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“Richenda!”

There was no reply, Richenda being not only miles but centuries away as she stood dreamily in the Chinese Room, long, sensitive fingers running lightly over the paste of the vase she held, eyes feasting themselves on the rich red hues of the sang-de-bœuf glaze with which it glowed so gorgeously.

“Rich—en—da!”

This time it came in a bellow that would not have disgraced one of the famous bulls of Bashan; and this time it penetrated. Richenda started so violently that she came within an ace of dropping the vase. Sheer instinct made her hands tighten their grasp on it, but she had no time to replace it on the shelf whence she had lifted it, for the bellow was followed by the furious irruption of her father into the room, and she was well and truly caught. It was bad enough that she was there at all, seeing that she had been strictly forbidden ever to go there alone. What made it ten times worse was the fact that she was standing there holding his very latest acquired treasure—the valuable Khang-he vase. She had committed a sin in his eyes in being where she was at all. Just what he would think or do about her touching his beloved porcelain, she couldn’t imagine.

“Oh, Christmas!” she thought to herself as she turned to face him, the vase still hugged against her.

“So here you are—again!” he roared. “Didn’t I strictly forbid you to come here unless I was with you? Didn’t I. . . .” At which point his eyes fell on the vase, and he suddenly changed his tactics. “Put—that—down,” he said in a low tone, infinitely more terrifying to his daughter than his earlier efforts. “Put—that—DOWN!—right in the middle of the table!”

For once in her life Richenda obeyed him implicitly. She was quaking inwardly, for her disobedience had been deliberate in even coming to the room. Twice before, he had caned her for a similar offence when he found that talking seemed to do no good. The last time, the punishment had been so severe that her hands had been sore for days. What he would do this time, she simply couldn’t imagine; and yet she found it impossible to keep away. Why, oh, why couldn’t he understand that she, too, loved the beautiful things he kept in the Chinese Room? She would never hurt them—or not so long as he didn’t startle her nearly into a fit by appearing suddenly and shouting at her. This last, because she remembered the occasion when he had found her with a little blue crackle jar in her hands, and had startled her so badly that she had dropped and smashed it. There had been a fine old row then!

She had no time for further thought, for, once the vase was safe, he laid a heavy hand on her shoulder and marched her before him to the study where he wrote the books on Chinese ceramics which were bringing him fame among connoisseurs. A considered judgment by Professor Ambrose Fry was regarded by people who knew with deep respect.

By the time he got her there, she was feeling resentful as well as frightened. If he was as clever as everyone said, he might have taken time to think that her passion for the porcelain was an inheritance from himself and she couldn’t help it. He never seemed to think of that!

He kicked the door to after them, and it slammed loudly, which did not improve matters. He set her free, went to the swivel chair behind the big desk, and pointed to the place opposite.

“Stand there!” he said in tones that literally vibrated with rage.

Richenda took up her position with outward meekness and inward fury. Then she faced the glower he bestowed on her with head up for she was not going to let him see how frightened she really was. The two pairs of grey eyes, so alike in shape, colour and intelligence, met and locked, and there was silence for a few seconds. Then he spoke.

“Well? And what, pray, have you to say for yourself?”

Richenda remained silent. She could think of nothing that would mitigate her crime in his eyes. He waited. Then, seeing that he was likely to get nothing from her that way, he began his inquisition. It was brief, but to the point.

“I have forbidden you to go into that room unless I take you myself, haven’t I?”

“Yes, Father.”

“And in any case, it is a strict rule that you never—never, I say—handle anything there, isn’t it? And you’ve known that most of your life?”

Richenda went red. “Yes, Father,” she said.

“But you chose to disobey me—you deliberately chose to be disobedient.”

“Ye—yes, Father.” Despite herself, her voice quavered a little on the last reply. She guessed she was in for it this time.

“Why?” he shot at her.

But though he was giving her a chance to defend herself, Richenda could think of nothing to say. In fact, she was far too scared to think clearly at all. She only wished he would cane her, or whatever it was he meant to do to her by way of punishment, and get it over. Whatever it was, it would be bad; she knew that. Waiting and wondering about it made no better of it.

“If you were a boy,” he said slowly while his unhappy daughter squirmed inwardly and wished herself a thousand miles away, “I’d give you such a flogging as you’d remember to the last day of your life. How dare you defy me like this?” His voice rose to a furious bray. “You have the audacity to ignore one of my strictest rules. How dare you go into my private room and actually pick up and handle one of the choicest pieces of porcelain there? Do you realise that if you had dropped it you would have destroyed one of the finest specimens of its kind that I have ever even seen? How dared you—how dared you?”

Richenda remained silent, which was as well. He was so angry that, girl or not, if she had ventured to defend herself, she might have got the flogging. She simply stood there, staring at him in silence. She was white and her lips were trembling, though she pressed them together as hard as she could. Her father was also wordless, glaring at her until she was ready to burst into frantic yells or equally frantic tears. At last he spoke.

“Go to your room,” he said, “and stay there. Don’t dare to come near me until I send for you, either. And don’t think you’ll escape any further punishment, Miss! I’m going to make sure that in future you obey me. When I give an order, you’ll do as you’re told, or I’ll know the reason why. Now go!”

Richenda fled, thankful for the respite, though her heart was in her mouth at the thought of what he might do to her. She was sure it would be horrible, whatever it was. He very rarely did rouse himself to interfere with her upbringing, preferring to leave it to Nanny and her school—she had lost her mother when she was still little more than a baby—but when he did, he did it with a vengeance. She was due to go to tea with her chum, Susan Mason, the doctor’s daughter, but Susan must just think what she chose. Perhaps if her father went out later she might be able to slip down to the study and ring Susan, but that would all depend on circumstances.

She reached the haven of her room, and, as she went in, she heard the telephone bell and knew he was ringing someone. He had known she was going to the Masons’ that afternoon, so perhaps he was ringing them himself to explain. Oh, Heavens! What on earth would he say to them? Would he just say she couldn’t go, or would he go into detail? There was never any telling where he was concerned. But it gave Richenda something more to worry about as she sat down in the wicker chair by the window.

“Oh, dear!” she thought to herself. “If only there was someone to take my part and make him see that it isn’t ordinary disobedience! I just can’t help it! When I see beautiful porcelain like that, I’ve just got to touch it and look at it. I get it from him—everyone says I’m as like him as can be! Why can’t he see I’m like him in that, too?”

That way of thinking got her nowhere. There was no one to stand between them and explain her to him, since her mother was dead and her only aunt had long ago quarrelled with him, and no one knew exactly where she was now. Nanny adored her, but though she saw to it that her charge was well cared for and brought up with good manners, she had no understanding of the passion for ceramics which Richenda had indeed inherited from her father. She would merely say that it was a pity that the girl couldn’t do as she was told. Nanny was one of the old school and great on the virtue of obedience.

However, at one o’clock, the old woman arrived to say that the professor had told her to tell his daughter that he was out and she might come down, but she was not to leave the premises. He would be back by half-past six when she was to go to the study to learn what her punishment would be.

“And what have you been doing to need punishment?” Nanny demanded severely.

“The usual,” Richenda told her laconically.

She needed no further explanation. “You’ve been into that room of his again in spite of all he’s said to you about it? Then you’re a very naughty girl, Richenda, and you deserve all you’ll get. I’ve no pity for you. You’re only a child, and a child does as she’s told or takes the consequences,” she scolded. “You’re too old to be spanked nowadays, but your pa’s got a fine rod in pickle for you, or I’m much mistaken! You take and tell him you’re very sorry for all your naughtiness and maybe he’ll let you off a bit.”

“But I’m not sorry,” Richenda returned calmly. “I just can’t help it. It’s part of me. And anyhow, I’ll be fifteen in less than a week’s time, and that’s not a child. He ought to listen to me and try to understand instead of bawling——”

“Now that’s quite enough!” Nanny broke in sharply. “Hold your tongue at once, Richenda, and don’t expect me to stand here listening to you talking about your pa like that, for I won’t do it, and well you ought to know it!”

“I wasn’t doing any harm in his old room,” the culprit said rather more calmly.

“That’s neither here nor there. He told you to stay out, and you’ll stay out if you know what’s good for you! And I’ve no time to stand here talking to you. Go and make yourself tidy, and then come down to the schoolroom and get your dinner. Your pa’s gone off to London, he said. I’m not going to be bothered laying the dining-room table just for you. Hurry up, now!” With which valediction she stumped out of the room, leaving Richenda to wash her hands and face and tidy her hair before she ran down to the sunny back sitting-room which had been the nursery in her baby days and was now dignified by the title of schoolroom.

Nanny had the table ready, and as she passed a plate of tongue and ham and salad to her nursling, she gave her a further message from the Professor.

“Your pa says you’re to ’phone Masons’ and tell them you can’t go to tea with Susan this afternoon. And you’re not to set foot outside the garden, so mind that. See if you can obey for once. Now hurry up and get started. I’ve got to go into the town this afternoon to pay the bills, and I don’t want to be late and all the shops busy. I’ve got to oversee that Iris at the washing-up. If I’m not there, she just holds the things under the tap and sets them to drain. Such laziness!”

“Will you be in for tea?” Richenda asked.

“I’ll be back by half-past four—unless you and Iris between you make me late for the shops. Eat up your lettuce, Richenda. I’ll have no saucy ways.”

Well aware that she was in dire disgrace, Richenda said nothing, but finished her lettuce and bread and butter. However, as usual, Nanny’s tongue was a good deal worse than her bite, and she had provided tinned apricots and a large dollop of ice-cream for a sweet. Her charge finished her meal with a good deal of relish.

When they had done, Nanny sailed off to the kitchen to attend to the morals of Iris, the daily help. Richenda went off to the study to ring up the Mason house. She was lucky enough to raise Susan herself who was all that was sympathetic to her friend, though she bewailed the punishment, since it affected herself as badly as Richenda.

“Don’t you worry! This isn’t the punishment,” Richenda assured her. “This is only by the way. I’m most awfully sorry, Sue. I was looking forward to coming. But Nanny says Father has a fine rod in pickle for me. Goodness only knows what it is! Nanny didn’t say—I don’t think she knows. But I’m not looking forward to half-past six, I promise you!”

Susan, whose parents were very easy-going, repeated her sympathy, and then had to ring off. In a doctor’s house you can’t monopolise the telephone for a private conversation for any length of time. Richenda hung up, and went to seek a book before going off to the garden and the standing hammock, where she spent the afternoon alternately reading Mist Over Pendle and wondering just what ghastly punishment her father was evolving for her. She frightened herself badly, and got little good of her book so, on the whole, it was a wasted afternoon.

Nanny returned at half-past four and called her to tea. Whatever she might say, she was deeply sorry for her charge, and she had provided eclairs to follow more of the apricots and cream. Richenda wished she hadn’t had that awful interview looming ahead of her. She could have enjoyed the treat so much better if it hadn’t been for that!

Tea over, Nanny sent her to change into a clean frock and make herself tidy.

“And mind and see your nails are clean,” she finished. “Then you can take your book into the garden again and sit quiet till half-past six. You’ll hear the church clock chiming, and if you don’t, I’ll call you. But you’d best be in good time, so I’d listen, if I was you.”

Richenda did as she was told; but now that the time was so near, even the adventures of Margery and the witches of Pendle failed to hold her attention. The question of what her father meant to do to her would come bobbing up between her and the story, and she thought that half-past six would never come. When she heard the chimes from the nearby church clock, she stood up and smoothed down her skirts with hands that were suddenly clammy. Then she set off for the house, leaving the book in the hammock to take care of itself. She was met by Nanny with the information that her father had just rung up to say that he would not be at home till eight and she had better have her supper at the usual time. There was nothing for it but to go back and wait till Nanny called her at half-past seven for supper. But now the book lay where she had tossed it, and she gave herself up unreservedly to a gloom which even Nanny’s information that she had provided sardine sandwiches for supper did nothing to relieve, though normally, it would have been greeted with a cheer. But she couldn’t think of anything until she knew her fate.

She made such a poor supper that Nanny was secretly worried and wished that her master had seen fit to catch the earlier train. But it was twenty past eight before they heard him come in, and ten minutes more before the study bell trilled sharply through the quiet house. Nanny looked her over swiftly, and then sent her off. Richenda, now that it was upon her, simply crawled along the passage to the door and her tap was so faint that he never heard it and she had to knock again.

He heard her this time, and his voice bade her enter. She took a long breath, threw up her head and stuck out her chin, determined not to let him know how scared she was feeling, and went in. He was at his desk again, looking over something before him, and, as she shut the door, he glanced up at her.

“Come in and shut the door. Now come here. Stand there and listen to me. You’re evidently getting beyond Nanny, and it’s quite plain that tinpot school of yours isn’t doing you much good, either. It’s high time you were at a larger one where you’ll learn to obey orders. I’ve seen Miss Hilton, and I’ve told her you’re leaving.” He stopped and glared at her.

Richenda said nothing, but inwardly she was feeling as if the bottom had dropped out of her world. Was he going to send Nanny away? But he couldn’t! Who would look after the house and buy her clothes, and see to all the thousand and one things that Nanny took on so capably? And what was this about taking her away from St. Margaret’s House? She had been there ever since she was seven. She and Sue had gone up the school side by side, always in the same form, always disputing in a friendly way for the top places. It was a small school—only about forty girls, but she loved it and had been very happy there. And if he took her away as he threatened, then she would be parted from Susan, and they had been friends ever since the day when, as two very new little Juniors, they had met in the cloakroom and chummed up. She knew that in another year’s time they must both leave, as Miss Hilton took no girls over fifteen; but then the pair had made a plan that Susan’s mother was to offer to save the Professor trouble and hunt up a school for both of them. Now, it seemed, she was to leave after this term. And then she found that there wasn’t going to be even one last term. He had paid a term’s fees in lieu of notice, and she had left!

“You need something else and you’re getting it—and at once! When the new term begins, you’re going to a big boarding school where you’ll be one of over two hundred girls, which means you’ll have to toe the line pretty strictly; and that’s what you need. I met Professor Dunne’s wife some weeks ago, and she told me what a good school it is. Her younger girl has been there, but she left last term. I happened to see in The Times at the beginning of the week that the Head would be in London this week-end for interviews, so I went to see her, and I’ve made all the arrangements, so please spare me any appeals to change my mind. They’ll get you nowhere!” He stopped and fished among the papers with which his desk was littered, until he found a long envelope, which he passed to her. “Here; give this to Nanny and tell her she’s to get you everything on the list there. Here’s a cheque for her. If it isn’t enough, she can come to me for more.”

Richenda grasped the envelope and cheque mechanically. She had no thought of appealing against her sentence. She was far too stunned to say anything just yet. But he had not finished what he had to say.

“I hope, Richenda, that when you have come to your senses, you’ll be properly grateful to me for all I’m doing for you. When you come home at Christmas, I hope to find you a very different girl. At the moment, I expect nothing from you but unquestioning obedience. See that I get it!”

There was one thing that had to be said now, and, somehow, Richenda managed it, though it was all she could do to keep from crying, and that she was determined not to do in front of him.

“But—but what about half-term? Don’t I come home for half-term?”

“No; it’s much too far and very expensive into the bargain.”

“Too far? But—but where is the school, then?”

“It’s in Switzerland, in the Oberland. You’re going to a Swiss boarding school. Now you may go. I’ve seen all I want of you for one day. Good night!”

Somehow Richenda contrived to reply. Somehow she got herself from the room. She even remembered to close the door behind her though she had a tiresome habit of leaving doors open. She went to seek Nanny, not very sure whether she was on her heels or her head. A Swiss boarding school! She was going among foreigners who probably didn’t know a word of English, who would never play hockey or netball or cricket! And she knew no German and her French was still rather of the “my-aunt-has-the-pen-of-the-gardener’s-mother” variety!

Really, if her father had tried with both hands for six months on end, he could not have devised a more awful punishment for poor Richenda!

Richenda stood on the platform at Victoria Station, clad in smart coat and beret of gentian blue. Beneath the coat she wore a skirt to match, and an irreproachable shirt-blouse with the tie of her new school knotted beneath the collar. Her hands were in tan gloves, and her shoes and stockings matched the gloves.

“Just a trim schoolgirl,” one might have said at first glance. At the second, one would have withdrawn that. There was more than that to her. Her clothes were certainly all that they ought to be. Her face, as Nanny had told her once this morning, was enough to turn any milk sour!

Her fine black brows were drawn together in an outsize in frowns. Her lips were set in a straight line, and the hand that held what the school inventory called “a night-case”, gripped it as if she would like to sling it up and slug someone over the head with it.

The Professor had gone off to Harrogate to a conference of fellow connoisseurs. He had departed the day before, so Nanny had brought the victim up to London, and was to hand her over to the escort mistress.

The pair had said farewell after breakfast the day before, and it had been icy in the extreme. Once she had got it firmly into her head that there was to be no reprieve for her, Richenda had lapsed into a prolonged fit of what Nanny called “the black sulks”. She had only opened her lips to her father when she couldn’t help it. When they said good-bye, she had jerked her head back from his kiss and put her hands firmly behind her back. She would neither kiss him nor shake hands with him. He had treated her abominably and she would never forgive him!

“Oh, very well!” he had said, “but it’s to be hoped this new school of yours does something to bring you to your senses pretty quickly.”

It was hardly a soothing farewell, but it was his last word to her just then. He had to hurry off to catch his train and she was left to stare sullenly out of the window and wish that she’d never been born or else that she had been born different. He had kept the door of the Chinese Room locked ever since he had caught her, and she resented it fiercely. So, what with one thing and another, her behaviour during the three weeks that had followed his fiat had been somewhat that of a sulky tigress.

Nanny had seen it all, and once her master was away, she called her nursling to account with a point and vim that had its effect.

“Richenda, you’re behaving disgracefully! The master is spending a small fortune on you, and you don’t deserve it, in my opinion—behaving like a naughty sulky baby. Let’s have no more of it, if you please! You’re going tomorrow, and at the rate you’re carrying on, we’re all going to be thankful to be rid of you. Stop it at once!”

She accompanied her diatribe with a sharp shake which shook Richenda out of her mood into a weepified one. She cried until poor Nanny was nearly at her wits’ end to know what to do with her. However, it ended at last, and for the rest of the day the girl behaved more or less like a Christian.

As a matter of fact, she had been growing rather tired of her sulks herself. They got her nowhere, and for all the notice her father took of them, they might not have existed. She was very mournful when the Masons arrived after tea to bid her good-bye, but they contrived to cheer her up between them. The doctor produced an envelope and told her to put it into her bag and not open it until she was safely at the school. Mrs. Mason had a three-pound box of chocolates for her, and Susan had a new book. But perhaps the best of all was the news that Susan told her just as they were saying good-bye. In two more terms’ time Susan herself was going to the same school, and they would be together again.

Richenda had been almost herself for the remainder of the evening, but when she came down to breakfast next morning, Nanny felt her heart go down with a thump, for the black dog was sitting firmly on her back.

“Oh, dear!” thought poor Nanny. “Whatever will the ladies that keep the school think of her if she goes on like this? They’ll say I’ve brought her up very badly. And after me promising her blessed mother I’d do my best for her baby! But there! I dursen’t say a word now. It’d only make her go off in a rage. I wish,” as she watched her charge’s black face, “she were young enough for me to take and give her a good spanking. It’s what she needs!”

At this point, a young lady came up to them with a smile, and Nanny eyed her with approval. She was small and slight and very trig and fresh-looking. When she spoke, her voice was clear and musical and very distinct. Nanny, though she would never own to it, was distinctly “hard of hearing” and it was a treat to deal with someone who neither mumbled nor shouted at her.

“Good morning,” she said, with another of those pretty smiles. “I think this is another new girl for the Chalet School. What is your name, dear?”

“Richenda Fry,” the owner of the name muttered.

“And I’m Miss Ferrars, one of the mistresses at the school. You must be Professor Fry’s daughter. Is your father here with you? We’re just going to take our seats, and you’ll want a last word with him I expect.”

Nanny looked imploringly at her nursling, but Richenda remained dumb, so she had to explain. “The Professor has had to go to Harrogate on business, madam. I’m Richenda’s old nurse—at least I was. I’m the housekeeper now. I hope you will find Richenda’s things all right, madam. I think we got everything the list said. But if there’s anything more she wants, the master said to ask you to write to him, and he would tell me and I’d get it and send it.”

“If you’ve stuck to the inventory I’m sure she has everything she needs,” Miss Ferrars said, laughing. “It’s a most comprehensive document! Our senior mistress, Miss Derwent, is over there if you’d like to have a word with her.”

Nanny shook her head. “Oh, no, madam! That will be all right. I’ll just say good-bye to Richenda and then she can go with you.”

Miss Ferrars nodded with another of those quick vivid smiles. “Then when Nanny has done with you, Richenda, join up with that group of girls over there, will you? They’re all people of around your age, and they’ll look after you.” She nodded a smiling good-bye to Nanny and moved off to speak to someone else.

“That’s a nice young lady,” Nanny said emphatically, when she was too far off to overhear. “I hope she’ll have some of the teaching of you, Richenda.” She put an arm round her sulky charge. “We must say good-bye now, my dear. Be a good girl and do your best. Write to me sometimes and let me know if you want any more hankies or stockings or things like that. And now, my dear, remember it’s your pa’s wish you should go to this school and he knows what’s best for you. Give me a kiss for good-bye and try to cheer up! It’s only three months, and then you’ll be coming home for the holidays—and able to talk all the foreign languages, too, I make no doubt.”

She pulled down the curly red head which was well above her own, since Richenda was a long-legged creature, and bestowed a loving kiss on the sulky mouth. “God bless you, my dear, and bring you safe home to us at Christmas!”

“Good-bye!” Richenda muttered. She was in one of her worst moods and enjoying it at the moment. Nanny sighed to herself, but wisely left it to the new experiences immediately before the girl to put an end to it. She kissed her again and stepped back. Richenda suddenly dropped her case, flung both her arms round the comfortable figure in a mighty hug, and kissed her old nurse warmly. Then she picked up the case, all without a word, and went over to join on to the little group of girls Miss Ferrars had pointed out to them.

One of them, a tall girl with a thick rope of black hair dangling to her waist, promptly moved over to Richenda and spoke to her. Then they were joining on to the long line of blue-clad girls which was moving slowly and steadily, without fuss or scrambling, into the train in single file.

Nanny nodded to herself as she stood watching. “As smart and clean as if they were soldiers,” she said to herself. “And a very nice happy lot they look, I must say. Let’s hope Richenda settles down soon. Bless her! She’s miserable enough just now, but she’s only a child when all’s said and done. Children get over their troubles fast enough. I’ve thought the Master a bit too hard on her, but maybe he’s in the right after all. Likely she’ll come home all the better and she did need a bit of disciplining!”

She gave her eyes a quick dab with her handkerchief as tears suddenly dimmed them. Richenda, glancing back as she waited for her turn to climb into the carriage, saw her and felt a sudden wild longing to break away and go rushing to her and return home with her to all the things she knew and loved. She bit her lips hard and blinked away the sudden rush of tears to her eyes. Then the girl who had taken charge of her gave her a gentle push.

“Go on, Richenda,” she said. “We’re holding everyone else up.”

Richenda turned and clambered in. By the time she had reached the compartment she was to share with seven other people of her own age, the parents and friends who had come to see them off were gathered round the window and her old nurse had vanished in the crowd. So her last link with home had gone. Then she was aware that her “sheepdog”, as she found later the girls called it, was speaking, and she turned to see what she wanted.

“Your case goes on the rack, Richenda, until we’re well away from Victoria.” She gave a sudden infectious gurgle as she added, “That’s been the rule ever since Heather Clayton dropped hers between the platform and the carriage three terms ago, and there was a lovely performance before it could be fished up! Give it to me and I’ll heave it up with mine, shall I?”

She took it and “heaved” the two cases on to the rack and then sat down, pulling Richenda down beside her. “By the way, I’m Rosamund Lilley. The rest, when they’ve finished saying good-bye, are Joan Baker, Betty Landon, Alicia Leonard, Eve Hurrell and the two Dawbarns, Priscilla and Prudence. They’re twins,” she added.

Richenda looked gloomily at them. Yet to an unprejudiced eye, they were as pleasant-looking a set of girls as you could find anywhere. Two or three of them were exceedingly pretty, and all wore friendly expressions. At present, they were engaged in making final remarks and requests to the little crowd milling around before the compartment window. But when the train finally began to move and they had finished waving, they all sat down and the chatter began.

“I heard Rosamund telling you our names,” Eve Hurrell said. “Tell us yours, won’t you? We can’t go on just calling you ‘you’. It sounds most icy!”

“Richenda Fry,” Richenda told her shortly.

Then she stood up, took down her case, opened it and picked out a book, after which, she returned the case to the rack and settled herself to read.

The girls glanced at each other. Was the new girl homesick and afraid to talk in case she began to weep? They had known that happen before. But as she clearly wanted to be left alone, they kindly fell in with her wishes and began to gossip among themselves about holiday doings and left her to it. Silly Richenda, having got what she wanted, promptly began to think them very unkind to leave her out. As for her father, she reflected once again that he was cruel and most unfair.

Halfway to the coast, Eve produced a great slab of chocolate which she broke up and passed round. When it came to Richenda’s turn, she eyed it stonily and said, “No, thank you.” Eve raised her eyebrows, but she said nothing, merely offering it to Rosamund who accepted with gratitude.

But if Eve could hold her tongue, it was too much to expect that Prudence Dawbarn would do so. That young woman was very badly misnamed and discretion formed no part of her character. She helped herself when her turn came, gave a giggle, and then addressed Richenda directly.

“I say, are you afraid of being seasick when we cross? You needn’t be. The weather forecast this morning said that everything in the garden would be lovely—or words to that effect, anyhow.”

Richenda didn’t trouble herself to look up from her book as she replied, “I hadn’t thought about it, thank you.”

Her tone was so crushing that Prudence was utterly snubbed for once in her life. She shut up and said no more. Rosamund gave her charge a quick, inquisitive look, but she changed the subject deftly by initiating a discussion about which of them was likely to go up a form this term and in the interest of it, they forgot Richenda who sat turning the pages of The Adventure of the Amethyst without taking in anything of what she was supposed to be reading.

“I won’t, for one,” Prudence said with certainty. “I was seventeenth in form last term and eighteenth in exams. It’s Inter V for me again this year. But Pris was ninth and seventh, so she’s safe for Vb and we’ll be parted, alas!”

Betty giggled. “Well, that’ll be some relief to the Staff and prees!” she remarked.

“What on earth do you mean?” Priscilla herself demanded with some heat.

“Only that one of you in a form ought to be enough for anyone,” Betty explained sweetly. “I wonder if all three of the Maynards will go up, by the way?”

“Len and Con for certain,” Rosamund said. “Len was bracketed second with Jo Scott and Con was eighth. They’re safe for a remove.”

“What about young Margot?” Eve queried. “Thirteenth, wasn’t she? You know, she ought to be a lot better than that. She’s got heaps of brains.”

“Yes, but she still doesn’t use them all the time,” Rosamund said. “Len and Con work steadily, but you can’t always rely on Margot. She does the maddest things on occasion. Anyhow,” she added cheerfully, “she’s just a kid still.”

“So are Len and Con, if you come to that,” Joan Baker put in. “Not fourteen till November, are they?”

“November fifth,” Rosamund agreed. Then she giggled. “Len once told me that her mother always says their arrival was her big bang on that day.”

The others joined in her giggles and, despite herself, Richenda, who had been listening with all her ears, nearly gave herself away by gasping aloud. She had heard of triplets, of course, but she had never met any before. Were there really triplets in this school? How simply weird! And there were twins, too, because Prudence and Priscilla were twins. Rosamund Lilley had said so. She began to wonder about the Maynard trio. Were they all as alike to look at as the Dawbarns?

She stole a brief glance through her lashes at the pair sitting side by side. They were very alike with wavy brown hair, hazel eyes and short, uptilted faces. She fancied it would take her some time to know them apart. Three girls as alike would be something of a problem. But at least, as she now realised, one part of her difficulties had melted away. There were a tremendous number of English girls in the school so she supposed they would be allowed to speak their own language occasionally. That was something to be thankful for!

By this time, the others had all produced sweets or chocolate. They were punctilious in offering her a share, but she refused everything. She was not going to make friends in this ghastly school! Susan would remain her only friend—and every minute she was going further and further away from Susan. She glanced down at her watch. St. Margaret’s began today and by this time, they would all be hard at it. How was Sue getting on? What new girls were there? Had Miss Coulson really left? There had been rumours about it last term, but no one seemed to know for certain. It would be ages before she could hear anything. She had very vague ideas about how long it would take a letter from home to reach the Görnetz Platz, but at least a week, she felt sure! Sue wasn’t in the least likely to write by airmail. Oh, why must her father send her right away from everything and everyone she loved just because she hadn’t been able to resist the Chinese Room and that wretched Khang-he vase.

If she had been alone, this was where she would probably have burst into tears. As it was, she swallowed hard and concentrated on her book, deliberately shutting her ears on the gay chatter that was going on round her.

Presently Rosamund, feeling guiltily that the new girl was being left out, spoke to her again. “Have you ever travelled by this line before, Richenda?”

“No, never,” Richenda replied briefly.

“It’s rather decent country, isn’t it?” Rosamund went on perseveringly. “Kent is a pretty county, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know anything about it,” Richenda told her, still in that brusque manner. Her tone added, “And I don’t want to, so let me alone!”

Rosamund gave it up. If Richenda wouldn’t talk, she wouldn’t talk and there was nothing to be gained by trying to make her. No more than anyone else did she like being snubbed so downrightly. A question from Alicia Leonard gave her the excuse. She replied to it and Richenda was left to herself once more.

Illogically, she thought that it was very unkind. But then, if Rosamund had continued making conversation, she would have thought that very unkind. Nanny would have said that she was “fit to fight with a feather”, just now. It would have done her all the good in the world if someone had given her a good shaking or a smart slap at that moment. She certainly deserved it. There was no one to do it, so she sat there, looking like a thundercloud and feeling more and more miserable.

Presently, there came the sound of light footsteps and a tall girl looked in on them to be hailed by a delighted chorus of greeting from the others, who called her “Mary-Lou”, and rained questions on her.

Mary-Lou leaned up against the door into the corridor, beaming benignantly on them all. Richenda glanced up at her long enough to realise that she was exceedingly attractive, tall and slim, with a shapely head covered by a fuzz of brown curls that were full of golden gleams. Her very blue eyes were dancing behind their long fringe of black, up-curled lashes. She had a perfect complexion, and her smiling mouth was beautifully cut and her best feature. She replied to their vociferous greeting in clear, bell-like tones.

“Hello, folks! Glad to see you all again. I had jolly decent hols, thank you. The people on Inchcarrow, that Hebridean island where Clem and Tony were living just before Clem and Verity and I first came to the school, had invited those two to go there for three weeks or a month. Clem wrote back saying that Tony could go, but she couldn’t as she wanted to be with us, since we only saw each other in the hols now. They wrote back and told her to bring us two along as well, so we all went and had a gorgeous time. It fitted in very nicely, for Dad had to go to see that specialist lad in Glasgow who keeps an eye on him, and Mother always goes with him. So we all went up to Glasgow and they picked us up there and took us along.”

“The Hebrides?” Betty asked. “That’s quite a trip by sea, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Mary-Lou replied feelingly. “Inchcarrow’s in the Outer Hebrides. It’s a duck of an island. Quite tiny, with white-washed cottages with great bushes of fuschias growing right up to the roofs. We fished and boated and bathed—there’s gorgeous bathing in one bay—and Clem made some jolly good sketches. She’s come on a lot since she went to Art School.” Then her voice changed. “Hallo! A new girl! Welcome to our midst! What’s your name?”

Richenda had to look up at this. Nanny’s rigid training in good manners held, even in her present black mood. “Richenda Fry,” she said.

“Richenda? What a jolly pretty name! And absolutely uncommon! I’ve never met it before. Well, Richenda, I’m one of the prefects. If ever you want a spot of help, mind you come along and ask me and I’ll do what in me lies. That’s one thing we prefects are for—besides making all you people toe the line!” she added with an infectious grin at the others, who broke into loud protests—all but Prudence Dawbarn, who looked sheepish and said nothing. “Well, I’m just going the rounds to remind everyone that Dover’s getting near and you must make sure you have all your possessions handy. There isn’t any too much time between the train and the boat, and if we miss it, we’ll hold up all the people in Paris. You can guess how dearly we should all be loved if we did that!” She flashed another grin round and added, “You have been warned!” Then she removed herself from the doorway and vanished into the next-door compartment.

The younger girls set to work at once, rather to Richenda’s amazement. She had expected them to take their time about preparations. But in five minutes’ time, everyone was sitting with her night-case on her knee, beret pulled on, any other impedimenta such as umbrella, hockey-stick, raincoat, leaning against her and all ready to leave the train on the word. Rosamund had seen to it that she herself was as ready as the others and her book had been put into the case.

When they had done everything, they sat waiting, and the talk turned on the prefects—and especially Mary-Lou. Richenda gathered that she was something rather particular in the school. The girls all spoke of her with affection and admiration, even if they criticised her.

“Think she’s slated for Head Girl this year?” Alicia demanded presently.

“I expect so,” Betty returned. “It’ll be either her or Hilary—or there’s Vi Lucy, of course,” she added.

“It won’t be Vi, anyhow,” Eve said with decision.

“How d’you know that?” Priscilla Dawbarn asked. “She could do it all right. She just like Julie and Betsy, and look what decent Head Girls they both were. I like Vi. I think she’d made a jolly decent Head Girl. She’s got what it takes.”

“I’m not disputing that,” Eve said calmly. “All the same, she won’t be it this year. She hasn’t been a full-blown prefect for a year—only last term when Amy Dunne left. Mary-Lou and Hilary have. When those two are available, the Abbess and Bill aren’t very likely to fall back on someone who’s had only a term of prefecting.”

“And if you think it’ll be Hilary, you’ve another guess coming,” big Joan Baker shoved her oar in.

“Why ever not?” Prudence demanded, wide-eyed.

“Well, won’t she be slated for Games? She was Second Games last year and she’s the best all-rounder of the prefects. If you ask me, I’d say there’s no question about it—it’ll go to Mary-Lou. She’ll be jolly good, too.”

“She’ll always be too jolly on the spot, you mean!” Prudence said gloomily.

“Don’t go making a silly ass of yourself and then it won’t matter to you,” Betty told her briskly. “The more on the spot she is, the better, I should say. We’ve our own fair share of demons among the Middles.”

“Listen to the pot calling the kettle black!” Eve giggled. “I’ve always heard you were never a little angel yourself in your Middles days!”

“That,” Betty said sedately, “is why I know what Middles need in the way of a Head Girl. I hope it is Mary-Lou. She’ll make a real go of it.”

“You’re quite right, Bets.” This was the thoughtful Rosamund. “I don’t know how she does it, but she seems to be able to see all round everyone else’s point of view almost before they get there themselves. And she’s always just and kind and—and helpful.”

Betty nodded. “Exactly! Look at the way she got round Jessica Wayne.”

“She’s too jolly on the spot for me,” Prudence reiterated gloomily.

“Then just take a pull on yourself this term!” Betty retorted. “Come off it, Prue! So far, you’ve jolly well asked for all you’ve got! You try asking for something different and then it won’t matter to you how much on the spot Mary-Lou is. After all, you’re fifteen now—nearly sixteen, isn’t it? Time you gave up acting like a kid!”

“Hear—hear!” Alicia chimed in.

Richenda took no part in the chatter, of course, though she listened with all her ears. In spite of her determination to loathe everyone and everything connected with her new school, she couldn’t help feeling the attraction that Mary-Lou radiated so unconsciously. She could never have said what it was that seemed to draw her, even on first sight, to the tall, handsome girl, but there it was! Whatever she might have made up her mind to do, she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she couldn’t help liking the prefect who, to judge by the gossip of the rest, was going to hold one of the most coveted posts in the school.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me!” she told herself crossly. “I won’t like her! I won’t like any of them! I loathe the place and the people and everything and I’ll go on loathing them! And Father’s a cruel pig to treat me like this!”

The result was that when she followed the others on to the boat, Francie Wilford, who had travelled in the next-door compartment, stared at her with interest, and then demanded of Betty Landon and Priscilla Dawbarn if they knew just why that new girl looked as if she had committed a murder and didn’t know what to do with the body?

“Have you all got your cases and other oddments ready?” Miss Ferrars demanded as the motor-coach in which Richenda was sitting beside Rosamund Lilley swung round a wide curve in the road. “Make sure, please. We’re terribly late, thanks to that wash-out, and the men have to get the coaches back to Interlaken tonight. You’ve all got to be ready to pour out the moment it’s our turn, and waste not one moment! Prunella and Clare, just see that the racks are quite cleared, will you?”

Two Seniors rose from their seats and examined the luggage-racks from end to end before reporting that they were clear. The remaining forty-six had hurriedly collected all their belongings and were all sitting looking very alert, and though no one said anything just then, very thankful that the ordeal was so nearly over. For it had been an ordeal for once. Usually, they got into the train at the Gare du Nord at Paris, changed at Basle for the Berner express, and left the train there for the big motor-coaches always chartered by the school for the beginning and end of term, without any major incident happening. On this occasion, however, Fate had seen fit to vary the programme.

They had reached Basle without any trouble, though Richenda, for one, had felt very muzzy as she clambered down the steps of the east-bound express to the lamp-lit platform of the station and met the chill air of six o’clock on a September morning, after the distinctly fuggy atmosphere of the carriages. There was time for coffee and rolls in the station restaurant, and, for the first time, she tasted the luscious black cherry jam of Switzerland and found it all fancy could paint. They had taken their places in the train for Berne and then—it happened!

The express runs from Basle to Berne with about two stops. On this occasion, however, they were held up at Meinsburg where information had been received, that thanks to recent heavy rains, there had been a landslide, and part of the embankment had collapsed ten minutes previously. All trains in the area were being stopped and sent round, where possible, to Solothurn. Theirs would be backed there and thence they must go by a very roundabout route to Berne.

The Staff has looked very blue at this. It meant at least two hours added to their journey. That meant that they would reach the Görnetz Platz somewhere about twenty o’clock as the startled Richenda overheard them all saying, instead of eighteen. As soon as a telephone was available, Miss Derwent, head of the party, sent little Miss Andrews flying to ring up the school and warn them of what had happened. She only just managed it. In fact, the train was on the move out of Solothurn station as she scrambled up the high steps to the carriage where she was caught by Mlle Lenoir, one of the junior music mistresses, and yanked to safety to a chorus of shrieks from the girls.

The Seniors were mostly old enough to realise what difficulties this diversion would make, and some of them grumbled over the extra length of the journey. The Middles and Juniors thought it huge fun—then. Later, as they became more and more stiff and cramped, they began to growl on their own account. No one but the smaller ones had slept too well during the night and quite a number of people thought longingly and affectionately of the comfortable school beds and the peace and quiet of the Platz.

The change to the motor-coaches, when at long last they reached Berne, roused them all, but was not much help where comfort was concerned. They were much more cramped than the railway carriages, and it had been a fairly silent and thoroughly tired-out set of girls for the last hour of the run through the mountains, going higher and higher as they went. At last, they reached a level road which ran through two or three tiny villages where lights twinkled at them from the chalet windows and very few people seemed to be about. By this time it was dusk and they could see very little. Then, as they swung round a wide curve in the road, Rosamund nudged Richenda, who was nearly asleep, and pointed to the left where a tall bulk loomed up, with lights showing at several windows.

“That’s Freudesheim where the Maynards live,” she said. “It’s next door to the school, so we shan’t be long now.”

Richenda roused with difficulty. “Oh?” she said, little interest in her voice.

Rosamund gave it up for the time being. During the whole of the journey she had loyally done her best to make the new girl feel welcome among them. She had tried to bring her charge into the gay chatter which had enlivened the first part of the journey. She had pressed sweets and magazines on her, and done every single thing she could think of to help Richenda over what she and the rest had diagnosed as an extra-violent case of homesickness. Nothing seemed to have the slightest effect. Richenda refused the corner seat Rosamund self-sacrificingly offered her, declined sweets and papers, and only opened her lips when she was asked direct questions. She had asked none herself, though her “sheepdog” had begged her to ask anything she wanted to know, and had tried to impart various pieces of information about life at the Chalet School. For about the tenth time since they had left Victoria station, Rosamund decided disgustedly that you couldn’t do a thing with her. Let her stew in her own juice! She’d have to come out of it some time soon, for no one in charge was going to allow this kind of attitude to go on. Perhaps when that happened she’d be a little more grateful and forthcoming than she had proved so far!

By this time it was quite dark. They turned in at some gates and rolled up a short drive, and Richenda couldn’t avoid seeing the girls from the coach immediately before theirs, marching steadily and smartly round the building which was glowing with lights from every window, swing round and be lost to sight. Even as their own vehicle slowed up, the other moved off, and they came to a halt before a wide door where a tall, slim woman in the mid-thirties, with the light from the lamp in the wide entrance shining on her fair hair, waited to direct them.

The girls greeted her with delighted cries of, “Oh, Miss Dene!” and Richenda wondered if she was one of the mistresses. Then she remembered that Rosamund had told her that Miss Dene was the school secretary, and an Old Girl herself. She was evidently regarded as a good friend by everyone judging by the way they greeted her. She replied to their clamour laughingly, but remained firm all the same.

“We’ll be seeing plenty of each other during the next three months or so. It’s terribly late, and there are two coaches after yours. Hurry up and get out of the way as fast as you can. Splasheries first and then to your common rooms until the gong sounds for Abendessen—and that won’t be many minutes. There’s no time for gossip now. We can talk later.”

They calmed down at once, and each clutched her possessions and set off. Rosamund forgivingly saw to it that Richenda went with them, and three minutes later, that young woman found herself entering a side-door and being steered along a passage to a long, narrow room, with pegs on the two side-walls, a peg-stand running down the centre, two big windows with toilet basins beneath, and at the far end, lockers built right up to the ceiling. This, she was informed, was the new Splashery for the three Fifth forms. A door beside the lockers led into a much smaller room which contained four more toilet basins and more lockers. Rosamund made straight for the wall opposite the main door and hunted along it. Then she gave a cry.

“Here we are! This is your peg, Richenda, next door to mine. Hang up your coat and beret, and put your gloves in one of your pockets. Take the small towel with the loop from your case and hang it on the lower hook. Then change your slippers, and I’ll show you where to put your shoes.” She turned to the girl on the other side of Richenda. “Hello, Primrose! I didn’t see you on the train! This is Richenda Fry, a new girl. If I’m not ready in time, show her where her locker is, will you?”

Primrose, a fair, pretty girl with hair as rampantly curly as Richenda’s own, and a wicked twinkle in her blue eyes, nodded. “O.K. Someone’s on the yell for you, Ros! Better scram! I’ll see to—what did she call you?” turning to Richenda as Rosamund vanished among the mob.

“Richenda Fry,” the owner of the name replied curtly.

“Gosh! That’s a new one on me!” Primrose was frankly slangy at this end of the term. “Well, better get cracking. We haven’t a moment to spare and Matey is the outside of enough when it comes to being late for anything!”

With this piece of advice, Primrose yanked off her own coat and beret and hung them up, tucked her gloves into a pocket and proceeded to unstrap her case and produce slippers and towel. She had kept one eye on Richenda to make sure that she followed suit, and when both stood up in their slippers, tucked a hand through the arm of the new girl, who by this time, wasn’t sure if she were on her heels or her head, and steered her through the throng to the lockers, shoes in hand.

“Now, let’s see! Oh, here you are! This is yours—‘R. Fry’—and here’s mine just below. This one next to you belongs to Ros—and here she comes! Hello, Ros! Here’s your locker all safe. And here’s your stray lamb! Let’s shove our shoes in and get washed and clear out of this place. It sounds like a looney-bin!”

Rosamund grinned. “That’ll soon stop, thank goodness! Don’t be scared, Richenda. Tomorrow, rules come into full force, and you’re either silent in the Splashery or talk in whichever language for the day it is.”

Richenda stared. What on earth did she mean? There wasn’t time to ask, however, even if she wasn’t still determined to make no advances to anyone. Primrose and Rosamund saw to that. They marched her back to her peg to get her towel and then to one of the toilet basins where, by main force of wriggling and pushing, they contrived to make places for themselves and were able to wash.

Richenda thankfully splashed her hot face with the cold, velvety-feeling water and then set to scrubbing her hands which were filthy. Primrose gave her a matey grin as she, too, did her best to remove the dirt.

“Filthy stuff they use on the steam trains abroad, isn’t it? Soft coal it is, and no matter how careful you are, you just can’t help getting dirty. Baths at bedtime, though—unless they decide that we’re too late, we’d better wait till the morning. Got your comb handy? Better tidy your wig. It looks wild!”

“Your own’s nothing to write home about!” Rosamund told her. “Thank goodness mine’s a pigtail and stays tidy!”

Richenda had forgotten her comb, but Primrose offered hers when she had reduced her fair curls to something like order. Once it had been run through the ruddy mop she began to feel better and ready for her supper—if that was what Miss Dene had meant by that weird word. Foreign, she supposed. Would they have foreign food as well? Would they have——Richenda handed back the comb, hastily searching her memory for any foreign foods of which she had heard. Only one came and she actually forgot her vow of silence long enough to ask Primrose if they would be having sauerkraut—she called it “soarkrort!”—for their meal. Primrose first stared at her blankly, and then went off into fits of laughter.

Richenda stared at her offendedly. “I don’t see anything to laugh at,” she said stiffly.

“Sorry,” Primrose gasped, “but it sounded so awful! And I couldn’t think what you were getting at at first, anyhow. My lamb, it’s called ‘zourkrowt’ and we don’t have it at all. It means ‘sour cabbage’ and we don’t go in for exotic dishes of that kind! Whatever else we have for Abendessen, it certainly won’t be that! Much more likely to be cold meat and salad and fruit and cream. We’ll know in a minute or two. Rosamund’s in charge of you, isn’t she? Come on then! She’s gone, and anyhow, you can’t find a soul in this Black Hole of Calcutta. We’ll pick her up in the common room. This way!”

She steered Richenda through the crowd, along the passage, down another and into a third where she opened a door halfway along and ushered her charge into the Senior common room where Rosamund was waiting near the door.

“Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, coming to claim her “lamb”. “Sorry I had to leave you, but Virginia Adams simply shoved me aside and then the crowd came between. But I knew Primrose would look after you. This is our common room, Richenda, where we spend our free time when we can’t go out. Rather jolly, isn’t it?”

Before Richenda could do more than glance round, a deep, booming sound rang out and at once everyone stopped chattering and hurried to form into line by the door. Two of the elder girls who were clearly prefects, appeared and took command and they marched out “decently and in order”, to quote Rosamund later, back down the corridor, along another and so into a very long room which Primrose, just behind her, hissed over her shoulder was the “Speisesaal”.

They took their places behind the pretty peasant chairs standing along the sides of the lengthy refectory tables which ran down the room in three rows with another across the top of the room. When everyone was present, a tall, stately woman in a green dress with masses of brown hair coiled low on her neck in a big knot, said a short Latin Grace in a deep, musical voice which had something of the quality of the ’cello in it. They all sat down and plates of cold, stuffed veal were placed before them.

Richenda could scarcely eat her share for looking round and taking in all she saw. And it was quite a good deal. She filled a page of writing pad with her description of the room when she wrote to Nanny on Sunday. The tables were spread with gaily-checked cloths and they all had napkins to match. The glasses at each place were of different colours—ruby, sapphire, emerald, topaz, garnet—and under the electric light, they glowed like the jewels they resembled in colour. Down the centre were great platters of peasant ware, as gay as the cloths, and piled high with delectable salad. Salad dressing was in glass jugs which matched their tumblers. Hand-woven baskets held crisp rolls on which they spread ivory butter, firm and sweet. The chairs delighted her, too, with her passionate love of colour. They were of white wood, enamelled and varnished cream, and on the back of each was painted a posy of Alpine flowers, all different. Later, she heard that the Senior art classes were responsible for the floral decoration.

She was so absorbed in it all that her neighbours had to jog her more than once or her plate would still have been full when the Head signalled to the maids beside the hatch to change the plates. Thanks to Rosamund and Primrose, however, she did finally clear it and then came a new thrill. She had never tasted anything more delicious than that veal.

“What is it?” she whispered to Primrose, since Rosamund was talking to Joan Baker at the moment.

“Kalbsbraten,” Primrose said solemnly, though her eyes danced wickedly.

“Kalbsbraten? What, exactly is that? I don’t know any German.”

“Roast veal, my child. Karen does it gorgeously, doesn’t she? Karen—the cook, of course. She’s one of the foundation stones of this establishment. She was with the school when it was in Tirol—ages and ages ago. Before the war, in fact. I once asked her what she did to make it taste so marvellous and she said garlic. But I don’t know just how she uses it. She wouldn’t tell me.”

“Oh, goody!” broke from the girl sitting at Primrose’s right hand. “Bricelets! I do love them!”

“Oh, we all know what your middle name is, Emmy,” Primrose said with a chuckle. “Sugar-baby! Not that I don’t like them myself,” she added as her plate was passed to her.

Richenda tasted her portion cautiously. Then she set to work to finish it. It consisted of a square, sweetened wafer, fried in olive oil and sprinkled with sugar and, as she told Sue Mason in one of her letters, luscious beyond words. They had either milk or still lemonade to drink with it. Rosamund advised the lemonade and Richenda found it a very different thing from Nanny’s, which was made with crystals from a bottle. Karen’s was from fresh lemons, sliced thinly and powdered with sugar before boiling water was poured over them.

As the meal was ending, a bell rang through the room and at once the hum of chatter and laughter ceased, and everyone turned expectantly to the top table where the lady in green had risen and was smiling at them.

“One moment, girls,” she said. “It is very late, thanks to the accident to the railway line. I will leave my usual talk till after Prayers tomorrow morning. You all have—or ought to have—all you need for the night in your night-cases. As soon as you have finished and cleared the tables, you are to go straight to Prayers—Protestants to Hall and Catholics to the gym, as usual. After Prayers, you go upstairs to bed—everyone! You must all be very tired and we can leave everything until the morning. I’ll just take this opportunity of welcoming every one back to school and saying that I hope all the new girls will settle in among us as soon as possible and be very happy with us. In the morning, when Prayers are over, you will unpack and those not required by Matron first will come to Miss Dene in the office to report. There has been no time for it this evening.

“Now that is all for the moment. Finish your meal and don’t loiter over clearing the tables. The Juniors are all very sleepy, I know, and the rest of you will welcome your comfortable beds after last night in the train.” She smiled at them again and sat down, and they set to work to clear their plates and glasses before the bell at the high table rang again and they stood for Grace.

Richenda, considering the number of girls there, had been wondering however they managed to stand without colliding with each other. She found out now. At the peal of the bell, everyone stood up and every girl slipped out of her place to the right hand, pushed back her chair into its place and stood behind it. When Grace ended, each girl seized her plate, glass, spoon and fork and went to pile them on one of the big, three-tiered trolleys waiting. As each trolley was filled, a prefect pulled up wire sides which kept everything safe, and they were left for the maids to wheel out later. They had to take their napkins and put them in one of the drawers of a great armoire built into the wall at one side and the prefects at the head and foot of the tables, folded up the cloths and added them to their own drawer—one for each table. When it was all done, the girls went to join one of two long lines forming at the head of the room behind the high table which the Staff had left as soon as Grace had been said.

Rosamund turned to her charge and asked, “Which are you—C. of E. or R.C.?”

“Why—C. of E., I suppose,” Richenda said doubtfully.

“Don’t you know?” Rosamund asked involuntarily.

“Yes, it’s C. of E. all right.”

“Then join on to this line after me.” Rosamund led the way and presently someone said, “March!” and they all marched quietly down the corridors and into an enormous room with a dais at the top end. On the dais stood a lectern, a beautiful William and Mary chair in carved walnut and canework, and behind these, a semi-circle of ordinary chairs. A piano stood at one side and a mistress was already seated at it, turning the pages of a hymn book on the desk.

Richenda might have resolved to talk as little as possible, but she was only human, and by this time she was nearly bursting with questions. She conveniently forgot her resolve and turned to Rosamund as soon as they were sitting on one of the long, green-painted forms which filled the upper part of the room.

“Who was that that spoke at supper?”

“The Head, of course—at least, one of the Heads. That’s Miss Annersley. She’s Head here and Miss Wilson is Head at St. Mildred’s. But they work in together most of the time. This school has two Heads.”

“St. Mildred’s? Which is that?”

“The finishing branch where most girls go for their last year. But it’s all in the prospectus. Didn’t you see it?” Rosamund demanded, startled.

“No,” Richenda said with a sudden guilty memory of the way she had treated it. She was rather sorry about that now. She felt ignorant and she need not have been. However, there was nothing she could do about it now.

“Oh, well,” Rosamund said, inwardly delighted that this new girl seemed to be coming round a little, “you’ll soon know all about it. Ask me anything you want to know and I’ll tell you if I can.”

“Well, why do we have two lots of Prayers?” Richenda demanded.

“Because we have nearly as many Catholics as Protestants—or quite as many I should think, nowadays. When Bill—er—I mean Miss Wilson—is here, she takes Prayers for the Catholics. When she isn’t, Mlle de Lachennais does. It mostly is her. Miss Wilson has to be with her own girls at St. Mildred’s as a rule. Miss Annersley always takes us unless she’s away or engaged.”

“Do you always call Miss Wilson ‘Bill’?” Richenda asked curiously; and a deep red flooded Rosamund’s clear skin.

“We oughtn’t, of course. But she always has been, they say.”

“Then what do you call Miss Annersley?”

But before Rosamund could answer, a bell pealed out from somewhere overhead, and even the very quiet talk which had been going on among the girls was hushed on the instant. Prefects appeared with piles of prayer-books which they handed out. Mary-Lou appeared on the platform to announce, “The beginning of term hymn!” in her clear ringing tones. Then the mistress at the piano began to play softly—a Bach prelude, if Richenda had only known—and everyone sat very quietly.

“Almost like one of our Meetings,” Richenda thought as she glanced round.

Her father was, of course, a Quaker, but she herself had mostly gone to the parish church with Nanny who was staunch Church of England. But she had attended a few Quakers’ Meeting and now once more she began to feel the same hush which had always pervaded them. She had yet to learn that this interval of peace was intended to help the girls to a devout mood before Prayers actually began.

The top door opened and the mistresses entered quietly, headed by Miss Annersley, who wore her M.A. gown flung over her pretty jade-green dress. She took up her stand behind the lectern and the Staff went quietly to their seats before Miss Lawrence, at the piano, modulated from Bach into the hymn, which was sung with gusto by everyone. When it ended, they sat down and Mary-Lou, looking for once in her life rather discomposed, read the parable of the Talents, after which they all knelt while Miss Annersley repeated two or three collects, led them in the Our Father which belongs to all Christians; then Gentle Jesus for the little ones and, finally, the lovely old Antiphon, “Oh, God, keep us waking, watch us sleeping that awake, we may watch with Thee and asleep, we may rest in peace.” It was new to Richenda, but she listened as Rosamund and Primrose on either side of her repeated it devoutly, and she liked it immensely.

The blessing followed and they all remained on their knees for a few moments. Then they stood up and Miss Annersley wished them all good night and sweet sleep. The girls returned the wish and then, to the tune of a quiet march, they left Hall and went upstairs to the dormitories, Richenda keeping close to Rosamund who had already consulted dormitory lists and found that her charge was in Pansy with her.

There was no talking on the stairs, but once they were in the dormitory, Rosamund spoke again. “This is Pansy. Let’s see which is your cubey. Here you are!” as she led the way along the narrow aisle made by curtains at one side and the green wall of the room at the other. “This cubey is Betty’s and I’m on your other side. The rest of us are Heather Clayton, Len Maynard, the eldest of the Maynard triplets—eldest by half-an-hour,” she added with a sudden chuckle, “and two new girls, Odette Mercier and Carmela Walther. Half a tic till I see who’s our pree.”

But before she could move, the curtains of the big cubicle at one end of the dormitory were swept apart, and a girl of their own age in dressing-gown and bedroom slippers with her thick pigtail of reddish hair twisted up on top of her head appeared, towel in one hand and sponge bag in the other.

“Jo Scott!” Rosamund exclaimed. “Are you our dormy pree this term?”

“Looks like it,” Jo said with a grin. “You’re no more surprised than I am, Ros. But now our one and only Mary-Lou has the Head Girl’s room, someone had to take her place, and believe it or not, they’ve pitched on me!”

“They might have done worse,” commented Betty, poking a tousled head between her own curtains. “Supposing they’d chosen ME!”

“Don’t you worry!” A long-legged individual with curling chestnut hair tumbling about her to her waist, dashed into the fray. “No one on this Staff is either blind, deaf, or crackers! Hello, Ros! Haven’t had a chance to see you before. And there’s not going to be much chance now,” she continued, pushing the heavy waves of hair out of her eyes. “Lights Out will go in precisely twenty minutes, so I’d advise you to get cracking. Who’s this?” She turned a frankly interested gaze on Richenda and beamed at her.

“This is Richenda Fry,” Rosamund said. “Richenda, this is Len, one of the Maynard triplets. Now come on into your cubey. You can talk tomorrow. There isn’t time now. This peg is for your dressing-gown and this is your bureau. Mirror here and you keep your brush and comb in this little locker affair beneath. Your clothes go into those drawers—all but your frocks and coats and so on. You have three pegs and hangers in the closet at the far end for those. I’ll help you fold your counterpane and then I must fly. I’ll come to show you the bathroom in five minutes, so mind you’re ready. I’m just next door if you want me.” And having instituted the new girl into her cubicle, she scurried out, and to judge by the sounds, undressed in a frantic hurry.

Richenda was so sleepy by this time that she was yawning almost continuously. She was unaccustomed to lengthy journeys and she had had a whole bunch of new experiences on top of that, so small wonder that she was weary! She tossed off her clothes and contrived to be ready when Rosamund arrived to take her to the bathroom. She was told that she might have a cold or a lukewarm bath in the morning and she would use the same bath cubicle all the time. She washed her face and hands, but nearly forgot to brush her teeth, so drowsy was she. However, she remembered in time and was ready when Rosamund appeared to escort her back to the dormitory.

“Finish undressing, and do your hair,” Rosamund said. “The bell for private prayers will ring in less than ten minutes and it’ll be lights out five minutes after that. Good night, Richenda. I hope you’ll sleep well.”

“Good night,” Richenda mumbled, repressing a yawn with difficulty. “Thanks for all your help.”

“That’s all right,” Rosamund said. “When I was new I was helped, and next term it may be your turn. We all do it. Goodnight!”

She slipped through the dividing curtains and Richenda was left to discard the rest of her clothes and pull on her pyjamas. A bell rang just as she finished buttoning the jacket and she contrived to remember about the prayers. But though she knelt at the side of her bed, it is to be feared that they got all mixed up and when the second bell rang, she just dived into bed under the sheet and blankets and pretty, pansy-powdered couvrepied. Then she fell down, down, down until she was drowned in sleep and knew nothing more till the morning.

Richenda slept like a log all night. She didn’t even dream. She was roused at half-past six next morning by the loud pealing of a bell. Still half-asleep, she bounced up in bed and stared wildly round her. Where on earth had she got to? And how did she get here, anyway? As the fog left her brain, she began to remember. But before she could remember everything, she also took in the appearance of her cubicle and a spontaneous exclamation of, “Oh, what a pretty room!” was jerked out of her before she could stop it.

A pleased voice from behind the curtains on her right replied at once. “Yes, rather nifty, isn’t it? Sorry I can’t come in to you, but visiting is strictly forbidden unless it’s an emergency. And talking of emergencies, we’re both likely to run head-on into one if we don’t get up at once! Matey’s dead nuts on punctuality, let me tell you!”

A thud followed this speech, showing that Betty had suited her actions to her words, and Richenda felt she had better imitate her. She was not devoid of common sense and she saw no common sense in getting into a row the very first moment. She threw back her bedclothes, swung her feet to the floor, made a long arm and grabbed her dressing-gown from the hook where it seemed to have found its own way. She had a hazy memory, but quite distinct, of tossing it down somewhere last night. She was not to know that Rosamund had peeped in on her last thing, and seeing the mess in her cubicle, had broken rules and tidied it up.

The front curtains swayed apart as she pulled the blue gown on and Rosamund’s black head was poked between them. Her hair was screwed up on top of her head and she nodded cheerfully at the new girl.

“You’re up! Oh, good! I just called in to tell you that you’re after me on the bath-list, so be ready to fly when I come back. There are people after you, you know. Strip your bed while you wait—Betty or someone will show you if you’re not sure——”

“I will, Ros,” said Len Maynard’s pretty voice behind her.

“Oh, good for you, Len! Thanks a lot! You’ll be all right with Len, Richenda.” The black head was withdrawn as Rosamund scuttled off to the bathroom and Richenda was left to wonder why someone should have to show her how to strip a bed. Nanny had taught her that years ago! What is more, she saw to it that it was done properly every morning.

There came the patter of light feet and Len Maynard peered in at her. “Shall I show you what to do, Richenda? Matey’s rather sticky about beds being stripped in the one way she thinks best.”

Richenda took firm hold of her wits. “Thanks, but I can strip a bed,” she replied. And she pulled off couvrepied and blankets and flung them over the back of a chair, followed them with her sheets and pillows and finally turned the mattress over the foot of the bed.

Len watched her approvingly until she came to the mattress. There, she interfered. “I hope you don’t mind me telling you, but Matey makes us hump it up in the middle—like this—to let the air pass under it.” She “humped” the mattress and then grinned at the new girl. “Matey insists on doing it this way and it’s always best to fall in with her ideas. She’s a perfect poppet when she likes; but get across her and you know all about it!”

“Len Maynard! What are you doing in someone else’s cubey?” Jo Scott’s voice demanded firmly from the aisle. Then she came in, looking well-washed and glowing, with her mane of reddish hair beginning to tumble down from the screwed-up knot into which she had tied it on top of her head.

“Only showing Richenda the way Matey likes us to strip our beds,” Len explained. “She doesn’t need any showing, really, except about the mattress. Here comes Ros! Grab your things and scram, Richenda! There isn’t time to breathe in the mornings here! D’you know where to go, by the way?”

Richenda nodded as she snatched up her belongings and shot off down the dormitory, urged to instant flight by everyone else’s insistence. Betty Landon came flying behind her as if wolves were after her. Clearly dilly-dallying was not encouraged here!

As they met at the bathroom door, Betty panted, “Cold or lukewarm, but not hot! And for pity’s sake don’t splash or you’ll have it to clear up!”

She entered the cubicle next door to the one Richenda had used the night before, and judging by the sounds, plunged straight into her bath. Richenda found that Rosamund had left the cold water running for her. She brushed her teeth while the bath filled and then, with the remembrance of Betty’s warning, got in, gasping a little under the sting of the icy mountain water. A quick splash and she was out again, towelling herself hard. Even so, she heard Betty leaving when she herself was only half-dry. She dropped the towel, pulled on her night-clothes, and having turned on the tap for the next person, gathered up her things and headed for the dormitory once more, feeling fully refreshed. She had to finish drying in her cubicle, but by the time she was in her well-cut skirt and shirt-blouse with the school tie knotted smartly beneath the collar, her curls gleaming from a hard brushing, and everything about her spick and span, she was glowing and warm and her rather pale cheeks were flushed with pink, partly from her haste, partly as a result of her icy tub.

Jo Scott, making the rounds to see that all the cubicles were in order, stared.

“Well,” she said crisply, “I know Switzerland is the place for good complexions, but I should say you’d beaten the record for collecting one early! Let me see your cubey. It’s one of my jobs to keep tab on tidiness. Yes, you’ve done everything. Don’t forget to take your blazer downstairs when we go. You’ll need it for the walk after Frühstück——”

“After—what did you say?” Richenda gasped, nearly stunned by the new word and not very sure what awful thing it might imply.

“Frühstück—breakfast, in other words,” Jo told her with a matey grin. “It’s German for it. So if you’ve never learnt any before, there’s one word for you!”

“I don’t know any German whatsoever,” Richenda confided in her, forgetting that she had meant to be very chilly and reserved with everyone. But how were you to remember a thing like that when you had to do everything on the run the whole time?

“Oh, well, you’ll soon pick up enough to get around with. I did; and if I could, you can. You’re no dud, to judge by your looks.” After which stately compliment, which caused Richenda to go a rich purple, Jo moved on to see what Odette Mercier and Carmela Walther were doing and to show them the one, the only way in which Matey approved of beds being treated.

By this time everyone was back from the bathrooms, and most of them were frantically finishing their dressing. Being blessed with short curly hair which needed only a vigorous brushing to bring up the gloss, Richenda was ready fairly quickly. She was standing before her mirror, twisting and turning to make sure that her skirt and blouse were accurately together, when the bell rang again. Jo Scott’s voice sounded at once: “Prayers, everyone!”

Richenda slid to her knees with a startled feeling. Nanny had taught her to say prayers night and morning, but it must be admitted that more often than not she omitted the morning session. She had a bad habit of reading while she was dressing. This slowed her down and left no time for prayers if she were to be at the breakfast table when the gong sounded. Professor Fry was insistent on punctuality and it was rarely that Richenda transgressed against that rule. Here, she reflected as she buried her head in her hands, they didn’t take any chances when they had a bell rung for it.

Five minutes later, the relentless peal came again and everyone left her cubicle, the old hands flinging up their curtains over the crossbars to let the fresh morning air circulate freely through the room. Richenda instantly imitated them and so did another of the new girls, Carmela Walther. Odette Mercier, who seemed to be a mooner, was still fiddling with her tie and when Len Maynard looked in to see how she was getting on, she was discovered to be on the verge of tears. Len took her in hand at once; knotted the tie, pinned it with the little mozaic brooch meant for the job, threw up the curtains and hustled Odette out of her cubicle and into line with the others all in about two minutes. Richenda felt mentally breathless and Odette looked as if she wasn’t very sure which end of her was uppermost!

“Oh, mais c’est tout effroyable!” Odette moaned; and most of the others grinned.

“Vous—er—vous accoutumerez tôt,” Jo said encouragingly; but Odette looked doubtful.

Then Betty led the way and they all filed demurely after her behind the girls from Crocus, along the corridor, down the stairs and into the Senior common room. Richenda glanced at her watch. It was exactly half-an-hour since she had got up.

“What do we do now?” she asked Rosamund.

“Usually we go to our form rooms and look over any lessons we aren’t sure of. In the summer, we may go out and work in the form gardens if we like. Music people have practice, of course. But there isn’t any prep and no one knows yet about the music timetable,” Rosamund explained.

“Then what do we do?” Richenda persisted.

“Oh, just mooch about for the time being until the gong sounds for Frühstück,” Joan Baker butted in to say.

“I see. Thank you,” Richenda replied, the old coldness back in her voice and manner. She was a fastidious young woman and so far she had no liking for this girl with her assured, rather sophisticated air and her cheaply pretty face.

Joan flushed and Rosamund spoke quickly. “Are you taking music, Richenda?”

“No; I am not really musical,” Richenda replied. Then, for she had decided that she must at least be polite, she added, “Do you?”

Rosamund shook her head. “I hadn’t started when I came here and everyone said I had so much to make up on languages and maths that I’d better not tackle anything more. But I’d love to try my hand at a fiddle sometime,” she added wistfully. “It’s my favourite instrument. However, that’ll have to wait. You see,” she went on, “before I came here, I went to a government school and I found I was very much behind most of the others in some subjects.”

Richenda was too well-bred to make any remark about this and Len Maynard, who had overheard, laughed. “If it’s a fiddle you want, Ros, you can have a shot on mine any time. I’ll show you how to hold it and make the notes. Why on earth didn’t you tell me sooner? You might have been doing quite a bit at it this last two or three terms. Your French and German are as good as anyone else’s and your algebra and geom. are quite level with mine and Con’s. You are a goop!”

It was Rosamund’s turn to flush. “Oh, Len, are you sure? I’d love it! But everyone seemed to think I’d better dig in at ordinary lessons and miss music out.”

“That was only the first term or so, you ass! You could take it on quite well now. Why don’t you let the Gays know?”

“Well, they never said anything and I don’t suppose the scholarship covers extras.”

Len chuckled. “I shouldn’t imagine they ever thought of it. They aren’t musical at all. Tom used to say that the only way she knew God Save the Queen from any other tune was that you stood up for it and not for the others and no one could expect her to be musical, anyhow, ’cos none of her people were. We’ll fix up about those fiddle lessons. Herr Steinach is always saying that if you can help someone who knows less than you do, it makes you understand what you are doing and why. So you’ll be helping me as much as I can help you and we’ll be quits.”

“Are you taking any extras at all?” asked a round-faced girl who was enough like Len, though she was very dark and Len was chestnut-headed and grey-eyed, to tell Richenda that here was another of the Maynard triplets.

“I am taking extra art,” Richenda said.

“Oh, poor you!” This came from two or three people at once.

Richenda stared and forgot her iciness as she asked blankly, “Why on earth?”

“You wait till you’ve met Herr Laubach,” Eve said with a world of meaning in her voice. “You’ll know all about it then!”

“He has the world’s worst temper,” Betty added. “If you ask me, he was born in a rage and he’s gone on being in one ever since. He just raves at you if you do the least thing wrong and I honestly believe he can’t help it!”

Len chimed in with a giggle hitched fore and aft of her remark. “When Mamma was at school he chucked her out of his class after first flinging everything at her. They stopped her art lessons after that,” she added thoughtfully.

Everyone else giggled, too. Richenda had yet to learn that this was a treasured legend in the school. As it was, she merely felt startled and rather apprehensive.

“But he does make you see what he wants you to do,” put in someone else feelingly. “What’s more, unless you’re completely hopeless, you do it, more or less.”

Primrose Trevoase gave the new girl a wicked glance. “What gets me is the fact that he never speaks anything but German,” she said.

“German? But I don’t know a word of it!” Richenda gasped.

“Oh, you know two, don’t you?” Alicia said soothingly. “You know that we call supper ‘Abendessen’. And breakfast is ‘Frühstück’.”

“And she knows that ‘Sauerkraut’ means ‘sour cabbage’,” Betty added with dancing eyes.

“Anyhow, lots of German words sound more or less like English,” Rosamund put in soothingly. “For instance ‘Father’ is ‘Vater’ and ‘Mother’ is ‘Mutter’.”

“Ah, but let’s hear you spell them!” Len said teasingly.

Before Rosamund could do anything about it, Primrose was up again. “No; you know now. Let’s hear Richenda spell them. Go on, Richenda! I dare you!”

Richenda gasped again. She had no idea of the vagaries of German spelling. But she could never refuse a dare, so she plunged headlong into it.

“F-a-h-t-e-r,” she spelled slowly. “M-o-o-t-e-r. That’s how you said them, anyway.”

“Wrong!” they chorused gleefully.

Con Maynard might be a dreamer, but she was sensitive. She knew that Richenda was feeling annoyed and she didn’t think Primrose’s teasing very fair. “You are a pig, Primrose!” she said quickly. “How could Richenda possibly know when she’s never learnt German before? Don’t you worry, Richenda! I’ll bet you’ll soon be making rings round her when it comes to German. She’s not so frightfully bright at it herself—and she’s been learning for ages!”

“Pig yourself!” the discomfited Primrose cried. Then, for she was a really nice girl, she added, “Con’s right, all the same. Sorry, Richenda! I was only trying to get a rise out of you. All the same, I’ll bet you won’t forget either of those two again.”

Richenda made no reply and the sound of the gong put an end to the talk; they lined up and marched into the Speisesaal for breakfast. This consisted of bowls of milky coffee, rolls of delicious bread, butter and cherry jam. A good many of the girls—most, in fact—ate these in what Richenda described to herself as “the normal way”. But some of them broke up the rolls into the coffee and ate the result with their spoons. Len, who was sitting opposite, saw the new girl’s startled face and leaned forward to murmur, “It’s all right. That’s how they do in Austria and Germany and this part of Switzerland quite often. Mamma told us ages ago.”

Bed-making followed Frühstück and Rosamund obligingly showed the new girl the one way in which Matron approved of beds being made. Richenda was accustomed to attending to her own room at the weekends and in the holidays, so she made no demur when she found that she must dust it. She was quick and neat in her work and when Jo, as dormitory prefect, came to inspect, she was able to approve it unreservedly.

They had a walk next with Miss Ferrars as escort, and when they got back they all had to go to Inter V as no one knew yet whether she would be promoted or not, though some of them, like Jo Scott and Len Maynard, were fairly sure of it.

“I hope you’ll be with us,” Len said to the new girl as she gave her a chair. She had taken a fancy to Richenda despite the very repressive manner that young woman assumed on occasion. “You’re in our dormy and you’ve been with our crowd all the time. I don’t say some of the people you’ve met won’t be in Inter V again this year. But if we’re moved up to Vb, it would be rather decent if you were there, too!”

“If you’re moved up?” Prudence Dawbarn said quickly. “You jolly well know you are safe enough, Len. You came second with Jo last term. If you two don’t go up, who will? Answer me that one!”

“Jo will all right,” Len replied. “The thing is they may think we three are too young for it. We aren’t fourteen yet and you know how they fuss if they think you are likely to have to overwork. I’m hoping, of course, but I’m saying no more.”

Richenda remained silent, but she thought hard enough. She hoped she would be in the same form as Rosamund and Len and Jo. She had to own to herself that she was disposed to like them. Of course, she could never be as chummy with anyone here as she had been with Susan. But if she had to stay—and she knew that she must—she would have to have some friends or be flatly miserable for the next two or three years.

Carmela Walther, who had been listening and who was not shy, struck in. “When shall we know which is our class?” she asked.

“Oh, after Prayers. Miss Dene will read out the form-lists then,” Jo said. “And that reminds me! Have you all got your hymn-books ready?”

They all produced them and then Carmela went on with her questions. “How do they decide which class we are in?”

“From your entrance exams, of course,” Priscilla said. “You had the papers, didn’t you?”

“Oh, yes,” Carmella replied.

“Well, then! How did you get on, by the way?”

“Oh, I found some of them easy and one or two very difficult.” Carmela spoke fluent English, though with a strong German accent.

“What about you, Richenda?” Rosamund asked.

Richenda, who had spent the whole of a glorious August day sweating over those same papers and had found the French difficult and the German impossible, shook her head. “I could do nothing with the German, of course. I didn’t like the French—nor the arithmetic. But the English was decent and the history very interesting.”

At this point, Miss Ferrars arrived, very official in her gown and B.A. hood and the chatter had to cease.

Prayers were as impressive as the evening ones had been. Miss Annersley’s lovely voice somehow helped one to think of what one was saying and Whom one was addressing and Richenda found herself approving of this part of her new school, at any rate.

After Prayers, the Catholics marched in and took their places. When everyone was seated, the Head called on Miss Dene to take register and everyone promptly looked very alert. This was the one day of term on which the school secretary took the roll and a good many people were very anxious to know what their fate was to be. VIa had nothing to worry about. They could go no higher. But it was a question for most of the rest. Richenda, listening with all her ears, waited eagerly when it came to Vb. Luckily her surname began with F, so she was soon put out of her misery. She gave a little gasp of relief as Miss Dene’s pleasant voice called, “Richenda Fry!” She answered “Adsum” like the rest and sat back and heard no more. Miss Dene read on quickly until the last name had been called and little Marie Ziegler had piped, “Adsum!” Then she closed the great book and went back to her seat among the mistresses. The Head smiled at her, rose and came to the lectern.

“Now, I have a pleasant task,” she said. “First of all, our Head Girl this year is Mary-Lou Trelawney.”

The school broke into loud clapping. There was even an attempt at cheering from some of the Middles. Richenda gathered that Mary-Lou was exceedingly popular with all parts of the school. The Head laughed, though she shook her head at the obstreperous Middles before she held up her hand for silence.

“A little less excitement, please! We have a great deal to do and Matron is waiting to unpack you all, so we must go on. Hilary Bennet is Head of the Games. Viola Lucy is Second prefect. The others are Lesley Bethune, Doris Hill, Hilda Jukes, Lesley Malcolm, Meg Whyte, Janet Youll and Josette Russell. Sub-prefects are Barbara Chester, Prunella Davies, Clare Kennedy and Christine Vincent. As soon as they have had their first meeting, you will know what duties each is undertaking. Mary-Lou is also Head of Ste Thérèse’s, Hilary of St. Hild’s, Prunella of St. Scholastika’s and Clare of St. Clare’s. These are all the appointments I can give you at the moment. The rest you will find on the notice-boards sooner or later.”

She paused a moment and the school relaxed. Then she began again.

“Matron will oversee all unpacking, though your House matrons will be in actual charge of you. When you are dismissed, go straight to your form rooms and wait till someone comes and tells you what to do. A good many of you will have to hand in old textbooks and collect new ones. The new girls have stationery to collect as well. All that must be finished by the end of the morning.

“Now I want to remind you that each day brings its own language. I want you all to try to remember which language you speak on each day and keep to it. It will be a good deal better for your pockets if you do, you know. I don’t want,” her gaze rested reminiscently on one or two people, “to have girls coming to me on Sunday to ask if they may have a little extra for church collections as fines have eaten all their pocket-money away for the week!”

The school laughed appreciatively, but said nothing, and she continued:

“We shall have our usual Christmas play at the end of the term. You will hear more about that later on. Meanwhile, we have to congratulate a number of people who did well in the public exams last term. The lists will be pinned up on the board here and you can study them at your leisure. Please remember, all members of the Fifth Forms, that it will be the turn of a good many of you this year, and work steadily. The same thing applies to the music and art people. And now, that is all for the present. School—stand! Turn! Forward—march!”

She nodded to Miss Lawrence and now the mistress crashed down on the first chords of that hoary-headed favourite, Blake’s Grand March and, to its gay tune, the girls marched out and along to the form rooms, Richenda going with the new Vb, and in spite of herself, feeling a thrill at having really attained such a form and so being with the three girls to whom, so far, she was most attracted.

The new Vb hurried along to their form room. Certain people had been left behind who had been with them in Inter V last year, but were not up to the Vb standard. Among them was the third of the Maynard triplets, Margot. She had given her sisters a very wistful look as they left Hall and Len had bent down and murmured something as she went past. Richenda had overheard part of it and she felt a certain curiosity about it.

“Buck up, Margot! Remember what Auntie Hilda promised at half-term!”

Margot had nodded, though her lips were quivering. Then Len had gone; Richenda had to follow her and she could hardly ask questions about the Maynards’ relations.

Arrived with the others, Richenda went to stand beside the wall with the other new girls while the remainder, chattering like a flock of starlings, proceeded to “bag” the desk that pleased their minds. One girl went straight to a window seat and Jo Scott, after a quick glance at her, said, “It’s rotten for you, Viv!”

“I know; but if you’ve been absent the best part of a term with measles and bronchitis on top, it’s just what you can expect!” was the melancholy reply. “I missed practically a third of the year’s work.”

“Oh, well, you’ll soon make it up. And it has been known for people to be moved up at the end of the Christmas term or even at half term,” Jo said.

“Witness Mary-Lou and Co. a couple of years ago!” Vivien said, laughing. “Bag your seats, folk. And then we’d better see about desks for the new girls.”

Len had already settled herself at a desk somewhere in the middle of the room and Rosamund was next her. Now the eldest Maynard looked across at Richenda and called to her.

“Hi, Richenda! There’s room for one of those odd desks over there! Come on, and I’ll give you a hand!” She jumped up and went over to where several locker desks like those already set out, looked as if they were waiting to be placed.

Richenda ran to help her and between them, they moved it to the row where they set it between Len’s desk and Rosamund’s. Rosamund had moved her own over for the purpose and brought a chair from the pile in another corner. Other girls were busy making the rest of the new girls feel at home. By the time they heard quick, light steps coming along the corridor, everyone was seated and it was to a roomful of very proper pupils that Miss Ferrars arrived.

This broke up almost as the young mistress swung into the room, her gown flying with the breeziness of her movements. At least half the form cheered in an undertone and Len cried joyfully, “Oh, are you going to be our form mistress again this year?”

“So it seems!” Miss Ferrars said, looking at them with eyes that were pools of laughter. “What I’ve done to deserve it, I don’t know! However, there it is. Now sit down, all of you, and keep quiet for a few minutes if you can.”

The girls sat down at once and were quiet and she looked at a small sheaf of notices she held in her hand.

“Yes! Well, first of all, Miss Dene wants to see the new girls. Jo Scott, take them to the study, please. Best wait for them too. They won’t know their way about yet, of course, and the corridors are something of a labyrinth until you’re sure of them. Go with her, you people. Now for the rest of you!”

Richenda and the others heard no more, for they were out in the corridor by this time and Jo was shutting the door behind them. She led them through a positive maze of passages, explaining as they went that originally the building had been a hotel, and the school authorities had built on to it at intervals.

“It makes it a bit of a jigsaw puzzle until you’ve got your bearings,” she said. “However, it comes in time. Through this door—this is the Head’s own private wing where her rooms are. The study and Miss Dene’s office are here, too, and she and Mlle de Lachennais sleep over here. Along this passage and—here we are!” She pulled up beside a door in a narrow passage which was lighted by a long, narrow window looking out across the valley to the mountains at the other side.

Eight girls rather older than themselves were standing waiting, all of them people from Switzerland, France and Germany. Richenda also found that, apart from herself and a roundabout girl with glasses perched on a tip-tilted freckled nose, who answered to the name of Joan Dancey, all new girls in Vb were also Continentals.

“We’ve a lot of foreigners this term,” Jo Scott murmured to her and Joan with an insularity that was superb in the circumstances. “We’ve always had a few, ever since we came to the Oberland, of course; but this is the first term we’ve had such a crowd at once. I overheard Mary-Lou and Hilary saying that there were over fifty of them! In the old days, when the school was in Tirol, they were in the majority, Aunt Joey told me once. This is the first time we’ve ever come to being nearly equal, though.”

The door opened and a tall, fair-haired girl, obviously German, came out and asked in English with a marked German accent, “Vich ees Amandine St. Michel? Flees, you veel now enter.”

A slightly-built girl with smooth black hair and sparkling black eyes went in at once, and the Va girl in charge of the party called to the other whose name seemed to be Elise Kramer, to come and stand with the rest. Then she glanced at Jo with a twinkling smile.

“Only one more after Amandine and then your crowd can begin,” she said.

Jo nodded. “I suppose you came straight here? We had to wait for Ferry. She’s our form mistress again this year, did you know? Rather decent for us!”

“Oh, rather! Ferry’s a poppet. You folk are in luck.”

“Aren’t we? Are you a big form this year, Maeve? You seemed larger than usual to me when Deney was reading out the names.”

“Twenty-one, my dear! What about you? I thought your little lot sounded endless, let me tell you!”

“Twenty-four—so we’ve got you beat!” Jo retorted. “How are Peggy and Bride? And how’s your young Daphne?”

“Oh, quite O.K. I may have some news for the school later on,” Maeve said mysteriously. “As for Daffy, she’s a pet! Awfully like Auntie Madge—more so than any of her own except David.”

“What’s your news?”

“I told you I might have it and it would be later on!” Maeve retorted. “It’s no use teasing, Jo. You’ll have to wait—Oh, hello, Amandine! Finished? Then off you go, Berta. Then we can get back to our form room and begin to do something!”

A rosy, flaxen-haired girl of sixteen or so went into the study to return a few minutes later and announce in German that Miss Dene now wished to see the first of Vb. Maeve gave Jo another of her twinkling smiles and went off with her lambs. Jo opened the door and motioned to Joan Dancey to go in. Joan made a face at Richenda before she took her way into the room. She was out speedily and Jeanne Daudet from Bordeaux followed. Then it was Richenda’s turn. She swallowed hard, for her mouth had become unaccountably dry. Then she found herself inside a pleasant, book-lined room with flowering plants on the window-sills and a bowl of late roses on the business-like desk before which pretty Miss Dene was awaiting her.

“Come along, Richenda,” she said briskly. “I shan’t keep you, but there are one or two modifications in your time-table I want to explain to you.”

“Yes, thank you,” Richenda got out, though why she should have been so scared of Miss Dene was something neither she nor anyone else could have explained.

The secretary felt something odd about her and looked up. “Pull up that chair and sit down here and we’ll go over it again.”

Richenda did as she was told. Miss Dene produced a great sheet and spread it out on the desk before them. “Now! You have extra art, but not music. Now let me see. Yes; here we are! You go to the studio on Wednesday afternoons from fourteen to sixteen while the others have science which you’re not taking.”

She glanced up again and caught the stupefied look on Richenda’s face. “What’s the matter? Oh, I know! I forgot you probably didn’t realise that here we are in Central Europe and use European time names. We go right round the clock from one to twenty-four, Richenda. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“I—I think someone said something about it,” Richenda gasped. “Only—it has such a weird sound and—well I couldn’t think——”

Miss Dene broke into a peal of laughter. “Oh, your poor face! Never mind; you soon get accustomed to it. Now we must go on. On Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, you go to Mlle de Lachennais for extra French and Miss Denny will give you German coaching when she can dodge it in. I ought to explain that this only lasts until you can understand and speak enough to go on with. So the harder you work now, the sooner it’ll end. In the common room, you’ll find plenty of papers and magazines in both French and German and if you’ll take my advice, you’ll read them when you get the chance. They’re nearly all fully illustrated and that helps a lot with a language. And I’ll give you a tip. Try never to go to bed any night without having learned at least five new words of each language. It doesn’t take much of your time to rub ten new words into your memory and by the end of the term you’ll find you’re getting a very good little vocabulary. Of course, you’ll pick up a lot by just hearing it all round you. Everyone does. I did, in my time. You know I’m an Old Girl, don’t you?”

“Yes; Rosamund Lilley said so,” Richenda replied, feeling much more at home now.

“Yes; that was when the school was in Tirol. But like you, I came knowing hardly a word of German and not a great deal of French. I was amazed when the end of the first term came and I found I could understand and talk with a fair amount of fluency even in that short time. So will you be. Now is there anything you want to ask before I finish?”

“I don’t think so, thank you.”

“Good! If any thing does crop up at any time, you can always come and ask me between seventeen and half-past and I’ll help you if I can. Now for the last of it. We’re putting you in Vb, but if you find you can’t manage the work, you’ll be moved to Inter V. Don’t worry if you find the languages something of a handicap at first. As I’ve just told you, every day you’ll find that part of it growing easier and in any case, we all understand and every allowance will be made for you so long as you don’t try to trade on it. But it won’t do if you have to work so hard that you upset yourself and make yourself ill. That won’t be allowed for a moment. Health must come before even education. And if we find that you can’t keep up, don’t think you’ve disgraced yourself. You haven’t! The thing is that you must do your best in form and during all lesson hours—which includes prep. If, after that, the work is beyond you, then you’ll be told and so will the other girls and no one will think or say anything more about it. It’s happened before and, I don’t doubt, will happen many times again. Now that’s all. Some time we’ll have a good talk, but at present I’ve so much to get through, I can’t spare a moment. Good luck to you! Try to remember all I’ve said and be happy here. That we do ask of every girl. Now run along and send Carlotta Kieffen in to me.”

She gave Richenda a brilliant smile. That young lady stood up and put the chair back against the wall from which she had taken it.

“Thank you, Miss Dene,” she said sedately. “I promise to do my best.” Then she departed, firmly resolved to stay with Vb somehow. Miss Dene might talk as she liked. Being sent down was a disgrace and one that Richenda Fry did not mean to endure at any price!

“Carlotta, you’re next,” Jo said as Richenda appeared, and a very solemn-faced individual went in while Richenda returned to her place among the rest.

“What did she say to you?” Joan Dancey asked eagerly. “I’m to have coaching in French and German and maths. What about you?”

“French and German,” Richenda said. “She didn’t say anything about maths.”

“Lucky you! I’m awfully bad at them, but I’ve done no science or I might have taken that instead. My last school was a little private one, you see, and we didn’t go in for things like that. But she said if they found I couldn’t keep up with the rest of the form, I’d have to go down to Inter V and I’m jolly well not going to let that happen if I can help it!” Joan set her lips and looked as fierce as her cheeky nose would let her.

“Who’re you planning to murder?” Jo Scott demanded at this juncture. “Not Deney, I hope! We couldn’t spare her! She’s what Aunt Joey calls one of the foundation stones—meaning that she was one of the first girls at the school.”

“I wasn’t thinking of murdering anyone,” Joan replied. “Only making up my mind to stay in Vb if I have to swot myself blue in the face.”

“You won’t be allowed to do that!” Jo retorted. “Overwork firmly forbidden in the Chalet School. We have our lessons and prep and then it’s finish so far as work is concerned. So for goodness’ sake, Joan, don’t try to do anything mad like sneaking books upstairs to bed. You’ll get caught and have a frantic row and it isn’t worth it.” She turned away as Carlotta appeared to send the next girl into the study and Joan was left looking rebellious—which was pretty much what Richenda felt. She, too, had been planning to snatch extra half-hours at work and now, it seemed, there would be trouble if she was caught.

“Oh, well, I’ll just have to dig in all I can during prep and lessons,” she thought. “But I’ll show them! I’ll show everyone—especially Father!”

It was not a praiseworthy sentiment, but at least it was better than carrying on with her black sulks as she had fully intended to do. But it had struck her already that there wasn’t going to be much time for anything like that. You may be able to sulk at home, but when you are at boarding school with a very full programme, it makes it difficult. Besides, she was already attracted to three people and she liked Miss Dene and Miss Ferrars. In fact, she found, considerably to her surprise, that there were quite a number of people in whom she was beginning to feel interest.

She thought all this over while she stood waiting with the rest. Then the contingent from Inter V arrived and the last new girl for Vb came out and Jo marched them back to their form room where they were immediately plunged into the business of getting their text-books from the stock-room. Halfway through that, Matron sent for them to unpack, and when that was over and the text-books had been duly collected, the new girls had to go for stationery. Halfway through came Break with a choice of milk or lemonade and biscuits in the Speisesaal, after which they went out to the garden for a little fresh air. But it was a full and busy morning, all said and done, and by the time the bell rang for the end of morning school the last of Richenda’s sulks had vanished. Not, however, her feeling towards her father. She still could not forgive him for making such a clean cut across her life for the very thing that she had inherited from himself. The way he had done it as much as anything else had infuriated her and it was to be a very long time before anything but an armed neutrality existed between them.

In the meantime, she was remembering what he had said about it being a punishment for her, and since she was a girl who could reason when she chose, she decided that if she should enjoy it, it would put an end to the punishment business.

“And that’ll be sucks to him!” she thought, most unfilially.

All things considered, she would be able to get back at him very nicely, and meanwhile, if she must write to him every week as she had discovered she was expected to do, she would send him the shortest of notes. Her real home letters should be to Nanny and Sue!

Well, she had taken a step forward—a tiny one. But before she had made it up with the Professor, she was to learn quite a number of things not usually included in the curriculum of most schools!

Having most undutifully made up her mind to render her father’s punishment null and void by enjoying herself at the new school, Richenda turned her attention to keeping her place in Vb. For the first week, she watched her own work with a concentration that caused Priscilla Dawbarn to label her “a swot of the swottiest kind”. By that time, she had decided what were her weakest points and settled down to pulling her work up in those subjects.

Arithmetic was one, of course; but she found that the teaching she got from Miss Wilmot was very different from that under Miss Coulson and she really was able to “see through” rules and problems that had formerly been Sanskrit to her. What she did not understand was that Nancy Wilmot was a born teacher who loved her work, while Miss Coulson had only taken up teaching because she must do something for a living and that meant good holidays. The last two years at St. Margaret’s the mistress had been engaged, and her interest had been chiefly in preparing for her new home. The result was what might have been expected—poor work all round, and even if Miss Coulson had not resigned at the beginning of the summer term, Miss Hilton would have asked her to do so.

Sue Mason wrote a long letter to her old chum, giving her all the news and this piece of information into the bargain. She reported that the new maths mistress was a “stinger” and hoped Richenda had better luck at the Chalet School.

On the second Saturday of term when they wrote their home letters, Richenda scribbled the brief note she was expected to send to her father and then settled down to writing a lengthy epistle to Sue.

“What weird news about Couly! I’m sorry the new one is so ghastly. Here, we have Miss Wilmot, who is a poppet and really does make you see what you are trying to get at. I understand quite a lot already that was a blank to me before and don’t swoon, my lamb, but I’m actually beginning to like maths! She—Miss Wilmot, I mean—is an Old Girl and frightfully keen on the school. She sometimes goes with us on our walks and she’s tremendous fun then. But try to play her up in lessons and you soon know where you get off!

“I like all the mistresses here, so far. Miss Ferrars, our form mistress is a poppet”—Richenda, like most girls of her age, was given to repetition of epithets—“and everyone likes her. She takes our geography and maths in the Middle forms and Inter V and some English with them as well. Miss Derwent sees to our English and once a week we have a literature lesson with the Head. That’s tremendously interesting because you never know what she’s going to take. You’d love her, Sue! Do ask your people to send you here!

“Art is pretty fearsome, though I like it. Herr Laubach is an Austrian and frightfully keen and he simply blows you sky high if you don’t do exactly what he wants. But he does make you see what it is and why. I’ve had two lessons with him so far and I can feel I’m going ahead. And I’m getting on in French, too. You know, Sue, when you hear nothing but French for a whole day at a time, you just can’t help learning things. And here, when they tell you something, you have to repeat it until you say it more or less Frenchily and by the time that happens, you know those words for keeps. You just can’t help it.

“The German is the worst of it. I didn’t know a word before I came here and I did know the usual amount of French. I wish they didn’t stick their verbs at the end of sentences. You get accustomed to it in Latin and that’s a dead language, anyhow. When it comes to a living one, it’s moithering! However, I’m beginning to understand some of the things that are said to me, but I’ll never get the sort of accent they expect. My throat isn’t made that way!

“The best of all is history. Everyone told me that their history mistress had left last term to be married to one of the doctors at the San at the other end of the Görnetz Platz and there would be a new one. And then, when history came along, the door opened and in she walked—Miss o’Ryan, I mean. Only now, she’s Madame Courvoisier. The girls just shrieked when they saw her!

“She’s awfully pretty—blue eyes, black hair and the loveliest complexion. She’s tiny, too, smaller than Miss Ferrars and I can look over her head. She grinned when she heard the others and said, ‘Yes, I’m teaching you for this term, at any rate. Miss Annersley couldn’t get anyone she liked to take my place and I might as well go on with you for the present’.

“Rosamund Lilley—I told you about her in my last—said, ‘Are we to call you Madame Courvoisier? I don’t think we shall ever remember’. And she said, ‘You’ll come to it in time. Sure, I got a shock the first few times myself when I heard it though I’m accustomed to it now. Do your best and for this half of the term, I’ll answer to either. After that, though, you’ll be getting no reply from Miss o’Ryan when you speak to her’. We all shrieked.

“Her history is marvellous. When she’s talking about things, it’s almost as if you were living in those times—we’re doing the Hanoverian period this term—and then she suddenly stops and asks you to show why a certain thing happened from what had gone before. Or else she asks you to explain what you would expect to happen when certain changes were made. It’s frightfully interesting and a lot more fun than the sort of thing we did at Maggie’s.

“By the way, I’ve got a new name now. I’m Ricki, out of school. Len Maynard began it. On last Sunday she said suddenly, ‘Richenda’s awfully long for everyday; how do they shorten you at home?’ I said I never had been shortened and I didn’t see what you could do about it, anyhow. Len said she’d think it over and when we went for a ramble in the afternoon, she and two or three of the others came along, and believe it or not, they discussed it quite seriously. Len said that her real name was Helena and Con’s was Constance. They all call Rosamund Lilley, Ros, and nearly everyone with a longish name gets a short. Then she asked how I liked ‘Richy’ and I said, ‘Not at all!’ Rosamund said, ‘What about ‘Shendy’ then?’ But I didn’t like that, either. And then Con gave a squawk and said, ‘I’ve got it—‘Ricki’ and we’ll spell it with an ‘i’ at the end. It’ll look better that way!’

“They’d taken so much trouble over it, I agreed, so I’m ‘Ricki’ for the future. How do you like it?”

“Finish your letters,” said Mary-Lou who was in charge of them this morning. “The bell for Break will be ringing in a moment.”

Richenda hurriedly scribbled a final appeal to Sue to beg her parents to send her to the Chalet School as soon as possible and finally signed herself for the first time as “Ricki”. She had not dared to do it to her father, even if she had felt friendly enough to him to do so. He was very proud of her name, which was an old one in his family and would never have considered any “short” for it.

The bell rang just as she finished stamping the envelope and she still had not written to Nanny. However, she could do that next day. She collected the two she had done and handed them in for the mail-box and then went off with the others to claim her milk and biscuits.

There was no going out for them today. They had wakened to find the rain streaming down and everywhere dismally wet.

“The weather’s broken,” Con Maynard said when they had left the Speisesaal and were in their common room. “Oh, well, it’s been a miraculous week. This is the autumn, anyhow. I suppose we couldn’t expect it to go on being fine all the time.”

“What shall we do?” Richenda asked curiously.

“No idea. Someone will come and tell us presently. Hobbies, perhaps.”

“Much more likely to be some sort of indoor games,” Rosamund said decidedly. “We don’t have the Sale till the summer term now, so there isn’t quite the rush to get things ready for it. Who’s doing the Evening? I meant to look but forgot.”

“It’s St. Hild,” Len said. “I say, Ricki, Mamma was on the phone to me this morning and she wants us to take you home for tea tomorrow. Will you come?”

Richenda’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I’d love it! Will Miss Annersley let me go?”

“Oh, yes. Mamma always has the new girls to tea during the term. She says as the very first pupil the school ever had, it’s her duty. Usually she has people in batches—like last Saturday when she had all Va new girls together. But Cecil, our baby sister, has been cutting teeth this week and she’s given everyone a doing. Mamma says she can’t cope with more than one new girl tomorrow and she’s chosen you. She’ll have the others next week. Cecil will be all right for a while now.”

“I’d love to come. Ought I to go and ask someone, though?”

“Yes, go to the Abbess before Mittagessen and tell her. It’ll be O.K.”

The bell rang then and they all proceeded to Hall where they sat down and waited to hear what they were to do since no one was going to consider any sort of walk, even in raincoats, sou’westers and wellingtons. They were not left long to wonder. Miss Burnett, the Games mistress, arrived and announced dancing in the gym. Some of the other mistresses were coming to join in and Mlle Lenoir would play for them.

This news was greeted with quick clapping. Everyone loved dancing, which meant country and morris dancing on such an occasion. Richenda had attended classes at home with Sue and some more girls from St. Margaret’s, so she was as thrilled as anyone. There was a quick rush to the Splasheries when Miss Burnett had dismissed them, to change to plimsolls, and then they all pulled on raincoats and caps and raced across to the big gymnasium, which was in a building by itself with the art rooms, domestic science kitchens and geography room.

For an hour and a half they were kept hard at it, mostly with the more exciting dances, though at intervals they were bidden to sit down while the advanced people showed them “Oranges and Lemons,” “Parson’s Farewell,” “Confess,” and others of the quieter and more complicated dances. By the time the period was over everyone was breathless and weary, and only too thankful to learn that the afternoon was to be spent in the common rooms reading or playing table games.

In the evening, St. Hild’s produced a series of tableaux, the titles of which they had to guess. Most of them were historical, though a few represented well-known pictures. Everyone knew “When did you last see your Father?”; but quite a number were puzzled over the scene where John Alden proposes to Priscilla on behalf of Miles Standish. As for what was ultimately explained to be King Canute ordering the waves to go back, no one could be expected to realise, as Miss Wilmot loudly proclaimed, that a mass of green and blue serge curtains humped up by various members of St. Hild’s represented the sea! No one guessed it, not even Mme Courvoisier, who had turned up as her husband was at the Sanatorium.

Eventually, the prizes offered for the greatest number of correct guesses were won by Mary-Lou in VIa, Maeve Bettany in Va and Jo Scott in Vb. VIb did so badly all round, that Miss Derwent, the House mistress at St. Hild’s said severely they didn’t deserve any prize; however, she relented and it finally went to Clare Kennedy, a girl with a sweet nunlike face which was remarkably misleading, as anyone who knew her could have told you!

Bed brought to an end a day which Richenda had thoroughly enjoyed and she had the delight of having tea with one of her favourite writers to look forward to next day. On the whole, she decided that if her father had meant to punish her, he had made a mistake. This was no punishment! If only the Masons would send Sue to join her, she would have nothing to complain of!

Sunday was a grey day with no rain, but no sun. Everywhere was floating with water and though they were able to go to church, there was no walk. Further along the shelf the little stream which was dry in hot weather, was a roaring torrent that threatened to break its banks if the rain came again and no one was taking any risks of a flood. They had the time between church and Mittagessen for finishing their letters or reading quietly.

In the afternoon, most of the girls settled down to reading again. Richenda had not finished her letter to Nanny, so she asked for permission to go to the form room to do so. Vi Lucy who was on duty, nodded, and Richenda went off with pad and pen to seek the peace of the form room. Nanny expected a full account of the week’s doings, and Richenda, although she had scribbled hard during the morning period had only finished Friday’s and still had the tale of Saturday to add. Some of the girls were talking and she felt she could do better if she were alone. They were not to go to Freudesheim till half-past three, Mrs. Maynard having said that for once, she meant to take a nap in the afternoon. After a series of broken nights, she needed it!

Richenda went quietly in her slippers and she had opened the door of Vb and was well into the room before she discovered that someone else had taken refuge here. She heard a broken sob coming from a far corner, looked across and beheld the little French girl, Odette Mercier, sitting at a desk, her head buried in her arms and her shoulders heaving with sobs.

For a moment, Richenda felt inclined to depart as quietly as she had come. Then she closed the door softly behind her, laid her belongings down on the nearest desk and went quietly over to Odette, who was crying so violently that she never knew anyone was there until the English girl laid a hand on the shaking shoulders. Then she looked up with a start. After seeing the miserable face all puffed and swollen with tears, Richenda felt that she must do something about this.

“Odette, what’s the matter?” she asked gently. Then, suddenly remembering that Odette’s English was far to seek, she hurriedly recast her sentence into French.

“Qu’avez-vous, Odette?” she asked.

Odette was much too well away to be able to reply at once. But at last she got it out. “Oh, j’ai mal-au-coeur! Oh, Maman—Maman!” And she sobbed again.

“What is wrong? Is she ill?” Richenda asked, still in her very stilted French—later, she was to wonder how on earth she had managed so well!—“Tell me, Odette, and stop crying so much. You will make yourself ill.”

“I wish I could,” Odette sobbed. “Then Maman would come to me and I should leave this terrible place and go home again!”

“But—why?” Richenda demanded, startled. “And it is not a terrible place, truly, it is not. Try to stop crying and tell me what is wrong. I may be able to help you.”

“No one can,” Odette sobbed. “I want Maman and I do not want to stay here.”

Richenda stared down at her as she dropped her head on her arms again and cried convulsively. She was at her wits’ end to know what to do. She had never had to cope with anything like this before, but cope with it, she felt she must! The question was—how? She stood patting Odette’s shoulder and Odette wept and wept and made no sort of response to all the other girl’s coaxing. Finally, Richenda gave it up. She straightened up and stopped her patting as she looked round the room desperately for some inspiration. She got one!

“Stay where you are, Odette,” she said; and left her.

She made her way to the prefects’ room and tapped at the door nervously. A voice said, “Come in!” and she went in to find most of the grandees of the school sitting about, reading, doing needlework of various kinds, and otherwise taking their ease. At sight of a girl from Vb, most of them stared. Mary-Lou who had dropped her book, saw the trouble in Richenda’s face, and rose at once.

“Hello, Richenda! Anything wrong?”

“It’s Odette!” Richenda blurted out. “She’s crying like mad in our form room and I can’t do anything with her. Would you come and see if you can help? I expect she can’t understand my French. Anyhow, she’ll be ill if she goes on.”

No one had ever made an appeal of that kind to Mary-Lou in vain. “I’ll come,” she said briefly. “Where did you say she was?”

“In our form room—Vb. Oh, would you, Mary-Lou? I can’t do a thing with her!”

All Mary-Lou said was, “Come on!”

Arrived in the form room, she took one glance round. Then she was bending over Odette, speaking to her in the fluent, prettily-accented French which Richenda so admired and envied. This was a very different thing from that young lady’s halting remarks and Odette responded to it at once. She lifted her head from her arms, looked up into the sympathetic face, and collapsed into the Head Girl’s arms. Mary-Lou spoke soothingly to her and then turned and nodded at Richenda. “Take your things away and go and ask Matey to come here,” she said softly. “This is beyond either of us and if she goes on, she’ll end by having hysterics. Quickly—Ricki, isn’t it?”

Richenda gathered up her pad and pen and fled to seek Matron. It took a little doing, for that beloved Chalet School tyrant was not in her own room nor the Staffroom. Eventually, Richenda ran her to earth in the Head’s private drawing-room whither, greatly daring, she had finally bent her steps. The girls were not supposed to come to this part of the building unless they were sent and Miss Annersley, entertaining Matron, Miss Dene, Miss Wilson from St. Mildred’s and Mrs. Graves, another Old Girl who had married another doctor and lived up here, raised her eyebrows when Richenda appeared in reply to her “Entrez!”

“Please, Matron,” Richenda said hurriedly, “Odette Mercier is crying herself sick in our form room and Mary-Lou sent me to ask you to come to her.”

Matron bounced out of her chair and swept past Richenda almost before the girl had finished speaking. Miss Annersley halted her pupil, who was following.

“One moment, Richenda. Do you know what is wrong with Odette?”

Richenda shook her head. “No, Miss Annersley. She said she had—had—mal-au-something and wanted her mother. I couldn’t cope with her, so I went for Mary-Lou and she sent me for Matron. She said it was beyond either of us.”

“I see. Thank you, dear. Run along, then. Aren’t you going over to the Maynards’ this afternoon?”

“Yes; but not till half-past fifteen,” Richenda replied. “Len told me her baby sister had been cutting teeth——”

“And raising the roof about it,” Mrs. Graves put in, laughing. “I heard all about it from Joey this morning. Cecil seems to have given them a benefit. However, Jo says she’s all right again now.” She looked directly at Richenda who was standing looking uncomfortable and wondering whether she ought to go or not. “When are you coming to see my babies, Richenda? I’ve two little girls—future pupils for the school. You must come to Kaffee und Kuchen with me some time and meet them.”

“Th-thank you,” Richenda mumbled. Then she caught the Head’s eye, realised that she might go, made her curtsy and sped away to her own quarters. Halfway there, she suddenly pulled up to stand stockstill, stared at nothing in particular.

“Goodness gracious me!” she exclaimed aloud. “When Odette called it a terrible place I felt quite furious with her! So what?”

She was unable to answer it, but as she went on her way at a more sedate pace, she felt dimly that her outlook had changed.

Tea at the Maynards proved all that fancy had pictured. They were met at the door of the tall house by an appropriately tall lady with black hair cut in a straight fringe across broad brows and wound into enormous flat “earphones” at each side of her face. Her eyes were black, too, but although none of the triplets had exactly reproduced her colouring, the four had the same short, sensitive features and Richenda felt she would have known Mrs. Maynard anywhere.

Len, Con and Margot rushed on her and hugged her mightily till she cried for mercy. “You girls are a lot too big for one poor creature to cope with at one fell swoop these days!” she protested laughingly. “And what about manners? Let me speak to Richenda, if you don’t mind.”

“O.K.—but she’s Ricki out of school,” Len said cheerfully. “Richenda’s such a mouthful!”

Joey Maynard chuckled. “Awfully pretty, though. I must use it some time. You don’t mind, do you, Ricki? I’m always on the look-out for unusual names, as these three will tell you. Welcome to Freudesheim—and welcome to the Chalet School, even if it is rather late in the day for that. Come along in and take off your things. Show her where to go, Len. I must get back to the salon. I left the twins and Cecil there and Bruno into the bargain.”

“Weren’t you trusting!” Margot cried, pulling off her raincoat and beret. “Better get back and see he isn’t flailing around and knocking things over!”

“Bruno’s our St. Bernard,” Len explained as she drew Richenda across the hall to a small cloakroom. “Hang up your things, Ricki, and change your shoes and we’ll go and see what’s happened. Buck up, Con, and don’t moon.”

Margot had already gone after her mother and when the other three reached the salon, it was to find her sitting flat on the floor, her mother laughing at her, while a big St. Bernard did his best to wash her face with his wet pink tongue.

“Bruno! Don’t!” Margot shrieked, shielding herself as best she could. “Call him off, someone! He’s making an awful mess of my frock!”

But Bruno had looked round and spied new victims, and he left Margot, who got to her feet in short order, while Len dragged Richenda behind a big settee and Con scuttled for refuge to the far side of the playpen, where Baby Cecil was rolling and chuckling to herself.

The noise they made between them was deafening, and Mrs. Maynard hastily called Bruno to order. “Down, Bruno! Sit! That’s better! Come out from behind there, you two! I can see you! Con, stop waltzing round the playpen! You make me dizzy! Margot, you run upstairs and tidy yourself and then we’ll all settle to something. I’m sorry for such a boisterous welcome, Ricki,” she added with a laugh. “Bruno is still quite young and very silly, and he adores the girls, though goodness knows why! That’s better! Sit here, Richenda, and I’ll present Cecil to you.”

She bent over the playpen with a swoop of long arms and brought the baby to plant her down on the apprehensive Richenda’s lap. “There she is—our ninth! How d’you like her?”

Richenda, still terrified in case she should drop the precious bundle of chuckles in her arms, looked down at her. “Oh, what a pet!” she exclaimed. “What lovely curls! And her eyes! They’re even darker than Con’s!”

“Black like mine,” the baby’s mother said complacently “She’s the only one of the nine to have them. Yes; she’s rather nice, isn’t she?”

“Oh, she’s lovely! The loveliest baby I ever saw!” Which came well from Richenda, whose only sight of babies hitherto had been when she had passed them in the street.

“Ba-booba!” remarked Cecil amiably. Then she stretched out her arms to her mother. “Ma-ma!”

“Can she talk?” Richenda exclaimed.

“At eighteen months old? Of course she can! She says ‘Ma-ma’ and ‘Pa-pa’ and she tries to say her sisters’ names, though I admit her attempts are odd. But she’s coming on quickly now. By Christmas, she’ll be chattering like a swallow if the rest of you people are anything to go by!” She nodded at her eldest girls and then turned to a corner where two little people were busy with a big box of bricks. “Twins! Come along and speak to Ricki!”

The pair got to their feet and came trotting over and Richenda nearly dropped Cecil in her amazement, for they were as fair as she was dark, with silvery fair locks, big blue eyes, and pink and white faces.

“Felix and Felicity,” their mother said. “Rather a contrast, aren’t they?”

“Fis-ty!” Cecil remarked and there was a chorus of exclamations.

“Oh, Mamma! She said Felicity!”

“Mamma, she called my name!”

“I say! Isn’t she coming on?”

Con stooped over the baby. “Say ‘Con’, precious!”

“On!” Cecil replied and blew bubbles which made Joey hurriedly rescue her.

“She’s dribbling all over the place still! More teeth, I’m afraid.” She produced a small towel and mopped up the young lady before putting her back into the pen. “Len, call the Coadjutor. It’s time these people went to tea. And Con, you go and bring the trolley in and we’ll have ours. Margot, fetch the cake-stand. Papa was in Interlaken yesterday and he brought back a luscious selection for today. Now, Ricki,” as the triplets went off to obey their mother’s orders, “tell me how you like the school. How are you getting on with the work? It’s hard at first having to work in a foreign language, isn’t it? But you’ll soon have a big enough vocabulary of both French and German to get along comfortably.”

“Yes; I feel that,” Richenda said. “French, anyhow. Why, only today——” She stopped short and went red.

“Only today—what?” Joey asked with interest.

“Well—something—happened and I just had to talk French and I didn’t know I knew so much,” Richenda said after a moment or two.

Her hostess nodded. “I know. It happens like that sometimes.” Then she let the subject drop, much to the relief of Richenda, and turned to school affairs. There came a tap at the door and a sturdy Swiss came to pick up the baby and call the twins to come to their tea in the playroom.

“Thank you, Rösli,” Mrs. Maynard said. “Give them their tea and I’ll come presently and you can go off. Anna will be back by eighteen o’clock, so you can have the evening. Run along, twins. The girls will pack up your bricks for you and bring them upstairs after tea.”

“Don’t let vem be too long, Mamma,” Felix said as he followed Rösli from the room.

“As soon as we’ve had our own tea,” his mother promised. “Run along, you two.”

They went off happily and Richenda could hear the high, clear voices chattering away as they went off. Then Con and Margot arrived with tea and Richenda was introduced to a bewildering selection of cakes that were indeed luscious.

“I’m afraid we’re hardly a quiet household,” Mrs. Maynard said as she poured out second cups all round. “What with twins and a baby and a dog that goes mad on occasion it’s too much to expect.”

“But you ought to be here when we’re all at home,” Margot put in. “Where’s Papa, Mamma? Is he coming back before we have to go?”

“I don’t expect so. He’s gone off to tea—or rather, Kaffee und Kuchen—with Herr Falke up at the Rösleinalp so I don’t suppose he’ll be back much before eight.”

“Oh, bother! It seems ages since we saw him!”

“Have you heard from the boys?” Len asked. “When you write, you might tell them to write to us occasionally. I wrote to Steve last Saturday and he’s never even bothered to reply.”

“Steve, my lamb, is much too busy. You can see the letters we had during the week if you like. Ricki, have you any brothers or sisters?”

“No; I’m the only one. Mother died when I was just a kid,” Richenda explained.

The triplets stared at her. This was news to them, for she had said practically nothing about her home life.

“Who chooses your clothes, then? Or do you get them yourself?” Margot asked.

“No, Nanny does that. Oh, I have a say, of course, but she generally picks them out. I did choose most of them to come to school. Nanny said now I was fifteen it was time I began. But it’s an awful nuisance.”

“I daresay,” Joey Maynard said. “All the same, she’s quite right. If you don’t begin young, you may get the weirdest ideas about clothes and that’s good for no one. Have another cake, Richenda? Try one of these nuts-and-honey-and-cream things.”

“I couldn’t! I couldn’t eat another bite!” Richenda said fervently.

“Sure? Very well then. If you three are finished, we’ll clear and you can pack up the twins’ bricks and take them up to the playroom, Len. Wheel the trolley back to the kitchen, Margot; and Con, put the cakes away. Now, Richenda, I mean Ricki, listen to me. You come to school to learn to stand on your own feet among other things. But if ever the time comes when you feel you need a—a crutch, remember that I’m here. I may be the mother of nine, but I’m still a Chalet School girl and I always will be, even when I’m a great-grandmother doddering about among my great-grandchildren and quavering, ‘Ah, children aren’t what they were in my young days!’ So you remember! And what are you giggling at?”

“The thought of you as a great-grandmother!” Richenda said as well as she could for her giggles. “I simply can’t imagine it! You—you’re just like another girl, Mrs. Maynard. Oh, I do think Len and Con and Margot are lucky to have a mother like you!”

Joey Maynard looked at her and then laughed. “I’m not the conventional mother as a rule, I admit. All the same, I can be fierce when I must!”

“I can’t imagine it.” Richenda suddenly looked up at her. “You—you make me wonder what my own mother would have been like. I don’t remember her at all.”

The splendid black eyes looking down at her, softened. “That makes it difficult, but I expect she’d have been everything you want in a mother. And you have your father, Ricki. Be thankful for that!”

Richenda was betrayed into an indiscretion. “Oh, him!” she said.

Joey gave her a quick look. “Something badly wrong here,” she thought. “Oh, well, I can’t butt in on her yet. But that sort of thing isn’t going on if I can help it. Those two ought to be all the closer because the poor child hasn’t any mother. The best of Nannies can’t make up for that!” Aloud, she said, “You ought to be very proud of him. He’s a very well-known man. And here come the girls and I must run upstairs and put Cecil to bed. I shan’t be long! Girls, look after Ricki till I come back. Anna will see to the twins when she comes in.”

“Shall I go up and look after them?” Len asked. “You know what Felix is!” she added.

“I do, indeed! But I shall be up there myself with Cecil, so no, thank you, sugarpie. You stay and entertain Ricki. You might show her those snaps of the Tiernsee—where the school began, Ricki. We have a holiday house there now and I don’t mind owning that I hope the day will come when we all move back again. Switzerland is a gorgeous place and we’re all very happy here; but the Tiernsee is something very special to all of us.” She waved to them and they heard her running up the stairs like a schoolgirl.

Len had brought an album from one of the low bookshelves which ran round two sides of the room. “Here are the snaps Mamma meant. We spent our summer holidays at the new house, so we can tell you all about it.”

As many of the snaps had stories attached, frequently of mishaps and adventures that had happened to Mrs. Maynard, they had not seen half of them by the time that lady’s beautiful voice was heard calling them to come up and kiss Cecil good night. Len pulled Richenda along with them when she would have held back.

“Of course it’s you as well! Don’t be such an ass! Everyone goes up to kiss the babies good night! Come on and don’t keep Mamma waiting!”

Richenda gave in and went with them to hear Cecil chuckle and say “On” and “En” and “Ar-o” which meant her sisters, and then snuggle up to her mother with a satisfied, “Ma-ma!” Then she was tucked into her cot and they all went downstairs where they finished looking at the snaps and heard more yarns. Finally, they had to say good night and fly, for no one had bothered about the time and they had exactly three minutes to pull on their coats and berets and race round by the road, since the garden was still dripping.

“Another time, let’s hope we’ve had some dry weather and you can go by the gardens,” Joey Maynard said as she ushered them to the door. “If you’re late, Len, tell the Head it’s my fault. I forgot all about the time.”

“You’d better ring her up and tell yourself before we get there!” Len retorted. “No one loves us if we’re late for Abendessen. Come on, everyone!” And she led the flying string of girls down the drive, out of the gate, along the road and, finally into the Splashery where they yanked off their things at the rate of no man’s business, for they had heard the gong booming as they raced round the house.

Left to herself, Joey Maynard went to her study and rang up Miss Annersley. “That you, Hilda? Well, please overlook it if the girls are late, will you? I never even thought of the time till Len suddenly yelled that they must go at once.”

“How exactly like you!” her friend commented. “Very well, since it’s your fault. How are Cecil and the teeth?”

“All right at the moment, but she’s still dribbling so I’m looking out for squalls in every sense of the word. I say, Hilda!”

“Well—what? Be quick, Joey! The gong will sound in a minute and whatever happens to the girls it won’t look well if I’m late!”

“It’s just I want to know if you know why Ricki seems to be at odds with her father?”

“Why who is at odds with her father? Who are you talking about?” the Head demanded in startled tones.

“Richenda Fry, if you must be proper. The girls tell me she’s Ricki out of lessons. Rather a nice short, I think! Well, go ahead and tell me.”

“Trust you to get on to that! Who told you anything about it?”

“She did herself—Oh, not in so many words. What she actually said was, ‘Oh, him!’ And the scorn in her tone! What’s gone wrong?”

“It’s too long a story to tell you now. There goes the gong! In two words, then, since I don’t want to have you ringing up frantically throughout Abendessen, she disobeyed a strict order of his and not for the first time, it seems. He told me that he hadn’t been satisfied with her school for some time and that settled it. She’s motherless you know, poor child, and he felt that she was outgrowing her Nanny who has had charge of her ever since Mrs. Fry died—when she was only two or three, I believe. Anyhow, he felt it was high time a change was made. He knew Professor Dunne—father of Amy Dunne who left us at Easter. He got in touch with him and heard about us. He came to see me when I was in London and asked me to take her. He also let slip the fact that he was going to tell her that this change of schools was a punishment for her disobedience. I felt rather apprehensive about how she would settle down, but so far, everything seems to have gone well. The only thing that I can gather is that her letters to her father are so thin they can’t be more than one sheet and she sends bulky packets to her Nanny and a school friend, Sue Mason. Incidentally, Sue Mason’s father has written to ask if we have a vacancy for her next term. Sue doesn’t know it, yet, nor does Richenda, and they are not to know till the Christmas holidays. Dr. Mason said that he quite agreed that they weren’t doing much good at St. Margaret’s—the school where they both were—and in any case, he didn’t think it would hurt Richenda to wait till then. She really was deliberately disobedient, I hear.”

“H’m! I wonder what she did?” Joey mused. “Oh, all right! But I’m getting to the bottom of it sooner or later and so I warn you! It’s all wrong for any girl to talk of her father in that tone. And it’s worse when they have only each other. I should hate to think of any of my girls behaving like that!”

“Your girls have a reasonable man for a father!” Hilda Annersley retorted. “—Yes, go on with the meal, Rosalie. I’m coming presently. Joey on the phone!—All right, Joey. Only Rosalie come to see why I’m not there to say Grace! We may as well finish this, now we’ve begun. From the little I saw of Professor Fry, I should say he was irritable, unable to make any allowances and without the foggiest notion of how to deal with a girl. I must say I’ve wished he hadn’t made this school business a punishment—the more so since, from what I see of her, it’s proving to be no punishment at all! Richenda has made friends with your own Len and Rosamund Lilley and one or two more of that crowd, and my own idea is that she’s enjoying herself to the top of her bent. So what becomes of the punishment?”

Joey chuckled. “What indeed! Good for Richenda! At the same time, she’s fifteen—she mentioned it incidentally while we were talking—and that’s an age which can pick up a grievance and keep it! Later on, if no one does anything about it, it’s going to make a barrier between those two and that’s wrong! It’ll mean that Richenda will grow up warped in one way. Yes; I know I’m the champion butter-in of the school, but I’ve always done it when I saw it was needed and I certainly think it’s needed in this case! Richenda goes home at Christmas looking forward to meeting her father again or I’ll know the reason why!”

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” Miss Annersley said resignedly.

“How right you are! Did you say she was extra chummy with Len? Oh, good! Len will be very good for her. That child adores her own father—well, they all do and with good reason! O.K., Hilda. You’ve told me what I want to know and that’s all I need for the present. I’ll ring off now and I’ll be over as soon as I can to discuss the whole affair with you. Good-bye!”

There was a loud “click!” as she banged the receiver back on its cradle and Miss Annersley laughed and hung up also.

“Bless the girl! What a whirlwind she is! Well, if she takes Richenda in hand there’s no doubt about it that young lady will be turned upside down and inside out and hindside foremost until she does come to her senses! I only wish she could get her paws on the Professor while she is about it. And while I think of it, it might be a very good idea to put her on to Odette, though that is mainly a straightforward case of acute homesickness. I wonder what we can do about it? Certainly if something isn’t done, we shall have to return the child to her mother. She can’t be allowed to fret her heart out in this style!”

She frowned as she clicked off the light and left the room. Neither she nor, wonderful to state, Matron, had made much impression on Odette who had simply gone on sobbing heartrendingly until Matron had finally packed her off to bed with a dose of her pet soothing mixture which had sent the girl to sleep. That was so much to the good, but, as the Head thought on her way through the corridors, it was something you couldn’t go on doing. Some other cure must be found or else the school must own itself beaten for once, and Odette sent home.

By the end of a fortnight, Richenda might be very fairly said to have found her feet in her new school. Once she had given up her sulks and made up her mind to enjoy present conditions, she discovered that there were quite as jolly girls here as at St. Margaret’s. She was quickly growing into friendship with Jo Scott and Rosamund Lilley. She was on matey terms with Betty Landon and her alter ego, Alicia Leonard. Primrose Trevoase and Priscilla Dawbarn were also inclined to be chummy. As for Len and Con Maynard, they might be a good year younger than she, but she speedily learned that a year in Canada had given them a much more grown-up outlook than the average English girl of their age. Apart from that, Len, as the eldest in a long family, was very responsible and, in some ways, considerably older than her years. Con was given to dreaming at times. She meant to be a writer when she grew up, and when she became immersed in her brain children she was a hopeless case. Her elders had all learned to dread a certain look in her deep brown eyes. It meant that Con was off in a delightful world which had little or no connection with school and anything might be expected from her!

She had found that if she worked hard and honestly during lessons and prep, she had every chance of staying in Vb. She had plenty of brains if she chose to use them—and here, she did choose. Also, though she was too young to realise it at present, she was getting the best of teaching. No need now to lean back in her seat and smother yawns, fidget with books and pencils or play surreptitious games of Noughts and Crosses! In fact, she had no time. She was much too keen on keeping her place. She began to go ahead as she had never done before. Even when the lessons were in French or German, she was able to keep up to a certain extent. French which she had learned for the past six years was the easier. But even in German she was picking up words and phrases and even whole sentences which made it possible for her to get a rough idea of what was going on.

This does not mean that in a short two weeks or so she had ceased to regret the Chinese Room and all its contents. There were times when she had an almost unbearable longing for the glowing colour of the porcelains and the feel of the smooth pastes and glazes; then she was apt to go off by herself and fret. These occasions, however, were becoming rarer, and were shorter when they did come; all the same, she had fully made up her mind that when she left school her profession would be connected with ceramics. In the meantime, what with lessons, hockey and netball, rambles and the novelty of her surroundings, she was finding it possible to be very happy.

One thing she did like above all else: the amount of time they spent in the open air. Apart from that week-end when she had made the acquaintance of the Maynard household the weather had been glorious, with days of sunshine and fresh breezes. As a result the school spent much of its time out of doors, and Richenda flourished in the clear mountain air.

“I don’t understand,” she said to Len on the Sunday morning at the end of that period. “We seem to be out more than half the time.”

“Well,” Len explained, “it’s this way. When the bad weather really comes it means being tied to the house for days at a time. Once it really gets going it goes it! Not that we’re likely to see a lot of it for some weeks yet, but in late November and December we often get violent rainstorms, and when they clear off, the ground’s just one vast sea of mud.”

“Then don’t we have any ski-ing or tobogganing this term?” Richenda asked disappointedly.

“Yes, if we get the snow and frost. But it doesn’t always happen. It’s next term we can look for the best of that. But we may have snow this term, of course. You never can tell.” She changed the subject. “I’ll give you a hand with some German conversation, shall I? Your French is coming on by leaps and bounds, but you still seem to find German sticky.”

“Well, thanks a lot,” Richenda rejoined rather dismally. Practice in German conversation was not her idea of amusement.

Len chuckled. “Don’t you worry! You’ll get all the fun you want next term, and, as I said, it may come at the end of this,” she said, switching off into the fluent, easy German which always made Richenda wonder dolefully if she would ever be able to speak even half as well.

By this time, as Miss Ferrars could have told you, Vb had split up into little groups and cliques. Richenda, herself, was in the chummery made up of Jo Scott, Rosamund Lilley, the Maynards and that young sinner, Primrose Trevoase. Betty Landon seemed to head another composed of most of the wildest members of the form. The three Swiss girls naturally formed their own alliance and Carmela Walther from Bonn was also of their group. Only two seemed to belong nowhere—big Joan Baker who was a long way the eldest in the form, and Odette Mercier.

Joan was a good deal of an enigma to Richenda. She showed a superficial cleverness at times, but as soon as she was asked to delve deeper, she broke down. Her tastes struck the other girls as crude and even vulgar at times, and she used words and phrases that made Richenda regard her with scorn. It was the more surprising because Rosamund Lilley said she had come from the same school and Rosamund was one with the rest of them in such matters.

As for Odette, after that tremendous weep, she had settled down into a melancholy which made the Staff at large worry over her. Her appetite was poor and, though no one had succeeded in catching her at it, Matron was positive that she cried herself to sleep each night. Her eyes always seemed full of unshed tears and she was pale and getting thin.

Other people besides the mistresses noticed this. Richenda with a feeling that perhaps she ought to give an eye to the French girl, tried to be friendly. She even sacrificed her own wishes far enough to invite Odette to be her partner on walks. But chatter as she might, she never succeeded in winning even the ghost of a smile from Odette—or much more than “Oui” or “Non” in answer to anything she said.

Mary-Lou Trelawney also tried to keep an eye on her, but Mary-Lou as Head Girl was a very busy person. Lately, Len Maynard had been noticing things. She had inherited that from her mother. Joey Maynard had always been as she herself said, the school’s prize butter-in. Len was shyer about it and slower in making up her mind. But once she had done so, she was prepared to go to all lengths and she had decided this morning when she saw Odette’s mournful face that it was time she did something about it.

The Maynards were Catholics, so they went off to the little Catholic church which served all the villages and hamlets round. Richenda went with the rest to the Protestant church. Services for the school were always held before the main morning services for the other people of the district, so at half-past ten, they were back at school and waiting to hear what the programme was to be.

They soon learned. It had been decided that they might all take sandwiches and tarts and go off for rambles. They were to be back at school by seventeen o’clock—five, by English time—as it grew dark soon now, and up in the mountains there was little or no twilight. They had the sunset and then, even as the colours paled, the dark swooped down on them and it was night. But at present, the sun was shining down from a clear blue sky with a warmth that made the girls grumble about their big coats. Matron, however, was adamant.

“Of course you’ll wear your big coats!” she said in awe-inspiring tones to Mary-Lou Trelawney and Hilary Bennet who had gone as a deputation to her to beg leave to put on their coats and skirts. “Yes, I know it looks like being a fine day; but if you two aren’t any more weatherwise than that after all these years in Switzerland, I can only say you don’t use your common sense! You ought to know by this time how quickly a storm can come up in the mountains. Now run along and don’t bother me any more!”

“And that’s that!” Mary-Lou said ruefully to her friend as they returned to the eagerly waiting prefects to report the utter failure of their mission.

“I could have told you how it would be!” Hilda Jukes observed cheerfully.

“Of all the people I most dislike,” Hilary remarked, “I most dislike the people who say ‘I told you so!’ either like that or in similar words. Hilda, I hate you!”

“Oh, well,” Mary-Lou put in, “at least we’ve got the trip to the Rösleinalp to make up for it. Come on and we’ll go the rounds and break the sad news gently to all the little lambs. Usual big coats and berets—no scarves, thank goodness, and no gloves! It might be worse!”

The girls went off in their various forms with mistresses in charge. Mlle de Lachennais, head of the languages, was taking Va down to Interlaken. There was to be a good concert at the Kursaal and Va were a musical form on the whole and were thrilled at the prospect. But this left Miss Wilmot, their form mistress, free, so she tagged on to Miss Ferrars, who had already invited her great friend Miss Moore, the senior Geography mistress, to accompany herself and Vb. The girls were told that they were to go as far as St. Cecilie, a tiny village some six miles or so along the coast road from the Görnetz Platz. Most of the villagers kept a cow or a goat, so they would get milk easily enough. The three mistresses were all favourites in the school, being young enough to sympathise with the girls over various things, so Vb felt that they were doing very nicely and set off in high feather.

Until they were well away from the Platz, they had to walk in pairs; but once they were beyond the few chalets which gathered round its end, they were allowed to break ranks and they rambled along in groups, all talking as hard as they could go. The day being Sunday, they might use any language they chose and there wasn’t a girl in the school who refused to take advantage of that.

Richenda and Len started off with Rosamund and Jo; but before they got very far, those two became involved in a hot argument over hockey. The other pair not being particularly keen, left them to it and went ahead.

“Gorgeous day!” Len said, elevating her small straight nose and snuffing the crisp air rather like a dog smelling liver for his dinner. “I rather wish we could have gone up the mountain. On a clear day like this, there must be a wizard view from the Rösleinalp!”

“I’m quite satisfied with this one, thank you!” Richenda said, waving her hand to the mountains across the valley and nearly hitting her friend in the face. “Oh, look at that lake, Len! How it gleams! Which did you say it was?”

“Thun. That’s where we go bathing in the summer.”

“I wish we could go now,” Richenda said enviously.

“You wouldn’t, once you were in!” Len reassured her with a grin.

“Why on earth not? What do you mean?”

“Because the water’s too cold, of course. All the lakes in this part of the world are snow-fed. It’s all right in summer when the water gets warmed by the sun. At this time of year, it’s icy!”

“Is it?” Richenda asked vaguely. “I say, Len,” she went on, “you people all say we have expeditions to different places, but we haven’t had any yet.”

“Give us a chance!” Len protested. “We’ve only just begun school this minute—or very nearly that. There hasn’t been time to arrange anything.”

“Well, when will we?”

“Couldn’t say. Half-term, most likely. Where would you like to go?”

“Anywhere! I’ve never been abroad before. I want to see Geneva and Lucerne and Zurich and—oh, anywhere! There’s lots to see, in them, isn’t there?”

“Oh, heaps! I say, Ricki, we seem to be miles ahead of the others. We’d best wait a little or Ferry will have lots to say when we meet again. She’s a pet, but she has a tongue when she likes!”

This was true, as Richenda had found on the previous Friday when she had made a complete mess of her relief map of New Zealand. She hastily agreed that it would be as well to wait a little and they scampered over the rough grass to where a fallen pine tree made a good seat. Len carefully examined both trunk and ground before she sat down or would let Richenda do so.

“It’s always as well to make sure there aren’t any ants about,” she explained. “If they get up your legs, they can give you some nasty nips. O.K. I can’t see a sign of an ant so we can squat.”

“How does it happen this is cut down?” Richenda asked. “I thought you told me that you aren’t allowed to cut down trees in Switzerland.”

“Nor are you—or not in the mountains. You have to get a permit. But this wasn’t cut down. It was blown down last winter in a gale.”

“Oh, I see.” Richenda settled herself more comfortably and then turned to see how far off the others were. “Who’s that over there walking by herself?” she asked.

Len jumped up and came to look. “It’s Odette. What on earth is she doing, wandering round on her own like that? I thought she was with Jeanne Daudet.”

“No; Jeanne went off with Joan Dancey and Charmian Spencer. I saw her.”

Len looked worried. “I don’t like it. We’re supposed to keep in pairs, at any rate. There’s something wrong with Odette.”

Richenda nodded. “She’s most deadly homesick, poor kid. I don’t see what any of us can do about it, though. I wish she’d buck up a bit, I must say! I’ve done my best, but I don’t seem to get anywhere with her.”

“Well, we’ll have to do something!” Len said definitely. “If that’s what’s wrong then she ought to be getting over it by this time. We’ve been back at school a month now and she ought to be feeling more at home. We can’t let that sort of thing go on, you know. The silly kid will end by making herself ill and a nice name that ’ud get the school!”

“I know. I’ve done what I could. But, of course, my French isn’t what you’d call brilliant. That may be one reason.”

“Well, we can’t let it go on.”

“But what can we do?” Richenda protested.

“Well, for one thing we can try to make her see how jolly lucky she is to be here. For another, I’ll talk to Mamma about her when I see her next. That’ll be tomorrow, I expect. She’s been down staying with Aunt Winifred most of this week so she’s safe to be over some time to see how we’ve been getting on. She’s rather a dab at helping people to feel right about things. She’ll take Odette in hand, I know. But in the meantime, I’m going to see what I can do. You don’t mind if I scoot and ask her to join us now, do you, Ricki?” She looked doubtfully at her friend.

Richenda flushed. “Mind? Of course not! We’ll both go and then she’ll feel that it’s both of us wanting her. Perhaps that’ll buck her up a little.”

Len jumped up and then paused to try to look down her own back. “Am I awfully barky and mossy? It does come off a lot. Give me a brush down and then I’ll do you. Oh, thanks a lot! Now let’s go and snaffle Odette!”

“O.K. But you’ll have to do most of the talking,” Richenda warned her. “You know what my French is like and her English just isn’t there!”

Len giggled. “O.K. I’ll be interpreter. Here! Where does the idiot think she’s going? She’ll be over the edge if she doesn’t look out! Odette! Come back! Odette!”

Odette, who had been wandering along without paying much heed to where she was going, started as this reached her, saw that she was perilously near the edge of the steep fall of the mountain, and leapt back like a young goat. The other two sped across the space to come up with her and Len, speaking French, took her arm and gave her a gentle shake.

“What were you thinking about? You might have fallen over the edge! Stay with us now, and don’t wander off by yourself. Anyhow, you’re as much too far ahead as we are. We must wait for Ferry and the others.”

Richenda went round to Odette’s other side. “I should have seen that you were alone,” she said in careful French. “Stay with us, Odette.”

Odette gave them a surprised look and for once her big dark eyes were free of tears. Actually, she had been happy for the moment, dreaming herself back at home again and she had had no idea how near she was to danger until Len and Richenda called to her. She turned to look at the depths from which they had pulled her back and shuddered violently.

“I never saw! I might have been killed! And what would Maman say then?”

“That you’d been ghastly careless, I should think,” Len said in her most matter-of-fact tones. “Honestly, Odette, you can’t go on dreaming about up here. You must look where you’re going.”

“Cave! Ferry!” Richenda hissed at this point; and the three drew themselves up and looked as proper as in them lay.

Miss Ferrars came up to them looking annoyed. “What were you three thinking of? Len, you at least know the rules. Keep with the rest and don’t go galloping on like that or I must make you all croc!”

“I’m sorry,” Len said meekly. “We were talking and never noticed.”

“It’s your business to notice. Don’t let me have to speak to you again!”

“No, Miss Ferrars.” Len was all that was humbly penitent, but Miss Ferrars had finished with them. She waved them on to join the body of the girls who had gone past while she was scolding, and went to join her own friends.

The three followed after the others, Len remarking, “Well, it might have been worse. How everyone would have hated us if she had really made us croc!” She repeated this in French for Odette’s benefit and then added briskly, “and now we’re going to talk to you in English—slowly. Then you’ll understand. You ought to be steaming ahead now. Ricki’s doing it in French.”

“I—I do not understand. Who is Ricki?” Odette stammered.

“Me,” Richenda said with a broad grin. “Len says my name’s too long, so she’s pitched on that for a short. There’s one thing, Len. You can’t shorten Odette!”

“We might call her ‘O’,” Len suggested with a giggle.

Odette stared. “But that is not a name at all,” she said.

“Shorts usually aren’t,” Len told her cheerfully. “Now you try to talk English. And I’ll tell you what!” with a sudden inspiration. “We’ll talk French and you talk English and we can correct each other. It’ll help us no end!”

“You don’t need any help in French,” Richenda said. “You talk as well as Odette does. But I’ll be awfully grateful if you will help me, Odette.”

She spoke very slowly and clearly, and since Odette had managed to pick up some English during the four weeks, she understood. “But I would like to help you, Richenda—but no; you say Ricki. You have been kind to me.”

Richenda went scarlet. “What rot! I haven’t done a thing—oh, how do you say it in French? What’s the French for ‘what rot’, someone?”

“ ‘Quelle blague!’—at least I think that’s near enough,” Len said. “Go on, Ricki! This is a jolly old chance for you!”

Thus encouraged, Richenda did her best and in a moment or two, Odette had become sufficiently interested to join Len in correcting both grammar and pronunciation.

Miss Ferrars had been watching them with a queer expression on her face. Miss Wilmot finished a diatribe on the shortcomings of Francie Wilford’s maths and caught it. “What’s eating you, Kathie?” she demanded.

“That!” said her friend nodding across at the trio. “Isn’t it just like Len Maynard? And she seems to have dragged Richenda into it as well.”

Miss Wilmot looked across to where all three were talking vigorously and, where Odette was concerned, with much waving of hands. “Oh! Ye-es! I see! But you know, Kathie, Len is very much her mother’s girl—more so than any of them. Con is too dreamy to notice unless things are pushed right under her nose. As for Margot, she is quite unobservant. Yes; that’s exactly what Joey would have done in the old days.”

A sudden peal of laughter from Len was echoed by a feeble one from Odette and the mistresses gasped.

“Well!” Miss Moore exclaimed. “Len actually seems to be doing something about that wet blanket of a girl! I’ve known some homesick folk in my time, but Odette could give the whole lot spades and aces and beat them hands down!”

“What’s Odette’s background?” Miss Wilmot inquired.

“Only child of a widowed mother who had kept her close at hand ever since she was born. The father was killed when Odette was a baby of a few weeks old and, from all I can gather, there are only very distant relatives,” Miss Ferrars said.

“What about previous education? Or did Maman teach her into the bargain?”

“She had a governess. Her home is a beautiful old chateau at least ten miles from anywhere—Joey Maynard got all this from Simone de Bersac, by the way, and handed it on to me in case it was useful. Apart from explaining why she is literally what I heard Prudence Dawbarn calling ‘a wet’,” Kathie Ferrars continued, “I can’t say that it’s done me much good. I’m very sorry for that child, Nancy. She rarely had any chance to mix with other girls and she and her mother seem to have been all in all to each other.”

“Then how on earth did the good lady stiffen her upper lip enough to send her away off here?” Nancy Wilmot demanded.

“Simone de Bersac! The governess had to go home because her stepmother died suddenly and the father was left with half-a-dozen youngsters on his hands. Simone happened to be visiting her at the time—Mme Mercier, I mean. Don’t be such an idiot!—and Simone says she leapt at the chance and advised that Odette should be sent here along with her own Tessa. I believe she had an awful time doing it, but she got Mme Mercier to agree at last. So you see it’s rather important that Odette should settle down and be happy. Otherwise, I don’t know what’s going to happen to her later on.”

The other two looked at her with startled faces. “Do you mean—is anything wrong with Mme Mercier?” Miss Moore asked.

Kathie Ferrars nodded. “She’s got a rocky heart. She may live for years—or she may go at any time. Simone told Joey that and says it’s the main reason why she went on and on at Mme Mercier until she got her to agree.”

Nancy Wilmot nodded. “You know,” she said with seeming irrelevance, “it’s no wonder that most of our girls grow up helping each other all through.”

“What are you getting at?” Miss Moore asked in startled tones.

“Oh, Rosalind! Use your wits—if you’ve got any! Haven’t we all had the steady example of our Old Girls to bring us to it? When I was at St. Scholastika’s—my first school, I mean; not the house here—no one bothered overmuch about that. As soon as we joined up with the Chalet School which happened when I was about fifteen, I felt the difference. It’s a settled tradition. And, with any luck, it’s going to mean that that poor girl Odette isn’t going to be left without friends or relatives, even if her mother dies.”

“She certainly isn’t now Len Maynard is on the job,” Kathie Ferrars agreed.

“Yes, and I should leave it to Len,” Miss Moore said decidedly. She began to laugh. “Goodness knows how they’re managing with language difficulties! I admit Len is equally fluent in either, but Richenda’s French is still greatly to seek and Odette has a very poor pennyworth of English!”

“Oh, they’re probably using that lovely lingua franca we’ve all used in our youth,” Nancy Wilmot said. “Either that, or Len is working double tides, doing interpreter. I should watch Odette, Kathie, but otherwise leave it to Len—and Richenda. They’ll manage better than we can.”

And with that, they let the subject drop for the time being.

Struggling hard to back up Len, Richenda contrived to make several remarks to Odette. Some of them were French; some were mainly what Nancy Wilmot had called “lingua franca”; but whatever they were, Odette evidently got the gist and also, which mattered more, the fact that these two girls were anxious to be friendly with her. She replied to their questions, smiled two or three times and once or twice laughed outright.

By the time they had reached St. Cecilie, she was looking distinctly happier and, between this and the fresh mountain air, even had a little more colour in her face. The new girls looked eagerly round the place. There were about a dozen chalets and farmhouses with a tiny white-washed church with the usual onion-bulb spire at one end. They had to cross a plank bridge over a little stream to reach the village itself and the girls noted with interest that, thanks to the fine weather they had been having, it was a mere trickle at present.

“But,” Len said, “I’ve seen it simply hurtling along when we’ve had anything like rain or after the thaws.”

“Is Cecil just Cecil or is her real name Cecilie?” Richenda asked.

“Marya Cecilia. She’s called after our nun aunt.” Len explained.

“Who is Cecil?” Odette asked shyly.

“My baby sister. You’ll see her when you come to our place to tea, Odette.”

“I’ve never heard you talk of an Aunt Marya Cecilia,” Richenda said.

“No, but you’ve heard us all talk of Auntie Rob,” Len returned. “She’s always been called Robin because, Mamma says, when she was little, she was round and jolly just like a robin. She’s at La Sagesse in Montreal and she teaches. It’s a teaching order, you know. She’s a poppet and tremendous fun. Some day when we’ve enough cash for it, we’ll all go to Canada again to see her. But it won’t be at present. I’d love to see Canada again!”

“You have visited la Canade?” Odette asked.

Len nodded. “Years ago when we three were just small kids. Margot had two years of it. She went the year before she did with our Auntie Madge and then we went the next year.” She suddenly giggled. “We all got a most awful shock when we saw each other! Margot was just a shrimp when she went away. She was always catching colds and having bronchitis, you see. I simply couldn’t believe it when I first saw her. She’d grown enormous and she was actually fat! And Con and I had done a spot of growing, too. It was frightfully funny!”

“Now then, you three, stop mooning!” said Miss Wilmot’s voice behind them. “Len, you and Con run along to the Prieswerk farm and ask for our milk, will you? You two know more patois than anyone else and Frau Prieswerk speaks little else. Here’s the money—and here’s Con coming along. Hop off!”

“Can Ricki and Odette come with us?” Len inquired.

“Can who and Odette?”

“I mean Richenda.” Len had gone very red.

Miss Wilmot laughed. “So that’s how you abbreviate it? Yes, take them by all means. There should be two cans, so they may help you carry them. Mind you don’t swing them too violently. We want milk, not semi-butter!”

“It couldn’t be butter as soon as that,” Con said seriously, “but we might waste a lot with splashing. We’ll be awfully careful.”

“Well, mind you are!” Miss Wilmot turned away and they set off across the sweet, thymey turf for the farm where Len’s tap at the door was answered by a big, sonsy woman whose olive skin and snapping black eyes told of southern ancestry.

“Guten tag, mein Mädchen!” she greeted Len. “Was ist es, hein?”

Len laughed and explained in her best patois, whereat Frau Prieswerk nodded and went off into a flood of what Richenda mentally called “gibberish”. She certainly knew not a single word that was spoken, though Len and Con replied when they could get in a word edgeways. At last Frau Prieswerk went off to seek the milk after ushering the quartette into a room of the kind neither Odette nor Richenda had ever seen before. There were two casement windows with a narrow bench fixed to the wall beneath them and a long well-scrubbed table stood before the bench. At one side of the room was a green-tiled stove with wide shelves to sit on round it. There were two or three of the peasant chairs they had in the Speisesaal at school, and another bench was fixed to the wall opposite the stove. On the wall beside the windows, hung a cuckoo clock and there was a shelf above them on which stood some fine specimens of peasant pottery. The floor was bare of carpet or rug, but it was painted a light maize colour and looked as if it were scrubbed every day.

“I should think you could really eat your dinner off this floor,” Richenda remarked to Len. “ ‘Spotless’ doesn’t begin to describe it!”

Len looked round. “It isn’t any cleaner than any other I’ve seen. The Swiss are as noted for their cleanliness as the Dutch.”

“Why don’t they have mats or something, though?” Richenda asked. “It looks awfully bare, just the wood floor!”

“I don’t know. They don’t though. I never thought about it, somehow.”

“We can ask Mamma. She probably knows,” Con added.

“And there aren’t any curtains at the windows, either,” Richenda pursued. “It must be awfully draughty in the winter! And what do they do at night?”

“Close the shutters, of course,” Len said, pointing to the shutters which were laid back against the wall outside. “Hang out and you’ll see.”

Thus, when Frau Prieswerk returned with the two big cans of milk, it was to find her guests hanging out of the windows, admiring the shutters. She set down the cans with a hearty laugh that brought them back into the room in a hurry, all flushed and embarrassed. But she waved aside Len’s stumbling explanation that Richenda and Odette had never been in a Swiss house before. Indeed, she stepped across to a door in one side-wall, opened it and beckoned the pair to come and look in. It was a bedroom with a very high bed with pillowslips in checked blue and white, a huge featherbed to sleep on and another to sleep under, while the whole was covered with a wonderful bedspread of linen embroidered in most intricate designs. There were some pegs on which to hang clothes and a tiny mirror and very little else, except that on the wall over the bed hung a crucifix.

“Those,” said Con, indicating the upper featherbed, “are plumeaux. We have them at school in the winter and you jolly well need them, I can tell you!”

“Sleep under featherbeds!” Richenda gasped. “I should think you’d be smothered!”

“Well, you aren’t. And,” Con swung round on her, “I rather think we did that sort of thing centuries and centuries ago. Remember the little princes in the Tower? How do you think the murderers lugged a featherbed into their room without waking them? The thing would be there already. And they couldn’t have yanked it out from under them without the kids waking and probably yelling blue murder! All they must have had to do was to pull it up over their faces and hold it there till they died.”

“Oh, well, no one knows how true that yarn is,” Len said airily. “I know most historians say Richard III never did it because if he had, Henry would have fallen over himself to give it out and no one heard a thing about it until years afterwards.”

“Then who did do it?” Richenda demanded.

“Henry himself, most likely. He got rid of all the rightful heirs to the Crown, you may remember. If he didn’t do it one way, he did in another.”

“Gosh! I never heard that before!” Richenda looked very thoughtful as Len paid for the milk, called Odette to help her with one can and left the other for her sister and Richenda to bring along.

Richenda eyed Con rather doubtfully. She had become quite friendly with Len during the early weeks of the term, but so far as she was concerned, the second Maynard girl remained something a of dark horse. She was friendly enough with most folk, but unlike both Len and Margot, she had no special friend of her own. She had inherited a full share of their mother’s literary gifts, though in her case, they had taken a slightly different course. Joey Maynard wrote school stories and historical novels. Con wrote stories, too, but her greatest bent was for poetry. Joey treasured in a locked drawer of her desk three long “epics” as well as a number of shorter pieces. Con had spent part of her summer holidays in struggling with a play in blank verse. That had been shelved for the moment, but as everyone knew, when the fit seized her, Con was lost to the world, living in a delightful one of her own with the result that the other girls frequently felt that she was withdrawn from them. Whether, in the future, she would produce something that was really good, remained to be seen. Most of her efforts, up to date, were mainly what any child with an ear for rhythm and rhyme might have done. Here and there, however, were lines that had made Joey regard her second girl thoughtfully.

Since the beginning of term, Con had been concentrating on her school work. She was by no means as clever as either of the other two and had only reached Vb by a scrape. She was finding that if she meant to stay there, she must keep a firm grip on her poetry, and so far, she had succeeded. Today, however, lines had begun to sing in her brain, and, as Len had remarked earlier in the day in some consternation, “Con has that half-asleep look of hers coming on!”

Richenda had had no idea what Len was driving at, but she could see for herself that only a part of Con was attending to her. She wondered what on earth it meant. However, she decided to ignore it and start up a conversation.

“What was that queer language you talked to Frau What’s-her-name?” she queried.

“Patois,” Con returned, half-dreamily. “All the country folk in Switzerland used to talk it at one time, I believe.”

“But don’t they now?” Richenda was keenly interested. “Is it only in the mountains that they use it?”

“No; all over the country, of course.” Con was rousing up. Richenda’s tone had been sharper than usual and had penetrated her consciousness. “It’s different in every canton—in some ways. The French and Italian cantons speak Romanshe and the German ones speak Schwyzerdutch which is a kind of German.”

“How frightfully odd!”

“Oh, I don’t know. After all, you get a Yorkshire farmer and—and a Cornish farmer together and I’ll bet if they used their own dialects neither would understand more than half the other was saying. And then we haven’t been overrun over and over again by other countries as the Swiss have—at least not for ages now.”

“Yes, I suppose that would make a difference,” Ricki agreed. “When was the last time?”

“During the Napoleonic Wars. The French marched in and the Swiss had a ghastly time with them. Then they had to chuck it and at the Treaty of Vienna, every country agreed that in future, Switzerland should be neutral. If you’ve noticed, even old Hitler didn’t do anything about them and it would have been awfully easy for him. He’d only to send an army across Lake Constance. All the north shore of that is Germany, you know.” Con had forgotten her poetry in the interest of this.

“Is it? I didn’t know. But Con, how did you three learn it?”

“Oh, picked it up. This is our fourth year here, you know. It’s easy if you know Latin. There’s quite a lot of Latin in Romansche. Mamma says that if you know that, you don’t have much difficulty with Italian or Spanish or any of those languages because they’re all derived from it—even Roumanian. D’you like Latin, Richenda? I do myself. But I loathe and abominate maths!”

“Oh, so do I!” Richenda said fervently. “Thank goodness, I’ll never need them when I get to the job stage!”

Con turned deep brown eyes alight with interest on her. “Oh? You’ve decided already, then? What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep a gallery,” Richenda said calmly.

Poetry gave a last gasp and died for the time being. “A gallery? What do you mean? What sort of a gallery? Pictures and statues and things like that?”

“Well, I suppose they might come into it; I hadn’t thought about them. What I really mean is a gallery of porcelains, and specialise in Chinese porcelains.”

“I should think that would be rather fun! But where will you get your china?”

“Buy it, of course, as cheaply as I can. Then, when people come to my gallery to buy, I’ll charge more than I paid for it and make a profit.”

“But—but I thought people went to galleries to look at things—not to buy.”

“You sell and buy in the kind of gallery I mean,” Richenda said decidedly.

“Oh?” Then mischief flashed into Con’s face and she added, “but you will need maths for that—arithmetic, at any rate. What about bills?”

“Yes, I’ll need arithmetic. But I shan’t need either algebra or geom., thank goodness! I can’t see why I have to learn them when I shan’t need them and loathe them so much—even with Willy!”

“Yes, Willy’s a poppet, isn’t she? But I asked Papa that and he said, ‘To teach you to reason, my child’. How’ll you start out on a thing like that, Ricki?”

“Oh, I expect I’d have to be apprenticed to one of the big people to learn the trade. It’ll mean going right into it from the beginning—serving in a shop, you know, and learning about prices and how to handle customers. And I’ll have to swot up all about pastes and glazes——”

“Now then, you two! Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Miss Moore as she caught them up as they went wandering along without any heed to where the rest were awaiting them. “We want our milk, thank you! If you don’t mind, I think you’d better come along and join us. You can continue this conversation in your next! Come along, and stop dreaming, both of you!”

Both went red, but they made no reply nor did she wait for one. With a hand on Richenda’s free arm, she steered them over to where the party was squatting about on fallen logs or doubled-up raincoats laid on the ground, and there was no chance for Con to inquire what pastes and glazes might be, and why Richenda must study them if she were to keep a gallery later on. But at least it had done her a good turn. She was so wildly curious about the whole thing that the singing lines went to the back of her mind and stayed there for some time to come.

Coffee and milk filled the plastic mugs the girls carried in their knapsacks and then everyone set to work on her package of food. Anyone seeing those packages would have imagined that at least an equal number of guests was expected to join the party. Seeing the way they ate, the same onlooker would have concluded that the poor creatures were in a half-starved condition! A meat pie, sandwiches, a fruit pie and a slice of cake all went where they would do most good, and were followed by fruit, for the Chalet School did as everyone does in Switzerland, stored fresh fruits in their season so as to have plenty when the cold weather came.

“I feel better!” Rosamund remarked to Len as she wiped out her mug with a paper napkin before returning both to her knapsack. “Oh, I was hungry!”

“So was I!” Len said with heartfelt earnestness. “But then, I mostly am at meal times. Papa says we’re better to keep a week than a fortnight!”

“Yes, but Mamma says it’s because we’re growing so fast,” Con put in with a chuckle. “She said that she hoped when we’d got through this stage, we’d have more ladylike appetites. At present, we eat more like bears than girls.”

“That,” said Len reminiscently, “was the day we finished a loaf and a half for tea. But the boys were there, too.”

Richenda giggled. “You must have appetites! What fun it must be to have brothers! I often wish I had one! It’s lonely at times when you’re an Only.”

“But what is that?” Odette asked in her own language.

“It means what it says. You haven’t brothers or sisters,” Len told her.

“Ah, like me, then,” Odette replied.

“Yes—and Ricki, too. I should hate it myself. We often fight among ourselves, but never about things that really matter. And the boys may rag us, but we rag back. Mamma says we’ve got to learn to stand on our own feet. The one thing she won’t stand is continual argument.”

“How still it’s gone!” Rosamund said suddenly. She looked round uneasily. “The breeze has fallen. Look! There isn’t even a leaf moving!”

Everyone within earshot promptly ceased chattering and looked round.

“Oh, it’s just the wind gone. Probably it’s changing quarter,” Betty said easily. “The sun’s quite bright, still, and the sky’s blue.”

Weatherwise Len shook her head. “That wouldn’t do it. More likely a storm’s coming along,” she said.

“A storm! With that sun and sky! You’re crackers!” Betty protested.

“Oh, no, I’m not! I know the sun’s still shining, but it’s a queer shine. I’ll bet you what you like that if we could see over the mountains, we’d see the sky as black as ink towards the north!” Len spoke positively. “There’s a storm coming all right when the sun looks like that. Ought we to tell Ferry or someone?”

“And be told to mind your own business? Please yourself, of course, but I’ll be sugared if I’d ask for a snub like that!” Betty returned.

But there was no need for anyone to tell any of the mistresses. By this time, they were as weatherwise as Len. The queer stillness had struck them at almost the same moment as it had struck Rosamund. Miss Moore had jumped up and was racing over the grass to the edge of the shelf where she turned and surveyed the north. A moment later, she was tearing back at full speed.

“Pack up and be quick, everyone of you!” she cried. “Len, you and Richenda take those cans back to the farm and run for all you’re worth! Raincoats and berets, everyone! Now look sharp! There’s a storm coming up and we don’t want to be caught so far from school if it can be helped. Quickly!”

They got down to it in short order. Whatever the new girls might think, the old hands knew well enough what a bad storm might mean at this time of year, and while Len and Richenda dashed off to the farm with the empty milk cans clattering and jingling, the rest swooped down on the raincoats and wriggled into them, tucked all oddments into their knapsacks and slung them over their shoulders, pulled on their berets and then waited anxiously until the other pair came tearing back. “Lines, please!” Miss Ferrars called. “Quick! There isn’t a moment to waste and we musn’t be storm-stayed or it may mean an all-night affair. Now run!”

Miss Wilmot tore up to the head of the line, crying as she went, “ ’Ome, James, and don’t spare the ’osses!” which had the effect of relieving the fears of some of the more nervy people. Miss Moore took the middle station and Miss Ferrars, being nominally in charge of the party, remained in the rear to act as whipper-in to any laggards. The girls set off, running at a steady pace, heads up, elbows in, breathing through their noses as they had been taught on the sports field.

Once they were off the grass and on the coach road, it wasn’t too bad, for the authorities saw to it that the road was kept in a good state of repair. They ran in grim silence. The sun was still shining, but even the most ignorant of them saw that it was with a queer, uncanny light, and ahead, they could see that the blue of the sky was dimming. Clearly, the storm was well on its way and in the Alps, these storms can come with almost incredible swiftness.

They were six miles from home, but the mistresses hoped that they would have covered, at least, part of that before the rain came. And there was always the chance that if the wind rose again, it might drive the clouds in another direction. They could not hope to escape the rain altogether, but the worst of it might not reach them. So they ran, steadily and easily, some of them thankful that the road was level and there was no uphill work to slow them down.

But the most active schoolgirl cannot run for very long distances, and before long it was plain to be seen that there were bellows to mend among the weakest members of the party. Most of the new girls were from France where young ladies do not race about like schoolboys; Switzerland, where they are much more athletic, but more in the way of climbing than running; and Germany where, again, galloping down the road is hardly encouraged. Apart from these, there were Charmian Spencer and Alicia Leonard to consider. Neither was very strong and Charmian was at school because her eldest brother was at the big Sanatorium at the end of the Platz for observation. The mistresses watched the girls as carefully as they could and when they had covered the first mile, Miss Wilmot slowed to a trot and made the leaders do likewise.

“No use wearing us all out in the first few minutes,” she observed.

But now there came the first faint, long rumble of thunder. It was far away still, but it was quite unmistakeable. The next was louder and the third louder still. Then they turned a curve in the road and the north lay open before them. There was no mistaking it. A violent storm was in progress there and it was travelling towards them and travelling fast. Miss Wilmot jerked out a firm, “Keep on trotting!” to Emerence Hope and Priscilla Dawbarn who were leading, and then fell back to confer with her colleagues.

“We can’t make it!” she gasped. “The girls are tiring and they won’t have got their second wind before that’s on us! What shall we do?”

“There’s that big barn about half-a-mile further on, isn’t there?” Miss Moore was panting, but her mind was working clearly. “Best make for that!”

“And pray that it won’t last all night!” Miss Ferrars added, not ceasing to keep her eye on her charges. “Joan—Joan Baker! Keep up! Don’t lag!”

Joan Baker, who was terrified of thunderstorms, gave a little cry and forced her weary legs to keep up the trot. But she was not the only one. A number of other people were beginning to slow down. Clearly, the barn was their best hope.

“I wish—we’d asked the folk—at St. Cecilie’s—to put us—up!” Miss Ferrars choked out.

“Too late for that now! And they couldn’t have done it—not room enough!” Miss Moore panted. “I know exactly where the barn is. Shall I take the lead?”

“Go ahead!” Kathie Ferrars said no more, and Miss Moore shot ahead, and catching at Emerence Hope’s hand, shouted, “We’ll shelter in the barn further along! Come on, girls! We’ve got to make it or be soaked through! Run!”

At that moment, a jagged flash of lightning tore across the grey clouds that were boiling up on the horizon. A crash of thunder followed after an interval that seemed endless to the girls. Miss Moore nodded.

“We can make the barn if we keep going!” she told the other two, shouting to make herself heard above another peal. “It’s still pretty far away. But it’s coming up fast. Keep going, girls! We’ll be all right!”

That was all very well and they had every incentive to keep going, but most of them were very tired now and were beginning to stumble. Kathie Ferrars watched them anxiously. A bad fall with, perhaps, a strained ankle or a bumped head would help no one. Then Odette tripped and if Len and Richenda, who were on either side of her, regardless of their orders to go in pairs, had not caught her, she would have fallen headlong.

“They can’t do it!” Miss Ferrars spoke in a strained voice. “They’ll have to walk. Some of them are almost done. Tell them, Nancy.”

“No!” Miss Wilmot exploded. “Let those who can still run go ahead. The rest must walk and I’ll keep with them. You two go on with the runners.”

There was no time for argument and she was not only the eldest of their trio, but the one who had been longest in the school. They obeyed her without question, Miss Moore calling to those who could, to run with her and Miss Ferrars and the rest to keep with Miss Wilmot, who had already slowed to a steady walk. Then she raced ahead with Emerence and Priscilla, hoping to reach the barn in time to wrench the doors open for the rest to get in quickly. She suddenly remembered that the hay harvest would be in and wondered how much room there would be. Oh, well, they must manage as best they could. At least the girls would be under shelter!

Kathie Ferrars was also wondering—wondering if they would reach the place only to find it locked. She was not to know that it was generally left unfastened except for a couple of heavy bars dropped over across the two great doors. If they were unable to get in, then they must just shelter as well as they could at the sides, and she had little hope that that would be much use. Perhaps one of the big motor ambulances from the San. would come along and they would be able to pack in the weaker members of the party like Odette and Charmian and Alicia. She knew it wasn’t likely, but it might just happen.

Then they had turned another curve and the north was hidden again. But among the pine trees which grew in thick black ranks down the mountain slopes, she could see the tall, spire-like rod that crowned the barn and which, for the first time, she realised was a lightning conductor. They would be up to it in a minute more. She was thankful for apart from her anxiety for the girls, she was nearly out of breath herself and a cruel stitch was taking the remainder of her strength. They had a final burst and then Miss Moore dived among the trees and headed for the tiny clearing where the barn stood. Another minute and she and those of the girls who were still able to do it, were lifting the bars and swinging them back. She tugged at the great door and got one open. Shelter was available!

“In you go!” she said grimly to those nearest. “It’s pretty full, but you can pack along the sides. Let’s hope the rain keeps off until the rest get here. It will be a snorter when it comes!”

“It’s—a snorter—already, if—you ask—me!” Jo Scott gasped. “Hop in, Con. Why are you waiting?”

“Where’s Len?” Con demanded agitatedly. “I thought she and Ricki would be here by this time.”

“They’re helping Odette. Go on in!” Jo said firmly. Her second wind was coming back and she was able to speak more readily.

“I’ll wait here till I see them,” Con returned with equal firmness. Then she gave a cry. “Gosh! That was a stinger!” as a blue streak zigzagged almost across the path, as it seemed to them, to be followed almost at once by the worst crash they had had so far. It drowned Con’s words, but her action was reply enough for Jo, who ignored her, stepping aside and pushing the next girl safely home.

Meanwhile, Nancy Wilmot, considerably more alarmed than she appeared, was doing her best to keep the weaklings on the move. She had Charmian and Alicia on either arm and was herding Rosamund and Joan Baker, Len and Richenda and Odette, Jeanne Daudet and Vivien Allen well in front of her. Running was beyond them now, and most of them stumbled as they walked; but she kept them at it relentlessly. The rain still held off and she felt that if only she could get them into shelter before it did arrive, things would not be so bad. But, like Miss Moore, she knew that when it came, it would be a torrent. Not even the girls’ stout raincoats would keep them dry for more than a minute.

It seemed an endless trudge before they reached the path among the trees, but they did it at last and she called out to hearten them, “Here we are! The barn’s straight ahead! Just anoth——” She was left stunned with the word unfinished, for at that moment, the lightning struck violently between them and the barn and there was a fearful clap of thunder which seemed to go on and on unendingly.

Holding her breath for fear of damage to either the girls or the nearby trees, the mistress stood rooted to the ground. But mercifully, the lightning had struck into the earth. The turf was scorched black, but no other harm was done. Nancy Wilmot made a final effort.

“Into the barn, all of you! RUN!” she bawled. And, roused by her terrific effort from the stupor into which the shock had sent them, the girls suddenly found breath and strength to tear up the path as if wolves were at their heels. They all reached the barn safely, just as the black clouds swept across the sky and the light was shut out with a suddenness that made them all exclaim.

“Shut that door!” Miss Moore commanded. “The barn won’t take any harm, but if the door’s left open, there’s no saying what might happen to the hay.”

Miss Wilmot pulled the door close and then dropped down against the side of the haystack, gasping for breath and mopping her face with her handkerchief. The girls had all followed her example. Most of them were finished and all felt they couldn’t have done another dozen yards, even if the rain were pouring down wholesale. There was silence for a moment. Then the thunder pealed again, long and loud. Len Maynard, who had been joined by her triplet and was sitting in a heap with her, Richenda and Odette, sat up, pulled out her handkerchief and mopped her face.

“Oh, my goodness! I’m boiling! You all right, Odette? Sit up properly between Ricki and me. That’s better. It’s a bit stuffy in here, isn’t it?”

“Fuggy, to say the least of it,” Richenda agreed.

“I wish it would rain!” Con said nervously. “I never mind a thunderstorm if it rains, but I do loathe it when it’s just thunder and lightning and no rain!”

As if anxious to oblige, the rain came at that moment. Down it crashed with a steady drumming on the roof of the barn that made any talk impossible. The thunder pealed furiously at the same time and everyone was nearly deafened.

They sat in silence, clutching each other’s hands. Miss Ferrars was recovering from her stitch and trying to make herself heard above the noise as she shouted to know if everyone was safe and unhurt. A crash of another kind drowned what she was saying and a voice muttered in her ear, “Oh, my gosh and goodness! That’s a tree struck! Let’s hope it hasn’t fallen across the doors of the barn or how on earth are we to get out when this is over?”

She recognised Jo Scott’s voice and replied, turning her head in its direction, “We shouldn’t have to stay here long. I imagine the farmer will come to make sure that nothing’s happened to the barn. Don’t scare the rest, Jo!”

A strangled yelp replied. Jo had had no idea it was her form mistress to whom she was speaking and the shock rendered her nearly speechless.

Meanwhile, Nancy Wilmot was giving Betty Landon an equal shock, for when that insouciant young lady, with no idea who was next to her, demanded in clarion tones, “D’you suppose the stream will have overflowed? And shall we have to wade across?” she replied cheerfully. “Well, Betty, you never know. But you can all take off your shoes and stockings to do it! I, for one, won’t face Matron if I let you arrive back with shoes and stockings soaked with paddling!”

Betty gasped and sat back, completely silenced for once. Miss Wilmot chuckled to herself. Then she suddenly sat erect—and nearly upset Priscilla Dawbarn who had been leaning against her with no real idea who it was.

“Miss Moore—Miss Ferrars!” she yelled. “That peal wasn’t so loud! I believe——” What more she would have said was lost as the thunder pealed again. But the people near enough to have heard her first sentence, also sat up, for they recognised the truth of her statement. The storm was travelling rapidly and the thunder was certainly not quite so loud. But it left the rain behind it. When, greatly daring, Miss Moore contrived to open the door a few inches, she found it pitch dark and the rain coming down in torrents. The thunder might be passing, but they certainly could not go out in that!

“And the worst of it is,” said Len to no one in particular, “that thunder sometimes rolls round and round the lakes for hours on end. It may come back again. Goodness only knows how long we’ll be stuck here!”

Mercifully, Odette had been squirming to make herself more comfortable and missed most of this. Richenda and Con got it, though, and Richenda whistled.

“That so? What will they think at school?”

“Oh, they’ll expect we found shelter somewhere,” Len said easily. “I wonder how the rest have come on? It’s frightfully dark, isn’t it? All the same, I’m thankful for a breath of fresh air. Hay is all very well, but when you’re shut up with it and no ventilation—or next to none—it gets stuffy and musty.”

Kathie Ferrars was fully recovered. “Well, we seem to be settled here for the present,” she said. “What about having a singsong? Strike up, girls! Drink to me Only! We all know that!”

She began it, but pitched it too high and they found themselves squeaking on the top notes. Joan Baker made no attempt to get them. She suddenly dropped to the octave lower and then found that she had to growl on her bottom notes! The effect was too funny for words and the girls stopped singing and burst into peals of laughter, after which, everyone felt better. Miss Moore had been investigating and now she called, “There’s enough coffee left to give everyone a tiny drink. Fish out your cups and I’ll come round—if I can!—and share it out.”

It was just a tiny drink, but it made them feel better again and when it had gone, Len, who had been keeping an eye on the crack between the doors, gave a sudden shriek. “Oh, Miss Ferrars! I believe it’s getting lighter! Look! You can see quite a little! Perhaps the rain will calm down and we can get home.”

The mistresses—indeed, everyone—looked eagerly and saw that she was quite right. The light was beginning to grow. The blackness was turning grey and though all they could see was a curtain of steadily falling rain, it was much better than seeing nothing. Miss Moore opened the door further and presently, they were sitting in a twilight which brightened every moment. The thunder was still to be heard in the distance, but at least it was possible to speak without straining one’s vocal chords every time. Then Jo Scott cried that the rain seemed to be easing off and the moment it was possible to see through it, the mistresses acted. They had no wish to spend the night in a barn! Neither did they want to await a return of the thunder so far from home. Everyone was hustled out, raincoat buttoned up to the neck and beret pulled well down over her eyes.

“We’ll have to hurry,” Miss Moore said. “Keep together girls, and don’t run, but go as fast as you can, otherwise. We’re a long way from home, still.”

But they were to have one more adventure before they reached the safety of the school. They made good time along the road which was glistening in the grey light of the rainy skies, but quite possible to negotiate. They covered a mile easily and were well on in the second one when a squall from Emerence and Priscilla halted them.

“What’s wrong?” Miss Ferrars cried, running to the head of the column.

She stopped dead when she got there. As Betty had surmised, the trickle over which they had passed on the outward journey had swelled to a torrent which had broken its banks and what Richenda called “A young lake” had spread across the road and the grass and was lapping the stems of the trees further back. Here was a nice state of affairs! They might be able to wade so far, but, as Miss Moore, eyeing the pouring torrent sagaciously, observed, in the middle the force would be tremendous—quite enough to take some of the lighter girls off their feet.

Nancy Wilmot nodded. “There’s only one thing to do—and mercifully, we aren’t likely to have any spectators but ourselves. I’m the biggest of the party, so I’ll tuck up my skirts, make for the bridge—the handrail is a good foot above the water—and see if it’s possible to wade across that way. Give me that shillellagh of yours, Kathie, and I’ll see what can be done.”

Both Miss Ferrars and Miss Moore protested, but she gave them a calm smile.

“Then what do you propose to do? March the girls back to the barn for the night? Or do you prefer to hang about here, waiting for that ghastly storm to strike again? It’s going round Lake Thun, as you can see for yourselves. They’re catching it good and proper on the farther shore at the present moment. Look at that lightning!”

They had nothing better to propose, so she pulled off her shoes and stockings, rolled up her skirts to her waist and set off, feeling every inch of the way with her friend’s stout stick. She made it, though she gave them one sickening moment when she seemed to stagger on the bridge. But she was gripping the handrail and steadied herself just in time. Then she was back again, wringing wet from the knees downwards, and none too dry otherwise.

“I think we can do it. The bigger ones must each be responsible for a smaller one and they must cling together and never take their hands off the rails until they have to. Luckily, they go quite a way outside the banks at each end. Come on, Jo! I’ll take you first. Once you’re past the stream itself, you can finish your own paddling. Off with your shoes and stockings everyone, and tuck up your clothes as I did. Once we’re over, it won’t take us long to get home!”

Hand in hand with Jo, she waded out and when they reached the bridge, the girls saw the pair with inside arms locked and outside hands gripping the rails firmly. Miss Moore and Miss Ferrars watched them with their hearts in their mouths, so they said later, but nothing happened. Three minutes later, Jo was wading on alone and Miss Wilmot was coming back.

Joan Baker might be afraid of thunder, but water held no fears for her. “Shall I go now and take Rosamund, Miss Ferrars?” she asked. “I’m the biggest of us girls. I can come back, too, like Miss Wilmot.”

Before anyone could reply, Miss Wilmot was calling to Con Maynard and setting off with her and Joan, clutching Rosamund by the arm, was following. This set the other girls off. Betty took Alicia who went very quakingly for she was afraid. But they reached the far side in safety, and by this time quite a number of the girls were well over.

Len turned to Odette. “Your turn next, Odette. Don’t be afraid. Here’s Betty coming for you and she won’t let you slip. Cling to the handrail and you’ll be all right.” Then Joan arrived for herself, and Miss Wilmot who was looking very tired now, came for Richenda.

That young lady opened her eyes when they reached the bridge. She had never felt anything like the force of the water, tearing on to crash over the edge and go hurtling down the mountainside to join a dozen other equally swollen streams. It took her all her time to keep on her feet, even with Miss Wilmot’s arm firmly round her and her free hand clutching the rail. But at last she felt the pull slacken, and then Miss Wilmot had left her to go the remainder of the way herself while she went back to fetch her colleagues who had insisted on waiting until the last girl was over. Miss Wilmot stood five foot nine and was plump and sturdy; but Miss Moore was slender and as for Miss Ferrars, she was a small woman and would have stood no chance against the fury of the stream.

At long last, they all stood on the farther side. They were wet and cold, but home seemed much nearer now and a minute later, their troubles ended. As they trudged along, the sound of engines was heard and then two convertibles appeared, one driven by Dr. Maynard and the other by his friend and colleague, Dr. Graves. They drew up as they saw the long line of wet and weary girls approaching them through the rain which still fell steadily. They asked no questions, but they piled the adventurers in, getting everyone squeezed into place somehow. Then they turned cautiously and less than ten minutes later, the convertibles had pulled up outside the school where a bevy of anxious people awaited them.

No one asked any questions then. Dr. Maynard—“Dr. Jack” to the school—bundled them all out and handed them over to the body of matrons with instructions that everyone was to go straight into a hot bath and then bed. He would be coming round the dormitories in a few minutes.

The baths were ready for them and by the time trays were brought round with coffee, rolls and butter and cakes enough to satisfy anyone but a Gargantua, they were all safely in bed with hot water bottles to comfort them, and most of them so tired that it was hard work to keep awake long enough to clear the trays. The doctor arrived with the trays, and swiftly examined everyone. Finally, in “Matey’s” room, he gave his verdict.

“I don’t believe they’ll even catch colds. Leave them to sleep it off. Give them each a dose of that patent nostrum of yours, Matey, before they go off, though. I’ll be in in the morning to make sure and we may have to keep two or three in bed for the day to get over it completely. But I doubt if we have any real trouble.”

“And thank God for that!” said Miss Annersley who had been with Kathie Ferrars and got a more or less full account of all their adventures. “But it’ll be a long time before I let them go off on a Sunday ramble again!”

“It was an adventure,” Nancy Wilmot said meditatively. “No one can deny that!”

“An adventure I could have very well done without!” Kathie Ferrars retorted. “I never thought, when I applied for a post here, that I was going to live through such hair-raising experiences! The very first term, I was nearly thrown down a crevasse in a glacier and I was stiff and sore for ages after. The next term, we had a fire——”

“We didn’t,” Miss Derwent murmured. “That was at the Hall by the San.”

“We were in it, though!” Kathie returned severely. “I admit last term was fairly quiet, but that was mainly owing to the coming-of-age celebrations. Now, this term, we’ve had this! I only wonder my hair isn’t white! I never felt anything like the force of that water when we were crossing the bridge. When I thought that I had allowed some of the girls to come and go through it over and over again, I felt sick—and still do when I think of it!”

Nancy gave her a quick look. “Kathie, you goop! The responsibility of that part of it was mine and not yours. And do you really think I’d have agreed if I hadn’t known that the girls could manage all right? There’s a difference in weight between a shrimp like you and a hefty young thing like Joan Baker or Betty Landon. And now, that’s enough about it! What I want to know at the moment, is what everyone is doing at half-term. Which of us are on duty, for a start? Rosalie! Is it fixed up yet?”

Miss Dene glanced up from the jigsaw puzzle over which she had been bending for the last half hour without adding noticeably to the picture. “This is a ghastly thing! One of Joey’s, Ruth? I might have guessed it! What’s that you were saying, Nancy? Oh, half term! I’ve got the duty-list somewhere on me. The Abbess and I were doing it after Kaffee und Kuchen and I think we’ve got it all settled. Now where is it?”

She fumbled in the pockets of her cardigan and finally produced a folded sheet of paper which she spread out. “I meant to take a few minutes this evening to type it for the notice-board in the Staffroom, but I saw this thing on the table and sat down to it instead.”

“Fatal!” observed Miss Armitage, the science mistress. “Once you sit down to a jigsaw, you’ve had it! I remember once sitting up till two in the morning to finish one. Well, now you’ve been recalled to your duty, tell us the worst and let’s get it over. Who’s on the free list for a start?”

Rosalie Dene smiled sweetly at her. “Oh, no, you don’t! You’ll take the thing in proper order or wait till tomorrow morning to hear the news. Take your choice!”

“Brute!” Miss Armitage exclaimed. “Very well, we’re in your hands. Get on with it, do!”

“Well, first of all, all the girls are going off by forms as usual—except for the Maynards and Richenda Fry.”

“I suppose Joey wants her trio at home for her own reasons,” Kathie said. “But why not Richenda, may I ask?”

“Father’s command,” Miss Dene returned briefly.

“Father’s command? Rosalie, what do you mean?”

“Just what I say. Father, it appears, sent Richenda to school here as a punishment for deliberate disobedience—”

“Which is a complete washout. Young Richenda is enjoying herself to the top of her bent,” Nancy Wilmot interrupted with a rich chuckle.

“Exactly! Though he knows nothing about that so far. But it seems that at the time, he also informed her that she was to stay at school for half-term. He wasn’t having her back home, first, because it was too expensive and second, because she was not to see the place before Christmas, by which time, he hoped she’d have learned the error of her ways and go back prepared to obey on the moment. No one can blame him for the first. It would be much too far and much too expensive. But when I think of the second, I wish I had a good heavy object in my hand and the chance of clonking him over the head with it!”

“How fierce!” Nancy exclaimed. “You are worked up over it!”

“He makes me feel fierce! He seems to have no idea that Staff have any claims to consideration whatsoever. You know what happens. We send circulars round to all parents or guardians, stating what is going to happen and asking them to confirm consent. He got his notice and back came a very stiff letter. He regretted upsetting our plans, but Richenda was to have no treats at all this term. She was obstinate, disobedient and undeserving of them. She was to stay at school and he hoped that her mistresses would set her work to do over the week-end which would keep her well occupied!”

Shrieks from the others interrupted her. She waited until they had finished their recriminations and then she went on.

“The Abbess then sent him a personal letter, explaining that there would be no mistresses on duty as they would all be away, and requesting him to reconsider his decision. Talk of obstinate! If Richenda is, she’s got it from him. Back came an even stickier reply. He imagined that at least some of the domestic staff would remain and if she was given plenty of work, he expected they could see to her. In any case, he refused to bear the expenses of the trip.”

“Well! I do call that cool!” Kathie exclaimed. “Anyhow, as this is the long half-term of the year, there won’t be even Karen left in charge—not from Friday night till Monday night, anyhow. So what happens then?”

“Joey happened in just as the Abbess was reading this and was called into consultation on the spot. She came to the rescue at once, of course.”

“But of course!” murmured Mlle de Lachennais, leaving the coffee-pot to look after itself and coming to join the agitated party. “She will be at home herself, n’est-ce-pas? As she is having her own girls at home, we may take that as understood.”

“Quite right, Jeanne. And she insists that Richenda joins them. The fact of the matter is that some business concerned with the San has cropped up and Jack has to go for consultations with Jem Russell and the rest of the Board. He’ll be away three weeks at least, so Joey decided to go with him, taking the twins and Cecil. Anna and Rösli are to have a fortnight’s holiday and come back a week early to give Freudesheim a thorough cleaning. In the circumstances, Joey decided to have the girls at home for the week-end. I don’t know what they’ll all say when they hear, but that’s the plan. Bruno is going to the Graves’ when Joey and Jack depart. The Head flatly refuses to have him here. He’s a demon and not nearly so well trained as dear Rufus was. The Abbess said half the lower school would be wasting their time playing with him unless a very close watch was kept on them and no one had time for anything like that. Joey wailed long and loudly about the whole affair. She’s in the middle of a new school story and she hasn’t a hope of getting it finished before they go, so she’ll be late with it for once. She got monotonous after a while, so I chipped in with a suggestion that she might be able to help us over Richenda. The Abbess instantly backed me up and we told her the whole yarn. When she heard it, she demanded Richenda as makeweight. And if Professor Fry’s ears weren’t nearly scorched off his head by the time she had finished giving us her unvarnished opinion of him, they ought to have been! She let herself really go and coined several new epithets on the spot with which to describe him!” Rosalie suddenly stopped and went off into shrieks of laughter at the memory. “The Abbess’s face when she really got going! I nearly wept with laughter!”

“Me, I can imagine it.” Mlle murmured. “The dear Jo has a very full vocabulary.”

“Tell us what she called him!” Nancy Wilmot pleaded.

“I couldn’t remember half of them. One thing was ‘a rumbustious crocodile’. Even the Abbess giggled over that!”

“I don’t blame her!” Ruth Derwent declared as well as she could for her wild mirth. “I wish I’d been a fly on the wall to get the whole beauty of it!”

“Well, the upshot of it all was that Richenda was instantly booked and I had to write a very stilted letter to him explaining that the whole place would be closed from Friday till Tuesday so Richenda couldn’t possibly remain; but the mother of three of our girls whose home was up here had offered to have her and we had made arrangements accordingly. His reply came this morning. He isn’t at all pleased about it, I may say, but he can’t do anything but agree. Even a furious father could hardly insist that a girl of fifteen should be left alone for four or five days in a huge, rambling place like this! But he still hopes that she will be given plenty of work to do and that we’ll explain to Mrs. Maynard that she is to have no treats of any kind. She is to be made to toe the line!”

Kathie Ferrars sat up, wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes. “And what did Joey say to that one?” she inquired with interest.

“Said she should use her own judgment and if he didn’t like it, he could do the other thing! To judge by the look in her eye, I should think Richenda will not find the week-end entirely treatless!” Rosalie wound up with a chuckle.

“I shouldn’t think she would,” Nancy Wilmot agreed. “But does the kid know anything about Father’s kind ideas for her half-term?”

“Not from us,” Rosalie said firmly. “I can’t say, of course, what he may have written to her.”

“Let’s hope he manages to hold his tongue—or his pen—on the subject!” Ruth Derwent went on. “Does he want the girl to hate him?”

“No; I don’t think that. The Abbess thinks that he really has her good at heart. But he’s going quite the wrong way with a proud, sensitive girl like Richenda.”

“What exactly did she do that’s worked him up so?” Miss Armitage asked.

“Interfered with his beloved porcelains, I believe, after she’d been forbidden to touch them. I’m not really very sure. However, she goes to Freudesheim and how she spends her half-term will be Joey’s affair. For no one is going to set her any work. The girls all work hard enough during lessons hour and they need the break as much as we do. The Head won’t hear of it. Health comes first in this establishment.”

“Quite so,” Nancy replied. “And now that we’ve had all that, would you mind answering the original question and telling us what the rest of us are to do?”

Rosalie turned to her list. “The two Sixths are going to Freiburg in charge of you, Davida,” she said, turning to Miss Armitage. “Miss Denny is coming with you. Plato is off to Rome on some mysterious errand of his own, so he won’t need her and she was at a loose end. I know you two have been very chummy, so I suggested she should go with you for company.”

“Good!” Miss Armitage was clearly very pleased. “I’m very fond, of Sally Denny and though the Sixths are quite good companions, there are times and seasons when you want an adult to discuss things with you.”

Rosalie nodded and went on with her lists. “Nancy, you take the two senior Fifths, and Peggy Burnett will go with you. You’re going to the Valais with headquarters at Sion which is supposed to be one of the loveliest cities in the country. It’s too late for the vine harvest, but you’ll find plenty of other interests.”

“Can do,” Miss Wilmot said contentedly. “It’ll be new ground to me as well as the girls.” Then she sat up with a bounce. “Len Maynard’s going to have something to say about this! She told me last term that she did wish we could have an expedition to the Valais as she was dying to see the Matterhorn.”

“Len can go any time. She lives here,” Rosalie reminded her. “Anyhow, Jo wants them, so that will be that. Dorothy,” she looked at the Head of the music staff, “I have to break it to you that you have Inter V—but not Prudence Dawbarn, Primrose Trevoase or Francie Wilford. Those three and Priscilla Dawbarn are going to Paris. Mr. Dawbarn will be there on business for his firm, so Mrs. is coming with him, and they asked for the twins and said they might each bring a friend. I hope they realise what they’re doing, inviting two scaramouches like Primrose and Francie along with their own pair of demons!”

“Thank goodness!” Peggy Burnett said fervently. “With those four beauties out of the way, both you and I, Dorothy, may hope for a fairly peaceful half-term.”

“Oh, Primrose and Priscilla are getting a little more sense,” Kathie said, firing up at once in defence of her own form. “Primrose is really no more trouble than anyone else, whatever she may have been.”

“Well, you do surprise me!” Peggy Burnett said with a grin. “I remember that the first term she came, her father begged the Abbess to provide herself with a cane and use it!”^[1]

“Not fair!” Rosalie Dene cried. “The poor child had been at the other Chalet School—that one with all the wild notions. She reacted to it—they believed in free discipline for one thing, Kathie—and her family were horrified when she arrived home from her first term. Teddy said when she left Pelham House to come here that Primrose was really becoming very responsible and trustworthy.”

“Were there two Chalet Schools?” Kathie asked, startled.

“There were! We were at St. Briavel’s as you’ve heard more than once. The other establishment was at Tanswick on the mainland of Wales—not very far away. They had some very odd ideas,” she added reminiscently.

“Oh, never mind that!” little Miss Andrews exclaimed. “I never knew such people for harking back to past events! Do go on, Rosalie, and tell the rest of us what we have to do! Where are my babies going, for one thing?”

“Your babies, my child, are going to Montreux—but you won’t be with them. Joan Bertram has them and her own form. You’re free this half-term. So you’d better be thinking out what you want to do.”

“Oh, I know that already. I’m going to stay with an old school friend of mine at Belfort. She’s a French girl who married a Frenchman last year. She had a little daughter a month ago and she said I must come and stay with them and see my namesake. The baby is Charlotte Marie and Marguérite says she’s a pet.” Miss Andrews’ very blue eyes shone with excitement and the rest of the Staff laughed. They were very fond of their roundabout, rosy little Sharlie Andrews.

“Who else is free?” Mlle inquired.

“You for one, my dear. And Frau Mieders for another.” She leaned back in her chair to call across the room to Frau Mieders, the domestic science mistress, who was knitting quietly in a corner. “Hear that, Anna?”

“I did. Thank you, Rosalie. I shall to Kufstein go to see the little Gretchen and my mother,” Frau Mieders said placidly, not ceasing to knit.

“What about you, Jeanne?” Ruth Derwent asked.

“Oh, Julie Berné is also free and we two will make a trip to Zermatt for some mountain climbing. But I was not sure if I should be needed. I must go at once and telephone so that she may make the final arrangements.” And Mlle sprang up and hurried off to ring up St. Mildred’s where what Nancy Wilmot called “her opposite number” was domiciled.

“So she’s happy!” Rosalie said with her pretty laugh. “Kathie, you’re free, too, and so is Biddy o’Ryan, of course. By the way, everyone, Biddy is really leaving us at the end of this term. She came to the office this morning to tell me. We must see about some presents.”

“Leaving? Not really?” Kathie’s voice was sharp with disappointment. “I hoped she’d stay on till the end of the summer term, anyhow.”

“My dear girl, by that time, Biddy’s hands will be very full. Anyhow, we all knew that any further stay of hers at school, once she was married, would be a very temporary affair. It’s only what you would expect. We’ve been lucky to keep her so long. But don’t look so upset, Kathie. Biddy may be busy, but she’ll have plenty of time for her friends, just as Joey has.”

“It’s to be hoped she doesn’t inspire Joey to start in again,” Nancy Wilmot said. “Nine’s quite a family in these days and quite enough for one woman.”

“No one can say what Joey will do next and I, for one, won’t prophesy. But Biddy is very thrilled and looking forward eagerly to May. She told me she hoped for twins, but she’ll be satisfied with whatever comes along.”

“Twins? Oh, that’s dull!” Peggy Burnett protested. “Joey started off with triplets. Let’s hope Biddy does the same thing, and then her ladyship can’t go on airing the fact that she’s the only one of us who’s accomplished it!”

“Joey would be the first to rejoice if it did happen, but I doubt it,” Rosalie said sceptically. “It’s hardly likely to happen a second time. Now let me finish or the rest of you will have to wait until the morning, by which time I hope to have got this thing typed out and pinned on the board.”

“You won’t do either now!” Nancy Wilmot said, rising to her feet as the bell rang for Prayers. “There’s the bell and we must go. This room’s in a pretty fair mess. Some of us must come and tidy up afterwards. I will, for one. Who’ll come with me?”

“I will!” came from Kathie Ferrars, Ruth Derwent and Davida Armitage.

Peggy Burnett shook her head. “I’ve got a list of things I want Matey to get when she goes down to Interlaken tomorrow, and I’ve never touched it yet. I must get down to it after Prayers so as to give it to her before we go to bed. Matey likes to have all her plans cut and dried in good time. But I’ll do it tomorrow if you three will see to it tonight—and that’s a promise.”

“Good! Then come on! It won’t do for Staff to be late! Bad example to the girls!” And Ruth Derwent, laughing as she went, headed the long line of ladies who proceeded decorously from their sitting-room into the corridor and down the front stairs to part in the entrance hall, some going to Hall and the rest to the gym where the girls were already assembled and waiting.

The notices about half-term were on the notice-boards in both the Staffroom and Hall by the next morning, and the school buzzed with excitement.

“The Valais!” Len Maynard shouted exultantly. “Oh, miraculous—marvellous—spiffing! It’s the one place I did want to go to! I’m yearning to see the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa, and besides, it’s the wine country and I’d love to see the vineyards! What a simply gorgeous plan for half-term.”

And then the Head sent for her and her sisters and informed them that they were not going with the rest as their mother wanted them at home this half-term.

Len’s face fell almost comically. “Not go with the others? Oh, Auntie Hilda!”

“But why?” Margot, the youngest of the three, demanded succinctly.

“You don’t listen, Margot. I told you your mother wants you.”

“But why does she want us just that week-end?” Con asked wistfully. “It isn’t that we don’t love to go home and see her. But we’ve wanted to visit the Valais for ages and we were thrilled to the back teeth when we heard that our form was going there.”

“She and your father have to go to England for three weeks or so shortly after, and she wants to see all she can of you girls while she’s here.”

The three were silent and eyed each other thoughtfully. Miss Annersley quaked at what might be coming. She was in Joey’s confidence, as no one else was, and she knew that there was just a chance that this young lady might be away from home for a good deal longer than six weeks. But the girls were not to know yet. Joey had said that it would be quite time for them to be told when there was anything definite to tell. But, for the past month or so, she had been having attacks of pain and sickness. Jack Maynard, always on the alert where his precious wife was concerned, insisted that she must go to London for a complete overhaul by an old friend, Sir James Talbot. This business of his provided a very adequate excuse for her being away, and would keep the girls from worrying until news of one kind or another must be told to them.

Margot was the first to speak. “But she does see quite a lot of us, anyhow. What’s the idea of having us at home for half-term week-end? It—it’ll spoil all our fun. I don’t understand. It’s not like Mother!”

Miss Annersley looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t see that. Aren’t you being selfish, Margot?”

She left it at that and Margot went red and said no more. Len looked at her brevet aunt with eyes that were full of suspicion. “What’s behind it all, Auntie Hilda? Margot’s right, you know. Mamma wouldn’t do a thing like that just because she was going to be away for two or three weeks. She was down in Montreux for six weeks or so when she went to take over Aunt Winifred’s house while she had appendicitis. But that didn’t make her bag our half-term. What does it mean?”

“Is the three weeks just a blind, and is she going for longer than that really?” Con demanded.

Poor Miss Annersley! She had guessed that the trio would be likely to probe deeply, and she did not know what to say. “She said that your father must go on business and he would be away for three weeks at least,” she began. “She wants to see your Aunts and all the babies, and it’s a good opportunity. She’s taking the twins and Cecil with her and Freudesheim will be closed for a fortnight to give Anna and Rösli a good holiday. And as for the Montreux business, if she wanted you three at any time, she could have you there in two or three hours, which she certainly couldn’t do away in England. It would mean flying, and you folk aren’t millionaires. Besides, do you never think that parents may sometimes be glad to get a rest away from all such responsibilities as you three? You wouldn’t like it if we expected you to go on at school all the year round; but you seem to expect to have your father and mother at your beck and call all the time. In any case, that’s what has been arranged, and you must make the best of it!” she finished tartly, carrying the war into the enemy’s camp.

The triplets had no more to say, but Len looked very dissatisfied. In some ways, she was older than her sisters, even that young sophisticate, Margot. She felt that there was something behind all this that was being kept from them and she wanted to know what it was. She could hardly press the Head any further, especially when that lady had suddenly dropped the “Auntie Hilda” side of her, and become “the Head” in that fashion. Miss Annersley knew what she was feeling, but she had no intention of saying any more. She dismissed the other two with the remark that they had better go and think what they could do to enjoy their week-end. Len she kept back for a minute or two. Con and Margot departed, casting on their sister looks which said that if she, as the eldest, was to hear anything further, they expected her to tell them about it at the first opportunity. The Head knew this, but she ignored it, and the pair curtsied and went out. When they had gone, she turned to Len who was standing looking at her with grave grey eyes like English wood violets.

“Len,” she said, “I have some news especially for you. Richenda Fry is coming with you to Freudesheim for the week-end.”

Len knew a certain amount about Richenda’s home troubles by this time, and the gravity left her eyes as she said eagerly, “Has her father said she’s not to go with the others? She was rather afraid he might.”

“What do you mean?” Miss Annersley said.

“She told me that she was in an awful row with him when she left home. I rather think it’s still going on, and from what she’s told me, I rather think it’s the sort of thing he might do. Is that it, Auntie Hilda?”

Miss Annersley made up her mind swiftly. “I’m afraid it is, Len. But you are to keep it to yourself—unless Richenda herself says anything more to you.”

Len looked hurt. “I don’t babble! I’m not a leaky cistern!”

“Where on earth did you pick up that expression?” gasped the stunned Head.

“I read it somewhere and I thought it hit the nail awfully well. It’s not slang, is it?”

“No, it’s not slang. As a matter of fact, it comes from the Bible—I can’t tell you exactly where at this moment, so don’t ask—but it’s not a phrase I like. I’d rather you didn’t use it again.”

“O.K.”, Len said easily, for the “Head” had gone and it was “Auntie Hilda” who was talking now. “Well, I’m awfully glad Ricki is coming to us if she can’t go to the Valais. But I must say I think that dad of hers is the outside of enough!”

“I don’t suppose your opinion of him would worry him in the least!” “Auntie Hilda” told her crushingly. “I don’t want to hear it either.”

Len grinned. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever get the chance to tell him, and, of course, I quite see that you’ve got to stand by another grown-up. Auntie Hilda, does Ricki know that she’s coming with us and not to the Valais?”

“Not yet. I want you to send her to me now so that I can tell her. So suppose we close this conversation, and you go and find her. Off you go!”

“All right. And may I tell Con and Margot that she’s coming?”

“Not until I’ve seen her. Then you may, but she must know first.”

Len departed, nearly forgetting her regulation curtsy when she reached the door. She bobbed it hurriedly at the last moment and then went scuttering through the corridor to change into plimsolls and pull on her blazer before racing off to seek her friend on the netball courts, where she guessed she would be practising, as this was free time for them.

Richenda was hard at work, shooting at one of the practice goals. She had taken to netball like a duck to water, and was very anxious to play in the form team. She had a straight eye and a level head, and as Miss Burnett had once remarked, showed signs of becoming an excellent shooter. She put in all the practice at it that she could these days, and when Len arrived at the court, she had already thrown the ball through the net five times out of seven. As her friend reached her, she was throwing from a tricky angle and Len held her breath as the ball circled the rim of the net before condescending to drop through neatly.

She clapped vigorously, and then as Richenda turned to her, startled, she said, “Oh, jolly good, Ricki! You’re coming on like hot cakes! That was a really nasty shot! But I say the Head wants to see you.”

Richenda picked up the ball and turned to her. “What’s that? I mean,” as she suddenly remembered that this was Tuesday and a “French” day, “Qu’est-ce c’est?”

“Madame désire ta présence dans l’étudier,” Len said, dropping easily into French.

“Oh goodness!” Richenda lapsed dismally into English at this. “What have I being doing now?”

“Que tu as de mauvaise conscience!” Len giggled. “On l’en dit lorsqu’elle te recontres. Dépêches-toi!”

“Pas de tout! Ma conscience est toute en éclair,” retorted Richenda struggling with her vocabulary and grammar, and making rather startling mistakes in both. “Je ne peux pas—er—remember quelquechose que j’ai fait du tort.”

“I’ll put that into decent French for you later,” Len said cheerfully. “I can’t now. The Head is waiting for you.” Then she added, “Hand over that ball and I’ll have a go at shooting myself. Come straight back and tell me. I’ll be here.”

“That depends—er—cela dépends combien longue elle me détaint,” Richenda returned, capping her previous mistakes with this final remark.

Len giggled, advised her to tidy herself before she went to the study, and set to work to practise shooting. Richenda raced off, first to the Splashery where she splashed her face and hands and ran a comb through her rough curls. Then, satisfied that she looked fairly respectable, she set off for the study. She tapped at the door and then entered, remembering to make her curtsy before she went up to the desk. Miss Annersley gave her a smile.

“Come along, Richenda. Take this chair. Now, dear, I know that your father told you that you were not going home for half-term. I expect you know by this time that very few of the girls do. Switzerland is too far for it to be worthwhile for such a short time.”

“Yes, I see that,” Richenda said, completely at her ease since this could not mean that she was to be called to account for any forgotten sin. “It’s all right, Miss Annersley. I knew I wasn’t going, and I’d rather go to the Valais, anyhow.”

“But you aren’t going,” the Head said quietly. “Neither is——”

What else she was going to say was drowned in the sharp cry Richenda gave. “Not going? But why? It can’t be my work! I’ve gone at it tooth and nail ever since I came. I was sixth in form last fortnight and I’ve been simply slogging to get fifth this time!” Then her face suddenly changed, growing sullen. “Oh, I suppose it’s some of his great idea about punishing me! It’s just the sort of thing he would do!”

Miss Annersley still spoke quietly, though there was sternness in her voice as she said, “That is not the way to speak of your father, Richenda. Also, I must ask you not to interrupt me so rudely.” Then she relented as she met the miserable eyes. “If you had waited, you silly girl, you would have heard that the Maynards aren’t going either. Mrs. Maynard wants them at home this week-end as she and Dr. Jack are going away for a few weeks on the tenth. She has invited you to go with them to have a taste of home life with them.”

Richenda flushed and wriggled uneasily. “I’m sorry I interrupted you, Miss Annersley. I didn’t mean to be rude,” she murmured unevenly.

“Then we’ll say no more about it. Now aren’t you pleased with your share of the holiday? You’ll have a very good time at Freudesheim if I know anything of Mrs. Maynard. And you and Len are great friends, aren’t you? I don’t think you’d have enjoyed even the Valais quite so much without her, would you?”

Richenda stared at her, wide-eyed. Like most schoolgirls, she had no idea that the Head kept close enough tabs on any of them to know about their special friendships and it came as a shock to her to learn it. She remained silent and the Head pushed her advantage home.

“You’ve never had the fun of living in a big family, I know. The boys won’t be there, of course. They are all at school in England. But you’ll have Len, Con and Margot, and there are the three babies as well. I expect Mrs. Maynard will let you help her bath Cecil. Have you ever had anything to do with a baby?”

“No, nothing. Do you think she would? I’d love that! I simply adored Cecil when I saw her!” Richenda said eagerly.

“I’m sure she will. And she’ll certainly have various kinds of fun arranged for you people. You’ll have a very good time, you’ll find.”

Richenda’s face had cleared and she gave her Head a wide smile as she said, “It sounds simply terrific! Do Len and the other two know?”

“Len does; I told her to say nothing to her sisters until I had told you. But you may tell them about it now. That’s all I wanted you for, so you may run along. Find the Dawbarns and send them to me, will you? Thank you, dear!”

Richenda went off to seek out Len and plunge into delighted chatter with all three Maynards about the half-term prospect. She was so excited that she nearly forgot all about the Dawbarns. Luckily for her, she met Priscilla as she was tearing off to the netball court, and stopped long enough to give her Miss Annersley’s message before she shot off again to find the triplets practising passing, though they stopped as soon as they saw her. Con and Len were frankly delighted and Margot liked Richenda well enough to be quite pleased about it, though she did murmur something about wishing Mother had asked Emmy, too. But Emerence Hope was another not going on the Valais expedition as her parents were in Geneva, and expecting her to join them there.

For the rest of the week, Richenda was happy. She worked hard and her marks were so good that she even ventured to hope for fourth place on the form lists—bracketed with some of the others, of course! But Tuesday before half-term brought a change. The Professor had not restrained himself and in his weekly letter he told his daughter plainly what his plans for her were.

“I understand that the school will be closed for the week-end, so you cannot remain there. Your Head Mistress tells me that the mother of another of the girls whose home is at the Görnetz Platz, has offered to take you. I hope she will see to it that you work during the week-end. I have written to Miss Annersley asking her to speak to the mistresses who teach you, and request them to set you enough homework to keep you busy most of the time. I shall expect to hear that you have done all they give you and done it well. Please understand that until your behaviour shows that you deserve to have treats, you will not have them. So far, I have seen little sign of that.”

The truth was that he was bitterly hurt by the very brief and stilted letters that she wrote him—mainly because she must—each week. He was incapable of understanding his own attitude accounted for them, and he took them as a sign that she was still quite unrepentant. Somehow, he was determined to make her toe the line and he tried to do it by severity. The result was that the wall building between them grew quickly. It was a real pain to him, for, as he remembered, they had only each other, and to judge by her letters, Richenda didn’t care whether he was there or not.

What made things worse was the fact that he knew that she wrote volumes to Nanny, and only the week before, Mrs. Mason had met him and told him that from the long screeds she sent Sue at wider intervals, Richenda was enjoying herself thoroughly and making real strides in her lessons. As enjoyment had not been his idea when he sent her away, he resented it. Hence his really unkind letter!

Richenda didn’t understand, either. To her mind, he only wanted to make her as miserable as he could. She contrasted his attitude with all she had heard from the Maynard girls who seemed to adore their father; and Rosamund and Jo and one or two others, and she made up her stubborn young mind that he didn’t care about her at all. If he did, he wouldn’t be so beastly to her!

As a result, she went off into her old, brooding behaviour. For two days, she was thoroughly miserable. No one had said anything to her about lessons for half-term, and she knew that no one else would be expected to work. But it was just like him and she hated him!

It was Miss Ferrars who interfered in this promising state of affairs. She saw with consternation that Richenda’s work was falling off badly and she couldn’t account for it. Nothing had happened in school to cause it or she would have heard all about it. One morning, when Richenda who had been delayed, was late in putting away her things the young mistress came into the form room in search of some papers she had forgotten. They were alone, and Kathie Ferrars seeing the unhappy look on the girl’s face, decided to find out what was wrong.

“Oh, Richenda!” she said. “The very person I want to see!”

“Now it’s coming! She’s going to set me that beastly homework!” Richenda thought, and she looked, if possible, more sulky than ever as she waited.

“I want to know what’s gone wrong with you?” Miss Ferrars said, coming to perch on the lid of a nearby desk. “Aren’t you well? Have you got toothache?”

Richenda stared at her. “I—I’m quite well,” she stammered, forgetting her manners in her surprise.

“Then what’s the matter? Why are you going about looking as if you had lost all your friends and relatives at once? Can’t you tell me? Perhaps I could help to make things straight again.”

Richenda remained tongue-tied. Kathie Ferrars bent forward, her own vivid smile flashing over her face. “Come on, Richenda! It can’t be anything very bad!”

Richenda found her tongue. “I don’t know what you call very bad,” she said in choked tones and quite forgetting that she was speaking to a mistress, “but how would you like to be told that you were to have prep to do all the half-term holiday?”

“Oh, drat that man!” Miss Ferrars thought, most reprehensibly. Aloud, she said, “Oh no, my child! That you are not! Apart from the fact that no one has any time either to set you prep now or correct it after the holiday, no one in this school is allowed to work during half-term—not even exam people. Health comes first here, always. If you people are to work properly during the term, you need the break. No one can go on working at full pitch all the time. And that reminds me, your work has gone off very badly this last few days. If this is what’s been doing it, you can snap out of it at once. You’ll get no prep from me nor from anyone else, so far as I know. Take a pull on yourself, my child, or you’ll be finding yourself right down among the twenties in this fortnight’s list instead of among the first four or five as you ought to be. Now run along and don’t be so silly! Half-term is half-term here, and no one works!”

Richenda had nothing to say. Miss Ferrars’ breezy treatment rendered her speechless and almost breathless. Kathie Ferrars chuckled to herself as she picked up her papers and sauntered out with a nod to the girl. But when Richenda finally recovered herself enough to shove everything into her desk and dash off to the Splashery to tidy herself before Mittagessen, the sulky look had vanished. There was no need for her to have been so wretched all this time and she needn’t have let her work go to pieces as she had done. Well, she would make up for all that now. She would enjoy the whole of the week-end, and for the three days that remained of the half-term, she would slog as she had never slogged before and retrieve her position somehow.

With this in mind, she went ahead as she had never done in her life, and when on Thursday afternoon the form lists were read out, she found that if she had not reached her coveted place, at least she was still sixth, and considering the marks she had lost earlier in the week, that was amazing.

“And I only wish I could write home and tell him it’s sucks to him and his grand idea of spoiling my half-term!” she thought. “I can’t. He’d probably take me away from here and I don’t want to go. But I’m just not going to bother about him any more and that’s that!”

Poor Professor Fry! And poor Richenda!

They both had a good deal to learn before they understood each other and reached the terms on which they should always have stood, and not all of the lesson was pleasant!

“Well, that’s the last of them till Tuesday evening!” Len Maynard turned to her sisters and Richenda with a broad grin. “Come on, folks! We’d best trot over home now. No point in standing around here and we can’t get in anywhere. Besides, Mamma will be waiting for us and I rather think,”—this very pensively—“that’s she’s got some miraculous ideas bout half-term fun.”

It was the very beginning of half-term. The cases of the three Maynards and Richenda had been sent across to Freudesheim the night before and they had stayed to see the last of the others before they went off themselves. Now, the last motor-coach was rumbling off along the coach road. Miss Annersley had come out, locked the great door and handed the key to Len to take to her father before joining Rosalie Dene in her little car, to set off for Basle where they were spending the week-end with what Con had described to Richenda as, “One of the oldest Old Girls. She’s our Tante Frieda, and she and Mamma have always been tremendous pals.” Before letting in her clutch, the Head had leaned out of the window to hand to Margot, the nearest of the party, a large square parcel with the remark, “Something for half-term. Share it among you!” Then she had gone amidst a chorus of “thank yous!” Now there was no one left but themselves.

Con picked up her cello case and went with Margot who was burdened with her viola. Len had a fiddle. As Joey Maynard had once said, “My family seem to have taken a hate at the piano. Felicity will have to take it on, though, or there’ll be no one to play accompaniments!” which, as Dr. Jack observed, was looking rather far ahead!

Len took up her violin case, and slung the other hand through Richenda’s arm. “We’ll go by the garden way. It saves time, and thank goodness, there’s been no rain, so everything’s pretty dry. Let’s hope it goes on being fine for the hol! I wonder what we’re likely to do?”

This, they were fated not to find out for a while. When they reached Freudesheim, they were met by Anna, Joey’s faithful factotum who had been with her ever since her marriage. She held up a warning finger as the pair reached the front door and said, “Not much noise, meiner Kinder. The dear mother very sick has been all night and now she sleeps.”

Con and Margot appeared at the door of the dining-room, their faces grave.

“I hope there’s nothing badly wrong with Mother,” Margot said, her blue eyes shadowed. “Anna says Papa is at the San, but he’s coming back shortly. Meantime, she’d bringing our elevenses in here and then we can do what we like so long as we don’t make a row.”

“We’d best go upstairs and unpack first,” Len said, dumping her violin down on the great chest at one side of the hall. “Oh, I do hope Mamma isn’t really ill! What did Papa really say about it, Anna?”

“Only that he would commit murder on anyone who woke her,” Anna said seriously. She had no sense of humour whatsoever, and was given to taking the wildest statements at their face value, greatly to the amusement of the Maynards.

“That doesn’t tell us anything!” Margot said discontentedly. “Didn’t he tell you what was wrong with her at all?”

“Only that she had been sick and had some pain and must sleep now. If you go to unpack, you must be very quiet, mein Vögelein!” Anna replied.

The triplets looked slightly relieved at this. Once or twice in their lives they had known their mother to suffer from a bilious attack. Probably this was the same sort of thing and there was no need to worry.

“Let’s see what Auntie Hilda has given us,” Con suggested. “Then we can go up and put our things away and after that, we can come down for our elevenses.”

No sooner said than done. They unwrapped the parcel and found a magnificent box of sweets of all kinds. Len handed it round, promptly.

“Isn’t Auntie Hilda a peach?” she demanded, when they were all with bulging cheeks.

“Is she really your aunt?” Richenda asked curiously, sucking hard at the chunk of raspberry nougat she had selected from the bewildering variety.

Con moved her chocolate fudge to one side before she replied, “Not really. But we’ve always called her that. Of course, in school, we have to say, ‘Miss Annersley’. But this is a hol. It was frightfully difficult to remember at first,” she added, “but we had to, and now we don’t make mistakes.”

“We’ve lots of aunts like her,” Margot added through her chocolate caramel. “Tante Frieda is one; and there’s Tante Simone and Tante Marie and Auntie Nell—that’s Bill, really, and she’s Len’s godmother, as well—and Con’s used to teach history in the school ages and ages ago when Mamma was a girl——”

“She’s a girl still!” Con cried indignantly. “She’s not a bit like most mothers. You wait till she’s all right again, Ricki, and then you’ll see! Where are you going, Len?”

“Only to offer Anna a sweet. Then we’ll put them away for the present until Papa comes home. We can’t gollop them all at once!” the eldest of the family said austerely. She vanished out of the room and returned a minute later to put the box into the sideboard.

“I think we might have one more each,” Margot said wistfully.

“Not now. Anna’s made Leckerli for our elevenses and you don’t want to fill up with sweets first, do you?”

“I do not! Anna’s Leckerli are just the last word! O.K. Let’s go upstairs and clear our cases. Is Ricki in with us or has she a room to herself?”

“Anna says Mamma had an extra bed put into our room for the week-end. She said it wouldn’t matter for such a short time. But Anna says she means us to start having our own rooms at Christmas and make our present room a guest room.”

“Well, we’ll be fourteen next week and she’s always said we were to have rooms of our own when we were fourteen,” Con pointed out.

“I know. And after all, we do have our own cubeys at school. It’ll be pretty much the same thing, really. Now come on! Tiptoes, Margot! Don’t wake Mamma, whatever you do!”

They went upstairs on their tiptoes and presently Richenda found herself in the big room the triplets had shared ever since they came out to the Oberland. It was large, with three beds set between the windows and a fourth set at one side. There was a big wardrobe facing the windows, and a pretty toilet table across one corner. A bookcase filled with books of all kinds faced the windows and there were four chairs. Rugs were scattered over the polished floor and someone had set vases of flowers on the toilet table and the top of the bookcase. The long french windows had curtains of gay flowery cretonne which matched the bedspreads and altogether it would have been hard to find a gayer room for girls anywhere.

“How awfully pretty!” Richenda exclaimed.

“Isn’t it? But I expect when we get our own rooms, they’ll be just as pretty,” Len said. “That’s your bed, Ricki—there’s your case beside it. Get unpacked and then we’ll go and get our elevenses. Here’s a drawer for you and you can have these pegs in the wardrobe. Now get cracking!—and we’d better not talk much in case we disturb Mamma. Her room’s just across the landing on the same side and all the windows are open.”

“Do you think we might open her door just the tiniest crack and peep in?” Margot asked.

Len shook her head. “Better not! You know how lightly she sleeps. We’ll ask Papa when he comes in. I wonder if we ought to offer to take charge of the kids? Then the Coadjutor could help Anna to cope.”

“Oh, I’d love that!” Richenda said in the quick undertone in which they were all talking. “I’ve never had anything to do with tinies until I met your crowd and I loved them. Perhaps we could take them for a walk?”

“Then we’ll put Felix in the reins!” Margot said firmly. “Felicity’s as good as can be and Cecil will be in the push-chair. But I, for one, won’t take charge of young Felix unless he’s safely tethered!”

“We’ll harness him and Felicity to the push-chair. They’ll like that and they always are careful when Cecil’s in it,” Len decided. “Finished? Then come on down and let’s have those Leckerli. Papa should be in soon and we can ask him if we may go and take a dekko at Mamma before we go. Con, you run and tell Anna we’ll look after the kids and she can have Rösli.”

Con went off and the other three marched into the Speisesaal where Anna had already set a white cloth on a little table by the window. Now she came in bearing a tray laden with glasses of lemonade and a plateful of the delicious sugar cakes she made so well. She was followed by Con whose arm was tucked through her father’s.

Richenda had met the doctor at school, so she gave him a beaming smile when he greeted her.

“Hello, Richenda! Glad to see you! Mind you have a good time! And, by the way, how do we shorten that lengthy name of yours?”

“She’s Ricki out of school,” Len cried as she flung herself on him for a fierce hug—an example followed by Margot while Richenda stared. Even Sue was not given to treating her father that way as a rule.

“Papa, may we go up and peep at Mamma?” Con demanded when order had been restored.

“Not just yet.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Len demanded.

“Have your lemonade and take a Leckerli each. You girls are rotten bad hostesses. Here’s poor Ricki standing looking longingly at everything and you can’t even offer her one little cake!” he said teasingly. “Sit down, Ricki, and help yourself.”

They sat down, but when everyone was served, Len began again.

“Papa, what is wrong with Mamma? It’s nothing bad, is it?”

“That,” he said seriously, “is what we don’t quite know. Now take those glum looks off your faces, all of you. We’re going to find out what it is, and whatever it is, we’ll get it put right. I promise you that. So stop looking as if you were in the depths of despair. This is a holiday and we have a guest. Ricki, don’t look so worried! We’re delighted to have you, child, and mean to show you what we can do in the way of half-term celebrations. Now, you three, I’m going to tell you what we propose for today.”

“We’ve said we’ll take the kids out this morning,” Len said doubtfully.

“Exactly what I was going to suggest. If those young monkeys are out of the way, Anna and Rösli can cope with the house in comfort. You know, though you won’t have Mamma with you today, she and I made quite a few plans and I promised her this morning that we would carry them out to the last dot.”

Len gave him a quick glance, but said nothing. Margot, living more on the surface of things, brightened at once. “Did she? That’s like her! She really is the completest pet of a mother that ever lived! And if she could think of things like that, she can’t be so very bad. What did she plan for us, Father?”

“She hoped you would do as Len says and take charge of the little ones for the rest of the morning. The Coadjutor can cope with them for the rest of the day. I have to go to Interlaken on business this afternoon, so what about coming with me? I shall leave you at the Beau-Rivage where I’m meeting a man and I expect I’ll be pretty busy until four o’clock. You four can have a good prowl about Interlaken and meet me at Génin’s pâtisserie at four and I’ll treat you to coffee and your own choice of his cakes. Then we must come back and you can put the little ones to bed between you. Oh, by the way, no going on the lakes! I know you’re all old enough to have some sense, but I’d rather you didn’t do that for another year unless you’ve a grown-up with you. Accidents will happen and we don’t want to upset Mamma when she’s just been so poorly.”

“Oh, stupendous!” Margot exclaimed. “Do you think we’d have time to take Ricki up to the Harder to see the animals?”

“Better leave that for another day. Why not take her to Unterseen to see the church and the old houses?”

“Oh, jolly good scheme!” Len exclaimed. “Ricki, you’ll love it! And there’s a wizard fountain there where the old men sit in summer, smoking their meerschaums.”

“Smoking their what?” Richenda demanded. Her father smoked cigars when he smoked at all and she had never encountered a meerschaum pipe in her life.

“Meerschaums. They’re a weird sort of pipe with the most marvellously carved bowls. The men won’t be there now, of course—too cold for sitting around. But the fountain is rather precious. We’ve got a picture of Unterseen—Great Grannie did it when she was a girl. It’s in the salon. I’ll show you presently.”

Con lifted her dark eyes to her father’s face. “Papa, when may we see Mamma?”

“I’m going upstairs now to see if she’s awake while you finish your elevenses. If she is, you may all come up for a few minutes. But I want her to get as much sleep as she can today. She hadn’t much last night! But she’ll be all right in a day or two, I expect. It wasn’t a bad attack this time.”

“This time? Do you mean she’s had others?” Len asked anxiously.

“Oh, hang! I didn’t mean to alarm you. Sorry, old ladies! Yes, she’s had two or three, but this has been fairly light. Now don’t begin to get anxious. It’s probably just her tummy going back on her because she’s tired and needs a proper holiday without any worry about you folk. I’m seeing she gets just that when we go to England. We’re parking the babies with Auntie Madge and going off by ourselves for a second honeymoon.”

“But we did have a holiday—in the new house on the Tiernsee,” Margot remarked.

“Ye-es. How much holiday do you think it was for her with the housekeeping to see to and all you lot to worry over?”

The three sat in stricken silence. It had never dawned on them that the family holidays were not much rest for their parents. Jack eyed them curiously. He had made the statement with intention. He felt that at practically fourteen, it was time they realised things of that kind. He had said nothing to his wife of what he meant to do. He knew very well that Joey would have protested vigorously. But with six younger than themselves, it was high time the triplets began to take a little more responsibility for them. Len usually did, but moony Con and insouciant Margot thought very little about it. He rose to his feet.

“I’m off. If it’s all right, I’ll call you and you can come up. Just remember to come quietly, though. She was feeling rather fragile when I last saw her, and she can’t do with wild bears’ hugs and squalls of excitement.”

He left the room and they heard him taking the stairs, two at a time. He had left the door open and presently they heard him calling to them to come up. The triplets rushed ahead. Richenda followed much more slowly. She wondered if she ought to be at Freudesheim when Mrs. Maynard was unwell. But if she didn’t stay, where else could she go? The school was closed and she hadn’t enough money to go to a hotel, even if anyone would allow it which she rather thought they would not. She must just remain and be as little trouble as possible.

By the time she reached the open doorway, the triplets had kissed their mother and been kissed by her. She was lying back on her big French pillows, looking round inquiringly.

“Where’s Richenda?” she demanded. “You surely haven’t left her alone downstairs? I want to see her.”

“I’m here,” Richenda said shyly from the doorway.

Joey sat up, her long black pigtails dangling over her shoulders, and held out her hands. “Come along and be kissed and welcomed! Oh, my poor lamb! What a welcome to give you! But I really couldn’t help it. I didn’t want to be sick!”

“What have you been doing to be sick?” Len asked sternly.

“Oh, this and that!” Her mother released Richenda and lay back again. “Papa says I’m tired and need a rest. I expect that’s the top and bottom of it.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling better now?” Con asked.

“Much better. In fact, I’m developing an appetite once more. I’m looking forward to a little something for lunch. But not tripe! Don’t anyone dare to so much as show me that!” She laughed. “I could fancy a little cold chicken with one of Anna’s rolls. And some of her baked custard to finish with. What about it, Jack?”

“We’ll see by the time it’s ready,” he said. “I know you’re one of the world’s marvels when it comes to making a recovery. In fact, you have even Mary-Lou beat at that particular game. But you can’t try your tummy too much at first.”

“Have it your own way—so long as you don’t expect me to touch tripe!”

“Thanks! I know better than that. You wait till it comes.”

“Oh, very well! And now, you folk, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to make up your minds to do without me for today, I’m afraid. Tomorrow, too, I understand.”

“You’re certainly staying in bed tomorrow,” her husband told her severely. “And serve you right for getting up a scare of this kind! We’ll see what you’re like on Monday. Sunday in bed will probably put a stop to your little antics!”

“Can you see me? You know as well as I do that I loathe my bed except at the proper time and you don’t keep me here a moment longer than necessary. I feel pretty well all right now, but I’ll stay where I am till Sunday morning, just to ease your silly mind. You do get into such a flap over nothing!”

But the look that passed between the pair of them took all the tartness out of her retort. Even a girl as young as Richenda could see that for all their long family and fifteen years or so of marriage, these two were still lovers.

“Oh, how jolly lucky the Maynards are to have such a father and mother!” she thought. “Why must I have a father like mine?”

Joey’s quick eyes saw her change of expression and she guessed what the girl was thinking and promptly tried to turn her thoughts into a happier channel.

“I’ve planned some glorious trips for you folks,” she remarked. “No, never mind what they are now. You know what’s happening today and that may do you. You’ll know about the rest as it comes. Have you had your elevenses?”

“Yes, we had them before we came upstairs,” Len replied. “Don’t bother about the little ones, either. We’re going to take them out in a minute or two and we’re taking the reins and harnessing the twins to the push-chair. Then we shall know where we have Felix!”

“Good for you! Then I haven’t a thing to worry about and I can go to sleep again quite comfortably. Mind you don’t stay out too long, though. Lunch at midday, remember, or you’ll miss your train and then Papa will have to go without you and you won’t like that!” She spoke with conviction.

“We shan’t!” Margot cried. “We’ll be back in heaps of time!”

Con bent down for another kiss. “You’re a bad woman to give us such a fright, but we’ll forgive you as you’re getting better.”

“Such condescension!” Joey mocked. “O.K. You three can scoot off now and get the babies ready for their walk. Ricki, you can get ready and then hunt up the reins. You’ll probably find them hanging up in the cloakroom. If they’re not there, go and look in the play-room, but I think I hung them there last time we had them. Oh, by the way, going to Interlaken is an expensive business, so here’s a small contribution for each of you. Now scram! I had a long glass of milk before you arrived, and now I’m going to cuddle down for another nap. If I have a lazy time today and tomorrow, I’ll be up on Sunday and quite fit for Monday’s show, and I jolly well mean to be! Out, all of you!”

She handed an envelope to each of them, pulled down her pillow till she was lying nearly flat, turned on her side and shut her eyes and took no further notice of anyone. Jack Maynard tucked her up and then shooed the girls from the room.

“She doesn’t look too bad,” Con said as they went to their bedroom to open the envelopes. “She’s paler than usual and her eyes look a bit smudgy, but that’s all. She’ll soon be all right again.” She had been opening her envelope carefully as she spoke. Now she drew out a little sheaf of notes with smothered squeal of delight. “Oh, goody! She’s given me twenty-five francs! Oh, isn’t she a dear darling of a mother!”

“She’s a complete poppet!” Margot agreed. “What shall we bring her from Interlaken?”

“Better wait and see what we can find,” Len said cautiously. “Mine’s twenty-five, too! I know, let’s ask Papa if there’s any book she specially wants and we can club together and get it—if we see it,” she added prudently.

Her sisters exclaimed rapturously at the proposal before they put the money away in their bags and went to hunt up the little ones in the play-room and get them ready for the walk. Richenda alone had remained silent. She stood, holding the money and wondering how Mrs. Maynard could possibly know that she had very little indeed. Her father had allowed her the minimum of pocket-money and the minimum for her school bank. With Christmas coming at the end of term, she had been afraid to draw much for the week-end and her purse was very lean. Twenty-five francs made a big difference to her.

She blinked back the tears in her eyes as she thought of the kindness. “Oh,” she breathed to herself, “Mrs. Maynard really is almost the kindest, dearest person I ever knew! If ever I can do anything for her, I will, no matter what it is! I only hope there will be something soon and then I can show her how grateful I am! Just saying ‘Thank you’ isn’t nearly enough! I must do something!”

Then she remembered that Joey had asked her to find the reins, so she tucked the notes away in her bag and went off to hunt them up, her mind full of good intentions.

The trip to Interlaken began with a breath-taking descent from the Görnetz Platz to the plain below. Jack Maynard shut his engine off, jammed his brakes on and took her slowly and carefully down, but Richenda held her breath most of the way. Never, in all her life, had she seen such a road, twisting and turning and zigzagging the whole way and going down, down, down, till once or twice she thought the car would stand on its bonnet and they would all be flung out.

Len, guessing what she was feeling, was consoling. “It’s O.K., Ricki! We’ve come down here dozens of times and never had an accident yet.”

Con bent across her, her deep brown eyes full of sympathy. “It is frightening until you get used to it. Then you never think of it. We’re nearly at the bottom, anyhow, and then it’s the autobahn and that’s a magnificent road.”

Arrived in Interlaken, Jack turned them out, asked them if they had all the money they needed, cautioned them about looking before they crossed the road which brought unseemly hoots from his daughters, and a firm reminder from Margot that they had lived in Switzerland for years now and knew all about it, and then went off to his interview, leaving them to their own devices.

The triplets took charge and firmly introduced Richenda to the floral clock at the Kursaal, and then the spot from which the best view of the Jungfrau is obtained. The great mountain was veiled in mists today, but they assured her earnestly that on a clear day it was one of the most gorgeous sights in the Oberland. They then caught a tram, which took them across the Aare to Unterseen where they pointed out the various sights, before coming back on another tram and settling down to shopping. The book for Joey was found and Richenda bought her a tiny phial of perfume, after as Len said, nearly passing out when she found the cost of such perfume.

She also invested in sweets to be shared by all of them and the triplets, not to be outdone, chose slabs of chocolate. A tiny doll was bought for Felicity and a monkey-up-the-stick for Felix, and a china swan to float in her bath for Baby Cecil. Then they had to run to be at the pâtisserie on time.

Jack treated them to cups of coffee with what Richenda, in a letter to Sue Mason, described as “positive featherbeds of whipped cream” floating on top. For the first time she knew the fun of taking plate and fork to the great trays of delicious cakes and picking out what she wanted before returning to the table to devour them. Then they had another race home—or rather, so far as the mountain path was concerned, a slow crawl. But once they had reached the shelf, Jack trod on his accelerator for he was late for his visit to the San and must decant the girls at Freudesheim before he could make it.

They found the patient awake after sleeping sweetly most of the day, and very much better. Joey never had much colour, but now her cheeks were faintly pink and the smudges had disappeared from under her eyes. She talked of getting up next day, but when next day came, found she was under orders to stay where she was under pain of not being allowed to join Monday’s expedition which, it seemed, was to be the crown of the week-end.

“But what will you do with the girls?” she demanded.

“The girls will be all right. Biddy is taking them to Berne for the day.”

Joey chuckled, “You know, Jack, this isn’t at all the sort of half-term Professor Fry envisaged for his bad daughter! I wish I could get hold of the man and try to talk a little sense into him! He’s really going the right way to make Ricki hate him for the rest of her days. Doesn’t the silly idiot see that?”

“Evidently not. Look here, Joey, you’ll have to see if you can do something with that kid. She can’t be allowed to go on as she’s doing. It’s bad for her. As for the Professor——”

“You leave him to me. We’re going to England shortly, aren’t we? And to London where we’ll be part of the time and he lives fairly near. I’ll sort him!” quoth Jo darkly.

“You’ll do no such thing!” her husband retorted, moved by a well-founded fear of what she might elect to say if they ever met. Joey, on occasion, let herself go and her vocabulary was a full one, to say the least of it! “You’re going to London for an overhaul. Provided there’s nothing really wrong, you and I are going off on our second honeymoon with the babies parked with Madge, and nothing to worry about—except how long the cash will hold out,” he added, grinning.

“It’ll hold out all right. My royalties this year are up quite considerably. That last yarn has done really well, and what with that and Steve winning that scholarship last term, we’re better off than we’ve been for quite a while.”

“Steve means to follow in his cousin David’s steps. I’m proud of our eldest boy!”

“Oh, so am I, bless him! But Jack, have you considered that we are the parents of nine healthy youngsters? Rather late to talk of a second honeymoon, surely?”

“Never mind that! It’s high time you had a decent holiday. You’ve scarcely been away from the family since the triplets came, except when you’ve added to ’em. You’re having one now, and a good one!”

“Bully! O.K. I’ll play ball. I’ll stay in bed till tea-time, but I am getting up then for an hour or two. I really feel quite fit and it’s only to please you I’m staying here for the day.”

“We’ll see. Now, here’s your new book. I hope you enjoy it. I’m off to breakfast. Biddy said she and Eugen would be calling for the crowd at nine, so I told Anna breakfast at eight sharp.”

Richenda enjoyed Berne even more than Interlaken. “Auntie Biddy”, as the triplets called her, knew the old city very thoroughly and was an excellent guide. She showed them the very pick of the sights and fed them lusciously on typical Bernese dishes at the Kornhauskellar. They arrived back by seven o’clock to find Joey up in her bedroom and looking herself again.

On Sunday morning she was down as usual to accompany her children to Mass. Jack took them in the car and they dropped Richenda at the Protestant church on their way. In the afternoon, duly warned, he called the triplets and took them and the little ones off for a trip in the car, but Joey claimed Richenda.

“Ricki, you won’t mind staying to keep me company, will you? You’ve been my guest for nearly three days and we’ve never had a decent talk. You stay with me and we’ll natter to our heart’s content.”

Richenda was quite agreeable. She was growing very fond of her hostess and even the brief interviews they had had, confirmed her in her belief that Mrs. Maynard was, above all things, an understanding woman. She had no idea what she was in for!

When the rest had left the house with promises to be home in good time for the little ones’ early bed, Joey marched her off to the salon where a big wood fire was burning in the open fireplace. Most houses in Switzerland are heated by closed stoves or central heating, but Joey had claimed that she must have at least one friendly fire to look at in winter, so they had put in a fireplace in the salon where they burned wood, coal being not only terribly dear, but very hard to come by. Switzerland has little or no coal of her own and ordinarily, does not need it, as with her abundance of water, hydro-electric plants are easily built and maintained.

“Pull up that chair,” Joey said, indicating a tub chair. “Settle yourself and start in on these!” producing from behind the cushion in her own chair a box of chocolates. “And now tell me, how do you like school?”

Richenda talked for an hour on end about it! By that time, Mrs. Maynard had gathered that she loved the Chalet School, was very happy, and had every intention of going ahead for all she was worth. Then she forgot and slipped.

“I don’t intend to give HIM any opportunity of saying it’s doing me no good and taking me away and sending me somewhere else a second time!” she said bitterly.

Joey seized her opportunity with both hands. She might disapprove deeply of the Professor’s methods of trying to bring his daughter to heel, but even more, she disapproved of Richenda’s attitude and meant to do all she could to end it.

“Him?” she said, a gentle interest in her tone that yet was somehow scarifying. “And who may you mean by that?”

Richenda reddened and looked embarrassed. “Well—my father,” she muttered.

Joey sat up and faced her squarely. “Look here, Ricki! I loathe preaching, but you’re driving me to it. Why do you speak of your father like that? It isn’t exactly respectful—or affectionate, is it?”

Richenda would have given worlds to look away, but something in the beautiful black eyes fronting her, kept her own steadily on them. “I—I don’t feel that way!” she blurted out at last.

“Why not?” Joey carefully kept the interest in her tone.

“Well—you know how he’s treated me—taking me away from Maggie’s—and——”

“But I thought you loved being here and fully understood that you were getting a far better education at the Chalet School? And you know, Ricki, if you really mean to go in for ceramics as you’ve said, you’ll need a very thorough education. You’ll be mixing with cultured and cultivated people and you don’t want to feel at a loss. Then, you ought to be able to read other than English books on the subject and that you’ll do best by knowing other languages inside out. You see that?”

“I—I suppose so,” Richenda stammered.

“Then in that case isn’t it rather a good thing that he took you from a second-rate school and sent you to one where you really do get good teaching? I ought to know,” she added with a grin. “I had five solid years of it myself.”

“I—yes, I think so. But you know, Mrs. Maynard, I don’t think that was the real idea. He wanted to punish me and punish me hard. He said so! And he’s gone on punishing me! He wouldn’t let me go with the others to the Valais for that reason. Of course, I’m having a gorgeous time here,” she added hurriedly, feeling that her last remark might sound rather insulting, “but he didn’t know that would happen. What he was really out to do was to make me miserable.”

Joey considered this in silence, praying inwardly for wisdom. “No,” she said at last. “I think you’re wrong there, Ricki. What he really wanted was to ensure that in future you would obey him about the Chinese Room. But I also think he took the chance to give you a better education than you were getting. After all,” she added reasonably, “he’s a man of considerable learning, and if he took the slightest interest in what you were doing, he must have realised that St. Margaret’s wasn’t good enough for a clever girl—and especially, his own daughter.”

“He always went over my school reports with me,” Richenda admitted honestly.

“Exactly! And there’s another point of view as well. You know, if any of my girls went on deliberately disobeying a clear order as you seem to have done, I should certainly feel very angry with them.”

“I don’t think you would,” Richenda said startingly, so far as her audience was concerned. “Oh, I don’t mean you wouldn’t be vexed. But I do believe you’d try to find out just why it happened. He won’t. And he doesn’t seem to see that I can’t help it, any more than he could! Honestly, Mrs. Maynard, I can’t! It—it’s part of me! And mustn’t I get it from him? Nanny says my mother was never awfully keen about his china.”

Joey nearly gasped. She had not expected Richenda to be far enough advanced to reason all this out for herself. After all, the girl was barely fifteen and that is not an age which bothers to go very deeply as a rule, though it ought to be reaching out to that stage. She looked at her with a certain respect and vowed again that when she was in England she would wangle an opportunity to meet Professor Fry and take it up with him. Aloud, she said, “Yes, I think you’re right on both counts. I certainly should want to know what was at the bottom of it all. Equally, I’m sure it’s part of your heritage from your father.”

“Yes, well, he doesn’t understand—and won’t! He just gives me an order and says I’ve got to obey it, and that’s finish! And Nanny can’t understand, either. She says I’m a naughty girl and deserve all I get.”

Joey laughed. “I can just hear her saying it!—have another choc, Ricki?—but what I’m trying to get at, my lamb, is that if your father isn’t trying to understand you, neither are you trying to understand him. It cuts both ways.”

“O-oh!” said Richenda, and was silent. She hadn’t thought of it in that light.

“Well, it is so, isn’t it?” Joey insisted.

“I—I suppose so.” Then she added suddenly, “but you would understand—you do understand!”

“Yes, but in the first place, my great interest is people. As a writer, I try to get at the reasons behind people’s behaviour. His great interest is things which don’t behave, one way or the other. It makes a difference. And then,” Joey added with an infectious grin, “I’ll bet I’m a good many years younger than your father!”

“Oh, yes, you’re years younger!” Richenda assured her. “I know he and Mother were married for nearly ten years before I came and Nanny once said that she was so glad when Mother married him because she was much too sweet to be an old maid. She was twenty-eight when they married.”

“I see. Yes, that means they weren’t young parents. But Dr. Jack and I were. I wasn’t quite twenty-one when the triplets arrived. Our birthdays are in the same month, you know. They’re at the beginning and I’m at the end. Dearie me! When I think what an infant I was at that time!” And Joey broke into laughter. “I was the second of our quartette to marry—after insisting that I meant to remain a nice old-maid Auntie Jo to my nieces and nephews! But it didn’t work out that way. The nieces and nephews have had to get along without my care!”

Richenda was surprised into laughing with her. When they had sobered down, Joey eyed her carefully and added, “And what sort of letters have you been writing home to your father, Ricki? Nice, friendly ones, telling him all the news?”

Richenda went scarlet again. “How did you know? I haven’t! I wouldn’t have written at all if I hadn’t had to!”

“I guessed as much! You’ve been keeping up your resentment at the way he treated you, and you’ve let him see it by what you write to him. My dear girl, how can you expect him to loosen up if that’s the way you’ve been behaving? Of course, he feels that you don’t care two hoots for his punishment so far, and that’s making him more determined than ever to make you care! I’m sorry, my lamb, but I’m afraid you’ll have to conquer that stubborn pride of yours and cave in a little. The consequences if you don’t mayn’t be at all pleasant!”

“What do you mean?” Richenda demanded sharply.

“Only that if he thinks you’re getting a kick out of the Chalet School and having a jolly good time here, he may resolve to remove you. You told me you were working hard so that he shouldn’t have any reason for taking you away. But if he thinks you aren’t improving in character, it’s just as likely to make him do it as if you slacked and didn’t do a stroke of work. Do use your wits, Ricki!”

“I didn’t think of that!” Richenda exclaimed, aghast at the idea.

“Have you thought at all about it—except your own side?” Joey demanded.

Richenda was silent once more. Really, Mrs. Maynard had a very uncomfortable way of getting at you! She didn’t like to own it, but she was seeing her own conduct in quite a new light. She still felt her father had been very unfair to her. But on the other hand, had she been quite fair to him?

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, so bluntly that Joey, who was using the pause to choose a chocolate, started and dropped the box.

They had to scrabble all round for the chocolates, but when they sat up again, Mrs. Maynard had her answer ready.

“You must try to forgive your father. Oh, yes, I agree that you have something to forgive, but so has he!”

“Do you mean I’ve got to say I’m sorry?” Richenda asked, appalled. She was intensely proud and she had worked herself up into the firm belief that all the right was on her side.

“You can either do that—or write him a decent letter for once,” Joey said promptly. “You haven’t written home yet, have you?”

“Yes, I did it after Church.”

“May I see it?”

For reply, Richenda got up and brought her letter from the chest where she had put it after lunch. Joey carefully opened it murmuring, “We can stick up the envelope with cellotape. Pity to waste the stamp!” Then she read it, and between dismay and amusement, was speechless for a moment or two.

“Dear Father,” Richenda had written, “Thank you for your last letter. I hope your cold is better. The weather here has been very fine ever since the thunderstorm a week or two ago. I was sixth in form for the last fortnight. I am staying with Mrs. Maynard, and yesterday our history mistress took the Maynard girls and me to Berne. We saw a number of historical buildings.” Here followed a list. “No one could give me any preparation as they were all too busy. I am reading Mansfield Park which is part of our literature for this year.”

Here, Joey, who knew how much Miss Richenda was enjoying Mansfield Park, looked across at her to say with mock severity, “Yes, a nasty holiday task you find that, don’t you?” Then she went on.

“I am also learning some long speeches from our Shakespeare play. I think this is all the news I have for you. Richenda.”

Joey read the effusion through three times. Then she handed it to the writer.

“I’d like you to read it aloud to me, please.”

With a startled glance, Richenda meekly took it and began. Halfway through, she stopped dead and looked at Joey. “Oh! It is rather a brute!”

“Well, now you know what to do!” Joey popped a final chocolate into her mouth and got up saying in rather muffled tones, “I’m going to see about tea. The rest will be back presently. No; you stay where you are. It’s only to bring in the trolley and cakestand and make the tea.” Then she marched out of the room, leaving a rather stricken Richenda behind her.

When she came back, the letter had vanished, but there were one or two paper ashes on the hearth. She had the wisdom to say nothing, and as the family arrived a minute or two later, no more ever was said. But before she went to bed that night, a slightly embarrassed Richenda came to ask if she might have the cellotape to stick up the envelope again, and the three sheets she showed Joey were a distinct improvement on her first effort.

“So,” said the lady later on when she was telling Jack about the afternoon’s events, “I seem to have butted in to some purpose where Ricki is concerned. Now, whether you like it or not, I’m having a go at her father while we’re in Engand. Ricki is much too decent a girl to be spoilt because a stupid professor hasn’t the sense to see that she’s not the type to do much for mere bossing! I’ll make him see it before I’ve done with him, though, or my name isn’t Josephine Mary Maynard!”

“I suppose I can’t stop you,” her husband said resignedly. “I warn you, Jo, you’ll have to do it all by your lones. I shall be missing on that occasion!”

Joey roused everyone at half-past six the next morning. She banged on the doors with hearty goodwill and then stalked in, switched on the lights and demanded that they should show a leg and be quick about it.

“Breakfast at seven-fifteen!” she called as she sped back to her own room to get ready and then fly to her babies. “We want to be off at eight, so don’t waste time! Anyone ready before then may come along and help me with the babies!”

“Where are we going?” Margot shrieked after her, but the only reply was the crash as she slammed her own door.

“You have first go at the bathroom, Ricki!” Len cried. “I’ll strip my bed and say my prayers and I’m next! I want to give Mamma a hand with the kids.”

“Bags me next!” shouted Con who was wide awake for once.

Len chuckled and Margot was left to take last place. Richenda scuttled off in short order, for she, too, wanted to help with the tinies. Both were dressed and in the overalls Joey insisted on their wearing when they did any domestic jobs, before either of the others had reached her hair. With a warning to buck up if they didn’t want to miss half breakfast, Len shot out, closely followed by Richenda, and they went to the night nursery where Joey, now fully dressed, was busy inducting Felix into his tiny knickers and jersey.

“Take Felicity, Richenda,” she said, jumping up. “Len, you finish Felix. I’ll see to Cecil.” She bent and lifted the dark-eyed baby from her cot, cuddling her close and rubbing her cheek against the feathery black curls. Cecil snuggled in, purring happily. Then up came a wicked hand and a long tail dangled down from her mother’s head as her hairpins went everywhere!

“You wicked imp!” Joey cried, plumping the young lady back into her cot again while she scrabbled for hairpins, and quickly wound up the plait into the big, flat shell in which she usually wore it. “What I’ve done to be tormented by such a wicked family, I can’t think! There!” as she rammed the last hairpin home. “Now, come along and have your bath in record time!”

“Thwan!” remarked Cecil, stretching out to the swan with which Richenda had presented her. “Thethil wanth!”

“Then want must be your master!” her mother retorted, tucking her under her arm and marching off to the bathroom whence proceeded yells of fury. Miss Cecil was already showing that she was a self-willed young person and possessed of a fine old temper when she couldn’t get her own way. But warned by what had happened with Margot in the early days, Joey was being very careful, and it was to be hoped that as Cecil grew older, she would learn to control her rages.

By the time she was brought back, sweet and fresh, the storm was over and Joey swiftly inducted her into the few warm garments she wore and then bore her and the twins off to the play-room where Rösli was waiting to give them their breakfast. That done, she sped downstairs where the four girls were already in their chairs, and began pouring out the coffee. The master of the house arrived as the cups were being passed and sat down before the covered dish with a grin.

“Good morning, everyone!” he remarked as he lifted the lid. “Hope you’ve given us a good breakfast, Jo! Ha! Bacon and eggs! Good! Pass the plates, girls!”

“Where are we going?” Margot asked when they were all hard at work.

“If you wait, you’ll see,” he replied provokingly.

Len looked at him severely. “Of all the horrid things to say, I do think that’s almost the horridest! Go on, Papa! Tell us and don’t be so aggravating!”

He chuckled, but Joey took pity on them and replied, “We’re doing a short tour of part of the Valais—as far as Sion.”

“The Valais!” It came as a shrieked chorus.

“Yes, the Valais. I couldn’t tell you before,” Joey said, placidly consuming bacon and egg with every sign of enjoyment. “If the weather had been bad, it would have had to be off. Luckily, it looks like being a glorious day. The glass is high, and according to the radio, there’s to be sunshine all day. Now don’t begin yelling, but listen to me. Anna says that she and Rösli will see to your beds for once, so as soon as breakfast is over, fly to get into your coats and berets. Don’t forget your bags if you want to shop; your clean hankies and pocket combs; your kodaks, if you want snaps; and your big scarves. We shan’t be home till latish and it gets cold after dark. Any more coffee, anyone?”

After that, no one wasted a moment. Len took time to dash into the kitchen and hug Anna hard, crying, “Thank you, Anna! You’re a dear!” before she darted off to put on her coat and pull the blue beret over her curly head, rummaged for her Kodak and then sprinted off again to see if she could help in any way. Richenda, tucking an extra handkerchief into her pocket, wondered. How did Len contrive to think of everyone as she always did?

A quarter to eight saw them all in the car, waiting impatiently until Joey, who had run upstairs for a last look at the babies, arrived. She grinned broadly when she saw that the four girls had managed to cram themselves into the back seat, leaving the front one for her.

“Hurry up, Mother!” Margot cried. “We want to be off!”

“Keep cool!” Joey said, settling herself comfortably before she banged the door. “The babies are watching from the windows, so wave to them, all of you. Are you sure you four can manage like that? I should call it a distinct case of over-crowding myself!”

“We can manage!” Len assured her. “O.K., Papa; we’re all ready now!”

“Right! Off we go, then!” He started up the car and they drove down the drive with two hands waving from each back window to the small folk at the play-room windows. They turned into the coach road and were soon humming along gaily.

“Which way are we going, Papa?” Len asked, leaning forward between her parents.

“Down to Spiez and then by the Spiez-Territet road as far as Aigle where we turn off and run through Bex and Vernayaz to Martigny. From there, through St. Maurice to Sion and then back again. It really is just a tour through the country, but we’ll give you time to look round Martigny and Sion. Another time, you may be able to see more, but the days are growing short now and we can’t be out too late,” he returned, his eyes on the road.

“Shall we see the Matterhorn and Monte Rosa?” Con queried eagerly.

“Certainly, if it remains clear,” Joey said.

“Oh, good! That’s what I want most of all,” Len returned. “Some day I mean to have a shot at climbing them. I want to join the Alpine Club as soon as I’m old enough,” she added, stunning her parents into silence, for they had had no idea of this latest ambition of hers.

“Well, I’m not,” Margot rejoined with decision. “I don’t like high places.”

“I’ve not made up my mind yet,” Con said. “I may; or I may not.”

“What, exactly, is the Alpine Club?” Richenda wanted to know.

In reply, Len poured out a volume of information which left her parents gasping and nearly speechless. Where on earth had she learned it all?

By this time, they had left the mountains and reached Spiez down on the southern shore of Lake Thun. Jack avoided the town, joining the road to Territet outside. Almost at once, they were running through the beautiful Saannenthal, with its gay little towns and villages until, at about midday, they reached Aigle, famous for its white wines, and found themselves in the vineyard country.

Here, they had what Len solemnly called “déjeuner”, much to Richenda’s surprise.

“But why?” she demanded. “Why not ‘lunch’? Or if you must go all foreign, what’s wrong with ‘Mittagessen’?”

“Because Valais is a French canton,” Len returned promptly.

“Oh, I see!” Richenda made no further comment, and in any case, Dr. Maynard pulled up before the Hotel Midi and invited them to get out. “This is where we feed,” he remarked. “Come on!” And he led the way into the dining-room.

“Can we have real Valaisian dishes?” Con requested as they sat down.

“All want it?” he asked, looking round. “You do? Very well. We’ll see what can be done about it.”

The waiter arrived and he made inquiries in French. As a result, after a delicious bisque soup, they were served with the great Valais speciality, viande séchée, which turned out to be pork, dried in warm air and sliced up wafer-thin and served with pickled gherkins. They found it very satisfying, especially with sauté potatoes which had been done in butter! It was followed by delicious flan of apricots, heaped high with whipped cream flavoured with Kirsch which, so Joey informed the party, was a liqueur made from cherries. She also added that Valais is the heart of the apricot-growing area. Jack allowed them each to have a small glass of Malvoisie—a sweet, dessert wine—and the meal ended with cups of the coffee Richenda had already learned to enjoy.

“Can we look round here?” Len inquired as they finally left the hotel, feeling extra well-fed. “I’d like to see something of it.”

“No time,” her mother said. “We want to reach Sion and you must remember that the days are shortening very quickly now. In you get! Con, I think you’re the skinniest member of the tribe. Hop in between Papa and me. You girls simply can’t go on the whole day, sitting on top of each other in the back. You’ll be as stiff as the cream we’ve just eaten if you do!”

Con obeyed without demur and the other three found that they were certainly much more comfortable than before. Jack came after paying the bill and they set out at a moderate pace along the road.

Jack drove more slowly now, for he wanted the girls to see the countryside. It was magnificent scenery, all this valley of the infant Rhône. They were now in the very heart of the Pennine Alps, and great giants reared lofty heads on all sides. Len gave a scream of delight when, far away, she spied the great mass of the Wildhorn springing up to the blue autumn sky.

“Oh, what a gorgeous mountain! Not the Matterhorn, of course, but isn’t it magnificent! Which is it, Mamma?”

“I haven’t the vaguest idea,” her mother said. “This is all new ground for me as well as you. Jack, can you tell her?”

“I’m not very sure, but I think it should be the Wildhorn,” he said. “If so, that’s where we’re making for eventually. Sion lies at the foot of the Wildhorn.”

“It’s gorgeous!” Richenda said in awed tones. “Mrs. Maynard, don’t all these tremendous mountains make you feel like an ant? They do me.”

“What’s that one over there, right away—just a faint peak outline?” Con inquired.

“Ah!” he said. “That’s the king among the Alps. That, my children, is the Matterhorn! No, Len, we can’t possibly hope to get anywhere near it today. You wait till we have a chance of another trip and we’ll go to Mürren where, so I’m told, you get the finest views of his majesty. And here,” he added in a rather different tone, “is St. Maurice.”

“St. Maurice? I thought that was over in the east,” Len said in puzzled tones.

“My good girl, you’re thinking of St. Moritz—a very different affair. This little place has its importance, though. It was a Roman station, once, and was called Agaunum. It’s one of the oldest places in the valley. And it’s here that St. Maurice, the leader of the Theban Legion, flatly refused to burn incense to the Roman gods because he was a Christian. He was beheaded, of course, and in later times, the people changed the pagan name of Agaunum to St. Maurice.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Joey said. “It was the entire Theban Legion who were Christian and when Maximianus Herculis, the general, ordered them to offer sacrifice, the entire Legion refused. St. Maurice was executed and every tenth man followed his leader to show the others. But they stood fast, and according to one legend, the whole Legion died in defence of their faith.”

“That general must have been loopy!” Margot said. “He was going to war, wasn’t he? How did he think he was going to manage with one Legion short? But,” she added, “it was awfully fine of them to stick it.”

“Faithful unto death,” Richenda said quietly. “I think it is something for the people here to be proud of.”

“Something for all Christians to be proud of,” Joey agreed.

“Is there any memorial to them?” Con queried.

“Christianity throughout Switzerland,” her mother replied. “That was the beginning. But there is an old Abbey, the oldest in the Alps, since it was founded in the fourth century, which still has a community there. No, Len, we can’t stop to see it. In any case, I doubt if we could see much. But we want to visit Martigny and Sion properly and time won’t wait for us—worse luck!”

So they left little St. Maurice behind and presently swept into Martigny for Jack had hurried up, the roads being pretty clear since this was not the tourist season, and the Swiss folk were having their midday meal.

“There!” Jack Maynard said as the car drew up in the market-place. “Here we are at the best starting point for the Grand St. Bernard Pass. And this is where the Rhône valley sweeps right round in a great bend. It’s of Roman foundation, too. In fact, you’ll find Roman foundations littered all over the place in these parts. The Grand St. Bernard was the obvious way into Helvetia, as the country was then called. You’ll read all about it in De Helvetiis,” he added with a grin.

“Caesar again!” Margot murmured disgustedly. “I don’t know how the man found the time to write all he did, considering he was so busy conquering countries!”

Jack chuckled and then Joey sweetly told them they might make a quick survey of the main portion of the town—if they could decide which it was.

“What’s the catch?” Len asked suspiciously.

“Only that it isn’t one town, but three little ones.”

“You’re in the main town now,” Jack said, cutting in. “No, Jo! It’s not fair! There isn’t any time for ragging. Come over here, you four. See that river?”

They all turned and stared eagerly at the greenish stream hurrying along.

“That’s the Rhône,” he told them. “It’s glacier born, you know. That’s why it’s that queer colour.”

“What a cold, cold colour!” Con said, her eyes going dreamy.

Her mother quickly called her to order before she could embark on a poem.

“And this is the bang centre of the apricot country. All the orchards round here are apricot orchards. They market the fruit here. Some goes to foreign countries and some is preserved. Some goes to making a liqueur that I believe is considered remarkable in that line. Most of it goes to the big cities of Switzerland, though.”

“Ooh! There’s a covered wooden bridge like the ones at Lucerne over the Aare!” Len, who had moved away, cried. “Are they painted inside like those? Let’s go and see!”

But after solemnly going through it, they decided that it wasn’t a patch on the bridges at Lucerne and were quite ready to look at the Tour de la Batiaz, the last bit left of the palace of the bishops of Sion, which was dismantled in 1515.

“Is this river the Rhône?” Richenda asked.

Joey shook her head. She had just consulted the guide book. “No, it’s the Dranse. Now, come over here. See that building? That’s the parent House of the St. Bernard Hospice up on the Pass. That’s where the monks come to spend what’s left of their lives when their health has broken down under all they have to suffer of cold and hunger up on the Pass.”

“How long do they live up there then?” Richenda asked, startled.

“I believe the average is seventeen or eighteen years.”

The four girls exclaimed. Con went further. “And how old are they when they go up?” she asked in distressed tones.

“Oh, eighteen to twenty-two or thereabouts. But don’t look so upset, sugar-pie. They have the vocation, so they can’t do anything much about it. But you people can understand that before they’re accepted for the work, they have to be very highly proved. They must be strong and healthy and athletic. They have to pass tests in ski-ing and climbing, as well as everything else. But they are tremendously happy in their work which is done for God.”

“I think they’re heroes!” Richenda said. “I always thought monks and nuns just went to church and said their prayers and—and all that sort of thing.”

“Well, now you know they don’t. The Cistercians’ motto is ‘Laborare et orare’. You know what that means, don’t you? Well, it could be the motto of every community. They have jobs of one kind or another to do. They have one hour a day for recreation as a rule. The rest is all taken up with work and prayer and meditation. A lazy monk or nun would soon be shown the door,” Joey said energetically. “There just isn’t any place for them.”

“Are we going up to the Hospice?” Margot demanded.

“Not this time. It would take too long. Next summer, perhaps,” her father told her. “And talking of time, we must be getting on.”

“Next summer! We may all be dead by then!” she said gloomily.

“In that case, it won’t matter to any of us. Come on, folks! Unless you prefer to miss your coffee and cakes,” he added with a chuckle.

There could be no thought of that, so they raced to the car and settled in again.

“They seem to grow an awful lot of fruit round here,” Richenda observed as they spun along the road. “Look at those orchards!”

“Yes, they do look as if they must have been marvellous when the fruit was ripe,” Len agreed. “Are the orchards old, Mamma?”

“Not so very. At one time, this was a very barren tract of the country.”

“How’s that?”

“Lack of water. Oh, I know they have the rivers, but in those days, the long hot summers—and they have very long hot summers hereabouts—dried them up to mere trickles. Then the people built bisses—long, wooden troughs which carried down the water from the upper reaches of the mountains. They cost tremendously, not only in francs, but in lives. The men had to carry them across the faces of precipices and that meant that many fell and were killed; or avalanches carried them away. But when they were done, they brought water to the barren lands and a little prosperity. But even so, the bisses had to be kept in order, and men working on them were killed every year. Then, in modern times, they have given these up and now the water is brought down through pipes driven through the rock. Not nearly so picturesque, of course, but far, far more economical. But in many of the little valleys radiating from this one, the people lead very hard lives and are often just this side of sheer poverty.”

The girls were silent. They were enjoying their trip and it had never dawned on them how hard the people living in the upper valleys must find life.

They reached Sion shortly after that and Jack decanted them all just opposite the fifteenth-century chapel. They stared round. What tall houses! The streets were like narrow canyons between high cliffs. But there were gardens to many of the houses and the houses were all washed either white or buff with red-tiled roofs. It seemed, as Richenda noted, to be built on two hills. One was crowned by a castle and a great church, the other by the ruins of another old castle.

“What are those places?” she asked, pointing with small regard for good manners.

“The church is the old cathedral, Notre Dame de Valéry, and the castle is the Valeria which is built on the site of a Roman fort,” Joey said. “And don’t point like that, Ricki. It’s frightfully rude! The other is the old bishop’s castle, and that’s all that’s left of it after a fearful fire in 1788.”

“Gosh! What a sight it must have been!” Margot exclaimed.

Joey nodded. “You’re quite right! It must! The first hill is the Valére and the other is the Tourbillon. Now, if you folk want to do any shopping, I vote we do it. Jack, are you coming with us or are you going off on your own?”

“On my own,” he returned. “I’ll meet you people at the Au Vieux Valais which is supposed to be excellent. Where is it? I haven’t a clue! Ask round. Someone will be able to show you. Here’s a little something for you girls in case you see something you feel you must have or perish!”

He tucked a note into each one’s hand and jumped into the car and went off.

“Good for father!” Margot said, surveying hers. “Mamma, what sort of things can we get here—special things, I mean?”

“I’m like your father over that café—I haven’t a clue,” Joey said. “We’ll just wander about and see what we can find. Then, I vote we go up to see Notre Dame de Valéry. There’ll be just nice time if you four don’t dither over what you want to buy. Come on!”

Eventually, they all met at the Au Vieux Valais laden with small parcels. Joey had invested in some wood-carving, and when they had sat down, she presented each of the girls with a handkerchief bordered with peasant-made lace. Jack’s share was a small bottle of the apricot liqueur at which he looked dubiously.

“I think you ought to sample it yourself first,” he remarked as he pocketed it. “What have you girls invested in?”

The four had joined together to buy gifts for everyone. There were a small doll each for Felicity and Cecil, and a toy cart and horse for Felix. Joey got a box of sweets and was ordered not to open them till the week-end. Jack had cigarettes—Len remembered his preferred brand—and especially from Richenda, who had fallen in love with it and insisted on buying it, a match-stand adorned with a figure of St. Maurice. She had also bought Joey a little statuette of the saint, the girls having discovered a shop which sold such things.

“I thought you’d like it to remember the trip by,” she said shyly.

Joey bent her black head and kissed the very pink cheek nearest her. “Thank you, Ricki! It’s exactly what I like and just what I want.”

The triplets had banded together to buy their friend an elaborate guide book to the region, illustrated with coloured photographs, and Richenda who had been busy over her saint, gasped with amazement when they laid it before her.

Then Jack called them all to order with a reminder that time was passing, and sent them to the counter to choose their cakes and rolls. After a delicious meal of the kind it was just as well they didn’t have every day, they finally climbed into the car once more and made for home with only one stop when they paused long enough in Aigles for coffee and rolls. It was terribly late when they finally reached Freudesheim, and Joey shooed them all off to bed with a reminder to be quiet in case they disturbed the little ones.

But when they were all in bed and just settling down nicely, a tap at the door heralded Jack Maynard, and he had a brooch of rhinestones for each of them.

“And now,” he said when they had finished thanking him, “I’m putting out the light, and no more talking tonight. You hear, all of you?”

Amid gigantic yawns, they said they did, and when Joey looked in ten minutes later, they were all sound asleep, very tired, but very happy.

Joey left the four to sleep next morning. They had had a full day and a late one, and she had no wish to be called to account by Matron for returning the girls to school worn out by all they had done. It was ten o’clock when Len and Richenda finally made their appearance for breakfast, Len quite calm, and Richenda inclined to be very apologetic. Joey laughed the apologies away.

“Don’t be so silly. If I’d wanted you to be early, I could have called you, couldn’t I? I didn’t. I left you to sleep and that’s the end of it. Sit down, my lamb, and wrap yourself round that!”

She passed Richenda a bowl of cereal and cream as she spoke with the additional injunction, “Wire in! Len, are Con and Margot up yet?”

“Margot is. Con isn’t,” Len returned, spooning up cornflakes and cream at a great rate. “What are we going to do today?”

“Nothing—I mean you aren’t going anywhere. Papa has had a rather worrying business letter, and in any case, you have to be back at school by eighteen o’clock, so I thought a walk this morning, and a quiet afternoon reading or playing games, and Kaffee und Kuchen with Anna’s special cream cakes. I only hope,” she added, “that you four won’t indulge in bilious attacks once you’re back! Matey would have something to say to me in that case!”

Margot arrived at this point and Con followed ten minutes later. Thereafter, they followed the programme she had outlined and spent a quiet day. But shortly before they went over to the school, Joey called her three girls into the study, having sent Richenda upstairs to play with the babies for a few minutes.

“I have some rather sad news for you folk,” she said, as they gathered round her. “I’m very, very sorry, but Papa and I won’t be here for your birthday.”

Her daughters stared at her unmitigated dismay in their faces.

“Not here for our birthday?” Len gasped. “But, Mamma! Why?”

“Is it something to do with the letter Papa had this morning?” Con queried.

“But how can we celebrate if you aren’t here?” Margot demanded.

“If you’ll all try to keep quiet for just two minutes,” Joey said, “I’ll tell you. Find seats for yourselves and take that doleful look off your face, Len. The sky won’t collapse just because I’m not here for your birthday!” Then she melted. “Oh, my poor lambs! I hate it as much as you do, but it just can’t be helped this time. Now, listen with all your ears, for we haven’t much time.”

They had sat down and the three faces were turned to hers—rather mournful faces, as she went on.

“You knew that Papa and I were going to England on business connected with the two Sans. A letter came from Uncle Jem this morning and he wants Papa to go this week, so that they can go into things before the actual conference, which takes place on Wednesday of next week. I can’t explain in detail about affairs, for I don’t know much myself. But I can tell you that some of the rules governing the arrangements for the San up here, and the one in the Welsh mountains, are coming up for alteration. Uncle Jem and Papa have their own ideas about this and Uncle Jem wants to have everything ready and clearly set out for the conference. It really is a wise move on his part, and Papa and I both agree that he must go.”

“But you won’t be at the conference, any more than Auntie Madge will,” Margot pointed out. “Couldn’t you just stay over for the birthday and then go to Auntie Madge’s after?”

“I could—but I don’t want to,” Joey said quietly. “I don’t feel like that long journey on my own. You people know that I haven’t been very well lately. That’s one reason why I’m going with Papa. He wants me to see Sir James Talbot.”

Len sprang up, terror in her eyes. “Mamma! Are you ill—really ill, I mean?”

“I hope not—in fact, I don’t really think so. But I’ve had two or three sick turns lately and a little pain,” Joey said. “You girls are quite old enough to realise that when the usual remedies aren’t doing much about it, I’d be all sorts of an idiot if I didn’t have it seen to. But I don’t think, and neither does Papa, that it’s anything very much. So stop panicking like that, you little ninnies! And when it’s all over and Sir James has given me some medicine and told me to run away and play, that’s exactly what Papa and I mean to do,” she added, cheerfully.

The terror faded from their eyes.

“Papa did say something about it at the beginning of the hol,” Margot said slowly. “I’d forgotten, though, we’ve had so much to do. Are you sure it isn’t much?”

“Certain! When have I ever lied to you?” Joey asked calmly.

“Never!” Len said with emphasis. “If you didn’t want us to know anything, you’ve told us to stop asking for you weren’t going to say. But you’ve never put us off with yarns. That’s why we can trust you.”

“Very well, then. And Auntie Hilda is giving you a party in the evening on Saturday, and Anna is sending in your usual cake. Presents are waiting and will duly arrive—unless you do anything so evil, you don’t deserve to have them,” Joey added with a peal of laughter.

“We’ll be angels!” Margot cried. Then she added anxiously, “Papa will tell us if—if-”

“Of course!” Joey spoke quickly. “And don’t you start in imagining horrors! I’ll write to you myself, once I’ve seen Sir James. And I’ll promise to tell you the exact truth,” she added. “More, I can’t do. Oh, just one thing! Don’t say a word about all this to anyone else except Auntie Hilda or Matey. They know, of course.”

“O.K., we won’t say a word,” Len promised. Then, “You’ll come and say good-bye before you go, won’t you? And what about the babies?”

“I’m taking them and parking them with Auntie Madge. Anna wants to spring-clean—at least, it ought to be autumn-clean, I suppose, seeing tomorrow is the first of November. She doesn’t want the babies around!”

“What are we to say to the girls if they ask us?” Con inquired.

“You can tell them that we’ve got rid of all our responsibilities and gone off for a second honeymoon,” Joey said with a chuckle. “It’s no business of theirs, anyway. If they persist, you can tell them that.”

Len had thought of something. “What about Mary-Lou?”

“I don’t want even Mary-Lou to know any more. Now, my precious lambs, it’s high time you were thinking of going back to school. Run and call Ricki, Len, and you two get your coats and caps on. I rather think I hear a coach coming down the road and Auntie Hilda won’t love any of us if you’re late.”

They did as she told them and no more was said. But Richenda was rather startled by the way the three clung to their mother when she kissed them good-bye. She waved them off in the end, promising to look in on the morrow, and they went flying when Con, with a glance at the clock, cried that it was just on eighteen o’clock and they had one minute to be at school on time.

Luckily for them, their own crowd had so much to say about their holiday, that no one noticed that they were much quieter than usual. Vb had had the trip of their lives, to judge by their clatter, and they enlarged on it for the rest of the evening.

Joey went off on the Thursday, having faithfully kept her promise and called her triplets out of school in the middle of the morning so that she could say good-bye. And when afternoon school began, there was a summons to Hall for everyone to hear the news that she had left the MS. of the Christmas play before she went, and after prep and Abendessen that night, the school would hear it.

But though the triplets were delighted, especially when the parts were given out next day and they found that each had a “speaking” part for the first time, they still remained quieter than usual and Richenda, at least, wondered about it. She knew better than the rest of the form, about Joey’s attacks.

On the following Monday, a letter arrived addressed to “The Misses Maynard” and when the Head heard of it, she summoned them to her private sitting-room and left them to read it. Joey had seen Sir James Talbot on the Saturday morning, and if his report was not as good as it might have been, it was nothing to worry about. She had displaced an organ slightly, which meant an operation to correct it, but Sir James promised that she would be only a short time in the nursing home and when it was over she would be as fit as ever.

“So, you see, no one need be upset about me after all,” she wrote. “Now forget about it and put your backs into your work and play, and be ready to welcome us both home exactly four weeks from today. That’s when we expect to arrive.”

“You seem to have had a wild time for your birthday! Hide-and-seek all over the house must have been something! So glad you liked your presents! But Con, if you don’t have a decent report, yours will not remain at school with you, but will come back to Freudesheim and be available only in the hols. You have been warned!”

Con, who had been the delighted recipient of a small portable typewriter which her mother had kept for oddments, looked conscious. “I’d better keep off writing during the term, anyhow. I really do want a decent report for her at the end of term. Give me a jog, one of you, if you think I’m going off, won’t you? But it’s awfully hard! The words do sing so beautifully!”

“We’ll jog you,” Len promised. “Now let’s finish.”

Joey told them that she was going into the nursing home on the Wednesday but the operation would not take place till Sunday morning. Their father would let them know as soon as it was over and they weren’t to worry.

“A much better thing will be to pray for me and remember me at Mass on Sunday,” she wrote. “Papa will ring up the school in the afternoon, so don’t expect any news before then. But it’ll be all right. It’s quite a minor thing and I’ve been perfectly fit since that last attack at half-term.

“Now I must finish. Give my love to everyone who wants it and heaps for your own precious selves. Auntie Madge will write on Sunday night. She and Papa and Uncle Jem will all be in London so as to get all the news at once.”

“Well, I suppose it’s not too bad,” Len sighed, as she folded the letter, “but Saturday and Sunday morning are going to be hectic days! It’s all very well to say ‘Don’t worry’, but we can’t help it! Not with Mamma!”

However, by Saturday afternoon, something else had happened which took their thoughts almost completely off their mother for a few hours, and by the time they could have begun to worry badly, Jack’s message had come through. The operation was well over and a complete success. Joey had come back to consciousness to sip a little milk and then drowse off into a peaceful sleep and everyone thought she would be able to leave the home shortly.

On the Friday morning, Matron had bustled into the Staffroom before Frühstück. “I’m having a teeth inspection this morning, everyone. I’ll begin with VIa and go right through the school. Tomorrow, anyone who needs attention will come down with me to Berne on Saturday. I’ve booked with Herr von Francius, and he’s giving us the whole day after twelve o’clock. Who has first lesson with VIa?”

“The Head.” Miss Derwent said with a glance at the time-table.

“Good! I’ll just go and have a word with her!” And Matron departed to issue her commands.

In the end, fifteen girls were found to need Herr von Francius’s attentions, among them, Mary-Lou Trelawney, Len, Richenda and Rosamund Lilley. The rest passed the examination. Miss Ferrars and Miss Wilmot, who were free on Saturday, offered to act as escort with Matron and the party set off by the eight o’clock train with the prospect of some trouble to be followed by some pleasure. The two mistresses had promised to show them one or two sights that would be fresh to most of them, and they would not return until the eighteen o’clock train.

They got off in plenty of time, and even the prospective victims enjoyed the journey down to Interlaken and then on to Berne which they reached by eleven. They went to a café where they were well-known for coffee and afterwards, armed with the toothbrushes they all had to bring, they cleaned their teeth, and finally set off for the quiet street where Herr von Francius lived.

They were about a quarter of an hour before their time, and he had one other patient to deal with before he turned his attention to the school. This was a lady with a small boy of six or seven. She stared when the girls marched in and sat down quietly with books and magazines they had brought with them. The boy stared even harder.

“Mommy, what are they going to do?” he demanded in a shrill treble.

“Hush, Junior. It’s rude to make remarks,” she returned in a tone which made the two mistresses and Matron raise their eyebrows. She so obviously did not expect him to take any notice of what she said.

They were quite right. Junior merely gaped at the party and then inquired with a giggle, “Will they all cry? I guess those ladies have brought a lot of extra hankies. I guess they’ll all yell!”

“Junior! Do be quiet!” his mother implored. “Why don’t you look at the pictures in one of those magazines?”

He took no notice of her. Instead, he walked round the room, staring hard at each girl. Mary-Lou said later that she yearned to take him by the shoulders and shove him down on a chair.

Miss Wilmot went one better. She muttered to her two companions in rapid German that it would give her all the pleasure in the world to turn him over her knee and administer the spanking he needed!

The girls were boiling inside, but they knew better than to take any notice. They stayed quite quiet, looking at their reading matter and ignored him utterly. He glared at them, taking no notice of his mother’s feeble commands to come and sit down beside her and keep quiet. Matron, eyeing him grimly, summed him up as a badly spoilt young monkey who would have an unpleasant time of it when he went to school unless he had learned better by that time.

A moment later, finding that his comments seemed to rouse no one, he ventured further. Rosamund’s long thick pigtail had fallen over her shoulder. Suddenly, he darted at her, gripped it, and before anyone could stop him, gave it a good tug. Rosamund cried out and Richenda grabbed him and pulled him off.

“Go away and leave us alone, you rude little wretch!” she exclaimed as she pushed him away.

His mother also exclaimed, but before anyone could do anything more about it, he snatched something from his pocket, his face red with rage. He aimed the object straight at Richenda’s face and squeezed. A small jet shot out, catching her in the eyes and at once a wild scream rang through the room.

“Oh, my eyes—my eyes!”

Matron was beside her in a moment, handkerchief in hand. The girls had sprung round and Nancy Wilmot and Kathie Ferrars had caught the now scared child and were gripping him fast.

“You little beast!” Miss Wilmot exclaimed. “Give me that thing at once!” And she opened his fist forcibly and snatched from it a small squirt. A drop or two of whatever he had had in it still lingered, and she looked at it anxiously, for Richenda was moaning terribly. It was clearly not water he had used. She lifted it to her nose and choked.

“Matron! We want oil!” she gasped. “It’s some kind of ammonia!”

By this time the boy was screaming lustily and trying to kick Kathie Ferrars who was still clutching him. His mother was exclaiming and bewailing his naughtiness and the girls were all watching Matron who had guided Richenda to a seat and was stooping over her. Richenda still uttered those heart-rending moans.

“Oh, my eyes! They’re burning out! They’re burning out!”

Nancy Wilmot shoved the squirt into the hand of Mary-Lou who was standing nearest, and swung round to seek the dentist and oil when he burst into the room, having left the very nervous patient whose terrors had delayed him considerably to demand what all the noise was about.

Between them, he and Matron got Richenda into another room and he produced an emulgent and they began to bathe the poor eyes. But whatever the child had used, it was not ordinary ammonia and she still kept up her sharp cries.

“She must go to the Augenklinik!” he said at last. “This needs expert treatment. Bitte, meine Frau, wait a moment. I will bring my car round.”

The patient still sitting in the dentist’s chair had to look after herself. The mother of the boy tried to take him and escape. She was clearly as scared as he was. Mary-Lou, however, shut the door and leaned her back against it.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” she said grimly. “You’ll stay here until we know something definite and answer for that imp of Satan! If he’s blinded Richenda, you’re going to know all about it!”

“How can you be so cruel?” the woman sobbed. “He didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Rubbish!” Mary-Lou retorted, while the mistresses got the others to order again. “He took deliberate aim at her. We all saw him! Anyhow, you aren’t going until we know.”

Miss Wilmot left her colleague to deal with the excited girls and came to back up Mary-Lou with her authority. “What is your name?” she demanded.

“I’m Mrs. Van Allen,” the lady sobbed. “Oh, dear! I’m so terribly sorry! Mr. Van Allen will be real vexed with Junior when he hears. Please let that lady know we’ll pay all expenses. I know he would wish me to promise that!”

“Pay!” Nancy said in blistering tones. “If that poor child is robbed of her sight, how much money do you imagine can pay for that?”

Mrs. Van Allen only sobbed incoherently. She was a pretty, fluffy little woman with few brains and less sense.

“What was the stuff the little wretch used?” Kathie Ferrars asked, releasing him as she spoke—she had dragged him round with her while she got the girls to sit down quietly again—“If we knew that, we might be able to do something.”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Mrs. Van Allen sobbed. “Oh, dear! Junior’s crying terribly. Junior, my darling——”

“He’s only screaming with temper,” Mary-Lou said calmly. “He wants a good smacking!”

“He—he’s never been smacked in his life!” his mother cried indignantly.

“It’s never too late to mend,” Nancy Wilmot assured her. She descended on the boy who yelled as if he feared she meant to administer it then and there. “Stop that silly screaming at once and tell us what you used!”

“Shan’t!” he howled. “Mommy! Mommy! I hate them! Make them let us go!”

His mother looked round at the stern faces of everyone and collapsed into tears again. “Oh, Junior!” she wailed. “What will Poppa say to you?”

“If he does his duty, he won’t say—he’ll act!” Kathie Ferrars said.

Len came up to the group, tears streaming down her face, “Oh, Miss Ferrars! Will Ricki never see again?” she wept.

“We’ll hope it won’t come to that, Len,” Miss Ferrars said quickly. “Here’s Matron now!” as the door opened and Matron came in. But one look at her face told them that she had no good news for them.

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t just ammonia,” she said. “Herr von Francius is getting his car and we’re taking her to the Eye Hospital. You’ll have to wait here with the girls until I get back. Herr von Francius will return at once, of course.” Then she looked round. “Where’s that boy?”

He had taken the opportunity to scuttle to his mother and get behind her. Matron saw him, however.

“Come out!” she commanded in tones that allowed of no disobedience. Even the Staff had been known to shiver in their shoes when she spoke like that. Junior had simply no chance. He crept out from behind his mother and stood there, terrified.

“What was that stuff?” she demanded.

“It was a bottle I—found in—the garage at—our hotel,” he confessed shakily.

“There’s just a drop or two left in the squirt,” Miss Wilmot said, her own voice none too steady. “Mary-Lou, I gave it to you.”

Mary-Lou produced it and Matron took it and sniffed. “Yes, we’ll take it with us. They may know what it is and it will help them to know what to do. I must go back to her.”

“Is—is she in much pain?” Mary-Lou asked fearfully though she still kept her post at the door.

“A good deal, I’m afraid. She moans all the time, poor child. However, they will probably be able to do something to relieve that at the hospital. But what damage has been done to the eyes, I can’t say, of course.” She swung round on the terrified Mrs Van Allen. “This is your fault! You are to blame! If you’d brought that child up properly, this would never have happened. I hope you’ll learn your lesson or you may have even more to regret over him later.” With which she turned on her heel and swept out, leaving Mrs. Van Allan gaping after her, open-mouthed.

Professor Fry was sitting in his study, Richenda’s last letter before him on the desk. He was reading it for the second time and as he read, he nodded.

“At last! The school is evidently beginning to take hold now. What an obstinate young woman she is! Not a word of repentance from her all these weeks! And even now, she hasn’t said she’s sorry. Still, it is distinctly better. At least it’s a letter and she does tell me something.” Involuntarily, his eyes sought the photograph of Richenda’s mother which stood at the corner of the desk. “Oh, my dear,” he said, “I wish you’d lived to bring her up. It’s hard on a man when he’s left with a girl on his hands. I could have dealt with a boy, but a girl is beyond me.”

The door opened and Nanny entered. She held out her hand, showing a cable. “It’s from Switzerland,” she said briefly.

“What?” He snatched it from her and tore it open. The telephone had gone wrong and the men had not yet been to repair it. He spread it out and read it. “Come at once. Richenda bad accident. Annersley.”

He read it over and over and gradually a sick feeling of fear took possession of him. He passed it across to Nanny who was still standing there. “Here! You’d best read it!” he said harshly.

Nanny read it slowly. Then she dropped it with a cry. “My Richenda!” She glared at him. “What have they been doing with her? Letting her climb some of them ice mountains and have a bad fall? I’m going at once!”

He made a big effort and recovered his self-possession. “Very well. Have those men been to put the phone right yet? No? Then I must go next door and ring up B.E.A. You go and get on with the packing. We’re flying on the first plane possible.”

He left the room on the word and Nanny bundled off after him. “Tell Mrs. Mason while you’re busy!” she called as she hurried down the garden-path. “Likely the doctor can tell us something to help. I’ll be packing and seeing to things.”

She set to work at once. Calling “that Iris”, she set that young woman scurrying round in short order. The fires must be drawn and the silver packed into the silver-chest. The police should be warned to keep an eye on the house. Nanny sat down and scrawled a brief note to them before she marched upstairs to pack for the Professor and herself, leaving Iris hurriedly shovelling out the kitchen grate. By the time Professor Fry came back with the news that if they hurried, they could just make the night-plane to Zurich, two cases were ready; the silver had been locked away; dust-sheets had been thrown over the drawing-room furniture and the house was beginning to grow cold.

Mrs. Mason arrived ten minutes later to take the keys and promise to keep an eye on things. She handed the Professor an envelope.

“This is from George. He says the banks are closed, so you may not have enough money in the house. Luckily, he cashed a cheque this morning, so we had this handy. We can settle up later. And Professor, if you want me, let me know, and I’ll come out at once. And cable us as soon as you know what’s wrong. We shall be very anxious until we hear.”

“Nanny will see to it,” he said dully.

“What are you doing about the Chinese Room? Have you let the police know?”

“Damn the Chinese Room!” he said deliberately. He felt like that now. If it had not been for that, he would never had sent Richenda so far away and she would have been safe at home with him. If anything serious had happened, how was he ever to face it? What would his wife have said if she had known?

In those moments, Professor Fry paid heavily for any unkindness in his treatment of his only child. All his resentment at her continued impenitence was gone, overlaid by the awful anxiety that was racking him. If only he should find when he reached the school that she was safe, at least, he felt he could whistle every single one of his beloved porcelains down the wind and think no more of them.

Mrs. Mason eyed him keenly. She had a shrewd idea how he felt. “Don’t lose hope,” she said gently. “They’ve sent for you and I think if the worst had happened, they would have waited to write. Now, off you go and don’t worry about anything. I’ll lock up and turn the water, electricity and gas off.”

Nanny appeared. “That Iris has finished and I’ve sent her to the police with a note to keep an eye on the house,” she said, addressing her master without any of her customary respect. She was blaming him bitterly for whatever it was that had befallen her nursling. “What are we to do about the telephone men?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Mrs. Mason said briskly. “Are you expecting them? Then I’ll wait till they’ve been. Better get off. The doctor’s outside with the car. He’s running you up to the airport. Nanny, you’ll let me know how Richenda goes on?”

“I’ll let you know, ma’am,” Nanny replied as she picked up her case. “But likely she’s in hospital and they may not let me see her.” Her voice shook as she spoke out her present great fear.

“The Professor will see to that, won’t you, Professor?” Mrs. Mason said.

“Anything—anything!” he replied hastily, snatching up his case and going out to the car. He tossed in the case and waited until Nanny had clambered in. He followed, and Mrs. Mason banged the door after him.

“Good hunting!” she called as the doctor, with a smile at her, started the car.

They were fairly soon at the airport, for the doctor knew all the short cuts, so that they had plenty of time to do everything. At last they were seated in the plane, and then began the worst time for Professor Fry. Up to this moment he had had to occupy himself with all the arrangements, so that he had had very little time to think. But now, there was nothing to do but sit there. Even Nanny, anxious as she was about her darling, was better off, he told himself bitterly. She, at least, had no reason to blame herself for anything. He went back over the time since the trouble over the Khang-he vase. He told himself that he had been needlessly severe with the girl. It was true that she seemed to be happy at the school and was making good progress. Her half-term report told him that. If he had sent her to the Chalet School only for the sake of her education, it would not have been so bad. But he had told her—and meant it—that it was a punishment for deliberate disobedience. He had never relented one iota. He had even spoiled her half-term holiday in his resentment. Even supposing she recovered from this accident, whatever it was, he felt that he must have forfeited her love. And she was his only child!

No one need have envied Professor Fry during the hours he sat there with his remorse and his fears.

The journey seemed never-ending, but at last the stewardess came round, seeing that people had fastened their safety belts properly. A few more minutes and they were taxi-ing up the great runway. The plane stopped, the doors opened and the steps had been run up. He and Nanny were almost the first out, and as they reached the ground, a short, quiet young lady came hurrying up with hands outstretched. “Professor Fry?” she asked. Then she turned to smile at Nanny. “And Nanny’s come, too? Oh, good! Nanny, Richenda asked for you last night.” She turned to the Professor. “I’m Miss Ferrars, Richenda’s form mistress. I have the car here and it isn’t too far to Berne.”

“Berne?” he asked dully. “I thought the school was at the Görnetz Platz.”

“So it is, but we were in Berne at the dentist’s when it happened, and Matron and Herr von Francius took her to the Eye Hospital. It’s her eyes, Professor. A little brute of a boy squirted some ammoniac mixture straight into them. It was done in a moment—no one had any time to interfere. Matron and Herr von Francius had her at the Eye Hospital almost at once, though, and before that, he had filled the eyes with some oil to relieve the burning. The oculist said it was the best thing that could have been done and he hoped the sight might be saved at least. But she’s in great pain until now. Here’s the car. Will you get in at the back? Nanny, will you sit beside Miss Dene? She’s our best driver at school, and thank goodness, there’s no speed limit here! I’ll come in at the back and you can ask me anything you want to know. O.K., Rosalie. Go ahead!”

Rosalie Dene let in her clutch and then they were bowling through the quiet streets where the lamps were still lit as it was early morning, and very dark. Kathie Ferrars pulled up a heavy rug round the Professor. When she had taken his hand, it felt icy cold. She blessed Matron for her forethought and fumbled in the basket at her feet for a flask of hot coffee. She poured out two cups, passing one to Nanny and almost forcing the other on the Professor.

“You must drink it, Professor. I know you’ve had a horrible shock, but we couldn’t help it. Miss Dene tried to get you on the phone, but they said your phone was out of order at present, so we had to send the cable. Richenda’s in no danger. But whatever that stuff was, it’s hurt her eyes, and at the moment, they haven’t been able to make a full examination to see exactly what the damage is. They’ve drugged her now and she’s asleep and feels nothing, the doctor says. Miss Annersley is with her, of course. She came down the moment she could after I had rung her up, and she’s never left her since, except for when the oculist was with her. Yes, drink up your coffee. Is it sweet enough? I’ve plenty of sugar.”

He drank it mechanically while Kathie went on chattering. She said later that she talked even on for the whole drive. Just how much of all her talk he took in, she had no means of knowing. Much later, he told her that he thought her talk had saved his reason, and Kathie, who had gone on from sheer nervousness, could only be thankful that her tongue had been loosened.

Rosalie Dene made good her friend’s boast that she was a fine driver. It was very little past the dawn when at length they entered Berne and in the great Augenklinik, all the lights were still on as they drew up outside the main entrance. Kathie, who had been silent for the last minute or two, jumped out and touched her companion on the arm. “Come along! We’re here at last. Soon, you’ll know all about it. Come along, Nanny!” She opened the other door and helped Nanny out. Rosalie followed, pausing only to lock the car. Then they proceeded into the building where Night Sister met them with professional cheeriness.

“So you’ve arrived safe!” she said in English which was fluent enough, but with a strong German accent. “We are glad to see you, Herr Professor. Please, will you to come in here.” She opened the door of a room and he stumbled in after her.

“May I see my daughter?” he asked, after a quick look round.

“But certainly—in von leetle minute. She is drugged, you understand, She knows nothing. But the pain in the eyes! And the shock to the nervous system!” Night Sister had a staccato manner of speech and it roused him from the apathy into which he had fallen.

“Is it—bad?” he asked.

Night Sister pursed her lips. “That we cannot say—as yet. Herr Fincke hopes to make a closer examination today. Then we shall know more.”

“Will she—will the sight be seriously damaged?”

“As I said—we cannot say yet. Herr Fincke will come at nine and make examination, if she is aroused and the nerves rested. He could do nothing yesterday. It may be that the—how do you say it?—the jet did not all enter the eyes, and they were only splashed. That is what we hope for. In that case, full sight will return, though it will mean wearing glasses. Perhaps for a few years only. Perhaps for her life. But that is nothing—nothing! If only we can save the sight! But now you may come,” as a tap sounded at the door.

Nanny stood up at once. Night Sister looked at her worriedly. “I cannot let all to see her.”

Rosalie spoke in her quick pretty German. “This is Nanny, for whom she has been asking, Sister.”

“Ah! In that case, please to come. If she wakes she will be glad.”

She led them out and along lofty, echoing corridors. By the lift, she turned, saying as they waited for it, “You will understand, Herr Professor. The eyes are closely bandaged. She cannot see you. But you may speak if she is awake and touch her. You may even kiss her very gently.” She added this out of pity for his haggard looks. She had, of course, no means of knowing the exact terms on which this particular father and daughter had parted two months before.

They had given Richenda a private room, and she lay very straight and still in the narrow white bed. A shaded light burned in one corner and by it they could see that her eyes were heavily bandaged. Her face seemed to have shrunk and there were lines of severe pain about her mouth. She was very white; even her lips were pale. She moaned occasionally in her sleep and the Professor winced when he heard it. A young nurse had risen from the corner by the lamp and come forward, but Sister waved her back and herself explained to the Professor.

“She cannot feel any pain. These moans are quite—quite—involuntary? At least, they are without real meaning.” She laid a hand on the wrist lying on the white sheet and kept it there a moment. “She is stronger now. The pulse is quieter. I think Herr Fincke will be able to make his examination today.”

The Professor stood at the side of the bed, looking down at his girl. She looked such a child as she lay there. The rough red curls had all been brushed back to clear the bandages, and were scattered wildly over the pillow. Remembering Sister’s words, he stooped and touched them with his lips.

Nanny stumped forward and took the limp hand in hers. “My pretty! My baby!” she crooned. “Oh, my pretty girl! Nanny’s here now!”

Richenda heard nothing. She still lay in that heavy, drugged sleep which had mercifully put an end to her pain for the time being. Sister touched the Professor on the arm. “We must go now. She will sleep another hour and then Herr Fincke will come. You have had a journey. You must have Frühstück. See, Herr von Francius has taken a room for you in one of the hotels. I will give you the name downstairs. You will go there, and after a meal and perhaps a rest, you will come back. Then we may have news for you. Good news, I hope. But now, you can do nothing. Later, when all goes on well, she will be glad to have her papa with her. Come, now!”

Nanny looked across at her imploringly. “I’d like to stay, Madam. I could sit here and give her a drink or anything she wanted.”

Sister shook her head. “Not now, but later,” she added consolingly. “We will take good care of her. Nurse will give her all she wants. And you, also, must be weary. You shall come back soon. Now go with the Herr Professor and eat and rest.”

Dearly would Nanny have liked to argue the point, but she recognised that she must not. She stumped out of the room after them, and Sister took them back to the little waiting-room where Miss Annersley had now joined her mistresses.

“We won’t talk here, Professor,” she said quietly. “Herr von Francius has rooms booked for you and Nanny at the Schweizerhof. Miss Dene will drive us there now, and you must have a meal while I tell you what I know.” She turned to Night Sister and spoke in German. “What is the verdict now, Sister? Is there any general improvement in her condition.”

Sister nodded. “Oh, yes! The pulse is steadier and stronger and she looks more natural. I think, even, she is sleeping more easily. Of course, that is partly the drug. But—yes, I think we may say there is a slight improvement. Perhaps, even, Herr Fincke may be able to make his thorough examination this morning. At least, he will try. The oils may have helped considerably. We will hope.”

“Thank God for that!” Miss Annersley spoke fervently. “Thank you, then, Sister. I will take the Herr Professor and her nurse to the hotel and see them safely established there and then ring up the school. Richenda’s friends will want to know the latest news of her. I hope you will have even better news for me later.”

All this was Greek to Nanny, but the Professor could follow it easily enough, though he himself spoke German badly and with a good strong British accent. He could read fluently though, and as he heard the Head’s quiet words, the first gleam of hope came into his eyes.

“Spare no expense, Sister,” he said, stumbling a little to find words. “I will gladly pay anything if you can save her sight.”

“But that is of course,” Sister said in her much readier English. “But we will see what Herr Fincke has to say later.” Then she escorted them to the street door, Rosalie Dene and Kathie Ferrars following them meekly.

It was something of a crush in the car, but they managed and it was not too far to the Schweizerhof where Rosalie decanted the Head and the other pair before driving off. She must get herself and Miss Ferrars back to school for the day’s work and they would breakfast at Interlaken before tackling the mountain road up. And even driving at a pace that would have seen her in the police court for furious driving at least half-a-dozen times, did not get them back at the Chalet School until most of the morning’s church services were over. The girls arrived back twenty minutes later.

The Catholics were first to arrive, and the Maynard triplets made a beeline for the office to find out if Miss Dene had come back from Berne. She met them at the door and told them that there seemed to be a tiny improvement in Richenda. Then she added with a smile, “And your father has just been on the phone to me. Your mother has had her operation and has come through it splendidly. He had just been allowed to see her and she had roused up, had a drink of milk and was fast asleep. So you’ve nothing to worry about there. Please God, we shall be able to say that about Richenda presently. Now run along and take your things off and get ready for Mittagessen.”

“Has Ricki’s father come?” Len demanded.

“Yes, and her Nanny. I’m ringing up the hotel after Mittagessen and if you three obey me at once, I’ll tell you what Miss Annersley says. Now be off!”

They fled on the word and were rewarded later by hearing that Richenda had roused out of her drugged sleep with less pain in her eyes, though Herr Fincke had thought it wise to put off the examination till a little later. But he had assured everyone concerned that he had hopes that the sight was not permanently injured. At first, he had none.

Miss Annersley was staying down until the examination was over. She went to the hospital with the Professor and Nanny in the afternoon, and waited for them with Matron who gave her rather more detail than she had done before.

“The right eye is decidedly better,” she said. “Herr Fincke is almost sure that the sight will be completely restored to it. About the left, he is more doubtful. She has a good deal of pain there.”

Upstairs, Richenda, lying with bandaged eyes, was nearly stunned to hear her father’s voice shaking as he said, “My poor little girl! But they tell me they hope to relieve the pain entirely before long.”

“Is—is it you, Father?” she asked weakly.

“Yes, child. Did you think I would stay away when I heard what had happened?”

“I didn’t know what you would do,” she said.

He laid his hand on hers and suddenly she was clinging to it. “Father! You’ll tell me the truth, I know! You are very hard, but you never lie! Am I—am I—blind—for ever?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Your eyes are bandaged now to give them a chance. But the oculist assures me that your right eye will probably be normal. The pain is nearly gone there, isn’t it? It may mean wearing glasses for a time, but you won’t be blind. You—you must be thinking what sort of frames you would like and what colour,” he added, startingly.

Richenda laughed feebly. “I don’t really care so long as I can see again some time. And the pain isn’t too bad now. It was awful at first.”

“Yes, but that’s over. If you go on improving as you are doing, Herr Fincke, your oculist, will make a thorough examination tomorrow, and then he will be able to tell us exactly what we may hope for. He even thinks the eyes may both come right in time. But it must depend on you, partly. You must try to keep quiet so that you get strong quickly. And Richenda! When Christmas comes, you shall have the Khang-he vase for your own. Now Nurse is making faces at me, so I suppose I must go, but I’ll be back again soon. Nanny is coming to see you after tea and then no more visitors till tomorrow, I suppose. Good-bye, child. Keep up your heart. You’ll be better soon.” He bent and kissed her and then went away, leaving her nearly gasping with surprise.

Herr Fincke made his examination next day. It was a trying business for Richenda. The right eye was much better, but the left, which had got most of the fluid, was still very painful. But she set her teeth and bore it as well as she could.

Her father was waiting for the verdict, unable to sit still, so anxious was he. Not even Miss Annersley could calm him, though she did her best. At long last, the great man came, and his face as he entered told them before he spoke that it was good news.

Striding across the floor with broad smiles on his typically German face, he caught the Professor’s hands in his and shook them vigorously. “Herr Professor, I give you joy! Das Mädchen will regain her sight. The right eye is but little harmed and the left will recover. Oh, not soon. There is great need for patience. But by the time she is twenty or twenty-one, she will cast aside her spectacles and see as well as ever.”

Professor Fry released his hands as gently as he could. The good man’s shaking was so hearty, the Englishman felt as if his arms would be shaken off.

“I am very thankful to hear you say it,” he said. “I feel we owe a great deal to you and to the nurses and sisters of this fine place.”

Herr Fincke shrugged his shoulders and gave Matron a comical look. “These phlegmatic English!” it seemed to say. “How can one understand them?”

But if Professor Fry seemed to take it calmly, Nanny did not. She burst into tears and wept heartily. Herr Fincke could understand this and he was very good to her, patting her on the shoulder and assuring her that all need for tears was gone. Das Mädchen would see as well as ever, though she must certainly wear glasses for the next few years.

Miss Annersley felt choky, but she had her emotions under better control than Nanny. She held out her hand to Herr Fincke with a few well-chosen words of gratitude and relief. At last, they got away from the excitable oculist, and were allowed to go and see Richenda. The bandage over the right eye had been removed, but the left one was still there. She beamed at them with the one bloodshot optic.

“It’s all right, Richenda,” her father said in his quiet voice. “You won’t be blind. We may be very thankful. I know I am.”

“Oh, so am I!” his daughter cried. “It’s lovely to be able to see again, even if it’s only with one eye and in such a dim light. But I shouldn’t like it any brighter at present. Light hurts it.”

“That will soon pass,” Miss Annersley said with a smile. “And now I really must say good-bye to you for the next few days. The school needs me. So I’ll say good-bye for the present. I may be able to come down again later on in the week. But you won’t need me. You have your father and Nanny now.”

“Yes,” Richenda agreed. “But I’d still like to see you some time, Miss Annersley. Herr Fincke says I must stay here for another fortnight for treatment, though he hopes that by that time, the eye will be much better and I can come back to school.” Then she added anxiously, “Must I be out of the play?”

The Head laughed outright. “You don’t sound as if you would need much longer here. No, you shall keep your part. Now I must go. Miss Dene is waiting for me with the car and I’m sure the work has been piling up while I’ve been away. Good-bye, dear. Hurry up and get well. We shall all be glad to see you back again.”

She went to be whirled back to the school, where as she ruefully regarded the piles of letters on her desk, she felt that the work had been gathering while she was absent. However, she forgot it when she read a long letter from Lady Russell, once Madge Bettany, and founder of the school. It told her that Joey, having come through the operation as well as anyone could wish, was now recovering by leaps and bounds and insisting that the middle of next week would see her and Jack off on their second honeymoon.

So all went well and the only people to remain unsatisfied were the Van Allen family. Mr. Van Allen had to interview Professor Fry and heard in very plain English just what that gentleman thought of the way Junior had been brought up. The Professor made no attempt to mince matters and when Mr. Van Allen protested that he had given his youngster “the father and mother of a hiding”, all the Englishman said was that it was a pity it had been so long delayed! He refused to allow the Van Allens to pay Richenda’s expenses, though they were only too eager to do so. In short, the entire family were thankful to get away from Berne. However, thereafter, Master Junior found that he must behave himself and even Mrs. Van Allen discovered that, thanks to his father’s firm hand, life was much easier for her where he was concerned than it had ever been since he was born.

After all, Richenda did not take her part in the Christmas play. In fact, she did not return to school until the last week of term. The shock and pain caused by Master Junior Van Allen’s squirting, had upset her nerves. She was thin and pale and jumpy, and the doctors advised the Professor to take her further south where it was hoped, the warm soft air would steady her. So as soon as the left eye seemed to be healing, they packed up and went off to a little village in the Ticino where they had rooms in a chalet, and the warmth, quiet, and as much rich milk as she could drink, soon mended the jangled nerves. Even so, there was no question of her return to school until after Christmas. However, she begged to go back for the play and her father agreed.

A letter from her to Freudesheim brought an instant invitation to all three of them—Nanny was included—to stay there for the few days of their visit, so it was with Mrs. Maynard, looking as if nothing had ever been wrong with her, that Richenda drove to St. Luke’s Hall, the hall built close to the Sanatorium gates, all agog about the play.

Most of the girls were behind the scenes in the dressing-rooms, but Len, who was a herald, had dressed early, flung a great shawl over her fineries and was in the little portico, looking out for them.

“Your legs!” Joey said as she surveyed her daughter whose legs, protruding from her tabard, did indeed, look unusually long.

“What’s wrong with them?” Len protested. “I can’t help it if they’re on the long side. Look at the height of you and Papa!”

“Oh, I know. But just now, you look all legs! Hurry up and talk, you two. It’s chilly in this place and we’re blocking up the entrance anyhow.”

Len grinned and turned to Richenda with an eager question about her eyes.

“Oh, getting better, thank goodness!” Richenda replied. “The right one is nearly well again. The left isn’t too good yet, but it will be in time. They all say so. How d’you like my glasses?”

Len grinned as she surveyed the glasses in their bright blue rims and with an elfish upward tilt at the corners which were perched on her friend’s nose. “They might be a lot worse. On the whole, I rather like them. They give you an intellectual look!”

“I’m sure they don’t!” Richenda protested. “Anyhow, I’ve got to wear them, worse luck! I loathed them at first, but now I’ve got accustomed to them.”

“Len Maynard! What are you doing here?” exclaimed a well-known voice as Nancy Wilmot appeared. “Joey, I’m surprised at you encouraging her! Back you go! Hello, Ricki! Eyes better? Good! We’re looking forward to having you back next term, so mind you don’t disappoint us. Jo, your seats are in row D with the twins in front of you so that you can restrain them if they start anything. I must fly! It’s nearly time for the overture!” And she turned and vanished, leaving Jo and Richenda to go in, each holding a twin’s hand firmly, and take their places.

Jack Maynard and the Professor had elected to sit elsewhere, Jack asserting that the antics of the twins were going to be no concern of his! They got the twins safely into their seats and took their own, and just as Joey opened her programme, Mr. Denny, brother of Miss Denny and choir-master to the school, appeared on the conductor’s rostrum and was welcomed by a round of applause. He bowed gravely and then turned to his orchestra, made up largely of pupils from St. Mildred’s. He tapped on his desk and all instruments came to the “Ready”. Then the glockenspiel played by the art master, Herr Laubach, rang out its bells in a Christmas peal, very softly at first and gradually swelling with a crescendo into a triumphant crashing and the strings and woodwind swept into the overture.

It was the product of the genius of Nina Rutherford, a pupil who had left at the end of the previous term to take up her music studies seriously at a world-famous conservatoire. Nina was touched with the magical gift of genius and this little overture, immature as it was, gave promise of much bigger things to come in the days when she should have fuller experience. It ended with the Christmas peal again, this time beginning fortissimo and dying away to the softest pianissimo as the curtains swept back to show a magnificent banqueting hall of the Middle Ages. A long table stood across the back of the stage with gaily-clad people sitting round it. In the centre were obviously the lord and lady—Hilary Bennet and Vi Lucy, two of the prefects—and a jester clad in blue and yellow, was running round, hitting people with his bauble, cracking jokes—many of them so highly topical that the actors laughed most naturally. No one had expected Doris Hill to be so funny, but she seemed to have remembered quite a number of contretemps and now put them to good use. Suddenly, there came a thundering knock at the door and the herald appeared, gorgeous in quartered tabard, her long legs flashing redly as she strode to the centre of the stage, blew a blast on her trumpet—Joey put up her hands to her ears—and then said in stentorian tones, “A messenger from the King’s Grace! He has been benighted and desires to pass his Christmas here with you, my Lord. He will be here anon!”

Instantly, all was bustle and excitement. A number of servants rushed in to straighten the table. A Butler whisked off some of the empty dishes and everyone began to tidy their attire. This king was young and just recently crowned, and much was expected from him. He had great positions in his gift and more than one of the revellers speculated aloud as to what this might lead to.

Rosamund Lilley, one of the ladies, nearly convulsed Joey by remarking as she put her high horned coif straight, “He isn’t married yet, you know. There’s a chance for one of us. Do I look meet to be presented?” To which her opposite number, Gwen Parry from VIb, replied in unnaturally squeaky tones, “As meet as you ever do. But do you think a crown would go well with your nose, my dear?”

They had just got everything into order when the Herald appeared again and everyone sat up and the ladies preened themselves. But it was not the King he came to announce, but a couple of beggars who sought shelter for the night. The Lord frowned on it at once, but the Lady pleaded that it was Christmas Night. They could turn no one from their doors lest in doing so, they should refuse Christ Himself. The Herald clinched it by saying, “They have a babe with them, lady.” So the Lord relented and the pair were brought in.

Tall Prunella Davies made an excellent Man in a ragged brown tunic, baggy knickers to match, and a rough cloak flung over all. Barbara Chester of the fair curls looked very sweet as the Woman in her shawl which she threw aside to reveal a real live baby. Mrs. Graves had been coaxed to let her younger daughter Loïs be carried on. Loïs was a very placid baby and she sat up in Barbara’s arms and cooed at the audience who would have applauded had they not known beforehand that all applause was forbidden for a Nativity play.

Hilary Graves, seated at the end of the front row, ready to fly to the rescue if Loïs should start to yell, heaved a sigh of relief and sat back to hush Marjorie, her elder girl, who was “two and a bit” to quote Joan Baker, and a very up-and-coming young person. Marjorie, sitting on her mother’s knee, had bounced up to announce at the top of her voice, “Vat’s my sister!” before anyone could stop her.

“Now she knows!” Joey muttered to Richenda. Then she grabbed Felix hastily. “Shut up, Felix! You’re not to talk, even if Marjorie did!”

The ragged pair thanked the Lord and the Lady and humbly took a seat behind the table in accordance with the orders of the haughty Butler, who bade them keep out of sight as the King himself was coming.

Another fanfare on the trumpet and the Herald announced his Lord’s greatest enemy who had been lost in the snowstorm raging outside. The Lord stood aghast, but once more the Lady pleaded the Night, and so he, too, was made welcome. At long last the King came, and Mary-Lou, truly regal in her crimson robes, with a circlet set on her sunny curls, strode in. He replied to the greeting of the company and then looked round.

“Heeded ye my forerunners?” he asked. “The beggar pair; the lost enemy? Are they here and welcome?”

The Beggars came forward and Loïs created a sensation by leaning out of her stage mother’s arms and holding out her hands to Mary-Lou. This was an unrehearsed effect, but Mary-Lou rose to the occasion. Stepping forward, she took Loïs who crooned and chuckled to herself as she grabbed at the gold paper chain the King wore round his neck. With superb self-possession, Mary-Lou gently held the small hands as she continued with her speech, the gist of which was that those who showed compassion on poor as well as rich, enemies as well as friends, were those he needed round him at his court. The Lord was bidden prepare to attend as King’s Adviser and the Lady was to take the place of Royal Almoner. The curtain fell on this and at once was raised to show a back-drop of a garden with a bevy of angels—the school choir—who sang very sweetly the old carol, Quem Pastores. As they finished, the curtains fell again, rising a minute or so later to show a Tudor scene, with children running in fresh and rosy, the boys swinging skates made of sheeps’ marrow-bones and the girls merely dancing gaily. They had been out to bring in the Yule log and amid cheering, Joan Baker and Sue Meadows came in, dragging a log wreathed in holly, with the two smallest Juniors sitting astride it, waving their hands and cheering as lustily as the others. A lady in Tudor dress entered, and greeted them all, bidding them hasten for the frumenty and plum porridge were ready and the Mummers would soon be there. Immediately the log was hauled to the enormous hearth behind the table and among them, they got it lifted on. And now came a grand effect. They had fixed coloured electric bulbs among the red and white papers and sticks that filled the hearth. Miss Derwent behind the scenes was waiting, and when the log was in position, she switched them on so that crimson and amber lights flared up inside the hearth, giving a very realistic effect of the log catching afire.

But almost before the audience had done more than catch their breath, a bang at the door heralded the Mummers who marched in, singing the Mummers’ carol. A very brief Mumming play followed and the curtains fell on the serving men and maids coming in, bearing the traditional Christmas dishes of frumenty, plum porridge and grandest of all, the boar’s head from which real steam issued, as a bowl of boiling water had been set inside the papier-maché model. From behind the curtains, came the voices of the choir singing the Boar’s Head Carol and then there came the interval when tea and coffee were passed along the rows. There was a good deal of scene-shifting to do for this next scene which was very elaborate.

A bell rang, and the orchestra struck up the charming Dutch carol Lord Jesus hath a Garden. Then the curtains opened to show a back-drop of a room in which were seated a Victorian lady and gentleman, both in deepest mourning. From their talk, the audience learned that they had just lost their only child and Christmas meant nothing to them now, but sorrow. They remembered past Christmases and the joy they had had, but all that was ended.

A bell rang sharply and a maid appeared to say that two little beggar children in rags and barefoot, were begging at the door. Should she send them away. The stricken pair waved her off at first, but she said, “They’re awful little and the littlest one is a girl, just six years old. She’s crying with the cold and hunger.”

That gave them pause. Finally, the lady said, “Bring them in, Mary-Ann. We can at least warm and feed them.”

Mary-Ann went off and returned with two of the most pitiable-looking little objects that ever appeared on a stage. They were dirty, ragged and someone had used grease-paint liberally to turn their hands and feet blue and red. They stood still gaping with wide-open mouths at the scene before them. In fact, Ailie Russel overdid it, and as Joey said later, looked positively mental! The lady rose suddenly, touched Ailie’s fair curls and said in a choking voice—Lesley Bethune was nearly suffocating with laughter at Ailie’s expression!—“Fair hair, just like hers!”

The little ragamuffins were brought to the fire and the maid sent to seek food for them while their hosts questioned them and found that the two were orphans. Mother was dead and Father had been lost at sea. No one wanted them and they had no home and no one to care for them.

The gentleman looked across at the lady and she nodded, her arm round the girl. The kindly maid was beaming broadly as the children were told that if they would, they should have a home here with a new father and mother, and Christmas day should be a real Christmas Day for them. The maid ushered them out with the remark that they’d better begin by having hot baths. Then the lady looked across at the gentleman, saying, “I believe our darling would be glad about this. I’m sure she sent them to us. Oh, if only I knew she was really happy away from us!”

The tune of the Dutch carol began again as the stage was dimmed. A minute later, the lights came up and the pair were gazing at a space where the fireplace had been. It had vanished and in its place was a garden scene with children in white running gaily about, playing with flowers. One little one came from the group to hold out her hands and say very slowly and distinctly, “Oh, Papa and Mamma! I am so very happy here in the Garden and you will make those others happy and be happy, too.”

It had taken the united efforts of the prefects to get the words correctly into Valerie Ford’s memory, and even at that moment, they had all held their breath, wondering whether she would make a muddle of it. But she came through triumphantly. The stage was blacked-out and when the lights went up again, it was to show the angel choir standing in serried rows, long scrolls held among them, and singing with all their hearts, In the Fields with their Flocks Abiding.

As the carol ended, the curtains fell and the choir sang again, this time, hidden, Love came down at Christmas to a tune composed by Mr. Denny himself. Then they rose to show the crown of the Christmas Story—the Stable at Bethlehem.

Verity Carey was the Madonna, very sweet and serious in her blue robes, bending over the trough in which lay the Bambino they kept for this purpose. Behind her, stood Lesley Malcolm, the St. Joseph. A sheep, Joey’s big St. Bernard, Bruno, and a tiny donkey stood at the foot of the trough. That was all that was to be seen in the softly-lighted picture. Then came the shepherds in their tunics and cloaks of dyed sacking and carrying crooks, to kneel to worship at the Manger. They were followed by the three Kings, bearing the traditional gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh. The people from the other parts of the play followed, all bringing offerings which the Madonna acknowledged by a slow raising of one hand. Finally, the angels trooped in and took their places in the shadowy back and sides of the stage. Tiers were there and soon the whole scene was lined with them, all in white to make a background for the gay colours of the mortals. The whole stage was flooded with amber light and the orchestra broke into the hymn with which all Chalet School Nativity plays ended—the Adeste, sung in Latin.

“What a wonderful play!” Richenda said to Joey as, the curtains having fallen for the last time, she roused from the trance into which she had fallen.

Joey looked at her absorbed face. “Yes, my sister wrote it and this year, she said she meant to dwell particularly on love and compassion, for the Christmas Story is one of Love and compassion—Love come down from Heaven through compassion on His poor children. Remember that, Ricki.” Then she quoted in her beautiful golden voice, “And the greatest of these is love!”

Richenda made no reply, but it remained with her.

She and her father and Nanny were going back to the Ticino for Christmas as it was doing her so much good. Joey, looking at her thought that in spite of the glasses, she looked very well and she was certainly happy.

The school broke up on the Tuesday and the Frys stayed till then, for Richenda had to pack her belongings. He stayed at Freudesheim, but she, by dint of coaxing, got leave to spend that last week-end at school. They all came home early on the Tuesday morning to find Jack and the car waiting to take the Frys back to their temporary home in South Switzerland.

“Well,” Joey said as she kissed Richenda good-bye, “how has it been, Ricki?”

Richenda knew what she meant. “It’ll be all right now,” she said joyfully. “Father really does understand and he says that when we go home, he’ll begin to teach me about ceramics, a little at a time. He’s quite different, Mrs. Maynard. I think someone must have been explaining things to him—Miss Annersley, perhaps. Anyhow, he does understand and I don’t think we’ll ever again try to make each other so miserable as we did before. I only wish I knew who it was that I could thank them. But I can’t very well go barging in on the Head and ask her, can I?”

“Not if you want to remain alive!” Joey assured her with dancing eyes. Though Richenda was not to know it for a long time, her thanks had reached the right person, for Joey had made it her business to have a good talk with Professor Fry the very night she came home from her second honeymoon, and had seen to it that he did, indeed, understand.

“And you’re glad you left Maggie’s and came here?” she asked, knowing well what the reply would be.

“Glad? Well, what do you think?” Richenda retorted as she raced to the car where her father was calling to her to hurry up or they would miss their train. “I loved Maggie’s when I was there, but the Chalet School really is Something!”

[End of The Chalet School and Richenda, by Elinor Mary Brent-Dyer]