her old standards seemed to be slipping from her; wealth and position felt of slight value compared to those better things about which she had hitherto cared so little: and I think, with the surging tide, some of her old self passed away, and left a new self born in its place.

"It's going down!" cried Patty at last. "That one wave was the high-water mark. Look! It's certainly lower than it was."

"Then we're saved!" exclaimed Muriel; and, breaking down utterly, she covered her face with her hands, and burst into a storm of tears.

The tide was undoubtedly on the turn; each wave seemed less forceful than the last, and though they were still surrounded by water, and likely to be kept prisoners for many hours yet, they could consider themselves free from danger, and feel that their lives had been spared. Time crept slowly on; fortunately, owing to the length of the July day, it was not yet dark, but the fog had not lifted, and they were not able to see even so far as the adjoining rocks. Their clothes were wet through with spray, and they felt damp, and chilly, and forlorn. Both girls had been tired out with their long day's pleasure before they were caught by the tide, and the hours of waiting seemed interminable. Muriel, exhausted with fright and exposure, clung piteously to Patty, crying quietly, and the latter gave her what comfort she had to offer.

"The water's halfway down the rock already," she said. "In another hour we may be able to reach the shore, if only the mist would clear."

"My foot still hurts," said Muriel. "I don't believe I shall be able to limp a step."

"Perhaps a boat will come to find us, now the tide's not so high. I'm sure Miss Lincoln would send somebody to look."

"You don't think she would go home without us, then?"

"Oh, no! I'm quite certain she wouldn't. Someone would miss us, and then she would ask who had seen us last."

"Do you think Kitty and Maud and Vera would tell? Perhaps they'd be ashamed of having left us."

"They'd be obliged to tell. I expect if it hadn't been for the fog we should have been found before. If you leant your head against me, could you go to sleep?"

"No, not with the water still so near," said Muriel, shuddering. "I must just sit still, and wait, and wait, and wait."

Half an hour more passed; the girls were too weary to care to talk, but at last Muriel spoke again.

"Patty," she said, suddenly, "I want to tell you a secret. It's something I ought to have told long ago, only I didn't dare. That Caesar translation belonged to me."

"I thought it did," said Patty, calmly.

"You thought so! Oh, Patty! How did you know?"

"Because I saw you slip it into your desk that afternoon I came so unexpectedly into the schoolroom. I recognized the green cover the moment Miss Harper held it up."

"And yet you never said anything about it?"

"No."

"Not to anybody? Not even to Enid?"

"No, not even to Enid. I wasn't certain, and if I had been I wouldn't have told."

"I've been wretched about it!" said Muriel. "I never intended you to get blamed, but I daren't confess it was mine."

"Who gave you the book?" asked Patty.

"Horace. He used it himself once, and those were his initials in it, H. P. for Horace Pearson; and of course everyone believed it meant Patty Hirst, because the two letters were interlaced, and could be read either way."

"I'm sorry it was Horace's. I thought better of him," groaned Patty.

"I'm afraid we're neither of us as conscientious as you," said Muriel. "I used to prepare my Latin with it. I don't know how I could be so silly as to leave it lying about."

"Perhaps it's as well you did," said Patty, gravely, "or it might never have been found out."

"I'm dreadfully sorry now," said Muriel. "I wouldn't do it again. I'm so glad Miss Harper burnt it. It was most unfortunate it should be fixed upon you. I always told the girls you were innocent."

"I don't think many of them believed it was mine."

"A few did, or at any rate pretended they did. Well, I'll set it all straight when I get back to school. It'll be hateful to tell Miss Harper, but it's the one thing I can do to make up, and I will."

Another half-hour had passed, and a slight breeze blowing from the sea began at length to disperse the fog, which, thinning a little, revealed the outline of the cliffs on the landward side. The sun had long ago set, but still showed such a bright glow on the western horizon, that it was light enough to see that the sandbank was almost clear, and the water flowing from it in broad channels.

"I think we might leave our rock now," said Patty. "Perhaps if we wade we could reach the shore before it gets quite dark. Can you manage if I help you?"

Muriel climbed painfully down, and taking Patty's arm, began to limp her way over the sands.

"It's half-past ten," she said, "and our train was to leave at half-past six. All the others will have gone home ages ago. I don't know what we must do, even if we get to land."

"Somebody's sure to be waiting for us," said Patty. "Why, I believe I can see a boat over there in the distance. Look! To your left, where the mist is blowing away."

"It is!" exclaimed Muriel, in much excitement. "A fishing boat, with three men in it. Let us call as loudly as we can."

The two girls joined in a wild "Halloo!" and to their great relief were at once answered by a shout in reply. The boat turned her course and made for the sandbank, and in a few minutes a bronzed old seaman had leaped over the gunwale and waded through the channel to their rescue.