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diff --git a/old/65558-0.txt b/old/65558-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 54a5af3..0000000 --- a/old/65558-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7075 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of By Honour Bound, by Bessie Marchant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: By Honour Bound - A School Story for Girls - -Author: Bessie Marchant - -Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65558] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Al Haines, John Routh & the online Distributed Proofreaders - Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BY HONOUR BOUND *** - - - - - - BY HONOUR - BOUND - - A SCHOOL STORY FOR GIRLS - - - BY - BESSIE MARCHANT - AUTHOR OF - “DIANA CARRIES ON,” ETC. - - - THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD. - LONDON, EDINBURGH, NEW YORK - TORONTO, AND PARIS - - - - - THOMAS NELSON AND SONS LTD - - Parkside Works Edinburgh 9 - 3 Henrietta Street London WC2 - 312 Flinders Street Melbourne C1 - 5 Parker’s Buildings Burg Street Cape Town - - THOMAS NELSON AND SONS (CANADA) LTD - 91-93 Wellington Street West Toronto 1 - - THOMAS NELSON AND SONS - 19 East 47th Street New York 17 - - SOCIÉTÉ FRANÇAISE D’EDITIONS NELSON - 25 rue Henri Barbusse Paris V^{e} - - - - - CONTENTS - - I. WHAT DOROTHY SAW - II. A SHOCK - III. PRIDE OF PLACE - IV. TOM IS DISAPPOINTING - V. TOM MAKES EXCUSE - VI. RHODA’S JUMPER - VII. THE ENROLLING OF THE CANDIDATES - VIII. THE TORN BOOK - IX. UNDER A CLOUD - X. FAIR FIGHTING - XI. DOROTHY SCORES - XII. DOROTHY IS APPROACHED - XIII. WHY TOM WAS HARD UP - XIV. TOP OF THE SCHOOL - XV. AT HIGH TIDE - XVI. A STARTLING REVELATION - XVII. SETTING THE PACE - XVIII. THAT DAY AT HOME - XIX. A SUDDEN RESOLVE - XX. PLAYING THE GAME - XXI. THE HEAD DECIDES - XXII. THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CUP - XXIII. TROUBLE FOR TOM - XXIV. DOROTHY TO THE RESCUE - XXV. SAVED BY THE CHAIN - XXVI. DOROTHY GETS THE MUTTON BONE - - By Honour Bound - - - - - CHAPTER I - - - WHAT DOROTHY SAW - -Stepping out of the train in the wake of Tom, Dorothy was at once caught -in the crowd on Paddington arrival platform. She was pushed and squeezed -and buffeted, but her eyes were shining, and her face was all smiles, -for she felt that she was seeing life at last. - -“Whew! Some crowd, isn’t it?” panted Tom, as a fat man laden with a -great bundle of rugs and golf clubs barged into him from behind, while a -lady carrying a yelling infant charged at him from the side, and -catching him unawares, sent him lurching against Dorothy. - -She was sturdy, and stood up to the impact without disaster, only saying -in a breathless fashion, “Oh, Tom, what a lot of people! Where do you -expect they all come from?” - -“Can’t say. You had better ask ’em,” Tom chuckled, as he sprang for the -nearest taxi, and secured it too, although a ferocious looking man, with -brown whiskers like a doormat, was calling out that he wanted that -particular vehicle. - -Dorothy meanwhile secured a porter, and extricating Tom’s luggage and -her own from the pile on the platform, the things were bundled into the -taxi; she and Tom tumbled in after them, and they were moving away from -the platform before the angry person with doormat whiskers had done -making remarks about them. - -“That is what I call a good get-away,” Tom sighed with satisfaction, -lolling at ease in his corner. “You will have time to buy your finery -now, without any danger of our missing the train.” - -“Bless you, I should have taken the time in any case, whether we lost -the train or not,” rejoined Dorothy calmly. Then she asked, with a -twinkle in her eye, “Are you coming to help me choose the frock?” - -“Not me; what should I be likely to know about a girl’s duds?” and Tom -looked as superior as he felt. - -Dorothy leant back laughing. “Sometimes you talk as if you know a lot,” -she said mischievously. “Do you remember Brenda Gomme and the marigold -satin?” - -Tom grinned, but stuck to it that he had not been so far wrong in -calling the thing marigold, seeing that it was yellow, and marigolds -were yellow. - -“Roses are red—sometimes,” she answered crisply; “for all that we do -not call all red things rose colour. Hullo! is this Victoria already? -See, Tom, we will cloakroom everything we’ve got, and then we shall be -able to enjoy ourselves.” - -When this was accomplished, and the taxi paid, the two plunged into the -busy streets outside Victoria, walking briskly along, and stopping -occasionally to ask the way to the great multiple shop to which they -were bound. - -“There it is! Look, Tom!” There was actual rapture in Dorothy’s tone as -she pranced along, waving her hand excitedly in the direction of the big -plate-glass windows of Messrs. Sharman and Song. - -At the door of the lift she paused to beg Tom to come with her; but he, -his attention caught by a window filled with football requisites, was -already engrossed, and turned a deaf ear to her pleading. - -Dorothy was shot up in the lift to the next floor, and was at once -thrilled and half-awed by the splendid vista of showrooms stretching -away before her enchanted gaze. Then a saleswoman took her in hand, and -she plunged at once into the business of buying a little frock for -evening wear, with the tip kind old Aunt Louisa had given to her. - -The frocks displayed were too grown-up and elaborate for a schoolgirl. -Dorothy knew what she wanted, and was not going to be satisfied until -she got it. The saleswoman went off in search of something more simple, -and for the moment Dorothy was left alone staring into the long -looking-glass, not seeing her own reflection, but watching the people -moving about the showroom singly and in groups: it was so early in the -day that there were no crowds. - -She saw a girl detach herself from a group of people lower down the -room, and wander in and out in an aimless fashion between the showcases. -Suddenly the girl halted by a table piled with pretty and costly -jumpers. Stooping over them for a moment she swiftly slid one out of -sight under her coat, and with a leisurely step turned back past a big -case to join her party. - -[Illustration: She swiftly slid a jumper under her coat] - -Dorothy gave a little gasp of dismay. It had been so quickly done that -at first she did not realize she had been watching a very neat piece of -shoplifting. Then she sprang forward to meet the saleswoman, who was -coming towards her with an armful of frocks. She was going to denounce -that girl who was a thief, she was just opening her lips to cry out that -a jumper had been stolen, she looked round to see where the girl was, -but the light-fingered one had gone—vanished as completely as if she -had never been—and Dorothy was struck dumb. If the girl had escaped out -of the room, of what use to accuse her? Even if she were still in the -building she might easily have passed the stolen garment on to some one -else. Then it would be her word against Dorothy’s accusation. There -would be an awful fuss, her journey would be delayed Tom would be -furious, and—— - -“I think you will like these better, Moddom,” the voice of the -saleswoman cut into Dorothy’s agitated thinking. - -She hesitated, and was lost. She could not make a disturbance by telling -what she had seen—she simply could not. - -All the time she was choosing her frock she felt like a thief herself. -Half her pleasure in her purchase vanished, and she was chilled as if -the sun had gone behind a cloud, leaving the day drear and cold. - -In spite of this the garment was as satisfactory as it could be, and the -price was so reasonable that there was a margin left over for shoes and -stockings to wear with the frock. Oh, life was not such a tragedy after -all, and Dorothy hugged her parcel with joy as she went down in the lift -to join Tom, who was still absorbed by the window filled with football -things. - -“Did you buy up the shop?” he asked, as they went off briskly in search -of lunch. - -“Why, no; it would have needed a pretty long purse to do that,” she said -with a laugh; and then she burst into the story of the shoplifting she -had seen, asking Tom what he would have done if he had been in her -place. - -“Yelled out, ‘Stop thief!’ and have been pretty quick about it too,” he -answered with decision, as they settled down at a corner table in a -quiet little restaurant for lunch. - -“Oh, I could not!” There was real distress in Dorothy’s tone. “The girl -was so nice to look at, and she was well-dressed too. Oh, Tom, how could -she have stooped to such meanness?” - -“Women are mostly like that.” Tom wagged his head with a superior air as -he spoke. “It is very few women who have any sense of honour; I should -say it is peculiar to the sex. When boys and girls have games together -the girls always cheat, and expect the boys to sit down under it. It is -the same in the mixed schools; the girls expect to get by thieving what -the boys have to work hard for. When they are older, and ought to know -better, it is still the same; they expect to have what they want, and if -they can’t get it by fair means, why, they get it by foul. They don’t -care so long as they get it.” - -Dorothy stared at him for a moment as if amazed at his outburst; then -she laughed merrily, and told him he was a miserable old cynic, who -ought to be shut up in a home for men only, and be compelled to cook his -own food and darn his own socks to the end of the chapter. - -“Well, in that case I shouldn’t be going back to school to-day, with the -prospect of being invited over to the girls’ house every fortnight or so -during the term—rather jolly that would be.” Tom winked at his sister -as he spoke, and then they laughed together. - -“I should feel just awful at the prospect of Compton Schools if you were -not going to be there too,” she said with a little catch of her breath; -and then she cried out that they must hurry, or they would certainly be -late for the train. - -It was a scramble to get their things out of the cloakroom, to get on to -the platform, and to find a place in the Ilkestone train. At first they -had to stand in the corridor, then a voice from farther along the -corridor called to them “Tom Sedgewick, there is room for one here Is -that your sister? Bring her along.” - -“Some of our crowd are down there; come along and be introduced,” said -Tom, catching Dorothy by the hand and hurrying her forward. “It is Hazel -Dring, and Margaret Prime is with her. They are pals—if you see one, -you may be sure the other is not far off.” - -Hazel Dring was a tall girl with fair hair and a very nice smile. -Margaret Prime was smaller, a quiet girl with a rather shrinking manner, -as if she was afraid of being snubbed, Both of them greeted Dorothy in -the friendliest fashion. They made room for her to sit with them, -although they were already crowded; and they were so kind that she had -to be glad she had met them on the train, although secretly she would -have chosen to be alone with Tom. - -“You are not a scholarship girl, are you?” asked Hazel. “You look nearly -grown up.” - -“I am not clever enough for a scholarship girl,” Dorothy answered with a -little sigh; “Tom has the brains in our family. I am seventeen, and I am -to have one year at the Compton Schools.” - -“Just long enough to win the Lamb Bursary,” cried Hazel eagerly. “I -expect you will be in the Sixth, you are so big; and if you are, you -will be eligible for the Mutton Bone.” - -“The Mutton Bone!” Dorothy looked puzzled, even frowning, as was her -wont when perplexed. - -Margaret laughed, then answered for Hazel. “That is what we call the -Lamb Bursary—a term of affection, mind you. We would not cry it down -for worlds; it is the top strawberry in the basket of the Compton -Schools, and there are a lot of us going to have a try for it this -year.” - -“Oh yes, I know the Lamb Bursary is a prize worth having,” said Dorothy. -“Tom has talked about it, and groaned a lot because there was not an -equal gift for the boys. But I don’t suppose I should have much chance -for it as I am not at all clever.” - -“Oh, that does not matter so much if you are anything of a sticker at -work,” said Hazel; “the Lamb Bursary goes to the best all-round scholar -of the year. You might be very brilliant in some subjects, but if you -were a duffer at others you would not stand a chance. For instance, you -might stand very high in mathematics, you might be a prodigy in -chemistry, but if you had not decent marks for languages, history, and -music you would be left, for the judging is on the averages of all the -subjects. It is really a very good way, as it gives quite an ordinary -girl a chance.” - -“What do you mean by judging on the averages?” asked Dorothy, frowning -more than before. - -“This way,” put in Margaret, whose business in life seemed to be to -supplement Hazel. “You might get a hundred marks for maths; well, eighty -would be a good average, so you would be put down for eighty. Say you -only got twenty for history; the twenty left over from your maths -average would be put to it, but it would not bring you up to your -average of eighty, don’t you see? It is a queer way of judging, and must -give the staff and the examiners no end of trouble, but it does work out -well for the girl who is plodding but not especially clever. In most -subjects one could hope to make eighty out of a hundred, but oh! it -means swotting all the time. One can’t shirk a subject that does not -make much appeal, because every set of marks must be up to the average.” - -“I don’t mind work,” said Dorothy, her frown disappearing, “but I’m not -brilliant anywhere, and that has been the trouble. The Bursary sends you -to Cambridge, doesn’t it?” - -“Yes, the full university course. Oh! it is well worth trying for, even -if one has little or no chance of getting it.” Margaret’s face glowed as -she spoke, and Dorothy thought she was really nice-looking when she was -animated. - -“Webster and Poole are wedged into a corner along there; I am going to -talk to them,” said Tom, thrusting his head in from the corridor; and -then he went off, and Dorothy did not see him again until the train -slowed up at Claydon Junction, where they had to change for Sowergate. - -Quite a crowd of boys and girls poured out of the London train, racing -up the steps and over the bridge to the other platform where the little -Sowergate train was waiting. Dorothy went over with Margaret, while -Hazel and Tom stayed behind to sort out the luggage. There was a wait of -ten minutes or so. The carriage was crowded out with girls, some of them -new, like Dorothy, and others, old stagers, who swaggered a little by -way of showing off. The talk was a queer jumble of what they had been -doing in vac, of the hockey chances of the coming term, and what sort of -programme they would have for social evenings. Dorothy sat silent now; -indeed she was feeling rather lonely and out of it, for every one was -appealing to Margaret, and Hazel was at the other end of the carriage, -while Tom was nowhere to be seen. - -“Rhoda Fleming has come back,” said a stout girl who had flaming red -hair, “I saw her at Victoria. She says she is going to stay another -year, so that she can have a chance at the Mutton Bone.” - -“She will never win it,” chorused several. - -“She would stand a very good chance if only she would work,” said -Margaret quietly. “Rhoda is really clever, and she has such a good -memory too.” - -“It is like you to say a good word for her, Meg, but she has snubbed you -most awfully in her time.” The red-haired reached out a friendly hand to -pat Margaret on the shoulder, but Dorothy noticed that Margaret winced, -turning a distressful red. - -“I don’t mind who snubs me, provided Hazel does not,” she said with a -rather forced laugh. - -“There is not much danger of my doing that, kid.” Hazel nodded her head -from the other end of the carriage, and looked her affection for her -chum. - -Dorothy thrilled. How beautiful it must be to have a girl chum, and to -love her like that. She and Tom had always been great pals, but she had -never had a chum among girls. Her own two sisters, Gussie and Tilda, -otherwise Augusta and Matilda, were four years younger than herself, and -being twins, were in consequence all in all to each other. - -Just then the train ran out of tunnel number three, Dorothy caught sight -of two flags fluttering amid groups of trees on the landward side of the -railway track, and at that moment a great roar of cheering broke out -along the train. The girls in the carriage yelled with all their might, -handkerchiefs fluttered, and Dorothy wondered what was happening. - -“See those flags?” cried Margaret, seizing her arm and shaking it -violently. “They are the school flags, and we are saluting them. Now, -then, yell for all you are worth!” - -And Dorothy yelled, putting her back into it too, for was she not also a -Compton girl? - - - - - CHAPTER II - - - A SHOCK - -A string of vehicles were drawn up outside Sowergate Station—there were -three taxis, two rather dilapidated horse cabs, the station bus, and -four bath chairs. There was a wild rush for these last by the girls in -the know, and when they were secured the fortunate ones set off in a -race for the school, the chair-man who arrived first being promised -double fare. - -Dorothy, with Hazel, Margaret, the two Goatbys, and little Muriel Adams -were squeezed into a taxi, and the luggage was taken up on a lorry. The -girls were a tight fit, as Daisy Goatby was an out-size in girls; -however, the distance was short, so crowding did not matter. They all -cheered loudly when they passed the labouring chair-men, who were making -very good way indeed, until one unlucky fellow, in trying to pass -another, tipped his chair over in the ditch and spilled the passenger, -though, luckily, without doing any damage. - -Dorothy felt rather sore because Tom had gone off without even saying -good-bye, but she was too proud to let the others know she was hurt. -There was such a bustle and commotion on the platform and in the station -that no one would notice the omission but herself. It was quite possible -that Tom had forgotten that he had not said good-bye to his sister, and -she strove to forget it herself. - -There were no conveyances for the boys. Their school was so close to the -station, they had only to race across the rails, and then over the road -leading up to Beckworth Camp, and the school gates were in front of -them. But it was nearly a mile up the steep little Sowergate valley to -the funny old house under the hill where the girls had their school. - -Dorothy thought she had never seen such a queer medley of buildings as -the Compton School for girls. It was built round in a half-circle under -the hill, and at first sight seemed to consist chiefly of -conservatories; but that was because most of the rooms opened on to a -conservatory which ran the whole length of the house, and served as a -useful way of getting from room to room. The place was very big, and -very rambling; it had lovely grounds, and the sixty girls were lodged in -the extreme of comfort and airy spaciousness. - -Dorothy was received by Miss Arden, the Head, and by her handed over to -the matron, who allotted her a cubicle in No. 2 dormitory, in company -with Hazel, Margaret, and seven other girls. It was half-past five by -this time, and matron said dinner was at six o’clock: it was to be at -this time to-day, as most of the girls had been travelling, and had had -no proper meal since breakfast. By the time dinner was over the luggage -would have arrived, and there would be unpacking to be done. - -Dorothy was thankful to drop the curtains of her cubicle, and to find -herself alone for a few minutes, it had been such a wildly exciting sort -of arrival. Even as she sank down for a moment on the chair by the side -of her bed a great burst of cheering broke out, and she looked out of -the window to see that the first bath chair had turned in past the lodge -gate, and was being uproariously welcomed by a group of girls who were -lingering on the step of the hall door for that purpose. - -She had to burst out laughing at the ridiculous sight the chair-man -presented, decked out with coloured paper streamers round his hat and a -huge rosette pinned to his coat. He was panting with his exertions, -while his fare, still seated in the chair, was haranguing them all on -her splendid victory, when two other chairs came in at the gate, and -were presently followed by the last, which had been overturned. - -There was only time for a wash and brush-up; then, as the gong sounded, -streams of girls from various parts of the house poured in the direction -of the dining-hall. They streamed along the conservatory that was so gay -with all sorts of flowers, and turned into the dining-hall to meet -another stream of girls coming from dormitories No. 4 and No. 5, which -were reached by a different stairway. - -Dorothy was with the girls coming through the conservatory, she was -looking at the flowers as she was hurried along, and she was thinking -what a lovely place it was. There seemed to be a great crowd of girls in -the dining-hall, and because it was the first meal of term, they were a -little longer getting to their places. The various form-mistresses were -busy drafting them each to the right table, and Dorothy had a sense of -whirling confusion wrapping her round, making all things unreal, while -her vision was blurred, and the sound of voices seemed to come from ever -so far away. Then the sensation passed. She was herself again, she was -standing on one side of Hazel Dring, while Margaret stood on the other, -and she lifted her eyes to look at her opposite neighbour. - -A shiver of very real dismay shook her then, for in the tall girl -confronting her across the table she recognized the girl who had stolen -the jumper in the showroom of the London shop. - -Oh, it surely, surely could not be the same! Dorothy stared at her -wide-eyed and bewildered. Her gaze was so persistent and unwinking that -presently the girl looked at her in annoyance, saying curtly,— - -“What are you staring at? Have you found a black mark on my face?” - -Dorothy flushed. “I beg your pardon, I was thinking I had seen you -before.” She stammered a little as she spoke, wondering what answer she -would make if the girl should ask her where she had seen her. - -“That is hardly likely, I should think,” answered the girl. Then, as if -with intent to be rude, she said coldly, “I have no acquaintance with -any of the scholarship girls.” - -Dorothy gasped as if some one had shot a bowl of cold water in her face; -she was fairly amazed at the rudeness and audacity of the girl, and she -subsided into silence, while Hazel said crisply,— - -“Dorothy Sedgewick is not a scholarship girl, and until after the -examination to-morrow morning we do not even know whether she is a dunce -or not, so you need not regard her as a possible rival until then.” - -“I am not afraid of rivals,” said the girl with superb indifference; and -Dorothy caught her breath in a little strangled gasp as she wondered -what would happen if she were to announce across the table that she had -seen this proud girl steal a silk jumper from the showrooms of Messrs. -Sharman and Song only a few hours before. - -Just then a girl lower down the table leaned forward and said, “I did -not see you at Redhill this morning, Rhoda; which way did you come?” - -The girl who had snubbed Dorothy turned with a smile to answer the -question. “I came up to town with Aunt Kate, who was going to do some -shopping, and then I came on from Victoria.” - -Dorothy’s gaze was fixed on the girl again: it was just as if she could -not take her eyes away from her; and Rhoda, turning again, as if drawn -by some secret spell, flushed an angry red right up to the roots of her -hair. But she did not speak to Dorothy—did not appear to see her even; -and the meal went on its way to the end, while the girls chattered to -each other and to the mistresses. - -“Who was that girl sitting opposite who was so very rude?” asked -Dorothy, finding herself alone for a minute with Margaret when dinner -had come to an end. - -“That was Rhoda Fleming,” answered Margaret; then she asked, “Whatever -did you say to her to put her in such an awful wax?” - -“I only said that I thought I had seen her before,” said Dorothy slowly. - -“And had you?” asked Margaret, opening her eyes rather widely, for there -did not seem anything in that for Rhoda to have taken umbrage about. - -“I may have been mistaken.” Dorothy was on her guard now. She might have -told Rhoda where she had seen her, had they been alone; but to mention -the matter to any one else was unthinkable—it would be like uttering a -libel. - -“You succeeded in getting her goat up pretty considerably,” said -Margaret with a little laugh. “You may always know that Rhoda is pretty -thoroughly roused when she mentions scholarship girls—they are to her -what a red rag is to a bull. I am a scholarship girl myself, and I have -had to feel the lash of her tongue very often.” - -“But why?” Dorothy’s tone was frankly amazed. “It is surely a great -honour to be a scholarship girl—to have won the way here for yourself; -I only wish I had been able to do it.” - -“Oh yes, the cleverness part is all right, although very often it is not -so much cleverness as adaptability, or luck pure and simple,” said -Margaret, who hesitated a minute; and then, as if summoning her courage -by an effort, went on, “You see, the scholarship girls often come up -from the elementary schools. I did myself: it was my only chance of -getting here, for my mother is a widow, and poor; she keeps a -boarding-house in Ilkestone. I am telling you this straight off; it is -only fair that you should know. Seeing me with Hazel Dring, you might -think our social positions were equal, or at least not so far apart as -they really are. Hazel’s people are rich. She has never in all her life -had to come within nodding distance of poverty, or even of narrow means. -But she chose me for her chum, and we never trouble about the difference -in our positions.” - -“Of course not; why should you?” Dorothy’s tone was friendly—she had -even slipped her arm round Margaret’s waist—and was shocked to see how -the girl shrank and shivered as she made her proud little statement of -her position. “If you will let me be your friend too, I shall be very -pleased and proud. My father is a doctor, and he has to work very hard -indeed to feed, clothe, and educate his six children, so there is -certainly not much difference between you and me, whatever there may be -between you and Hazel. But I am so surprised to find that your home is -in Ilkestone—why, that is quite close, the next station on from Claydon -Junction—and yet you came from London with Hazel.” - -“I have spent all the vac at Watley with Hazel. I was not very well last -term,” explained Margaret. “Mother is always so busy, too, during the -long hols that I am something of an embarrassment at home; so it was an -all-round benefit for me to be away with Hazel.” - -“I see.” Dorothy’s arm tightened a little round the slender figure of -Margaret as she asked, “Then we are to be chums? I don’t want to come -between Hazel and you, of course.” - -“You would not,” said Margaret, glowing into actual beauty by reason of -her happy confidence in her friend. “Hazel and I have plenty of room in -our hearts for other friends, and even for chums. I felt you were going -to be friendly, that is why I screwed my courage to make a clean breast -about myself.” - -“That was quite unnecessary where I am concerned, I can assure you.” -Dorothy spoke earnestly and with conviction; then she asked a little -uneasily, “Do you expect that Rhoda Fleming will be in our dorm?” - -“No,” replied Margaret. “I am sure she will not. She will be in No. 1; -it is the same size as ours, but there are better views from the -windows. She was there last term, and will be certain to go back to her -old place. She said she was going to leave, so we are surprised to find -that she has come back for another year. Here comes matron; that means -we have to go and get busy with unpacking.” - -It was later that same evening, and Dorothy was standing at the window -of the corridor outside the door of the dorm watching the moon making a -track of silver on the distant sea, when suddenly a tall girl glided up -to her out of the shadows, and gripping her by the arm, said harshly,— - -“Pray, where was it that you thought you had seen me before?” - -The girl was Rhoda Fleming, and Dorothy could not repress a slight -shiver of fear at the malice of her tone. - -“I did not think; I knew,” she answered quietly, and she was quite -surprised to hear how unafraid her voice sounded. - -“Well, where was it?” Rhoda fairly hissed out her question, and Dorothy -shivered again, but she answered calmly enough, “It was in the showrooms -of Messrs. Sharman and Song, a little before one o’clock to-day.” - -The clutch on her arm became a vicious pinch, as Rhoda said in strident -tones, “You are wrong, then, for I have not been near the shop to-day; -in fact, I have never been there.” - -“Very well, that settles it, of course,” said Dorothy quietly. “Please -let my arm go, you are hurting me.” - -“Rats! Is your skin too tender to be touched?” Rhoda’s tone was vibrant -with scorn, but her fingers relaxed their grip as she went on, “Well, -what was I doing when you saw me there?” - -“That cannot possibly concern you, seeing that you state you were not -there,” said Dorothy calmly, and then she moved away to join some girls -who had come out from No. 2 dorm, and were on their way downstairs for -prayers. She was feeling that the less she had to do with Rhoda Fleming -the better it would be for her happiness and comfort at the Compton -Schools. But how to avoid her without seeming to do so would be the -problem, and she went her way down with the others, wearing a very sober -face indeed. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - - PRIDE OF PLACE - -Next morning directly after breakfast, Dorothy, in company with the -other new girls—about a dozen of them—went off to the study of the -Head, to be examined as to place in the form, and general capacity. - -It was not usual for any girl, whatever her age, to be received at once -into the Sixth, and Dorothy was accordingly given a Fifth Form paper to -fill. When she had done this, and it had been passed to the Head by the -form-mistress who was assisting her, Miss Arden, after reading down her -answers, immediately passed her another paper—and this a Sixth Form -one—to fill. This was a much stiffer matter, and Dorothy worked away -with absorbed concentration, not even noticing that the other girls had -all done, and left the room. But none of them had been given a second -paper, so she was to be forgiven for being the last. - -The Head was called for at that moment. It was a couple of hours later -before Dorothy knew her fate. Meanwhile the whole of the Sixth and the -Upper Fifth were gathered in the lecture hall for a lecture on zoophytes -by Professor Plimsoll, who was the natural history lecturer for the -Compton Schools. He was a young man, and very enthusiastic. Dorothy was -so surprised to find how interesting the subject could be made that she -sat listening, entranced by his eloquence, until a nudge from Daisy -Goatby, sitting next to her, recalled her to her surroundings. - -“Take notes, duffer, take notes,” whispered Daisy with quite vicious -energy. “If you sit staring like a stuck pig at my lord, you will get -beans when he has finished, and he has a way of making one feel a very -worm.” - -Dorothy made a valiant effort to scribble things on paper; but the next -minute her head was up again, and she was staring at the professor, so -absorbed in what he was saying that she quite forgot Daisy’s kindly -warning anent the need of looking busy. - -All round her the girls were bent over their notebooks industriously -scribbling: some of them were taking notes in writing they would -certainly not be able to read later. One or two were writing to friends, -but the main of them were jotting down facts which should serve as pegs -on which to hang their ideas when they had to write out what they could -remember. - -Professor Plimsoll was suave in his manner, a gentleman, but withal very -hot-tempered, and a terror to slackers. He noticed Dorothy’s absorbed -attention, and was at first rather flattered by it; then observing that -she took no notes, and that her gaze had a dreamy quality, as if her -thoughts were far away, his temper flared up, and he determined to make -an example of her. Nothing like beginning as he meant to go on. If he -allowed such a flagrant case of laziness to pass unrebuked at the first -lecture of the term, what sort of behaviour might he not have to put up -with before the end of the course? - -He was nearly at the end of his lecture, when he stopped with dramatic -suddenness, pointing an accusing finger at Dorothy. - -“The name of that young lady, if you please?” he said with a little bow -to the form-mistress, who had come into the lecture with the girls. - -“That is Dorothy Sedgewick,” answered Miss Groome with a rather troubled -air. She was sorry that the professor should fall upon a new girl at the -first lecture of term; to her way of thinking it did not seem quite fair -play. - -“Miss Dorothy Sedgewick, may I beg of you to step up here?” The -professor’s tone was bland—he was even smiling as he beckoned her to -come and stand by his side; but the girls who had attended his lectures -before knew very well that he was simply boiling with rage, and from -their hearts pitied Dorothy. - -She rose in her place and walked forward. She was still so absorbed in -what she had been listening to that she did not sense anything wrong. It -did not even seem strange to her that she should be called forward. She -was the only new girl present at the lecture, and she supposed it might -be the ordinary thing for fresh girls to be called forward in this -fashion. - -“Will you permit me to see the notes you have taken?” he asked in a -voice that was curiously soft and gentle, although his eyes were -flashing. He held out his hand as he spoke, and Dorothy handed him her -notebook, saying in an apologetic tone, “I am so sorry, but I have not -taken any notes, I was so interested.” - -Professor Plimsoll permitted himself a smile, and again his eyes -flashed, just as if they were throwing off little sparks. He glanced at -the blank page of the notebook, then gave it back to her, saying in that -curiously soft and gentle tone, “Since you have been too interested to -take notes, perhaps you will be so very kind as to tell us what you can -remember of the things I have been telling you; especially I should be -glad to hear what has interested you most.” - -Dorothy looked at him in surprise; even now, so restrained and -controlled was his manner, she did not realize how furiously angry he -was, but supposed that he had called her out because of her being a new -girl, and that her position in the school would in some way be -determined by what she could do now. It had been the custom in her old -school for girls to have to stand up and talk in class; and although -this was a much more formidable affair, she was not so much embarrassed -as she would have been but for her training in the past. - -Speaking in a rather low tone, she began at the beginning. In many -places she quoted the professor’s own words. Once she left out a little -string of facts, and went back over her ground, marshalling them into -the proper place, and then went steadily on up to the very point where -the professor stopped so suddenly. - -The silence in the lecture hall was such as could be felt; some of the -girls, indeed, were sitting open-mouthed with amazement at such a feat -of memory. But there was a ghost of a smile hovering about the lips of -Miss Groome—she was thinking how the professor would have to apologize -to the new girl for having so misjudged her. - -If Professor Plimsoll was fiery in temper, he was also a very just man. -The girls must have known he had been angry, even though Dorothy did not -seem to have realized it, and it was due to himself, and to them, that -he should make what amends he could. - -“Miss Dorothy Sedgewick,” he began, and he bowed to her as impressively -as he might have done to royalty, “I have to beg your pardon for having -entirely misunderstood you. When I saw that you took no notes I was -angry at what I thought was your laziness, and new girl though you were, -I determined to make an example of you, and that was why I called you -forward in this fashion. I do apologize most sincerely for my blunder, -and I am charmed to think that I shall have a student so able and -painstaking at my lectures this term.” - -Great embarrassment seized upon Dorothy now. She turned scarlet right up -to the roots of her hair as she bowed, murmuring something inaudible, -and then she escaped to her seat amidst a storm of cheering from the -excited girls. - -Professor Plimsoll held up his hand for silence. The lecture went on to -its end, but it is doubtful whether Dorothy got much benefit from the -latter part. The girls all around her were showing their sympathy each -after her kind, but she was angry with herself because she had lacked -the penetration to see that she had really been an object of pity. - -When the lecture was over, and they all streamed out of hall carrying -their notebooks, they fell upon her, cheering her again, and patting her -on the back with resounding thumps just by way of showing friendliness. - -“Oh, Dorothy, you were great!” cried Hazel, struggling through the crowd -to reach her. “It was priceless to see you standing there beside my -lord, giving him back his old lecture on creepy-crawlies as calmly as if -you had been brought up to that kind of thing from infancy. His eyes -gogged and gogged until I thought they would have come right out of -their sockets! And then to see the way he climbed down and grovelled at -your feet, oh, it was rich!” - -“Dorothy, how did you remember it all?” cried Margaret, thrusting -several girls aside and coming eagerly close up to Dorothy. - -“I don’t know; I cannot always remember things so well,” she answered. -“But it was all so interesting, and the professor has such a way of -ticking his facts off, it is so easy to keep them in mind.” - -“There is one comfort,” said Hazel. “You will be certain to be in the -Sixth after the little affair of this morning.” - -“I don’t know about that,” replied Dorothy, thinking of some of the -questions on the paper she had filled in that morning. - -A little later there came to her a message summoning her to the Head’s -private room, and she went in fear and trembling. If she was put in the -Sixth, she would be able to enter for the Lamb Bursary; if she was not -in the Sixth her chance would be gone for always, for she knew that it -was quite impossible for her to stay at school for more than one year. - -Miss Arden was very kind; she made Dorothy sit down, and drawing out the -Sixth Form examination paper, began to talk to her about it. - -“In many ways,” began the Head, speaking in her calmly assured manner, -“I do not think you are up to the level of the Sixth, but in other -things you are very good indeed. I was still debating whether to put you -straight into the Sixth, or to keep you for one term in the Upper Fifth -to see how you would shape; but before I had really made up my mind, -Professor Plimsoll came in and told me of what happened at his lecture. -He was so impressed with your ability that, acting on his suggestion, I -am going to put you straight into the Sixth, and I hope that you will -work hard enough to justify me in having done this. It is very unusual -for a new girl to be put into the Sixth. Different schools have -different methods of work, and a girl has usually to be with us a little -time before we feel sufficiently sure of her. However, I hope it is all -going to be quite right.” - -“Thank you very much; I will be sure to work,” murmured Dorothy, and her -eyes were shining like two stars at the prospect before her; then she -asked in a low tone, her voice a little shaken, “May I enter for the -Lamb Bursary, now that I am going to be in the Sixth?” - -Miss Arden smiled. “You can enter if you wish. Indeed, I shall be very -glad if you do. Even if you are not within seeing distance of getting -it, the discipline and the hard work will be good for you. It will be -good for the others too, for the more candidates the better the work -that is done. Rhoda Fleming was to have left last term, but she has come -back for the purpose of competing. I hope that next week, when the -candidates are enrolled, a good number of the Sixth will offer -themselves.” - -Dorothy went out from the presence of the Head, feeling as if she was -walking on air. How wonderful that she was in the Sixth! How still more -wonderful that it was really her humiliation at Professor Plimsoll’s -lecture which was the means of putting her there. It had not seemed a -very awful thing to stand up beside the professor and repeat to him what -she remembered of his lecture, but it had been a very keen humiliation -indeed to find that he had considered her a time-waster, and had really -called her out to shame her in the eyes of the others. She had suffered -tortures while the girls were cheering her. Yet if all that had not -happened, she would not have been in the Sixth now, with the possibility -of winning the Lamb Bursary in front of her. - -Rhoda Fleming was coming down the stairs as she went up. Just when -passing, Rhoda leaned towards her, and smiling maliciously, murmured, -“Prig!” - -Dorothy’s temper flared. It was an outrage that this girl who was a -thief should call her names. She jerked her head round to hurl a -scathing remark after the retreating figure, then suddenly checked -herself. True pride of place was to hold one’s self above the sting of -insults that were petty. After all it did not matter who called her -prig, provided she was not that odious thing. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - - TOM IS DISAPPOINTING - -The rest of the week passed in a whirl of getting used to things and of -settling into place. Dorothy had to find that however good she might be -at memory work, she did not shine in very many things which were -regarded as essentials at the Compton Schools. She was a very duffer in -all matters connected with the gym. She was downright scared at many -things which even the little girls did not shirk. She could not swing by -her hands from the bar, she looked upon punching as a shocking waste of -strength, and even drill had no charm for her. - -Miss Mordaunt, the games-mistress, was not disposed to be very patient -with her. Miss Mordaunt was not to be beaten in her encouragement of -little girls and weakly girls; she would work away at them until they -became both fearless and happy in the gym. But a girl in the Sixth ought -to be able to take a creditable place in sports, according to her ideas. -She was really angry with Dorothy for her clumsiness and her ignorance, -which she chose to call downright cowardice and laziness. She was not -even appeased by being told that for the last five years Dorothy had -walked two miles to school every day, and the same distance home again. -In consideration of this daily four miles she had been excused from all -gym work. - -“One is never too old to learn, and you do not have to walk four miles -every day now,” Miss Mordaunt spoke crisply. She tossed her head, and -her bobbed hair fluffed up in the sunshine. She was the very best -looking of all the staff, and realizing the unconscious influence of -good looks, she made the most of her attractive appearance, because of -the power it gave her with the girls. - -“Oh, I know I am rotten at this sort of thing,” Dorothy admitted with an -air of great humility, as she stood watching little Muriel Adams -somersaulting in a way that looked simply terrifying. - -Miss Mordaunt suddenly softened. She had little patience with ignorance, -and none at all with indolence, but a girl who humbly admitted she was -nothing, and less than nothing, had at least a chance of improvement. - -“If you are willing to work hard, to start at the beginning, and do what -the little girls do, I shall be able to make something of you in time.” -The air of the games-mistress was distinctly kindly now; she even went -out of her way to pay Dorothy a compliment which all the rest of the -girls could hear. “The amount of walking you have had to do has had the -effect of giving you a free, erect carriage, and you have an alert, -springy step that is a joy to behold. I shall have long and regular -walks as part of our course this term, just for the sake of improving -the girls in this respect; the manner in which some of them slouch along -is awful to behold.” - - * * * * * - -“I wish you had kept quiet about your long walks to school,” grumbled -Daisy Goatby on Friday afternoon, when the long crocodile of the Compton -Girls’ School swung along through Sowergate, and, mounting the hill to -the Ilkestone promenade, went a long mile across the scorched grass of -the lawns on the top of the cliffs, and then turned back inland, to -reach the deep little valley of the Sowerbrook. - -“Why? Don’t you like walking?” asked Dorothy, who had been revelling in -the sea and the sky, and all the unexpectedness of Ilkestone generally. - -“I loathe it!” Daisy said with almost vicious energy. She was so fat -that the exercise made her hot and uncomfortable; she had a blowsed -appearance, and was rather cross. - -“That is because you are so fat,” Dorothy laughed, her eyes shining with -merriment. “Why don’t you put in half an hour every morning punching in -the gym, then do those bar exercises that Hazel and Rhoda were doing -yesterday? You would soon find walking easier.” - -“Why, I take no end of exercise,” grumbled Daisy. “What with tennis, and -hockey, and bowls, and swimming, one is on all the time. My fat is not -the result of self-indulgence; it is disease.” - -“And chocolates,” laughed Dorothy, who had seen the way in which her -companion had been stuffing with sweets ever since they had started out. - -“I am obliged to take a little of something to keep my strength up,” -Daisy said in a plaintive tone; then she burst out with quite -disconcerting suddenness, “What makes Rhoda Fleming have such a grouch -against you, seeing that you were strangers until the other day?” - -Dorothy felt her colour rise in spite of herself, but she only said -quietly, “You had better ask her.” - -“Bless you, I did that directly I found out how she did not love you,” -answered Daisy, breathing hard—they were mounting a rise now, and the -pace tried her. - -“Well, and what did she say?” asked Dorothy, whose heart was beating in -a very lumpy fashion. - -“She said that you were the most untruthful person she had ever met, and -it was not safe to believe a word you said,” blurted out Daisy, with a -sidelong look at Dorothy just to see how she would take it. - -Dorothy flushed, and her eyes were angry, but she answered in a serene -tone, “If I said I was not untruthful, it would not help much; it would -only be my word against Rhoda’s. The only thing to do is to let the -matter rest; time will show whether she is right or wrong.” - -“Are you going to sit down under it like that?” cried Daisy, aghast. -“Why, it will look as if she was right.” - -“What can I do but sit down under it?” asked Dorothy with an impatient -ring in her tone. “If I were a boy I might fight her, of course.” - -“Talking of fighting,” burst out Daisy eagerly, “Blanche Felmore, who is -in the Lower Fifth, told me this morning that your brother Tom has had a -scrap with her brother Bobby, and Bobby is so badly knocked out that he -has been moved to the san. There is a bit of news for you!” - -“Oh, I am sorry!” exclaimed Dorothy, looking acutely distressed. “I hate -for Tom to get into such scraps, and it is horrid to think of him -hurting some one so badly.” - -“Oh, as to that, if he had not hurt Bobby, he would have been pretty -considerably bashed up himself,” replied Daisy calmly. “Bobby Felmore is -ever so much bigger than your brother—he is in the Sixth, and captain -of the football team, a regular big lump of a boy, and downright beefy -as to muscle and all that. The wonder to me is that Tom was able to lick -him; it must have been that he had more science than Bobby, and in a -fight like that, science counts for more than mere weight.” - -“What made them fight?” asked Dorothy, a shiver going the length of her -spine. It seemed to her little short of disastrous that Tom should get -into trouble thus early in the term. - -Daisy gave a delighted giggle, and her tone was downright sentimental -when she went on to explain. “Tom is most fearfully crushed on Rhoda -Fleming; did you know it? We used to make no end of fun of them last -term. Tom is such a kid, and Rhoda is nearly two years older than he is; -all the same he was really soft about her. They usually danced together -on social evenings, they shared cakes and sweets and all that sort of -thing, and they were so all-round silly that we got no end of fun out of -the affair. Of course we thought it was all off when Rhoda was leaving; -but now that she has come back for another year it appears to have -started again stronger than ever.” - -“But how can it have started?” asked Dorothy in surprise. “We only came -on Tuesday—this is Friday; we have not met any of the boys yet.” - -Daisy sniggered. “You haven’t, perhaps, but Rhoda has, and Blanche too. -It seems that the evening before last, Blanche, who had no money for -tuck, ran down into the shrubbery beyond the green courts to see if the -boys were at cricket; she meant to signal Bobby, and ask him to send her -some money through his matron, don’t you see. Rhoda saw the kid loping -off, and wanting some amusement, thought she would go along too. Bobby -saw the signalling, and knowing it was Blanche, came to see what she -wanted. It seems that Tom also saw a handkerchief fluttering from the -end of the shrubbery, and thinking it was Rhoda waving to him, came -sprinting along after. He caught Bobby up, too, and passed him. Rhoda -was at the fence, and so they had a talk, while Blanche told Bobby about -having no money, and got him to promise that he would send five -shillings by his matron that same evening. Things were pleasant enough -until the girls were coming away; they expected the bell to go in a -minute, and knew that they would have to scoot for all they were worth. -Then Tom said something about thinking that Bobby was coming across to -see Rhoda, and he was just jolly well not going to put up with it.” - -“Yes, what then?” said Dorothy sharply. - -It was not pleasant to her to find out how little she really knew about -the inside of Tom’s mind. He was a year younger than herself; she -regarded him as very much of a boy, and it was rather hateful to think -that he was making a stupid of himself with a girl like Rhoda Fleming. -Poor old Tom! - -“Bobby Felmore said something rude,” replied Daisy. “The Felmores are -rather big in their way, and their pride is a by-word. Bobby remarked -that he would not trouble to go the length of a cricket pitch at the -call of a girl like Rhoda. Tom went for him then and spat in his face, -or something equally unpleasant. After that it had to be a fight, of -course, and they planned it for yesterday. When the boys’ matron brought -Blanche the five shillings she told her that Bobby was licked, and in -bed in the san.” - -“Will Tom be very badly punished?” asked Dorothy with dilating eyes; her -lively fancy was painting a picture of dire penalties which might -result, and she was thinking how distressed her father and mother would -be. - -Daisy laughed merrily. “When you see Bobby Felmore you will understand -what a most astonishing thing it is that Tom should have whacked him. Oh -no, Tom won’t get many beans over that. He may have an impot, of course; -but he would get that for any breaking of rules. I should think that -unofficially the masters would pat him on the back for his courage. He -must be a well-plucked one to have stood up to Bobby, and to beat him. I -wish I had been there to see.” - -“I don’t; and I think it is just horrid for boys to fight!” cried -Dorothy, and was badly ashamed of the tears that smarted under her -eyelids. - -“You are young yet; you will be wiser as you get older,” commented Daisy -sagely; and at that moment the crocodile turned in at the lodge gates, -and the talk was over. - -Dorothy had furious matter for thought. She had been looking forward to -Sunday because she knew that she would have a chance to talk to Tom for -an hour then; and she had meant to tell him that the girl who did the -shoplifting at Messrs. Sharman and Song’s place was at the Compton -Schools in her form. - -If Tom was so fond of Rhoda Fleming as to be willing to fight on her -behalf, he would not be very ready to believe what his sister had to -tell him. - -“He might even want to fight me,” Dorothy whispered to herself, with a -rather pathetic little smile hovering round her lips. - -She went into the house feeling low-spirited and miserable; but there -was so much to claim her attention, she had so many things to think -about, and next day’s work to get ready for, that her courage bounced -up, her cheerfulness returned, and she was as lively as the rest of -them. After all, Tom would have to fight his own way through life, and -it was of no use to make herself miserable because he had proved -disappointing so early in the term. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - - TOM MAKES EXCUSE - -The girls of the Compton Schools attended the church of St. -Matthew-on-the-Hill, which stood on the high ground above the Sowerbrook -valley. A grey, weather-worn structure it was, the tower of which had -been used as a lighthouse in the days of long ago. It was a small place, -too, and for that reason the boys always went to the camp church, a -spacious but very ugly building, which crowned the hill just above their -school. - -To both girls and boys it was a distinct grievance that they were -compelled to go to different churches; but St. Matthew-on-the-Hill was -too small to contain them all, and the military authorities looked -askance at the girls, so what could not be cured had to be endured. - -The one good thing which resulted from this was that brothers and -sisters were always together for a couple of hours on Sunday afternoons. -If the weather was fine they went for walks together; if it was wet they -were in the drawing-room or the conservatories of the girls’ school. - -That first Sunday, Dorothy was waiting for Tom. She was out on the broad -gravel path which stretched along in front of the conservatory, for the -girls had told her that the boys always came in by the little bridge -over the brook at the end of the grounds, and she did not want to lose a -minute of the time she could have with her brother. - -She had imagined he would be in a tearing hurry to reach her, and she -felt downright flat, after waiting for nearly half an hour, to see him -strolling up the lawn at the slowest of walks, in company with a -lumpy-looking boy whose face was liberally adorned with strips of -sticking-plaster. - -“Hullo, Dorothy, are you all on your own?” demanded Tom, looking -distinctly bored; then he jerked his thumb in the direction of his -companion, saying in a casual fashion, “Here is Bobby Felmore, the chap -I licked the other day. Did you hear about it?” - -“Yes, I heard,” she answered, and then hesitated, not quite sure what to -say. It would be a bit embarrassing, and not quite kind, to congratulate -Tom on his victory, with the beaten one standing close by, so it seemed -safest to say nothing. - -“It was a bit rotten to be licked by a kid like Tom, don’t you think, -Miss Sedgewick?” asked Bobby with a grin. “The fact was, he is such a -little chap that I was afraid to take him seriously, and that was how he -got his chance at me.” - -“Hear him!” cried Tom with ringing scorn. “But he is ignorant yet; when -he is a bit older and wiser he will understand that a lump of pudding -hasn’t any sort of chance against muscle guided by science. Besides, he -had to be walloped in the cause of chivalry and right.” - -“You young ass!” exploded Bobby, and he looked so threatening that -Dorothy butted in, fearing they would start mauling each other there and -then. - -“I think it is just horrid to fight,” she said crisply. “It is a -low-down and brutish habit. Are you going to walk, Tom, or shall we sit -in the conservatory and talk? It is nearly three o’clock, so we have not -very much time.” - -“I’m not particular,” said Tom with a yawn. “Where are all the others? -If we go for a walk we have just got to mooch along on our own; but if -we stay in the grounds or the conservatory we can be with the others, -don’t you see?” - -“Just as you please.” Dorothy could not help her tone being a trifle -sharp. It was a real disappointment to her that Tom did not want to have -her alone for a little while. - -“Very well, then, let us go down to that bench by the sundial. Rhoda -Fleming is there, and the Fletchers; we had a look in at them, and a bit -of a pow-wow as we came up.” Tom turned eagerly back as he spoke, and -Dorothy walked in silence by his side, while Bobby Felmore went on into -the house in search of Blanche, who had a cold, and was keeping to the -house. - -So that was why Tom was nearly half an hour late in arriving! Dorothy -was piqued and resentful; but having her share of common sense, she did -not start ragging him—indeed, she was so quiet, and withal pensive, -that Tom’s conscience began to bother him, and he even started to make -excuse for himself. - -“You see, Rhoda and I are great friends—downright pals, so to -speak—and, of course, if we went for a walk she would not be able to -come too.” He was apologetic in manner as well as speech, and he slipped -his arm round her waist with a great demonstration of affection as they -went slowly across the lawn. - -It was because he was so dear and loving in his manner that Dorothy -suddenly forgot to be discreet, and was only concerned to warn him of -the kind of girl she knew Rhoda to be. - -“Oh, Tom, dear old boy, I wish you would not be pals with Rhoda,” she -burst out impulsively. “I don’t think you know what sort of girl she is, -and, anyhow, she——” - -Dorothy came to a sudden halt in her hurried little speech as Tom faced -round upon her with fury in his face. - -“You had better stop talking rot of that kind.” There was an actual -snarl in his tone, and his eyes were red with anger. “Girls are always -unfair to each other, but I thought you were above a meanness of that -sort.” - -Dorothy’s temper flared—what a silly kid he was to be so wrapped up in -a girl. She fairly snapped at him in her irritation. - -“If you were not so young, so unutterably green, you would be willing to -listen to reason, and to hear the truth. Since you won’t, then you must -take the consequences, I suppose.” - -“Don’t be in a wax, old girl.” He gave her an affectionate squeeze as he -spoke, which had the effect of entirely disarming her anger against him. - -“I am not in a wax; oh, I was, but it has gone now.” She smiled up into -his face as she spoke, deciding that come what might she could not risk -losing his love by trying to point out to him what sort of a girl Rhoda -was. - -The September afternoon was very sunny and warm, and the group of girls -on the broad wooden bench by the sundial were lazily enjoying the -brightness and the heat as Dorothy and Tom came slowly along the path -between the flower-beds at the lower end of the lawn. - -Rhoda Fleming was there, Joan and Delia Fletcher, and Grace Boldrey, a -Fourth Form kid who was Delia’s chum. They all made room for Dorothy and -Tom, as if they had expected them to come. - -Dorothy found herself sitting between the two Fletchers, while Rhoda -monopolized Tom, and the Sunday afternoon time, which she had looked -forward to as being like a bit of home, resolved itself into an ordeal -of more or less patiently bearing the quips and thrusts of Rhoda, who -appeared to take a malicious pleasure in making her as uncomfortable as -possible. - -The affair of Professor Plimsoll’s lecture was dragged out and talked -about from the point of view of Rhoda, who, perching herself on the -lower step of the sundial, pretended she was Dorothy, standing up beside -the professor, and repeating to him his own lecture. - -Rhoda had a real gift of mimicry: the others rocked with laughter, and -Dorothy, although she smarted under the lash of Rhoda’s tongue, joined -in the laugh against herself, because it seemed the least embarrassing -thing to do. - -She felt very sore a little later when Tom, in the momentary absence of -Rhoda, said to her, “It was silly of you to make such an exhibition of -yourself at the lecture. No one cares for a prig. I should have thought -you would have found that out long ago.” - -“I could not help myself—I had to do as I was told; and, at least, I -owe my place in the Sixth to having been able to remember.” Dorothy was -keeping her temper under control now, although of choice she would have -reached up and slapped Tom in the face for daring to take such a -critical and dictatorial tone with her. - -Tom shrugged his shoulders. “Every one to his taste, of course; myself, -I would rather have waited until I was fit for the Sixth, than have got -there by a fluke. You will find it precious hard work to keep your end -up. For my own part, I would rather have been in the Upper Fifth until I -was able to take my remove with credit.” - -“Why, Tom, if I had been put into the Upper Fifth I should have stood no -chance of the Mutton Bone,” cried Dorothy in a shocked tone. - -Tom smiled in a superior and really aggravating fashion. “Going in for -that, are you? Well, your folly be on your own head; you are more fond -of the wooden spoon than I should be. For myself, I never attempt -anything I’m not likely to achieve. You don’t catch yours truly laying -himself open to ridicule; but every one to his taste. Seeing that Rhoda -has come back to school for another year, it goes without saying that -she will win the Mutton Bone. She is no end clever, and you won’t have -much chance against her.” - -“I am going to have a try, anyhow,” said Dorothy in a dogged tone; and -at that moment Rhoda and Joan Fletcher came back, and the chances of any -homey talk between brother and sister were over for that afternoon. - -Rhoda and Tom started arguing about a certain horse that was to run at -Ilkestone the following week, and Dorothy, sitting listening to Joan -Fletcher’s thin voice prosing on about the merits of knife pleated -frocks, wondered what her father would have said if he could have heard -Tom discussing the points of racehorses as if he had served an -apprenticeship in a training stable. - -Later on, when she walked with him to the little gate at the end of the -grounds, where the bridge went over the brook and the field path which -led to the boys’ school, Tom began to make excuses for himself for the -depth of his knowledge on racing matters. - -“A fellow has to keep his eyes open, and to remember what he hears, or -he would get left at every turn, you know,” he said, and again he slid -his arm about his sister’s waist. - -“I don’t think father and mother would approve of your keeping your eyes -so wide open about horse-racing and that sort of thing.” - -Dorothy spoke in a rather troubled fashion. It was really difficult for -her to lecture Tom for his good when he had his arm round her in that -taking fashion. - -“Oh, naturally the governor and mums are more than a trifle stodgy in -their outlook. It is a sign of advancing years.” He laughed -light-heartedly as he spoke, then plunged into talk about football plans -and his own chances of getting a good position in his team. - -They lingered at the bridge until the other boys who had been visiting -at the girls’ school came pouring along the path at a run. Then the -first bell sounded for tea, and Dorothy had to scuttle back through the -grounds at racing speed, for she would only have five minutes in which -to put herself tidy for tea. - -“Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” asked Hazel, who had been out with -Margaret. - -“It was good to be with Tom for a time,” Dorothy answered, hesitated, -and then went on in a hurried fashion, “It would have been nicer, of -course, if we had been alone together, or with you and Margaret, but Tom -elected to spend the time with Rhoda and Joan Fletcher, and—and, well, -it was not all honey and roses.” - -“I can’t think what the silly boy can see in Rhoda,” said Hazel -severely. “I never cared much for her myself, and the way in which she -has snubbed Margaret is insufferable. I am thankful that Dora Selwyn is -head girl, and not Rhoda; it would be awful if she set the pace for the -whole school.” - -“Dora Selwyn looks nice, but she is rather unapproachable,” said Dorothy -in a rather dubious tone. - -Hazel laughed. “Don’t you know the secret of that?” she asked. “Dora is -about the shyest girl alive, and her stand-offishness is nothing in the -world but sheer funk. You try making friends with her, and you will be -fairly amazed at the result.” - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - - RHODA’S JUMPER - -The first social evening of term was always something of an event. The -Lower Fifth, the Upper Fifth, and the Sixth of both schools joined -forces for a real merry-making. The juniors had their own functions, and -made merry on a different evening, and they had nothing to do with the -gathering of the seniors. - -The lecture hall was cleared for dancing; there were games and music in -the drawing-room for those who preferred them, and supper for all was -spread in the dining-room. - -It had been a soaking wet day; the girls, in mackintoshes, high boots, -and rubber hats, had struggled for a mile along the storm-swept sea -front. They had been blown back again, arriving in tousled, -rosy-cheeked, and breathless, but thoroughly refreshed by the blow. - -The dressing-bell went five minutes after they reached the house, and -there was a rush upstairs to get changed, and ready for the frolic. - -Dorothy was very much excited. She was going to wear the new little -frock which she had bought at Sharman and Song’s place. She danced up -the stairs and along the corridor to the dorm, feeling that life was -very well worth living indeed. - -Hazel and Margaret were just ahead of her, and the other girls were -crowding up behind. They had been rather late getting in from their -walk, and so there was not very much time before the boys might be -expected to arrive. - -With fingers that actually trembled Dorothy opened the wrapping paper, -and taking out her frock, slipped it on. The looking-glass in her -cubicle was not very big; she would have to wait until she went -downstairs to have a really good look at herself. But oh! the lovely -feeling of it all! - -Admiring herself—or, rather, her frock—had taken time. Most of the -girls were downstairs before she was ready. They were standing about the -drawing-room in little groups as she came in through the big double -doors, feeling stupidly shy and self-conscious, just because she -happened to be wearing a new frock that was the last word in effective -simplicity. - -No one took any notice of her. The little group just inside the door had -gathered about Rhoda Fleming, who was spreading out her arms to show the -beauty of the jumper she was wearing over a cream silk skirt. - -“Isn’t it a dream?” Rhoda’s voice was loud and clear; it was vibrant, -too, with satisfaction. “I bought it at Sharman and Song’s; they are not -to be beaten for things of this sort.” - -Dorothy stood as if transfixed, and at that moment the crowd of girls -about Rhoda shifted and opened out, showing plainly Dorothy standing on -the outskirts of the group. - -Rhoda paused suddenly, and there was a look of actual fear in her eyes -as she stood confronting Dorothy. Then she rallied her forces, and said -with a slow, insolent drawl, “Well, what do you want?” - -“I—I don’t want anything,” faltered Dorothy, whose breath was fairly -taken away by the calm manner in which Rhoda was exhibiting the jumper, -which was a lovely thing made of white silky stuff, and embroidered with -silver tissue. - -“Then don’t stand staring like that.” There was a positive snarl in -Rhoda’s tone, and Dorothy turned away without a word. She heard one of -the girls cry out that it was a shame of Rhoda to be so rude, but there -was more fear than resentment in her heart at the treatment she had -received. It was awful to see the malice in Rhoda’s gaze, and to know -that it was directed against herself, just because she had been the -unwilling witness of Rhoda’s shoplifting. - -She would have known the jumper anywhere, even if Rhoda had not declared -so loudly that it had come from Sharman and Song’s, and she shivered a -little, wondering how she would have felt if she had been in Rhoda’s -place just then. - -“Oh, Dorothy, what a pretty frock! How perfectly sweet you look!” cried -the voice of Hazel at her side, and then Margaret burst in with admiring -comments, and Dorothy found herself surrounded by a cluster of girls who -were admiring her frock and congratulating her on having an aunt with -such liberal tendencies. But the keen edge of her pleasure was taken off -by the brooding sense of disaster that would come to her every time she -recalled the look in Rhoda’s eyes. - -Being healthy minded, and being also blessed with common sense, she set -to work to forget all about the uncomfortable incident, and to get all -the pleasure possible out of the evening. - -The boys arrived in a batch. After the manner of their kind, they formed -into groups about the big doors of the drawing-room and at the end of -the lecture hall. But the masters who were with them routed them out -with remorseless energy, and started the dancing. Bobby Felmore, very -red in the face, and still adorned with sticking-plaster, led out the -Head. He was most fearfully self-conscious for about a minute and a -half. By that time he forgot all about being shy, for, as he said -afterwards, the Head was a dream to dance with, and she was a downright -jolly sort also. - -Dorothy had danced with big boys, she had danced with cheeky youngsters -of the Lower Fifth who aired their opinions on various subjects as if -wisdom dwelt with them and with no one else, and then she found herself -dancing with Bobby Felmore. - -Bobby, by reason of having danced with the Head, was disposed to be -critical regarding his partners that evening, and he began telling -Dorothy how he had plunged through a foxtrot with Daisy Goatby, who was -about as nimble as an elephant, and as graceful as a hippopotamus. - -“She is quite a good sort, though, even if she is a trifle heavy on her -feet,” said Dorothy, who was hotly championing Daisy just because Bobby -saw fit to run her down. - -“I say, do you always stick up for people?” he asked. - -“When they are nice to me I do, of course,” she answered with a laugh. - -“Well, you won’t have to stick up for Rhoda Fleming, at that rate,” said -Bobby with a chuckle. “She seems to have a proper grouch against you. -Tom was complaining as we came along to-night because you and Rhoda -don’t hit it off together.” - -“We do not have much to do with each other,” murmured Dorothy, resentful -because Tom should have discussed her with this big lump of a boy who, -however well he might dance, had certainly no tact worth speaking of. - -“Just what Tom complained of; said he couldn’t think why his womenfolk -didn’t hit it off better: seemed to think that you ought to be pally -with any and every one whom he saw fit to honour with his regard. I like -his cheek; the Grand Sultan isn’t in it with that young -whipper-snapper.” Bobby tossed his head and let out one of his big -laughs then, and Dorothy thought it might be for his good to take him -down a peg. - -“Tom is rather small,” she said, smiling at him with mischief dancing in -her eyes; “but he is a force to be reckoned with, all the same.” - -“Now you are giving me a dig because of that mauling I had from him last -week,” chuckled Bobby. “It isn’t kind to kick a fellow that is down.” - -“I have not kicked you,” she answered; and her tone was so friendly that -Bobby, rather red, and rather stammering, jerked out,— - -“I say, I’m really awfully crushed on you, though I have only seen you -about twice. Say, will you be pals, real pals, you know?” - -Dorothy turned scarlet, for just at that moment she caught sight of -Rhoda regarding her fixedly from a little distance. It was horribly -embarrassing and uncomfortable, and because of it her tone was quite -sharp as she replied, “I have got as many chums already as I can do -with, thank you; but I am really grateful to you for not being nasty to -Tom over that licking he gave you last week.” - -“Oh, that!” Bobby’s voice reflected disappointment, mingled with scorn. -“The licking was a man’s business entirely, and it need not come into -discussion at all. I should like to be pals with you, and I’m not going -to believe what Rhoda says about you.” - -“What can Rhoda say about me?” cried Dorothy, aghast. “Why, I have not -known her a week.” - -“Bless you, what she doesn’t know she will make up,” said Bobby, who was -by this time quite breathless with his exertions. “Don’t you trust her. -If she tries to be friendly, keep her at arm’s length. I have warned Tom -about her until I’m out of breath; but he will find her out some day, I -dare say. Meanwhile he is not in as much danger of being scratched by -her as you are.” - -Dorothy did not dance with Bobby again that evening. Indeed, she did not -dance much after that, for Margaret had a bad headache, and wandered off -to a quiet corner of the drawing-room, where Dorothy found her, and -stayed to keep her company. - -“Just think, to-morrow by this time we shall be enrolled for the Lamb -Bursary, and work will begin in earnest,” said Margaret, as she leant -back in a deep chair and fanned herself with a picture paper. - -“I think work has begun in earnest, anyway,” Dorothy said with a laugh. -“I know that I just swotted for all I’m worth at maths this morning. I -could not have worked harder if I had been sitting for an exam. I am -horribly stupid at maths, and I can never find any short cuts.” - -“I don’t put much reliance on short cuts myself in maths or anything -else,” replied Margaret. “When a thing has to be done, it is the -quickest process in the end to do it thoroughly, because the next time -you have to travel that way you know the road. By the way—I hate to -speak of it, but you are a new girl, and you are not so well up in -school traditions as some of the rest of us—did you use a help this -morning?” - -“A help?” queried Dorothy with a blank face. “What do you mean?” - -“Sometimes when a new girl comes she thinks to catch up in classwork by -using cribs—helps they call them here, because it sounds rather better. -Did you use anything of the sort this morning?” Margaret looked a little -doubtful and apologetic as she put her question, but she meant to get at -the bottom of the matter if she could. - -“Why, no, of course I did not.” Dorothy’s tone was more bewildered than -indignant; she could not imagine what had made Margaret ask such a -question. “Do you think if I had been using a help, as you call it, that -I should have to work as I do? Besides, do you not remember how Miss -Groome coached me, and the pains she took, because I was such a duffer?” - -Margaret laughed. “You are anything but a duffer, and you are a perfect -whale at work. Oh! I wish they would not say things about you. It is so -unfair on a new girl. You have enough to work against in having been put -straight into the Sixth.” - -“Who have been talking about me, and what has been said?” asked Dorothy -quietly, but she went rather white. It was horrid to feel that her good -name was being taken away behind her back. - -“I do not know who started the talk,” said Margaret with a troubled air. -“Kathleen Goatby was sitting here before you came. She said you had been -dancing a lot with Bobby Felmore, but she expected he would have danced -by himself rather than have been seen going round with you if he had -known what was being said.” - -“I shall know better whether to be angry or merely amused if you tell me -what it is that is being said.” Dorothy’s voice was low, and her manner -was outwardly calm, but there was a fire in her eyes which let Margaret -know that she was very angry indeed. - -“Kathleen said she heard Rhoda Fleming telling Joan Fletcher that you -always used cribs, that you owed your position in your old school to -this, and that you said it was the only way in which you could possibly -get your work done. I told Kathleen she could contradict that as much as -she liked, for I was quite positive it was not true. Cribs may help up -to a certain point, but they are sure to fail one in the long run.” - -“I have never used cribs,” said Dorothy with emphasis. “What I cannot -understand is why Rhoda should try so hard to do me harm.” - -“I think she is afraid of you.” Margaret spoke slowly, and she turned -her head a little so that her gaze was fixed on the ceiling, instead of -on her companion’s face. “It is possible she thinks you know something -about her that is not to her credit, and she is fearing you will talk -about it, so she thinks it is wise to be first at the character-wrecking -business. You had better have as little to do with her as you decently -can.” - -“Trust me for that; but even avoiding her does not seem very effectual -in stopping her from spreading slanders,” Dorothy said with a wry smile. - -“Fires die out that are not tended,” replied Margaret with a great air -of wisdom. “There goes the bell. Well, I am not sorry the evening is -over because of my beastly headache. I hope you have had a nice time?” - -“Yes—no,” said Dorothy, and then would say no more. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - - THE ENROLLING OF THE CANDIDATES - -The September sunshine was streaming in through the big stained-glass -windows of the lecture hall next morning when, at eleven o’clock, the -girls came trooping in from their Form-rooms, and took their places -facing the dais. The Head was seated there in company with Mr. Melrose, -who acted as governor of the Lamb Bursary, and two other gentlemen, who -also had something to do with the bequest which meant so much to the -Compton School for Girls. - -When they were all in their places, Mr. Melrose stood up, and coming to -the edge of the dais, made a little speech to the girls about Miss Lamb, -who had been educated at the Compton Schools. “Agnes Lamb came to be -educated here because her father, an officer, was at that time stationed -at Beckworth Camp,” he said in a pleasant, conversational tone, which -held the interest even of those girls who had heard the story several -times before. “She was in residence for three years, during which time -she made many friendships, and formed close ties in the school. It was -while she was being educated here that her father died suddenly, and -Miss Lamb, already motherless, was adopted by an uncle who was very -rich, and who at once removed her from the school. Although surrounded -by every luxury, the poor girl seemed to have left happiness behind her -when she left the school. Her desire had been for higher education. Her -uncle did not believe in the higher education of women: all the poor -girl’s efforts after more knowledge were frowned upon, and set aside. -She might have clothes in prodigal abundance, she might wear a whole -milliner’s shop on her head, and her uncle would not have complained; -but when she wanted lessons, or even books, she was reminded that but -for his charity she would be a beggar: and, indeed, I think many beggars -had greater possibilities of happiness. The years went on. Miss Lamb, -always a gentle soul, lacked the courage and enterprise to break away -from her prison, and continued to languish under the iron rule of her -uncle. Her youth passed in close attendance on the crabbed old man, who -had become a confirmed invalid. She had her romance, too: there was a -man who loved her, and she cared for him; but here again her uncle’s -will came between her and her happiness. The sour old man reminded her -that he had kept her for so many years—that he had provided her with -dainty food, and clothed her in costly array: now, when he was old and -suffering, it would be base ingratitude for her to leave him, especially -as the doctors told him he had not long to live. Because she was so meek -and gentle, so easily cowed, and so good at heart, Miss Lamb sent her -lover away to wait until she should be free to take her happiness with -him. But the old uncle lingered on for several years. The man, who was -only human, got tired of waiting, and on the very day when the death of -the old uncle set Miss Lamb free he was married to a woman for whom he -did not particularly care, just because he had grown tired of waiting -for the happiness that tarried so long. Miss Lamb never really recovered -from that blow. She lived only a few years longer, but she filled those -years with as much work for her fellows as it was possible to get into -the time. When she died, and her will was read, it was found that her -thoughts must have lingered very much on the happy time she had spent -within these walls, for the bulk of her property came for the enrichment -of the Compton Girls’ School. In addition to this she left a sum of -money which should, year by year, entitle one girl to the chance of a -higher education.” - -Mr. Melrose was interrupted at this point by a tremendous outburst of -cheering; indeed, it seemed as if the sixty girls must have throats -lined with tin, from the noise they contrived to make. - -Mr. Melrose did not check them; he merely stood and waited with a smile -on his face, wondering, as he looked at the wildly cheering mob, if any -one of them would have been as meek under burdens as had been the gentle -soul whose memory they were so vigorously honouring. - -The cheering died to silence, and then he began to speak again. “I have -finished the story of how it was that Miss Lamb came to leave so much -money to the school, and now I am going to ask Mr. Grimshaw to read the -rules for the enrolment of candidates for the Lamb Bursary. You will -please follow that reading very carefully, making up your minds as he -proceeds, as to whether you individually can fulfil the terms of the -bequest.” - -Mr. Grimshaw was an elderly gentleman of nervous aspect, with a thin, -squeaky voice which would have upset the risibles of the whole school at -any ordinary time; but the girls for the most part listened to him with -gravely decorous faces, although one irrepressible Fourth Form kid -rippled into gurgling laughter, that was instantly changed to a -strangled cough. - -The reading began with a tangle of legal terms and phrases as to the -receiving of the money, and the way in which it was to be laid out, and -then the document stated the requirements looked for in the candidate:— - - “Each candidate offering herself for the winning of the Lamb - Bursary must be in the Sixth Form of the Compton Girls’ School. - She must be of respectable parentage, which is to say, that - neither of her parents shall have been in prison. She herself - must have a high moral character. No girl known to have cheated, - or to have robbed her fellows in any way, is eligible as a - candidate. It is furthermore required that each candidate shall - take all the general subjects taught in the school, and no - candidate shall be allowed to specialize on any particular - subject; but each one to be judged on the all-round character of - her learning. Candidates must be enrolled for three terms, the - judging being on the marks made in that time. Each girl offering - herself as a candidate will, with right hand upraised, declare - solemnly, that she is a fit person to be enrolled as a - candidate, and that she individually fulfils the conditions laid - down in this document.” - -The squeaky voice ceased, and Mr. Grimshaw with some creaking of -immaculate boots sat down, while a profound hush settled over the rows -of bright-faced girls. A robin just outside one of the open windows sang -blithely, and away in the distance a bugle sounded. - -There was a stir in the long row of Sixth Form girls. Hazel rose to her -feet, her face rather white and set, for she was the first to enroll, -and the situation gripped her strangely; but her voice rang clearly -through the hall as, with right hand raised, she said,— - -“I, Hazel Dring, offer myself as a candidate for the Lamb Bursary. I -promise to abide by the conditions laid down, and I declare myself a fit -person to be enrolled.” - -Mr. Melrose looked at the Head, who bowed slightly, then he said to -Hazel, “Will you please come on to the dais and be enrolled.” - -She went forward, and the gentleman who had not spoken proceeded to -spread a paper before her, which she had to sign. Meanwhile Margaret -stood up, and raising her right hand, made the affirmation in the same -way, and she was followed by Daisy Goatby. - -Dorothy was thrilled to the very centre of her being. She rose to her -feet, she lifted her right hand, while her voice rang out vibrant with -all sorts of emotions. - -“I, Dorothy Sedgewick, offer myself as a candidate for the Lamb Bursary. -I promise to abide by the conditions laid down, and I declare myself a -fit person to be enrolled.” - -Again the Head bowed in response to the inquiring look of Mr. Melrose, -who asked Dorothy to join the others on the dais, and she went forward, -feeling as if she was treading on air. It seemed such a solemn ceremony, -and there was the same sensation of awe in her heart that she felt when -she was in church. - -She was in the midst of writing her name when she heard the stir of -another girl rising and then the words:— - -“I, Rhoda Fleming, offer myself——” - -Dorothy paused with her pen suspended, and her face went ashen white, as -the glib tongue of Rhoda repeated the declaration that she was a fit -person to be enrolled. Oh, how could she do it? Was it possible that Tom -was right, and the average girl had no sense at all of honour, or moral -obligation? - -“Will you finish your signature, if you please, Miss Sedgewick.” It was -the quiet voice of the gentleman taking the signatures that broke in -upon Dorothy’s confused senses. Murmuring an apology, she finished -writing her name, and went across to sit beside Daisy Goatby, while -Rhoda came up to the dais to sign the enrollment paper. Joan Fletcher -was the next, and she was followed by Jessie Wayne. Dora Selwyn, the -head girl, did not compete; she was specializing in botany and geology, -and did not want to be compelled to give her time to other subjects. -There were seven candidates this year: last year there had been four, -and the year before there had been eight. As Miss Groome, the -Form-mistress remarked, seven was a good workable number, sufficient to -make competition keen, but not too many to crowd each other in the race. - -At the conclusion of the little ceremony the girls rose to their feet to -sing “Auld Lang Syne,” and then with a rousing three-times-three—the -first for Miss Lamb of evergreen memory, the second for the school, and -the third for the newly-enrolled—they swarmed out to the grounds, for -the rest of the day was to be holiday. They were to have a tennis -tournament among themselves, with a box of chocolates for first prize, -and an ounce of the strongest peppermints to be bought in Sowergate as -consolation to the one who should score the least. - -The three gentlemen stayed to lunch, and sat at the high table in the -dining-room with the Head and such of the staff as were not at the lower -tables carving. - -The seven candidates had been decorated with huge white rosettes, in -recognition of their position, and the talk at table was chiefly about -Miss Lamb and her unfortunate love story. - -“I expect she was afraid if she had married the man her uncle would have -cut her out of his will, and so she would have been poor,” said Rhoda, -who was very bright and gay. - -Dorothy shivered a little. Rhoda’s voice made her feel bad just then. It -was to her a most awful thing that a girl who knew herself guilty of -deliberate theft should rise and affirm with uplifted hand that she was -morally fit to compete for the Lamb Bursary. - -“Perhaps she didn’t care over-much for him,” said Daisy Goatby with a -windy sigh. “Getting married must be an awful fag. She could look -forward to being free when the old man died; but if she had married, she -might never have been free, don’t you see.” - -“I think she was a martyr, poor dear.” Dorothy had the same vibrant -sound in her voice as when she rose to affirm, and the other girls -dropped silent to listen to what she had to say. - -“Why do you think she was a martyr?” asked Margaret softly, seeing that -Dorothy paused. - -“Because she sacrificed everything to a principle.” Dorothy flushed a -little as she spoke; she was too new to her surroundings to feel at ease -in making her standpoints clear, and she was oppressed also by Rhoda’s -bravado in affirming, in spite of that damaging incident at Sharman and -Song’s. - -“There was no principle involved that I can see,” grumbled Joan Fletcher -with wrinkled brows. “There was self-sacrifice if you like, although, to -my way of thinking, even that was uncalled for, seeing that the old man -had the money to pay for any service he might require. I am not going to -grumble at her for putting aside her happiness, because if I win the -bursary I shall be so much the better off in consequence of her deciding -to sacrifice herself for her uncle.” - -“I think Dorothy is right,” chimed in Hazel crisply. “Miss Lamb made a -principle out of her duty, real or supposed, to her uncle: she gave up -her chance of married happiness because her sense of what was right -would have been outraged if she had not.” - -“Then she was a martyr!” exclaimed Jessie Wayne. “I shall see her as a -picture in my mind next time we sing ‘The martyr first whose eagle -eye.’” - -“I dare say you will, goosey”—Dora Selwyn leaned forward past Dorothy -to speak to Jessie, who sat at the end of the table—“meanwhile, you -will please get on your feet, for the Head is rising.” - -Jessie scrambled up in a great hurry, punting into Daisy Goatby, who sat -on the other side of her. Daisy, heavy in all her movements, lurched -against a plate standing too near the edge of the table, and brought it -to the ground with a crash. But the crash was not heard, for Hazel, who -saw it falling, and the gentlemen rising to leave the room at the same -moment, swung up her hand for a rousing cheer, and in the burst of -acclamation the noise of smashing was entirely lost. - -“What a morning it has been!” murmured Dorothy, as she strolled down to -the tennis court with Margaret for a little practice at the nets before -the serious work of the tournament should begin. - -“Yes.” Margaret spoke emphatically. She paused, and then said rather -shyly, “I should not have been very happy about it all, though, if it -had not been for the talk I had with you last night. Oh! I was worried -about that rumour of your depending on helps that are not right for your -work. I think I should have fainted, when you made your affirmation, if -I had known that there was anything not right about it.” - -“I do not expect you would have swooned, however badly you might have -felt.” Dorothy’s tone was rather grim as she spoke, for she was thinking -of Rhoda. “It is astonishing what we can bear when hard things really -come upon us.” - -“Perhaps so. Anyhow, I am very glad it was all right,” Margaret sighed -happily, and slid her arm in Dorothy’s. “I even had a big struggle with -myself when Rhoda Fleming stood up to affirm, and I forgave her again -from the bottom of my heart for every snub she has ever handed out to -me, for it seemed as if it would make her record sweeter if I did that.” - -“I wish I were as good as you.” Dorothy’s tone was a little conscience -stricken. There had been no desire in her heart to have Rhoda clean -enough to affirm; she had been merely conscious of a great amazement at -the girl’s audacity and callousness. - -“Oh, rot, I am not good!” jerked out Margaret brusquely; and then, Sixth -Form girl though she was, she challenged Dorothy to race to the nets. - -It was a neck-and-neck struggle, and the victor was nearly squashed at -the goal by the vanquished falling on to her, and they helped each other -up, laughing at the figures they must have cut, and the loss of hard-won -dignity involved. - -It was Dorothy who won, but that was only because she had a longer -stride. She knew this right well, and Margaret knew it too. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - - THE TORN BOOK - -The studies at the Compton Girls’ School were at the top of the house, -and consisted of three small rooms set apart for the use of the Sixth, -and one fair-sized chamber that was used as prep room by the Upper -Fifth. The private sitting-room of the Form-mistresses was also on this -floor, the rooms all opening on to one long passage, which had a -staircase at either end. - -There were twelve girls in the Sixth, which gave four to a study. Hazel -and Margaret had with them Dorothy, and also Jessie Wayne, who was a -very quiet and studious girl, keeping to her own corner, and having very -little to do with the others. The head girl, Dora Selwyn, had the middle -study with three others, and the remaining four, of whom Rhoda Fleming -was one, had the third room, which was next to the prep room of the -Upper Fifth. - -All the rooms on this floor were fitted with gas fires, and were very -comfortable. To Dorothy there was a wonderfully homey feeling in coming -up to this quiet retreat after the stress and strain of Form work. She -shared the centre table with Hazel, while Margaret had a corner opposite -to the one where Jessie worked. - -One Friday evening at the end of October they were all in the study, -and, for a wonder, they were all talking. The week’s marks had been -posted on the board in the lecture hall an hour before, and they had -read the result as they came out from prayers. - -It was Dorothy’s class position which had led to the talking; for the -first time since she had come to the school she was fourth from the top. -Dora Selwyn, Hazel, and Margaret were above her, and Rhoda Fleming was -fifth. - -“Rhoda has been fourth so far this term,” said Jessie Wayne. “She will -not take it kindly that you have climbed above her, Dorothy. How did you -manage to do it?” - -“I can’t think how I got above her,” answered Dorothy, who was flushed -and happy, strangely disinclined for work, too, and disposed to lean -back in her chair and discuss her victory. “Rhoda is a long way ahead of -me in most things, and she is so wonderfully good at maths, too, while I -am a duffer at figures in any shape or form.” - -“You are pulling up though. I noticed you had fifty more marks for maths -than you had last week,” said Hazel, who had been deep in a new book on -chemistry, which she was annotating for next week’s class paper. - -“Yes, I know I am fifty up.” Dorothy laughed happily. “To tell the -truth, I have been swotting to that end. Indeed, I have let other things -slide a bit in order to get level with the rest of you at maths. I have -to work harder at that than anything.” - -“Well, you jumped in Latin too; you were before me there,” said -Margaret. “I should not be surprised if you have me down next week or -the week after. You will have your work cut out to do it, though, for I -mean to keep in front of you as long as I can.” - -“I can’t see myself getting in front of you,” said Dorothy. “You seem to -know all there is to be known about most things.” - -“In short, she is the beginning and end of wisdom,” laughed Hazel. “But -we must get to work, or by this time next week we shall find ourselves -at the bottom of the Form.” - -“What a row there is in the next study,” said Dorothy. “Don’t you wonder -that Dora puts up with such a riot, and she the head girl?” - -“The noise is not in the next study,” said Jessie, who had opened the -door and gone out into the passage to see where the noise came from. “It -is Rhoda and her lot who are carrying on. They do it most nights, only -they do not usually make as much noise as this. I suppose they are -taking advantage of the mistresses having gone to Ilkestone for that -lecture on Anthropology; Dora has gone too, so there is no one up here -to keep them in order to-night.” - -“Well, shut the door, kid, and drag the curtain across it to deaden the -noise. We have to get our work done somehow.” There was a sound of -irritation in Hazel’s voice; she had badly wanted to go to the lecture -herself, but she knew that she dared not take the time. If she had been -free like Dora she would have gone, and not troubled about the fear of -dropping in her Form; but in view of her position as an aspirant for the -Mutton Bone, she dared not run the risk. - -There was silence in the study for the next hour. Sometimes a girl would -get up to reach a book, or would rustle papers, or scrape her chair on -the floor; but there was no talking, until presently Jessie pushed her -chair back, and rising to her feet, declared that she was going to bed, -simply because she could not keep awake any longer. - -“I am coming too,” said Hazel. “I am doing no good at all, just because -I keep dropping asleep; I suppose it is because it has been so windy -to-day. Are you others coming now?” - -Margaret said that she would go—and indeed she was so pale and -heavy-eyed that she did not look fit to stay up any longer; but Dorothy -said that she wanted to finish the Latin she was doing for next day, and -would stay until she had done it. - -When the others had gone she rose and turned out the gas fire, fearful -lest she might forget it when she went to bed, and there was a -considerable penalty waiting for the girl who left a gas fire burning -when she left the room. - -The upper floor had grown strangely still. The Upper Fifth had gone -downstairs to bed some time ago. There were no mistresses in their -private room, which to-night was not even lighted. The noise in the -third study had died away, and there was a deep hush over the place. - -Dorothy worked on steadily for a time, then suddenly she felt herself -growing nervous; there was a sensation upon her that some one was -coming, was creeping along the passage, and pausing outside the door. - -She stopped work, she held herself rigid, and stared fixedly at the -door. The handle moved gently—some one was coming in. The horror of -this creeping, silent thing was on her; she wanted to scream, but she -had no power—she could only pant. - -The door creaked open for perhaps half an inch. Dorothy sprang up, and -in her haste knocked over a pile of books, which fell with a clattering -bang on the floor. For a moment she paused, appalled by the noise she -had made in that quiet place; and then, wrenching open the door, she -faced the passage, which stretched, lighted and empty, to her gaze. - -With a jerk she clicked off the electric light of the study, and with a -series of bounds reached the top of the stairs, fleeing down and along -the corridor to the dormitory. All the girls were in bed except Hazel, -who looked out from her cubicle to know what was wrong. - -“Nerves, I expect. Yah, I turned into a horrible coward, and when the -door creaked gently open I just got up and fled,” said Dorothy, who was -hanging on to the side of her cubicle, looking thoroughly scared and -done up from her experience upstairs. - -“I guess you have been doing too much; you would have been wiser to have -come down when we did,” said Hazel calmly; and then, as her own toilet -was all but complete, she came and helped Dorothy to get to bed. - -It was good to be helped. Dorothy was shaking in every limb, and she was -feeling so thoroughly demoralized that it was all she could do to keep -from bursting into noisy crying. She thanked Hazel with lips that -trembled, and creeping into her bed, hid her head beneath the clothes -because her teeth chattered so badly. - -Sleep came to her after a time, for she was healthily tired with the -long day of work and play. But with sleep came dreams, and these were -for the most part weird and frightening. Some evil was always coming -upon her from behind, and yet she could never get her head round to see -what it was that was menacing her. Oh, it was fearful! She struggled to -wake, but was not able; and presently she slid into deeper slumber, -getting more restful as the hours went by. Then the old trouble broke -out again: something was certainly coming upon her, the curtains of her -cubicle were shaking, her bed was shaking, and next minute she herself -would be shaken out of bed. Making a great effort she opened her eyes, -and saw Margaret standing over her. - -“What is the matter?” gasped Dorothy, wondering why her head was feeling -so queer and her mouth so parched and dry. - -“That is what I have come to ask you,” said Margaret with a laugh. “You -have nearly waked us all up by crying out and groaning in a really -tragic fashion. Are you feeling ill?” - -“Why, no, I am all right,” said Dorothy, who began to feel herself all -over to see if she was really awake and undamaged. “I have been having -ghastly dreams, and I thought something was coming after me, only I was -not able to get awake to see what it was.” - -“Ah! a fit of nightmare, I suppose.” Margaret’s tone was sympathetic, -but she yawned with sleepiness, and shivered from the cold. “I found you -lying across the bed with your head hanging down, as if you were going -to pitch out on to the floor, so I guess you were feeling bad.” - -“What is the time?” Dorothy had struggled to a sitting posture, and was -wondering if she dared ask Margaret to creep into bed with her, for -there was a sense of panic on her still, and she feared—actually -feared—to be left alone. - -“Oh, the wee sma’ hours are getting bigger. It is just five -o’clock—plenty of time for a good sleep yet before the rising bell. Lie -down, and I will tuck you in snugly, then you will feel better.” - -Dorothy sank back on her pillow, submitting to be vigorously tucked in -by Margaret. She was suddenly ashamed of being afraid to stay alone. Now -that she was wider awake the creeping horror was further behind her, -while the fact that it was already five o’clock seemed to bring the -daylight so much nearer. - -She was soon asleep again, and she did not wake until roused by the -bell. So heavy had been her sleep that her movements were slower than -usual, and she was the last girl to leave the dormitory. - -To her immense surprise both Hazel and Margaret gave her the cold -shoulder at breakfast. They only spoke to her when she spoke to them. -They both sat with gloom on their faces, as if the fog in which the -outside world was wrapped that morning had somehow got into them. - -Dorothy was at first disposed to be resentful. She supposed their -grumpiness must be the result of her having disturbed the dormitory with -her nightmare. It seemed a trifle rotten that they should treat her in -such a fashion for what she could not help. She relapsed into silence -herself for the remainder of breakfast, concentrating her thoughts and -energies on the day’s work, and trying to get all the satisfaction she -could out of the fact that she had pulled up one again this week in her -school position. - -“Dorothy, the Head wishes to see you in her study as soon as breakfast -is over.” There was a constraint in Miss Groome’s voice which Dorothy -was quick to feel, and she looked from her to the averted faces of Hazel -and Margaret, wondering what could be the matter with them all. - -“Yes, Miss Groome, I will go,” she said cheerfully; and she held her -head up, feeling all the comfort of a quiet conscience, although -privately she told herself that they were all being very horrid to her, -seeing that she was so absolutely unconscious of having given offence in -any way. - -The Head’s study was a small room on the first floor, having a window -which gave a delightful view over the Sowerbrook valley, with a distant -glimpse of the blue waters of the English Channel. There was no view to -be had this morning, however—nothing but a grey wall of fog, dense and -smothering. - -Miss Arden was sitting at her writing table, and lying before her was a -torn book—this was very shabby, as if from much use. There was -something so sinister about the disreputable volume lying there that -Dorothy felt her eyes turn to it, as if drawn by a magnet. - -“Good morning, Dorothy; come and sit down.” The tone of the Head was so -kind that all at once Dorothy sensed disaster, and the colour rushed in -a flood over her face and right up to her hair, then receded, leaving -her pale and cold, while a sensation seized upon her of being caught in -a trap. - -She sat down on the chair pointed out by the Head, trying to gather up -her forces to meet what was in front of her, yet feeling absolutely -bewildered. - -There followed a little pause of silence. It was almost as if the Head -was not feeling quite sure about how to tackle the situation in front of -her; then she said in a crisp, businesslike manner, pointing to the torn -book in front of her, “This book, is it yours?” - -“No,” said Dorothy with decision. “I am sure it is not. I have no book -so ragged and worn.” - -“Perhaps you have borrowed it, then?” persisted the Head, fixing her -with a keen glance which seemed to look right through her. - -“I beg your pardon?” murmured Dorothy, looking blank. - -“I asked, have you borrowed it?” repeated Miss Arden patiently. It was -never her way to harry or confuse a girl. - -“I have never seen it before that I can remember. What book is it?” -Dorothy fairly hurled her question at the Head, and rose from her seat -as if to take it. - -The Head waved her back. “Sit still, and think a minute. This book was -found with yours on the table of your study this morning. I have learned -that you were the last girl to leave the study last night; your books -were left in a confused heap on the table, and this one was open at the -place where you had been working before you went to bed.” - -“I was doing Latin before I went to bed,” said Dorothy, her senses still -in a whirling confusion. - -“Just so. This book is a key, a translation of the book we are doing in -the Sixth this time,” said the Head slowly, “Now, do you understand the -significance of it being found among your books?” - -“Do you mean that you think I was using a key last night in preparing my -Form Latin?” asked Dorothy, her eyes wide with amazement. - -“No; I only mean that appearances point to this, and I have sent for you -so that you may be able to explain—to clear yourself, if that is -possible; if not, to own up as to how far you have been depending on -this kind of thing to help you in your work and advance your position in -your form.” - -Dorothy sat quite silent. Her face was white and pinched, and there was -a feeling of despair in her heart that she had never known before. It -was her bare word against this clear evidence of that torn, disreputable -old book, and how could she expect that any one was going to believe -her? - -“Come, I want to hear what you have to say about it all.” The voice of -the Head had a ring of calm authority, and Dorothy found her tongue with -an effort. - -“I have never used a key to help me with my Latin, or with any of my -work, and I have never seen that book before,” she said in a low tone. - -“It was found among the books you had been using before you went to -bed.” There was so much suggestion in the voice of the Head that Dorothy -gave a start of painful recollection. - -“Oh! I left my books lying anyhow, and I shall have to take a -bad-conduct mark. I am so sorry, but I was frightened, and ran away. I -ought to have gone to bed when Hazel and Margaret went down, but I -wanted to finish my Latin; it takes me longer than they to do it.” - -“What frightened you?” demanded the Head. - -“While I was sitting at work, and the place was very still, I had -suddenly the sensation of some one, or something, creeping along outside -the door; I saw the handle turn, and the door creaked open for half an -inch; I cried out, but there was no answer, and I just got up and -bolted.” - -“There was not much to frighten you in the fact of some one coming along -the passage and softly opening the door?” - -The voice of the Head was questioning, and under the compelling quality -of her gaze Dorothy had to own up to the real cause of her fear. - -“The girls have said that the rooms up there are haunted—that a certain -something comes along at night opening the doors, sighing heavily, and -moaning as if in pain.” - -“Did you hear sighs and moans?” asked the Head, her lips giving an -involuntary twitch. - -“I did not stay to listen; I bolted as fast as I could go,” admitted -Dorothy. “That was why my books were not put away, or any of my things -cleared up.” - -“Do you know why the girls say the rooms are haunted?” asked the Head, -and this time she smiled so kindly that Dorothy found the courage to -reply. - -“I was told that a girl, Amelia Herschstein, was killed on that -landing.” Her voice was very low, and her gaze dropped to the carpet. -Standing there in the daylight it seemed so perfectly absurd to admit -that she had been nearly scared out of her senses on the previous -evening by her remembrance of a ghost story. - -“You don’t seem to have got the details quite right,” said the Head in a -matter-of-fact tone. “About twenty years ago, I have been told, the -landing where the studies are was given up to the Sixth for bedrooms; -girls were not supposed to need studies then—at least they did not have -them here. There was no second staircase then; the place where the -stairs go down by the prep room of the Upper Fifth was a small box-room -which had a window with a balcony. Amelia Herschstein was leaning over -this balcony one night to talk to a soldier from Beckworth Camp who had -contrived to scrape an acquaintance with her, when she fell, and was so -injured that she died a week later. I suppose that the idea of the -haunting comes from the fact of the Governors making such drastic -alterations in that part of the house immediately afterwards. I am sorry -you were frightened by the story, and I can understand how you would -rush away, forgetting all about your books. But your fright is a small -matter compared with this business of the torn book.” As she spoke the -Head pointed in distaste at the ragged, dirty book in front of her, and -paused, looking at Dorothy as if expecting her to speak. - -Dorothy had nothing to say. Having told the Head that she had never seen -the book before, it seemed useless to repeat her assertion. - -After a little pause Miss Arden went on: “Your Form-mistress says that -she has always found you truthful and straightforward in your work. It -is possible that you have an enemy who put the book among your things. -For the present I suspend judgment. As the matter is something of a -mystery, and others of the Form may be involved, I must also suspend the -Latin marks of the entire Form to-day. Will you please tell Miss Groome -that I will come to her room, and talk about this question of the day’s -Latin, at eleven o’clock. You may go now.” - -Dorothy bowed and went out, with her head held very high and her heart -feeling very heavy. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - - UNDER A CLOUD - -Dorothy understood now the reason why Hazel and Margaret had treated her -to so much cold shoulder that morning. There was a keen sense of -fairness in her make-up, and while she resented the unfriendly -treatment, in her heart she did not blame them for the stand they had -taken. If they really believed she did her work by means of such helps -as that torn book represented, then they were quite within their rights -in not wanting to have anything to do with her. The thing which hurt her -most was that they should have passed judgment on her without giving her -a chance to say a word in her own defence. Yet even that was forgivable, -seeing how strong was the circumstantial evidence against her. - -She walked into her Form-room, apologizing to Miss Groome for being -late, and she took her place as if nothing had been wrong. The only girl -who gave her a kind look, or spoke a friendly word, was Rhoda Fleming, -and Dorothy was ungrateful enough to wish she had kept quiet. - -Work went on as usual. Dorothy had given the message of the Head to Miss -Groome, who looked rather mystified, and was coldly polite in her manner -to Dorothy. - -Never had a morning dragged as that one did; it took all Dorothy’s -powers of concentration to keep her mind fixed on her work. She was -thinking, ruefully enough, that she would not have much chance of -keeping her Form position if this sort of thing went on for long. She -blundered in her answers over things she knew very well, and for the -first time that term work was something of a hardship. - -Eleven o’clock at last! The hour had not done striking, and the girls -were, some of them, moving about preparing for the next work, when the -door opened, and the Head came in. She looked graver than usual; that -much the girls noticed as those who were seated rose at her entrance, -and those who were moving to and fro lined up hastily to bow as she came -in. - -Motioning with her hand for them to sit down again, the Head took the -chair vacated for her by Miss Groome, and sitting down began to talk to -them, not as if they were schoolgirls merely, but as woman to woman, -telling them of her difficulty, and appealing to their sense of honour -to help her out of her present perplexity. - -“I am very concerned for the honour of the school,” she said, and there -was a thrill of feeling in her voice which found an echo in the hearts -of the listeners. “This morning the prefect on duty for the study floor -found a pile of books lying partly on the table and partly on the floor -in No. 1 study. Lying open on the table, partly under the other books, -was a torn and dirty Latin key. The books were the property of Dorothy -Sedgewick, who had been the last to leave the study overnight. The -matter was reported to Miss Groome, who brought the book to me; and I, -as you know, sent for Dorothy to come to me directly after breakfast. -Dorothy says she has never used a key, and that she had never seen that -ragged old book. She declares that it was not among her books overnight. -When being frightened by some one stealthily trying to enter her room, -she rose from her seat, and staying only to turn off the electric light, -bolted for the dorm, and went to bed. Miss Groome says she has always -found Dorothy straight in her work and truthful in her speech. This -being so, we are bound to believe her statement when she says she has -never seen that book, and that she has never used a key. But as books do -not walk about on their own feet, we have to discover who put that book -among Dorothy’s things. Can any of you give me any information on the -mystery, or tell me anything which might lead to it being cleared up?” - -There was dead silence among the girls. In fact, the hush was so deep -that they could hear a violin wailing in the distant music-room, a -chamber supposed to be sound-proof. - -When the pause had lasted quite a long time, Hazel asked if she might -speak. - -“I am waiting for some of you to begin,” replied the Head, smiling at -Hazel, though in truth her heart beat a little faster. Hazel had always -been a pupil to be proud of, and it was unthinkable that she should be -mixed up in a thing of this sort. - -“There was no book ragged and dirty among Dorothy’s things when we went -to bed. There could not have been a book of that sort in the room during -the evening, for we had all been turning our books out and tidying them -in readiness to start the fresh week of work. It was not more than -twenty minutes after we had come down to bed that Dorothy came rushing -down to the dorm, looking white and frightened. She was shaking so badly -that she could hardly stand. I helped her to bed; but I don’t think she -slept well, as she had nightmare, and woke most of us with her groaning -and crying—she had plainly had a very bad scare. I have had a lot to do -with her since the term began, and I have never known her say anything -that was not true; she does not even exaggerate, as some girls do.” - -The brow of the Head cleared, her heart registered only normal beats, -and she said with a smile, “I am very glad for what you have said, -Hazel. Schoolgirls have a way of sticking together in a passive way, -keeping silent when they know that one is in the wrong, and that sort of -thing; but it is wholly refreshing, and a trifle unusual in my -experience, for them to bear testimony to each other’s uprightness as -you have done.” - -Dorothy’s head drooped now. It was one thing to hold it high in -conscious innocence, when she was the suspected of all, but it broke -down her self-control to hear Hazel testifying to her truthfulness. - -Margaret, who was sitting at the next desk, turned suddenly and gripped -Dorothy’s hand across the narrow dividing space, and Dorothy suddenly -felt it was worth while to be in trouble, to find that she had the -friendship of these two girls. - -“Has any other girl anything to say?” asked the Head sweetly, and she -looked from one to the other, as if she would read the very thoughts -that were passing through their heads. - -“Perhaps they would come to you quietly?” suggested Miss Groome. - -“I shall be pleased to see them if they prefer that way.” The Head was -smiling and serene, but there was a hint of steel under the velvet of -her manner; and then in a few quiet words she delivered her ultimatum. -“Pending the making plain of this mystery of how the torn book came to -be among Dorothy Sedgewick’s things, the whole Form must be somewhat -under a cloud. That is like life, you know; we all have to suffer for -the wrong-doing of each other. If in the past Dorothy had been proved -untruthful in speech and not straight in her dealings, then we might -have well let the punishment fall upon her alone. As it is, you will all -do your Latin for the week without any marks. You will do your very -best, too, for the girl producing poor work in this direction will -immediately put herself into the position of a suspected person. If the -statement of Dorothy, supported by the testimony of Hazel, is to be -believed, that the book was not in the study overnight, then it must -have been put there out of malice, and it is up to you to find out who -has done this thing.” - -The Head rose as she finished speaking, and the girls rose too, -remaining on their feet until she had passed out of the room. - -Great was the grumbling at the disaster which had fallen upon the Form. -Individual cases of cheating at work had occurred from time to time, but -nothing of this kind had cropped up within the memory of the oldest -inhabitant—not in the Sixth Form, that is to say. It was supposed that -by the time a girl had reached the Sixth she had sown all her wild oats, -and had become both outwardly and in very truth a reliable member of -society. - -In this case there was malice as well as cheating. The girl who owned -the key had not merely used it to get a better place in her form, but -she had tried to bring an innocent person into trouble. - -There was an agitated, explosive feeling in the atmosphere of the -Form-room that morning. But, thanks to the hint from the Head concerning -the character of work that would be expected of them, Miss Groome had no -cause for complaint against any of them. - -As Jessie Wayne sagely remarked, the real test concerning who was the -owner of the torn book would come during the week, when the girl had to -do her work without the help of her key; most likely the task for to-day -had all been prepared before the book was slid in among Dorothy’s -things. - -There was a good half of the girls who believed that Dorothy had been -using the key when she was scared by the ghost who haunted that upper -floor. They did not dare put their belief into words, but they let it -show in their actions, and Dorothy had to suffer. - -Her great consolation was the way in which Hazel and Margaret championed -her. They had certainly given her the cold shoulder that first morning, -but since she had asserted her innocence so strongly, they had not -swerved in their loyalty. Jessie Wayne also declared she was positive -Dorothy had never used the key, because of the trouble she took over her -Latin. - -The talk of the upper floor being haunted reached the ears of Miss -Groome, making her very angry; but she went very pale too, for, with all -her learning and her qualifications, she was very primitive at the -bottom, and she had confessed to being thoroughly scared when the Head -had a talk with her that day after Form work was over. - -The Head had asked if Miss Groome suspected any of her girls in the -matter of cribbing. - -“I do not,” replied the Form-mistress. “Dorothy Sedgewick has, of -course, the hardest work to keep up with her Form, but she is doing it -by means of steady plodding. She is not brilliant, but she is not to be -beaten at steady work, and it is that which counts for most in the long -run.” - -The Head nodded thoughtfully, then she asked in a rather strange tone, -“Did you wonder why I did not bring that tattered book into the -Form-room when I came to talk about it?” - -“Yes, I did,” replied Miss Groome. - -“I did not dare bring it because of the commotion which might have -sprung up.” The Head laughed softly as she spoke, and unlocking an inner -drawer of her desk, she produced the torn old book which had made so -much discomfort among the Sixth. “Look at this.” As she spoke she put -the dirty old thing into the hands of Miss Groome, pointing to a name -written in faded ink on the inside of the cover. - -The name was Amelia Herschstein, and when she had read it Miss Groome -asked with a little gasp, “Why! what does it mean?” - -“That is just what I want to find out,” replied the Head crisply. “It -looks as if we are up against a full-sized mystery.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - - FAIR FIGHTING - -The weeks flew by. There had been no clue to the mystery of that torn -book which had Amelia Herschstein’s name written inside the cover, and -in the rush of other things the matter had been nearly forgotten by most -of the girls. The Head and Miss Groome did not forget; but whereas Miss -Groome frankly admitted herself scared stiff by the uncanny character of -the find, and refused to be left alone in the sitting-room on the upper -floor when the others had gone to bed, the Head got into the habit of -walking quietly up the stairs most nights, going along the passage, -opening the doors of the different rooms, and coming down the other -stairs. - -She meant to get to the bottom of the mystery somehow, but so far she -had not found much reward for her searching. When the governors had -arrived on their monthly visit to the schools, and had come to lunch -with the girls, she had invited the unsuspecting gentlemen into her -private room, and had led the talk to the days of the past, and then had -put a few searching questions about the tragedy of Amelia Herschstein, -asking who she was, and how it came about that such an accident -occurred. To her surprise she found they resented her questioning, and -her attempts to get information drew a blank every time. - -Then she took her courage in her hands, and faced the three gentlemen -squarely. “The fact is,” she said, speaking in a low tone, “I am up -against a situation which fairly baffles me. If you had been willing to -talk to me about this affair of the tragic fate of the poor girl, I -might not have troubled you with my worries, or at least not until I had -settled them. I have found that Amelia is said to walk in the upper -passage where the studies are. This has the one good effect of making -the Sixth Form girls very ready to go to bed at night. But I find that -the mistresses do not take so much pleasure as formerly in their private -sitting-room, which is, as you know, also on that passage. Then a week -or two ago a girl, alone in a study up there, was frightened by the -sensation of something coming; she saw the handle of the door turn, and -the door come gently open for a little way. I am sorry to say she did -not stay to see what would happen next, but bolted downstairs to the -dorm as fast as she could go. The strange part of the affair was that -there was found among that girl’s books next morning a torn old book, a -key to the Latin just then being studied by the Form, and the name -inside the book, written in faded ink across the inside of the cover, -was Amelia Herschstein.” - -“Whew!” The exclamation came from the most formal looking of the -governors, and taking out his handkerchief he hurriedly mopped his face -as if he was very warm indeed. - -“You understand now why I am anxious to know all there is to be known -about the tragedy.” The Head looked from one to the other of the three -gentlemen as she spoke, and she noted that they seemed very much upset. - -“It was a case which landed the school in heavy trouble,” said the -formal man, after a glance at the other two as if asking their consent -to speak. “It was proved pretty clearly from things which came out at -the inquest, and what the soldier afterwards admitted, that it was not -because she had fallen in love with him that Amelia arranged meetings -and talks with this soldier. She was trying to get from him details of a -government invention on which he had been working before he came to -Beckworth Camp. Now, a love affair of that sort was bad enough for the -reputation of the school, but can you not see how infinitely worse a -thing of this kind will prove?” - -“Indeed I can.” The Head was frankly sympathetic now, and she was taking -back some of the hard thoughts she had cherished against the unoffending -governors. - -“It was proved, too, that the father of Amelia had been in the German -Secret Service,” went on the formal man. “Consideration for the feelings -of the bereaved parents stopped the authorities from taking further -proceedings. The soldier, a promising young fellow, and badly smitten by -the young lady who was trying to make a tool of him, was sent to India -at his own request, and was killed in a border skirmish a few months -later. You understand now how it is we do not care even among ourselves -to talk of the affair.” - -“I do understand,” the Head replied. “But what you have told me does not -throw any light on the mystery of how that book came to be with Dorothy -Sedgewick’s things in the No. 1 study.” - -“It only points to the probability of some of Amelia’s kin being in the -school, and if that is found to be the case they will have to go, and at -once.” The formal man shut his mouth with a snap as if it were a rat -trap, and the Head nodded in complete understanding. - -“Yes, they would certainly have to go,” she said, and then she deftly -turned the talk into other channels; and being a wise, as well as a very -clever woman, she saw to it that the cloud was chased from their faces -before they went away. - -Now she knew where she stood, and it was with a feeling of acute relief -that she set herself to the business of finding out the source from -which that torn book came. The first thing to do was to have a talk with -Miss Groome. Her lip curled scornfully as she recalled the terror -displayed by the Form-mistress. Of what good was higher education for -women if it left them a prey to superstitious fears such as might have -oppressed poor women who had no education at all? - - * * * * * - -A big hockey match was engrossing the attention of every one during the -last week in November. It was big in the sense of being very important, -for they were to play against the girls of the Ilkestone High School, -and the prestige of the school with regard to hockey would hang on the -issue of the game. - -It was the only game Dorothy played at all well; she was good at -centring, and she was not to be beaten for speed. The games-mistress -wanted her for outside right, and Dora Selwyn, who was captain, agreed -to this. But she exacted such an amount of practice from poor Dorothy in -the days that came before the one that was fixed for the match that -other work had to suffer, and she had to face the prospect of her school -position going down still lower. - -Never once since that affair of finding the torn book among her things -had Dorothy been able to reach the fourth place in her Form. The next -week she had been fifth again, with Rhoda once more above her, and the -week after that she had suffered most fearfully at finding Joan Fletcher -also above her. All this was so unaccountable to her because she knew -that she was working just as hard as before. - -Sometimes she was inclined to think she was being downed by -circumstances. She was like a person being sucked down in a -quagmire—the more she struggled the lower down she went. - -Of course this was silly, and she told herself that despair never led -anywhere but to failure. - -Her keenest trouble was that she knew herself to be, by some people, a -suspected person—that is to say, there were some who said that she must -have used cribs in the past, which accounted for her failures now that -she might be afraid to use them. There was this good in the trouble, -that it made her set her teeth and strive just so that she might show -them how false their suppositions were. - -The reason her position had dropped was largely due to the fact that the -other girls had worked so much harder. The words of the Head concerning -the position of slackers had fallen on fruitful ground. No girl wanted -to be looked upon as having used cribs to help her along. The others, -all of them, had the advantage of being used to the work and routine of -the Compton School. Dorothy, as new girl, was bound to feel the -disadvantages of her position. - -Rhoda Fleming had a vast capacity for work, and she had also a heavy -streak of laziness in her make-up. Just now she was working for all she -was worth, and the week before the hockey match she rose above Margaret, -who seemed to shrink several sizes smaller in consequence. She had to -bear a lot of snubbing, too, for so elated with victory was Rhoda, that -she seemed quite unable to resist the temptation of sitting on Margaret -whenever opportunity occurred. - -It pleased Rhoda to be quite kind, even friendly, to Dorothy, who did -not approve the change, and was not disposed to profit by it. - -Two days before the hockey match Rhoda, encountering Dorothy who was -lacing her hockey boots, offered to help with her work. - -“I can’t bear to see you slipping back week by week,” she said with -patronizing kindness. “Of course you are new to things. There is that -paper on chemistry that we have to do for to-morrow’s lab work—can I -help you with that?” - -Dorothy stared at her in surprise, but was prompt in reply. “No, thank -you; I would rather do my work myself.” - -“Yet you use cribs,” said Rhoda with an ugly smile. - -Dorothy felt as if a cold hand had gripped her. “I do not!” she said -quietly, forcing herself to keep calm. - -Rhoda laughed, and there was a very unpleasant sound in her mirth. -“Well, you don’t seem able to prove that you don’t, so what is the good -of your virtuous pose? If your position drops again this week, don’t say -I did not try to help you.” - -The incident caused Dorothy to think furiously. She was sure that Rhoda -had, somehow, a hand in her position dropping. Was it possible that she -was boosting Joan Fletcher along in order to lower Dorothy, and so make -it appear that there could not be smoke without a fire in the matter of -that old book? - -She broke into a sudden chuckle of laughter as she sat on the low form -in the boot-room lacing up her second boot. Rhoda had departed, and she -believed herself alone. Then along came Margaret, wanting to know what -the joke was; and leaning back with her head against the wall and her -boot laces in her hand, Dorothy told her of Rhoda’s kind offer, and the -threat which followed. - -“Bah! it is a fight, is it?” cried Margaret. “Well, let them rise above -us week by week if they want to. But, mind you, Dorothy, we have got to -keep our end up somehow. Hazel and I have been going through the -marks—dissecting them, you know—and we find that both you and I have -made our steady average week by week; we have not fallen back—it is the -others who have pulled up. Hazel says she is pretty sure that Rhoda will -pull above her next week. There is one comfort—it is awfully good for -Miss Groome; and I am sure the poor thing looks as if she needs a little -something to cheer her up, for she does seem so uncommonly miserable -this term—all the fun is clean knocked out of her.” - -“I wish we could work harder,” grumbled Dorothy. “Oh, this hockey match -is a nuisance! Just think what a lot of time it wastes.” - -“Don’t you believe it, old thing,” said Margaret. “It is hockey, and the -gym, and things of that sort that make it possible for us to swot at -other things. It makes me mad to hear the piffle folks talk about the -time at school that is wasted on games. If the people who talk such rot -had ever worked at books as we have to work they would very soon change -their tune.” - -“Oh! I know all that.” Dorothy’s tone was more than a trifle impatient, -for she was feeling quite fed-up with things. “My complaint is that -hockey makes me so tired; I am not fit for anything but to go to sleep -afterwards.” - -“Just so. And isn’t that good for you?” Margaret wagged her head with an -air of great understanding. “Before I came here—when I was working for -the scholarship—I should as soon have thought of standing on my head in -the street as wasting my precious time on games. The result was that I -was always having bad headaches, and breaking down over my work; and I -used to feel so wretched, too, that life seemed hardly worth living. -Indeed, I wonder that I ever pulled through to win the scholarship.” - -“All the same, this match is an awful nuisance,” grumbled Dorothy; and -then she was suddenly ashamed of her ill-temper and her general tendency -to grouch. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - - DOROTHY SCORES - -Dora Selwyn was a downright good captain. What she lacked in brilliance -she made up in painstaking. She was always after individual members of -her team when they were playing for practice, and she lectured them with -the judgment and authority of an expert. A lot of her spare time was -taken up in studying hockey as played by the great ones of the game. She -had even gone so far as to write letters of respectful admiration to the -players of most note; and these invariably replied, giving her the hints -for which she had asked with such disarming tact. - -The match with the first team of the Ilkestone High School meant a lot -to her. That team had an uncommonly good opinion of themselves, and, -doubtless, they would not have stooped to challenge the senior team of -the Compton Girls’ School but for the fact that they had just been -rather badly beaten by a team of Old Girls, and were anxious to give -some team a good drubbing by way of restoring their self-confidence. - -The day of the match came, bringing with it very good weather -conditions. If Dora felt jumpy as to results, she had the sense to keep -her nervousness to herself, and fussed round her team with as much -clucking anxiety as a hen that is let out with a brood of irresponsible -chickens. - -The match was to be played at Ilkestone. She would have been much -happier if the fight had been on their own ground; but the arrangement -had been made, and it had to stand. - -Dorothy was nervous too, but she would not show it. This was the first -time she had played in an outside match with the team, and she was very -anxious to give a good account of herself. - -Her position had been changed at the last minute—that is to say, at -yesterday’s practice. Rhoda had persuaded Dora to give her the outside -right, which left Dorothy the position of outside left, which, as every -one knows, is the most difficult position of the hockey field. -Naturally, too, she smarted at being thrust into the harder task when -she had made such efforts to train for her place. - -Still, there is no appeal against the command of the captain, and -Dorothy climbed into the motor charabanc that was taking them to -Ilkestone, seating herself next to Jessie Wayne, and smiling as if she -had not a care in the world. - -“My word, you do look brisk, Dorothy, and as happy as if you were going -to your own wedding,” said Daisy Goatby in a grudging tone, as the -charabanc with its load of girls and several mistresses slid out of the -school gates and, mounting the steep hill past the church, sped swiftly -towards Ilkestone. - -“Why shouldn’t I look happy?” asked Dorothy. “Time enough to sit and -wail when we have been beaten.” - -“Don’t even mention the word, Dorothy,” said the captain sharply; and -she looked so nervy and uncomfortable that Dorothy felt sorry enough for -her to forgive her for the changed position. She was even meek when Dora -went on in a voice that jerked more than ever: “I do hope you will do -your best, Dorothy. I am horribly upset at having to change your -position, but Rhoda declared she would not even try if I left her as -outside left. So what was I to do?” - -“Is she going to try now?” asked Dorothy rather grimly. She was -wondering what would have happened if she had done such a thing. - -“Oh, she says she will, and one can only hope for the best; but I shall -be downright glad when it is all over, and we are on our way back.” Dora -shivered, looking so anxious that Dorothy had to do her level best at -cheering her, saying briskly,— - -“I expect we shall all go back shouting ourselves hoarse, and we shall -have to hold you down by sheer force to keep you from making a spectacle -of yourself. Oh, we are going to win, don’t you worry!” - -“I wish I did not care so much,” sighed Dora. Then she turned to give a -word of counsel to another of the team, and did not lean over to Dorothy -again. - -The Ilkestone team were on the ground waiting, while the rest of the -High School were drawn up in close ranks to be ready to cheer their -comrades on to victory. Dorothy’s heart sank a little at that sight. She -knew full well the help that shouting gives. - -Then Hazel rushed up to her. “Dorothy, your brother Tom has just come; -he says the boys of the Fifth and Sixth are on their way here to shout -for us. Oh! here they come. What a lark it is, for sure!” - -And a lark it was. The boys came streaming across the stile that led -into the playing-field from the Canterbury road; and although they were -pretty well winded from sprinting across the fields to reach the ground -in time, they let out a preliminary cheer as an earnest of what they -were going to do later on, when play had begun. - -The High School girls, not to be beaten, set up a ringing cheer for -their side. Their voices were so shrill that the sound must have carried -for a long way. - -Play was pretty equal for the first quarter, then the High School team -got a bit involved by the fault of the forwards falling back when the -other side passed. - -Time and again, when the backs cleared with long hits to the wings, -their skill was wasted, for the wingers were not there. - -Suddenly Dorothy’s spirits went up like a rocket. She knew very well -that once falling back of the forwards had begun it was certain to go -on. For herself, she was doing her bit, and a very difficult bit it was, -and there seemed no glory in it; but wherever she was wanted, there she -was, and it was the outburst of shouting which came from the boys that -told her the side was keeping their end up. - -The play was fast and furious while it lasted, and the shouting on both -sides was so continuous that it seemed to be one long yell. - -Then suddenly, for Dorothy at least, the end came. She was in her place, -when the ball came spinning to her from a slam hard shot. She swung her -stick, and caught it just right, when there was a crashing blow on her -head which fairly knocked her out. She tumbled in a heap on the grass, -and that was the last she remembered of the struggle. - -When she came to her senses again she was lying on the table in the -pavilion, and a doctor was bending over her, while the anxious faces of -Miss Groome and the games-mistress showed in the background. - -“Why, whatever has happened?” she asked, staring about her in a -bewildered fashion. “Did I come a cropper on the field?” - -“Yes, I suppose that is about what you did do,” replied the doctor, -speaking with slow deliberation. - -“It is funny!” Dorothy wrinkled her forehead in an effort to remember. -“I thought I hit my head against something—a most fearful crack it -seemed.” - -“Ah!” The doctor gently lifted her head as he made the exclamation; he -slid off her hat, and passed his fingers gently through her hair. - -“Oh! it hurts!” she cried out sharply. - -Then he saw that the back of her hat was cut through, and there was a -wound on her head. He called for various things, and those standing -round flew to fetch them. He and Dorothy were momentarily alone, and he -jerked out a sudden question: “Who was it that fetched you that blow?” - -Dorothy looked her surprise. “I am sure I don’t know,” she said -doubtfully; “there was no one quite close to me. I remember swinging my -stick up and catching the ball just right, and then I felt the blow.” - -“Some one fouled you, I suppose—a stupid thing to do, especially as -yours was such a good shot.” He was very busy with her head as he spoke, -but she twisted it out of his hands so that she could look into his -face. - -“Was it a good shot?” she asked excitedly. “Did we win the game?” - -“Without doubt you would have won if it had been fought to a finish,” he -said kindly. “Now, just keep still while I attend to this dent in your -head, or you will be having a fearful headache later on.” - -Dorothy did have a headache later on. In fact, it was so bad that she -was taken back to Sowergate in the doctor’s motor, instead of riding in -the charabanc with the others. She felt so confused and stupid that it -seemed ever so good to her to lie back in the car and to have nothing to -think about. - -She protested vigorously, though, when the school was reached and she -was taken off to the san, to be made an invalid of for the rest of the -day. - -“I really can’t afford the time,” she said, looking at the doctor in an -imploring fashion. “My Form position has been going down week by week of -late, and this will make things still worse.” - -“Not a bit of it,” he said with a laugh. “You will work all the better -for the little rest. Just forget all about lessons and everything else -that is a worry. Read a story book if you like—or, better still, do -nothing at all. If you are all right to-morrow you can go to work again; -but it will depend upon the way in which you rest to-day whether you are -fit to go to work to-morrow, so take care.” - -Dorothy had to submit with the best grace she could, and the doctor -handed her over to the care of the matron, with instructions that she -was to be coddled until the next day. - -“I had been watching the game—that was why I happened to be on the -spot,” he said to the matron as he turned away. “I don’t think I ever -heard so much yelling at a hockey match before. I’m afraid I did some of -it myself, for the play was really very good. I did not see how the -accident happened, though; but I suppose one of the players in lunging -for the ball just caught this young lady’s head instead.” - -Dorothy elected to go straight to bed. If her getting back to work -to-morrow depended on the manner in which she kept quiet to-day, then -certainly she was going to be as quiet as possible. - -Meanwhile great was the commotion among the hockey team. All the riotous -satisfaction the Compton Schools would have felt at the victory which -seemed so certain was dashed and spoiled by the accident which had -happened just when Dorothy had made her splendid shot. “Who did it?” was -the cry all round the field. But there was no response to this; and -although there were so many looking on, no one seemed to be able to pick -out the girls who were nearest to Dorothy, and there was no one who -admitted having hit her by fluke. - -The High School team said and did all the correct things, and then they -suggested that the game should be called a draw. Naturally the Compton -Schools did not like this; but, as Dora Selwyn said, a game was never -lost until it was won, so the High School team had right on their side, -and after a little talking on both sides it was settled to call it a -draw. - -Even this raised the Compton team to a higher level in hockey circles; -henceforth no one would be able to flout them as inefficient, and the -High School would have to treat them with greater respect in the future. - -“We should not have done so well if the boys had not come to shout for -us,” Dora admitted, when that night she had dropped into the study where -Hazel and Margaret were sitting alone, for Jessie Wayne had hurt her -ankle in getting out of the charabanc, and was resting downstairs. - -“Noise is a help sometimes,” admitted Hazel, who wondered not a little -why the head girl had come to talk to them that night, instead of -leaving them free to work in peace. - -She did not have to wonder long. After a moment of hesitation Dora burst -out, “Why does Rhoda Fleming hate Dorothy Sedgewick so badly?” - -“Mutual antagonism perhaps,” replied Hazel coolly. “Dorothy does not -seem particularly drawn to Rhoda, so they may have decided to agree in -not liking each other.” - -“Don’t be flippant; I am out for facts, not fancies,” said the head girl -sharply. She paused as if in doubt; then making up her mind in a hurry, -she broke into impetuous speech. “I have found out that it was Rhoda who -struck Dorothy down on the hockey field. But I am not supposed to know, -and it is bothering me no end. I simply don’t know what I ought to do in -the matter, so I have come to talk it over with you, because you are -friends—Dorothy’s friends, I mean.” - -“How did you find it out? Are you quite sure it is true?” gasped Hazel. -“It is a frightfully serious thing, really. Why, a blow like that might -have been fatal!” - -“That is what makes me feel so bad about it,” said Dora. “I had a bath -after we came back from the match, and I went to my cubicle and lay down -for half-an-hour’s rest before tea. No one knew I was there except Miss -Groome; she understood that I was feeling a bit knocked out with all the -happenings, so she told me to go and get a little rest. I think I was -beginning to doze when I heard two girls, Daisy Goatby and Joan -Fletcher, come into the dorm, and they both came into Daisy’s cubicle, -which is next to mine. They were talking in low tones, and they seemed -very indignant about something; and I was going to call out and tell -them not to talk secrets, because I was there, when I heard Daisy say in -a very stormy tone that in future Rhoda Fleming might do her own dirty -work, for she had entirely washed her hands of the whole business, and -she did not intend to dance to Rhoda’s piping any more—no, not if next -week found her at the bottom of the Form. Then Joan, in a very troubled -fashion, asked if Daisy were quite sure—quite absolutely positive—that -Rhoda aimed at Dorothy’s head instead of at the ball. Daisy sobbed for a -minute in sheer rage, it seemed to me, and then she declared it was -Dorothy’s head that was aimed at. There was some more talking that I -could not hear, then some of the other girls came up, Joan went off to -her own cubicle, and that was the end of it.” - -“Good gracious, what a shocking business!” cried Hazel, going rather -white, while Margaret shivered until her teeth chattered. “Dora, what -are you going to do?” - -“What can I do?” cried the head girl, throwing up her hands with a -helpless gesture. “Suppose I went to the Head and made a statement, and -she called upon Daisy to own up to what she knew, it is more than likely -that Daisy would vow she never said anything of the sort. She would -declare she did not see Rhoda strike Dorothy, and in all she said Joan -would back her up. It would be two against one.” - -“Daisy would speak the truth if she were pushed into a corner,” put in -Margaret, who had not spoken before. - -“She might, and again she might not.” Dora’s tone was scornful. “For all -her size, Daisy is very much of a coward. Her position, too, would be so -unpleasant that really it would take a good lot of real courage to face -it. All the girls would point at her for telling tales, and Rhoda would -pose as a martyr, and get all the sympathy she desired.” - -“What are you going to do, then?” asked Hazel. - -“I don’t see that anything can be done, except to wait and to keep our -eyes open,” said Dora. “I wish you could find out what it is that -Dorothy has over Rhoda—that might help us a little. It will be rather -fun when this week’s marks come out if Daisy does go flop in her Form -position.” - -“Dorothy will have scored then, even though her work may be hindered,” -said Margaret. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - - DOROTHY IS APPROACHED - -Dorothy rested with such thoroughness, that when the doctor came to see -her next day he told her with a laugh that she was a fraud so far as -being an invalid was concerned, and that she could go to work again as -soon as she liked. - -Her head was fearfully sore, of course, and if she moved quickly she had -a queer, dizzy sensation, but otherwise she did not seem much the worse, -and she was back in her Form-room before the work of the morning had -ended. - -Every one was very nice to her. There was almost an affectionate ring in -Rhoda’s tone when making inquiry as to how she felt, and Dorothy was a -little ashamed of her own private feeling against Rhoda. Then Daisy -Goatby giggled in a silly fashion, and Rhoda’s face turned purply-red -with anger. - -Work went all the more easily because of the rest she had had, and -Dorothy thought the doctor must be something of a wizard to understand -so completely what was really best for her. There was more zest in doing -to-day, and the hours went so fast that evening came even more quickly -than usual. - -Jessie Wayne’s foot was still bad, and she had not come up to the study. -The other girls had taken her books down to her, and she was given a -quiet corner in the prep room of the Lower Fifth; so the three girls -were alone upstairs. - -Being alone, the chance to find out Dorothy’s position with regard to -Rhoda was much too good to be passed by, and sitting at ease in a low -chair by the gas fire, Hazel started on her task. - -Dorothy listened in silence, and in very real dismay, while they told -her what Dora had overheard; but she sat quite still when they had done, -making no attempt at clearing the matter up. - -“Why don’t you say something, Dorothy?” Hazel’s tone was a trifle sharp, -for there was an almost guilty look on Dorothy’s face, as if she were -the culprit, and not Rhoda at all. - -“There is nothing I can say.” Dorothy wriggled uneasily in her chair, -and her hands moved her books in a restless fashion, for she wanted to -plunge into work and forget all about the disagreeable thing which -always lurked in her mind with regard to Rhoda. - -“You do admit you know something which makes Rhoda afraid of you?” -persisted Hazel. - -“Oh, she need not be afraid of me; I shall not do her any harm.” Dorothy -spoke hurriedly. She was afraid of being drawn into some admission which -might give away her knowledge of what Rhoda had done. - -“I think you ought to tell, Dorothy,” Hazel said. “It is all very well -to keep silent because you don’t like to do Rhoda any harm; but when a -girl sets out to work such mischief as Rhoda tried to do yesterday, it -is quite time something is done to stop her.” - -“You can’t call it real proof that Rhoda did give me that knock-out blow -yesterday,” said Dorothy slowly. “Or even supposing that she did, you -can’t be certain it was anything but an accident. When one is -excited—really wrought up, as we all were—there is not much accounting -for what happens.” - -“Still, she might have owned up.” Hazel meant to have the last word on -the subject, and Dorothy made a wry face—then laughed in a rather -forced manner. - -“It would not have been an easy thing to have owned up if it had been an -accident; while, if the blow had been meant to knock me over, it would -have been impossible to have explained it. In any case, she would think -that the least said the soonest mended.” - -“What about her coaching Daisy and Joan, so that your Form position -should be lowered?” Hazel’s brows were drawn together in a heavy frown; -she left off lounging, and sat erect in her chair looking at Dorothy. - -“Rather a brainy idea, don’t you think?” Dorothy seemed disposed to be -flippant, but she was nervous still, as was shown by her restless -opening and shutting of her books. “When I want to get you and Margaret -lowered in your Form position I will prod a couple of girls into working -really hard, and then we shall all three mount in triumph over your -diminished heads. Oh, it will be a great piece of strategy—only I don’t -quite see how I am going to get the time to do my work, and that of the -other girls too. That is the weak point in the affair, and will need -thinking out.” - -“Look here, Dorothy, you are just playing with us, and it is a shocking -waste of time, because we have got our work to do before we go to bed.” -Margaret slid a friendly hand into Dorothy’s as she spoke. “Will you -tell us what you know about Rhoda? You see, she is a candidate for the -Mutton Bone; she is climbing high in the Form, and it is up to us to see -that the prize goes only to some one worthy of it.” - -“It is because she is a candidate that my tongue should be tied,” -answered Dorothy. “When Rhoda asserted that there was nothing to prevent -her from being enrolled she took all the responsibility for herself into -her own hands, and so I have nothing to do with it.” - -“You will keep silent, and let her win the Lamb Bursary?” cried Hazel in -a shocked tone. - -“I won’t let her win the Lamb Bursary if I can help it. I jolly well -want to win it myself,” laughed Dorothy; and then she simply refused to -say any more, declaring that she must get on with her work. - -There was silence in the study after that—a quiet so profound that some -one, coming and opening the door suddenly, fled away again with a little -cry of surprise at finding it lighted and occupied. - -Dorothy turned as white as paper. She was thinking of the night when she -had been up there alone, and had been so scared at the opening of the -door. - -“Now, who is playing pranks in such a silly fashion, I wonder?” said -Hazel crossly, and jumping up, she went into the passage to find out. - -Dora Selwyn had two girls in with her; they declared that they had heard -nothing—but as they were all talking at once when Hazel went into the -room, this was not wonderful. - -In the next study Rhoda Fleming was busily writing at the table, while -Daisy dozed in a chair on one side of the gas fire, and Joan appeared to -be fast asleep on the other side. - -These also declared that they had heard nothing; and as the room of the -Upper Fifth was empty, and there was no one in the private room of the -mistresses, the affair was a bit of a mystery. - -Hazel had sharp eyes; she had noticed that Rhoda’s hand was trembling, -and that her writing was not clear and decided. She had seen Daisy wink -at Joan, and she came to certain conclusions in her own mind—only, as -she had no proof, it seemed better to wait and say nothing. So she went -back to the study to tell Margaret and Dorothy that evidently some one -had come to play a silly prank on them, only had been scared to find -that they were all wide awake and at work. - -Dorothy stayed awake a good long time that night, thinking matters over, -and trying to find out what was the wisest course to take. She was -disposed to go to Rhoda and tell her what she had heard, and to say that -there was no need for Rhoda to fear her, as there was no danger of her -speaking. - -When morning came this did not look so easy, and yet it seemed the best -thing to do. The trouble was to get the chance of a few quiet words with -Rhoda, and the whole day passed without such a thing being possible. - -It was two days later before her chance came. But when she tried to -start on something which would lead up to the thing she wanted to say, -Rhoda swung round with an impatient air, speaking sharply, “You and I do -not care so much for each other that we need to hang round in corners -gossiping.” - -“There is something I wanted to say to you rather badly,” said Dorothy, -laying fast hold of her courage, and looking straight at the other. - -Rhoda flinched. “Well, whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it—so there -you are.” She yawned widely, then asked, with a sudden change of tone, -if Dorothy’s head was better, or if it was still sore. - -“It is getting better, thank you.” Dorothy spoke cheerfully, and then -she burst out hurriedly, “I wanted to say to you that there is no need -for you to be afraid of me, or—or of what I may say.” - -“What do you mean?” demanded Rhoda, with such offence in her tone that -Dorothy flushed and floundered hopelessly. - -“I—I mean just what I say—merely that, and nothing more.” Dorothy -looked straight at Rhoda, who flushed, while a look of fear came into -her eyes, and she turned away without another word. - -After that, things were more strained than before. There was a thinly -veiled insolence in Rhoda’s way of treating Dorothy which was fearfully -trying to bear. But if they had to come in contact with each other when -people were present, then there was a kind of gentle pity in Rhoda’s way -of behaving which was more exasperating still. - -Dorothy carried her head very high, and she kept her face serene and -smiling, but sometimes the strain of it all was about as much as she -could stand up under. - -One thing helped her to be patient under it all. Her Form position was -mounting again. Daisy Goatby and Joan Fletcher had dropped below her, -and by the last week of term she had risen above Rhoda again. Great was -the jubilation in the No. 1 study on the night when this was discovered. -Hazel and Margaret made a ridiculous paper cap, with which they adorned -Dorothy, and Jessie Wayne presented her with a huge paper rosette in -honour of the event. - -“I foresee that you will have us down next term, Dorothy, and then, -instead of celebrating, we shall sit in sackcloth and ashes, grousing -over our hard lot in being beaten,” laughed Hazel, as she settled the -paper hat rakishly askew on Dorothy’s head, and fell back a step to -admire the effect. - -“There won’t be much danger of that unless we get to work,” answered -Dorothy, and then they settled down to steady grind, which lasted until -bedtime. - -Next morning there was a letter from Tom for Dorothy, which bothered her -not a little. - -Twice already that term Tom had come to her for money. They each had the -same amount of pocket-money, but he did not seem able to make his last. -He was always in a state of destitution; he was very often in debt. - -The letter this morning stated that if she could not let him have five -shillings that day he would be disgraced, the family would be disgraced, -and the doors of a prison might yawn to let him in. - -That was silly, of course, and she frowned at his indulging in nonsense -at such a time. She had the five shillings, and she could let him have -it; but it seemed to her grossly unfair that he should spend his own -money and hers too. - -The boys were coming over that evening, and Tom asked that he might have -the money then. Dorothy decided that the time had come for her to put -her foot down firmly on this question of always standing prepared to -help him out when he was stoney. - -That afternoon they were busy in the gym practising a new set of -exercises, and Dorothy was endeavouring to hang by one hand from the -cross-bar, while she swung gently to and fro with her right foot held in -her left hand—she was succeeding quite well too, and was feeling rather -proud of herself—when a chance remark from Blanche Felmore caught her -ear. - -“The boys are having a fine run of luck this term,” said Blanche, as she -poised lightly on the top of the bar to which Dorothy was clinging. “Bob -sent me ten shillings yesterday as a present; he says he has won a pot -of money this week.” - -“How did he do it?” asked a girl standing near. - -“They get up sweepstakes among themselves, and they get a lot of fun out -of it too,” said Blanche. “Bob told me that half of the boys are nearly -cleaned out this week, and——” - -Just then Dorothy’s hold gave way, and she fell in a heap, hearing no -more, as Blanche fell too. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - - WHY TOM WAS HARD UP - -Dorothy had come to nearly hate that pretty evening frock of hers, -because it seemed to her the buying of it had been at the root of most -of her troubles since she had been at the Compton School. She argued to -herself that if she had not been on the spot when Rhoda stuffed the -jumper under her coat, most of the unpleasant things could not have -happened. - -Of choice Dorothy would not have worn the frock again that term, but -when one has only a single evening frock, that frock has to be worn -whenever the occasion demands it. The rules of the school were that each -girl should have one evening frock, and only one, so it was a case of -Hobson’s choice. Dorothy slipped the frock over her shoulders on the -evening when the boys were coming over, and felt as if she would much -rather go up to the study, and grind away at books until bedtime. - -Such a state of mind being a bit unnatural, she gave herself a shake, -which served the double purpose of settling her frock and her mind at -the same time; then she went downstairs, and cracked so many jokes with -the other girls, that they all wondered what had come to her, for she -was usually rather quiet, and not given to over-much in the way of -fun-making. - -When the boys came trooping in Bobby Felmore made straight for her—he -mostly did. Dorothy received him graciously enough, but there was a -sparkle in her eyes which should have shown him that she was out to set -things straight according to her own ideas. - -“How many dances are you going to let me have to-night?” he asked, -bending closer to her and looking downright sentimental. - -Dorothy laughed softly, and her eyes sparkled more than ever as she -murmured in a gentle tone, “This one, and never another, unless——” - -“Unless what?” he demanded blankly. - -“Blanche says you have been winning a lot of money in a sweepstake of -some sort in your school during the last week or so. Is it true?” she -asked. - -“You bet it is true,” he answered with a jolly laugh. “I just about -cleaned out the lot of them, and I’m in funds for the rest of the term, -with a nice little margin over to help me through the Christmas vac.” - -“I think you are a horrid, mean thing to take my money, that I had saved -by going without things,” she said, with such a burst of indignation, -that Bobby looked fairly knocked out by her energy. - -“There were none of the girls in this sweepstake—at least I did not -know of any,” he said hurriedly. - -“Perhaps not; and if there had been, I should not have been one of -them,” she answered coldly. “It would not have been so bad if I had put -down the money—I should have felt that at least I had spent it myself, -and I had chosen to risk losing it. As it is, I have to go without the -things I want, just to fill your pocket—and I don’t like it.” - -“I can’t see what you are driving at yet,” he said, and he looked -blanker than ever. - -“You are teaching Tom to gamble,” she said coldly, “and Tom is not -satisfied with risking his own money, but he must needs go into debt, -and then come to me to help him out. It would have been bad enough if he -had bought more than he could afford to pay for, but it is unthinkable -that he should go and stake more money than he has got. A stop must be -put to it somehow; I could not go home and look my father in the face, -knowing that I was standing by without raising a finger to stop Tom from -being ruined.” - -“Oh, he is all right,” said Bobby, who looked rather sheepish and ill at -ease. “All kids go in for flutters of this sort, and it does them no end -of good to singe their wings a bit. He’ll learn caution as he gets -older—they all do. Besides, if he had won, you would not have made any -stir.” - -“Perhaps if Tom had won I should not have known anything about it,” -Dorothy said a little bitterly. “It is not merely his own wings that Tom -has singed, it is my wings that have been burned. I am not going to sit -down under it. You are the cause of the trouble, for it is you who have -got up the sweepstake. Blanche said so, and she seemed no end proud of -you for doing it, poor dear little kid. But I am not proud of it. I -think you are horrid and low down to go corrupting the morals of boys -younger than yourself, teaching them to gamble, and then getting your -pockets filled with the money you have won from them. I don’t want -anything more to do with you, and in future I am going to cut you dead. -Good evening!” - -Dorothy slid away from Bobby as she spoke, and slipping round behind an -advancing couple, she was out of the room in a moment, and fleeing -upstairs for all she was worth. - -She had made her standpoint clear, but she felt scared at her own -audacity in doing it. She could not be sure that it had done any good, -and she was downright miserable about Tom. - -Of choice, she would have gone to the Head, and laid Tom’s case before -her. But such a thing was impossible. She could not submit to being -written down sneak and tell-tale, and all the rest of the unpleasant -titles that would be indulged in. - -Staying upstairs as long as she dared, trying to cool her burning -cheeks, Dorothy stood with her face pressed against the cold glass of -the landing window. Presently she heard a girl in the hall below asking -another where to find Dorothy Sedgewick; and so she came down, and -passing the big open doors of the lecture hall where they were dancing, -she went into the drawing-room, intending to find a quiet corner, and to -stay there for the rest of the evening if she could. - -Margaret found her presently, and dragged her off to dance again. She -saw Bobby Felmore coming towards her with a set purpose on his face, but -she whirled round, and cutting him dead, as she had said she would, she -seized upon Wilkins Minor, a small boy with big spectacles, and asked -him to dance with her. - -“That is putting the shoe on the wrong foot; you ought to wait until I -ask you,” said the boy with a swagger. - -“Well, I will wait, if you will make haste about the asking,” she -answered with a laugh; and then she said, “You dance uncommonly well, I -know, because I have watched you.” - -Wilkins Minor screwed up his nose in a grin of delight, and bowing low -he said, with a flourish of his hands, “Miss Sedgewick, may I have the -pleasure?” - -“You may,” said Dorothy with great fervour. Then she and the small boy -whirled round with an abandon which, if it was not complete enjoyment, -was a very good imitation of it. - -Tom was waiting for her when she was through with Wilkins Minor—Tom, -with a haggard look on his face, and such a devouring anxiety in his -eyes that her heart ached for him. - -“Have you got that money for me?” he asked. He grabbed her by the arm, -leading her out to the conservatory to find a quiet place where they -could talk without interruption. - -“What do you want it for?” she asked. “See, Tom, this is the third time -this term you have come to me to lend you money you never attempt to pay -back. You have as much as I have, and it does not seem fair.” - -“Oh, if you are going to cut up nasty about it, then I have no more to -say.” Tom flung away in a rage. But he did not go far; in a minute he -was back at her side again, pleading and pleading, his face white and -miserable. “Look here, old thing, you’ve always been a downright good -sport—the sort of a sister any fellow would be glad to have—and it -isn’t like you to fail me when I’m in such an awful hole. Just you lend -me that five shillings, and you shall have a couple of shillings for -interest when I pay it back.” - -“How can you be so horrid, Tom?” she cried in great distress. “You are -making it appear as if it is just merely the money that is worrying me. -I know that you have been gambling. You know very well that there is -nothing in the world that would upset Dad more if he found it out, while -Mums would pretty well break her heart about it.” - -“It wasn’t gambling; it was only a sweepstake that Bobby Felmore got up. -All the fellows are in it, and half of them are as badly bitten as I -am,” he explained gloomily. “Of course, if I had won it would have been -a different matter altogether. I should have been in funds for quite a -long while; I could have paid you back what I have had, and given you a -present as well. You wouldn’t have groused at me then.” - -“You mean that you would not have stood it if I had,” she corrected him. -Then she did a battle with herself. Right at the bottom of her heart she -knew that she ought not to let him have the money—that she ought to -make him suffer now, to save him suffering later on. But it was dreadful -to her to see Tom in such distress; moreover, she was telling herself -perhaps she could safeguard him for the future by making him promise -that he would never gamble again. - -“Well, are you going to let me have it?” he demanded, coming to stand -close beside her, and looking down at her with such devouring anxiety in -his eyes that she strangled back a little sob. - -“I will let you have it on one condition,” she said slowly. - -“Let’s have it, then, and I will promise any mortal thing you like to -ask me,” he burst out eagerly, his face sparkling with returning hope. - -“You have got to promise me that you will never gamble again,” she said -firmly. - -“Whew! Oh, come now, that is a bit too stiff, surely,” growled Tom, -falling back a step, while the gloom dropped over his face again. - -“I can’t help it. They are my terms; take them or leave them as you -like,” she said with decision. But she felt as if a cold hand had -gripped her heart, as she saw how he was trying to back out of giving -the promise for which she asked. - -“Do you mean to say that you won’t give me the money if I don’t -promise?” he asked, scowling at her in the blackest anger. - -“I do mean it,” she answered quietly, and she looked at him in the -kindest fashion. - -“Well, I must have the cash, even if I have to steal it,” he answered, -with an attempt at lightness that he plainly did not feel. “I promise I -won’t do it again; so hand over the oof, there’s a good soul, and let us -be quit of the miserable business.” - -“You really mean what you say—that you will not gamble again?” asked -Dorothy a little doubtfully, for his manner was too casual to inspire -confidence. - -“Of course I mean it. Didn’t I say so? What more do you want?” His tone -was irritable, and his words came out in jerks. “Do you want me to go -down on my knees, or to swear with my hand on the Bible, or any other -thing of the sort?” - -“Don’t be a goat, Tommy lad,” she said softly, and then she slipped two -half-crowns into his hand, and hoped that she had done right, yet -feeling all the time a miserable insecurity in her heart about his -keeping his promise to her. - -He made an excuse to slip away soon after he had got the money, and -Dorothy turned back into the drawing-room in search of diversion. She -quickly had it, too—only it was not the sort she wanted. - -Bobby Felmore was prowling round the almost empty room, studying the -portraits of the founders of the Compton Schools, as if he were keenly -interested in art; but he wheeled abruptly at sight of her, and came -towards her with eager steps. - -“I’ve been nosing round to find you. Where have you been hiding?” he -said, beaming on her. “Come along and have another dance before -chucking-out time. I thought I should have had a fit to see that young -bantam chick, Wilkins Minor, toting you round.” - -“I said I did not intend dancing with you again, and I meant it,” she -said coldly. - -“You said ‘unless,’ but you did not explain what that meant.” He thought -he had caught her, and stood smiling in a rather superior fashion. - -Dorothy coloured right up to the roots of her hair. The thing she had to -say was not easy, but because she was in dead earnest she screwed up her -courage to go through with it, and said in calm tones, “The ‘unless’ I -spoke about was, if you had seen fit to pay back what you have had from -the boys for that sweepstake you got up.” - -“A likely old story, that I should be goat enough to do that, after -winning the money!” He burst into a derisive laugh at the bare -suggestion of such a thing. - -Dorothy turned away. There was a little sinking at her heart. She really -liked Bobby, and they had been great pals since she had come to the -Compton School. If he could not do this thing that she had put before -him as her ultimatum, then there was no more to be said, and they must -just go their separate ways, for, having made up her mind as to what was -right, she was not going to give way. - -“You don’t mean that you are going to stick to it?” he said, catching at -her hand as she turned away. - -“Of course I mean it, and you know that I am right, too,” she said, -turning back so that she could stand confronting him. “You know as well -as I do that gambling in any shape or form is forbidden here, and yet -you not only do it yourself, but you teach smaller fellows than yourself -to gamble, and you fill your pocket by the process. You are about the -meanest sort of bounder I have seen for a long time, and I would rather -not have anything more to do with you.” - -“Well, you are the limit, to talk like that to me,” snarled Bobby, who -was as white as paper with rage, while his eyes bulged and shot out -little snappy lights, and Dorothy felt more than half scared at the -tempest she had raised. - -But she had right on her side. She knew it. And Bobby knew it too, but -it did not make him feel any nicer about it at the moment. - -Just then a crowd of girls came scurrying into the room. The foremost of -them was Rhoda, and she called out in her high-pitched, sarcastic voice, -“What are you two doing here? The other fellows are just saying good -night to the Head, and you will get beans, Bobby Felmore, if you are not -there at the tail end of the procession.” - -For once in her life Dorothy was downright grateful to Rhoda. Bobby had -to go then, and he went in a hurry. Dorothy could not comfort herself -that she had had the last word, since it was really Bobby who had spoken -last. But at least it was she who had dictated terms, and so she had -scored in that way. - -She did not encounter Bobby again until the next Sunday afternoon. It -was the last Sunday of the term, and only a few boys had come over to -see their sisters. It was a miserable sort of day, cold wind and -drizzling rain, so that nearly every one was in the drawing-room or the -conservatory, and only a few extra intrepid individuals had gone out -walking. - -Dorothy was looking for Tom. She could not find him anywhere, and was -making up her mind that he had not come over when she encountered Bobby -coming in at the open window of the drawing-room, just as she was going -out to the conservatory in a final search for Tom. - -Bobby jerked his head higher in the air at sight of her, and stood back -to let her pass, but he took no more notice of her than if she had been -an utter stranger. Dorothy’s pride flamed up, and with a cold little bow -she went past, walking along between the banks of flowering plants, and -not seeing any of them. It was horrid of Bobby to treat her like that. -Of course she had said that she would cut him dead—she had done it -too—but that was a vastly different matter from being cut by him. - -“Still, I had to speak, and I am glad that I did. I don’t want to have -anything to do with any one who will teach younger boys to break rules, -and then will get rich at their expense,” she whispered to herself in -stormy fashion. - -She went the length of the conservatory, and was just coming back, -deciding that for some unknown reason Tom had not come over, when -Charlotte Flint of the Fourth called out to her,— - -“Your brother Tom has gone out for a walk with Rhoda Fleming. I saw them -go; they slipped out of the lower gate, and went down the road as if -they were going on to the Promenade.” - -Dorothy groaned. She did not want to go out walking that afternoon; the -weather was of the sort to make indoors seem the nicer place. But if she -did not go, there would be trouble for Tom, and for Rhoda too. So she -scurried into the cloakroom, and putting on boots and mackintosh, let -herself out by the garden door, meaning to slip out of the lower gate as -they had done. - -Miss Groome came into the hall as she was going out by the garden door, -and she said, “Oh, Dorothy, do you know it is raining? Are you going for -a walk?” - -“I am going a little way with Tom, only he has started first,” she -answered with a nod and a smile; and then she scurried away, grateful -for the Sunday afternoon liberty, which made it possible for a girl to -take her own way within certain limits. - -It would not be pleasant walking with Rhoda and Tom, for Rhoda would -certainly say malicious things, and Tom was not feeling pleased with her -because of the promise she had exacted from him. But the only way to -save Rhoda from getting into trouble was for her to be there. - -There was to be a breaking-up festivity over at the boys’ school on -Tuesday night. If Rhoda was hauled up for breaking rules to-day, she -might easily be shut out from that pleasure. - -Rhoda and Tom were sheltering from the rain under the railway arch at -the bottom of the lane; it was too wet and windy to face the Promenade. -They walked back to the school with Dorothy, but neither of them -appeared the least bit grateful for her interference. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - - TOP OF THE SCHOOL - -The Christmas vacation went past in a whirl of merry-making. It was -delightful to be at home again, and to do all the accustomed things. -Dorothy hugged her happiness, and told herself she was just the most -fortunate girl in the world. - -Tom at home was a very different person from Tom at school, swanking -round with Rhoda Fleming. Dorothy felt she had her chum back for the -time, and she made the most of it. Her common sense told her that when -they were back at school once more he might easily prove as -disappointing as he had done in the past, so it was up to her to make -the most of him now that he was so satisfactory. - -One bit of news he told her three days after they got home which -interested her immensely. She was sitting by the dining-room fire in the -twilight making toast for her father’s tea, because he was out on a -long, cold round in the country. - -Tom was lolling in a big chair on the other side of the fire, when -suddenly he shoved his hands deeper in his pocket, and pulling out two -half-crowns, tossed them into her lap, saying with a chuckle, “There is -your last loan returned with many thanks. I did not have to pay up after -all.” - -“What do you mean?” she asked, as she picked up the money and looked at -it. - -Tom laughed again. “Some sort of a microbe bit Bobby Felmore, and bit -him uncommon sharp, too. He suddenly turned good, and paid back all the -money he had won from the sweepstake, treated us to a full-blown lecture -on the immorality of gambling, and announced that in the future he stood -for law and order, and all the rest of that sort of piffle. Of course we -cheered him to the echo, for we had got our money back, but we reckoned -him a mug for not having the sense to keep it when he had got it.” - -Dorothy felt the colour surge right up to the roots of her hair; she was -very thankful it was too dark for Tom to see how red her face was. Then, -because she had to say something, she asked, “What made him do that?” - -“He had got a bee in his bonnet, I should say,” answered Tom with an -amused laugh. “It was great to hear old Bobby lecturing us on what sort -of citizens we have got to be, and rot of that sort. Of course we took -it meekly enough—why not? We had got our money back, and could do a -flutter in some other direction if we wished. Oh, he is a mug, is Bobby. -He doesn’t think small beer of himself either. They are county people, -the Felmores. In fact, I rather wonder that they come to the Compton -Schools. But they say that old Felmore has great faith in boys and girls -being educated side by side, as it were, and allowed to mix and mingle -in recreation time. There would be more sense, to my way of thinking, if -the mixing and the mingling were not so messed up and harassed by silly -little rules.” - -“I think it is awfully decent of Bobby to give the money back,” said -Dorothy, and then she had to turn her attention to the toast, which was -getting black. - -“So do I, since I am able to pay you back, and get free of that stupid -promise you insisted on,” answered Tom, lazily stretching himself in the -deep chair. - -Dorothy picked up the two half-crowns and held them out to him. “You can -have the money, and I will hold your promise still. Oh, it will be cheap -at five shillings. Take it, Tommy lad, and go a bust with it; but I have -your promise that you will not gamble, and I am going to keep you up to -it.” - -“Not this time you are not,” he said, and there was a surly note in his -voice. “You worried the promise out of me when I was fair desperate. -Now, I have paid the money back, and I will not be bound.” - -Dorothy realized the uselessness of urging the point, and pocketed the -money. She tried to comfort herself that she would exact the same -promise if Tom appealed to her for help again, yet could not help a -feeling of disquiet because of the tone he had taken. - -It was wild weather when they went back to the Compton Schools. There -was deep snow on the ground that was fast being turned into deep slush, -and a fierce gale was hurtling through the naked woods. - -Dorothy went to work with a will. Indeed, she had contrived to do quite -a lot of work during the vacation, and it told immediately on her Form -position. Week by week she rose, and when the marks were put on the -board at the end of the third week of the term she was at the top of the -school. - -The girls gave her a great ovation that night; the row they made was -fairly stupendous. She was carried in a chair round and round the -lecture hall, until the chair, a shaky one, collapsed and let her down -on to the enthusiasts who were celebrating her victory, and they all -tumbled in a heap together. - -The next week she was top again; but now it was Rhoda Fleming who was -next below her, and Rhoda was putting her whole strength into the task -of beating Dorothy. - -The next week was a really fearful struggle. Dorothy worked with might -and main; but all along she had the feeling that she was going to be -beaten. And beaten she was, for when the marks were put up on the board -it was found that Rhoda was top. - -There was another ovation this week, but it lacked the whole-hearted -fervour of the one given to Dorothy. - -Rhoda Fleming was not very popular. Her tendency to swank made the girls -dislike her, and her fondness for snubbing girls whom she considered her -social inferiors was also against her. Still, there can mostly be found -some who will shout for a victor, and so she had her moment of triumph, -which she proceeded to round off in a manner that pleased herself. - -Meeting Dorothy at the turn of the stairs a little later in the evening, -she said, with a low laugh that had a ring of malice in it, “I have -scored, you see, Miss Prig, in spite of all your clever scheming, and I -shall score all along. I have twice your power, if only I choose to put -it out; and I am going to win the Lamb Bursary somehow, so don’t you -forget it.” - -Dorothy laughed—Rhoda’s tendency to brag always did amuse her. Then she -answered in a merry tone, “If the Mutton Bone depended on the striving -of this week, and next, and even the week after, I admit that there -would not seem much hope for the rest of us; but our chance lies in the -months of steady work that we have to face.” - -Rhoda tossed her head with an air of conscious power, and came a step -nearer; she even gripped Dorothy by the arm, and giving it a little -shake, said in a low tone, “I suppose you are telling yourself that I am -not fit to have the Mutton Bone; but you would have to prove everything -you might say against me, you know.” - -Dorothy blanched. She felt as if her trembling limbs would not support -her. But she rallied her courage, and looking Rhoda straight in the -face, she said calmly, “What makes you suggest that I have anything to -bring against you? Of your own choice you enrolled for the Bursary. You -declared in public that there was no reason why you should not enrol; so -the responsibility lies with you, and not with me.” - -It was Rhoda’s turn to pale now, and she went white to her very lips. -“What do you mean by that?” she gasped, and she shook Dorothy’s arm in a -sudden rage. - -“What are you two doing here?” inquired a Form-mistress, coming suddenly -upon them round the bend of the stairs. - -“We were just talking, Miss Ball,” replied Rhoda, with such thinly -veiled insolence that the Fourth Form mistress flushed with anger, and -spoke very sharply indeed. - -“Then you will at once leave off ‘just talking,’ as you call it, and get -to work. No wonder the younger girls are given to slackness when you of -the Sixth set them such an example of laziness. I am very much inclined -to report you both to your Form-mistress.” Miss Ball spoke with -heat—the insult of Rhoda’s manner rankled, and she was not disposed to -pass it by. - -“Pray report us if you wish, and then Miss Groome can do as she pleases -about giving us detention school; it would really be rather a lark.” -Rhoda laughed scornfully. “I am top of the whole school this week, -Dorothy was top last week and the week before; so you can see how -necessary it is for us to be reported for slackness.” - -“You are very rude.” Miss Ball was nearly spluttering with anger, but -Rhoda grew suddenly calm, and she bowed in a frigid fashion. - -“We thank you for your good opinion; pray report us if you see fit,” she -drawled, then went her way, leaving Dorothy to bear alone the full force -of the storm which she herself had raised. - -It was some tempest, too. Miss Ball was a very fiery little piece, and -she had often had to smart under the lash of Rhoda’s sarcasm. She was so -angry that she completely overlooked the fact of Dorothy’s entire -innocence of offence, and she raged on, saying all the hard things which -came into her mind, while Dorothy stood silent and embarrassed, longing -to escape, yet seeing no chance to get away. - -“Is anything wrong, Miss Ball?” It was the quiet voice of the Head that -spoke. She had come upon the scene without either Miss Ball or the -victim hearing her approach. - -“I have had to reprimand some of these girls of the Sixth for wasting -their own time, and teaching, by example, the younger girls to become -slackers also,” said Miss Ball, who looked so ashamed at being caught in -the act of bullying that Dorothy felt downright sorry for her. - -“I don’t think we can write Dorothy down a slacker,” said the Head -kindly, and there was such a twinkle of fun in her eyes that Dorothy -badly wanted to laugh. - -“Example stands for a tremendous lot,” said Miss Ball. “The Sixth are -very supercilious, even rude, in their manner to the Form-mistresses, -and it is not to be borne without a protest.” - -“Ah! that is a different matter,” said the Head, becoming suddenly brisk -and active. “Do I understand that you are bringing a charge against the -Sixth collectively, or as individuals?—Dorothy, you can go.—Miss Ball, -come into my room, and we will talk the matter out quietly and in -comfort.” - -Dorothy was only too thankful to escape. It was horrid of Rhoda to treat -a mistress in such a fashion. It was still more horrid of her to go away -leaving all the brunt of it to fall upon Dorothy, who was entirely -unoffending. - -Hazel and Margaret soothed her with their sympathy when she reached the -haven of the study, and even Jessie Wayne tore herself out of her books -to give her a kindly word. Then they all settled down to steady work -again, and a hush was on the room, until a Fifth Form girl came up with -a message that the Head wanted to see Dorothy at once. - -“As bad as that?” cried Hazel in consternation. “Oh, Dorothy, I am sorry -for you!” - -“I expect I shall survive,” answered Dorothy with a rather rueful smile, -and then she went downstairs to the private room of the Head. - -“Well, Dorothy, what have you to say about this storm in a teacup?” -asked the Head, motioning Dorothy to a low seat by the fire, while she -herself remained sitting at her writing table. A stately and gracious -woman, she was, with such a light of kindness and sympathy in her eyes -that every girl who came to her felt assured of justice and considered -care. - -“I think it was rather a storm in a teacup,” Dorothy answered, smiling -in her turn, yet on the defensive, for she did not know of how much she -had been accused by Miss Ball. - -“What were you doing on the stairs just then?” asked the Head; and -looking at Dorothy, she was secretly amused at the thought of -catechising a girl of the Sixth in this fashion. - -“I was going up to the study,” said Dorothy. “I met Rhoda, who was -coming down from her study; we stopped to speak about her having ousted -me from the top. We were still talking when Miss Ball came, and—and she -said we were slackers, and setting a bad example to the rest of the -girls.” - -“That much I have already gathered,” said the Head. “But I am not quite -clear as to what came after. What had you said that caused such a storm -of angry words from Miss Ball?” - -Dorothy smiled. She really could not help it—she had been so completely -the scapegoat for Rhoda. - -“I had said nothing,” she answered slowly. Then seeing that the Head -still waited, she hesitated a moment, then went on. “I think Miss Ball -was just pouring out her anger upon me because Rhoda had slipped away, -and only I was left.” - -“Rhoda was rude to Miss Ball?” asked the Head. - -“I think she was more offensive in manner than in actual words,” said -Dorothy, very anxious to be fair to Rhoda, just because of the secret -repulsion in her heart, which had to be fought and to be kept down out -of sight. - -“I thought perhaps that was what it was all about.” The Head heaved a -little sigh of botherment—so it seemed to Dorothy—and then she said in -her sweetly gracious manner, “Thank you for helping me out. I knew I -should get the absolute truth from you.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - - AT HIGH TIDE - -Sowergate felt the full force of a south-westerly gale; sometimes heavy -seas would be washing right over the Promenade, flooding the road -beyond, and rendering it impassable. - -It was great fun to go walking by the sea at such times. There was the -excitement of dodging the great waves as they broke over the broad -sea-wall, and there was the sense of adventure in braving the perils of -the road, which at such times was apt to be strewn with wreckage of all -sorts. - -In the early part of February the weather was so stormy that for three -days the girls could not get out, their only exercise being the work in -the gymnasium. Of course this meant fresh air of a sort, since they had -the whole range of the landward windows open, and the breeze was enough -to turn a good-sized windmill. But it was not out of doors by any means, -and it was out of doors for which every one was pining. - -On the fourth day the wind was still blowing big guns—indeed, it was -blowing more than it had been; but as it did not rain, the whole school -turned out to struggle along the Promenade. Miss Mordaunt, the -games-mistress, was for going up the hill to the church, and taking a -turn through the more sheltered lanes beyond. But the mud was deep in -that direction; moreover, every girl of them all was longing to see the -great waves at play: and, provided they kept a sharp look-out in passing -Sowergate Point, it was not likely they would get a drenching. So the -crocodile turned down the hill outside the school gates, and took its -way along the Promenade in the direction of Ilkestone. - -There were very few people abroad this morning; the bus traffic had been -diverted during the heavy weather, and sent round by way of the camp. -The crocodile had the road to themselves, and great fun they found it. - -It was quite impossible to walk on the Promenade, for it was continually -being swept by heavy seas. Even on the path at the far side of the road -they had to dodge the great wash of water from breaking waves. Then the -crocodile broke into little scurrying groups of girls, there were -shrieks and bubbling laughter, and every one declared it was lovely fun. - -Miss Mordaunt was in front with the younger ones; it was very necessary -that a mistress should be there to pick the road, to hold them back when -a stream of water threatened them, and to choose when to make a rush to -avoid an incoming wave. Miss Groome was at the other end of the -crocodile, and those of the Sixth out walking that morning were with -her. - -They had reached as far as the point where the flight of steps go up to -the Military Hospital, when a taxi came along the road at a great rate, -mounting the path here and there to avoid the holes in the road which -had been washed out by the battering of the sea-water. - -Miss Mordaunt promptly herded the front half of the crocodile on to the -space which in normal times was a pleasant strip of garden ground. The -other half fell back in a confused group round Miss Groome, while the -taxi came on at a rate which made it look as if the driver were drunk or -demented. - -The group squeezed themselves flat against the railings—time to run -away there was not. Indeed, to stand still seemed the safest way, as the -driver would at least have a better chance of avoiding them. - -Suddenly they saw that there was purpose in his haste. A tremendous wave -was racing inshore, and he, poor puny human, was trying with all the -power of the machinery under his control to run away from it. - -He might as well have tried to run away from the wind. With a swirling -rush the big wave struck the sea-wall, mounted in a towering column of -spray, and dashing on to the Promenade, struck one of the iron seats, -wrenched it from its fastenings, and hurled it across the road right on -to the bonnet of the taxi at the moment when it was passing the huddled -group of girls. - -The wind screen was smashed, splinters of glass flying in all -directions. The driver hung on to his wheel in spite of the deluge of -broken glass; he put on the brakes. But before he could bring the car to -a stand the door was wrenched open, and a stout woman, shrieking -shrilly, had hurled herself from the car, falling in a heap among the -startled girls. - -Dorothy was the first one to sense what was happening, and being quick -to act, had spread her arms, and so broken the fall of the screaming -woman. The force of the impact bowled her over; but as she fell against -the thickly-clustered group of girls, no great harm was done. The wind -was fairly knocked out of her, for the woman was bulky in size, and in -such a fearful state of agitation, too, that it was as if she had been -overwhelmed by an avalanche. - -“Oh, oh, oh! What a truly awful experience, my dear! I should have been -killed outright if it had not been for you!” cried the poor lady; and -then, slipping her arms about Dorothy’s neck, she half-strangled her in -a frantic sort of embrace. - -“It was surely a great risk for you to take, to jump in such a fashion,” -said Miss Groome severely. As she spoke she came close to the frightened -woman, who was still clinging fast to Dorothy. - -“I had to jump—I was simply rained upon with splinters of broken glass. -See how I am bleeding,” said the unfortunate one, whose face was cut in -several places with broken glass. She was elderly, she was clad in -expensive furs, and was unmistakably a lady. - -The taxi-driver reached them at this moment; his face was also cut and -bleeding. He reported that his car was so badly damaged that he would -not be able to continue his journey. - -“Oh, I could not have gone any farther, even if the car had escaped -injury. I am almost too frightened to live,” moaned the poor lady, who -was trembling and hysterical. - -The taxi-driver treated her with great deference and respect. Seeing how -shaken she was, he appealed to Miss Groome to know what was the best -thing to be done for the comfort of his hurt and badly frightened fare. - -“Here is the police station; she could rest here while you find another -car to take her back to Ilkeston,” said Miss Groome. - -“That will do very nicely, and thank you for being so kind,” said the -lady, who was still clinging fast to Dorothy. “I wonder if you would be -so kind as to permit this dear girl, who saved me from falling, to go -with me to my hotel? I am staying at the Grand, in Ilkestone. The car -that takes me there could bring her back. I feel too shaken to go -alone.” - -“Dorothy could go, of course,” said Miss Groome. But her tone was -anxious; she did not like allowing even a grown-up girl of the Sixth to -go off with a complete stranger. “Would you not rather have some one a -little older to take care of you? Miss Mordaunt would go with you, or I -can hand the girls over to her, and go with you myself.” - -“No, no, I would not permit such a thing!” exclaimed the lady, waving -away the suggestion with great energy and determination. “You have -duties to perform; your absence even for a couple of hours might mean -serious dislocation of machinery. But this dear girl—Dorothy, did you -call her?” - -“My name is Dorothy Sedgewick,” said Dorothy, her voice having a muffled -sound by reason of one arm of the lady being still round her neck. - -“Are you a daughter of Dr. Randolph Sedgewick of Farley in -Buckinghamshire?” demanded the lady in great excitement, giving Dorothy -a vigorous shake. - -“Yes—that is my father.” Dorothy smiled happily into the face that was -so near to her own—it was so pleasant to encounter some one who knew -her father. - -“My dear, your father is a very old friend of mine. I am Mrs. Peter -Wilson, of Fleetwood Park, near Sevenoaks. It is quite possible you may -not have heard him speak of me by my married name; but you have surely -heard him talk of Rosie O’Flynn?” - -“That wild girl Rosie O’Flynn, is that the one you mean?” asked Dorothy, -smiling broadly at the recollection of some of the stories her father -had told of the madcap doings of the aforesaid Rosie. - -“Yes, yes; but I have altered a good deal since those days,” said Mrs. -Wilson with a gasping sigh. “I should have welcomed an experience of -this sort then, but now it has shaken me up very badly indeed.” - -“May I go with Mrs. Wilson to the Grand?” asked Dorothy, turning to Miss -Groome with entreaty in her eyes. What a wonderful sort of adventure -this was, that she should have had her father’s old friend flung -straight into her arms! - -“Yes, certainly you may go,” said Miss Groome, who was decidedly -relieved at hearing of the social status of the lady. “But, Dorothy, you -must come back in the car that takes Mrs. Wilson to the Grand, for I am -sure you must be wet. It will be very unsafe for you to be long without -changing. Ah! here comes the driver, and he has another car coming along -after him; that is fortunate, because Mrs. Wilson will not have to -wait.” - -“If I have to send Dorothy straight back to-day, may I have the pleasure -of her company to tea to-morrow afternoon at four o’clock?” asked Mrs. -Wilson, holding out her hand with such friendliness that Miss Groome at -once gave consent. - -The driver had secured a taxi from the Crown Inn at Sowergate, and the -driver of the fresh car took his way with infinite care along the -wreckage-strewn road to Ilkestone. - -Mrs. Wilson was fearfully nervous. She kept crying out; she would have -jumped out more than once during the journey if Dorothy had not held her -down by sheer force of arm, beseeching her to be calm, and promising -that no harm should come to her. - -“Oh, I know that I am behaving like a silly baby; but, my dear, I have -no nerve left,” said the poor lady, who was almost hysterical with -agitation. “I am not very well—I ought to be in peace and quiet at -Fleetwood—but I had to come on rather unpleasant business about a -nephew of mine who is at the Gunnery School at Hayle. I suppose I shall -have to go back to Sevenoaks with the business undone, unless I can do -it from Ilkestone, for certainly I cannot make another journey along -that wreckage-strewn road beyond Sowergate. Oh! it was awful.” - -“It was rather grand and terrible; I have never seen anything like it -before,” replied Dorothy, who had been really thrilled by the sight of -the tremendous seas. - -“I can do without such sights; I would rather have things on a more -peaceful scale,” sighed Mrs. Wilson, whose face was mottled with little -purply patches from the shock of the accident. - -Dorothy helped her out of the car when they reached the Grand. She went -up in the lift to the suite of rooms on the first floor which Mrs. -Wilson occupied. She handed the poor fluttered lady into the care of the -capable maid, and then came back to Sowergate in the car. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - A STARTLING REVELATION - -Once—that was in her first term—Dorothy had gone with Hazel and -Margaret to tea with Margaret’s mother at Ilkestone; but with that -exception she had had no invitations out since she had been at the -Compton School, so that it was really a great pleasure to be asked to -take tea with Mrs. Wilson at the Grand next day. - -She reached the hotel punctually at four o’clock. She was shot up in the -lift, and was met at the door of Mrs. Wilson’s suite by the same very -capable maid whom she had seen the day before. - -She told Dorothy that Mrs. Wilson was still very unnerved and shaken -from the effects of the previous day’s happenings. - -“The doctor says she must not be allowed to talk very much about it, if -you please, miss; so if you could get her interested in anything else it -would be a very good thing.” The maid spoke rather anxiously, and she -seemed so concerned, that Dorothy cheerfully undertook to keep the -lady’s mind as far away from Sowergate as possible. - -Mrs. Wilson was lying back in a deep chair, and she looked pale and ill. -She roused herself to welcome Dorothy, and began to talk of the previous -day’s happenings. - -“Do you think I am like my father?” Dorothy asked, as soon as she could -get Mrs. Wilson’s thoughts a little away from the forbidden subject. - -“A little, but the likeness is more of manner than of feature. I suppose -you take after your mother, for you are very nice looking, which your -father never was.” Mrs. Wilson surveyed Dorothy with a critical air, -seeming to be well pleased with her scrutiny. - -Dorothy flushed an uncomfortable red; it looked as if she had been -asking for compliments, whereas nothing had been farther from her -thoughts. - -“Tell me about my father, please,” she said hurriedly, intent on keeping -the talk well away from recent happenings, yet anxious to avoid any -further reference to her own looks. - -“Oh, he was a wild one in those days!” Mrs. Wilson gurgled into sudden -laughter at her remembrances. “Your father, his cousin Arthur Sedgewick, -with Fred and Francis Bagnall, were about the most rackety set of young -men it would be possible to find anywhere, I should think. By the way, -where is Arthur Sedgewick now?” - -Dorothy looked blank. “I do not think I have ever heard of him,” she -answered slowly. - -“Ah! then I expect he died many years ago, most likely before you were -born. A wild one was Arthur Sedgewick. But your father ran him close, -and the two Bagnalls were not far behind. I was rather in love with Fred -Bagnall at the time, while he fairly adored the ground I walked upon. Ah -me! I don’t think the girls of the present day get the whole-hearted -devotion from their swains that used to fall to our lot. We should have -made a match of it, I dare say, if I had not gone to Dublin for a winter -and met Peter Wilson there. Oh, these little ifs, what a difference they -make to our lives!” - -Mrs. Wilson was interrupted at the moment by the entrance of the maid, -who started to lay the table for tea. - -“You need not stop to wait on us, Truscot,” said Mrs. Wilson, who -already looked brighter and better from having some one to talk to. -“Miss Sedgewick will pour out the tea for me, and you can get a little -walk; you have had no chance of fresh air to-day.” - -Truscot departed well pleased, and Mrs. Wilson sank back in her chair -absorbed in those recollections of the past, which had the power to make -her laugh still. - -“Where did father live when you knew him?” asked Dorothy. “Had he -settled in Buckinghamshire then?” - -“Oh no,” said Mrs. Wilson. “He was on the staff at Guy’s Hospital when I -first knew him, and afterwards he was in Hull. That was where I became -acquainted with the Bagnalls and with Arthur Sedgewick. Oh, the larks we -used to have, and the mischief those young men got into!” Mrs. Wilson’s -laughter broke out again at the recollection, but Dorothy looked a -little bit disturbed. This was quite a new light on her quiet, -hard-working father, and she was not at all sure that she liked it. - -“It is so strange to hear of Dad playing pranks,” she said, and a little -chill crept over her. To her Dr. Sedgewick stood as an embodiment of -steadfastness and power—the one man in the world who could do no -wrong—the man who could always be depended on for right judgment and -uprightness of conduct. - -Mrs. Wilson’s laughter cackled out again, and suddenly it grew -distasteful to Dorothy, She wished she had not come; but it was rather -late in the day for wishing that now. The lady went on talking. “I -remember the time when we had all been to a dance at Horsden Priory. -Mrs. Bagnall was chaperoning me—we had chaperones in those days, but we -managed to dodge them sometimes. I did it that night, and we came home -in a fly by ourselves. The Bagnalls and I were riding inside; your -father and his cousin were on the box. We painted the town red that -night, for we raced the Cordells and the Clarksons. We ran into the -police wagonette, and the upshot of it all was that your father had to -go to prison for fourteen days; for, besides the police wagonette being -smashed up, an old woman was knocked down and hurt. There was a fine -commotion at the time, but it was hushed up, for the Bagnalls were -county people, and my father was furious because I was mixed up in the -business.” - -“Do you really mean that my father went to prison?” asked Dorothy in a -strained voice. - -“Yes, my dear, he did; the others deserved to go—but, as I said before, -the business was hushed up as much as possible. Oh, but they were great -times! It was living then, but now I merely exist.” - -Dorothy heard the lady prosing on, but she did not take in the sense of -what was being said. She was facing that ugly, stark fact of her father -having been in prison, and she was trying to measure what it meant to -her personally. - -There was a picture before the eyes of her mind of the lecture hall at -the Compton School: she saw the Head sitting with several gentlemen on -the dais; she heard again the voice of one of the gentlemen reading the -conditions for the enrolment of candidates for the Lamb Bursary, and she -heard as if it were the actual voice speaking in her ear, “Whose parents -have not been in prison—” She had smiled to herself at the time, -thinking what a queer thing it was to mention in reference to the highly -respectable crowd of girls gathered in the lecture hall. - -If she had only known of this escapade of her father’s in the past she -would not have dared to enrol. She did not know, and so she had become a -candidate with full belief in her own respectability. But now that she -knew—— - -Mrs. Wilson prosed on. She was talking now of that winter she spent in -Dublin, when she met Peter Wilson, to whom she was married later on. - -Dorothy was conscious of answering yes, and no, at what seemed like -proper intervals. She seemed to be sitting there through long months, -and years, and she began to wonder whether she would be grey and bent -with age by the time the visit was over. Then suddenly there was a soft -knock at the door. Truscot entered, and said that a lady had come for -Miss Sedgewick. - -This was Miss Mordaunt, and Dorothy came down in the lift to join her in -the entrance hall. - -“Why, Dorothy, what is the matter with you?” asked the games-mistress in -consternation. “Do you feel faint?” - -“I think the room was hot,” murmured Dorothy in explanation, and then -she turned blindly in the direction of the great entrance door, longing -to feel the sweeping lift of the strong wind from the sea. - -Without a word Miss Mordaunt took her by the arm, and led her out -through the vestibule to the open porch, standing with her there to give -her time to recover a little. - -How good the wind was! There was a dash of salt spray in it, too, which -was wonderfully reviving. - -Out in the stormy west there was a rift of colour yet, where the clouds -had been torn asunder, while a star winked cheerfully out from a patch -of sky that was clear of cloud. - -It was all very pleasant and very normal, and Dorothy had the sensation -of just waking up from a particularly hideous nightmare. - -The trouble was that the very worst part of the nightmare was with her -still. She could not wake up from that, because it was a reality and no -dream. - -“Feel better, do you?” asked Miss Mordaunt kindly, as she noted a drift -of colour coming back to the pale face of Dorothy. - -“Oh yes, I am better now, thank you. I shall be quite all right after we -have walked for a little way in the air. What a nice night it is.” - -“I was going to take a bus, but we will walk if you would like it -better,” said Miss Mordaunt. - -“I should like to walk; it is so cool and fresh out here.” Dorothy was -drawing long breaths and revelling in the strong sweep of the wind. - -“It is funny how these elderly ladies will have their rooms so fearfully -overheated,” remarked Miss Mordaunt; and then she asked a string of -questions about Dorothy’s visit, the condition of Mrs. Wilson after her -shock, and that sort of thing, to all of which Dorothy returned -mechanical answers. - -Her mind was in a whirl still. She felt quite unable to think clearly, -and her outstanding emotion was intense dislike to Mrs. Wilson, whose -bread and butter she had so recently been eating. - -“Bah, it is just horrid!” she exclaimed aloud. - -“Is it the mud you don’t like, or are you tired of walking?” asked Miss -Mordaunt a little anxiously. - -“I don’t think there is any mud—none to matter, at least—and I simply -love walking at night,” replied Dorothy. “I was thinking of Mrs. Wilson, -and of the perfumes in which she is soaked, and the joss sticks that -were burning in the room most of the time that I was there. Oh! the air -was thick.” - -“Of course you would feel bad in such an atmosphere. Forget about it -now. Think of clean and wholesome things, of wide spaces swept by wind -and drenched with rain. Mind is a mighty force, you know, and the person -who thinks of clean things feels clean, inside and out.” - -“What a nice idea!” cried Dorothy, and then suddenly her hope roused -again and began to assert itself. For to-night, at least, she would -forget that ugly thing she had heard. She would fix her mind on the path -she meant to climb, and climb she would, in spite of everything. - -For the rest of the walk back to Sowergate, and then up the hill to the -Compton School, she was merry and bright as of old, and Miss Mordaunt -was thankful indeed for the restoring power of that walk in the fresh -air. - -Rhoda Fleming was crossing the hall when they went in, and she turned -upon Dorothy with a ready gibe. “It is fine to be you, going out to take -tea with county folks, and swanking round generally. The one -compensation we stay-at-homes have is that we can get on with our work, -while you are doing the social butterfly.” - -“Even that compensation will seem rather thin if I can work twice as -fast, just because I have been out,” answered Dorothy, smiling back at -Rhoda with such radiant good humour that Rhoda was impressed in spite of -herself. - -“Going out seems to have bucked you up, and I suppose you have had the -time of your life,” she said grudgingly. “For my own part, I felt -thankful yesterday because the good lady chose to hang round your neck -instead of mine, but going to tea with her at the Grand, Ilkestone, puts -a different aspect on the affair. I begin to wish she had clawed me -instead of you after all.” - -“History would have been written differently if she had.” Dorothy’s -laugh rippled out as she spoke, but as she went upstairs to the study -she wondered what would have happened if Mrs. Wilson had told Rhoda of -that wild doing of her father in those days of long ago. Would Rhoda -have held the knowledge over her as a whip of knotted cords, or would -she have blurted the unpleasant story out to the whole school without -loss of time? - -What a clamour there would have been! Dorothy shivered as in fancy she -heard the wild tale going the round of the school, of how Dr. Sedgewick -had been in prison for a fortnight in his reckless youth. - -The secret was her own so far. She could hide it until she had time to -sort things out in her mind. Meanwhile she would work. Ah, how she would -work! She must win that Lamb Bursary. She must! Yet would she dare to -keep it? - -Would she dare? - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - - SETTING THE PACE - -Hazel Dring, one of the most good-natured of girls, was beginning to -grumble. Margaret Prime was beginning to despair. Both of them were so -much below Dorothy and Rhoda in the matter of marks that their chances -of winning the Mutton Bone grew every week more shadowy. - -Sometimes it was Rhoda who was top of the school, more often it was -Dorothy. Professor Plimsoll talked with perfect rapture in his tone of -the pleasure it was to lecture for the Compton Girls’ School, now that -there were such magnificent workers there. Miss Groome was having the -time of her life, and even the Head declared that the strenuous work of -the Sixth must make its mark on the whole of the school. - -The Head was quite unusually sympathetic in her nature. That is to say, -she was more than ordinarily swift to sense something hidden. It was not -according to nature, as she knew schoolgirl nature, for two girls to -work at the pressure displayed by Dorothy and Rhoda. She knew Rhoda to -be lazy by nature, and although ambitious, by no means the sort of girl -to keep up this fierce struggle week after week. Dorothy was a worker by -nature, but the almost desperate earnestness that she displayed was so -much out of the common that the Head was not satisfied all was right -with her. - -The days were hard for Dorothy just then. She lived in a constant strain -of expecting to hear from some one that the story told by Mrs. Wilson -had become public property. It was just the sort of gossip a talkative -person would enjoy spreading. Dorothy writhed, as in fancy she heard her -father’s name bandied from mouth to mouth, and the scathing comment that -would result. She even expected to hear her position as candidate for -the Lamb Bursary challenged. - -She was not at all clear in her own mind about it being right for her to -remain a candidate. She had enrolled in ignorance of there being any -impediment, she was entirely innocent of wrong in the matter, and as it -was by the purest accident she had learned the true facts of the case, -it seemed to her that there was no need for her to withdraw, or to make -any declaration about the matter. - -Still, she was not at rest. The way in which she eased her conscience on -the matter savoured a good deal of drugs and soothing powders. When she -felt most uneasy, then she just worked the harder, and so drowned care -in work. - -The term wore on. February went out in fierce cold, and March came in -with tempests one day, and summer sunshine the next. Dorothy went down -then with a sharp attack of flu, and for a week was shut up in the san -fretting and fuming over her inability to work, and was only consoled by -discovering that Rhoda had sprained her right wrist rather badly at gym -work, and was unable to do anything. - -Hazel mounted to the top of the school in marks that week, and the week -following Margaret took her down. The two declared it was just like old -times back again. But, strangely enough, they were not so elated by -their victory as they might have been. Dorothy had become in a very real -sense their chum, and her disaster could not fail to be something of a -trouble to them. - -Rhoda was unpopular because of her unpleasant trick of snubbing. Dorothy -had a way of making friends; she was sympathetic and kind, which counted -for a good deal, and really outweighed Rhoda’s splashes of generosity in -the matter of treating special friends to chocolates, macaroons, and -that sort of thing. - -Dorothy came back to work looking very much of a wreck, but with -undiminished courage for the fray. She could not recapture her position -at first. Hazel was top most weeks, or was edged down by Margaret. Rhoda -was finding her sprained wrist a severe nuisance. Being her right wrist, -she could not write, and having to trust so largely to her memory with -regard to lectures and that sort of thing, found herself handicapped at -every turn. - -There was one thing in Rhoda’s limitation that was a great comfort to -Dorothy, and that was the inability of Rhoda to write to Tom. It had -come to Dorothy’s knowledge, that although Bobby Felmore was putting -down sweepstakes among the boys with a vigorous hand, gambling in some -form or other was still going on, and Tom was mixed up in it. - -Rhoda openly boasted in the Form-room of having helped some friends of -hers to win a considerable sum of money by laying odds on Jewel, Mr. -Mitre’s horse that ran at Wrothamhanger. Two days later, when Tom came -over to see Dorothy, he was more jubilant than she had ever seen him, -and he offered to pay back the money he had borrowed from her last term. - -“How did you manage to save it?” she asked, with a sudden doubt of his -inability to deny himself enough to have saved so much in such a short -time. - -“I did not save it, I made it,” he answered easily. “The great thing -with money is not to hoard it, but to use it.” - -“How could you use it, just a little money like that, to make money -again?” she asked in a troubled tone. - -He laughed, but refused to explain. “Oh, there are ways of doing things -that girls—at least some girls—don’t understand,” he said, and refused -to say anything more about it. - -Dorothy handed the money back. “I think I had better not take it,” she -said with brisk decision. “If you had made it honourably you would be -willing to say how it had been done. If it is not clean money, I would -rather not have anything to do with it, thank you.” - -“Very well, go without it, then—only don’t taunt me another day with -not having been willing to pay my debts,” growled Tom, pocketing the -money so eagerly that it looked as if he thought she might change her -mind, and want it back again. - -“Tom, how did you make that money?” she asked. She was thinking of the -boast Rhoda had made of having helped a friend to land a decent little -sum of money. - -Tom laughed. He seemed very much amused by her question. He would not -tell her how it had been done, but poked fun at her for saying she would -not take it because she was afraid it had not been made in an honourable -fashion. - -“It is great to hear a girl prating about honour, when every one knows -girls have no sense at all of honour in an ordinary way.” He spread -himself out and looked so killingly superior when he said it, that she -felt as if she would like to slap him for making himself appear so -ridiculous. - -“I shall know better how to respect your sense of honour when I have -heard how you made that money,” she said quietly. - -Tom flew all to pieces then, and abused her roundly, as brothers will, -for being a smug sort of a prig. But he would not tell her anything more -about it, and he went away, leaving Dorothy to meditate rather sadly on -the way in which Tom had changed of late. - -There was another matter for thought in what he had said. He had gibed -at her again about a girl’s sense of honour being inferior to that of a -man, and she, with that rankling, secret knowledge of what had happened -to her father, began again to worry, and to wonder what really she ought -to do. - -“Perhaps I shall not win the Mutton Bone, and then it will not matter,” -she murmured to herself. Yet in her heart she knew very well that she -was going to strive with all her might to win it. - -The next day Miss Groome called her aside, and put the local newspaper -into her hand. “Read that, Dorothy. I am so glad you had a chance to be -kind to the poor lady that day on the front.” - -The paragraph to which Miss Groome pointed was an announcement of the -death of Mrs. Peter Wilson, of Fleetwood Park, Sevenoaks. - -“Dead, is she?” gasped Dorothy, her face white and a great awe in her -heart. Then suddenly it flashed into her mind that if Mrs. Wilson were -dead, there would be no danger of that disastrous fact leaking out of -her father having been in prison. - -How good it was to be able to draw her breath freely again! Dorothy went -upstairs to the study feeling as if she trod on air. - -No one could know how she had dreaded that Mrs. Wilson would gossip -about that ugly fact of the past to some one who would bring the story -to the school, and make it public there. - -Now, now, the danger was past! That garrulous tongue was stilled, and -the past might lie buried for always. How good it was! - -Dorothy drew long breaths of satisfaction as she sat down in her -accustomed chair. How good life was! How glorious it was to work, and to -achieve! Perhaps she would win the Lamb Bursary. Then she would go to -the university. She would have her chance of making a mark in the world, -and—and—— - -By a sudden movement of her arm one of the books piled round her on the -table was sent spinning to the floor. It opened as it fell, and as she -stooped to reach it she read on the opened page— - - “That which seemeth to die may only be lying dormant, waiting - until the set time shall come, when it shall awake and arise, - ready to slay, or to ennoble, according as it shall be written - in the Book of Fate.” - -“Humph! There does not seem to be much comfort in that!” muttered -Dorothy under her breath. - -“What is the dear child prattling about, and what gem of knowledge has -it lighted on from that old book, which might well have been used to -light a fire, say, a generation ago?” Hazel leaned over from her corner -of the table to look curiously at the shabby old volume Dorothy was -holding in her hands. - -“Oh, it is not so very old,” said Dorothy, with a laugh. “To have -consigned it to the fire a generation ago would have been to burn it -before it had a being. It is only a dictionary of quotations, and the -one the book opened at seemed to give the lie direct to the thing I was -thinking about. That is why I made noises with my nose and my mouth, -disturbing the studious repose of this chamber of learning.” - -“Chamber of learning be blowed! What is the quote?” and Hazel stretched -herself in a languid fashion as she held out her hand for the book. - -She read the quotation aloud, then in keener interest demanded, “What do -you make of it anyhow? ‘To slay, or to ennoble, according as it shall be -written in the Book of Fate’—the two ideas seem to knock each other -over like the figures in a Punch and Judy show.” - -“I don’t know what it means,” said Dorothy slowly. “It gave me the -sensation of there being a dog waiting round the corner somewhere, to -jump out and bite me.” - -“Don’t be a silly sheep, Dorothy; the meaning is plain enough,” put in -Margaret, who had left her seat, and was leaning over Hazel, staring -down at the quotation. “What it just means is this: we have in us -wonderful powers of free will, and the ability to make our own fate. The -thing that lies dormant, but not dead, is the influence upon us of the -things we come up against in life. If we take them one way they will -slay us—that is, let us down mentally, and morally, and every way; if -we take them the other way—perhaps the very much harder way—they will -lift us up and make us noble.” - -“Well done, old girl; you will be a senior wrangler yet, even if Dorothy -or Rhoda snatch the Mutton Bone from your trembling jaws,” cried Hazel, -giving Margaret a resounding whack on the back, while Jessie Wayne -clapped her hands in applause, and only Dorothy was silent. - -The old quotation had hit her hard. Margaret’s explanation of it hit her -harder still. She was thinking of the thing which had seemed to fade out -of life with the death of Mrs. Wilson, and she was wondering what its -effect would be on her, and what was the writing for her in the book of -Fate. - -Margaret turned to her books again; but before she plunged into them she -said slowly, “I think we are our own Fate—that is, we have the power to -be our own Fate.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - - THAT DAY AT HOME - -The term ended with Dorothy at the top of the school, and she went home -feeling that the Lamb Bursary might be well within her grasp, if only -she could keep up her present rate of work. The girl who was running her -hardest was Rhoda. Hazel and Margaret, very close together in their -weekly position, were too far behind to be a serious menace. - -The first thing which struck Dorothy when she reached home was the -careworn look of her father. Dr. Sedgewick had not been very well; some -days it was all he could do to keep about, doing the work of his large -practice. - -“Mother, why doesn’t father have an assistant to tide him over while he -is so unfit?” asked Dorothy. - -She had been home three days, and on this particular morning she was -helping her mother in sorting and repairing house-linen, really a great -treat after the continuous grind of term. - -“Times are bad, and he does not feel that he can afford the luxury of an -assistant,” said Mrs. Sedgewick with a sigh. “Dr. Bowles is very good at -helping him out: he has taken night work for your father several times, -which is very good of him. I think that professional men are really very -good to each other.” - -“Dr. Bowles ought to be good to father; think how father worked for him -when he had rheumatic fever—so it is only paying back.” Dorothy spoke -with spirit, then asked, with considerable anxiety in her tone, “Is it -the expense of my year at the Compton School that is making it so hard -for father just now?” - -Mrs. Sedgewick hesitated. Of choice she would have kept all knowledge of -struggle from the children, so that they might be care free while they -were young. But Dorothy had a way of getting at the bottom of -things—and perhaps, after all, it was as well that she should -appreciate the sacrifice that was being made for her. “We had to go -rather carefully this year on your account, of course. Tom is an -expense, too, for although he has a scholarship there are a lot of odds -and ends to pay for him that take money. But we shall win through all -right. And if only you are able to get the Lamb Bursary you will be set -up for life—you may even be able to help with the twins when their turn -for going away comes.” - -“Mother, if I did not go in for the Lamb Bursary, I could take a post as -junior mistress when I leave school; then I should be getting a salary -directly.” Dorothy spoke eagerly; she was suddenly seeing a way out, in -her position with regard to the Mutton Bone—a most satisfactory way -out, so she said to herself, as she thought of the horrible story of her -father’s past that had been told to her by Mrs. Wilson. - -A look of alarm came into the face of Mrs. Sedgewick, and she broke into -eager protest. “Don’t think of such a thing, Dorothy. A mistress without -a degree can never rise above very third-rate work. Your father and I -are straining every nerve to fit you to take a good place in the world; -it is up to you to second our efforts. You have got to win the Lamb -Bursary somehow. If you can do that your father’s burden will be lifted, -and he will have so much less care. Oh! you must win it. We sent you to -the Compton School because of that chance, and you must not disappoint -us.” - -Dorothy shivered. Next moment a hot resentment surged into her heart. -She was doing her best to win it, and it was not her fault that in real -truth she was not eligible for it. - -She had told her mother of her meeting with Mrs. Wilson. What she did -find impossible to tell Mrs. Sedgewick was about the stories Mrs. Wilson -had told her of her father’s past; there was a certain aloofness about -Mrs. Sedgewick—she always seemed to keep her children at arm’s length. - -Greatly daring, Dorothy did try to find out what she could about those -old days, and she ventured to ask, “Mother, what has become of that -cousin of father’s, Arthur Sedgewick? Mrs. Wilson spoke of him to me.” - -“Then try and forget that you ever heard of him.” Mrs. Sedgewick spoke -harshly; she seemed all at once to freeze up, and Dorothy knew that she -would not dare to speak of him to her mother again. - -She sighed a little impatiently. Why could not mothers talk to their -daughters with some show of reasonable equality? She was nearly a woman; -surely her mother might have discussed that old-time story with her, -seeing she had been compelled to hear of it from an outsider. - -There was a sort of desperation on her that morning—she did so badly -want some sort of guidance on the subject of her fitness to work for the -Lamb Bursary. Presently she brought the talk back to the subject of the -Bursary. She described the enrolment ceremony for her mother’s benefit, -and she watched keenly to see the effect it would produce. She told how -the provisions of the Bursary read that no girl could be a candidate -whose parents had been in prison; she said no girl might enrol who knew -herself guilty of cheating or stealing. She waxed really confidential, -and told her mother of one girl whom she had seen stealing who had yet -dared to enrol. - -“That was very wrong of her,” said Mrs. Sedgewick, who was looking -rather pale. “Should you not have told about her, Dorothy?” - -“Oh, mother, I could not! They would have called me a sneak!” cried -Dorothy in distress. - -“Well, see to it, then, that the girl does not get a chance of winning -the Bursary, or you will be compounding a felony.” Mrs. Sedgewick spoke -brusquely, so it seemed to Dorothy, who felt that she could dare no more -in the way of extracting guidance in her present dilemma. Several times -she tried to say, “Mother, Mrs. Wilson told me about father having to go -to prison—was it true?” but the words stuck in her throat—they -positively refused to be uttered. - -Then a doubt of her mother’s sense of honour crept into her mind. Tom -declared that women had no hard-and-fast standpoints with regard to -honour, and that it was second nature with them to behave in a way which -would be reckoned downright dishonourable in a man. - -Was it possible Tom was right? Dorothy set herself to watch her mother -very carefully for the remainder of the vacation; but she got no -satisfaction from the process, except that of seeing that her mother -never once deviated from the lines of uprightness. - -She was out with her father a great deal during those holidays. He was -old-fashioned enough to still use a horse and trap for most of his -professional work. Dorothy drove him on his rounds nearly every day. -This should have been Tom’s work; but Tom was choosing to be very busy -in other directions just then, and as Dorothy loved to be out with her -father, she was quite ready to overlook Tom’s neglect of duty. - -Never, never did she dare to ask him the question which she had tried to -ask her mother. She spoke to him of Mrs. Wilson, and although his face -kindled in a gleam of pleasure at hearing of an old acquaintance, he did -not seem to care to talk about her, or of the part of his life in which -she figured, and again Dorothy was up against a stone wall in her -efforts at further enlightenment on that grim bit of history. - -Then came the morning before the two went back to school, and, as usual, -Dorothy was out with her father, whose round on this particular day took -him to Langbury, where he had to see a patient who was also an old -friend. He was a long time in that house; but the spring sunshine was so -pleasant that Dorothy did not mind the waiting. - -She was sitting with her eyes taking in all the beauty of the ancient -High Street, when a car came swiftly round the corner, hooting madly, -and missing the doctor’s trap, which was drawn up on the right side of -the road, only by inches. - -Dorothy heard herself hailed by a familiar voice, and saw Rhoda Fleming -leaning out and waving wildly to her as the car went down the street. - -Dr. Sedgewick came out at the moment and stood looking at the fluttering -handkerchief which was being wagged so energetically. - -“Was that some one you know?” he asked. “Downright road hogs they were, -anyhow. Why, they almost shaved our wheel as they shot past. It was -enough to make a horse bolt. It is lucky Captain is a quiet animal.” - -“The girl who was waving her handkerchief was Rhoda Fleming, one of the -Sixth, and a candidate for the Lamb Bursary,” said Dorothy, as she -guided Captain round the narrow streets of Langbury, and so out to the -Farley Road. - -“Where does she come from?” asked Dr. Sedgewick, and he frowned. Rhoda’s -face had been quite clear to him as she was whirled past in the racing -car, and he had been struck by a something familiar in it. - -“Her people live at Henlow in Surrey, or is it Sussex?” said Dorothy. -“Her father is a rather important person, and has twice been mayor of -Henlow.” - -“I know him—Grimes Fleming his name is—but I do not know much good -about him.” The doctor spoke rather grimly, then asked, “Is this girl a -great chum of yours?” - -“Not exactly.” Dorothy laughed, thinking of the openly avowed dislike -Rhoda had displayed for her. “I think Tom and she are great pals; but I -do not know that she is particularly good for him.” - -“Seeing she is her father’s daughter, I should say that she is not. -Can’t you stop it, Dorothy?” There was anxiety in her father’s tone that -Dorothy was quick to sense. - -“I have tried, but Tom won’t listen to me,” she said in a troubled tone. -“He is like that, you know; to speak against her to him would only make -him the more determined to be friends with her.” - -“Oh yes, Tom is a chip off the old block, and in more senses than one, I -am afraid.” The doctor sighed heavily, thinking of the abundant crop of -wild oats which he had sown in those back years. Then he went on, taking -her into confidence, “I am a bit worried about Tom: he seems to have got -a little out of the straight; there are signs about him of having grown -out of his home. He asked me, too, if I could not increase his allowance -so that he could spread himself a little for the benefit of his future.” - -“Oh, father, what did you say to him?” Dorothy’s tone was shocked. She -thought of all the evidence of sacrifice that she had seen since she had -been at home, and she wondered where Tom’s eyes were that he had not -seen them too. - -“I laughed at him.” The doctor chuckled, as if the remembrance was -amusing. “I told him he would best advance his future by sticking at his -work rather tighter, and leave all ideas of spreading himself out of -count until he was in a position to earn his own living. Why does he -want a girl for a pal? Are there not enough boys at the Compton School -to meet his requirements?” - -“Oh, lots of the boys and girls are pally. It is rather looked upon as -the right thing in our little lot; and Rhoda is enough older than Tom to -be of great use in rubbing down his angles, if she chose to do it,” -Dorothy answered, and her cheeks became more rosy as she thought of the -part she herself had had in putting down gambling in the boys’ school, -by her influence over Bobby Felmore. - -“Humph, there is sense in the idea certainly,” the doctor said. “Of -course it depends for success on what sort of a girl a boy like Tom gets -for a pal. I should not think a daughter of Grimes Fleming would be good -for Tom. Do what you can to stop it, Dorothy. Remember, I depend on -you.” - -“Oh dear, I am afraid you will be disappointed, then,” sighed Dorothy. -“I do not seem to have any power at all with Tom. I am older than he is, -but that does not count, because he says he is the cleverer, as he won a -scholarship for Compton and I did not. I suppose he is right, too, for -he has won his way where I have had to be paid for.” - -“It looks as if you are going to beat him now, if you keep on as you -have done for the last two terms,” said her father. “We are looking to -you to win that Lamb Bursary, Dorothy. You have got to do it, for our -sakes as well as your own. It will mean a tremendous lot to your mother -and me.” - -Something that was nearly like a sob came up in Dorothy’s throat and -half-choked her. She realized that her father was actually pleading with -her not to fail. In the background was that damaging story told to her -by Mrs. Wilson. Because of that she was in honour bound not to go in for -the Lamb Bursary. What was the right thing to do? If only—oh! if only -she knew what was the right thing to do! - -The hard part was that she could find no help at home, and she had to -face going back to school with her question unsolved. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - - A SUDDEN RESOLVE - -The first three weeks of term slipped away with little to mark their -going. Rhoda was sweetly polite to Dorothy in public, but on the rare -occasions when the two met with no one else within sight or hearing, -then the ugly spirit that was in Rhoda came uppermost, and words of -spite slipped off her tongue. It was almost as if she was daring Dorothy -to speak of that incident which occurred in the showrooms of Messrs. -Sharman and Song. For the first two weeks Dorothy had been top, but the -third week Rhoda was above her—a fiercely triumphant Rhoda this time, -for it had been a heavy struggle, and by nature she was not fond of -work. - -Dorothy had not been able to do her best at work that week; the term was -going so fast—the end was coming nearer and nearer. She felt she could -win the Bursary if only she could be free in her mind that she had a -right to it. It was the fear in her heart that she was in honour barred -from the right to strive for it which was doing her work so much harm -just now. - -Her mental trouble had to be kept to herself—it would have done no good -to go about wearing a face as long as a fiddle. This would have excited -comment directly: it would probably have ended in the doctor being -called to see her, and he would have stopped her work. Oh no! She had -just to wear a smiling face and carry herself in a care-free manner, -taking her part in every bit of fun and frolic that came her way. - -It was in the early mornings that the trouble hit her hardest. She would -wake very early, when the day was breaking and all the birds were -starting their day with a riot of bird music. Then she would lie -sleepless until the rising-bell rang, and she would search and grope in -her mind for a way out of the muddle. - -She was lying in this fashion one morning while a cuckoo called outside -her window and a blackbird trilled from the top of an elm tree growing -just outside the lodge gate. What a cheerful sort of world it was, with -only herself so bothered, so fairly harassed with care! - -Suddenly a wild idea flashed into her mind. She would tell the Head -about it, and then the responsibility would be lifted from her -shoulders. What a comfort it would be to cease from her blind groping to -find a way out! - -With Dorothy to resolve was to do. But for that day at least she had to -wait, for the Head had gone to London on business and did not return -until the last train. - -It was a little difficult even for one of the Sixth to get a private -interview with the Head. Try as she would, Dorothy could not screw her -courage to the point of standing up and asking for the privilege. In the -end she wrote a note begging that Miss Arden would permit her to come -for a private interview on a matter that was of great importance to -herself. Even when the letter was written there was the question of how -to get it into the hands of the Head. But finally she slipped it with -the other letters into the box in the hall, and then prepared to wait -with what patience she could for developments. - -These were not long in coming. She was in the study with the others that -evening, and she was trying hard to write a paper on English -literature—a subject that would have been actually fascinating at any -other time—when Miss Groome, on her way to the staff sitting-room, put -her head in at the door, saying quietly,— - -“Dorothy, the Head wants to see you in her room; you had better go down -at once.” - -Dorothy rose up in her place; her heart was beating furiously and her -senses were in a whirl. - -“Oh, Dorothy, what is the matter? Have you got into a row?” asked Hazel -kindly, while Margaret looked up with such a world of sympathy in her -eyes that Dorothy was comforted by it. - -“No, I’m not in a fix of that sort,” she managed to say, and she smiled -as she went out of the room, though her face was very pale. - -Her limbs shook and her teeth chattered as she went down the stairs and -along the corridor to the private room of the Head. - -“Silly chump, pull yourself together!” she muttered, giving herself a -shake; then she knocked at the door, feeling a wild desire to run away, -now that the interview loomed so near. - -“Come in,” said the Head, and Dorothy opened the door, to find Miss -Arden not at the writing table, which stood in the middle of the room, -but sitting in a low chair by the open window. - -Dorothy halted just inside the open door; she was still oppressed by -that longing to run away, to escape from the consequences of her own -act. She looked so shrinking, so downright afraid, as she stood there, -that a grave fear of serious trouble came into the heart of the Head as -she pointed to another low chair on the other side of the window, and -bade Dorothy sit down. - -“It is such a lovely evening,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Look -through that break in the trees, Dorothy; you can just see the sun -shining on the sea.” - -“It is very pretty,” said Dorothy; then she sat down suddenly, and was -dumbly thankful for the relief of being able to sit. - -“What is the trouble?” asked the Head. - -Her manner was so understanding that Dorothy suddenly lost her desire to -run away, the furious beating of her heart subsided, and she was able to -look up and speak clearly, although her words came out in a rather -incoherent jumble because of her hurry to get her story told. - -“I am not sure that I have any right to keep trying for the Lamb -Bursary—I mean I am by honour bound to tell you everything, and then -you will decide for me, and tell me what I have to do.” - -“Do you mean that when you enrolled you kept something back?” asked the -Head gravely. She was thinking this might be a case of having been unfit -at the first, and refusing to own up to it. - -“Oh no,” said Dorothy earnestly. “When I enrolled I had no idea there -was anything to prevent me from becoming a candidate.” - -“Then it is nothing to do with yourself personally?” There was a throb -of actual relief in the heart of the Head. She was bound up in her -girls; the disgrace of one of them would be her own disgrace. - -“No.” Dorothy hesitated a minute; it was fearfully hard to drag out that -story about her father. She had a vision of his dear careworn face just -then, and it seemed to her a desecration—even an unfilial thing—to say -a thing of his past which might lower him in the esteem of the Head. - -“If it is not yourself, then at least you could not help it.” The Head -spoke kindly, with a desire to make Dorothy’s task easier. - -“Do you remember the day of the very high tide, when an accident -happened on the front, and I met a lady, Mrs. Wilson, of Sevenoaks, who -asked me to take tea with her at the Grand, Ilkestone, next day?” -Dorothy spoke in a sort of desperate burst, anxious to get the story out -as quickly as possible. - -“Yes, I remember.” The Head smiled in a reassuring fashion. “Mrs. Wilson -was an old friend of your father’s, I think?” - -“Yes; she used to know him when he was a medical student. She said that -he and his cousin, Arthur Sedgewick, with two others named Bagnall, were -a very wild lot; they did all sorts of harum-scarum things. They were -coming home from a dance one night, and father was driving a cab that -was racing another cab. Father’s cab collided with a police wagonette, -which was badly smashed up, and an old woman was hurt. For that father -had to go to prison for a fortnight.” It was out now—out with a -vengeance. Dorothy fairly gasped at her own daring in telling the story. - -The Head looked blank. “This was not pleasant hearing for you, of -course. Still, I do not see how it affects your standing.” - -“Oh! don’t you remember the rules that were read out at the enrolment -ceremony?” cried Dorothy, with a bright spot of pink showing in both her -white cheeks. “It was read out that no girl was eligible whose parents -had at any time been in prison.” - -“Of course; but I had forgotten.” There was a shocked note in the tone -of the Head, her eyes grew very troubled, and she sat for a moment in -silence. - -A moment was it? To Dorothy it seemed more like a year—a whole twelve -months—of strained suffering. - -“Dorothy, are you quite sure—quite absolutely sure—that this is a -fact?” Miss Arden asked, breaking the silence. - -Choking back a sob, Dorothy bowed her head. Speech was almost impossible -just then. But the Head was waiting for a detailed answer, and she had -to speak. “Mrs. Wilson was there—she was in the cab—so she must -certainly have known all about it. She told the story to me as if it -were a good joke.” - -“You have been home since then—did you speak of this to your father and -mother?” The Head was looking so worried, so actually careworn, that -Dorothy suddenly found it easier to speak. - -“I tried to ask my mother about it, but she would not discuss it with -me.” Dorothy’s tone became suddenly frigid, as if it had taken on her -mother’s attitude. - -“Did you speak to your father about it?” The Head was questioning -closely now in order that she might get at the very bottom of the -mystery. - -“Oh, I could not!” There was sharp pain in Dorothy’s tone; her father -was her hero—the very best and bravest, the very dearest of men. -Something of this she had to make clear to the Head if she could, and -she went on, her voice breaking a little in spite of her efforts at -self-control. “Daddy is such a dear; he is so hard-working; he is always -sacrificing himself for some one or doing something to help some one—I -just could not tell him of that awful old story. He would have felt so -bad, too, because he kept urging me to win the Lamb Bursary if I could.” - -“Did you tell him of that rule—that stupid, foolish rule—about no one -being eligible whose parents had been in prison?” asked the Head. - -Dorothy put out her hands as if to ward off a blow. “Oh, I could not! -Why, it would have broken his heart to think that any action of his in -the past was to bar my way in the future. I did tell mother about it.” - -“What did she say?” The insistent questioning of the Head was beginning -to get on Dorothy’s nerves; then, too, it was so unpleasant to be -obliged to own up to the stark truth. - -“Mother said nothing,” she answered dully. And then the interview became -suddenly a long-drawn-out torture: she was racked and beaten until she -could bear no more, while all the time she could hear the cynical words -of Tom about woman having no sense of honour. - -Perhaps the Head understood something of what Dorothy was feeling, for -her tone was so very kind and sympathetic when she spoke. - -“I think we will do nothing in the matter for a week. I will take that -time to think things round. But, Dorothy, I am very specially anxious -that this talk shall make no difference to your work or your striving. -Go on doing your very utmost to win the Bursary. I cannot tell you what -a large amount of good this hard work of the candidates is doing for the -whole school. You are not working merely to maintain your own -position—you are setting the pace for the others. Don’t worry about -this either. Just put the thought of it away from your mind. It may be I -can find a way out for you—at least I will try.” - -Dorothy rose to her feet. The strain was over, and, marvel of marvels, -she was still where she had been—at least for another week. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - - PLAYING THE GAME - -It was a wonderful relief to Dorothy to have her burden of -responsibility lifted. She could give her whole mind to her work now, -without having to suffer from that miserable see-saw of doubt and fear -about her right to work for the Lamb Bursary. - -So good was it, too, that she had no longer to pretend to be cheerful. -She could be as happy as the other girls now, and the week that followed -was one of the happiest she had ever spent at the Compton School. As was -natural, her work gained a tremendous advantage from her care-free -condition, and when the marks for the week were posted up on the board -she found that she was top again, a long way ahead of Rhoda this time, -while Hazel and Margaret were lower still. - -“It looks—it really does—as if Dorothy Sedgewick was going to cart off -the Mutton Bone,” said Daisy Goatby with a tremendous yawn, as she came -sauntering up to the board to have a look at the week’s marks. Dorothy -had already gone upstairs, and for the moment there was no one in the -lecture hall except Daisy and Joan Fletcher. - -“There is one thing to be said for her—she will have earned it,” -answered Joan. “Dorothy must work like a horse to get in front of -Rhoda—and she hasn’t had Rhoda’s chances, either, seeing that she only -came here last autumn. I think she is the eighth wonder of the world. It -makes me tired to look at her.” - -“Won’t Rhoda just be in a wax when she sees how much she is down?” Daisy -gurgled into delighted laughter, her plump cheeks fairly shaking with -glee. - -“I don’t mind what sort of a wax she is in, if it does not occur to her -to coach us into getting ahead of Dorothy,” said Joan with a yawn. She -was tired, for she had been playing tennis every available half-hour -right through the day, and felt much more inclined for bed than for -study. But she was in the Sixth—she was, moreover, a candidate for the -Lamb Bursary—so it was up to her to make a pretence of study at night, -even if the amount done was not worth talking about. - -“I don’t think Rhoda will try that old game on again—at least I hope -she won’t,” said Daisy, as the two turned away to mount the stairs to -the study. “I never had to work harder in my life than at that time. I -expected to have nervous breakdown every day, for the pace was so -tremendous. If she had kept it up, I believe I should have stood a -chance of winning the Mutton Bone—that is to say, if Dorothy had not -been in the running. Rhoda is a downright good coach; she has a way of -making you work whether you feel like it or not. The trouble is that she -gets tired of it so soon. She dropped us all in a hurry, just as I was -beginning to feel I had got it in me to be really great at getting on.” - -“I know why she dropped us.” Joan shrugged her shoulders and glanced -round in a suddenly furtive fashion, as the two went side by side up the -broad stairs, and the June sunshine streamed in through the open -windows. - -“Why?” sharply demanded Daisy, scenting a mystery, and keen to hear what -it was. - -“I can’t tell you now,” said Joan hastily. “I am afraid some one might -catch a word, and it is serious. I’ll tell you to-morrow when we are -resting after a bout of tennis.” - -“To-morrow? Do you think I am going to wait until then? Come along into -the prep room—the Upper Fifth are not at work to-night. See, there is -no one here. We will sit over by the window, then only the sparrows can -hear what you have to say. Now, then, out with it; I hate to wait for -anything.” - -“Rhoda had to leave off using cribs—that is why she left off coaching -us,” said Joan, jerking her shoulders up in a way peculiar to her in -moments of triumphant emotion. - -“Cribs wouldn’t be of much use in a good bit of our work,” said Daisy -scornfully. “For instance, what sort of a crib could you use to remember -one of old Plimsoll’s lectures?” - -“Don’t be an idiot,” snapped Joan. “There are plenty of things we have -to do where cribs would be useful—Latin, French, mathematics—oh! heaps -of things. It was Rhoda who had that old book of Amelia Herschstein’s -that was found in the No. 1 study among Dorothy’s things.” - -“I was quite sure of that.” Daisy nodded and chuckled in delight. “I was -not quite so fast asleep as I was supposed to be that night, and I knew -that Rhoda had been out of the room, although she did go and come like a -cat. But what I want to know is what made her have Amelia Herschstein’s -book in her possession. Did she find it anywhere about the premises, do -you think?” - -“Now, in the name of common sense is it likely that a book of that sort -would be left lying round for any girl to pick up and use if she felt so -inclined?” Joan fairly snorted with disgust at Daisy’s want of -understanding. “That book was in the school because Rhoda brought it -here. I never could imagine why she chose to stuff it among Dorothy’s -things, except from blind spite, because, of course, she has had to work -much harder since she has had to do without its help.” - -Daisy looked the picture of bewilderment. “How did it come about that -she had the book at all?” she gasped, staring open-mouthed at Joan. - -“Ah! do you know what I found out last vac?” Joan pursed up her mouth in -a secretive fashion. She nodded her head, and looked wise, and so smug -with it all, that Daisy forgot the dignity due in one of the Sixth, and -actually fell upon her, cuffing her smartly, while she cried, “Out with -it, then, or I will bang your head against the window-frame until you -see stars and all that sort of thing.” - -“Don’t behave like a Third Form kid if you can help it, and, for pity’s -sake, don’t make such a noise, or some one will spot us, and then we -shall get beans for not being at work,” protested Joan, wresting herself -free from the rough grip of Daisy, and patting her hair into place. Joan -was beginning to revel in being nearly grown-up, and she was very -particular about her hair being just right. - -“Tell me, tell me quickly!” said Daisy, with a stamp of her foot. “If -you don’t, I will ruff your hair all up until it is in a most fearful -tangle, and I will throw your ribbon, your combs, and those lovely -tortoise-shell pins all out of the window. A nice sight you will look -then, old thing.” - -“And nice beans, a regular boiling of them, you would get for doing it,” -laughed Joan, who loved to tease Daisy into an exhibition of this sort. - -“Tell me, tell me!” cried Daisy, with another stamp of her foot. - -“My father told me,” said Joan, nodding her head. “He said that Grimes -Fleming—Rhoda’s father, you know—was closely related to the -Herschsteins. It has been kept very dark, because, of course, no one in -any way connected with that family would have been received at the -Compton Schools if it had been known. Dad would not have told me about -it if I had not insisted that this floor was haunted by Amelia’s ghost, -and that the spirit actually left books in the studies. I thought my dad -would have had a fit then, he was so choked with laughing. That is when -he told me, and he said I was to keep it dark, for it did not seem fair -that Rhoda should have the sins of those who went before fastened on her -shoulders to weigh her down.” - -“It isn’t playing the game, though, to let a girl like that win the Lamb -Bursary,” said Daisy in a tone that was fairly shocked. - -“Just what I said to my dad. But he told me it was up to me to stop her -doing it by jolly well beating her myself. I think I would have a real -vigorous try to do it, too, if it were not for Dorothy. I might beat -Rhoda if I tried hard enough, and kept on trying. Dorothy is a different -matter; she is forcing the pace so terribly that I can’t face the fag of -it all. Rhoda would not put out her strength as she does if it were not -for her spite against Dorothy.” - -“Why does she hate Dorothy so badly?” asked Daisy, whose excitement had -subsided, leaving her more serious than usual. - -“Ask me another,” said Joan, flinging up her hands with a gesture that -was meant to be dramatic. “I think it would need a Sherlock Holmes to -find that out. I have pumped her—I have watched her—but I am no nearer -getting to the bottom of it. It is my belief that Dorothy knows -something about Rhoda, and Rhoda knows she knows it. Oh dear, what a mix -up of words, but you know what I mean.” - -“I don’t think she ought to be allowed to win the Lamb Bursary—it was -not meant for a girl of that sort.” Daisy sounded reproachful now, for -it did seem a shame that the chief prize of the school should go to one -who was unworthy. - -Joan wagged her head with a knowing air. “I know how you feel, for it is -just my opinion. I am keeping quiet now, as I promised my dad I would. -If Dorothy or Hazel or any one else wins the Bursary, then there will be -no need to say anything at all; but if Miss Rhoda comes out top, then I -am going to say things, and do things, and stir up no end of a dust.” - -It was at this moment that two of the Upper Fifth came scurrying up to -their prep room, and the two who had been talking there had to get out -in a hurry. - -Rhoda was carrying things before her in the Sixth. She had contrived to -chum up a great deal with Dora Selwyn, who by reason of being head girl -was a power in the place. Dora was rarely top of the school in the -matter of marks; the fact that she was specializing naturally tended to -keep these down. But in every other sense she was top, and she was -leader—in short, she was IT, and every one realized this. - -Dora had fallen foul of Rhoda a good many times during the years they -had both been at the Compton School, but they had seemed to get on -better of late. Right down at the bottom Dora was fearfully -conservative. To her way of thinking it was quite wrong that a new girl -like Dorothy Sedgewick should have been put straight into the Sixth. It -was, in fact, a tacit admission that education in another school might -be as good as it was at the Compton Schools—a rank heresy, indeed! Dora -would have got over that in time, perhaps, if Dorothy had been something -of a slacker; but it did not please her that the new girl—that is to -say, the comparatively new girl—should be mounting to the top of the -school in the matter of marks week by week, so she veered round to the -side of Rhoda and championed her cause. - -The days simply flew now. The summer term was always delightful at -Sowergate. There was sea-bathing; there was tennis and golf; frequent -picnics livened things up for all who cared for that sort of thing; -there were bicycle trips; some of the girls were learning to ride; two -were having motor lessons—so that, taken all round, every one was so -full of affairs that each night as it came was something of a surprise, -because it had arrived so speedily. - -Dorothy seemed to live only for the end of the week, when the Head was -to give her decision. In some ways it was the longest week she had ever -lived through; in many other ways it was so short that Dorothy felt -fairly frightened by the speed with which it went. - -It was evening again when she was summoned to the private room of the -Head, and she rose up in her place to obey the call, feeling as if she -were going to the place of execution. - -“Dorothy dear, I am so sorry for you!” murmured Margaret, jumping up to -give her a hug as she went out of the room, while Hazel nodded in -sympathy, and Jessie Wayne from the far corner blew her a kiss. - -It was good to feel that she had the sympathy of them all, but a wry -little smile curved Dorothy’s lips as she went downstairs. She was -thinking how they would all have stared if she could have told them what -was the matter—and then, indeed, they would have been sorry. - -She was sorry for herself, except when she thought of her father; and -then, in her pain for him, she forgot to suffer on her own account. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - - THE HEAD DECIDES - -Miss Arden was writing at the table in the middle of the room when -Dorothy entered. She looked up and motioned to a low chair near the -window. “Sit there for a few minutes, Dorothy; I shall not be long -before I am free to talk to you.” - -Dorothy sat down, and instinctively her glance went out to that bit of -shining sea visible through the gap in the trees, which the Head had -pointed out to her a week ago. It was an evening just like that one had -been, with the sun shining on the water, and the trees so still that -they did not sway across that little patch of brightness. - -Presently the Head finished writing, rang the bell for the letters to be -taken away for posting, and then, leaving her writing table, came over -to sit by Dorothy at the open window. - -“How has your work gone this week?” she asked a little abruptly. Then, -seeing that Dorothy seemed puzzled, she went on speaking in her crisp -tones, “I was not asking in reference to your school position—I know -all about that. I wanted to know how you had felt about your work, and -whether it was easier because of our talk last week.” - -Dorothy’s face flashed into smiles, and she answered eagerly, “Oh, it -was much easier, thank you. I have had no worry of responsibility, you -see. I have been free to keep on working without any wonder as to -whether I had the right to work in that special way.” - -The Head nodded in sympathetic fashion, and was silent for a few -minutes, as if she were still considering that decision of hers; then -she asked, “Are you willing to trust the responsibility to me for the -rest of the term?” - -Dorothy looked blank. “I don’t think I quite understand,” she said. “It -is for you to decide what I have to do.” - -The Head laughed, then flung out her hands with a little gesture of -helplessness as she answered, “I know the decision rests with me. The -trouble is that I cannot at the present see any light on the situation. -Until that comes you have just to go on as you are doing now. You have -to make the very bravest fight you can. You have to work and to -struggle—to do your very best; and having done this, you have to wait -in patience for the issue of it all.” - -“I can do that, of course,” said Dorothy; but her tone was a little -doubtful—it was even a little disappointed. It was a hard-and-fast -decision she craved: a pronouncement that could not be set aside—which -put an end to hope and fear, and that left her nothing to be anxious -about. - -“I want you to do it, feeling that it is the best—and, indeed, the only -way.” The Head spoke with a slow deliberation which carried weight. “You -see, Dorothy, you have to think not merely of yourself and your own -sense of honour, which is a very fine one; but you have to think also of -your father and the effect it might have on him and his career if you -withdrew from your position as a candidate now. You know very well how -serious it is for a doctor to be talked about in such a way as would -inevitably occur if this story became common property. A doctor smirched -is a doctor destroyed. We have to be very careful on his account.” - -“I know; I had thought about that,” said Dorothy in a curiously muffled -tone. - -“That is good. Your consideration for him will help you more than -anything else.” The Head smiled with such kindly approval that Dorothy -was thrilled. “I am not even going to suggest that you may not win the -Lamb Bursary; to fail in doing that, through any lack of striving on -your part, would be the coward’s way out of a difficulty, and that could -never be the right way. Your chance of winning is very good. Rhoda -Fleming is your most serious rival. In some ways she has the advantage, -because she has been here so much longer that she has been better -grounded on our lines of work. On the other hand, you have an advantage -over her of steadier application. You keep on keeping on, where she goes -slack, and has to pull herself up with extra effort. This may succeed -where the struggle is a short one, but will not be of much use in a long -strain.” - -“I can’t work by starts like that,” said Dorothy. “I should soon get -left if I did not keep straight on doing my utmost.” - -“It is the only way to real success,” the Head remarked thoughtfully. -Then she went on, hesitating a little now, picking her words very -carefully, “In the event of your winning, then I should think it best to -call the governors of the Bursary together, and make a plain statement -of the case to them. If they decided that you were unfit to receive the -benefit of the Bursary, the matter could be kept from becoming public. -The story about your father need never leak out, and although he would -have the pain of knowing all about it, the outside world would not be -any the wiser.” - -“Oh! it would hurt him so dreadfully to know it was his action which had -shut me out from the chance of a university training!” cried Dorothy, -shrinking as if the Head had dealt her a blow. - -“I know, dear, and it is painful even to think about it. But the -governors, taking all things into consideration, may even decide to let -you take it, in which case your father may be spared ever hearing of the -affair. I cannot think why such a strange provision was put into the -rules for enrolment. It might have been that poor Miss Lamb had been -compelled to suffer in her time at the hands of some girl whose parent, -one or the other, had been in prison, and so it was a case of avenging -herself at the expense of the girls who might come after her. Such -things do happen. Then, too, it is not as if your father had been in -prison from any deliberate attempt at law-breaking. If he had embezzled -money—if he had set himself up against what was right and -honourable—it would have been a different matter. I think the -punishment was far in excess of the wrong-doing, which appears to have -begun and ended in an outburst of larkiness and high spirits; but I -suppose it was the old woman being hurt which caused the sentence to be -imprisonment.” - -“Would the governors have the power to set aside that old rule?” asked -Dorothy, whose eyes had brightened with a sudden stirring of hope. - -“I fancy the governors have all power to do as seems wisest to them,” -the Head replied; and then she said, with a low laugh, “As they are men, -it would be no question of their sense of honour being shaky.” - -Dorothy gave a start of pure amazement at such an utterance from the -Head; she was even bold enough to ask, “Do you think that women are less -honourable than men?” - -“Now, that is a rather difficult question to answer,” replied the Head. -“Taken in the broadest sense, I should be inclined to think that the -great mass of women are less honourable than men. But that is the result -of long ages of being regarded as irresponsible beings—the mere -appendage or chattel of man—with no moral standing of their own. Taken -in the individual sense, I believe that when a woman or a girl is -honourable, she is far more so than a man—that is to say, she would be -honourable down to the last shred of detail, while a man under like -conditions would be honourable in the bulk, but absolutely careless of -the smaller details. That is largely theory, however, and does not -concern the present business in the least. We have talked about it -enough, too, and now we will leave it alone. I do not forget—and I am -sure the governors will not forget—that you, of your own free will, -came to me with this uncomfortable fact from your father’s past, and -that you offered to withdraw, or to do anything else which I might -decide was best.” - -Dorothy rose to go. There was one question she had to ask, a fearfully -difficult one, but she screwed her courage to the attempt. “Supposing I -came out top in the running for the Bursary, but the governors decided I -might not take it, would they give the Bursary to the girl who was next -below me?” - -The Head looked thoughtful—she even hesitated before replying; then she -said slowly, “I do not know. I do not think such a case as this has ever -arisen before. They might even decide not to give the Bursary at all -this year. Why did you ask?” - -The hot colour flamed over Dorothy’s face, it mounted to the roots of -her hair, she was suddenly the picture of confusion, and stammered out -the first answer which came into her head, “I—I just wanted to know.” - -“Dorothy, what is it that you know against Rhoda Fleming, which would -put her out of the running for the Bursary if you told?” - -The voice of the Head was so quiet, so curiously level, that for a -moment Dorothy did not grasp the full significance of the question. Then -it flashed upon her that she held Rhoda in her hand, and, with Rhoda, -her own sense of honour also. - -“Oh! I could not tell you—I could not. I beg of you do not ask me,” she -cried, stretching out her hands imploringly, then questioned eagerly, -“How did you even guess there was anything?” - -“By the way Rhoda has treated you all the term; but I could not be sure -until I had asked you a point-blank question at a moment when you were -not expecting it,” replied the Head; and then she said kindly, “Why can -you not trust me with your knowledge, Dorothy?” - -The colour faded from Dorothy’s face. She was white and spent; indeed, -she looked as if tears were not far away as she stood with her back to -the door and the strong light of the sunset full on her face. “The -knowledge I have came to me without my seeking,” she said in a low tone. -“I have no means of proving what I know, and if I told you it would seem -like taking a dishonourable way of downing a rival in work.” - -“I understand that,” said the Head. “Why did you ask me about Rhoda, if -she would have the Bursary if you were not allowed to keep it?” - -Dorothy moved uneasily. Her tongue felt so parched that speech was -difficult; then she said in a low tone, “I spoke to my mother when I was -at home, without, of course, giving her facts or names, and I asked her -what I ought to do.” - -“What did she say?” The Head was smiling, and Dorothy took heart again. - -“Mother told me to make such an effort to win the Bursary for myself, -that it would not matter in the end whether the girl was fit or unfit to -have enrolled as a candidate.” - -“Very good advice, too. But I see your position again. If you speak you -let your rival down; from your point of view, it would not be playing -the game. If you keep silent, and win the Bursary, but yet because of -this story of your father’s past you are passed over and it is given to -Rhoda, the irony of the situation will be fairly crushing.” The Head was -looking at Dorothy with great kindness in her manner, and Dorothy was -comforted because she was understood. - -“You will not force me to speak?” she asked, greatly daring, for the -Head was by no means a person to be trifled with. - -“No; I will even admire you for your desire not to do so, though it -makes me feel as if I were compounding a felony.” The Head laughed as -she spoke; then, becoming suddenly grave, she went on, “If it should -turn out that you win the Bursary, and the governors will not let you -take it, I shall require of you that you tell me and tell them of this -thing you are keeping to yourself. The honour of the school demands this -at your hands. It is not fair that the Lamb Bursary should go to a girl -who has won it by a trick or by any keeping back of that which should be -known.” - -“No, it is not fair,” admitted Dorothy, and a dreadful dismay filled her -heart to think that she might have to tell of what she had seen in the -showroom of Messrs. Sharman and Song. - -“Good night, and now let us leave all these problems for the future to -solve,” said the Head, holding out a slim white hand for Dorothy to -shake. - -Such a wave of gratitude flowed into the heart of Dorothy, to think she -had not to betray Rhoda, that, yielding to impulse, she carried that -slim white hand to her lips, kissing it in the ardour of her devotion -and admiration. Then she went out of the room with her head carried -high, and such a feeling of elation in her heart that it was difficult -to refrain from dancing a jig on the stairs. - -“Dorothy, you are a fraud!” cried Hazel, as Dorothy came into the study, -smiling, radiantly happy, and looking as if it were morning instead of -nearly bedtime. “Here have Margaret and I been snivelling in sympathy -with you, because we thought you were having a ragging from the Head for -some misdemeanour or other, instead of which you come prancing upstairs -as if the whole place belonged to you.” - -“That is how I feel,” said Dorothy blithely. “The Head—bless her—has -not been ragging me; she has only been laying down rules for my conduct -in future, and that, you know, is why we come to school, to be taught -what we do not know.” - -“It looks as if you are having us on,” said Margaret, glancing up from -her work. - -“Never mind, we will go to bed now, and sleep it off,” answered Dorothy, -and then would say no more. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - - THE STRUGGLE FOR THE CUP - -Just below the stained-glass window which was at the back of the dais in -the lecture hall stood a silver cup of great beauty. Other and lesser -cups were ranged on each side of it, and all of them were protected by a -glass case of heavy make. - -This principal cup had been in the girls’ school for two years now. It -had to be fought for on the tennis courts each year at the end of the -summer term. Until two years ago the boys had won it for six or seven -years in succession, and great had been the jubilation among the girls -when at last they had succeeded in winning it for themselves. Having had -it for two years, they were preparing to fight for it again with might -and main when the time for the struggle should come round again. - -Realizing that the best players were not always to be found in the Sixth -Form, the contest was fought by the united efforts of the Fourth, Fifth, -and Sixth Forms, the finals being fought amid scenes of the wildest -enthusiasm. - -The struggle was fixed for just one week before the end of term, and was -indeed the beginning of the end—the first break of the steady routine -of the past three months. Fortunately the weather was all that could be -desired, and every one was in wild spirits for the fray. - -The Fourth and the Fifth of both schools were early on the ground. The -excitement at the courts was tremendous. Exasperated by having lost the -cup for two years in succession, the boys had been working hard at -tennis this summer, and they were out to win—a fact the girls were -quick to realize. - -The games had already started when the Sixth of the boys’ school came -pouring out from their school premises across the cricket field to the -courts of the girls’ school, where the battle was being fought. Two -minutes later the girls of the Sixth also arrived on the scene. They -were a little late because of a history exam which had held them until -the last minute. - -The governors of the schools left nothing to chance, and the exams of -the last two weeks of the summer term were things of magnitude. - -Dorothy came down to the courts with Joan Fletcher. Hazel and Margaret, -her special chums, were in front, but Dorothy had been delayed by Miss -Groome, and was the last on the scene—or would have been if Joan had -not waited for her. - -“What a jolly old day it is!” exclaimed Joan, anxious to show a friendly -front. Both she and Daisy Goatby had completely veered round in these -last weeks, and showed themselves very anxious to be on friendly terms -with Dorothy. - -“Oh, it could not be better!” Dorothy flourished her racket, and -executed a festive skip as she hurried along. “It is just perfect -weather for tennis, and I think—I really think we shall beat the boys -if we play hard enough. And oh! we must keep that cup if we can, for the -honour of the school.” - -“What a lot you think of honour.” Joan half turned as she hurried along, -and she surveyed Dorothy closely, as if trying to find out what made her -so keen on upholding the traditions of the place. - -“Why, of course! But that is only right and natural. Don’t you think -so?” There was surprise in Dorothy’s tone, for Joan seemed to be hinting -at something. Her scurrying run had dropped to a walk, and Dorothy -slowed up also. - -“It isn’t what I think that matters very much in this case,” burst out -Joan explosively. “I was only thinking what a pity it is that some of -the rest of our crowd are not as keen on the honour of the school as you -are.” - -“Now, just what do you mean by that?” Dorothy halted abruptly, staring -at Joan. - -They were just at the edge of the nearest court now, and the shouts and -yells from boys and girls resounded on all sides. - -Joan looked up at the sky, she looked down at her white tennis shoes, -and then her gaze went wandering as if she were in search of -inspiration. Finally she burst out, “I hate to have to tell you, but -Daisy and I tossed up as to which should do it, and I am the unlucky -one: your brother has mixed himself up in a particularly beastly sort of -scrape.” - -“Tom is in a scrape?” breathed Dorothy, and suddenly she felt as if it -were her fault, for she had seen so little of Tom this term, and when -she had seen him he had not cared to be in any way confidential. - -Joan nodded in an emphatic fashion. “A silly noodle he must be to be -cat’s-paw for a girl in such a silly way.” - -“What has he done?” asked Dorothy, striving to keep calm and quiet, yet -feeling a wild desire to seize and shake the information out of her. - -“I don’t know the real rights of it,” said Joan. “I know a little, and -guess a lot more. Rhoda has dropped quite a considerable lot of money -lately in hospital raffles and in the sweepstakes that were got up to -provide that new wing for the infirmary. As she has helped Tom to so -many plums in the way of winning money in the past, it was only natural -that she turned to him when she got into a muddle herself. She was in a -rather extra special muddle, too, for she was holding the money we -raised for the archery club, and when the time came to pay it over, lo! -it was not, for she had spent it, and her dump from home had not -arrived. To tide her over the bad bit she applied to Tom. He said he had -no money, and did not know where to get it. She, in desperation—and -Rhoda knows how to scratch when she is in a corner—wrote to Tom that if -the money was not forthcoming in twenty-four hours, she would tell his -Head of the doings at the night-club.” - -“What night-club?” demanded Dorothy, aghast. - -“Oh, I don’t know. Boys are in mischief all the time, I think,” said -Joan impatiently; and then she went on, “The time-limit passed; Rhoda -got still more desperate and still more catty. Finding Tom did not pay -up—did not even send to plead for longer time, or take any other notice -of her ultimatum—Rhoda wrote her letter to Tom’s Head, and actually -posted it. This letter had not been in the post half an hour when her -money from home arrived. She was able to get out of her fix, but she was -not able to stop having got Tom into an awful sort of row. And now she -is so mad with herself, that the Compton School is not big enough to -hold her in any sort of comfort.” - -“This night-club, what is it exactly?” Dorothy turned her back on the -tennis players, and faced Joan with devouring anxiety in her eyes. - -“I don’t know really; I think it is got up by some of the young officers -at the camp. Lots of them are Compton old boys, you know. I think they -meet somewhere at dead of night to drink and play cards, and go on the -burst generally. They call it going the pace. I suppose they let some of -our boys in for old sake’s sake, though it would be kinder to the boys -if they did not. Anyhow, it is all out now. The boys will get in a row, -the young officers may get court-martialled, or whatever they do with -them up there, and all because a girl lost her temper through not being -able to twist Tom round her little finger.” - -“Joan, I am ever so grateful to you for telling me all this, even though -I can’t see any way of helping Tom,” said Dorothy; and then she asked, -“Does he know that Rhoda has told Dr. Cameron?” - -“He did not. The letter did not go until yesterday, you see,” replied -Joan. “The trouble for Tom will be that he will not only get beans from -the authorities, but the boys will cut him dead for having been such a -donkey as to trust a girl with a secret.” - -“I don’t see why a girl should not be trusted as well as a boy,” said -Dorothy, who always felt resentful at this implied inferiority of her -sex. - -“You may not see it, but your blindness does not alter the fact,” said -Joan bluntly. “There goes Rhoda, holding up her head with the best -because she can pay up the money she copped to pay for her old raffles. -I wonder how she feels underneath, when she thinks how her letter to -Tom’s Head will make history for the Compton Boys’ School, and for the -camp as well? You see, she has let the whole lot into it, and there will -be no end of a dust up.” - -“Even scavengers have their uses,” said Dorothy, feeling suddenly better -because she realized that Tom would have entirely lost faith in Rhoda; -and although he might have to suffer many things at the hands of his -outraged companions, he would learn wisdom from the experience, and come -out of the ordeal stronger all round. - -“It is our turn—come along,” cried Joan with an air of relief. She was -thankful indeed to have got her unpleasant task over, and to find that -Dorothy did not look unduly upset. - -The struggle for the cup was being put through amid displays of wild -enthusiasm. The first sets were played by boys against boys, and girls -against girls, and the yelling grew fairly frantic when the semi-finals -were reached. - -The girls for the semi-final were Dora Selwyn and Rhoda against Dorothy -and a Fifth Form girl, Milly Stokes, who had carried all before her in -previous sets, though she was small, and younger than most of her Form. - -It was rather hard for Dorothy to have to play against Dora and Rhoda, -and she had little hope of surviving for the final. Rhoda was a good -all-round player; she was great, too, at smashing and volleying; while -Dora, with no great pace in her strokes, was very accurate, and always -inclined to play for safety first. - -There was no holding Milly Stokes. She behaved like one possessed. She -sent the balls flying with a reckless abandon which looked as if it must -spell ruin, yet each time made for success. Dorothy was wrought up to a -great pitch. It was not tennis she seemed to be playing; it was the -contest between right and wrong—she and Milly Stokes pitted against -Rhoda and the head girl. She was not nervous. That story of Tom’s -impending disgrace had so absorbed her that she could not think about -herself at all. She was standing for what was upright and ennobling, so -she must play the game to win. - -Louder and louder grew the cheering; now she could hear the shouting for -“Little Stokes” and “Sedgewick of the Sixth.” - -They had won, too, and now Milly Stokes rushed at her, flinging a pair -of clinging arms round her, and crying, “Oh, Dorothy, Dorothy, you are a -partner worth having! We have beaten those two smashers, and surely, -surely we can beat the boys!” - -“We will have a good try, anyhow,” answered Dorothy with a laugh; and -then she went off to the little pavilion to have a brief rest while the -boys played their last set for semi-final. - -So far she had not caught a glimpse of Tom, but as she came out of the -pavilion with Milly Stokes and went across the court to her place, she -saw him standing by the side of Bobby Felmore. - -Her heart beat a little faster at this sight. She knew that he and Bobby -had not been on good terms lately; that they should be together now, -made her jump to the conclusion that Tom’s punishment at the hands of -the boys had begun, and Bobby was proving something of a refuge for him. - -“Bless you, Bobby!” she murmured under her breath as she nodded in their -direction; and she was very glad to think that Bobby had not survived to -the final, so that she would not have to beat him. - -Their opponents were a long, sandy-haired youth, perspiring freely, and -a dark boy of uncertain temper and play to match. It was a fine -struggle. Milly dashed about more wildly than ever, but Dorothy played -with a gay unconcern that surprised even herself. She had vanquished the -wrong in the semi-final, and this last bit of struggle was merely for -the glory of the school. They won, too, and the shrill cheering of the -girls frightened the birds from the trees, while the boys booed with a -sound of malice in their tone, which was partly for the loss of the cup, -but still more for the loss of the dubious privilege of their -night-club. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - - TROUBLE FOR TOM - -Dorothy and Milly Stokes were chaired round the courts by ardent -admirers, and they were cheered until their heads ached from the noise. - -As soon as Dorothy could escape she went in search of Tom. It was some -time before she could find him; and when she did run him down he was in -a temper that was anything but sweet. - -“Oh, Tom! I am so sorry for the trouble,” she burst out with ready -sympathy. Tom usually wore such a happy face, that it was just dreadful -to see him looking so glum. - -“It is pretty rotten,” he growled. “We are to be hauled up before the -Head in the morning, and goodness knows what will happen then. There is -one comfort—I am not the only one in the soup; there are about -twenty-five of us involved. The thing that passes my comprehension is -how it all came out.” - -“Don’t you know?” gasped Dorothy, so amazed at his words that she had no -time to think of being discreet. - -“How should I know?” he said blankly. “Why, you might have knocked me -down with a feather when Clarges Major told me we’d been spotted, and -that the game was up so far as our night-club was concerned. It has been -such a jolly lark, too! We used to go about three nights a week, and get -back about three o’clock in the morning. Some club it was, too, I can -tell you! Say, Dorothy, how did you know anything about it?” - -“Joan Fletcher told me. She told me how Rhoda had written all about the -club to your Head, because you would not lend her the money when she was -in a hole about the archery club subscriptions.” Dorothy spoke in a -quiet tone; she was determined that Tom should know the true facts of -the case. But she quailed a little when he turned upon her with fury in -his face. - -“Rhoda told because I would not lend her the money! What on earth are -you driving at? That time when she talked to me about being so short, I -told her then that I was in the same boat—absolutely stoney.” - -“It was because you did not answer her letter, when she gave you -twenty-four hours to find some money to help her out of her fix.” -Dorothy stopped suddenly because of the surprise in Tom’s face. “Didn’t -you have that letter?” she asked. - -“I have never set eyes on it,” he answered. “When did she send it, and -how?” - -“I don’t know,” answered Dorothy. “Joan told me that Rhoda was so angry -and so very desperate because you did not answer her letter, that, to -pay you out for leaving her in the lurch, she wrote a letter to Dr. -Cameron, telling him about the night-club. A little after her letter -went she got the money she wanted from home, and she would have recalled -her letter to your Head then if she had been able to do it, but, of -course, it was too late.” - -“The insufferable little cad, to blow on us like that out of sheer -cattish spite!” growled Tom. Then he asked, with sharp anxiety in his -tone, “Has it leaked out yet among our crowd that Rhoda told?” - -“I am afraid so,” answered Dorothy, and again she quailed at the look in -his eyes. “Didn’t you hear all the booing when we won the cup?” - -“Of course. I booed myself with might and main; but that was only -because we had lost it,” said Tom. - -Dorothy shook her head. “I am afraid it is more than that—there was -such a lot of malice in the noise. Hazel told me that some one threw a -bag of flour at Rhoda, and written across the bag were the words ‘For a -sneak’; so it looks as if they knew.” - -“If that is the case, you bet I am in for it right up to my back teeth,” -growled Tom; and turning he walked away with never another word to -Dorothy, who reflected sorrowfully that he was much more concerned at -the prospect of losing the goodwill of his fellows than because he was -implicated in such a serious breach of rules and regulations. - -Dorothy did not see him again that day. She did not see him on the next -day either; but rumours were rife in the girls’ school that the boys -involved in the night-club business were in for a row of magnitude. - -The work of the week was so exacting and absorbing that Dorothy found -herself with but little time for thinking of Tom and his troubles. - -On Sunday—the last Sunday of term it was—Tom appeared with the other -boys in the gardens of the girls’ school; but he looked so miserable -that Dorothy had a sudden, sharp anxiety about him. - -“Oh, Tom, what is it?” she cried. - -“Don’t you know?” he said, looking at her with tragic eyes. “The Head -has sent for the governor, and I don’t feel as if I could face him when -he comes.” - -“For the governor?” echoed Dorothy blankly, and in the eyes of her mind -she was seeing those grave frock-coated gentlemen who had sat on the -dais in the lecture hall that day last autumn, at the enrolment of the -candidates for the Lamb Bursary. She wondered why Dr. Cameron had -thought it necessary to send for one of the school governors about a -case of school discipline. - -“Father, I mean, and he is coming to-morrow.” Tom spoke impatiently, for -he thought Dorothy was much more thick in the head than she ought to -have been. - -“Father coming to-morrow?” Dorothy’s voice rose in a shout of sheer -ecstasy. “Why, Tom, we will make him stay over Wednesday, and then he -will be present when the Bursary winner is declared!” - -No sooner had she uttered that joyful exclamation than a cold chill -crept into her heart. How dreadful for her father to be present if she -had really won the Mutton Bone; for he would have to be told perhaps -that she could not be allowed to keep it because of that ugly fact of -his past, which had landed him in prison for fourteen days. - -What a shame that there should be any clouds to mar his coming—and it -was really a cloud of an extra heavy sort that was the reason of his -being obliged to come. - -“It is pretty rotten that he should have been sent for,” growled Tom. -“All the fathers have been asked to come. So you see Rhoda raised a -pretty heavy dust when she butted in.” - -“Why have they all been sent for?” asked Dorothy in dismay. To her way -of thinking such extreme measures boded very ill for the culprits. - -“The fathers and the masters are going to confer as to what is to be -done with us,” explained Tom, who was leaning against a tree and moodily -kicking at the turf. “Dr. Cameron has got a bee in his bonnet about the -gambling stunt going on in the schools; he is making a bid to wipe it -out for always—don’t you wish he may do it? He thinks the best way is -to let our governors take a hand in the business. He told us that if it -had only been a question of our sneaking out of dorm when we were -supposed to be fast asleep in bed, he would have dealt with the matter -himself, and taken care that we had so much work to do that we would be -thankful to stay in bed when we had a chance to get there.” - -“Oh, Tom, how I wish you had never given way to betting and that sort of -thing!” cried Dorothy, dismayed at the turn things had taken. - -“You’ll have to be more sorry still if I have to lose the scholarship,” -said Tom with a savage air. - -“It won’t—it surely won’t come to that!” said Dorothy in dismay. Again -a pang smote her as she thought of the double trouble there might be in -store for the dear father. It did not even comfort her at the moment to -remember how wholly innocent she was of any hand in bringing on the -trouble which might arise on her account. - -“It may do.” Tom’s tone was gloomy in the extreme. “On the other hand, -it may tell in my favour that I am a scholarship boy. The authorities -may argue that there must be good in me because I have worked so well in -the past. They will say that, as I am one of the youngest of the crowd, -I was doubtless led away by the seniors. Oh, there is certain to be a -way out for me.” - -“I am not sure that you deserve to have a way out found for you,” she -said severely. “Oh, Tom, how could you bring such trouble on them at -home!” - -“Don’t preach,” burst out Tom impatiently. “I get more than enough of -that from Bobby Felmore.” - -“Bobby wasn’t in with the night-club crowd?” questioned Dorothy. - -“Not he.” Tom snorted in derision of Bobby and Bobby’s standpoints. “He -is too smug for anything these days. Downright putrid, I call it. I’ve -no use for mugs.” - -“Here comes Rhoda!” cried Dorothy with a little gasp of fright. “Oh, -Tom, what are you going to say to her?” - -“Nothing,” he answered with a snarl. “If she were a boy I would fight -her. Seeing she is a girl, I can’t do that; so the only thing to be done -is to look right through her and out the other side without taking any -further notice of her.” - -Rhoda bore down upon them with a little rush, her hands held out in -imploring fashion. “Oh, Tom,” she cried, “I am thankful to see you here! -Why have you not answered my letters? I have fairly squirmed in the dust -at your feet, begging forgiveness for my cattish temper. But I was -fairly desperate, or I should never have been so mad as to let you down, -and your crowd as well. Words won’t say how sorry I am——” - -She broke off with a jerk, for Tom, after looking at her with a cold and -steady stare, turned on his heel and walked away, calling over his -shoulder as he went,— - -“So long, Dorothy, old girl; see you later.” - -For a moment Rhoda stood staring at Tom’s retreating figure as if she -could not believe her eyes, then she turned upon Dorothy with fury in -her face. - -“This is your work, then?” she cried shrilly. “I always knew you were -jealous because Tom thought so much of me. A fine underhand piece of -work, to try and separate me from my friend!” - -“I have not tried to separate you from Tom; it would not have been any -use,” said Dorothy calmly. “The separating, as you call it, was your own -work. Tom will have to bear such a lot from his crowd because of your -letter to his Head that he says he will not speak to you again.” - -“Oh, he will come round,” Rhoda said, and tried to believe it; but she -was hurt in her pride—the more so because she had the sense to see that -she had brought the whole disaster on herself. - -Dorothy turned away. She was feeling pretty sore herself because of the -trouble that was bringing her father to the Compton Schools just then. -It took away all her joy at the prospect of seeing him, to think how he -might have to suffer on her account before he went away. She could not -even comfort herself with the thought that she might not win the -Bursary, because if she did not win it herself, the probabilities were -that Rhoda would win it, in which case she was pledged to the Head to -reveal that thing against Rhoda which she had seen in the showrooms of -Messrs. Sharman and Song. What a miserable tangle it all was, and what a -shame that people could not be happy when they so badly wanted to be -free from care. - -Monday came with hours of examination work. Happily, she was so absorbed -in it that she hardly noticed how the hours went by. There was an -archery contest in the afternoon. The younger boys came over, and some -of the seniors, but there were big gaps in the Fifth and the Sixth of -the boys’ school. None of the luckless twenty-five were present, they -being gated for that day and the next—that is to say, until the council -of fathers and masters had determined on what to do with them. - -Dorothy guessed that she would not see her father that day. Tom had told -her he would reach Sowergate by the six-thirty train, and as he would go -straight to the boys’ school to dine with Dr. Cameron, and would have to -be at the council afterwards, there would be no chance of seeing him -until next morning. - -She heard the train run in to Sowergate station, and there was a thrill -in her heart to think of her father being so near. The worst of it was -that she felt so bad on his account, because of what he would have to -face both for Tom at the boys’ school, and for herself at the girls’ -school. - -She was so tired that night when bedtime came that she fell asleep -directly her head touched the pillow, and she slumbered dreamlessly -until morning. It was early when she woke, and sitting up in bed she -thought of all the things that were before her in the day. She wondered -what she would say to her father, and whether she ought to tell him of -the arrangement the Head had made with her. It did not seem fair that he -should have to face a situation of such gravity without some -preparation. - -“I can’t tell him! Oh, I can’t tell him!” she murmured distressfully, -and then, because lying still and thinking about it was so intolerable, -she sprang out of bed, beginning to dress with feverish haste. It was -such a comfort to pitch straight into work, and to lose sight for a -little while of the things which bothered her so badly. - -The whole of the Sixth were to work at term finals from eleven o’clock -until one that day, and they set off down to the beach at half-past -nine, to bathe and get back for a little rest before the time for the -exam. The Fourth Form girls had already gone down; the Fifth were -sitting for their finals, and would go to bathe when their work was -done. - -As the group of girls with Miss Groome turned out of the school gates, -they met Dr. Sedgewick coming in. Dorothy’s heart gave a great bound -when she saw him, for he looked so tired and so very careworn. - -Miss Groome stayed with her to speak to him, while the rest of the girls -went on. - -“I have not come to see you at this moment, Dorothy,” he said, with his -hand on her shoulder, while his gaze travelled over her with great -content. “Your Head has sent a message asking to see me, and I am going -to her now. If you are back from the beach in good time, I may have a -few minutes with you; and then later in the day, when your finals are -over, we will have a great time together, and a regular pow-wow. You are -looking fine; it is evident that work agrees with you.” - -“Dorothy is a very good worker,” said Miss Groome graciously; and then -she hurried on with Dorothy, to catch up with the girls who were in -front, while Dr. Sedgewick walked on to the hall door for his interview -with the Head. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - - DOROTHY TO THE RESCUE - -The girls of the Compton School bathed from the strip of beach just -beyond the steps and in front of the lock-house. It was a steep and not -very safe bit of shore. But all the girls could swim fairly well, while -some of them were really expert. - -The Fourth Form girls had two mistresses with them, and they were all in -the water, splashing about with tremendous zest, when the Sixth, who had -come to bathe, arrived on the scene. - -Coming up the steps from the lock-house, they reached the Promenade, and -were just going to spring down the wall to reach the tents when a shrill -cry rang out that Cissie Wray was drowning. - -There was instant commotion. Some of the girls who were in the water -came hurrying out, scrambling up the beach in a panic; others launched -themselves into deep water with a reckless disregard for their own -safety, and swam out to help in the rescue. - -Dorothy, standing on the edge of the wall, and looking out over the -water, saw an arm shoot up, then disappear. She saw Miss Mordaunt, the -games-mistress, and Miss Ball, the mistress of the Fourth, making wild -efforts to reach the place where Cissie Wray was in trouble; she saw the -girls who were in the water crowding together, getting in the way of the -rescuers, endangering themselves, and adding to the confusion. Acting on -impulse, she sprang from the wall, then running down the steep beach, -and tearing off her skirt as she ran, she kicked off her shoes, and -running still, took to the water as lightly as a duck, going forward -with long, even strokes that carried her swiftly on. - -“Go back! go back!” she shouted to the small girls who were bobbing up -and down in the water, anxious to help. “Get out of the deep as quickly -as you can, and get ready to make a chain to pull us up.” - -Chain-making for rescue was one of the most usual swimming exercises. -Sometimes half the chain would be straggling up the beach, and the other -half in deep water; then the last one of the chain would drop limp and -passive, while the chain struggled shorewards with the helpless one in -tow. - -Dorothy’s quick wit had seen that the great hope of rescue lay in the -chain. The tide was running in fast, and the beach at this point rose so -steeply that a swimmer with a burden was most fearfully handicapped. Oh! -a rescue in such a sea would be a task of magnitude, and she suddenly -realized that Cissie must have been very far out. Miss Ball was nearest -to the place where Dorothy had seen the arm flung up. She was swimming -with desperate haste, but she was not saving her strength in the least -possible way. She was not a strong swimmer, either, and even if she -reached the little girl, she would not be able to do more than hold her -up in the water. - -Miss Mordaunt had been right away at the outer edge of the group. She -had been helping the younger ones to get more confidence in their own -powers; she had to see these headed for safety before she could come to -the help of Miss Ball and Cissie, so she was behind Dorothy. - -Miss Ball shot forward, gripped hold of Cissie by the bathing-dress, and -was holding her fast, when poor, frantic Cissie, with a thin shriek of -pure panic, seized Miss Ball in a frenzied grip, clinging with all her -might, and choking the Fourth Form mistress by the tightness of her -clutch. - -Dorothy made a wild effort and shot forward. Would she ever cover the -distance that separated her from the two who were in such dire peril? -She almost reached them—she shot out an arm to grip Miss Ball, who was -nearest; a great wave heaved up and swept the Fourth Form mistress -farther to the left. Dorothy put out another spurt; she flung every -ounce of strength she had into the effort; she summoned all her will -power to her aid, and suddenly, just as she was feeling that she simply -could not do any more, Cissie Wray was flung into reach of her groping -fingers, and she had the little girl fast. - -Cissie was still clinging with might and main to the neck of Miss Ball, -who, strangled and helpless in that suffocating grip, was slowly -beginning to sink. - -Treading water to keep herself afloat, Dorothy hung on to Cissie’s -bathing-dress with one hand, and with the other she wrenched the little -girl’s hand from its frantic clasp of Miss Ball’s throat. Quite well she -realized her own danger in doing this, but she trusted to her swiftness -of movement to be able to elude Cissie’s clutching fingers. She had -seized Cissie well by the back of the bathing-dress, and was keeping her -at arm’s length. But the trouble now was with Miss Ball, who, having -been so badly choked, could not regain the strength that had been -squeezed out of her, and was being sucked down into the water. - -Dorothy made a clutch at her, and catching her by the arm, held her -fast. “Buck up!” she said sharply. “Buck up and strike out, or we’ll all -be drowned. Keep afloat a minute; help is coming.” - -Miss Ball had done her bit, and there was no more do in her. She flung -out her hands with a feeble and spasmodic effort, which amounted to -nothing as far as helping herself went. - -Dorothy was in despair. Her own strength was waning, her heart was -beating in a choking fashion, there was a loud singing in her ears, and -her arms felt as if they were being dragged out of their sockets. She -could not stand the strain another moment. Where was Miss Mordaunt, and -why did she not come to the rescue? - -Miss Ball was sinking—oh! she was surely sinking. Dorothy felt she -could not hold the poor thing up for another second, for she was having -to keep Cissie afloat too, and Cissie was squirming and kicking in the -most dangerous fashion. - -“Courage, Dorothy, I am here!” panted a voice close to her, and -realizing that Miss Mordaunt was close at hand, Dorothy’s courage began -instantly to revive. - -Miss Mordaunt laid hold of Miss Ball, who was by this time limp and -unconscious. - -“Can you hold Cissie until I come?” panted Miss Mordaunt, who was moving -rapidly to get the helpless Miss Ball ashore. - -“I can manage,” Dorothy called out cheerily. She put every bit of -courage she possessed into her voice so that Miss Mordaunt might be -helped. There is nothing like courage to inspire courage, and although -the others were doubtless swimming out to their help, there was a good -distance to cover, and it was a very choppy sea. - -Dorothy shifted Cissie, because the little girl’s face was so low down -that it kept getting under water. - -Cissie, feeling the movement, and believing that her rescuer was letting -her go, made a sudden, despairing effort, and gripped Dorothy round the -shoulders. Lucky for Dorothy it was that the choking grip did not get -her round the throat. It was bad enough as it was, for she could not -move her arms, and was dependent on her feet for keeping herself and -Cissie from drifting farther out to sea. - -“Cissie, let go; leave yourself to me—I will save you!” she panted. But -Canute ordering the waves back from the shore was not more helpless in -altering their course than she was in making any impression on poor, -frantic Cissie. The child clung like a limpet to a rock; Dorothy had -never felt anything like the clutch of those thin arms. - -She could not hold up against it. She was being dragged down in spite of -her struggles. Oh! it was awful, awful. Scenes from her past flashed -into the mind of Dorothy as she felt herself slipping, slipping, and -felt the thin arms about her neck clutching tighter and tighter. - -Then suddenly a great peace stole into her heart; if she had to die in -such a way, at least it would solve the problem of to-morrow. If she -were not there to win the Lamb Bursary, the governors would not have to -be told of that ugly bit in her father’s past which would shut her out -from taking the Bursary even after she had won it. Supposing that she -did not win it, and it came to Rhoda, if she were dead there would be no -one to remind Rhoda that she might not have the Bursary because she was -not fit to hold it. Perhaps her death was the best way out for them all. -Anyhow, she had no longer strength to struggle—no more power to hold -out against the cramping clutch of Cissie’s arms; and it was a relief, -when one was so weary, to drop into peace which was so profound. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - - SAVED BY THE CHAIN - -There was a wild commotion on the shore. Following the example of -Dorothy, the Sixth dropped their skirts as they ran, and kicking off -their shoes at the edge of the water, plunged in. But they were all -under control and acting in concert—no one girl made any attempt to -branch out on her own. They were acting now under the orders of Miss -Groome, who, also skirtless and shoeless, was standing in the shallow of -the water, directing the work of the chain. - -“Keep to the left, Hazel,” she called—“more to the left; keep within -touch of the Fourth’s chain, but don’t foul them—don’t foul them, -whatever you do.” - -Hazel was the first of the chain; clinging to her was Joan Fletcher, a -powerful swimmer, and calm in moments of crisis—an invaluable helper at -a time like this. Following her came Daisy Goatby, blubbering aloud -because of the peril of those out there, a girl who turned pale and ran -away when a dog yelped with pain at being trodden upon. She hated to be -obliged to look on suffering—the thought of any one in extremity made a -coward of her—but she could obey orders. Miss Groome had ordered her -into the chain, and she would cling to the girl who was in front of her -even though she felt her life was being battered out of her. Dora Selwyn -was behind her. Rhoda was also somewhere at the back of that wriggling -procession, with Margaret and Jessie Wayne. They had reached the chain -of plucky Fourths; they were encouraging the kids to hold on, and -bidding them not come farther, but rest, treading water until the time -for action came. The Sixth pushed ahead with all their strength. They -could not swim so fast, hampered by each other; but it was safety first, -and they had to obey orders if their work was to succeed. - -Miss Mordaunt struggled towards them, holding the unconscious Miss Ball -in a tense grip. - -“Can you get her ashore, girls? I must go to Dorothy,” she panted; and -thrusting Miss Ball within the grabbing clutch of the two first girls, -she struck out again to reach Dorothy, who was dropping low in the -water, dragged down by the grip of poor Cissie. - -Hazel, with a dexterous twist of her arm, passed Miss Ball to Joan, who -did not release her grip of the unconscious mistress until Daisy had -hold of her and was passing her to Dora. This passing was the extreme -test of the power of the chain. It would have been a comparatively easy -thing to have towed her ashore. In that case, however, they would not -have been on hand to help Miss Mordaunt with Dorothy and Cissie. So they -had to pass their burden, and to do it as quickly as they could. - -Hazel never looked behind her—she did not speak even; but, lightly -treading water, she waited until Miss Mordaunt could reach her. Even -then she would have to hold her place, for Cissie would have to be -passed before they could tow Dorothy ashore. And it took time—oh, what -an awful time it took! - -Miss Mordaunt was coming towards them. She was holding Dorothy, to whom -Cissie clung with the fierce clutch of despair. - -“We cannot pass Cissie along—she is too frightened,” panted Miss -Mordaunt, as she reached Hazel with her burden, and clung to the chain -for a minute to get back her breath. “Dorothy is so frightfully done, -too; but she will bear that clutch until we can get her ashore.” - -“We can pass Dorothy along, with Cissie clinging to her,” said Hazel, -raising herself a little in the water, and reaching out her hand to get -a grip of Dorothy. “Can you swim alongside, Miss Mordaunt, to see that -Cissie does not slip away?” - -“That will be best,” agreed Miss Mordaunt, and striking out, she swam -slowly along the chain of girls as they one after the other accepted and -thrust forward the helpless two. When Dora, fourth from the end, laid -hold of Dorothy, Hazel swung slowly round in the water, and swimming up -behind Dorothy seized her on the other side, holding on to her, and -helping to push her from girl to girl as the chain accepted and passed -her on. - -Cissie was not struggling at all now, though the tightness of her clutch -never relaxed; she was realizing that she was being rescued, and her -panic was dropping from her. She was acutely conscious, and her black -eyes looked so frightened and mournful that no one had the heart to -reproach her for all the peril into which her wild panic had brought the -others. - -The Fourth had managed to hold the chain without a break, and mightily -proud they were of their prowess. They even raised a cheer when the last -of the Sixth came out of the water; but it died away as they saw Dorothy -lying helpless on the beach, while Miss Ball, at a little distance, was -being wrapped in blankets by the woman from the lock-house. - -Dorothy was not unconscious; she was only so battered and beaten by the -struggle in the water that just at the first she could not lift a finger -to help herself. - -Miss Ball was coming round, so the woman from the lock-house said, and -she offered her own bed for the use of the two who had suffered most. - -Miss Groome felt that, having borne so much, it was better for them to -bear a little more, and be carried to where they could have more -comfort. She issued a few crisp orders. The girls, still in their wet -clothes, ran to obey. Then, while the Fourth dived into their tents to -dress with all the speed of which they were capable, the Sixth in their -wet garments loaded Miss Ball, Dorothy, and Cissie on to three trucks -which were standing under the wall of the lifeboat house, and harnessing -themselves to them, started at a brisk pace for the school. They had no -dry clothes on the shore to change into, and so it was wisdom to -move—and to move as quickly as they could. The woman from the -lock-house had lent them blankets to cover the half-drowned ones; on to -these blankets they spread skirts; then each girl wrapping her own skirt -round her, they set off from the shore at the best pace they could make. - -Dorothy was bumped along on that fearful hand-truck. She felt she could -not bear much of such transport, and yet knew very well that she had no -strength to walk. She was so tired—so fearfully weary—that she simply -could not bear anything more. - -When she had been in such danger of drowning, dragged down by Cissie’s -frenzied clasp of her shoulders, it had seemed such deep peace and rest, -she had not even wanted to struggle. Then had come the confusion of Miss -Mordaunt’s rough grip, and the girls dragging her here and pulling her -there as they passed her along. Then had come the moment when she was -hauled to safety up the steep shingly beach. How the stones had hurt her -as she lay! Yet even that was as nothing to this. At least she had been -able to lie still on the stones, but now the life was being bumped out -of her! She could certainly stand no more! She must shriek—she must do -something to show how intolerable it all was—— - -“Why, Dorothy, it looks as if you had been getting it rough. Have you -been competing for a medal from the Humane Society, or just doing a -swimming stunt off your own bat?” - -Dorothy opened her eyes with a little cry of sheer rapture. “Oh, Daddy, -Daddy, I had forgotten you were here! I can’t bear this old truck one -minute longer—I can’t, oh, I can’t!” she wailed. - -Dr. Sedgewick had been warned by the girl who had run on ahead of the -procession to tell matron of what was coming, and he had met the girls -and the hand-trucks down the lane a little beyond the school grounds. He -gave a rapid glance round to size up the possibilities of the situation. -Catching sight of the little gate into the grounds which would cut off a -big piece of the way, he called to them to open it, and stooping down, -he lifted Dorothy from the truck, swinging her over his shoulder. - -“Guide me by the shortest way to the san,” he said to the nearest girl; -and while she ran on ahead of him, he followed after her, carrying -Dorothy. - -“I am so heavy, you will never manage it,” she protested, yet -half-heartedly, for it was such a delightful change to be borne along -like this after that awful bumping on the truck. - -“I think I shall be able to hold out,” he answered, laughing at her -distress, and then he passed in at the door of the san, where the matron -met him, and showed him where to carry Dorothy. - -The hours after that were a confusion of pain and weariness, a -succession of deep sleeps and sudden, startled wakings. Then presently -Dorothy came out of a bad dream of being dragged down to the bottom of -the sea by Cissie, and awoke to find a light burning, and her father -sitting in an easy-chair near her bed, absorbed in a paper—or was it a -book? - -Her senses were confused—she did not seem as if she could be sure of -anything; and there was something bothering her very badly, yet she -could not quite remember what it was. - -“Daddy, is it really you?” she asked half-fearfully. It was in her mind -that she might be dreaming, and that it was not her father who was -sitting there, only a fancy her imagination had conjured up. - -Dr. Sedgewick dropped the paper he had been reading, and came quite -close to the bed, stooping down over her, and slipping his fingers along -her wrist in his quiet, professional manner. - -“Better, are you?” he asked cheerfully, and his eyes smiled down at her, -bringing a choking sob into her throat. The heavy sleep was clearing -from her now, and she was remembering the big trouble which lay behind. - -“Oh, Daddy, I can’t bear it!” she wailed. - -“What is the matter?” he asked in sudden concern. “Have you pain -anywhere?” - -“Oh, I am all right; there is nothing the matter with me,” she burst out -wildly. “It would have been better if I had gone down with Cissie, when -I was so nearly done; it would have saved all the explaining that would -have to come after.” - -“What explaining?” he asked quietly, and then he dragged his chair -closer to the bed, and leaning over her, gently stroked the hair back -from her forehead. - -She lay quite still for a few seconds, revelling in the peace and -comfort that came from his touch. Then, wrenching her head from under -his hand, she asked anxiously, “Daddy, you have seen the Head—do you -think I shall win the Lamb Bursary?” - -“I very much hope you will,” he answered. “The Head, of course, could -make no hard-and-fast pronouncement, but there seems not very much doubt -about the matter.” - -Dorothy’s brows contracted—there was such a world of misery in her -heart that she felt as if she would sink under the weight of it. “Oh, I -wish I had not enrolled! I wish I had not come to Compton!” she burst -out distressfully. - -“Why do you wish that?” he asked quietly. “I thought you had been so -happy here, and you have certainly done well—far, far better than Tom.” - -“Ah, poor Tom! What have you done with him and with all the others?” she -asked, catching at anything which seemed as if it might put off for a -minute the necessity of explaining to her father her trouble about the -Lamb Bursary. - -Dr. Sedgewick laughed, and to her great relief there was real amusement -in the sound. “We all agreed—and there were fifteen of us to agree, -mark you—that we had absolute confidence in Dr. Cameron’s methods in -dealing with boys. We felt the affair was a problem we would rather -leave him to solve free-handed, and we have left their punishment to -him. They are all to return next term, and he will decide on what course -to take with them.” - -“Won’t they be punished in any way now?” she asked in surprise. - -“Yes, in a way, I suppose,” he answered. “They will, of course, lose all -conduct marks, because they were acting in known defiance of -regulations—that goes without saying. The great majority of us were in -favour of flogging, but our suggestion met with no encouragement from -the Head. He told us there were some things for which flogging was a -real cure, but gambling was not one of them. The only real and lasting -cure for gambling was to lift the boy to a higher level of thought and -outlook—in short, to fill his life so full of worthier things that the -love of gambling should be fairly crowded out. He argued, too, that if -it were crowded out in youth, it would not have much chance to develop -later on in life.” - -“It sounds like common sense,” said Dorothy, turning a little on her -pillow, and looking at the shaded night lamp as if the softened glow -might show her a clear way through her own problems. Then she asked, -with a timid note in her voice, “So you are not being anxious about Tom -any more?” - -“I did not say that,” Dr. Sedgewick answered quickly. “You know, -Dorothy, a doctor never gives up hope while there is life in a patient; -so one should never give up hope of recovery of one suffering from—what -shall I call it?—spiritual disease. We will say that Tom has shown a -tendency to disease. But checked in its first stages—arrested in -development—he may be entirely cured before he reaches full manhood. -That is what I am hoping, and what those other fathers are hoping and -believing too. We feel that the discipline of school is the best -medicine for them at the present stage, and that is why we are so -content to leave the whole business in the hands of Dr. Cameron.” - -Dorothy lay silent for a minute or two, and again her eyes sought the -soft glow from the lamp. Then making a desperate effort, she made her -plunge. “Daddy,” she whispered, catching at his hand and resting her -cheek upon it, “Daddy, I have got a trouble—a real, hefty-sized -trouble.” - -“I know you have,” he answered gravely, and then he sat silent, waiting -for her to speak. - -How hard it was! Why did he not help her? She held his hand tighter -still. Oh! if only she could make him understand how it hurt her to -speak of that old story to him! And yet it had to be done! She could not -in honour take the Bursary, knowing herself disqualified for it. - -“Had you not better out with it, and get it over, Dorothy?” he asked -quietly. - -She gasped, and suddenly burst out with a jerk, “Daddy, Mrs. Wilson told -me you had been sent to prison for a fortnight when you were a young -man, and the rules of enrolment for the Lamb Bursary candidates state -specially that girls cannot compete whose parents have been in prison.” - -It was out now—out with a vengeance—and Dorothy hid her face so that -she might not have to see the pain she had caused. So strained was she -that it seemed a long, long time before her father spoke, and when he -did, his voice seemed to come from a great distance. - -“Mrs. Wilson made a little mistake; it was not I who went to prison, but -my cousin Arthur,” he was saying. “It was Arthur who was driving home -from the dance that night, and I was sitting beside him trying to hold -him back from his mad progress. You would have spared yourself a lot of -suffering, Dorothy, if you had come to me with that old story when you -were home last vacation.” - -“Then you have never been in prison?” cried Dorothy, her voice rising in -a shout of sheer joyfulness. “And I can have the Mutton Bone!” - -“You have to win it first,” Dr. Sedgewick reminded her. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - - DOROTHY GETS THE MUTTON BONE - -In consequence of the trouble at the bathing place, and the tired and -chilled condition of the Sixth, the examination for finals was put off -until next morning at eight o’clock. - -Dr. Sedgewick had said that Dorothy would certainly not be fit to sit -for it; but when the Sixth went into early breakfast at seven o’clock -Dorothy joined them. She was a bit shaky still, and she looked rather -white, but there was such radiant happiness in her eyes that she seemed -fairly transfigured by it. - -The examination was over by ten o’clock, and the girls dispersed to -amuse themselves in any way they liked best. Cissie Wray fell upon -Dorothy as she came out of the examination room—literally fell upon -her—hugging her with ecstasy. - -“Dorothy, Dorothy, are you better? Oh, I want to say ‘Thank you!’—I -want to shout it at you; and yet it does not seem worth saying, because -it is so little to all I feel inside—for your goodness in saving me -yesterday.” - -“Poor Cissie, you were badly scared,” said Dorothy, and she shivered a -little even in the warm sunshine as she thought of the frenzied clutch -of Cissie’s thin arms and the agony in her big black eyes. - -“Oh, it was dreadful, dreadful! I don’t ever want to go into the sea -again, though I am not afraid in the swimming bath.” - -“How is Miss Ball?” asked Dorothy, wanting to get Cissie’s attention -away from the previous day’s terror. - -“She is better, but she is not up yet. And the girls say I nearly -drowned her as well as myself, and that we should both have been dead if -it had not been for you! Oh dear, how awful it was! I can’t bear to -think about it!” - -“Then don’t think about it,” said Dorothy, looking down at Cissie with -kindness in her eyes. “I can see my father coming by the shrubbery -path—shall we go and meet him?” - -“Oh, rather!” cried Cissie, skipping along by the side of Dorothy. “Dr. -Sedgewick is a dear; he took such lovely care of me yesterday, and -teased me about wanting to be a mermaid. I think he is the most -wonderful doctor I have ever seen. But I have never had a doctor before -that I can remember—so, of course, I have not had much experience.” - -Cissie seized upon one of the doctor’s arms, while Dorothy held the -other, and they took him all round the grounds. They showed him the -gymnasium, the archery and tennis courts, the bowling green, and all the -other things which made school so pleasant. Then Cissie had to go off to -a botany examination, which was the last of the term’s work for the -Fourth, and Dorothy strolled with her father to the seat under the beech -tree that overlooked the boys’ playing-fields. - -“I have sent a wire to your mother to say that I shall not be home until -the night train,” said Dr. Sedgewick, slipping his arm round Dorothy as -she sat with her head resting against his shoulder. “Your Head says that -I must stay for the prize-giving this afternoon. If I skip tea, I think -I can manage the five o’clock train, which will put me in town with time -to catch the last train to Farley.” - -“Then Tom and I shall get home to-morrow. Oh! how lovely it will be.” -Dorothy nestled a little closer in her father’s arm, and thought -joyfully that now there was no shadow on her joy of home-coming. - -“Yet you have been very happy here?” The doctor looked round upon the -grounds and the playing-fields as he spoke, and thought he had never -seen a pleasanter place. - -“Indeed I have—it has been lovely!” said Dorothy with satisfying -emphasis. “It has been good to be near Tom. Only the worst of it has -been that he did not seem to need me very much.” - -“Tom will be happier when he has cut his wisdom teeth,” said Dr. -Sedgewick. “By the way, Dorothy, what other fairy stories did Mrs. -Wilson tell you of my past? I should think the poor lady’s brain must -have been weakening, though, in truth, it was never very strong.” - -“I don’t think she told me any others,” answered Dorothy. “I thought she -seemed very fond of your cousin, Arthur Sedgewick, by the way she spoke -of him. Daddy, why did you never tell us anything about him, and why did -mother refuse to talk about him when I mentioned the matter to her?” - -“He turned out such a detrimental, poor fellow, that your mother hated -the very mention of him, especially as it laid such a burden on my -shoulders for years. When he died he left debts, and he left an invalid -wife. For the sake of the family honour the debts had to be paid, and -the poor wife had to be supported until she died. There was good reason -for your mother’s unwillingness to talk about him. It was getting into -bad habits as a boy that was his undoing.” The doctor sat for a while in -silence, and then he said, “It is because of Arthur having made such a -mess of life that I am so glad to leave Tom here for another couple of -years—he will have learned many things by that time.” - - * * * * * - -The lecture hall was crammed to its utmost capacity. Many visitors -occupied the chairs in the centre of the hall, while round the -outskirts, in the corners, along the front of the dais, and everywhere -that it was possible to find a place to sit, or stand, girls in white -frocks were to be seen. Prize-giving for the boys had been the previous -afternoon—a function shorn of much of its glory, for the double reason -that the disaster on the beach in the morning had taken away much of the -joyfulness of the girls, and the fact that twenty-five of the boys would -not receive even the prizes they had earned, because of the trouble in -regard to the night-club. - -The boys who had come over to the prize-giving at the girls’ school were -accommodated in the gallery. There were not so many of them present as -was usual on such occasions, but those who had come did their loudest -when it came to the cheering. The wife of the M.P. for the division gave -away the prizes; and as she was gracious and kindly in her manner, she -received a great ovation. - -Dorothy had the conduct medal—she had also the first prize for English -Literature; but that was all. The fact of having to be an all-round -worker was very much against the chances of winning prizes. - -It seemed a fearfully long time to wait until all the prizes had been -given. Then the wife of the M.P. sat down, and the legal-looking -gentleman who managed the Lamb Bursary stepped on to the dais. He had a -paper in his hand; but he had to stand and wait so long for the cheering -to subside that the Head rose in her place and came forward to the edge -of the dais, holding up her hand for silence. - -At once a hush dropped on the place—a hush so profound and so sudden -that it gave one the sensation of having had a door shut suddenly on the -great noise of the past few minutes. - -Then, in his quiet but penetrating voice the governor of the Bursary -read the names of the candidates in the order in which they had -enrolled, with the total of marks to each name. - -Dorothy sat white and rigid. As the names were read out she tried to -remember them, to determine, which girl had the most, but she was so -confused that she could not hold the figures in her head. When the seven -names had been read there was a pause, and again the hush was so -profound that the humming of a bee in one of the windows sounded quite -loud by contrast. - -“I have therefore great pleasure,” went on the cool, rather didactic -tones of the governor, “in stating that the Lamb Bursary for this year -goes to Dorothy Ida Sedgewick, who has won it, not by a mere squeeze, -but with a hundred marks above the candidate nearest to her in point of -number.” - -Now indeed there was a riot of cheering, of clapping, and of jubilation -generally, until, standing up, the whole crowd of white-frocked girls -burst into singing,— - - “For she’s a jolly good fellow, - Who well has earned the prize.” - -Then they linked hands, joining in “Auld Lang Syne,” in compliment to -their visitors, this merging at the end into the National Anthem, after -which the visitors were to be entertained to tea on the lawn. But Dr. -Sedgewick had to hurry away to catch his train. - -Dorothy went with him as far as the little gate at the end of the -grounds through which she had been carried the previous day. - -She had not much to say for herself, but the radiant content of her face -was just the reflection of the happiness in her heart. She was thinking -how differently she would have felt but for that talk with her father -last night. - -“It will be good news for your mother, Dorothy. You have made us very -happy,” said Dr. Sedgewick in a moved tone as he bade her good-bye at -the gate. - -“Daddy, it is just lovely, and I am so happy about it all,” she said. -“Of course it is hard for Margaret that she did not win; but she is -going to stay at Compton another year, so she will have her chance -again.” - -“It was not Margaret who was next to you, but that rather bold-looking -girl, Rhoda Fleming,” her father said, thinking she had made a mistake -as to who was next to her. - -Dorothy smiled. “Oh, I am not sorry for Rhoda—I did not want her to -win,” she said quietly. “Perhaps I should not have worked so hard myself -if it had not been because I knew I had to beat her somehow, for the -honour of the school.” - -“Well, she was your friend if she inspired you to greater effort,” he -answered, and dropping another kiss on her forehead hurried down the -road to catch his train. - -Dorothy went back to the others. She did her part in waiting on the -visitors. She was here, she was there—and everywhere it was kindly -congratulation she had for her hard work. - -Later on, when the visitors were taking leave of the Head, Dorothy, -alone for a moment, was pounced upon by Rhoda, who said sharply, “So you -did beat me after all—I was afraid you would.” - -“I was bound in honour to beat you if I could,” Dorothy answered, -looking her straight in the face. “My father says I ought to be grateful -to you for making me work so hard. And I am. I am very grateful to you.” - -Rhoda went very red in the face. A look of something like shame came -into her eyes as she turned away in silence. - - THE END - - - - - TRANSCRIBER NOTES - - -Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected. 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