She laid her hand affectionately on the curly head, and the touch of kindliness acted as balm to Rhoda's sore heart. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she said huskily:

"I'll do anything you tell me. I won't mind; but that Thomasina— she's hateful! I can't stand being ordered about by a girl of my own age."

"Ah-h!" cried Miss Everett, and sighed as at the recurrence of a well- known trouble. "Well, you know, Rhoda, you must get over that feeling, and conform to the rules of the school. Thomasina is a great help to me, and makes a capital 'head girl.' You see, dear, I have no time to look after these details. The girls think that they are busy, but long after they are asleep at night I am slaving away correcting exercises. Oh such piles of books! it makes me tired even to see them. I'll do what I can for you, but you mustn't expect too much; and after all, in a week or ten days you will have mastered the rules, and the difficulty will be over. You wouldn't make a fuss for one week, would you? Stay! There is one thing I can tell you now, and that is that you won't be allowed to wear those slippers any longer. I'll give you an order, and you can go downstairs to the bureau and get a pair of school shoes like the other girls wear."

Rhoda gasped with dismay.

"What! Those frightful things with square toes and no heels! Those awful tubs that Thomasina waddles about in!"

Miss Everett laughed gaily. She was only a girl herself, and she cast a quick glance up and down the corridor to see if any one were coming before she drew aside her skirt to exhibit her own flat feet.

"They are awful! I love pretty shoes, too; and the first time I wore these I—I cried! I was very home-sick, you see, and nervous and anxious about my work, and it seemed the last straw. Never mind! it's only a little thing, and on Thursday you shall wear your very best pair and I'll wear mine, and we'll compare notes and see which is the prettier."

To say that Rhoda adored her is to state the matter feebly. She could have knelt down in the passage and kissed the ugly little feet; she could have done homage before this young mistress as before a saint; when the light streamed out of a window and rested on her head, it seemed to take the form of a halo!

She went meekly downstairs, procured the shoes, and carried them into Dorothy's cubicle, to display before the eyes of that horrified young woman.

"There! We've got to wear those, too! It's the rule. Miss Everett told me, and gave me an order to get them. You had better ask her for one before Thomasina gets a chance."

Dorothy looked at her solemnly, and measured the slipper against her own neat shoe; then she took off the latter and held the two side by side. One was arched and slim, the other flat and square; one had French heels and little sparkling buckles, the other was of dull leather, unrelieved by any trace of ornament.

"Here's deggeradation!" she sighed hopelessly. "Here's deggeradation!"



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE RECORD WALL.

There was no end to the surprises of that wonderful school! When Rhoda returned to her cubicle to get "tidy" for dinner, she washed, brushed her hair, put an extra pin in her tie to make sure that it was straight, wriggled round before the glass to see that belt and bodice were immaculately connected, put a clean handkerchief in her pocket, nicked the clothes-brush over her skirt, and, what could one do more? It seemed on the face of it that one could do nothing, but the other girls had accomplished a great deal more than this. Rhoda never forgot the shock of dismay which she experienced on first stepping forth, and beholding them. It was surely a room full of boys, not girls, for skirts had disappeared, and knickerbockers reigned in their stead. The girls wore gym. costumes, composed of the aforesaid knickers, and a short tunic, girt round the waist with a blue sash, to represent the inevitable house colour. Thomasina's aspect was astounding, as she strode to and fro awaiting the gathering of her forces, and the new girls stared at her with distended eyeballs. Rhoda had registered a vow never to volunteer a remark to the hateful creature; but Dorothy stammered out a breathless—

"You never said—We never knew—Is it a rule?"

"Not compulsory, or I would have told you; you may do as you please. They wear gyms, at Wycombe in the afternoon, and we have adopted the idea to a certain extent. Most of the girls prefer it for the sake of the games, for it is so much easier to run about like this. For myself, I affect it for the sake of appearances. It is so becoming to my youthful charms."

She simpered as she spoke, with an affectation of coyness that was irresistibly amusing. Dorothy laughed merrily, and Rhoda resisted doing the same only by an enormous effort of self-will. She succeeded, however, in looking sulky and bad-tempered, and went downstairs feeling quite pleased with herself for resisting an unworthy impulse.

All the old girls were in gym. costume, and a quaint sight it was to watch them descending the great central staircase. Lanky girls, looking lankier than ever; fat girls, looking fatter than ever; tall girls magnified into giantesses; poor little stumpies looking as if viewed through a bad piece of window glass. Plump legs, scraggy legs, and legs of one width all the way down, and at the end of each the sad, inevitable shoe, and down each back the sad, inevitable pigtail! Now and again would come a figure, light and graceful as a fawn, the embodiment of charming youth; but as a rule the effect was far from becoming.

Rhoda's criticisms, however, were less scathing than usual, for she herself was suffering from an unusual attack of humility! If any reader of this veracious history has to do with the management of a self- confident, high-spirited girl, who needs humbling and bringing to her senses, let the author confidently recommend the pigtail and flat-heeled system! To fasten back a mane of hair is at once to deprive the culprit of one of her most formidable means of defence.

She has no shelter behind which to retire, as an ambush from the enemy; she has nothing to toss and whisk from side to side, expressing defiance without a word being uttered. The very weight of the pigtail is a sobering influence; its solemn, pendulum movement is incompatible with revolt. As for the slippers—well, try heel-less shoes yourself, and test their effect! They bring one to earth, indeed, in the deepest sense of the word. All very well to mince about in French shoes, and think "What a fine girl am I," but once try mincing in flat, square soles, and you will realise that the days are over for that kind of thing, and that nothing remains but humility and assent!

Dinner over, the girls adjourned into the grounds; but as games, like lessons, could not be begun without some preliminary arrangement, most of the pupils contented themselves with strolling about, in twos and threes, exchanging confidences about the holidays and hatching plans for the weeks to come. Rhoda and Dorothy were standing disconsolately together, when Miss Everett flitted past, and stopped for a moment to take pity on their loneliness.

"What are you two going to do? You mustn't stand here looking like pelicans in the wilderness. You must walk about and get some exercise. I'm too busy to go with you myself, but—er—Kathleen!" She held up her hand in summons to the second-term girl who had volunteered information about the Lords and Commons—"Here, Kathleen, you remember what it is to be a new girl; take Rhoda and Dorothy round the grounds, and show them everything that is interesting. Have a brisk walk, all of you, and come back with some colour in your cheeks!"

She was off again, smiling and waving her hand, and the three girls stood gazing at each other in shy, uncertain fashion.

"Well," said Kathleen, "where shall we go first? The Beech Walk, I suppose; it's half-a-mile long, so if we go to the end and back we shall have a constitutional before looking at the sights. The grounds are very fine here, and there is lots of room for all we want to do. You can find a sunny bit, or a shady bit, according to the weather, but it's only on really scorching days that we are allowed to lounge. Then there's a scramble for hammocks, and the lucky girls tie them on to the branches of trees, and swing about, while the others sit on the grass. Once or twice we had tea under the trees, and that was fine, but as a rule they keep you moving. Games are nearly as hard work as lessons!"

"But you needn't play unless you like?"

"Oh, yes, you must; unless you are ill or tired. You can get off any day if you don't feel well, but not altogether. And you would not wish to either. It would be so horribly flat! Once you are into a team, you are all anxiety to get into another, and I can tell you when you see your remove posted up on the board, it is b-liss!—perfect bliss!"

The recruits laughed, and looked at their new friend with approving glances. She was, so far, the only one of the girls who had treated them on an equality, and gave herself no air of patronage, and they were correspondingly appreciative. They asked eagerly in which games she had won her remove, and Rhoda, at least, was disappointed at the answer.

"Cricket! That's the great summer game. I've three brothers at home, and used to practise with them sometimes to make an extra one. They snubbed me, of course: but I'm not a bad bat, though I say it myself."

"And what about tennis?"

"Um-m!" Kathleen pursed up her lips. "We have courts, of course, but its rather—Missy, don't you think? The sports captains look down on it, and so, of course, it's unpopular. The little girls play occasionally. It keeps them happy."

This was a nice way to speak of a game which had been for years the popular amusement of young England! Rhoda was so shocked and disappointed that she hardly dared mention croquet, and it seemed, indeed, as if it would have been better if she had refrained, for Kathleen fairly shouted at the name.

"My dear, how can you! Nobody plays croquet except old tab— I mean ladies who are too old to do anything else. Miss Bruce plays sometimes when she has the vicar's wife to tea. We hide behind the bushes and watch them and shake with laughter. Croquet, indeed! I should like to see Tom's face if you mentioned croquet to her!"

"It's a matter of perfect indifference to me what Miss Bolderston thinks," said Rhoda, loftily; but she veered away from the subject of games all the same and tackled lessons instead.

"Are you working for any special examination, or just taking it easily?"

"I'm going in for the Oxford Senior in summer. My birthday is so horribly arranged that it comes just one week before the limit. A few days later would give me a year to the good, but as it is it's my last chance. If I can only scrape through in preliminaries I am not afraid of the rest, but I am hopelessly bad in arithmetic. I add up with all my fingers, and even then the result comes wrong; and when so much depends upon it I know I shall get flurried and be worse than ever."

"The great thing is to keep cool. If you don't lose your head, I shouldn't wonder if the excitement helped you. Say to yourself, 'Don't be a fool!' and make yourself keep quiet," quoth Miss Rhoda, with an air of wisdom which evidently impressed her hearers. They glanced first at her and then at each other, and the glance said plainly as words could speak that here was a girl who had strength of mind—a girl who would make her mark in the school!

"I'll try!" said Kathleen, meekly. "I am terribly anxious about this exam., for if I do well and pass better than any one else in the school I shall get a scholarship of L40 towards next year's fees. That would be a great help to my parents, for they are poor, and have only sent me here that I may have a chance of getting on and being able to teach some day. I should be so thankful if I could help, for it's horrid to know the people at home are stinting themselves for your sake. I lie awake at nights imagining that the report is in, and I am first, and then I write a long letter home and tell them about it. Each time I invent a fresh letter, and they are so touching, you can't think! I cried over one, one night, and Tom came round to see what was the matter. At other times I imagine I'm plucked, and I go cold all over; I think I should die! Never mind, nine months yet! I'll work like a slave, and if I do fail no one can say it's my own fault."

"You won't fail. Don't imagine anything so horrible! You will get over your nervousness and do splendidly, and write your letter in real earnest," cried Dorothy cheerily. "I am going in for the Oxford too, but you need fear no rival in me. I am one of those deadly, uninteresting creatures, who never reach anything but a fair medium. There isn't a 'distinction' in me, and one could never be first at that rate. A scrape-through pass is all I'm good for!"

"I could get two distinctions at once! I know more German and French than ninety girls out of a hundred. Two distinctions! It's a big start. I wonder—I wonder if I could possibly be first!" said Rhoda to herself, and her breath came fast, and her cheeks grew suddenly hot. "Nine months! Nine months!" If she studied hard, and worked up the subjects on which she was behind, might she not have a chance with the rest? The first girl! Oh, if only it could be possible, what joy, what rapture! What a demonstration of power before the school. She went off into a blissful dream in which she stood apart, receiving the congratulations of Miss Bruce and her staff, and saw Thomasina's face regarding her with a new expression of awe. Then she came back to real life, to look remorsefully at her new friend, and notice for the first time her pinched and anxious air.

"But I would give Kathleen the money. I want nothing but the honour," she assured herself, shutting her mind obstinately against the conviction that such a division might not be altogether easy to arrange. "And Dorothy is going in, too; lots of girls are going in, so why should not I? And if I enter I must do my best; nobody could object to that!"

Nevertheless there was an unaccountable weight on her heart, which made it a relief when the subject dropped, and Kathleen began to point out the various out-buildings scattered over the grounds.

"That's the pavilion. We keep all the games there, and it's so nicely furnished. There is quite a pretty sitting-room, and a stove, and all the materials for making tea. On Saturday afternoons the winning teams may stay behind and have tea there by themselves, and buy cakes from the housekeeper. It's ripping! We look forward to it as the Saturday treat, and aren't you just mad if your side loses! That's the joiner's shop. You can have lessons if you like, and learn to make all sorts of things; but I've no ambition to be a carpenter, so I don't go... That's a summer-house, but it's so earwiggy that we leave it alone... That was meant to be a swimming-bath, but the water comes straight from a well, and it is so deadly cold that the girls got cramp, and Miss Bruce forbade them to use it any more. It looks wretchedly deserted now. If you want to be miserable all by yourself you couldn't have a better place. It's so still and dark, and the birds have built their nests in the corners, and come suddenly flying past, and frighten you out of your wits... Those little patches are the girls' own gardens. You can have lessons in gardening, and get a prize if you are clever. I don't go in for that either, for it's an extra expense."

"Oh, I must have a garden!" cried Rhoda quickly. "I adore flowers, and they could send me cuttings from home. I always had my own garden, but I didn't do the work, of course. I just said how it was to be arranged, and what plants I wanted, and every one admired it, and said how successful it was. I had big clumps of things, you know; not one straggling plant here and another there, but all banked up together. You should have seen my lily bed! I made the men collect all the odd bulbs and plant them together, and they were a perfect show. The scent met you half-way down the path; it was almost overpowering. And then I had a lot of the new cactus dahlias, and left only about two branches on each, so that they came up like one huge bush with all the lovely contrasting colours. Many people say they don't like dahlias, but that is only because they haven't seen them properly grown."

"Oh well, I loathe them myself, and I always shall do. You never get any satisfaction out of them, however pretty they may be, for as soon as people see them, they begin groaning and saying, 'Oh, dear, dear, autumn flowers already! How sad it is. Winter will soon be upon us.'" Dorothy sniffed derisively. It was evident that no support was to be expected from her on the dahlia question, and Rhoda felt that only time and experience could prove to her the folly of her position.

When all the out-buildings had been explained, Kathleen led the way down a winding path which seemed to lead to nowhere in particular, but rather to come to an abrupt cul-de-sac in the shape of a high grey wall. Her companions wondered at her choice, but she went forward with an air of determination, so that there was nothing left but to follow, and hope soon to return to more interesting scenes. When she came to the end of the path, however, she stood still and began to smile with a most baffling air of mystery. What did it mean? What were they expected to see? The girls wheeled to and fro, looked at the paths, the beds, the flowers, frowned in bewilderment, and then suddenly lifted their eyes to the wall, and uttered simultaneous exclamations of surprise.

The wall was dotted over with little tablets of stone, on each of which was a neatly engraved inscription, and each inscription bore the name of a girl at its head. Rhoda craned forward and read first one and then another:

"...Winifred Barton, joined Hurst Manor, September, 189—, left Christmas, 189—. The youngest pupil who ever obtained honours in Mathematics in the Oxford Local Examinations."

"Elizabeth Charrington, an old pupil of the school, obtained First Class in the Honours School of Modern History at Oxford."

"Eleanor Newman, joined Hurst Manor, September, 189—, left Mid., 189—. Beloved by her fellow-students as the kindest and most loyal of friends, the most unselfish of competitors. Held in grateful remembrance for the power of her influence and example."

"Fanny Elder. For two years Games President of the school. Winner of the Wimbledon Lawn Tennis Tournament, 189—. Holder of Edinburgh Golf Cup, 189—. A just and fearless sportswoman..."

The list of names went on indefinitely, but Rhoda had read enough to inflame curiosity, and wheeled eagerly round to confront Kathleen.

"What is it? What does it mean? Who puts them up? Is it just the cleverest girls?—"

"It's the Record Wall!" said Kathleen. "We are very proud of our Record Wall at Hurst. The cost of these tablets is paid by the pupils themselves, and they are put up entirely at their discretion. The teachers have nothing to do with it. If a girl has distinguished herself at work, but is conceited and overbearing, and makes herself disliked, no one wants to put up a tablet to her; so it is really a testimony to character, as well as to cleverness. Eleanor Newman was quite stupid, they say. I never knew her. She never passed a single examination, nor took a prize nor anything, yet every one loved her. She was a little, fair thing, with curly hair too short to tie back, and soft, grey eyes. She wasn't a bit goody, but she always seemed waiting to do kind things, and make peace, and cheer the girls when they were home-sick. And no one ever heard her say a cross word, or make an uncharitable remark."

"And did she die?" croaked Rhoda solemnly. A long experience of girls' stories had taught her that when girls were sweet and fair, and never said an unkind word, they invariably caught a chill, and died of rapid consumption. She expected to hear the same report of Eleanor Newman, but Kathleen replied briskly:

"Die! Not a bit of it. She married, at nineteen, a doctor down in Hampshire, and brought him to see the school on their honeymoon. The Greens escorted her in a body to the Record Wall, and when she saw her own name she covered her face with her hands, and flew for her life. And her husband looked quite weepy. The girls said he could hardly speak!"

"Ah-h!" sighed Rhoda, and was silent. She felt "weepy" too, filled with a sudden yearning, a sudden realisation of want. Eleanor Newman had risen to heights to which she could never attain. "A little, fair thing, and almost stupid," yet her school-fellows loved her, and immortalised her name in words of grateful loyalty. She sighed again, and yet again, and heard Kathleen's voice cry sharply—

"Oh, I look at that empty space, and wonder if this time next year I shall read there that I have passed first, and won the Scholarship. I wonder if ever, ever there will be a tablet with my name upon it!"

"I expect there will be," said Dorothy. "It's a lovely idea, and I can imagine every girl longing to see her name on the scroll of honour; but for my own part I never shall. Not for this child! There is no hope for me, unless they put me up as 'a good little tortoise who never fell asleep.' The worst of it is that in real life the hare keeps awake too, and spoils one's chance. I must be content to bloom, in obscurity—'A violet by a mossy dell, half hidden from the eye'—"

But Rhoda already saw a new tablet twinkling on the empty space, a tablet recording phenomenal success and distinction, and the name at the head of the inscription was not "Kathleen Murray," but one much more familiar in her ears!



CHAPTER EIGHT.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Sunday afternoon was hopelessly wet; but the fact was less regretted than usual, as from three to four was the time put aside for writing home. So far a postcard to announce safe arrival had been the only word written, and each girl was eager to pour forth her feelings at length, to tell the latest news, and report changes of class. The two new- comers had a score of complaints and lamentations to record, and Rhoda, at least, entered unhesitatingly into the recital.

She had never been so miserable in her life. The girls were hateful, domineering, and unfriendly—Miss Bruce had spoken to her three times only—the food was good enough in its way, but so plain that she simply longed for something nice; the lessons were difficult, the hours unbearably long.—It took three whole sheets to complete the list of grievances, by which time her hand was so tired that she read it over by way of a rest, with the result that she was quite astonished to discover how miserable she had been! Everything she had said was true, and yet somehow the impression given was of a depth of woe which she could not honestly say she had experienced. Perhaps it was that she had omitted to mention the alleviating circumstances—Miss Everett's sweetness, Fraulein's praise, hours of relaxation in the grounds, signs of softening on the part of the girls, early hours and regular exercises, which sent her to the simple meals with an appetite she had never known at home. Five days at school, and on the whole there had been as much pleasure as suffering. Then, was it quite fair to send home such a misleading account?

Rhoda drew from her pocket the latest of the five loving letters penned by the maternal hand, and read it through for the dozenth time. Sunday was a lonely day for new-comers, and the period occupied by the sermon in church had been principally occupied by Rhoda in pressing back the tears which showed a presumptuous desire to roll down her cheeks and splash upon her gloves. It had been a sweet consolation to read over and over again the words which showed that though she might be one of a crowd at "Hurst," she was still the treasured darling of her home. There was nothing original in the letter; it simply repeated in different words the contents of its four predecessors—sorrow for her absence, prayers for her welfare, anxiety for the first long letter.

"I can hardly wait until Monday morning. I am so longing to know how you are faring!" Rhoda read these words, and looked slowly down upon her own letter. Well! it would arrive, and the butler would place it on the breakfast-table, and her mother would come hurrying into the room, and seize it with a little cry of joy. She would read it over, and then—then she would hand it to her husband, and take out her handkerchief and begin to cry. Mr Chester would pooh-pooh her distress, but she would cry quietly behind the urn, and despite his affectation of indifference he, also, would look worried and troubled; while Harold would declare that every one must go through the same stage before settling down, and that Rhoda might be expected to "make a fuss." She had been so spoiled at home!

Rhoda dug her pen into the blotting-paper, and frowned uneasily. Five days' experience at school had impressed her with the feebleness of "making a fuss."

"If you are hurt—bear it! If you are teased—look pleasant! If you are blamed—do better next time! If you feel blue—perk up, and don't be a baby!" Such were the Spartan rules of the new life, and an unaccustomed shame rose up in her mind at the realisation of the selfishness and weak betrayal of that first home letter. Was it not possible to represent the truth from the bright side as well as the dark, to dwell on the kindnesses she had received, and leave disagreeables untold? Yes, it was possible; she would do so, and save her dear ones the pain of grieving for her unhappiness. So the thick sheets were torn across with a wrench, which made Thomasina look up from her desk.

As a head girl, "Tom" possessed a study of her own, to which she had prepared to depart earlier in the afternoon, but had been persuaded to stay by the entreaties of her companions.

"Tom, don't go! Don't leave us! It's a wet day, and so dull—do stay with us till tea-time. You might! You might!" urged the suppliant voices, and so Tom sat down to her desk in the house-parlour which was the property of the elder Blues, and indited letters on blue-lined, manly paper, with a manly quill pen.

As her eyes rested on the torn letter and on the clean sheet of paper drawn up for a fresh start, she smiled, a quiet understand-all-about-it smile, which Rhoda chose to consider an impertinent liberty. Then down went her head again, and the scrape, scrape of pens continued until four o'clock, by which time the girls were thankful to fold the sheets in their envelopes and make them ready for post. Rhoda read over her second effort in a glow of virtue, and found it a model of excellence. No complaints this time, no weak self-pity; but a plain statement of facts without any personal bias. Her father and mother would believe that she was entirely contented; but Harold, having been through the same experiences, would read between the lines and understand the reserve. He would say to himself that he had not expected it of Rhoda, and that she had behaved "like a brick," and Harold's praise was worth receiving.

Altogether it was in a happier frame of mind that Rhoda left her desk and took her place in one of the easy chairs with which the room was supplied. From four to five was a free hour on Sundays, and the girls were allowed to spend it as they liked, without the presence of a teacher.

This afternoon talk was the order of the day, each girl in turn relating the doings of the holidays, and having her adventures capped by the next speaker. Thomasina, however, showed a sleepy tendency, and kept dozing off for a short nap, and then nodding her head so violently that she awoke with a gasp of surprise. In one of these intervals she met Dorothy's eyes fixed upon her with a wondering scrutiny, which seemed to afford her acute satisfaction.

"Ah!" she cried, sitting up and looking in a trice quite spry and wide- awake. "I know what you are doing! You are admiring me, and wondering what work of nature I most resemble. I can see it in your face. And you came to the conclusion that it was a codfish! No quibbles, please! Tell me the truth. That was just exactly it, wasn't it?"

"No!" cried Dorothy emphatically, but the emphasis expressed rather contrition for a lost opportunity than for a wrongful suspicion. "No, I did not!" it seemed to say, "How stupid not to have thought of it. You—really—are—extraordinarily like!"

"Humph!" said Thomasina. "Then you are the exception, that's all. All the new-comers say so, and therein they err. It's not a cod at all, it's a pike. I am the staring image of a pike!"

She screwed up her little eyes as she spoke, and pulled back her chin in a wonderful, fish-like grin which awoke a shriek of merriment from the beholders. Even Rhoda laughed with the rest, and reflected that if one were born ugly it was a capital plan to accept the fact, and make it a joke rather than a reproach. Thomasina was the plainest girl she had ever seen, yet she exercised a wonderful attraction, and was infinitely more popular among her companions than Irene Grey, with her big eyes and well-cut features.

"Next time you catch a pike just look at it and see if I'm not right," continued Tom easily. "But perhaps you don't fish. I'm a great angler myself. That's the way I spend most of my time during the holidays."

"I don't like fishing, its so wormy," said Irene, with a shudder. "I like lolling about and feeling that there's nothing to do, and no wretched bells jangling every half-hour to send you off to a fresh class. 'Nerve rest,' that's what I need in my holidays, and I take good care that I get it."

"I don't want rest. I want to fly round the whole day and do nice things," said a bright-eyed girl in a wonderful plaid dress ornamented with countless buttons—"lunches, and teas, and dinners, and picnics, and dances, and plays. I like to live in a whirl, and stay in bed to breakfast, and be waited on hand and foot. I don't say I get it, but it's what I would have if I could."

"Well, I'm a nice, good little maid who likes to help her mother and be useful. When I go back I say to her, 'Now don't worry any more, dear; leave all to me,' and I run the house and make them all c-ringe before me. Even the cook is afraid of me. She says I have such 'masterful ways.'"

The speaker was a tall, fair girl, with a very large pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of an aquiline nose. She looked "masterful" enough to frighten a dozen cooks, and made a striking contrast to the next speaker, a mouse-like, pinched little creature, with an air of conscious, though unwilling, virtue.

"I spent the last half of these holidays with a clergyman uncle, and helped in the parish. I played the harmonium for the choir practice, and kept the books for the Guilds and Societies. His daughter was ill, and there was no one else to take her place, so, of course, I went at once. It is quite a tiny little country place—Condleton, in Loamshire."

"What!" cried Rhoda, and sat erect in her seat sparkling with animation. "Condleton! I know it quite well. I often drive over there with my ponies. It is only six miles from our place, and such a pretty drive. I know the Vicarage quite well, and the Church, and the funny little cross in the High Street!"

She spoke perfectly simply, and without thought of ostentation, for her parents' riches had come when she herself was so young that she had no remembrance of the little house in the manufacturing town, but looked as a matter of course upon the luxuries with which she was surrounded. It never occurred to her mind that any of her remarks could be looked upon as boasting, but there was a universal glancing and smiling round the room, and Thomasina enquired gravely:

"Do you drive the same pair every day?"

"Of ponies? Oh, yes, generally," replied Rhoda innocently. "They are frisky little things, and need exercise. Of course if we go a very long way, I give them a rest next day and drive the cobs, but as a rule they go out regularly."

Thomasina shook her head in solemnest disapproval. "That's a mistake! You should change every day. The merciful man is merciful to his beast. I can't endure to see people thoughtless in these matters. My stud groom has special orders never to send out the postilions on the same mounts oftener than twice a week!"

There was a moment's pause, and then a shriek of laughter. Girls threw themselves back in their seats, and held their sides with their hands; girls stamped on the floor, and rolled about as though they could not contain their delight; girls mopped their eyes and gasped, "Oh, dear! oh, dear!" and grew red up to the roots of their hair. And Rhoda's face shone out, pale and fixed, in a white fury of anger.

"You are a very rude, ill-bred girl, Thomasina Bolderston! I made an innocent remark, and you twist it about so as to insult me before all the house! You will ask my pardon at once if you have any right feeling."

"I'm the Head Girl, my dear. The Head Girl doesn't ask pardon of a silly new-comer who can't take a joke!"

"I fail to see where the joke comes in. If you are Head Girl a dozen times over, it doesn't alter the fact that you don't know how to behave. You have bullied me and made me miserable ever since I came to this school, and I won't stand it any longer, and so I give you notice!"

"Much obliged, but it's no use. The rules of this school are that the pupils must obey the Head Girl in her own department, and there can be no exception in your favour, unpleasant as you find my yoke."

"When I am a Head Girl I shall try to be worthy of the position. I'll be kind to new girls, and set them a good example. I'll not jeer at them and make them so wretched that they wish they never had been born!"

Thomasina leant her head on her hand, and gazed fixedly into the angry face. She made no reply, but there was no lack of speakers to vindicate her honour. Sneering voices rose on every side in a clamour of indignant protest.

"When she is Head Girl indeed! It will be a good time before that happens, I should say."

"Not in our day, let us hope. We are not worthy to be under such a mistress."

"Oh my goodness, what a pattern she will be; what a shining example! You can see her wings even now beginning to sprout."

"Nonsense, child! It's not wings, it's only round shoulders. These growing girls will stoop. You had better be careful, or you will be set in order next."

Rhoda looked across the room with smarting, tear-filled eyes.

"Don't alarm yourselves; I wouldn't condescend to bandy words. You are like our leader—not worthy of notice!"

"Look here, Rhoda Chester, say what you like about us, but leave Thomasina alone. We will not have our Head Girl insulted, if we know it. If you say another word we will turn you out into the passage."

"Thank you, Beatrice; no need to get excited; I can fight my own battles without your help. This little difference is between Rhoda and me, and we must settle it together. I think we could talk matters over more comfortably in my study, without interrupting your rest hour. May I trouble you, Miss Chester? Three doors along the passage. I won't take you far out of your way!"

Thomasina rose from her seat, and waved her hand towards the door. She was all smiles and blandness, but a gasp of dismay sounded through the room, as if a private interview in the Head Girl's study was no light thing to contemplate.

Rhoda's heart beat fast with apprehension. What was going to happen. What would take place next? It was like the invitation of the spider to the fly—full of subtle terror. Nevertheless, her pride would not allow her to object, and, throwing back her head, she marched promptly, and without hesitation, along the corridor.



CHAPTER NINE.

HAVING IT OUT.

Thomasina led the way into her study, and shut the door behind her. It was a bare little room, singularly free from those photographs and nick- nacks with which most girls love to adorn a private sanctum. It looked what it was—a workroom pure and simple, with a pile of writing materials on the table, and the walls ornamented with maps and sheets of paper, containing jottings of the hours of classes and games. On the mantelpiece reposed a ball of string, a dogskin glove, a matchbox, and a photograph of an elderly gentleman, whose pike-like aspect sufficiently proclaimed his relationship. There were three straight-back chairs, supplied by the school, and two easier ones of Thomasina's own providing, both in the last stages of invalidism.

The mistress of this luxurious domain turned towards her visitor with a hospitable smile.

"Sit down," she cried, "make yourself comfortable. Not that chair—the spokes have given way, and it might land you on the floor. Try the blue, and keep your skirts to the front, so that it won't catch on the nails. I can't think how it is that my chairs go wrong. I'm always tinkering at them. Nice little study, isn't it? So cosy!"

"Ye-es!" assented Rhoda, who privately thought it the most forlorn- looking apartment she had ever seen, but was in no mood to discuss either its merits or demerits. It was in no friendly spirit that she had paid this visit; then why waste time on foolish preliminaries? She looked expectantly at Thomasina, and Thomasina stood in front of the chimney-piece with both hands thrust into the side pockets of her bicycling skirt, jingling their contents in an easy, gentlemanly fashion. From her leathern band depended a steel chain which lost itself in the depths of the right-hand pocket. Rhoda felt an unaccountable curiosity to discover what hung at the end of that chain and rattled in so uncanny a fashion.

"Well!" began Thomasina, tilting herself slowly forward on the points of her flat, wide shoes, "Well, and now about this little matter. I asked you to step in here because I think differences of opinion are more easily settled without an audience, and as it were, man to man." She buried her chin in her necktie, and gazed across the room with a calm, speculative glance. The likeness between her and the pike-like gentleman grew more startling every moment. "Now, we have known each other barely a week, and already I have offended you deeply, and you, without knowing it, have hit me on a tender spot. It is time that we came to an understanding. Before going any further, however, there are one or two questions I should like to ask. You have had time to notice a good many things since you arrived. You have seen me constantly with the girls. Do they dislike me? Do they speak of me hardly behind my back? Do they consider me a bully or a sneak? Should you say on the whole that I was popular or unpopular?"

"Popular!" said Rhoda firmly. Whatever happened she would speak the truth, and not quibble with obvious facts. "They like you very much."

"And you wonder how they can, eh? Nevertheless it's true. I'll tell you something more. I'm the most popular Head Girl at Hurst. You ask the other colours to-morrow, and they'll tell you to a man that you are lucky to have me. Very well then, Rhoda, who's to blame if you think the opposite? Yourself, and nobody but yourself, as I'll proceed to prove. You come to school with a flourish of trumpets, thinking you are doing us a mighty big favour by settling among us, and that you are to be allowed to amble along at your own sweet will, ignoring rules you don't like, graciously agreeing to those you do, and prepared to turn into a wild cat the first moment any one tries to keep you in order. Then, when you are unhappy, as you jolly well deserve to be, you turn and rend me, and say it is my fault. If all the new girls behaved as you have done, I should have been in my little tomb long ago, and you would have some one else to deal with. It seems to me, my dear, that you don't recognise my duties. I am placed in a position of authority, and am bound to enforce the rules. If the girls are obedient, well and good; if they kick, well and good also. I break 'em in! I'm going to break you in, Rhoda Chester, and the sooner you realise it the happier you'll be."

Rhoda looked at her fully, with a firmness of chin, a straightness of eye, which argued ill for the success of the project.

"You will never break me in, as you call it, by domineering, and treating me like a child."

"I know it, my dear. I haven't been studying girls all these years without learning something of character. Some fillies you can drive with a snaffle, others need the curb. You drive yourself, and understand what I mean. I can see quite well that you are a proud, sensitive girl, with a good heart hidden away behind a lot of nonsense. If it were not for that heart I shouldn't trouble myself about you, but simply give my orders, and see that they were obeyed. But there's nothing mean about me, and I'd scorn to take an unfair advantage. Now, I'll tell you straight that I have come to the conclusion that I judged you wrongly about that pony business, and that you didn't mean to brag. I saw by the way you flared out that you were really hurt, and I was sorry. I've no pity on brag, but when I judge a girl wrongly I feel sick. If it's any relief to your mind to know it, I believe that little episode upset me more than it did you. When you said I was not worthy of my position, and made new-comers wretched, you hit me very hard, Rhoda, very hard indeed!"

She stopped short and jingled furiously at her chains, then suddenly looked up, gave a roguish smile, and cried, insinuatingly—

"There, I've done my part. I've acknowledged I was wrong. You are no coward, so you will do as much! You will admit that you have been a difficult subject, won't you now?"

Rhoda looked at her and hesitated. She cleared her throat and determined to speak openly, and then suddenly, suddenly, something swelled at her throat, and she heard her own voice say chokingly:

"I suppose I've been stupid... I've never been accustomed to be— ordered about! I'm sorry if I was disagreeable, but I never, never meant to—give myself airs!"

"But you did though, all the same," cried Thomasina briskly. "Bless me, yes! The way you came into a room, the way you walked out, the way you looked at your food, and turned it over on your plate, the way you eyed the other girls up and down, down and up—it all said as plainly as print 'I'm Her Royal Highness of Chester, and I won't have any dealings with the likes of You!' If you had been a Princess of the blood you couldn't have put on more side, and so, of course, we judged your words by your actions, and thought you were bragging when you meant nothing of the sort. Now, just make up your mind, like a sensible girl, to forget your own importance, and don't always be on the lookout for insults to your dignity. Your dignity will look after itself if it's any good, and you'll be a heap happier if you give up coddling and fussing over it all day long. There was that little matter of the pigtail the other morning! It wasn't my wish that you should tie back your hair. I don't mind telling you that it's much less becoming than it was, but I was simply acting as the mouthpiece of Miss Bruce, as you might have known if you had taken one minute to consider. Your friend, Dorothy What- ever-she-calls-herself, behaved like a sensible girl, and did as she was told without making a fuss, but you must needs work yourself into a fury. You'll have a fit one of these days if you are not careful. You are just one of those fair, reddy people who are subject to apoplexy, so don't say I didn't warn you. When we went down to breakfast I tried to be friendly, just to show there was no ill-feeling, and you went and starved yourself rather than accept a crumb from my hands. It reminded me awfully of my little cousin of three. When he is made to do what he doesn't like, he refuses to eat his bread and milk. He seems to think he is punishing us somehow; but, bless your heart, we don't mind! We know he is strong and hearty, and that it will do him no harm to starve once in a way. I wasn't in the least anxious about you, but I don't want you to go on feeling wretched in my house, so I'll do my best to consider your feelings. I warn you, however, I can't stop chaffing. If I think of a funny thing to say, I must say it or burst, and if you don't like it you can comfort yourself by thinking that it's for your good, and will teach you to control your temper. If you get offended after this, the more fool you, for I tell you straight there will be no ill-feeling in my mind, nothing but simple, pure buffoonery."

Rhoda smiled feebly. The cool, unemotional tones of the other had effectually dried her tears, but the softened expression remained, and her voice had almost an humble intonation.

"I'll try. I know I am touchy, but I shan't mind so much now that you— that you have explained! I think you have been very generous."

"All right," interrupted Thomasina briskly. "Don't gush. I loathe gush. That's all right, then, and I'll tell the girls I was wrong just now. They will all treat you decently if I tell them to; so behave sensibly, and don't be a young jackass, and all will be well."

"I—er, I beg your pardon!"

"Don't mention it!" Thomasina beamed amiably over her shoulder. "Jackass, I said—don't be a jackass! The gong will ring in ten minutes, so you'd better be off to your room. Pleased to have seen you! Good afternoon. Come again another day!"



CHAPTER TEN.

HARD WORK.

From that day forward matters moved more smoothly for Rhoda. Dorothy reported that Tom had returned to the house-parlour to explain her regret at having misjudged a new-comer, and her desire that her colleagues would second her effort to make Rhoda happy, and, as usual, Tom's word was law. That very evening several of the girls took an opportunity of exchanging friendly remarks with Rhoda, while at supper an amount of attention was bestowed upon her plate which was positively embarrassing. It was a delightful change, but through all the relief rang the sting of remembering that it had been accomplished by Thomasina, not herself; that the new friendliness was the result of Thomasina's orders rather than her own deserts. To her fellow-students she was still an insignificant new-comer, with no claim to distinction. If she excelled in one subject, she was behind in the next, while at games she was hopelessly ignorant. It was wormwood and gall to be obliged to join the "Bantlings" at hockey, and be coached by a girl of twelve; but Rhoda set her teeth and determined that if pluck and energy could help, it would be a short time indeed before she got her reward. Oh, those first few games, what unmitigated misery they were! The ankle pads got in her way, and made her waddle like a duck, and when at last she began to congratulate herself on overcoming the first difficulty, they tripped her up, and landed her unexpectedly on the ground. Although she was repeatedly warned to keep her stick down, it seemed to fly up of itself, and bring disgrace upon her; and then, alas! the ball followed its example, bounded up from the ground, and landed neatly on her cheek immediately beneath her left eye. A hideous swelling and discolouration was the result, but after the first rush to see that the damage was not serious, no one seemed in the least agitated about the mishap. Erley Chase would have been convulsed with panic from attic to cellar, but Thomasina only struck an attitude, and exclaimed, "Oh! my eye!" and even Miss Everett smiled, more in amusement than horror, as she cried, "In the wars already, Rhoda? You have begun early." Mrs Chester would hardly have recognised her darling in the knickerbockered girl, with her curly mane screwed into a pigtail, her dainty feet scuffling the ground, and her face disfigured by a lump, which changed to a different colour with each new dawn. If she could have had a glimpse of her during that tragic period it is certain that Rhoda's term at "Hurst" would have been short indeed: but she was not informed of the accident, while each letter showed an increasing interest in work and play. Rhoda had put her back into her studies, and worked with an almost feverish earnestness. The hours of preparation were all too short, but she found a dozen ways of adding to their length, so that from morning to night her brain was never allowed to rest. She grew white and tired, and so perceptibly thin that Miss Bruce questioned her class-mistress as to the change in her appearance.

"She is an ambitious girl," was the reply, "and does not like to feel behind. She is working hard, and making progress; but she never complains, or appears to feel ill."

"Oh, well, everything in moderation. See that she is not overworked. There will be no time gained in that way," said the principal, and forthwith banished the subject from her busy brain. There came a day, however, half way through the term, when Rhoda collapsed, and found it impossible to rise from her bed. Three times over she made the effort, and three times sank back upon her pillow faint and trembling, and then in despair she raised her voice, and wailed a feeble "Tom!"

Tom came promptly, buttoning her magenta jacket, and went through a most professional examination.

"To the best of my judgment," she announced finally, "you are sickening for scarlatina, tonsilitis, and housemaid's knee, but if you stay in bed and have an invalid's breakfast I should say you would be fairly convalescent by twelve o'clock. Snoddle down, and I'll see Nurse as soon as I'm dressed, and put her on the track."

"I want Miss Everett!" sighed Rhoda plaintively, and Tom gave a grunt of assent.

"I expect you do. All the girls want her when they are ill. She's no time to spare, but I'll tell her, and probably she'll squeeze in five minutes for you after breakfast. You are not going to die this time, my dear, so don't lose heart. We shall see your fairy form among us before many hours are past!"

Perhaps so. Nevertheless it was good to be coddled once more, to lie snugly in bed and have a tray brought up with a teapot for one's very own self, and egg, and fish, and toast—actually toast! instead of thick slices of bread-and-scrape. The luxury of it took away one's breath. It was pleasant, also, to have Nurse fussing around in motherly fashion, and hear her reminiscences of other young ladies whom she had nursed, in days gone by, and brought back from the jaws of death. From her manner, it is true, she did not appear to suffer any keen anxiety about her present patient: but, as Rhoda looked at the empty dishes before her, she blushingly acknowledged that, after all, she could not have been so ill as she had imagined.

After breakfast came Miss Everett, sweet as ever, and looking refreshingly pretty in her pale blue blouse and natty collar and cuffs. If one did not know to the contrary, she would certainly have been mistaken for one of the elder girls, and her manner was delightfully unprofessional.

"Well, my poor dear, this is bad news! I was sorry when Tom told me. What is it?—headache—back-ache—pain in your throat?"

Rhoda stretched herself lazily and considered the question.

"A kind of general all-overishness, if you know what that means. I feel played out. I tried to get up, but it was no use, I simply couldn't stand. I feel as if I had no back left—as weak as a kitten."

Miss Everett looked at her quietly, then her eye roved round the room and rested meaningly on half-a-dozen pieces of paper fastened up in conspicuous positions. One sheet was tacked into the frame of the looking-glass, another into a picture, a third pinned against the curtain, and each was covered with Rhoda's large writing, easily legible across the few yards of space: Rules of Latin Grammar, List of Substantives, Tenses of Verbs—they stared one in the face at every turn, and refused to be avoided. Miss Everett laid her hand upon the bed, and something rustled beneath her touch. Yet another sheet had been concealed beneath her pillow.

"Oh, Rhoda!" she cried, reproachfully; "oh, Rhoda!"

The girl put on an air of protest.

"What? There's no harm in it, is there? I can't catch the others up unless I work hard. I have not enough time in preparation, so I put these up and learn them while I dress and undress, and every time I come in to prepare for a meal. You have no idea what a lot I get through. And I keep a list in my pocket too, and take it out at odd moments. Miss Murray is surprised at the way I am getting on."

"I have been surprised too, to see you look so ill, with such white cheeks and heavy eyes. I understand it now."

"But, Miss Everett, I must work. I must get on! If I am behind I must catch up. Even if I am tired I must get on in my class."

"Why?"

Why? Why must she get on? It was such an extraordinary question to come from a teacher, that Rhoda could only gasp in bewilderment—"Why? You ask why?"

"Yes, I do. One has always some object in work. I wondered what yours might be. Why are you so terribly anxious to come to the front?"

A dozen answers rose to Rhoda's lips. To impress Thomasina; to show her that if I do think a good deal of myself, it's not without a cause... To take the conceit out of the girls who patronise me. To be able to patronise in my turn, and not remain always insignificant and powerless... To show Harold how clever I am, and to have my name put on the Record Wall when I leave! ... They were one and all excellent reasons, yet somehow she did not care to confide them to Miss Everett. Instead, she hesitated, and answered by another question.

"I suppose you think there is a wrong and a right motive? I suppose you think mine is the wrong one. What is the right, then? I'm ill, and reduced in my mind, so it's a good time to preach; I'll listen meekly!"

"And disagree with every word I say," cried Miss Everett laughing. "No, no, Rhoda, I never preach. I know girls well enough to understand that that doesn't pay. There are some secrets that we have to find out for ourselves, and it is waste of time telling the answers before the hearer is ready to receive them; only, when one has oneself suffered from ignorance, and sees another poor dear running her head against the wall, one is sorry, that's all, and one longs to point out the danger signals. Find out, dear, what your motive is, and be satisfied that it's a good one. Meantime, I'm going to take away these papers. Do you see? Every—single—one!" She walked round the room, confiscating the lists, and putting them in her pocket with an air of good-natured determination. "Let that tired head rest, and believe me, my dear, that your elders understand almost as much about girls as you do yourself. We are never blamed for under-working at Hurst, and you may take for granted that the hours for work are as long as you can stand. The short time spent in your cubicle is not intended for work, but for rest—of all kinds!"

Rhoda blushed guiltily. During the first days at school the morning hymn had been both a delight and stimulus. She had listened to the words with a beating heart, and whispered them to herself in devout echo; they had seemed to strike a keynote for the day, and send her to work full of courage; but, alas! for weeks past the strains had fallen on deaf ears, and the lips had been too busy conning Latin substantives to have leisure for other repetition. Her sense of guilt made her meek under the confiscation of her lists, and pathetically grateful for the kiss of farewell.

"Thank you for coming. I know you are busy, but I wanted you so! It's nice to see you; you look so sweet and pretty!"

"Oh, you flatterer! I'm surprised at you. As if it matters what a staid old teacher looked like; I'm above such silly vanities, my dear."

She looked, however, extremely pleased, quite brisked up in fact, and so delightfully like a girl that Rhoda took heart of grace, and enquired:—

"I wish you would tell me your object! That wouldn't be preaching, and you are so young to be working so hard! I have often wondered—"

"Ah!" cried Miss Everett, and a curious look passed over her face—half glad, half sad, wholly proud. "I'll tell you my object, Rhoda—it's my brother, Lionel! I have an only brother, and he is a genius. You remember his name, and when you are an old lady in a cap and mittens you can amuse other old ladies by telling how you once knew his sister, and she prophesied his greatness. At school he carried all before him, and he is as good as he is clever, and as merry as he is good. He won a scholarship at Oxford, but that was not enough. My father is the vicar of Stourley, in D—shire, and has such a small stipend that he could not afford to help him as much as was needed. Then I wrote to Miss Bruce, and asked her if she could give me an opening. She is an old family friend, and knew that I had done well in examinations and was good at games (the younger teachers here must be able to play with the girls— it's one of the rules), so she gave me my present position, and I am able to help the boy. He went up last year and did famously, but I have had sad news this week. He had been obliged to go home and convalesce after an attack of influenza, and is so weak still that the doctor says he will want any amount of rest and feeding up before he can go back. So you see I am more thankful than ever to be able to help!"

"I don't see it at all," said Rhoda bluntly. "I should be mad. What's the good of your slaving here if, after all, he can't get on with his work? You might as well be comfortably at home."

"Rhoda! Rhoda! be quiet this moment. It's bad enough to fight against my own rebellious feelings without hearing them put into words. I won't stay another moment to listen to you!"

She gave a playful shake to the girl's shoulder, and ran out of the room, while Rhoda "snoddled" down to think over the conversation.

"Well, then, I suppose her motive is love—love for her brother, and— er—thinking of him before herself. She comes here and slaves so that he may have his chance. She is an angel, of course, an unselfish angel, and I'm a wretch." She lay still for a few moments, frowning fiercely, then suddenly the bedclothes went up with a wrench—"I don't care—she's ambitious too! She thinks he is clever, and wants him to be great! Well, so do I want to be great! If it isn't wrong for one person, it can't be for another. My motive is success, and I'll work for it till I drop!"



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

TOM'S EXAMINATION.

A day in bed renewed Rhoda's energy, and she took up her work with unabated fervour. The "lists" were, perhaps, less conspicuously displayed than before, but were none the less in readiness when needed, and if Miss Everett disapproved, the Latin mistress was all praise and congratulation.

"I certainly have a gift for languages, and with lessons during the holidays I shall soon be steaming ahead," Rhoda told herself proudly. "I'll ask mother to let Mr Mason coach me. He is a splendid teacher, and if I have an hour a day I shall learn a lot. Won't the girls stare when I come back, and go soaring up the class! I shouldn't wonder if I got a remove. It will be impossible to work up to Thomasina and her set, but at any rate I'll be past the baby stages, and not disgrace myself in the examinations."

All the world seemed bounded by examinations at present. Thomasina and the elder girls working steadily towards the goal of the "Matric"; Kathleen and her friends dreaming night and day of the "Oxford"; while nearer at hand loomed the school examinations, which ended the term. Rhoda was in a fever of anxiety to acquit herself well in the eyes of her companions on this occasion, and could think, speak, and dream of nothing else. Even her joy of getting her remove from the "Bantlings" into a higher team was swallowed up in the overwhelming interest, while Dorothy was filled at once with admiration and disgust at the monotony of her conversation.

"I don't know, and I don't care!" she replied callously, when anxiously consulted about a point in mathematics. "I've come out to play, and I'm not going to rack my brains for you or anyone else. You are getting a regular bore, Rhoda! It's like walking about with 'Magnall's Questions.' Let's talk about frolics, or holidays, or something nice, and not worry about stupid old lessons."

Well! Rhoda told herself, it was no wonder if Dorothy were medium, if this was the way she regarded her studies. If she took no more interest than this in the coming contest, what could she expect from the result? She would be sorry, poor dear, when she saw her name at the bottom of the list! There was no help to be expected from Dorothy; but Rhoda stored up a few knotty questions, and took the first opportunity of asking Tom for a solution. She had discovered that Tom liked nothing better than to be consulted by the younger girls, and had a tactful way of asking help in return, which took away the sense of obligation.

"Oh, by-the-by," she would call to Rhoda, in her elegant fashion, "you are a bit of a German sausage, aren't you? Just read over that passage for me. I've been puzzling over it for the whole of the evening," and then would follow some blissful moments, when Rhoda would skim lightly over the difficulty, and feel the eyes of the girls fixed admiringly upon her.

In the present instance a wet Saturday afternoon afforded a good opportunity for the desired questioning. The Hurst girls did not stay indoors for an ordinary drizzle, but this was a downpour of so hopeless a character that even the most enthusiastic athletes felt that the house-parlour was preferable to the soaking, wind-swept grounds. They gathered together, stoked up the fire, and prepared to spend the two hours' leisure as fancy should dictate, some girls reading, some sewing, and some making themselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, and doing nothing at all with every appearance of enjoyment.

"If we had only some chestnuts," said one of the lazy ones, "how happy we might be! I have a wild craving for chestnuts. It came over me suddenly just now, sitting looking at that fire."

"I think," said Irene Grey solemnly, "it's very sad, but I do think a school like this makes one horribly greedy. You get so tired of the food, and have such a longing for something that isn't wholesome. I assure you, my dears, there have been occasions when the centre table has had beef, while we have had mutton, when I could have wept—simply wept! I should like to order a meal regardless of everything but what I like—lobster mayonnaise, and salmon, and veal cutlets, and ice pudding, and strawberries and cream, and fizzy lemonade. That would be something like a dinner—better than old joints and milk puddings!"

The girls groaned in sympathy, and Rhoda took advantage of their absorption to cross to Tom's desk and consult her quietly on the knotty points. The solutions were remarkably simple—when you knew them!—and Tom delivered herself solemnly on the subject.

"You don't think, my dear; you don't reflect. Your brain would help you out, but you don't give it a chance. It's what I am always saying to this room—it's not cram you need, it's intelligence! Use your reason! Cultivate your faculties! Now, then, I'll tell you what I'll do!"—she raised her voice suddenly, and swung round in her seat. "I'll give you girls an examination myself. You need some practice before the real business begins, and it will be just the thing for this wet afternoon. Get out your books and pencils and I'll dictate the questions. It's to be a 'General Intelligence' paper, and the examiner's instructions are— use your wits! They will not be the ordinary blunt, straightforward questions manufactured by the masculine mind, and intended mainly for the coarse, masculine ability, but full of depth and subtlety, so that they will require careful consideration. If you go scribbling down your answers before you have read the questions, you'll be sorry, that's all; but don't say you were not warned. Now, then, are you ready? ... We will begin our studies to-day, young ladies, with a problem in calculation!" She deepened her voice into such an accurate imitation of the Arithmetical Mistress as filled her listeners with delight. "Attention to the board!—If a room were 20 feet long, 13 feet broad, 11 feet high, and 17 feet square, how much Liberty wall-paper 27 inches wide would be required to paper it, allowing 5 feet square for the fireplace and seven by three for the door?"

The girls wrote down the question, not, however, without some murmurs of protest.

"If there is one kind of sum I hate more than another, it's these horrid old wall-papers!" declared Bertha Stacey. "I shall never be a paper- hanger, so I don't see why I should worry my head. I don't call this General Intelligence."

"I expect we shall have a taste of most subjects; but really, Tom, really now—the room could not be 17 feet square if your other measurements were right!" argued Irene, who knew arithmetic to be her strong point, and was not sorry to impress the fact on her companions. "You have made a mistake."

She expected the examiner to be discomfited, but Tom fixed her with a glittering eye, and demanded if perchance she had seen the room in question, since she was so positive.

"No, of course not, but then— You know quite well—"

"Well, I have, so perhaps you will allow me to know better. Go on, young ladies, and the next one who dares to raise any objections gets ten bad marks to begin her list. I must have perfect submission. Five minutes allowed for working!"

The time proved all too short for some of the workers, for the less expert they were the more elaborate became their calculations, until page after page was filled with straggling figures. Thomasina made a round of inspection, frowning over each book in turn, protesting, scolding, marking the result with a big black cross. According to her verdict everyone was wrong, although five girls had arrived at the same result; and Irene obstinately disputed the decision.

"I know it is right! Work it for yourself, and see. It's a simple enough sum, and any one could tell—"

"That's apparently just what they can't do! I don't deny that you may be correct in the broad, vulgar sense, but that is not enough for me. I expect you to grasp the inner meaning. Now the real answer to this question is that there can be no answer! To a perceptive mind it would be impossible to reply without further information. It entirely depends on how the paper is cut out, and the amount of waste incurred in matching the pattern!"

The girls shrieked aloud in mingled protest and delight. It was too bad; it was ripping, it was mean; it was killing; they all spoke together and at the pitch of their voices, and alternately abused and applauded until they were tired. The denouement had taken them by surprise, though in truth they knew their Head too well to have taken the examination seriously. When Tom played schoolmistress there was bound to be a joke in ambush, and they settled down to question number two with minds alert for a trap.

"We will now, young ladies, take an excursion into the realms of Literature, and test your insight into human nature. I will ask you, if you please, to compare the respective characters of Alfred the Great and Miss Charlotte Yonge—'Jo March' and Joseph Chamberlain—four great, and, it will be obvious to all, strongly-defined personalities. I shall be interested to hear your distinctions!"

It appeared, however, as if there would be little to interest, for most of the girls stared blankly into space, as if powerless to tackle such a subject. Rhoda was one of the few exceptions, and scribbled unceasingly with a complacent sense of being on her own ground until the limit of time was reached. Tom had evidently noticed her diligence, for she called out a peremptory, "Rhoda, read aloud your answer!" which was flattering, if at the same time slightly alarming.

"Ahem—er—er—in the historical character of Alfred the Great we find combined the characteristics of courage and simplicity. He waged a long and unequal fight, and was equally inspired by failures or success.

"In the person of Miss Charlotte Yonge we discover the same virtues, but in a softer and more feminine mould. Her heroes are for the most part refined and cultivated young men, actuated by the highest motives—"

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Thomasina desperately. "For pity sake spare us the rest. Such deadly propriety I never encountered! It reminds me of the Fairchild family at their very worst. If that's the sort of thing you are going to write, Rhoda, I pity the poor examiners. And what do you mean by Alfred fighting? He was a most peaceful creature, so far as I have heard!"

"Thomasina! the war with the Danes—all those years! You must remember!"

"I don't remember a thing about it. How could a man fight the Danes living in a peaceful retreat in the Isle of Wight, as Tennyson did for—?"

Tennyson! Tennyson! Who spoke of Tennyson? Oh! it was too bad; too mean! How on earth could anyone be expected to guess that Tom had meant Tennyson, when she had expressly said Alfred the Great? Rhoda protested loudly, and the other girls backed her up; but Tom was obdurate.

"And isn't Tennyson known as 'Alfred the Great' as well as the other crittur? It is just another example of want of intelligence! You read the words, and never trouble about the connection. Who in their sane senses would ask you to compare a warrior king with old Miss Yonge? A little reflection would have saved you from the pitfall into which you have all fallen headlong. Five bad marks each! Now, then, for the next two. What have you got to say about the two Joes?"

Very little apparently. No one had tackled the comparison in Rhoda's grandiose fashion, but a few pithy sentences were to be found scribbled on the sides of exercise books. "Jo March was very clever, and my father says Mr Chamberlain is, too!" from one dutiful pupil. "Jo March was a darling, and Chamberlain is not," from another of Radical principles. "Both wore eye-glasses, and wrote things for magazines," and other such exhaustive criticisms.

"You are all plucked in Literature," announced Thomasina, solemnly, "and I am deeply pained by the exhibition! I will give you one more chance in Arithmetic before going on to the higher branches, because, as you are aware, this is a most vital and important subject. Write down, please: A and B each inherited thirty thousand pounds. A invested his capital in gold-mine shares to bring in eighteen per cent, interest. B put his money into the Post Office Savings Bank, and received two and a half per cent. State to three places in decimals the respective wealth of each at the expiration of twenty-seven years!"

"Er—with what deduction for current expenses?" queried Irene, with an air. She had been snubbed once, but was not in the least subdued. "What were their current expenses?"

"There were none!"

"Thomasina, what bosh! There must have been. They couldn't live on nothing."

"Well, they did, then. Since you are so particular, I may tell you that they were in prison! They had their wants supplied by their native land."

"I'm not going to do sums about convicts! My mother wouldn't like it," said Dorothy, shutting up her book with a bang. She leaned forward, and whispered in Rhoda's ear, "Don't bother; it's only another joke. What's the use of worrying for nothing?"

"It's practice," said Rhoda, and away went her pencil, scribbling, calculating, piling up row upon row of figures. To her joy the answer came out the same as Irene's, which surely must prove it right; yet, as Dorothy had prophesied, Tom was once more sweeping in denunciation, "Wrong! Wrong! All wrong! The gold-mine failed, and left A a pauper, while B lived happily ever after. You are old enough to know that gold- mines that pay eighteen per cent, invariably do fail and ruin their shareholders; or if you don't, you may be thankful to me for telling you. I must say, young ladies, you are coming exceedingly poorly through my test. I cannot congratulate you on your insight. I doubt whether it is any use examining you any further."

"Oh, yes, let us have the higher branches, Tom! Do let us have the higher branches! Who knows? Perhaps we may distinguish ourselves at last. Give us another chance!" pleaded the girls, mockingly; and, thus challenged, Tom could not but consent. She tackled Zoology, and giving the three divisions of Plantigrada, Pinnigrada, and Digitigrada, added a list of animals to be classified accordingly. When it is said that the list included such widely diverging creatures as "A camel-leopard, a duck-billed platypus, Thomasina Bolderston, and Spring-heeled Jack," it can be imagined with what zest the pupils began their replies.

Tom professed to be mortified beyond endurance to find her fairy tread unanimously classed under the first heading, and begged the Blues to take notice that if any girl pined to call her "splay-footed" to her face she might do so, and take the consequences! No one accepted the challenge, however; so she proceeded to Latin, and, with much jingling of keys, gave out a sentence for translation:—

"Aequam memento rebus in arduis servare mentem." The girls smiled at this, confident of their powers. The students at Hurst prided themselves on their Latin, and could have stood a much severer test without wavering. The seniors did not trouble to write their answers, but waited complacently until the time came when they should have an opportunity of airing their proficiency. It never came, however, for Tom chose to disappoint expectations by reading aloud her own translation from her position in front of the fire.

"Memento—remember; mentem—and mind; servare—to hold up; aequam—your mare; in rebus arduis—going up hill. That translation, young ladies, was given by an undergraduate in the University of Oxford. He afterwards rowed stroke in the 'Varsity boat, and was the best billiard player of his year, so it would ill become us to dispute his conclusions. You will observe the valuable moral lessons inculcated in the words, and, I trust, take them to heart—'Remember and mind—'"

A laugh sounded from the direction of the door, and there stood Miss Everett, looking round with mischievous eyes. Rhoda noted with relief that she looked brighter than for days past, as if some good news had arrived from the home about which she was so anxious.

"This sounds improving," she cried, merrily. "Thomasina holding a Latin class! I am glad you have found such an exemplary way of passing the afternoon. I am afraid you must stop, however, as the gong will ring in five minutes, and meantime I must break up the class. I want,"—her eye roved enquiringly round the room—"I want Rhoda!"

"Certainly, Miss Everett. Anything to oblige you. Rhoda, my love, you have my permission to retire," drawled Thomasina, wagging her head in languid assent, and Rhoda left the room in no little wonder as to the reason of the summons.

Arrived in the corridor, Miss Everett laid both hands on the girl's shoulders, and asked a quick, laughing question:—

"What about that hamper?"

"Hamper?" echoed Rhoda. "Hamper?" Her air of bewilderment was so unaffectedly genuine that the other's expression became in turn doubtful and uncertain.

"Yes, yes, the hamper! The hamper of good things that has just arrived for my brother. I thought you—"

"I know nothing about it; truly I don't! I wish I did, but—"

"But, my dear girl, it came from your home. There was a game label upon it, with your father's name in print—'From Henry Chester, Erley Chase.' There cannot be two Henry Chesters living at houses of the same name."

"Ah!" exclaimed Rhoda, and her face lit up with pleasure. "It's mother! Of course it's mother! It's just the sort of thing mother would do. I told her that your brother had been ill, and that you were anxious about him, and so she set to work to see how she could help. That's just like mother, she's the kindest dear! I believe she sits down in her armchair after breakfast every single morning, and plans out how many kind things she can do during the day."

"Bless her heart!" cried Miss Everett devoutly. "Well, Rhoda, she succeeded this time. My mother has written me all about it. It was a dull, wet day, and Lionel seemed depressed, and there was nothing nice in the house, and nothing nice to be bought in the little village shops, and she was just wondering, wondering how in the world she could cheer him, and manufacture a tempting lunch out of hopeless materials, when tap-tap-tap came the carrier's man at the door. Then in came the hamper, and Lionel insisted upon opening it himself, and was so interested and excited! There were all sorts of good things in it— game, and grapes, and lovely, lovely hot-house flowers filling up the chinks. They were all so happy! It was such a piece of cheer arriving in that unexpected fashion, and mother says the house is fragrant with the scent of the flowers. Lionel arranged them himself. It kept him quite happy and occupied. How can I thank you, dear?"

"Don't thank me. It was not my doing. It's mother."

"But how did your mother know where we lived? How did she know who we were?"

"Well!" Rhoda smiled and flushed. "Naturally I tell her the news. I suppose I must have mentioned that your father was Vicar of Stourley. I don't remember; but then I've so often written about you, and she would naturally be glad to do anything she could, for she knows you have been kind to me, and that I'm very—fond of you!"

Miss Everett bent down quickly, and kissed her on the cheek.

"And my people knew who Mr Chester was because I've written of you, and they know that you have been kind to me, and that I'm fond of you, too. Oh Rhoda, you don't know how lonely it feels to be a teacher sometimes, or how grateful we are to anyone who treats us as human beings, and not as machines. You don't know how you have cheered me many a time."

"But—but—I've been tiresome, and stupid, and rebellious. I've given you lots of trouble—"

"Perhaps, but you have been affectionate too, and seemed to like me a little bit, in spite of my lectures; and if it had not been for your kind words the hamper would never have come, so I insist upon thanking you as well as your mother. Many, many thanks, dear! I shall always re—" She stopped short suddenly, her attention arrested by the scraping of chairs within the parlour, and concluded in a very different tone, "The girls are coming! For pity's sake don't let Tom find us sentimentalising here! Fly, Rhoda, fly!" and off she ran along the corridor, flop, flop, flop, on her flat-soled shoes, as much in fear of the scrutiny of the head girl as the youngest Blue in the house!



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOME AGAIN.

The week of examination passed slowly by, and the morning dawned when the all-important lists were to be read aloud. The girls were tired after the strain, the teachers exhausted by the work of reading over hundreds of papers, and it was consequently a somewhat pale and dejected-looking audience which assembled in the Hall to hear the report.

Rhoda sat tense on her seat, and puzzled for some moments over the meaning of a certain dull, throbbing noise, before discovering that it was the beating of her own heart. It seemed to her morbid sensitiveness that every eye was upon her, that everyone was waiting to hear what place the new girl had taken. When Miss Bruce began to read she could hardly command herself sufficiently to listen, but the first mention of her own name brought her to her bearings with a shock of dismay. After all her work, her care, her preparation, to be so low as this, to take so poor a place! The mortification was so bitter that she would fain have hidden herself out of reach of consolation, but to her surprise, so far from condoling, teachers and pupils alike seemed surprised that she had done so well.

"You have worked admirably, Rhoda. I am pleased with you," said Miss Murray.

"Well done, Fuzzy!" cried Tom, and even Miss Bruce said graciously:

"Very good progress for a first term, Rhoda!"

It was evident from their manner that they meant what they said, and another girl might have gleaned comfort from the realisation that she had expected too much of her own abilities. Not so Rhoda! It was but an added sting to discover that she had been ranked so low, that an even poorer result would have created no astonishment. She was congratulated, forsooth, on what seemed to her the bitterest humiliation! If anything was needed to strengthen the determination to excel at any and every cost, this attitude of the school was sufficient. In the solitude of the cubicle she vowed to herself that the day should come, and that speedily, when she would be estimated at her right value. She stood in the damp and cold gazing up at the Record Wall, and renewed the vow with fast-beating heart. The sun struggled from behind the clouds and lit up the surface of the tablets, and the Honours girl, and the B.A. girl, and the girls who had won the scholarships, seemed to smile upon her and wish her success, but Eleanor Newman's name was in the shade. The sun had not troubled to light it up. She was "stupid," and had never won a prize.

The last two days were broken and unsatisfactory, and Rhoda longed for the time of departure to arrive; yet it was not without a pang of regret that she opened her eyes on the last morning, and gazed round the little blue cubicle. It was delightful to be going home, yet school had its strong points, and there were one or two partings ahead which could not be faced without depression. How nice it would be if she could take all her special friends home—Dorothy and Kathleen, and Miss Everett, and— yes! Tom herself; for, wonderful to state, she was unaffectedly sorry to part from Tom. What fun they would have had running riot in Erley Chase, and summoning the whole household to wait on their caprices!