* A Distributed Proofreaders Canada eBook *

This eBook is made available at no cost and with very few restrictions. These restrictions apply only if (1) you make a change in the eBook (other than alteration for different display devices), or (2) you are making commercial use of the eBook. If either of these conditions applies, please contact a https://www.fadedpage.com administrator before proceeding. Thousands more FREE eBooks are available at https://www.fadedpage.com.

This work is in the Canadian public domain, but may be under copyright in some countries. If you live outside Canada, check your country's copyright laws. IF THE BOOK IS UNDER COPYRIGHT IN YOUR COUNTRY, DO NOT DOWNLOAD OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS FILE.

This eBook was produced by: Alex White, Hugh Stewart & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net

“Well, Joan, I think that covers everything.” Major Glenyon shuffled his papers together and rose briskly to his feet.

His sister put out a staying hand. “Not quite everything, Bernard. You’ve forgotten one very important item.”

“Eh? What’s that?”

“Althea? What about Althea?”

“You’ll look after her as usual, won’t you? It’s only for a year—.”

“Oh, no, thank you! Now listen to me, Bear. If Althea had been a normal sort of girl, everything else being equal, I should probably have agreed to have her; but everything else isn’t equal and, apart from that, she’s still delicate and I don’t feel disposed to go on taking the responsibility, even if—.”

At this point Althea suddenly realised that she was listening to something private and stirred behind the heavy curtains which partly covered the window-seat where she had been lying reading.

“Sorry, but I’m here,” she said. “I thought you knew.”

Her elders turned startled faces on her. “Althea! Have you been there all the time?” her father demanded severely. “Eavesdropping!”

The hot colour flooded Althea’s normally pale cheeks. “Oh, Daddy, I wasn’t! Honestly, I wasn’t! I never heard a word until Auntie said my name. I was reading.” She held up her book as proof of the truth of her statement.

“Oh, I see.” The Major knew that once his daughter was buried in a book she was, to all intents and purposes, deaf and blind to anything that might be going on round her. “Sorry, old lady!”

There was an awkward pause which was broken by Miss Glenyon. “Well, it’s too late to do anything but to let Althea know what’s going to happen and talk all this over with her. After all, it concerns her more than anyone else at the moment.” She glanced at her brother and he sat down again, heavily.

“What’s going to happen?” Althea asked apprehensively, dropping her book beside her after she had swung her legs down and sat up on the broad window-seat.

The Major drew a deep breath. “Look here, Ally, we hadn’t meant to tell you more than we absolutely must but since you’ve heard so much you’d better know the lot. You know how ill Mummy has been?”

Althea nodded but her blue eyes were dark with fear. “It’s—she’s truly getting better now, isn’t she?”

Her aunt nodded and spoke quickly. “Oh, yes; you needn’t be afraid now. But she’s not getting strong as fast as we should like and the doctor has told your father that the best thing for her will be a long sea-voyage.”

“And she’s going? But she couldn’t go alone. She isn’t nearly well enough for that.”

“Right!” Her father spoke. “She certainly isn’t. I’m going with her.”

“Oh? But what’s going to happen to us? I heard Auntie say she wouldn’t have me.” She cast a reproachful look at her aunt. “Who will look after the house—and me? What about the boys when the hols come?”

Miss Glenyon spoke quickly. “It isn’t that I don’t want you, Ally. I simply can’t have you. For one thing, I’m going to be married quite soon—to Dr Kennedy. It should have been six months ago, but your mother was too ill then. We’ve had to put off our wedding all that time and I can’t ask him to wait another year. For one thing he’s going out to Australia and I won’t let him go alone any more than your father will let your mother go alone. It’s all been arranged for a week now. We sail in a fortnight’s time.”

Althea gasped. “But—but I never even knew that you were engaged.”

“No; it happened just before your mother’s collapse and at first I couldn’t say anything about it.”

“But who is Dr Kennedy? I’ve never heard about him or seen him.”

“I know. We met last summer when I was in Ireland. Your father and mother knew that, and if things had been as usual he would have come over and met you all. As it is, it had to be left. Now he has been appointed to this good post in Australia and as your mother is really convalescent now, he has asked me to marry him and go out with him and I’ve agreed. So you can understand that I can’t go back on my word. We sail the week after next. I’ve given up this flat—I leave it on Wednesday next—and the incoming tenants are taking over most of the furniture. I had no idea your mother was to be ordered a sea-voyage and that your father intended to go with her, expecting me to go down and take over the Hawthorns as usual.”

“If you’d only told us about your plans instead of keeping them to yourself as you have done!” barked the Major.

“Bear—I had to do that. If—if things had gone differently I should have had to make other plans. I couldn’t have left you to carry on by yourself with Ally and Tony, not to mention the other two. Thank God there’s no need to fear that now, and no need for me to disappoint Dermot! I’m sorry I can’t help you out, Bernard, but I’m not getting any younger and I want my own life.”

The Major frowned. Then his brows relaxed. “Good old Joanie! I agree that it’s time you had a life of your own. But it’s come as a shock, you know. Mary and I thought it would be all right for Althea for we could have closed the Hawthorns and she could have been here with you and go to that good school near here when the school year started.”

“Well, you’ll have to write that off!” his sister retorted.

At that point the doorbell rang and she went to answer it, shutting the door of the living-room behind her. The Major turned ruefully to his daughter. “Well, that seems to be that! Don’t worry, Ally. We’ll fix up something for you all right. Mummy and I aren’t going just yet. For one thing, I’ve got to see what passages I can book for us and it isn’t always easy to get bookings just when you want them. I don’t suppose we’ll leave before the end of next month at soonest. Plenty of time to make arrangements for you. Tony will be all right. Strangeways runs a home-from-home for boys whose parents are out of the country and he can spend his holidays there. But you—”

Althea looked up eagerly. “Oh, Daddy, couldn’t I go to boarding-school, too? It’s what I’ve always wanted.”

He looked doubtful. “I don’t know. A girl who catches a cold if it comes within a mile of her, not to speak of any infectious disease that’s going, isn’t exactly welcome at most boarding-schools.”

Althea’s face fell. “No-o; I suppose not. But then what will you do with me?”

Before her father could reply the door was flung open and her aunt dashed in, her face aglow and her eyes dancing. “Oh, Bernard, Dermot can solve all our difficulties with Ally! Oh, by the way, this is Dermot. Dermot, this is my brother, Bernard. And this,” she wheeled round as the two men shook hands, “is your future niece, Althea. Ally, your Uncle Dermot-to-be knows of a really decent school for you—the very place. It’s in Switzerland, high up in the Alps, and it was partly founded for girls like you who give their people continual shocks with their health. His—cousin, did you say, Dermot?—was there, though there was nothing wrong with her.”

“Whoa, there, Joanie! Let a chap edge a word in!” Dr Kennedy was laughing. “We must go into this carefully. Hello, Althea! Let’s sit down and talk it over.” But his eyes were keenly on the small pale face framed in longish fair hair with the faint shadow under the blue eyes and the hollows at temples and under the cheekbones, sure signs of delicacy. He turned to the Major. “If they have a vacancy there, Glenyon, I can assure you that Althea will have every care, mentally, morally and physically; first-rate teaching, and friends ready to welcome her, or I miss my guess. Young Clare was there because her elder sister, Roseen, was threatened with lung trouble and ordered Alpine treatment. There’s a big sanatorium at one end of the Görnetz Platz and at the other is the school which is run partly in conjunction with it. Oh, not that the girls, or even most of them, are delicate or have relatives who need treatment; but that’s how it began. Judging by Clare and her pals I can thoroughly recommend it, and from all Joanie has told me about Althea I judge it’s the very place for her.”

“What school is it?” Althea asked eagerly.

He laughed. “You may even have heard of it. It’s the Chalet School.”

“The Chalet School!” gasped Althea. “But that’s where those girls we met last summer when we were at Barnard Castle went. Don’t you remember? Anne and Jack Lambert? We were staying in the same hotel. Oh, they told me heaps about it. I should like to go there. They’re both older than me but they were awfully nice and friendly. Anne was nearly sixteen, and Jack was fourteen and I liked them awfully. They told me about the Sanatorium, too. Oh, if you and Mummy can’t take me with you and Auntie can’t have me, either, I’d like to go there most of all!”

“We’ll have to talk it over,” the Major said. “A school like that doesn’t cost nothing, you know. And we must see what Mummy says. But it sounds a possible idea, certainly. I’d like a talk with you, Kennedy.”

“Oh, do make Mummy see it,” Althea implored. “I am stronger than I was and with all the doctors there I’d be awfully well looked after. And do you know what? Next door to the school is where the Head of the Sanatorium lives, and his wife is my favourite author—Josephine M. Bettany. And all their girls go to the school—except the baby one. Oh, if I’ve got to be parted from you and the boys for a whole year, do send me to the Chalet School, please—please!” She turned and caught up her book. “Why, I’m reading one of hers this minute—WERNER OF THE ALPS. It’s historical, but she writes magnificent school stories, too. Oh, please!”

The grown-ups laughed at her enthusiasm, and both her father and her aunt reminded her that they could make no promises yet; but the idea smoothed away the pain she had felt over Miss Glenyon’s flat refusal to take charge of her during her parents’ absence, and when she said goodbye to her new uncle and Aunt Joan a fortnight or so later, it was with the delighted news that it was all arranged and she was to go to the Chalet School at the beginning of the summer term.

Miss Annersley, Head of the Chalet School, pulled the telephone on her desk towards her and dialled a number. She was answered almost at once, for the telephone was a private one between the school and Freudesheim, the abode of the Maynard family, and Mrs Maynard happened to be in her study where the connection was.

“Hello! That you, Hilda? What’s come up now?” Her sweet clear voice reached the Head with a laugh hitched fore and aft of her query.

Miss Annersley laughed in reply. “Just that things are finally settled with the Glenyons, only I shall require your assistance.”

“As how?” Jo Maynard spoke briskly.

“Are you busy just now or may I come over for morning coffee?”

“Come and welcome. The blessed book won’t go and I’m giving it up as a bad job for the moment. What’s the snag?”

“I’ll tell you when I arrive. Expect me in ten minutes or so.” Hilda Annersley hung up on the last word. She crossed the room to the door which communicated with her secretary’s office and looked in.

Rosalie Dene, for many years school secretary and herself an Old Girl of the Chalet School, looked up with a smile. “Hello! Want me?”

“I’m going over to Freudesheim for coffee and a word with Jo. Want to come with me?”

Rosalie waved a hand towards the pile of correspondence with which she was dealing. “Not if you can do without me. I’d like to finish with this lot before Mittagessen. Biddy has rung up to invite me to Kaffee und Kuchen at Adlersnest. I’ve orders to go early and I don’t want to have to come back to work.”

“That will be all right.” The Head eyed the pile in the basket which held the still unanswered mail and flashed a sympathetic smile at her secretary. “Really, Rosalie, I think we must have that assistant for you after the summer holidays, if not before. It’s too much for one person to tackle.”

“I shouldn’t mind a part-time assistant,” Rosalie admitted. “We’d better think it over during the first half of the term. I have managed up to the present, but there are times and seasons when I rather wish that the art of writing had never become as common as it has.”

The Head looked at her sharply. “Not feeling overdone, are you?”

“Not at this date. What do you take me for? But I don’t mind owning that half-term is a welcome break when it comes. I’m ageing, I suppose.”

The Head laughed. “Hardly as yet. All right, then. That’s settled. The assistant comes when the school year begins and no more argument about it. Nothing to be gained by overworking the willing horse. I couldn’t do without you, as you very well know. All right; you carry on and be fresh for your party with Biddy and Co. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Meantime, kindly finish that letter you’re busy with and then go and have your own elevenses and a rest.” She nodded and left the office to seek her coat. It was midway through April and though the sun was shining, there was a sharp breeze blowing and the Görnetz Platz, lying more than 3,000 feet above sea-level, got the full benefit of it.

Joey Maynard was on the watch, and as her friend crossed the lawn towards the big french windows leading into her salon, she flung one door open.

“What a bite there is in the wind!” she cried as she ushered the Head into the great room where a welcome sight appeared in the shape of a brightly-glowing log fire. In Switzerland most of the houses have central heating or the big porcelain stoves that burn steadily throughout the cold months of the year; but when Joey came out from England to make her home in the Alps she had insisted that there must be one open fire in her house and here it was. “Take your coat off and sit down in your favourite seat. Anna will bring the coffee in a minute. I rang the bell when I saw you appear between the bushes—and here it is!”

The door had opened as she spoke and a stout, pleasant-faced woman in her middle forties came in, pushing a small trolley laden with china, coffeepot and a plateful of tiny cakes before her.

“Guten Tag, Anna,” Miss Annersley said.

“Guten Tag, gnädiges Fräulein,” Anna replied, beaming. She wheeled her trolley before her mistress, gave the pair another beam and then departed.

“Not fair!” Joey proclaimed as she surveyed the snack. “Anna never gives me cakes at this hour. She only provides biscuits for me.”

The Head laughed. “Anna knows my weakness. Well, Joey, how is everything this morning?”

“In the pink, not to say scarlet. Phil is beginning to eat like a horse and she’s getting about by herself much better—thank God!”

The Head nodded. “Thank God indeed!”

Little Phil, the youngest of the Freudesheim family, had been very ill with polio and only now was she making real progress.

Joey smiled. “As for the rest, Geoff’s as fit as a fiddle; Jack actually got a whole night in bed and I’m bouncing!” Joey handed a cup of Anna’s delicious coffee to her visitor and indicated the cakes. “Help yourself, my love. Where’s Rosalie, by the way?”

“Up to her eyes in correspondence. She’s going to Biddy’s this afternoon and wants to go with a free mind. Incidentally I think she’s going to give way at last and agree to having an assistant. It ought to have come two years ago but she objected so much I let it go. But now she’s realising that the correspondence, the care of the stockroom and the text-books as well as all her other outside ploys is rather more than enough. She actually said that she must be ageing!”

“Silly ass! She’s barely two years older than I am. If that’s what she calls ‘ageing’, I’m sorry for her!”

Miss Annersley looked at her with a broad smile. “Certainly, I see no signs of ageing about you.”

“I should hope not! Well, begin on the hanes.” Joey used the old Welsh word for news, a relic of the days when the Chalet School had been situated on the Welsh border.

“Well, we’ve made the final arrangements for that new girl, Althea Glenyon. I’ve finally agreed to take her.”

“I don’t see what else you could do. Oh, I know our tradition is to take no new pupils at the summer term, but we’ve been known to break it at need.”

“We have; and this certainly is at need. In fact, Joey, I’m going to bring you into it.”

“What?”

The Head nodded. “Just that. Sorry, Joey, but it’s a must.”

Joey leaned back in her chair. “What, exactly, do you mean by that?”

“Althea has to come to school early and you know what the last week of the holidays is like with us. I want you to take her for the two days before term begins. Now just keep calm and I’ll explain.”

“You’d better! I’m pretty busy myself by that time.”

“It’s not so bad as that for you. Your boys went off yesterday and, with three responsible elder girls, you don’t have to worry about packing for even Felix and Felicity and Cecil. You’ll only have Geoff and Phil to bother about when we begin and that’s something new for you.”

“How right you are! I see I shall have to consider those quads I threatened you all with—how long ago, now?—Nine years isn’t it?—Yes; nine years it is. The twins weren’t a year old and they’ll be nine in September. I shouldn’t mind now that Phil is practically on her feet again. I miss having a baby.”

“Aren’t eleven enough for you? Families of that size come expensive these days.”

“It’s not so bad as it sounds. The triplets and Steve have their own money that Grannie Maynard left them. The triplets come into theirs this November. Steve has his scholarship which covers his fees until he leaves school, when he’ll come into his share of the legacy. That’s four of them more or less provided for. It’s education that costs so much during the early years and the girls have cost us nothing there apart from extras like music and so on. However, four all at once might be rather much. Anyhow, I can’t just arrange it to suit myself.”

“Joey, does this mean that you are really adding to your family?”

“Wait and see,” Joey said aggravatingly.

Hilda Annersley looked at her meditatively. Then she returned to the previous topic. “I’ve a short story for you. Give me some more coffee and I’ll relate it to you.”

Joey held out a hand for her cup. “Here’s your coffee. Now give!”

“The new girl is, as you know, Althea Glenyon. She is thirteen, so as far as that goes, the right age. She has never been to school in her life before—”

Joey eyed her with interest. “Never been to school before? How come?”

Miss Annersley nodded. “I’ll tell you.” And forthwith proceeded to give Joey a succinct account of Althea’s history so far as she knew it—her continued delicacy—her recent work under a daily governess—her mother’s long and serious illness—the prospective departure on a long sea-voyage to convalesce—her aunt’s unexpected and impending marriage.

“But why haven’t we had the kid before?” Joey demanded when the tale came to an end. “Aren’t there any relations who could take her—elder brothers or sister’s, for instance? Or is she a one and only?”

“No sisters, but four brothers. The two eldest are past the boy stage. Paul is now at a theological college, training for the priesthood. Godfrey has begun his first term as master in a big prep school somewhere in the Midlands. The third boy is Frank, who is reading physics at London University. The fourth, Anthony, is still at prep school somewhere near Brighton. To all intents and purposes Althea has been brought up as an only child, for Tony was sent off to prep school at an early age. I gather that ‘stirring’ only faintly describes him.”

“Glorianna! What a situation!” Joey ejaculated. “But why haven’t we had the kid before this?”

“They’ve only just heard of us.”

“And how did they hear now?”

“Through the lady’s prospective uncle. Remember Clare Kennedy?”

Joey cast back her mind and then nodded. “I do indeed. An Irish girl with a saintly expression who was inwardly as wicked as she could be. Rather nice, though. Wasn’t she one of Mary-Lou’s crowd? She left school about two years ago—or was it three?”

“It was three. Clare must be nearly twenty-two now. She took a secretarial course and is now secretary to someone in London. Like all that crowd she was a very nice girl once she outgrew her monkey tricks. Anyhow, on Dr Kennedy’s recommendation plus her own enthusiastic account of the school, they have written asking us to take Althea. The only bother is that the Glenyons have the chance to leave at once and as everyone is agreed that the sooner Mrs Glenyon is taken out of her present surroundings the better, the Major leapt at it. But that leaves a gap between their departure and our beginning of term. Now do you see?”

“I do. A stickyish problem!”

“Sticky it is. Mrs Glenyon is going to worry about her girl until she knows that she is safely at school and worry is the last thing for her just now. We can’t have Althea at the school if it can possibly be avoided. You are the answer to the problem.”

“Oh, Heracles! Don’t you think I’ve enough of my own on my plate?”

“If it had been anyone else I’d have said yes. As it is, you being you, I think you can quite well take on a new girl when it’s just for two or three days. After all, you’ll have your triplets back next week and they can help. It isn’t as if you had all the worry and anxiety you’ve been having with Phil, bless her! She’s making strides and gaining every day. Jack told me he expects that by the time the summer ends she will be more or less all right again.” She paused. Then she went on in rather different tones. “Joey, you of all people, should know how to sympathize with another mother who has had a long time to worry about her girl. You can’t do anything else.”

“Oh, bother you!” Joey cried. “Of course I can’t! You’ve made it impossible for me to refuse. I owe it to God for Phil’s recovery. How can I say I won’t take this job on? But I could shake the life out of you. Just when I’d made up my mind to slacking off for a few days and taking a real rest, too.”

“What’s to hinder that? It is only for a few days.”

“Oh, not it isn’t! You know as well as I do that once I tangle with this girl I’m bound to carry on and, apart from my own crew, I’ve got young Erica and little Claire to consider, not to speak of Ruey Richardson. Oh, by the way, Ruey has decided to go in for P.T. training, so that’s her future settled, thank goodness! Oh, all right. I’ll take the job on.”

“I don’t see how you can do anything else,” Miss Annersley repeated.

“Well, what exactly do you want of me?”

“I want you to have Althea from Tuesday until the Thursday, when she can come to school with your own crowd. Just remember that she has never been parted from her mother before until this business came up. She has been frail all her life, though her father says she is outgrowing that now.”

“Barbara Chester over again, then, I suppose.”

“Very much so—except that it took measles in Barbara’s case.”

“Oh, well, goodness knows I’ve had plenty of practice with delicate children. First my own Margot and Chas, and then all the trouble we’ve had with poor little Phil this last year. Thank goodness, that seems to be at an end, though she’ll need watching for a while yet! All right, Hilda: I’ll play ball. And there’s one very good thing. As you know, Len has been staying with Simone this last month. She was coming back on Monday but I’ll ring Simone and ask her to keep Len till the Tuesday. Then Len can pick up this new kid in Paris and sheepdog her for the journey. By the way, how does—Althea, is it?—get to Paris?”

“Her former governess is bringing her as far as that. But Len is an inspiration. I’ve been wondering what we should do for an escort. Thank you, Joey.”

Joey nodded. “I only hope the poor bairn won’t be too miserable at first. Leaving her home and a convalescing mother behind her must be a bit of a pill.”

“And that,” said Hilda Annersley sweetly, “is exactly why I’ve presented you with the job. You’re the best person to tackle it. No, Joey; you couldn’t do anything else.”

Len Maynard, the eldest of the Maynard family—eldest by about half an hour—was standing on the platform of the Gare de l’Est in Paris from which the Paris-Wien express left in twenty minutes’ time. She was a tall, slim girl of between seventeen and eighteen. Her curly chestnut hair hung in a long tail down her back. She was exceedingly attractive with her clear, fresh colouring, delicate features and violet-grey eyes, not to mention her trim blue coat and the chic little hat which she had pulled on with fingers that had all a Frenchwoman’s gift of elegance. Althea, clinging close to her ex-governess’s side, eyed her shyly. She had recognized the Chalet School gentian-blue coat at once. Len was not behind her in that. Moving with the swift grace of a greyhound, she came forward, a welcoming hand held out.

“I’m sure you’re Althea Glenyon,” she said in a sweet, clear voice. “I’m Len Maynard and this,” with a quick smile at the plump little lady with Althea, “must be Miss Abel. How nice to meet you so quickly! We’ve just good time to get settled in our compartment. Is that all your luggage? Your trunk has gone in advance, hasn’t it?”

“I’m afraid it’s trunks,” said Miss Abel. “The Major thought it as well to get Althea everything she was likely to need for the whole year.”

“Good idea,” Len agreed. “Anyhow, if she is missing anything my mother will see to it for her. But I’m afraid we can’t stop chatting here. The train is always pretty prompt. Would you like to come and see how we are fixed for the journey, Miss Abel? Jump in, Althea—this compartment. That’s right. Come along, Miss Abel. You’ll have just nice time to inspect and then you can tell Mrs Glenyon about it when you write to report. There! How do you like this, Althea?”

Althea looked round the compartment. “It looks quite—jolly,” she said shyly.

“Comfy enough,” Len said with a smile at the younger girl. “But now you’ll have to say goodbye. Miss Abel, my mother phoned me last night and told me to be sure to ask you to come and see Althea when you could. We can always give you a bed for a night or two. Our house,” she added with a gay laugh, “was once a pension-hotel for tourists. We’ve oceans of room for visitors.”

“Oh please thank her very much,” Miss Abel said. “My new job is in Germany, you know, but if I can I will certainly take advantage of such a kind offer.” She turned to her ex-pupil. “I must say goodbye, Ally. I can see you’re going to enjoy life at the Chalet School. Please thank your mother for her very kind offer, Miss Maynard.”

Len almost jumped. She was not accustomed to being addressed as “Miss Maynard”. But already the carriage doors were being slammed and there was no time for more than a hasty goodbye on either side. Then Miss Abel left the carriage and Althea found herself alone with a total stranger. Len waited until the train was fairly under way and they were sitting down. Then she proceeded to take over responsibility.

“Is ‘Ally’ the way they shorten you?” she asked in friendly tones.

Althea nodded speechlessly. She was very shy by nature and the semi-invalid life she had led up to the present had intensified it.

“Is that what you want us to call you?” Len asked as she established the new girl in one of the corner seats and tossed up the cases and other impedimenta into the luggage-racks before sitting down in the opposite seat.

Althea pulled herself together. “Please, I’d rather use my proper name.”

“O.K. I don’t blame you. Althea is pretty and I prefer it myself. Althea it shall be and no nonsense.” She opened the little hand-case she had kept down and took from it a box of chocolates. “Have one of these. I can recommend those caramels if you like something chewy. Or what about a marzipan? Wire in!”

Althea took the first her fingers touched and discovered how delicious French chocolates can be. Meanwhile, Len was pulling out a book and a double pack of patience-cards while surreptitiously she watched her charge under her long lashes.

“Got anything to read?” she asked, still in the friendly tone.

“In my case,” Althea said. She pulled the little hand-case towards her and took out the new Josephine Bettany which Aunt Joan had bestowed on her as a farewell gift and which she had saved for the journey.

“Hello!” said Len with a chuckle. “So you’re another of Mamma’s fans?”

This jolted Althea out of her first shyness. “I think she’s simply marvellous!” she said. Then, “I’d forgotten she was your mother.”

“But you did know I was me, so to speak. I mean you knew my name was Maynard. Which have you got there?”

“THE SECRET OF CASTLE DANCING,” Althea said, showing it.

“Gosh! Her very latest! It’s only just out. You’ll be the envy of your form, my lamb. Put your name in it now. Half your lot will be wanting to borrow it when they see it. We’re all quite honest, I hope, even when it comes to borrowed books, which are things most likely to go astray, but it’s as well to take no risks. Here’s a pen. You get that name down now. Then you’ll be pretty safe. No one means to steal books, but you know how it is—books get handed on and somehow get lost in the process. Get your name in and be safe rather than sorry.”

“All of it?” Althea gasped.

“Well, ‘Althea Glenyon,’ anyway. Why? What is your full name?”

Althea eyed her doubtfully. “It’s Althea Mary Constance Helena,” she said watching Len’s reaction.

That young woman giggled! “Heavens! What a mouthful! And you’ve half-inched three of our names, by the way. One of my sisters is ‘Constance’ and I’m ‘Helena’, and we all three are ‘Mary’. Not,” she added, “that Con and I get our whole names. She’s ‘Con’ and I’m Len. It’s only Margot, the third member of our triplet, who is not shortened.”

“Triplet! Are you a triplet?” Althea exclaimed. “Oh, how marvellous! I’ve always wanted to meet a triplet, but I’ve never even met twins till now.”

“Then prepare yourself for a shock. You’ll meet us three and at home we have two lots of twins—Felix and Felicity, who are nearly nine, and our babies, who are three—Geoff and Phil.”

“Goodness! What a huge family!”

“Oh, you can add on three more—the boys who came after us three, oh, and Cecil, our fifth girl, who is just starting school properly this term.”

“It’s like a Charlotte Yonge family,” Althea said. “I’ve heard people say to Mummy that our family is large and there are just five of us—me and the boys. But eleven!”

Len laughed. “And Mamma and Papa are guardians to quite a number more,” she said. “There are the three Richardsons, and Erica Standish who is about your age, and last year we adopted a baby—Marie-Claire de Mabillon. You get Erica to tell you the story of how that came about. It’s her affair, actually. Marie-Claire is two-and-a-half now and a pet. Have another choc, by the way?” She held out the box.

“Do they really all live with you?” Althea asked when she had chosen one. “How do you all fit in? And now there’s me.”

“Well, Roger and Roddy Richardson aren’t very much with us. Roger is twenty-one and at the university and Roddy’s at school. Besides, they have cousins who live further along the Platz and are semi-relations of ours, too—Daisy and Laurie Rosomon, so Ruey and Roddy divide up their hols between us and them. But Erica and Claire are all ours. However, I’ll leave that yarn to young Erica. I imagine you’ll be in her form.”

“Yes; but I mayn’t be up to the work. I’ve never been to school before, you see.”

“Which mayn’t mean a thing. You’ve probably been jolly well grounded in the main things and you’ll get extra coaching in the rest where you need it. And now, my lamb, what about having a short spell of reading—or would you like the patience cards? D’you play patience, by the way?”

For the first time Althea broke into a laugh. “I know seventeen kinds,” she said solemnly.

“Fry me a pancake!” Len ejaculated. “Take the cards and have a go at one of the seventeen until the call comes for dinner.” She pushed the cards across the table.

Althea thanked her and proceeded to lay out the cards for Fishbone, which occupied her until the call came to the dining-car. When they returned to their own compartment it was to find that the attendant had been in and prepared the berths for the night. Len, with an eye to the fact that they must be ready to turn out when the train reached Basle about 6 a.m., persuaded her charge to go to bed at once.

“You can read once you’ve settled down,” she said.

Althea nodded. “What time do we reach the Görnetz Platz?” she asked as she combed out her fair hair preparatory to tying it into two tails for the night.

“That depends. If we can catch the mountain train that leaves Interlaken at 11.10 a.m. we’ll be there shortly after half-past. If not, it’s after midday. In time for Mittagessen, anyhow.”

Althea stared. “What’s that?” she asked.

“Lunch,” said Len with a laugh. “We’re in a German-speaking Canton, so we use German names for meals. Always have done.” She changed the subject. “Which berth do you want—upper or lower?”

“Oh, may I have the upper one—that is if you don’t want it?”

“O.K. You take the upper and I’ll have the lower. Up you go!”

Althea clambered up and settled down, while Len prepared for bed. There was no reason for sitting up. It was dark by this time so there was nothing to see from the window. Besides she knew that tomorrow would be a busy day for her and there was no point in arriving home tired out. The result of this was that both were sound asleep before ten o’clock and Althea at least slumbered peacefully until half-past five the next morning, when she was aroused by a gentle shake from Len who was fully dressed and as trim as possible.

“Wake up, Althea,” she said. “Only half-an-hour before we reach Basle.”

Althea sat up cautiously. “What about washing?” she asked.

“We can do that at the station. Our train for Interlaken doesn’t come in for another hour and the waiting-rooms in the station are a lot easier than the toilets on the train.”

Althea slid out of her berth and down to the floor, where she speedily got into her clothes. Len gave her a helping hand where needed and by the time the long train had come to rest in the equally long station, she was as trim as the elder girl with case in hand and ready to walk along the corridor, scramble down the steps and reach the platform.

Len wasted no time. She rushed her charge through the Customs and then marched her off to the waiting-room where, as the new girl discovered, there were toilet basins with plentiful hot water, towels and mirrors.

“Ten minutes for here,” Len said. “Then we’ll scram for the refreshment rooms and have hot rolls, jam and coffee.”

“Jam!” Althea gasped. “At this time of day!”

Len nodded. “Black cherry, and nifty to the last degree. You wait!”

Althea said no more, but a few minutes later, refreshed by a good splash, she was seated at a little table in the restaurant and sampling Swiss black cherry jam with a relish that amazed herself.

“What scrummy jam!” she exclaimed. “Do we ever get it at school?”

“Often,” Len assured her. “Karen—she’s our cook—prides herself on her jam. And so does our Anna at home. Another crescent? You’ve just time—Oh, Papa!” as a tall, fair man suddenly appeared behind them. “Oh, have you come to meet us? How decent of you! Althea, this is my father—Dr Maynard.”

“Welcome to Switzerland,” he said with a broad smile. Then he turned to his daughter and kissed her. “Well, my Long-Legs! All well at the Château?”

“Splendid! How’s Mamma—and Phil?”

“Mamma’s fit as a fiddle. As for Phil, she’s making strides. Lost her own appetite and found a horse’s. Also she’s getting about on her own feet instead of having to hang on to the furniture. Claire has produced a new double tooth with the minimum of fuss and,” this impressively, “prepare yourself for a shock. Erica’s hair has been cropped.”

“Cropped? What on earth for?”

“She had too much. We’ve had it cut with a deep fringe and it suits her.”

“Has she developed curls?” Len asked with a giggle.

“She has not. It takes Mary-Lou to do that. Give me your things if you two have had enough to eat and we’ll get off. The car’s outside. I thought I’d save you the extra train-journey, seeing I’ve had a free weekend, so I came down last night and we’ll have you at Freudesheim in short order.”

“Oh, good! Don’t you think I’ve a peach of a father, Althea?”

Althea’s shyness had returned full force, so she only nodded. Dr Maynard smiled at her. “She can’t be expected to know as soon as this,” he said. “Lead the way, Len. You know where to find the car. You’ve been through the Customs, I suppose?”

“What do you take me for?” his daughter asked scornfully. “We went there first thing.” She held out her arm. “Hang on, Althea. Don’t want to lose you in the scrum. This way!” She led the way out of the great station across to what Althea learned was called the Bahnhofplatz, where a big Mercedes-Benz was waiting. In it was a girl sufficiently like Len to proclaim her one of the triplets, though she was very much darker with black hair and deep brown eyes, but she had the same cameo-like features and pink-and-white complexion.

“Hello!” she said as the pair reached her. Her voice was as sweet as Len’s but, unlike that on-the-spot young person’s, was deep and lazy with a certain dreaminess about it. “Is this our new member? Welcome to our midst.”

“She’s Althea,” Len said briskly. “Althea, this is one of my triplet sisters. We’ve been parted during the holidays for once. Con went to Innsbruck to stay with a friend. I, as you know, have been in France. Margot, our third, stayed at home but she’s been away this weekend. When’s she due home, Con?”

“Not until the day after tomorrow.” Dr Maynard spoke as he came round from bestowing the two girls’ hand-luggage in the boot of the car. “The boys went back to school last week so there won’t be such an overwhelming number of us for Althea to get to know—only Felicity and Cecil besides the babies and you three and Erica and Claire. School begins on Thursday so there’ll be just nice time for you to get to know each other before Althea has to be plunged into the vortex.”

Con laughed. “Not such a vortex as it would have been if she had waited till the Christmas term—and then we three wouldn’t have been there. This is our last term at school, Althea. Then we two are going to Oxford and Margot is due at Edinburgh.”

At this point Dr Maynard slammed the door shut, let in his clutch and they began to move quietly out of the station yard and into the never-ending stream of traffic which even at this early hour was pouring down the Bahnhofstrasse. The working day begins early in Switzerland where the schools open at a quarter past seven and the shops at eight o’clock, though they partly make up for that by having a two-hours’ break in the middle of the day. While he was threading his way through the traffic, the doctor drove carefully. Once they had reached the outer suburbs, however, he let the powerful car out and they whirled down the wide Autobahn at a dizzying speed. They headed south-east for Olten then swung round to the south-west, making for Berne where they paused for coffee and cakes such as Althea had never tasted before. From Berne they drove in an easterly direction until they reached the gay little town of Thun and, taking the road along the south bank of the lake, finally turned off up a broad one to the right. Up and up they climbed, passing chalets and small villages where, as they mounted, streaks of snow still lingered in the furrows.

“This is the highroad to the Görnetz Platz,” Len said, turning in the front seat beside her father to the new girl. “This is the way the school coaches will take on Thursday when the term begins. Here we are at Ste Cecilie.”

“See those big buildings over there, Althea? That’s St Hilda’s, another school. We play them at games and share lectures and concerts and so on. Now round this curve and up to the new bridge.”

“What a long one!” Althea exclaimed as the car took the steep slope up to a handsome stone bridge crossing a gaily bubbling stream. “Why does it go so far back and front?”

“Because the stream has an awful tendency to flood during early spring and autumn,” Con told her. “Further down the stream the wooden bridge goes even farther at either end.”

“And needs to!” Len chimed in. “It’s for pedestrians and light cars only. You’ll be well acquainted with it before long. We often walk over to Ste Cecilie.”

A few minutes later they had rejoined the highroad till they turned down a little lane and finally drew up before tall double gates carefully closed. Len explained before she jumped out to open them. “We have adventurous brats in the family, likewise a big St Bernard. The gates have to shut against the lot, so don’t forget if you ever come to Freudesheim by the road.”

“That’s not likely,” Con said with conviction as they waited for Len to close the said gates behind the car and scramble back into her seat. “The school comes to Freudesheim through the shrubbery. Look Althea! This is Freudesheim, our home. Think you can be happy here?”

“Why?” Althea asked involuntarily. “I’ll be at school most of the time, won’t I?”

Dr Maynard leaned back before he started up the car again. “You certainly will all termtime, I hope. At the same time what we all want is for you and people like you to feel that Freudesheim is a home from home if you should need one. What’s more, it’s a happy home for us and we want it to be one for you.” He attended to his driving again.

“That,” put in Con with a flashing smile, “is what it’s name means—‘Happy Home’. Welcome to Freudesheim and don’t forget any of that.”

“You’ll soon realise it,” Len added as the car slid up to the foot of the stairway running at the side of the big house with its many windows flashing in the midday sunlight, and came to a standstill. “And here’s Mamma to give you her own welcome. Here she is, Mamma!”

A tall dark lady, very like Len and Con but with black hair coiled in shells over her ears and black eyes full of welcome, had come to the top of the steps and stood with hands held out.

Althea mounted the steps with a shyness which suddenly vanished as the hands caught her and drew her close while a golden voice cried, “Welcome home, Althea! May it always be a home from home for you! Come in and begin to feel that at once! We’re so glad to have you!”

“Ready, Althea? Then get cracking!” Con Maynard was standing at the foot of the long flight of stairs leading up from the wide entrance hall of Freudesheim.

Althea, coming down the stairs, hurried herself by jumping the last six. The three days she had spent at the Maynard’s house had done a good deal to sweep away her initial shyness where they were concerned. She remained quiet but she was taking notes all the time. She had fallen in love with Mrs Maynard at that first welcome. Len seemed like an old friend and so did the doctor. Of the rest of the family she liked dreamy Con, thought Felicity and small Cecil delightful and was becoming really friendly with Erica Standish of the recently-cropped fair hair and eager blue eyes. She would have liked to be in the same form, but Erica was nearly a year older in age and school experience and Con and Len both thought that the new girl would most likely be in the form below for this term. She was rather nervous with the babies having never had anything to do with such tiny folk before. The only one of them all about whom she felt doubtful was Margot, the third of the triplets.

“She’s awfully handsome,” she had thought on meeting the elder girl, “but somehow I like Len’s face better. She—she looks kinder and she’s awfully kind, too.”

Margot was kind enough, but somehow she seemed to be very aloof. Len’s friendliness was a different thing altogether. Ruey Richardson, the Maynard’s ward, had still to be encountered; she had spent the Easter holidays with cousins in England and was coming straight to school from there.

Len had gone over to school early. She was Head Girl and had plenty to see to. Erica had been claimed early too, by her chum, Clare Kynaston, who was living up on the Platz to be near a mother undergoing treatment at the great Görnetz Sanatorium. Erica had invited Althea to go with them, but Althea had decided it would be better to wait and go with Con.

“They mightn’t like it if I butted in,” she said anxiously to Joey Maynard. “After all, I’m quite a stranger to Clare.”

Joey nodded understandingly. “I get you. O.K., you wait and go over with Con.”

The second of the Maynard girls was looking very wide awake at the moment. For one thing, like Len she was realising rather sadly that this was her last term and she had made up her mind that it would be a good one. For another she was not obsessed as she all too frequently was, by an idea for a poem, a story or some other form of literature. Con was the one who had inherited Mrs Maynard’s writing gifts to the full. Those people who knew the triplets well were wont to say that their mother’s chief characteristics had been well and truly split up amongst them. Len had all her mother’s gift for getting into the skin of other folk. Con had her imagination and powers of expression. Margot had her mischief and adventurous spirit. In addition, the youngest triplet had a hair-trigger temper, though of late years she had got it fairly well under control. But Margot’s aloofness had another cause of which she had said very little even to her sisters or her mother. Nominally, she was going in for medicine, but behind that lay a deeper idea. She had set her heart on entering one of the Medical Missionary Orders if she felt she had the true call. She was still trying to make up her mind to that and the uncertainty was affecting her attitude to life and making things difficult for her.

“Is Margot not coming with us?” Althea asked as she reached Con.

“Don’t suppose so. I’m going earlyish and Margot generally rushes in at the last moment,” Con said, leading the way to the door. “You hop to the study and say goodbye to Mamma and then we’ll get cracking. I prefer to get in in decent time and not arrive so breathless I can’t speak.”

“I’ve said goodbye. She called me into her room as I went past—before the ’phone rang in the study, I mean.”

“Oh, good! Then come on!” Con opened the front door and led the way down the steps into the drive which ran round the house, the said steps being at the side.

Althea followed her, looking with beauty-loving eyes at the wide green lawns with borders where spring flowers were tossing gay heads in the fresh breezes of late April.

“I do love the spring,” she said, half to herself.

“So do I,” Con agreed. “No, Althea; we won’t go all round today, but across the sunk garden and through the shrubberies. It’s quicker. Come on!”

Althea chuckled. “You sound exactly like the Red Queen out of Alice.”

Con laughed. “You cheeky brat! Why, may I ask?”

“Such a lot of ‘Come on’!” Althea said pensively.

Con stared and then laughed again. “I suppose it is rather like that at the moment. You’ll soon get over it. By the way, has anyone told you that all this was a cabbage-patch when we first arrived?”

“What? Oh, no!” Althea paused at the head of the path leading out of the sunken garden they had just crossed to the rustic gate set in the thick arbor vitae hedge which separated the two gardens, and turned to look down on the Freudesheim sunken garden with its rockeries. Already the first tiny plants were beginning to show green; its flower-beds were grouped round the fountain set in the middle; round three of its sides flowering shrubs and tall plants were giving signs of spring.

“True, just the same,” Con nodded, following her eyes. “We made this ourselves. After all, you don’t want cabbages growing under your sittingroom windows, do you?”

“It would be horrid,” Althea agreed.

“It was, believe me! And the school made a sunken garden down there.” Con waved her hand airily towards the brick wall they had reached when they left the Freudesheim grounds for the school’s. “We turn along; here and today we’ll go in by the main entrance. We don’t use it in termtime as a rule, but this is the first day of term. Do you know where your Splashery is?”

“Erica showed me yesterday.”

“Right! Hang up your coat and beret and change your shoes. I’ll be along in a tick and take you to the entrance hall. I’m bound to admit all the corridors and passages are a bit of a labyrinth until you know them!” Con ended with a gay laugh. “Here you are! Now get cracking and be ready when I come!”

Leaving the new girl at the door of the Fourth Form’s Splashery, she sped off to her own quarters. Althea went to hang up coat and beret and change into house-shoes before examining herself in the full-length mirror on the wall at one side of the windows to make sure that she looked spick and span.

The door opened and Con appeared. “Ready? Turn round and let me look at you Yes; you’ll do—very nice and trim. Now come with me and I’ll show you where to go. The coaches are due any moment now. Where’s young Erica? I told her to be on the spot and take charge of you till you know where, exactly, you are. Oh, hello! There you are!” As Erica, blonde and immaculately neat appeared at the end of the long corridor they were traversing. Clare, a slim, brown-haired and grey-eyed girl of fourteen was with her.

Con grinned at them. “You two look after Althea until she knows where she is.”

“I can tell her now,” Clare said. “She’s in Upper IVb. I saw her name on the form list.”

“Oh, then that’s all right—yes; I’m coming!” as she caught her name.

She went off just as there came the faraway sound of motor-horns and Erica and Clare exclaimed together, “There they are!” and hustled Althea towards the stairs on which they took their stand among a dozen or so girls whose homes at the moment were on the Platz.

One of these leaned forward as Erica led the way and gave her a prolonged stare. “But you are bobbed, my Erica!” she cried. “Why, please?”

Erica laughed, her blue eyes dancing under her deep fringe of flaxen hair. “They said I had too much for my own good, ’specially in summer. I don’t mind. It saves a lot of trouble in the morning. Anyhow, Emilie, I like the feel of it. By the way, this is Althea Glenyon, who’s new this term. Althea, this is Emilie St Laurent—oh, and Nita Tarengo. When did you come, Nita? How’s your father going on?”

“Much better,” the dark, Italianate girl replied. Then she stopped short as the hooting of a motor-horn announced the arrival of the first of the school coaches and, at the same moment, the staff came thronging into the hall from various directions, followed by a tall, graceful woman whose air of unconscious command marked her out as someone of importance. This was Miss Annersley. Althea had met her several times since her arrival, as well as Miss Dene, the secretary, and the dark, chic little head of the languages department, Mdlle de Lachennais. The rest she knew only vaguely, for the two or three days before term began were always a busy time for the staff and, though the Maynards and Erica had pointed out sundry members of it, she had got thoroughly muddled with the number of them—apart from her own mistress, Miss Ferrars, with whom she had had a brief session the previous day. From this she had emerged with the conviction that she knew very little. She was not surprised to be told that she would not be with Erica in form.

Miss Annersley stood on the lowest step of the stairs and the rest of the mistresses grouped themselves round her. All wore beaming smiles and, as the first coach was emptied and the big girls came to stand in a straight line across the hall, there were murmured greetings here and there.

The girls on the stairs began to go down and take their places with their proper forms and Erica touched Althea on the shoulder and began to lead down to a line midway in the throng.

“You’ve made Upper IVb, haven’t you? Then here you are. Here’s Val Pertwee. She’ll help you. Val, this is Althea Glenyon, who will be in your form. Sheepdog her, won’t you?”

Val, a jolly-looking person with closely-cropped curly brown top and a pair of very blue eyes that danced on the slightest excuse, put out a hand and hauled Althea into the place beside her with a right goodwill.

“Stand here a tick,” she murmured.

Althea stood, perforce, and as the last and most senior of the girls who had been on the stairs went down to join the Vb line, Val contrived to mutter to her that the crowding was only for that day. There was plenty of room for them all in Hall, a statement which stunned Althea at the moment. No one had yet explained to her that “Hall” was the great room used for Prayers and other meetings.

When Flavia Ansell had squeezed her way between Solange de Chaumontel and José Helston, the girls stood perfectly still and at attention.

“Welcome back to school,” the Head said, smiling at them. “I hope you all had good holidays?”

A chorus of agreement rose from the rows of girls and she nodded and smiled again. “And I hope that means that now you are come back ready to put in a term’s good work. This is one of our busiest terms, you know. Not only have we the public exams, but there are our tennis and cricket matches and our Sale of Work in aid of the free ward at the San. For some of you it is also your last school term. Make it a good one—one that you will remember when you are out in the world. Now that is all I have to say to you at present. Abendessen will be ready in ten minutes’ time and I expect you are all ready for it. Karen has put her best foot forward as usual, so please show her that you appreciate her efforts or she will be hurt. Prayers will follow on and then bed for the Juniors. Middles may have dancing after that till the usual time. That is all I want to say just now, so—.” She nodded at Miss Lawrence, head of the music staff, but before that lady could twirl round on her stool, Len Maynard had moved forward from where she was standing among the other prefects.

“Yes, Len? What is it?” the Head asked encouragingly.

“I just wanted to say that we want all contributions for The Chaletian as soon as possible,” Len said with a side glance at Con, who was the editor of that noble work of literature. “I know it seems soon to be talking about it, but last term quite half the contributions came in during the last week before they were sorted out. We’d like this term’s number to be better than usual, so please may we have any articles, stories, reports or poems and so on in good time for once?”

The Head laughed. “Everyone hear that? Then do your best. Anyone anything else to say? No? Then thank you, Miss Lawrence.” She nodded at Miss Lawrence and the music mistress struck up the inspiriting march, London Bridge. The girls led off, beginning with the prefects and ending with the Juniors, in the direction of the Splasheries, where they got rid of berets and coats, changed their shoes and washed hands and faces before scuttering off down the corridors to their commonrooms to await the sounding of the great Burmese gong that summoned them to meals. Presently Althea found herself marching in line again to the Speisesaal or diningroom, safely in place between Val Pertwee and Samaris Davies, both of whom seemed to consider it their duty to look after her. Among the crowd of girls her shyness had returned full force. She spoke only when spoken to and found it difficult to swallow the delicious meal Cook Karen provided. The rest had no trouble that way, though some of the Juniors seemed to find it hard not to yawn. However, once the meal was ended and the tables cleared, Prayers were the order of the day; and here a minor sensation occurred. Before she left the room with her bevy of mistresses, the Head rang the bell on the staff table and then, rising, made an announcement.

“One moment, girls. In future, Catholics will have Prayers in the lower half of Hall. During the holidays we have had sliding doors fitted to divide Hall in half. They will be drawn before Prayers and then after, if we have any special notices for you, they will be rolled back. This means that you will all keep your seats at the end of Prayers and as you leave Hall by the lower doors, the Catholics will lead the way in future. That is all.”

All; but it was enough to set the girls chattering. When they gathered in Hall later there was a regular buzz of talk, to all of which Althea listened until Val suddenly came to present her with a slim, limp-backed book of hymns and a bell sounded. This brought silence while Miss Lawrence, once more at the piano, began to play Bach’s Sheep May Safely Graze and everyone sat quietly until the double doors at the top of Hall opened and the Head and staff entered to take their places on the dais and Prayers began.

“I like this,” Althea thought as she stood up amongst the rest and joined in singing the beginning-of-term hymn. “It seems so—so real. Oh, I’m going to miss lots of things, especially Mummy and Daddy and the boys; but there are other, new, things to make up. It doesn’t seem so bad as I thought.” And she carried that thought at the back of her mind until she found herself safely in bed in Pansy dormitory, so drowsy that she was asleep almost as soon as she snuggled down on her pillow, and never stirred until half-past six brought the pealing of the rising bell and she woke up to a new day.

“School seems to be a very busy life,” Althea said half-aloud to herself.

It was Saturday after what she still called “tea,” though since she had come to Switzerland she had never once tasted tea! The afternoon meal consisted of milky coffee with fancy bread twists, butter and jams for the most part. Coffee was served at breakfast and the only alternative was milk.

“Well, of course,” came the voice of Samaris Davies from the cubicle on the right of her. “But just you wait until Monday when lessons really begin! You’ll find it busy all right then.”

Althea flushed. “Sorry; I was talking to myself. But we do seem to have every minute filled. What do we do this evening?”

“Ask me another. The prees are running it. That’s all I know.”

“Are you folk ready?” came another voice from the far end of the dormitory.

“Quite ready—at least I am,” Samaris replied. “What about you, Althea?”

“I’m ready,” Althea replied as she lowered the mirror-backed lid of her bureau in which she had been making sure that she was quite tidy. She pulled aside the pansy-sprinkled curtains which divided her cubicle off from the rest of the room and then turned to glance round her little domain and make sure that everything was in order. She had had it well rubbed in to her that at the Chalet School you must be tidy both as to your person and your cubicle.

All was well, so she emerged into the long narrow passageway, dropping the curtain behind her and found herself facing Sam, as everyone called her. Standing by the door was Flavia Ansell, otherwise Copper, the dormitory prefect. Both girls gave her a quick look and then Flavia nodded.

“O.K. You’ll do. I like that pink frock of yours. Cubey all right?”

“I think so.” Althea moved aside to pull back the curtain and show her cubicle with some confidence. By nature she was orderly and the tiny domain brought another nod from Flavia’s red head.

“Absolutely O.K. Even Matey herself couldn’t have twitters over it. Line up, you two.” Flavia turned to look at Val Pertwee, who had just left her own abode. “Finished, Val? Right! Hurry up, the rest of you! Wallflower have gone down and Marigold are just going. Who’s left? You, Lizette—and Marie and Fredrika? Scram, you three!”

The three she had named appeared simultaneously and tagged on to the line by the door. Flavia gave the word and as the last girl from Marigold passed, Pansy, led by Sigrid Alvarsen, joined on behind her and marched off downstairs to join the throng already in Senior Middles’ commonroom, where they waited until summoned to Hall where the evening would be celebrated.

This being Saturday evening, speech was free and everyone took advantage of it so that a perfect babel of tongues bewildered Althea as she slid into a corner to wait unobtrusively until they learned what came next. What did come was an order to march into Hall where sundry small tables, each with four chairs set round it, had been scattered about. Each table bore a different number and on each table stood various oddments, mostly pads and pencils.

“Progressive games!” Val exclaimed. “Good-oh! Come on, Thea! Let’s snaffle this one.” She pulled Althea over to one and jerked out two of the chairs. The other girl followed her, but when they were seated, she leaned forward. “Please, Val, my name is Althea.”

Val stared. “Well, I know that, but you don’t want us to use the whole thing all the time, do you?”

“I’d rather.”

Val pursed up her lips in a silent whistle. “Not really? Oh, well, have it your own way. All the same, I guess you’ll be Thea before many weeks are over.”

“No,” said Althea stubbornly. “I’m Althea.”

Val said no more, for two members of Inter V came to share the table with them. The new girl learned now that it was the rule for Juniors and Seniors to mix together on these occasions.

“Room for two little ones?” Jean Abbot asked with a friendly grin.

“Rather!” Val returned the grin. “Oh, and this is Althea Glenyon, our only ‘new’ this term. Althea, these are Jean Abbot and Celia Everett. By the way,” she went on, “she prefers her whole name. She’s just told me so.”

“I don’t wonder,” Celia, a lanky brown girl of fifteen, nodded. “It’s jolly decent. What’s more, it isn’t ordinary.” She subsided into a chair and looked round. “Progressive games! Not a bad start to Saturday evenings.”

“I like them, though I don’t suppose we’ll find anything very new. I should think we’ve done most of them in our time,” Jean said.

“Wonder what our lot is?” Val murmured with an eye to the big envelope lying in the middle of the table.

Before anyone else could speak, a bell rang sharply and Len Maynard, standing on the dais at the end of Hall, spoke. “You all know the rules, don’t you? You have ten minutes for each game and seven to let you check up. The winners move forward each time. That’s all.” She smiled at them expansively. “Oh, by the way, someone will collect your scores at each interval.” She struck the bell again and jumped down.

Everyone set to work at once. Jean picked up the envelope, opened it and took out a sheaf of strips of essay paper and a small envelope which she opened quickly.

“What is it?” Val demanded.

A look of dismay had swept over Jean’s face. “Give the meanings of the Christian names of your own four and add four others. Oh, gosh!”

“But I don’t know them,” Val said frantically. “Have we to use all our names? I’ve two more besides Val.”

Celia waved her arms wildly and Con Maynard came to them.

“Must we give all our names?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Crumpets and muffins! How ghastly!”

Con chuckled. “At least it’s something new! I’ve heard lots of you folk growling because we always use the same old things. Stop gibbering at me and get down to it or you’ll lose points.” She chuckled again and moved off before anyone could ask her what she meant by “gibbering”.

Althea picked up a pencil from the table and set to work. She was lucky in that she did know the meanings of her own collection, but having written them down, she looked round the table. What on earth did “Celia” mean? “Jean” was a form of Jane and so was the same as “John,” which meant “Grace of God”. But what did “Val” mean—and what was it short for? She looked at Val and then asked anxiously, “Val, what is your proper name?”

“Valencia,” returned its owner. “The rest is Mariquita Guenola, if you please.”

Jean gave a squawk. “Oh, my! I put you down as ‘Valerie’!”

“Nothing so common. My mother has a yen for unusual names,” Val retorted with dignity. “You can’t have forgotten my sister Yseult. And Ronny is really ‘Veronique,’ poor pet!”

“Oh, well, that’s just French for ‘Veronica’ and I do know that, thank goodness!” Jean scribbled industriously.

“Well, the only Valencia I’ve heard of is that province in Spain—or is it Portugal?” Celia asked. “I can get round that all right.” She put it down and surveyed her strip disgustedly. “Jean—”

“Plain Jean and nothing more,” Jean said with a grin.

“Then that’s all I can do.”

“And there goes the bell!” Val heaved a sigh. “I don’t think I like the prees’ original ideas! How many, anyone?”

Before anyone could reply, Len was on the dais and speaking again. “Fold your slips over, you people. Put your name and the number of your table on the outside and hand them over and collect at each table. We’ll come round for them now.”

Already, seventeen other prefects were moving from table to table and their own was visited by Ted Grantley.

“Who’s got the most names?” she asked as she took the strips Jean handed to her.

“Althea, to judge by length,” Jean replied. “How did you manage it Althea?”

“It’s a new idea all right,” Celia said ruefully. “But what a—a stinker!”

Ted giggled. “And what slang! You be careful, Jean, or Evening or not, you’ll be landed with a fine.”

“Oh, you couldn’t be so cruel!” Jean wailed. “Sorry, Ted. I’ll remember, but you must admit it’s the only word that describes it.”

“Admit nothing! O.K., Althea. You move forward and Celia goes back. Get a move on or you’ll be late.”

Very pink, Althea went to the next table, where Flavia Ansell was already opening the slip which the last players had left folded. She looked at it and gasped loudly.

“The prees have done themselves proud!” was her verdict. “Honestly!”

“What is it?” Althea asked eagerly. She was beginning to enjoy herself.

“Quotations from nursery rhymes. Here you are!” And she handed the slip to Althea.

“This,” said Flavia, “is cruelty to dumb Chaletians!”

They all giggled at this. Then black-headed Jack Lambert, after surveying the columns, gave a sudden squeal. “Oh, I do know this one!”

All the same, those strips when returned showed more empty lines than writing. Althea was unable to tackle “Prêtes-moi ta plume” from Frère Jacques, and not one of them knew “I answered him as I thought good”. Incidentally, the various language mistresses were so horrified at their ignorance of even their own national rhymes that during the next week or two everyone was given a reading of them in the lessons. Only Mary Charlton of Va got more than three and Renata van Buren returned a blank sheet! They moved and Althea was left with Renata to their next game, which turned out to be a hoary favourite with the school—the “Kate” game in which questions had to be answered by words ending in “cate”, e.g., “teach—edu-cate”. Once Althea got the hang of it, she found it comparatively easy and moved on to threading needles of all sorts and sizes. But she was completely floored by the last turn before Abendessen.

The prefects had provided this table with a set of tiddley-winks and, try as she would, not one wink could she get into the cup. She shot under and over and to the side, but when the bell rang, her cup was still empty and surrounded by eight green counters, while Samaris Davies, from her own form, had all her eight blue counters in their proper abode.

“Never mind,” said Gretchen von Ahlen, a flaxen-fair Tyrolean who was playing opposite to her. “We will do better next time, you and I, nicht?”

As it turned out there was no next time. Abendessen was over and they were hurrying to clear the tables before going back to Hall when all the lights suddenly blinked and went out.

“Stand, everyone!” said the Head’s voice. “Len, open the door, please.”

It was as well that the said voice was clear and carrying, for a regular hubbub of exclamations rose at once. As it was, there was a crash and the sound of a whole army of spoons falling to the floor as Len, moving cautiously, got to the big double doors at the far end of the Speisesaal and flung them open to show equal darkness. Nor did the lights come on again for a full half-hour, by which it was time for Prayers and the Juniors to go to bed. When these were over there was so little left of the evening that the prefects, after a hurried conference, announced that dancing would fill in the remainder of the time.

Prayers ended, Miss Annersley explained that there had been trouble down at the generating station, whence the Görnetz Platz was supplied with electricity. She promised the prefects extra time late on in the term to conclude their decidedly original competitions, complimenting them on what they had done and then dismissed the Juniors to bed and the others to dance. But excitements did not end. More was to follow!

Once things begin to happen they have a trick of going on happening. The school at large got itself to bed in more or less usual order and most of the girls fell asleep at once. Life, as Althea had decided earlier in the evening, was fairly full for them and what with plenty to think about, hours in the fresh air and sensible feeding, it was a rare thing for any girl to lie awake for more than ten minutes or so after Lights Out. It might not be so easy for their elders, but even they had rarely to complain of a disturbed night.

On this occasion when the moon rose shortly before midnight, she shone down on a Chalet School that was soundly asleep. About ten minutes later the first disturbance came with the muttering of small Lucy Peters, a member of IIa, who slept in Jonquil, one of the dormitories in Ste Therese House. Jonquil was directly beneath Pansy, and Lucy’s cubicle happened to be exactly below Althea’s. Both windows were open and when Lucy began her mutterings, Althea, a light sleeper, was lying so that the light of the moon fell across her face and roused her. She half-woke up and then, as a little breeze blew in at the window, she awoke altogether and sat up in bed, wondering for the first moment where she was. She had been dreaming of home and for the first few seconds failed to recognise her surroundings. And that was the moment when Lucy, for the first time in her life, elected to start to sleep-walk. She had been having a horrid nightmare about a Blackamoor with scarlet lips and armed with a huge sword, who was stalking her round Hall in order to cut her head off when he caught her and then her toes. . . .

At just nine Lucy had already decided to become a ballet-dancer and she knew that if she lost her toes she couldn’t dance—her head, somehow, didn’t seem to matter—and oh, what would her bosom friend, Felicity Maynard, say to that? They had both agreed to work together and though Joey Maynard had remarked to Lucy’s mother, the wife of Dr Peters, one of the Sanatorium staff, it was early days for such a decision, the two mothers had decided that the training would be good for them, even if nothing came of it later.

Such a nightmare as this more than accounted for Lucy’s next exploit. She scrambled out of bed and began to walk in her sleep, on tiptoes out of her cubicle, out of her dormitory, and along the corridor, still muttering to herself. Normally, Matron would have heard her and come to the rescue, but on this occasion Matron was not available. She had been previously aroused by Karen, head of the domestic staff, to go and minister to Vreneli, one of the maids. Vreneli had violent toothache and was sobbing loudly. Karen’s homely remedies did nothing to relieve the pain and she had finally called Matron Henschell who was now in Vreneli’s cubicle, ministering to the aching tooth with one of the school’s most trusted lotions and waiting until the tranquillising tablet she had made Vreneli swallow should take effect.

Poor frightened Lucy slipped along the corridor on bare feet that were almost noiseless. Certainly she disturbed no one except Althea who was now fully awake and, the possessor of abnormally quick hearing, just heard the pit-pat and wondered what on earth it was.

“Is it burglars?” she wondered, half-aloud. “But how could they get in? Everywhere’s locked up. Perhaps it’s Minette.”

But she had been told that the school cat was always safely in her basket before Karen retired to bed each night. There had been an occasion when she had got out to the roof on a bitter winter’s night and Jack Lambert and another girl had risked their necks climbing out to fetch her in. Since then, Karen had made it her last job before bed to see that puss was safely in her basket in the kitchen staff’s sittingroom. Althea had heard the whole yarn only that morning from Sammy Davies and it had lost nothing in the telling!

“Ought I to go and see?” thought Althea. “Or—supposing it was a murderer! What should I do with him?”

The answer, a silly one, flashed across her mind. “Go and find out!”

As a result she tumbled out of bed. The moonlight made it easy to find her dressing-gown and bedroom slippers and then she began to tiptoe down the dormitory aisle and along the corridor. She went to the top of the stairs and peered down the banisters.

At first she could see nothing. Then Lucy, gliding along, came to one of the windows and the moonlight fell right across her. She was in her pyjamas. Her short brown hair tossed wildly about her head and she was still muttering as she went. In short, she had a most ghostly appearance and as she neared the head of the next flight of stairs, the muttering suddenly became a high-pitched screech which nearly finished poor Althea. To crown everything, the small girl tripped somehow and began to roll headlong down the stairs. It finished Althea. She set up with a yell which quite outdid Lucy’s efforts and between them they woke up Ste Therese’s in short order.

Lucy, needless to state, was the first to wake up, and her howls as she rolled down the stairs to the landing below reached Matron who was returning to her own quarters, making that lady quicken her movements to a gallop. The other members of Ste Therese, fully roused, made sundry dashes down the corridors. The din they made reached the other Houses and in ten minutes’ time the entire school was up and about, including the Head, Mdlle de Lachennais and Miss Dene who slept in the Annexe. Matron, dashing up the stairs, caught Lucy as she reached the landing, picked her up and cuddled her reassuringly.

“All right, Lucy! It’s all right! Stop yelling like that. You’re safe with me. You’ve just fallen downstairs.”

“It’s the Blackamoor from Petrouchka! He’s going to cut off my toes!” Lucy howled, burying her face in Matron’s neck. “Do-on’t let him! Keep me sa-afe!”

Upstairs, Althea was crying from sheer nerves until Len suddenly appeared and flung an arm round her.

“Oh who was it?” Althea sobbed. “She looked horrible!”

Len patted her shoulder. “It’s only young Lucy Peters. I wonder what on earth has started her off sleep-walking? I know all about how she looked, Althea. Our Con has played the same game more than once. When we were little kids she once landed up in the coal-cellar and you never saw a more awful mess. I admit people like that look ghastly, but it doesn’t mean anything. Come along back to bed and I’ll tuck you up and get you some hot milk from Matron. You’ll feel better then.”

She took Althea off to bed and, true to her word, straightened the bedclothes which were half on the floor, tucked the new girl up safely and ran off to return quickly with a beaker of hot milk which certainly soothed Althea’s nerves considerably. All the same, it was almost two o’clock in the morning before the school finally settled down.

The Head had issued orders that they were to have an extra hour in bed to make up for the sleep they had lost. Karen received orders to make Frühstück an hour later and all early morning music practice was cancelled for once.

“It’s that or walk,” Miss Dene told Miss Lawrence, head of the music-staff who objected to her about this. “Health comes before scales and five-finger exercises in this seminary as you ought to know by this time, my love.”

“Oh, well, I suppose it must go,” Miss Lawrence said. “But most of those young monkeys can do with all the practice they can get.”

“Oh, well, at least you haven’t Nina Rutherford to cope with on that point,” Rosalie Dene said soothingly.

They both laughed at this. Nina Rutherford, the young pianist who was becoming so well known, had arrived at the school seven years before with only one idea in her head—her music. She had had more than one battle with various members of the staff who felt that general education was quite as important to a girl of fifteen whose music was certainly inspired but who knew comparatively little about other subjects. Between them and Joey Maynard they had contrived to impress this idea on her and she had finally settled down to a fair amount of normal schoolwork and play, but her first term had been a hard one for all concerned.

Matron saw Lucy before school and sent her in to form as usual, though determining to keep a firm eye on her for the moment and also to report to her father, Dr Peters, as soon as possible. As for Althea, Len kept her own counsel after making it her business to contact the new girl shortly before the early morning walk. Althea was grateful for this. She had no desire that anyone else should know about the way she had lost her head. A nice funk her form would think her if they did know!

She had a sticky day before her in any case, for she had wakened with a slight but persistent headache which lasted all day, though she said nothing about it. Monday would be difficult, too. It was German day which meant that nothing but German was spoken from the moment they got up until Lights Out sounded. So far she had done practically nothing in the language and how on earth she was going to manage she hadn’t an idea.

That morning, when she was back in her dormitory after her bath and was pulling on her stockings, she lifted up her voice.

“Sam!”

“What? And this is German day.” Samaris was hurrying into her clothes at top speed. If she possibly could she was going to push in an extra ten minutes on her flute before Frühstück or perish in the attempt.

“How ever am I going to manage? I don’t know a thing about German except—”

“Who’s that speaking English?” came severely from Flavia’s cubicle.

“It’s me—Althea. I only wanted to know how I’m to manage when I don’t know the first thing about German.”

There was a pause and then a scud of light feet and Flavia, belabouring her copper head with her hairbrush, appeared between Althea’s curtains.

“I can only tell you—the same way as everyone does who arrives in your state. Now listen and I’ll give you the German for that—and for your question.”

She gave it in correct German form, though her accent left something to be desired. “Repeat that,” she wound up.

Althea was wriggling into her frock, but she stopped and did her best. Luckily for her she had a good memory and by the time she had said it four times she knew it for the time being, at any rate. Flavia returned to her own cubicle after that and Althea devoted herself to finishing dressing. When she was able to turn her attention to stripping her bed, she lifted up her voice again.

“Please, I mean—bitte—what will happen in lessons?”

Her curtains parted again and Flavia’s flaming red head appeared once more. “Guten Morgen, Althea.” Then she interrupted herself to reply to a query from Samaris whereupon that young person said with heartfelt gratitude, “Danke sehr, Flavia!” before she skipped off.

Althea knew what this meant, “Thank you!” but she had no time to do more. The elder girl was speaking again in slow German.

“Who is in charge of you?”

“Please—bitte—I do not understand.”

“Ich verstehe nicht.” Althea did know that one and she repeated it and waited hopefully for further help.

Flavia said “I asked who was in charge of you. Don’t you know any German?”

“Practically not a word,” Althea replied, thankful that the question was in English. “Just what you said and a few other things.”

“Then listen to me. When you want to say anything ask anyone round who knows and she’ll say it for you. You repeat it half-a-dozen times or so and that way you learn it—see?”

“I see; but it’ll be a very slow job,” Althea said dejectedly.

“At first; later you’ll find yourself picking it up like—like Minette picked up minced liver,” referring to the school cat. Then she wheeled round from Althea. “Who is in charge of Althea Glenyon?”

Val appeared, looking noticeably subdued. “It is me,” she said in German.

“Did you explain all this to her at any time?”

“I—well—I didn’t think.”

“Huh! A nice sheepdog you are! Very well. Is your cubicle tidy yet?”

Val’s cheeky little face was heavily overcast. “Not—yet.”

“Well, why not?”

Val had nothing to say and Flavia proceeded to ram it home. “Do you want to be called out of lessons and go to do it then?”

Val definitely did not. Any Matron to whom a girl had to report for unfinished cubicle duties was apt to let the offender know all about it, even their own Matron Henschell who was notoriously easy-going; and any mistress who had to yield up one of her pupils for such a reason could be relied on to have a good deal to say later on. Val remained silent and Flavia dismissed her with the adjuration to get on with it at once. Then she turned back to Althea.

“Now don’t worry. You just ask and for the first two or three weeks at least you’ll be helped by anyone you do ask. I know all about it. I had a sticky time myself just at first.” She gave the new girl a sympathetic grin before she glanced round the cubicle. “Well, you’ll be Matey’s blue-eyed boy so far as neatness goes if you keep this up.” Out of mercy she spoke in English. “Have you said your prayers? Then go and stand by the door ready to go down when the rest are ready.” She gave her charge another matey grin and a pat on the shoulder before moving on elsewhere.

“Th—I mean danke sehr,” Althea said in a hurry.

All the same, she decided that it was going to be ghastly at first. “I’ll never manage in this world,” she thought despondently as she obeyed Flavia’s final order.

The thought of having to speak all day in a strange language left her as apprehensive as Val had been at the thought of Matron’s reaction to her hurrah’s nest of a cubicle. But more trouble was in store. Not only was Val furious at having to cram as much tidying up as possible into the brief time she had intended to utilise in trying a new hair-do, but Flavia’s interference had given her a dislike for the new girl that was to cause Althea a great deal of unpleasantness. Unfortunately for this occasion, Flavia was a conscientious girl and she decided that the heedless Val needed a strong reminder of her job. She reported that young person’s shortcomings to Len as Head Girl. Len had Val up before her and as Val secretly nourished deep admiration for both her and Flavia, to be found fault by both within the short space of one morning filled her with resentment for the innocent cause of the trouble. Len did not spare her rebukes and put the finishing touch to matters when she spoke to Miss Dene privately about the affair.

Val had been a pest the previous term and Miss Dene, after due consideration, decided that Althea should be taken out of Val’s charge and handed over to Samaris who certainly was a more responsible girl. Val had been none too eager to have the burden of a new lamb to look after, but she also resented being superseded in this fashion. She was prone to hold on to a grudge and since she blamed Althea for the whole thing, she turned sulky, especially as Flavia looked like becoming friendly with her dormitory charge, and went about for some time with a whole kennelful of black dogs on her back.

As yet unaware of what was happening in Upper IVb, when the bell rang for the end of the Middles’ prep, Len thankfully gathered together her books and departed to the prefects’ room to go on with her work in what she mentally described as “a little peace and quiet”. Arrived there, she found it occupied by Ted Grantley, Carmela Walther and Jeanne Daudet who were all much too busy with their own work to do more than glance up and grin as she entered. Most of the rest of the prefects were on prep duty and those who were members of VIb were attending a form lecture on the Pre-Raphaelites delivered by the art mistress, Miss Yolland, herself a former pupil of the school. Len heaved a sigh of relief and settled down to that truly sticky piece of Horace.

“But what has happened to Val Pertwee I can’t imagine,” she thought as she hunted for a missing predicate. “I always thought her a rather jolly kid. And why has she taken this sudden hate at Althea Glenyon?” At which point she found her predicate and for the rest of the time thought no more about either girl.

Meanwhile Val, with the horrid knowledge that she had wasted at least twenty minutes of her prep-time and would get into all sorts of trouble on the morrow in consequence, went glooming along to the commonroom where the girls might amuse themselves as they liked so long as they were quiet until the bell rang for the end of all work for the day.

Lower IV were there, so Upper IVb, who tended to consider themselves very much above their juniors, were unable to tell Val just what they thought of her for her outburst, but quite a number of them took no notice of her when she came in. Only Susan Barnett who rather admired her gave her a shy smile as she slouched across the room to a chair, flinging herself into it with a book she had pulled at random out of the low, long bookcase which ran down one side of the room. Val did not like Susan very much so she only gave her a brief look, and Susan felt aggrieved. Then, since Val instantly opened her book and hunched her shoulders over it, she returned to the game of Ludo she was playing.

Val turned the pages of HARALD UND DIE MONATE feeling thoroughly disgruntled. Part of her—the better part—wished she hadn’t tried to upset Althea. The other half told her that it was no more than the new girl deserved for snuggling up to Len like that. As for Sam Davies, who was Althea that Sam should seem to think so much of her?

The other members of Lower IVa, having glanced at her, let her alone. None of them was old enough to understand Val’s attitude or to sympathize with it. What they did was to ignore her completely and it was fuel to the flames of her jealousy. Sam and half-a-dozen others had pulled out a table, produced cards, and settled down to a game of IMPERTINENT QUESTIONS while the others had got games and jigsaws from the cupboard where they were kept, or sat down with books. If they made a noise they knew that someone would come to sit with them; prep for school at large did not end for another half-hour and woe betide them if they interfered with the work of the seniors!

Presently Brigit Ingram glanced round as she drew a card from the centre pack and glimpsed Val sitting nearby, pretending to read. Turning her card upwards, she wickedly asked, “Who’s sulker?”

A squeal of dismay from Sam and the cry, “I am—but it’s not true! I don’t sulk!”

Brigit giggled. “True enough. But we do have sulkers in this form.”

All might have been well but at that point Althea also glanced up laughing at Sam, and Val chose to take it to herself.

“How dare you say I’m a sulker, Althea Glenyon?” she demanded tossing her book on the floor and coming up to the table.

“But I didn’t!” the startled Althea exclaimed. “I never said a word!”

“No; but you looked it! You looked straight at me!”

“Of course she didn’t. It was me that said it if you want to know,” Brigit intervened. “Althea wasn’t looking at you or anyone in particular.”

“Cave! ’Ware the kids!” Sam said under her breath. “Don’t be such a mook, Val!” she added unwisely.

Val was too angry to be sensible. “She did look at me—and she laughed!”

“I was laughing at Sam,” Althea put in—also very unwisely.

“That’s a lie! It was me you meant!”

“It wasn’t! And I don’t tell lies!”

“Shut up, all of you! If anyone’s passing they’ll hear and come in and then we shall have someone parked on us in the evenings!” Robina, who was form prefect for Upper IVb, tried to calm them down. “Honestly, Val, no one was looking at you and no one meant you. You go on with your book and let us get on with the game. You can join next round, if you like,” she added.

“No, thank you—not if Althea is playing!”

In her excitement she forgot to keep her voice down and literally shouted, so that it was small wonder that Margot Maynard, passing the door just then, decided that she had better intervene and stalked in at her stateliest.

“What is all this?” she demanded. “Can’t you kids keep quiet for even half-an hour and let other folk get on with their work in peace? Val Pertwee, what’s wrong with you?” as her quick eyes noted the angry flush in Val’s face and the temper sparkling in her eyes. “Must you have someone to sit with you as if you were juniors?”

Here was a nice thing to have said to them in front of Lower IV! Upper IVb could have wrung Val’s neck for bringing it on them. Fortunately, Lower IV were too busy wondering if Margot included everyone present and made themselves as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t until much later that certain of the brighter members began to put two and two together and placed most of the blame where it belonged—on Val Pertwee’s shoulders.

Margot looked round at the flushed faces, decided that she had said enough, and withdrew. The card-players turned their backs on Val and went on with their game and Val, slightly chilled by the fact that no one else took the slightest notice of her, went back to her chair and her book. She continued aimlessly turning over the pages wishing that she had controlled herself just then. She expected to hear all about it from the indignant members of her own form.

Val was disappointed in that. Over the cards Robina had hurriedly muttered to the rest to let it alone. Since she and her coterie mainly led the form, they were able to persuade the rest to follow their example. Quite a number of people cold-shouldered Val when they went into Hall for games and dancing after Prayers that evening. So the trouble simmered down for the time being.

Next day Val found herself more or less in Coventry. The main trouble was that they were afraid that Margot might elect to retail the episode to the other prefects and they might find themselves policed and everyone from Lower IV upwards prided themselves on being trusted to behave properly without having to be overlooked.

As it happened, Margot had other things to think about. The prefects’ meeting had been called to decide what form the end-of-term Sale of Work should take. No one had given much thought to it hitherto, so they had a lively discussion.

“You’re starting early on the Sale,” Primrose Trevoase, Second Games Prefect, commented as they settled themselves round the table in their room.

“The sooner the better! We’ll have more time to think things out. And don’t forget we’re still very short on fancy dresses, thanks to the fire at St Mildred’s last term. The Millies replaced a fair number, but we haven’t nearly sufficient. That’s a nice little job we’ll have to get on to this term.”

“Glorianna! What a ghastly idea!” exclaimed Ted who loathed sewing. “And where, may I ask you, are we to get the materials?”

“Don’t ask me; I haven’t the foggiest,” Len replied. “I may be able to get some from home.”

“There are those old casement curtains up in the junk room,” Margot said thoughtfully. “They’d dye all right and Mamma would let us have them. She hates keeping junk.”

“Don’t forget that dresses will be needed next term for the Nativity Play,” Marie Huber put in her word.

“Need you remind us of that?” Eve Hurrell, the senior librarian remarked.

“Where dresses for the plays are concerned, yes, I must,” Marie retorted.

“Stop moaning about the future!” Len chimed in. “We haven’t any too much time for discussion, let me remind you. Just you turn your weighty minds to considering what we can do about the Sale without repeating ourselves.” She looked round the table hopefully. “Any ideas, anyone?”

“But me, I have none!” Jeanne said.

“Nor me.” This was Priscilla Dawbarn. “Now keep calm, everyone! You can’t expect us to leap to the project all in a second like that.”

“I’ve got a notion.” Con spoke in her slow, half-dreamy way. “You might call it half-hatched, I suppose. Give me a minute and I’ll see if the chick will break the egg and emerge completely.”

The others chuckled but looked at her expectantly. Con might be relied on to supply ideas on occasion, even if they were sometimes wildly impossible. She sat back in her chair, frowning at the ceiling. Then she nodded.

“Well, what is it?” Margot asked impatiently.

“Let’s make it a Seasons Sale.”

“A Seasons Sale? What on earth do you mean?” Ted demanded.

“Just that. Divide the stalls up among the four seasons—Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter. We can subdivide those into the months, which will give us twelve stalls to dress including, for our purpose, refreshments and entertainments and so on.”

Con stopped there and the others looked at each other while they considered the idea. Finally, Len spoke.

“It’s certainly original. I’ll say that for it. But I hope you remember that it takes place in the garden at the height of summer. How do you propose to manage the other three? Winter, for instance; and early Spring?”

“I haven’t worked it all out yet, but you could do Winter all right.”

“As how?”

“Use two of the stage cottages, and cover the roofs or part of them with salt. Have one of us for Santa Claus and have some of the kids for Christmas fairies and holly and mistletoe and so on. What’s more, we could make all those dresses of crêpe paper.”

“But yes!” Carmela Walther interrupted her eagerly. “And we could dress the Spring and Summer people as flowers.”

“A country dance show for entertainment and have the crowning of the May Queen,” put in Priscilla. “And an idea for winter entertainment could be a short mummers scene with the mummers’ play!”

“But Con, that is an idea that pleases me greatly,” said Marie Huber the music prefect. “It would save much trouble over the dresses, also.”

“Winter and Summer would be easy enough, I suppose,” said Primrose, “but what are you going to use to represent Spring and Autumn?”

“Oh, Prim!” Margot cried, “Spring will be easy enough. We’ve got the May Queen business. But what we can have to represent Autumn beats me.”

“But no; not at all. Autumn is the harvest season,” Louise Grünbaum, a Swiss girl, said. “There is the apple harvest and the grapes are gathered then besides the corn. But I do not see how we can make an entertainment of it,” she added with a perplexed look.

“Harvest Festival, of course,” Ted remarked promptly.

Len nodded. “It sounds quite feasible,” she said slowly. “And goodness knows there are plenty of things we could do for Midsummer Day.” She looked round the table. “What do you all say? Shall we vote on it?”

“Show of hands good enough,” Priscilla replied. “I’ll vote for it for one.”

“Don’t forget we have to ask the Head first,” Con reminded her.

“She’ll be all over it,” Margot said with certainty.

“And,” put in Connie Winter, “it really is original. We’ve never done anything like this before.”

“No, that’s true,” Joan Dancy agreed. “It’ll take some arranging, of course, but, thanks to Len, we’re really fore-handed this year. Well, thank goodness we shan’t have to weary our poor brains by trying to think up anything else. I could dream up nothing better, though I did spend a good part of Sunday trying to think of something.”

“It’s the way we’re solving the dresses problem that pleases me,” Connie said with a grin. “I had horrid visions of having to spend most of my free time sewing.”

“Don’t you think you’ll get away with that,” Margot told her. “It will solve a fairly hefty materials problem, but believe me, my love, there’ll be any amount of sewing to do. By the way, though, the fairy dresses were all here, weren’t they? Didn’t the kids come back dressed from the panto dress rehearsal?”

“You’re right; they did,” Eve said. “But we’ll have enough to do without them. All the flower dresses, not to speak of the May Queen’s outfit and Santa Claus and quite a number of other important people.”

“And how many stalls shall we have?” Jeanne inquired.

“Oh, the usual, I suppose. Plain sewing—fancywork—produce—toys—bric-à-brac—books and pictures—competitions. Anyone think up anything else?” Eve glanced at Len.

“No use looking at me like that,” Len said with a grin. “My mind has been a complete vacuum on the subject.”

“Could we have a fortune teller?” asked Ruey Richardson.

“That’s an idea.”

“Oh, good! But would the Head agree?”

“She might. We could have a gypsy encampment and someone as the Gypsy Queen to tell the fortunes—Dolores Zaragova, for instance. She’s dark enough for any gypsy!” Len said, laughing.

“She’s Spanish. What else do you expect?” Ruey, whose suggestion this had been, replied. “But isn’t she rather inclined to keep in the background? Think she’d do it?”

“We can but try. And we do not know that the Head will agree,” Louise reminded them.

“I don’t see why not,” Ruey said. “After all we do fortunes on Hallowe’en.”

Maria Zinkel, who had hitherto been silent, suddenly spoke. “I could do that myself if Dolores doesn’t want to do it. I have a book about—how do you say her—die Handwahrsagerei—”

“Palmistry,” Margot said briefly. “But I thought that was mainly telling character, not the future.”

“That is it. But if we may do it, I would be glad to,” Maria said.

“She’d agree to that all right. Is that what your book says, Maria?”

“But yes. Shall we consider it, Len?”

Len laughed. “I don’t see why not. But keep it dark until we’re certain, or we shall have half the seniors crowding up here to ask you to tell their futures, Maria.”

“I should like you to tell me mine,” said Louise wistfully.

Maria shook her head. “But I can only read character, Louise. Oh, there are a few lines on the palms that may help, but that is all.”

“But you might, perhaps, tell me if I shall marry,” Louise suggested.

“Now that’s enough of that,” Margot broke in. “It’s the Sale we’re discussing just now and we’ve exactly five minutes left before Abendessen. On the whole I think we’d better adjourn this meeting and go and make ourselves fit to be seen, Len. We can resume it later on. Anyhow, we must consult the Head before we go any further. But I think she’ll like the general idea.”

Len agreed with this, so the meeting was adjourned, to be resumed as soon as Miss Annersley’s opinion had been learned, and they went off to their Splashery to tidy themselves in readiness for the evening meal.

In the event Miss Annersley agreed to their ideas, even to the character-reading from palms, though she strongly recommended that someone more forthcoming than the retiring Dolores should be asked to undertake it.

“I’m afraid Dolores would tie herself into knots over the various languages from sheer nerves,” she said. “However, you must settle it among yourselves.”

“We had better have a general meeting for everyone to vote on it,” Ted said.

Margot laughed. “It’s going to save a lot of trouble over the dresses. I don’t suppose many folk will want something else—not if it means a lot of sewing to be got through,” she added.

“How true!” said Eve with a giggle.

The Head laughed. “Well, you must see how you can manage things. Don’t forget that characters like Santa Claus and John Peel must have material dresses. And if I may advise, let those two characters have more or less static parts. We usually have hot weather at that time and I can think of more comfortable attire than full hunting costume, or Santa’s robes, together with sack and full beard.”

Then she dismissed them to whatever their next duties were and herself departed to the office to bring Rosalie up to date about the Sale.

The adjourned meeting was continued after Prayers that evening. The prefects felt that the sooner they got things settled the better, since this year there was so little in the way of dresses they could rely on.

“We’ve six Houses,” Len said when they were all seated round the long table, “that is if we reckon in St Nicholas. What do you all think? Should we give two months to each House—oh, but who’s Head Girl of the youngsters’ House? Jean Morrison, isn’t it? And she’s ten. No, I don’t think that’ll work.”

“It certainly won’t,” Priscilla agreed. “We’d better divide them out among our own lot, so many to each of ours.”

“May I be there to hear you tell them of it, then! That’s all I’ve got to say,” was Ted’s reaction to this. “Besides, don’t they always run the Lucky Dip?”

Margot laughed. “It’s a case of ‘no can do’, so far as that’s concerned. We’ll have to think of something else. We’d better divide them up into forms. How many groups will that make, someone?”

“If you count in the Kindergarten crowd, fifteen,” replied Carmela Walther after doing a hasty sum on her fingers.

“I have had a thought,” Jeanne said. “It is this. There are twelve of the forms in this division of the school. How many of les petites are in the Kindergarten altogether?”

That was something no one knew, but it could easily be learned from Miss Robertson, who was head of that division. Eve, who intended to take up Kindergarten work when she left school, undertook to inquire into the matter, and they went on from there.

“We will divide them up giving so many to each of the other forms. Then we may use them for messengers and any other helpers they can be.”

“It is certainly an idea,” Maria Zinkel said. “Our little Vreneli would weep if she was not given a share and so would most of the others.”

“Weep? There’d be howls all round!” Jean Dancey declared. “After all, they are part of the school as much as anyone else. That’s a good idea, Jeanne.”

“Excellent!” said Marie Huber. “And what is more, I think we might let them do some of their—how do you say?—ah! I have him! action songs and make a little concert, nicht?”

“Oh, jolly good!” agreed two or three voices, and Marie went pink. She was a retiring girl, given, as Margot had once remarked, to preferring the background, so when she did make a proposal it was listened to in all seriousness.

“Well, there seems to be plenty for them to do,” Con said. “Let’s get on to something else. What about the leaders—I mean Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter? I suppose they must be chosen from among ourselves.”

“Right! And you can be Autumn,” interjected Ted. “Margot must be Summer, of course—”

“And you can leave me out of it!” Len announced firmly. “Someone has got to be there to advise generally and as I’m Head Girl in this seminary, it had better be me.”

There was a general outcry at this, but she remained firm.

“I’ll tell you what,” she said at last. “I’ll be Mother Nature and keep an eye on you all. Now give it a miss and appoint Spring and Winter.” She looked thoughtfully round on them. “What about Primrose for Spring?”

“And Ted for Winter.” Louise backed this up.

“No, thank you!” Ted spoke firmly. “If anyone’s Winter, it ought to be Marie. Winter’s the time when you have the Waits and Christmas carols. Marie’s Music Pree and it’s her job and no bones about it.”

Marie looked horrified. “But no—I say no!” she exclaimed. “I will help with any music, but as for being Winter—Never!—Niemals!” She emphasized it by adding the German word for ‘never’ and the others broke into peals of laughter.

“But why not?” Con asked when they had calmed down. “What’s your objection?”

“I do not wish it. Let someone else take it. After all,” she added by way of clinching it, “there is more of winter than carols. We have sports, and even more important, there is the Christmas Story.”

“Very well.” Len took up the tale. “Then if you will not be Winter, you shall be the Madonna—for of course we must have a Christmas tableau. Now don’t argue, Marie. That’s settled!”

Marie subsided and they went on to elect the leaders of the various months, after which they sorted out which stalls should belong to each season. This kept them busy until the bell for the end of the day pealed out, but by that time they had got a good deal of the groundwork allocated, and retired to bed feeling quite pleased with themselves.

By dint of using every spare moment of their time, the prefects contrived to get a workable plan for the whole of the Sale by the Friday, and on Friday evening the Head not only cut the final half-hour of preparation but gave an extra half hour after Prayers to all members of the school except those in St Nicholas House.

In one sense, it was badly needed. Some of the Juniors would have been ready to burst if they had not been able to discuss the plan as soon as possible. In Upper IVb the greatest excitement was over the idea that Samaris Davies was to be a Fairy Piper to announce the entrance of Queen Summer by playing a very simple air on her flute. It had to be simple, for Samaris had had only the previous half-term and the first three weeks of the present one to make a beginning and the flute is not an easy instrument.

Luckily, Samaris was keen, and had not only practised strenuously during the holidays, but had been fortunate enough to find an instructor in the gentleman who lived in the apartment below theirs in Innsbruck. Herr Mensch was the brother of two of the earliest pupils at the Chalet School. Frau von Eschenau, one of the first prefects, and her sister, Frau von Ahlen, were still devoted adherents of the school, and their daughters either were or had been pupils there, too. Frau von Eschenau’s girls had left by this time and Frieda von Ahlen’s Gretchen was a shining member of Upper IVa, though her small sister Carlotta was still not of age for the school. Herr Mensch was devoted to his instrument and Samaris was a keen pupil, so she had done good work during the three weeks or so of the Easter holidays and was hard at work on the melody which Mr Denny, who taught her in school, had composed especially for her.

The first check came when Mdlle de Lachennais, needlework mistress, announced to the form that they must set to work to make some of the dresses required for the Sale. Taking them by and large, Upper IVb were not fond of sewing. Still, they fully recognised that they must do their share of the work, so they cheerfully gave up two of their free afternoon periods and Mdlle, who was doyenne of the staff, as cheerfully gave up her time to over-seeing them.

However, the first two weeks of the period turned out to be dull and showery, so that they could not have their usual weekly two half-days down at the school’s bathing place on Lake Thun, and Mdlle not only had all the Middles together in Hall to get on with the job, but enlivened it by reading from various storybooks. The third week the sun relented and, after veiling his face with most unpleasant mists and outbursts of showers, celebrated the Tuesday by bursting out in full force and the girls were able for the first time that term to come down to Frühstück in all the glory of their summer uniforms of cotton frocks, all made in the one style but in any colours the wearers chose. The Speisesaal had a most festive appearance in consequence.

“I like our winter uniforms,” Althea said to Sam as she surveyed that young person’s trim pink frock with its collar and cuffs of embroidered nylon. “They are so chic. But I like these quite as well and it is delightful to see the different colours.” Her eyes went down to her own dainty mauve and then across the dormitory aisle to where three or four of the others were already gathered in readiness to march downstairs to the commonroom.

“Gosh!” said Sam with a grin and in her best French. “I’ve never thought of it myself. But you’re right, of course. The formrooms will look very bright this morning.”

“I agree.”

Sam chuckled. “Must you always talk so primly?” she asked.

“You need hardly be surprised at that,” remarked Val who had come to join the queue, attired in poppy red. “Don’t you know yet that our Althea always talks as if she had stepped out of an ELSIE book?”

“A what book?” Samaris demanded.

“An ELSIE book—a set of books written in the middle of the last century. There are dozens of them and Elsie is such a good little girl. Oh, most pious! And no one in the books ever uses slang!” Val said with a sneer.

“Just as well for you if that’s what you want!” Sam retorted. “How much French or German slang do you know?”

As Val’s knowledge of the two languages included practically no slang, she had to hold her tongue. In any case the bell rang for them to go down to their commonroom, practice or any prep they felt needed a little extra work. Sam departed to the music room farthest from everyone else, where she proceeded to work at exercises and scales varied by squeals and other most unmusical sounds. Althea, who was free of early morning practice today, retired to the formroom to look over her newest list of German words. Someone might pounce down on her to hear them and she had already learned that it was wisest to be prepared as soon as possible.

Left alone, Val sauntered out into the garden and wished that something would happen. Nothing did, beyond the fact that Robina asked her if she knew their German repetition, which she did more or less. Robina sighed heavily and observed, “Das Glück ist bei ihr!” a remark which would have made anyone in authority shriek with dismay if they could have heard her. Fortunately no one was near enough to do so. She left Val at that point in answer to a call from Flavia Ansell who wanted to know why she had not hung up her pyjama jacket to air properly and forgot all about Val and her trouble for the moment.

Val, meantime, had joined up with Susan Barnett and Mathilda Dauray, and in their chatter contrived to forget her grievances. Moreover, when Prayers were over, the Head motioned to them to sit down, which meant that she had an announcement to make. It was one that delighted the whole school.

“Just a moment, girls,” she said smiling at them. “As summer seems to have decided to come at long last, we will resume our summer term custom and on Friday, if it remains fine, we go down to our bathing place on Lake Thun immediately after Mittagessen and stay there for the afternoon and evening. You will take prep with you as usual, and those who have art in the afternoon must remember to take their sketching materials. Other lessons will be excused, but when you have finished your prep, we ask you all to give some time towards helping to make dresses for the acting cupboards. Of course you will have boating and, if the lake is not too cold, swimming.”

A hum of ecstasy arose, but she hushed them again. “I have only one more thing to add. No one who cannot swim at least twenty yards will be allowed to go on the water, and no one under the age of eleven may go without a Mistress or a Senior in charge of the boat. Disobedience to this rule will mean that you will not be allowed in or on the water at all next time. Finally, any girl reported to me for bad behaviour in any way between now and Friday will not go at all. I hope for all our sakes that this won’t happen.”

She dismissed them then and anyone seeing the beaming faces as they marched off to attend to dormitory duties before scurrying downstairs to change into outdoor shoes and pull on their hats would have decided that this was a truly happy school.

Althea was especially delighted. She could both swim and row and she was over eleven, so she looked forward to a thrilling time. Val was a swimmer, though she had done practically no boating in her American home. She was eager to learn and, with the reminder about good behaviour, she set herself to do her best. As a result, she forgot her recent sulks and became once more the jolly Val the school had known the previous term. She could not forget her jealousy of Althea, but she avoided her as much as possible and so kept out of trouble for the next two or three days.

Trouble began on the Friday morning when Len Maynard appeared in Pansy dormitory to ask which of them could come with her before Frühstück to help carry some parcels over to Freudesheim with her.

Among their other activities, the school provided bundles of clothing for the poor children of a parish in Innsbruck and the Easter holiday task was always a garment to be made. Usually, the box of clothing was sent by road or rail, but on this occasion Joey Maynard had informed Miss Annersley that she was going to Innsbruck to stay with a very old friend about this time and would take it with her to save the cost of carriage. At the beginning of the week she had sent word that she was going on Saturday and would be glad of the box so that she could get on with her packing. It had been taken over to Freudesheim, but further contributions had come in during the Thursday, and it was these that the Head had asked Len to take over before Frühstück on the Friday.

Len had asked leave to take three of the Middles to help her, and since it was the turn of Pansy to provide messengers that week, she had walked into the dormitory to ask who was free to do it. People who had early morning practice were out of it, but two of the occupants of the dormitory had early morning remedials. The remainder, including Althea, Robina, two French girls, Lizette Thomé and Marie Angeot, and Val, were free and all were eager to be among the chosen. They appeared between their cubicle curtains, all more or less ready to go downstairs and Len promptly hit on the three nearest.

“Robina, Althea, and you, Marie,” she said. “Be ready the moment you finish dormy duties and meet me outside in the path from the Splasheries. Don’t forget your hats, and as we shan’t be going along the road don’t bother to change your sandals. That’s all.” She nodded at them with a smile and departed, leaving them to disappear behind their curtains and finish any oddments they still had to attend to before going to the door to march downstairs.

Lizette was disappointed, but she had the sense to realize that Len had merely chosen the nearest, and took her disappointment philosophically. Not so Val. That young person had got out of bed wrong foot first, and Len’s choice had not improved matters. She turned with a heavy frown to the task of stripping her bed, and a feeling that Len might have chosen her. Why on earth had she picked on a new girl like Althea who didn’t really know Mrs Maynard at all? So sulked Val, forgetting that the new girl had lived with the Maynards for two or three days before term began.

Unfortunately, when they went to form the marching line, Flavia noticed her black look and asked, “What’s wrong, Val? Cheer up!”

“Nothing’s wrong,” growled Val. “Let me alone, can’t you?”

Well! Flavia’s pleasant smile vanished and she said nothing more than “Line up, please. Now who’s missing? Oh, you, Brigit. Into line, quickly!”

Then she sent them off downstairs. But if Val thought she had heard the last of the business, she had made a mistake. As soon as they had scattered, Celia Morton and Marguérite Foncé attacked her.

“Mais comme tu es impolie!” Marguérite said reproachfully. “Flavia ne désire rien que t’aider mais tu es si bien fâchée.”

“Mind your own business,” Val snarled—in English at that.

Marguérite raised her eyebrows. “It is as I said,” she remarked, turning to Celia and speaking in her own tongue since this was a French day. “Val has no manners.”

“Yes: why did you talk up to Copper like that?” Celia demanded. “She was only being decent to you.”

Val went beyond their limits. “Oh, damn! I told you to leave me alone!”

“Valencia!” said a sharp voice behind them and they all swung round to see Miss Burnett standing there. “Go into the house,” she said. “Not you two. I was speaking to Valencia. Go at once, Valencia!”

The shock had brought Val to her senses more or less. “I—I didn’t mean to say it,” she burst out. “I’m sorry, Miss Burnett—truly I am.”

“This is French day,” Miss Burnett said inflexibly. “Repeat that in French and then go to the remedial room. I’ll come to you in a few minutes. At once, please!”

Val obeyed. She had suddenly remembered the condition on which they were allowed to go down to Thun. Supposing Miss Burnett reported her to the Head! It would be goodbye to a jolly afternoon and evening. She only wished she had remembered sooner.

Miss Burnett only waited until she had gone, to warn Celia and Marguérite to say nothing about the episode to anyone. She was a merciful creature and she had no intention of reporting Val, though she meant to give her a good talking-to about her language. Such words were not allowed at the school. She waited until she had the promise from the other two, then she went to the remedial room, where she found a very subdued Val awaiting her.

“What have you to say for yourself?” she demanded, as she sat down at her little desk facing the culprit.

Val had no excuse to offer. She could only repeat her apology.

“Why did you swear at those two?”

“I—don’t know.”

“Are you not feeling well?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Val faltered.

Peggy Burnett nodded. “I see. It is a pain in your temper. Now listen to me.” And she proceeded to administer a stinging rebuke which made Val squirm inwardly. However, she let it go at that, though she warned the sinner that she would not get off so easily another time, and also mulcted her of a fine to be paid into the slang box. The gong sounded at that moment, so the mistress dismissed Val and made her way along to the staffroom wondering what on earth had happened to make Val Pertwee behave like this. As for Val, she scuttled off to the commonroom to take her place in the line forming to march to the Speisesaal, making up her mind as she went to watch her tongue whatever she might feel. But it was not a good beginning to the day.

It was well for Val that, taken as a whole, the staff of the Chalet School was a set of understanding women. Peggy Burnett was no exception to the rule. She had discussed Val’s attitude with her own special friends and they had decided to let things run—within limits—for the moment. Val had almost outrun those limits, but the mistress felt that her sharp reproof, together with the fact that she knew she had risked missing her trip down to the lake, ought to hold her for the time being. Since Miss Burnett had cautioned Marguérite and Celia to say nothing about it to the others, no one but they and the mistress knew about Val’s lapse.

Len walked her porters smartly to Freudesheim, where they piled up their bundles in Joey’s study, while the prefect raced upstairs to the night nursery in search of her mother. Joey was busily tucking last oddments into the suitcases before locking them and summoning Anna to help her carry them downstairs. The Coadjutor was busy dressing the tinies for their journey. Joey always insisted that her small fry should begin by looking respectable although, as she said, their arrival was another matter.

Len had a brief interview with her mother, then kissed the babies all round and rushed off again to claim her three and hurry them back. She wanted a word with the Head before school.

Miss Annersley smiled at the tall girl as she entered the study.

“Got everything over safely?” she asked.

Len nodded. “Everything; and it’s a really decent lot this time. Mamma sends her love and she’ll come over and give you all the Innsbruck hanes when she gets back. And oh, Auntie Hilda, they overhauled Phil again yesterday, and she’s really making strides now. She’s beating Geoff at his own game of eating and she’s walking all over without having to hold on to anything. It’s still slow, of course, but it’s proper walking. Isn’t that miraculous? And this time she hasn’t had any relapses and the San people think that’s a thing of the past now.”

The Head’s eyes lit up. “Oh, good news! I needn’t tell you how glad I am, Len. But, my dear girl, I must turn you out now or I shall never get through the morning’s work and I want to join you at the lake when you go down this afternoon. In any case it’s nearly time for Prayers. Off you go. I can just manage to finish this letter first if I hurry.”

Len laughed and left the room and the Head turned to the letter she was writing when the girl came into the study.

Morning school went quietly. The last lesson was cut as always happened on these occasions and Mittagessen came at 12.30 hours instead of the usual 13.00 hours. Then came the rush to clear the tables, after which for once the daily half-hour rest was omitted and everyone scrambled to get ready for the trip to the valley. They formed into their usual lines in the side paths and, as soon as they were ready, marched off smartly across the playing-fields to the gate at the far end of the place, whence they scurried along the high road to the station. Everyone was armed with books, knapsacks containing food, drinks and sewing materials. The men who worked about the school had gone down earlier and taken with them tents, rugs to sit on, and hampers containing materials for their needlework.

Althea, who had been expecting to help carry it down, asked Sam, with whom she was paired, where it was.

“Gone down with Gaudenz and the other men,” Sam told her. “We saw them going down with it early this morning.”

“When do we have our boating and swimming?” Althea demanded.

“Oh, after Kaffee und Kuchen. It’s too hot for anything like that early. You know what it can be like in the afternoons now, don’t you?”

Althea laughed. “Do I not! I felt parboiled yesterday. It won’t leave us much time for water-sports, will it?”

“Not as much as most of us would like,” agreed Robina. “It’s a bore not being down by the lake as when the school was in Tirol. Still, it’s better than nothing. Hi! There’s the train. Hurry!”

It was just as well that this was the time of the siesta for most of the Platz, for at these words everyone within hearing cast discipline to the winds and tore down the road at top speed. They made it easily, however, though the little carriages were crammed to the doors before the train slid off down the shining black rail which ran to the foot of the mountain, across the narrow valley and so into the station in Interlaken. There the girls tumbled out at top speed, formed into lines and marched to the Schiffstadt to board the lake ferry waiting for them there.

“This is the early ferry!” Clarissa Dendy exulted. “That will give us an extra half hour. C’est magnifique!”

“How much cooler it is on the water,” remarked Marie Angeot as the smart little white steamer swung away from the landing-stage and headed for the centre of the lake.

Althea had her hand to her hat-brim. “May we take our hats off?” she asked.

Len overheard her and shook her head. “You may not!” she said definitely. “D’you want to have sunstroke?”

“But it’s so much cooler out here,” Althea protested.

Val, who had also been about to remove her hat, dropped her hand. “Why not?” she asked. “It’s a lot cooler out here with this lovely breeze, and it is so pleasant to feel it through one’s hair.”

“That may be,” Len said. “It doesn’t do anything to affect the power of the sun, even if it does temper the heat a little.”

“Do you mean sunstroke?” Robina asked, wide-eyed.

The two prefects nodded with vim.

“Sunstroke it is. Of course,” Ted went on, “if you’re dying to have most ghastly sick headaches, not to speak of Matey on your necks for being a pair of idiots, I suppose it’s your look-out, but myself, I’d rather be excused.” She gave a chuckle.

Val pulled a face. “I couldn’t agree more!” She turned to Althea and, for the first time for days, addressed that young person in a friendly tone. “It’s no go Althea. We’ll have to put up with it.”

Althea gave her a grin. “I should hate to have Matey on my track. We’ll be good, Len.”

“I should hope so,” said Ted. “You two scram and join the others and stick to your hats. Oh, by the way, can you swim, Althea? I know Val can.”

Althea nodded. “I’ve always been able to swim more or less. We’ve lived by the sea a lot. And my brothers taught me to row and to sail a boat. Do we have sailing as well as rowing?”

“Yes—within limits,” Ted told her. “Better wait for that. Anyway, you’ll have to pass your swimming and rowing tests, so there won’t be all that much time today.”

“There certainly won’t—not with all that sewing we’ve got to get through,” Len concurred. “You haven’t forgotten that, I hope?”

“Are you two never coming?” demanded Primrose Trevoase just behind them.

“We’re coming,” Ted said. “Come to me when you’re ready, Val and Althea, and I’ll test you. Remember you can only go in up to your waists until you’ve been passed.”

She slipped her arm through Len’s and they went off to join their peers, while Val and Althea, their silly quarrel forgotten for the time being, thanks to the soothing effect of their present surroundings, strolled off to join the rest of Upper IVb in the most amiable manner possible. In fact, when they were all in their swimming suits and squatting on the shore with their knapsacks opened, enjoying Karen’s noble feast, Val pulled Althea down beside her to sit back to back and they chatted pleasantly with the others who had the sense to let things alone so that the trouble in Upper IVb dropped out of sight, for the time being at any rate.

Mittagessen over, they cleared up the papers and then settled down to an hour’s preparation before turning to making crêpe paper dresses. A number of these had to be sewn, but Miss Ferrars had ordained that the simpler ones must be gummed and the Upper IVs, A and B, were set to attending to this. By 16.00 hours every girl in the two forms was appallingly sticky, but the shore on which they were sitting was nearly covered with flower-frocks and Mdlle de Lachennais, coming to inspect their work, was delighted with the results of their labours.

She ordained that an excellent beginning had been made on the dresses and after consulting with her confreres called an end to work. They were sent to splash in the lake while the Seniors, who had been sewing, packed away everything and, when the sticky members of the crowd had cleaned themselves, they all sat down to lemonade, sandwiches and cakes, and as soon as the last crumb had been disposed of there was a wild rush to the water and they all plunged in.

The Juniors had been given their bounds and so had the swimming novices. Althea and Val had both been passed earlier by their swimming testers and were able to go off with a crowd of their own, including Robina, Samaris, Marguérite, and five members of Upper IVb. Miss Ferrars and Miss Wilmot were sporting about with an eye to what their pupils might be doing, and Mélanie Lucas, a member of VIb, and her two great chums, Margot Maynard and Ruey Richardson, were with her, practising life-saving.

Althea went straight into a beautiful butterfly stroke, much to the admiration of Val, who swam up to her with a neat, clean breast-stroke and demanded to be taught how to do it.

Althea laughed doubtfully. “I’ve never taught anyone before and I don’t know if I can teach,” she said. “I’ll try, though.”

Mélanie overheard her and came up to them. “That’s right,” she said encouragingly. “You always know a thing better if you try to teach it. I’ll give you a hand to start with. Look, Val. Like this.”

Between them they got Val started and one or two of the more ambitious members of their gang promptly joined in. Before they had been at it ten minutes, Mélanie had a regular class. Len, further along the shore, was busy at the diving-board, teaching another bunch of the younger girls to dive. The juniors were enjoying themselves in a roped-off pool with others of the prefects and some of the mistresses. Others again were racing further out, but well within the area patrolled by Miss Burnett and four more of the mistresses. The Head and Miss Dene had set off for home after their meal was finished.

“And on the whole,” Miss Wilmott said when the staff were taking their ease much later on in their own garden, “I’m thankful they weren’t there—Hilda especially. I don’t mind a little excitement, but the sort of thing we had this evening is rather too much of a good thing. I only wonder my own hair hasn’t turned white!”

“I certainly thought mine must be gray,” Kathy Ferrars said. “Well, it’s over and all’s well that ends well, but Heaven defend me from another such experience! That’s all I’ve got to say!”

The others agreed with her. That evening swimming had ended up with a hair-raising experience and, taken as a whole, the Chalet School staff were still somewhat shaken, even though no one could have blamed them for what happened. But it had been a narrow shave with disaster.

Like most of her sister lakes, Thun is subject to sudden gusts and storms which can render her none too safe to inexperienced boatmen. Winds funnelling down between the mountain slopes are forced into gales, frequently brief but violent, whipping the lake waters to a tremendous swell in a very short space of time. Hence the precautions taken by the school where the girls were concerned. Hence, also the strictness with which obedience to rules was enforced. Juniors were never allowed to go out in the boats without people who were experienced. No girl might go out until she was able to swim a certain distance. Only rowing-boats were permitted to them and the bounds given them were strictly maintained. Breaking rules meant banishment from the water except in the steamers. Consequently no one in the history of the school had ever had to be called to order for breaking any of the rules. So long as the girls were in or on the water, the guard boats, manned either by experienced staff or seniors, kept station.

This day was no exception. The Juniors were called in early and while the Junior Middles were given training in rowing or canoe-work, the Senior Middles were marshalled to the second boundary and instructed in the art of rowing and steering for racing.

On this evening, all the youngsters below Upper IVb had been given their rowing practice, and by the time the Head had left for the school again they were all safely ashore, playing about at the edge of the lake.

The people who had come new to boating this term had also been landed and the instructors had called out those who had some experience and started them off on their training for the end of term Regatta. Those who were proving good were presently told they might go and practise among the Seniors; the rest were divided up into six groups for extra teaching. Among them was Val, who knew very little about it but had taken to it “like a duck to water,” to quote Ted. Althea, on the other hand, was an old hand. Her brothers had seen to it that she could row and steer. Not only that, but she could manage a small yacht adequately and was also accustomed to handling—under their supervision—a little speedboat. She had been disappointed when she was assured by the others that rowing and canoeing would be the limit to her activities at school. No one would listen to her pleading to be allowed to hire a yacht. The school was prepared to run no risks.

“But I’ve sailed ever since I was a small child,” she told Miss Burnett.

“But not on lake waters, I imagine,” that lady said. She explained the reason for the school’s rules and Althea acknowledged the sense of them, but she was grievously disappointed all the same.

“Oh, well, at least you can row,” said Val who overheard her. “Oh, look! There’s Copper waving. She’s got a boat. Come on!”

There could be only one response to this. The two set off at top speed to where Flavia was sitting in one of the broad-beamed row-boats they used on the lake, waving energetically to them.

“Want to come out with me?” she asked as they waded out to the boat. “Ferry is taking three boats and we’re one of them.”

They agreed joyfully and tumbled in beside her. Flavia looked at them. “Althea is the lightest. She’d better steer,” she said. “Ferry’s coming in with us and you can take one of the other oars, Val. There’s Sam Davies. She can row. Give her a yell, Althea.”

Althea obliged with a screech that made some of the folk nearby jump and Sam herself looked round wildly before she came racing down to the shore and splashing through the water to the boat, into which she rolled with more enthusiasm than grace.

“Who’s going with us?” she demanded as she took the bench behind Flavia.

“Ferry—and here she comes,” Flavia said. “We’re ready, Miss Ferrars, if you are,” she added as the mistress came to scramble in beside them.

“Well, we’d better start off at once or we’ll be having half your crowd demanding to go with us,” Miss Ferrars said with a grin. “Fit your oar over its rowlock, Val. Yes; that’s right. Drop the chain. Althea—oh, good! You’ve done it. Used to boats, are you?”

Althea nodded. “I’ve done heaps of boating,” she said. “My brothers made me learn when I was just a kid—I mean quite young.”

“Well, let’s see how you steer. Tilt your oar for the moment. Val. I’ll start you off rowing when we’re well away from the rest. Ready, Flavia? Then start in.”

Flavia was rowing stroke and Miss Ferrars herself bow. Two or three good steady strokes aided by careful steering from Althea took them out of the little bay. They were followed by two other boats stroked respectively by Ted and Con and manned for the most part by complete tyros. Miss Ferrars kept an eye on them as well as on her own crew, but presently sent those two boats back to the safer waters of the bay. Seeing that Val seemed to be picking up the trick of oarsmanship quite capably, she directed her cox towards the more open waters, and although Val was somewhat erratic in her timing of the oar they went along at a fair pace.

“We’ll go round Miss Stone’s guardboat,” the mistress decided. “Then steer back to the bay, Althea. I expect you’ll all have had enough by the time we reach harbour again. Shoulders aching, Val?”

“Just a bit,” Val gasped. “But I don’t mind. It’s nothing to write home about, and it’s worth it, anyhow, to learn how to row.”

Her companions laughed. “You bet it is,” Sam said fervently. “I say, Miss Ferrars, oughtn’t Althea to have a go at rowing? Shall we change over after we’ve turned?”

“Ferry” regarded them thoughtfully. “Think you can manage without upsetting us?”

“Of course,” Althea replied. She was itching for a turn at the oars.

“You’re all good swimmers and anyhow it doesn’t matter if you do get wet in your swimsuits. Very well. We’ll try it. Val, you keep still when we turn, and leave the work to Sam and Althea.” She lifted one hand off her oar to wave to Con as they passed and then gave her attention to the little manoeuvre.

Past the guardboat they went, with due care for the three or four other boats which were also turning for home, and then out into the lake where, for the first time, they were aware of a commotion. Miss Ferrars glanced towards it and only just avoided gasping aloud. Heading straight for their bay was a speedboat and it was only too obvious that she was in inexpert hands, and hands that were none too strong judging from the way she was weaving from side to side, not to speak of the manner in which her bows were lifting off the water.

With a thrill of horror, Kathy Ferrars realized that unless something were done about it, she would be amongst their boats and heaven knew what might happen. Flavia realized it, too, but she was a level-headed girl and she gasped out: “Can you deal with them and I’ll try to—Oh, glorianna! It’s two kids!” She broke off. “They can’t help themselves! What—”

“Sit still, girls! Val, ship your oar and be ready to hold her off. Steer to port, Althea! Look out! Here she comes!”

Just exactly what happened in the next few minutes no one in the boat was ever quite sure. The speedboat, going at high speed, seemed to be inevitably about to cut ’midships across their boat, only Miss Ferrars caught at her bows and held her off with all her force. Althea did her best with her rudder so that any blow should be a glancing one. Val imitated the mistress and as the two boats came together pushed as hard as she could to keep the two apart. Miss Ferrars partly succeeded in forcing down the lifting bows and rolled over from their own tublike craft into the motorboat where she sought frantically for control, while the two white-faced urchins, seeing someone had come to their aid, subsided with veils of relief and terror which did nothing to help.

By this time the boat was making headlong for another group of rowers. Miss Ferrars gripped the wheel and just managed to avoid disaster. But she had no idea how to halt their mad career; all she could do was to steer out towards clearer water while she looked for means of stopping the boat.

One of the lake’s official guardboats came speeding up, the guard calling as they came:

“Ziehen sie den Schalthebel ganz zurück, Fräulein!”

Miss Ferrars’ German was not highly technical, but she dimly recognized the word for gear-lever. She took hold of it, but at that moment the boat gave a lurch and the lever shot forward into the “full ahead” position. The boat took a great leap forward.

“Schalten Sie die Zündung aus!” yelled the guard desperately. “Drehen Sie den kleinen Schalter!”

But the mistress had no eyes to spare for seeing switches. The bows of the speedboat had risen until she was hydroplaning, and it was all Kathy could do to hold her. She could only grip hard on the wheel, whilst the boat bucked under her like a wild broncho.

The guardboat was gradually creeping up, however. With a most incredible skill the steersman matched speed and course until his companion was able to roll from boat to boat. In a few moments they were floating placidly, then chugged quietly towards the landing-stage.

Not that it ended there. At least a dozen other boats had come streaking after The Flying Lady and they formed a ring round her and the Chalet School’s St Agnes, while a perfect babel arose round them as exclamations and denunciations were showered on them.

“Who had allowed two little boys like that to take the boat out?—Where were their people?—Où sont les parents?—Bitte, rufen Sie den Vater—Junge Taugenichts—Scélérat!—”

More than one person turned on poor Miss Ferrars, imagining that she was responsible for the whole thing and scolding her vigorously. Luckily, the lake guard knew all about it and he straightened things out with amazing speed. The boys had set off from a small village not far from Interlaken, and he had followed as fast as he could when he saw what was happening. The gracious lady had nothing to do with them, and it was mainly thanks to the way she and her young ladies had kept their heads that there had been no tragedy as a wind-up to the affair. As for the boys, they were staying with their parents and Kindermädchen and he himself had seen den Herrn und die Dame go off early that morning on the steamer. Where the nurse was he had no idea, but their name was Connor and der Herr Connor was a wealthy man as all the village knew. As for the boys—they were mütwillig—Teufelskinder—and a great deal more.

Meanwhile the two small boys were howling steadily in the hull of the boat and resisting all the efforts of Flavia to soothe them. Finally, Miss Ferrars beckoned to Miss Stone who had rowed up to inquire what all the fuss was about; her boat was hitched to St Agnes and she managed to withdraw the girls from the racket and get them ashore while Kathy Ferrars accompanied the speedboat and the boys to the hotel where they and their parents were staying and at long last a coherent story was produced.

The Connors had gone off for the day to meet an old friend at Basle and spend the day with him. Nanny was quite capable of managing Brian and Pat in the usual way, but unfortunately she had slipped on the stairs and fallen heavily, spraining her ankle badly so that there was nothing for it but to lay the injured foot up. At first the boys had behaved themselves, but having to stay in Nanny’s room this glorious day proved boring, and when Nanny had dozed off the young monkeys had slipped out and gone for a walk by the lakeside. They had spied the speedboat their father had hired for the six weeks or so the family were spending by the lake. They had been taken out in her several times and Brian had even been allowed to handle her under his father’s watchful eye. He had been fiddling with the switches. Pat, not to be outdone, had dropped her chain, and before they quite knew where they were they were out on the lake and heading for the main water. They had lost their heads and Brian, fumbling about, had pushed the gear lever forward, and that had finished them. The little boat, with her bows lifting out of the water, shot off down the lake and the rest had followed.

The one who came out of it worst was poor Nanny, who was wringing her hands and exclaiming in horror before the yarn was half-told. She would have got off her bed, if she could have stood, but the ankle was too badly sprained to manage it, and it ended with Kathy Ferrars having to stay with the party until the Connors arrived home to find that their young demons had certainly done it this time!

The boys were asleep in bed by then, but Mr Connor promised himself and everyone concerned a few telling remarks on the morrow. The speedboat had not escaped unscathed and the pair were likely to find themselves penniless for some time to come until the repairs had been paid for. Furthermore, their lovely holiday was to come to an abrupt end, and instead of spending another three weeks in Switzerland enjoying themselves, they were to be marched back to their prep school for the remainder of the term.

All the same, when Mr Connor had finished giving Miss Annersley this information next day, he suddenly grinned broadly at her.

“Little brutes!” he said with conviction in his voice. “All the same, though it’s not them I’m telling, I’m a bit proud of the way young Brian seems to have managed his steering. After all, he’s just eleven!”

“I wish,” said Althea, “that I wasn’t learning the piano.”

“Why ever?” demanded Samaris. “You play jolly well.”

“ ’Cos it means I’m out of the orchestra and I’d have loved to be in it. But you don’t want more than one piano in an orchestra,” Althea explained. Then Robina, standing near the formroom door, hissed “Cave! Yollie’s coming!” The chatter in the room ceased and Althea herself slid hastily down from the top of her desk, just in time to be standing at it as Miss Yolland came into the room. She was accompanied by Len Maynard, burdened with an armful of old pasteboards which she handed to Val, who was nearest, before departing on her own business.

Early that morning, Gaudenz, the school’s handyman, had arrived in the office to announce that one of the big windows in the studio had broken during the night and as the wind was blowing directly through it the room would be unusable until the window was reglazed. Hence art lessons must take place in formrooms that day. This had been announced at Prayers and the girls warned to have their rooms in proper order so that Miss Yolland should be held up as little as possible. Upper IVb had seen to it that everything they could do in their own room was done and the mistress smiled approvingly at them as she looked round.

“Well done, girls. Val, give those boards round. We must use them for drawingboards today to save labour. I had intended to let you go on with the illustrations you began last week, but in the circumstances I think we’d better let them wait until we are back in our own quarters. Instead, I want you to draw me designs for a frieze.” She handed a packet of drawing paper to Lizette Thomé. “Follow Val round and give everyone a sheet of this, please. You will want your pencils, rubbers, rulers and compasses—nothing else. Be quick and settle down all of you.”

She spoke pleasantly, but the old hands noticed that Yollie was not her usual sunny self and set to work to do as they were told without delay. The fact was that the mistress disliked having to work anywhere but in her own quarters or out of doors. If it had not been so windy she would have given her class sketching in the sunk garden, but the wind made that idea impossible. Now she waited until everyone was ready and then she spoke.

“Now what have you to remember when you are doing a frieze design? Marie, you tell us.”

Marie Angeot considered. “It must be able to be repeated,” she said.

“That is one thing. Althea, what else?”

Now Althea, though really musical, was very poor at drawing. Above all she hated design, especially geometrical design. Now she twiddled her pencil between her fingers as she tried to remember what Miss Yolland had told them in a previous lesson and grimaced at the ceiling.

“Er—er—it should be simple,” she got out at last.

“Quite so. Also, girls, please remember the uses to which a frieze may be put. I want at least two blocks of your design to show how you think it should be continued. Finally, you may use your compasses, but I prefer freehand if possible. Begin!” Then she stopped them. “No; wait! Make the width of your design six inches and don’t forget to leave a margin on either side for my corrections.”

She nodded at them and they set to work while she settled down to looking over the efforts of her last class—IIIb.

Althea made another face as she proceeded to rule the containing lines on her paper, conveniently forgetting to leave the margin with the result that she had to rub out the ends. She had pressed rather heavily on her ruling, so the paper was marred in the beginning. She sat back, sucked the end of her pencil and finally remembered that each pattern must be at least four inches long, so she divided her frame and again sucked her pencil. Whit should she put in each little box?

Miss Yolland, glancing up, saw her and called her to order. “Althea,” she said sharply. “You are here to work. Have you begun?”

Knowing that Miss Yolland would certainly not call what she had done a beginning, Althea shook her head. “I—I’m trying to think of something,” she confessed.

“Well, hurry up and do it! Clarissa, how far have you got?”

No more than Althea was Clarissa artistic and she had done little more. Neither had Brigit Ingrim nor Maxine de Moné, nor Val, who had carelessly made her frame only four inches deep and was just finishing it off at the correct depth, having taken a good deal of the surface of her paper off with her rubber. The rest had all made some sort of beginning, though Susan Barnett was using her compasses which, so early in the lesson, was not very safe.

Miss Yolland left her IIIb efforts and went round to give a few hints to the duds, and finally left them to continue by themselves, though she kept an eye on their doings. They knew it and it made them worse. When the mistress went the rounds she found that not only Susan, but Maxine and Val were using compasses and all Althea had been able to achieve was a cluster of triangles meeting in the middle of the first block.

“Not a very inspired effort,” she commented. “What else are you doing to it?”

“I—I don’t quite know,” Althea confessed.

“If you were colouring it, what would you do with these?”

This was awful. Althea clutched at what little invention she had. “I think I would make these two blue—and these two a darker blue.”

“I think you had better think again.” And with this crushing remark Miss Yolland left her and went on to Emmy Friedrich, who had certainly contrived to be a little more original. All the same no one had shone and it was a very bleak-looking Miss Yolland who finally collected those sheets and left the room at the end of their hour. Nor was it a very pleased-looking form that she left behind her. Her criticisms of their work had rubbed quite half of them up the wrong way as they sat waiting for the Head to come to them for Religious Knowledge.

“It’s all very well for Yollie,” Marie growled. “She’s good at art and I’m not. Anyhow, I hate doing things with geometry.”

“So do I. And I wanted to get on with my illustration,” Robina chimed in. “Why couldn’t we have done that?”

“Don’t be such an owl!” This was Samaris. “Most of us had got to painting, and how could we have had painting-water in here?”

As they used folding desks, there was some point in her remark. Painting water jars were forbidden in the formroom and when they had to colour maps, they used crayons. Why couldn’t they have done the same for drawing? More than one of them asked that.

“I suppose because you can’t shade well with crayons,” Althea said.

“But you don’t need to shade. You could just do plain colours,” Susan pointed out. “Like those pictures in our French Readers.”

“I couldn’t. My picture needs shading,” Robina retorted.

At this point the Head appeared in their midst and, as half of them were either out of their seats or turned round and no one was ready for her, she pulled them up sharply.

“Girls! What are you thinking of? Where are your St Lukes? Make haste and get them and don’t let me have to complain of this again, please.”

By the time they were back in their seats armed with the special copies of St Luke’s Gospel which they used, quite ten minutes of the lesson had gone and the Head, who had had to complain of their dilatoriness more than once lately, decided to put a stop to it. Eyeing her watch, she said severely, “You have wasted ten minutes of this lesson. I’m sorry, but it must come off your Break. Find your place and let us begin.”

They turned to the parable of the sower which, they had had to revise for preparation, looking as they felt, very blue, and she set them on to reading it, verse about. When they had finished it, she bade them close their books and began to question them. All went well until it came to Val’s turn.

“Val, what is meant by the seed sown among thorns?” the Head asked.

Now Val, relying on the fact that she knew the parable from the work they had done on it earlier in the year, had not bothered to look it up at all, and what with the trouble during their art lesson and the shock of the Head’s announcement about Break had been paying very little attention to the lesson. She fumbled round in her mind, found nothing to say and merely dropped her long lashes and looked silly. Miss Annersley waited for her, saw that she was to get no reply, and passed on to Susan, who said, “Er—er—” and let it go at that.

The Head was a patient woman, but she frowned as she went on to Lizette Thomé. Unfortunately, the failure of the first two seemed to have infected not only Lizette, but the three who came after her, only Maxine making any effort to reply, and as she muddled it up with the seed sown by the wayside, Miss Annersley might be excused for feeling that Upper IVb were in need of a sharp pull-up all round.

Looking grim she demanded to be told how many of them had troubled to prepare their notes as well as reading the parable. It was unfortunate that quite a number of them had followed Val’s example and devoted most of their prep-time the previous night to a really horrible sum, and as she marked the reluctance with which some of their hands were raised she looked grimmer and grimmer. Finally, she commanded them to produce their note-books and took them through the meanings of the story with an energy that made most of them feel they would never forget it again. The bell rang for Break and the end of the lesson, but she paid no heed to it. Instead, she carried on, merely sending Althea to ask one of the maids to bring their elevenses from the Speisesaal and telling them to take them during the lesson. As she was not satisfied with their work by the time the Break ended, she continued during the first ten minutes of geography which came next, before she sent them out for five minutes or so before marching them over to the geography room to explain to Miss Ferrars why they were late. Miss Ferrars had planned a very full lesson and was naturally displeased at having to cut it short, so geography was no happier than any of the rest had been.

The climax came with their English grammar lesson with Miss Stone. She elected to give them sentences to break up into clauses and phrases, and by this time the entire form was so upset that no one seemed able to recognize a clause when she saw it, let alone a phrase. Samaris, faced with “Having seen the flashing beam of the lighthouse, he proceeded to steer towards it, hoping to reach harbour in safety,” insisted that “flashing” was an infinite part of the verb and made “the flashing beam of the lighthouse” into a phrase. Nor could she seem to understand that in that sense it was used as an adjective. Miss Stone lost her temper and ended by sending Sam out of the room when she insisted that it was a present participle and therefore “flashing beam of the lighthouse” must be a phrase!

Upper IVb finally left their form room that morning convinced that all mistresses were grossly unfair and they were the most ill-used form in the school.

They calmed down during Mittagessen and the half-hour rest which invariably followed it. Cricket came next for them and that helped to soothe their ruffled feelings even further. In fact, all might have been well by the end of the afternoon if it had not been for Mdlle de Lachennais deciding that instead of going on with the making of dresses for the Sale they must have a lesson in darning.

Now, since more than half the form were girls from Switzerland, France or Germany, most of them were good needlewomen for their age. The school insisted on a high standard of plain sewing and it was rarely that a girl left without being well-versed in all forms of darning, patching and so on. Very occasionally it had happened, but very occasionally. Just at the present Upper IVb had two girls who loudly proclaimed their hatred of all such niceties—Val Pertwee and Susan Burnett. Althea rather liked needlework and the rest of the British and American contingent were more or less resigned to the fact that “just cobbling” would not be allowed. But Val and Susan loathed the very sight of a needle and as a result were expected to sit one on each side of Mdlle during their lessons.

They began the afternoon by taking seats together at some distance from her, and the lesson was held up for some minutes when she called them to their usual seats with a sharp rebuke for not taking them at once. Like the girls, the mistresses had been ruffled by the trouble those dealing with Upper IVb had been put to that morning and during the interval between morning and afternoon school had discussed the various annoyances they had suffered from the form with point and vigour. They recalled other occasions when a form had seemed inclined to deteriorate in one way or another and while they drank their after-Mittagessen coffee it was decided that the manners and morale of the young ladies needed special attention to prevent any such happening. Mindful of this, Mdlle was even more than usually particular about their work that afternoon.

She was teaching them how to mend a triangular tear in material and was, or so it seemed to her pupils, fussier than usual about the size and regularity of the stitches. More than one girl had to unpick her work and do it over again and finally Val, whose work was certainly no credit to a girl of nearly fourteen, was condemned to starting all over again on a piece of fine canvas with coarse silk, and counting her threads. This was a disgrace, for by the time a girl had reached Upper IVb she was supposed to work with regularity as well as some neatness.

Mdlle’s strictures set Val’s back up and she sulked over them with vim, so it was unfortunate that Althea, bringing up a creditable darn to exhibit, forgot to look where she was going and tripped up over Val’s workbox, upsetting it and sending the contents flying in every direction. Everyone rushed to pick up and for the first moment or two there was pandemonium in the needlework room. Not that it lasted. Mdlle was far too much on the spot and a couple of quick sentences in French sent the girls back to their seats in a hurry while a stricken Althea waited to apologise profusely.

“Oh I’m so sorry Mdlle. I tripped over the box. Please may I help Val to pick up? I’m sorry, Val. I didn’t mean it.”

Val scowled at her. “Why can’t you look where you’re going, clumsy?”

“That will do Valencia,” Mdlle said icily. “That is not the spirit in which to receive an apology. And for you, Althea, yes; you may assist Valencia and in future please be more careful. You others, continue with your work. There is no need to waste your time in watching two girls collect threads and needles and pins. Clarissa, bring here to me your work.”

The form at large subsided and the remainder of the oddments from Val’s workbox were gathered together and returned to their owner—all except one. This was overlooked by both girls and remained where it had fallen—just at the side of Mdlle’s chair. There it stayed until the end of the lesson by which time even Val was beginning to cool off. Then it happened. Mdlle stood up to announce the end of the lesson, set her foot on the overlooked article and uttered an exclamation, for something stuck to the sole of her slipper. She looked even more disgusted when she turned up her foot to see what it was and discovered a half-chewed piece of chewing-gum.

“Whose is this?” she demanded as she balanced on one foot, holding up the other. “Who has brought chewing-gum into the room?”

There was a pause. Then Val said reluctantly, “I—it must be mine, Mdlle.”

“ ‘Must be’. What do you mean?”

“I—I think it must have fallen out of my workbox and we didn’t see it,” Val said, flushing hotly. “I—I’m sorry. May I take it off your slipper?”

“Pray do. And then you may explain to me why it was in the box.”

Val knelt down to clean the mess off Mdlle’s dainty slipper. Unfortunately she handled it roughly and Mdlle’s delicate balance was overthrown. She clutched at the nearest thing to keep herself from falling headlong. It was Althea, who was still hovering agitatedly close at hand. Althea was not expecting it. She staggered and, in her turn, caught at the nearest support—Mdlle’s little table. It went with the rest and in less than no time Val, Mdlle, Althea and table were in a struggling mêlée on the floor.

Naturally the other girls rushed to the rescue and the noise they made reached both the cookery kitchen and the laboratory on either side and brought members of Va and Upper IVa together with Frau Mieders, the domestic science mistress, and Miss Armitage into the needlework department to see what was happening.

Things were straightened out fairly quickly. Mdlle was helped to her feet, and seated in a chair to recover her breath and her dignity. The mob was reduced to order by a few cutting words from Miss Armitage, the maltreated slipper was borne away to be properly cleaned by a Val who was ready to fight with her own shadow by this time, and afternoon school finally came to an end; but not before Upper IVb were left realizing that they had gone far to establishing a most unenviable reputation for themselves as a form that must be watched and curbed sharply for the next few days. As for Althea and Val, once they were free to say what they thought, recriminations flew, and, before the gong sounded for Kaffee und Kuchen, the old quarrel had been superseded by one even more bitter and they were at daggers drawn once more.

“Hi! Althea! Wait a sec!” Samaris suddenly changed to French which was the language for the day and, as she approached Althea who had waited for her, she added, “C’est à dire, attendez un moment, s’il vous plaît!”

“What do you want?” Althea demanded, in the same language. “Miss Burnett has sent for me. I think she wants to examine my feet. My gym shoes aren’t comfortable and she said I must have new ones.”

“She would! Oh well, it’ll wait. See you after morning lessons.”

Althea looked curious, but she had already been stopped twice in her journey to the remedial room, and though Miss Burnett was easy-going on the whole she was not likely to look with any favour on much longer delay.

“I’ll see you then. Sorry, but I dare not wait longer now.”

“Scram—I mean dépêche-toi!” Sam said cheerfully.

She moved off, leaving Althea to scurry away, and nearly fell over Val who was just behind her. Val exclaimed as she got out of the way, “Gosh! That was nearly my foot!”

“Sorry!” Sam gave her a friendly grin. “I didn’t know you were behind me.”

Val sighed. “No; you never do know if I am beside you.”

Sam looked startled. “I don’t understand. I certainly haven’t been cutting you. You are rather too large for me to overlook,” she added with a grin.

“Oh, I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Oh, just—.” Val halted there.

“Eh bien, continues!” Sam had an eye to the Maynard triplets, who were passing them at the moment.

“Un moment, s’il te plaît.” Len had stopped and joined the younger girls. She looked at Samaris. “Sam, how are you getting on with your flute solo?”

“I am practising every moment I can spare,” Sam replied. “I know it fairly well now and I have begun to—to—.” She stuck there, having forgotten the French for “to memorize”.

Len guessed what she wanted. “Apprendre par coeur?” she asked.

Sam nodded, going red. “That’s what I meant. Oh, it is so hard to speak another language all the time! It makes it so difficult to—to converse,” she said, coming down with a thud on “converser” which they had had in their translation only the previous lesson so that she remembered it.

Len gave a low chuckle. “But how prim! Never mind, Sam. It’s as well to use any new words you meet. It’s always adding to your vocabulary.”

“Did you never find it hard?” Val asked. “Not even when you were little?”

“Well, you see, we had a Maison des Poupées when we were babies and the dolls all spoke in French, so we grew up speaking French as well as English. You have seen our dollshouses, haven’t you, Val?”

“I think so—but that was years ago when I was only a babe—when we first came to school. I’ve forgotten about them, though. You know we left to go to America when Mummy was so ill and then we stayed on till last September and so I never thought of it.”

“I see. Well, our mother insisted on the dollies being French; and then, we always had Anna, of course, and she spoke German to us. So, Val, the whole family could chatter in all three languages by the time we were at the chattering stage. Though I must say my brothers aren’t nearly so fluent nowadays when they’re at school in England most of the year. Well, I must fly. Oh, by the way, one of you can tell Althea Glenyon that I want to see her this afternoon after rest period, will you? Don’t forget!”

She nodded at them with a friendly smile and ran off, leaving them to look after her.

“Len Maynard is miles away the decentest of the prefects,” Sam remarked. “She’s always so—so matey when she meets you off the record, so to speak.”

“I guess she is,” Val agreed.

Luckily for them, since they had lapsed into their native tongue, there was no one in authority nearby to pull them up, and they went on towards the shrubbery. Here they were brought up short by the bell for the end of Break sounding. Val felt happier as she raced Sam to the Splashery to hang up her garden hat and smooth her hair. The high winds had dropped and instead the sun was shining with a glow that had brought the order for all girls to wear hats out-of-doors. The school was wary about any risk of sunstroke.

As they entered the formroom, Sam asked, “Will you give Althea Len’s message or shall I?”

“Oh, you do it!” Val said hurriedly. She was by no means ready to be friendly with Althea. In fact, the less she had to do with her the better, she felt.

Althea was late in coming into form. Miss Burnett had found it difficult to fit her with really comfortable shoes and by the time she arrived Miss Charlesworth had already begun on dictating her notes for the growth of the American Colonies, both English and French, during the seventeenth century.

“Why are you late?” the mistress demanded.

“Miss Burnett was fitting me with new games shoes,” Althea explained, flushing.

Now Miss Charlesworth was a reasonable person as a rule, but two other people had arrived late and above all things the mistress disliked having her lessons interrupted by latecomers. She raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? Well, you must leave a page in your history notes and take down what you have missed in your prep time. I cannot repeat the work again,” she snapped. She looked round the room. “Val, your notes are generally in good order. Please let Althea have them during preparation tonight.”

Val said, “Yes, Miss Charlesworth,” very properly; Althea murmured her thanks and the lesson went on, but the two people concerned were anything but pleased with the command. As for Miss Charlesworth, later on she deeply regretted that she had ever made it. She knew as well as any other of the staff of the breach between them and normally would have sent Althea to someone else. She did remember about it later on, but by that time it was too late to say anything. It was never the policy of the school to interfere in the squabbles of the girls unless and until it became an obvious necessity.

“Why couldn’t Miss Charlesworth have told me to ask someone else?” was Althea’s thought. “To have to use Val’s notes—of all people!”

Val’s mind ran on much the same lines. “Why should I have to lend Althea my notes? Plenty of other folk do just as well as me.” And she looked at her page of clearly set down notes and then decided that, on the whole, perhaps hers were a little bit better than most people’s. All the same, she did not want to lend them to Althea and that was that!

In the staffroom there were repercussions. Miss Charlesworth meeting Miss Burnett in the doorway, demanded to be told why the latter had made Althea Glenyon late for history. Miss Burnett apologized somewhat flippantly.

“Was she late? Sorry, I’m sure, but it’s hard enough to fit everything in and I have to do things like fittings when I can. You be thankful you don’t have extra bits and pieces in your day’s work as I do.”

“And you be thankful you don’t have to spend half your evenings correcting essays as I do!” Miss Charlesworth lashed back, before going on to deposit an armful of the said essays on her table and catch up another bundle waiting to be given back to Va before swinging out of the room, her nose in the air.

Altogether, Althea’s shoes were responsible for more than one unpleasant feeling.

With preparation came a brief impasse. Val did not wish to hand over that precious notebook: neither did Althea want to ask for it. The silly pair left it till the last half-hour, when Althea, having finished everything else, realized that she must attend to those notes. She raised her hand and Len, who was on prep duty with them, asked what she wanted.

“I missed the first part of history lesson this morning and Miss Charlesworth told me to borrow Val Pertwee’s notes and copy them out,” Althea said. “May I ask her for them, please?”

Len nodded. “By all means. Got them handy, Val?”

Val handed the book over with a scowl, and Althea settled down to copy them out, taking almost morbid care not to injure them in any way. In fact, so careful was she that the bell had rung for the end of prep before she had quite finished. Once more she held up her hand.

“If you please, Len, may I stay until I have finished copying?” she asked.

Len glanced at her watch. She herself was due at a short lecture from Miss Charlesworth on the growth of communications between the European countries during the first three decades of the previous century. Apart from the fact that she wanted to hear it, she knew that if she appeared late Miss Charlesworth would ask why and that might get Val and Althea into trouble which she was anxious to avoid. Just why the two had left the matter till the bitter end was more than she could see, but she knew that the mistress would certainly want to know why.

Meanwhile, Val wanted to pack her books and put them away and she had already stretched out her hand for the notebook. Althea wanted to finish and clung to it. Val gave it a tug and between them the flimsy notebook came in half, the loosened pages showering all round, while the girls looked at it in horror.

Val gave tongue first. “You great clumsy idiot!” she flung at Althea. “Look at what you’ve done! You did that on purpose, just to give me extra work!”

Len was almost as taken aback as her juniors. “Hush, Val!” she said quickly, “of course Althea did no such thing. It was a pure accident. Though why you had to snatch like that I don’t know. Stop talking nonsense and pick up those pages and give them to me. Help her, Althea!”

“I can do it myself,” Val snarled, gathering up the scattered leaves at top speed which proved to be the final straw. Althea had picked up a sheet and Val made a grab at it. Between them, the sheet got torn right across and, forgetful of everything but her wrongs, Val gave her enemy a violent push which sent the other girl spinning so that she stumbled and fell against one of the desks, bringing it down with her. It caught Val’s shoulder in its fall and, what was worse, completed the ruin of the notebook by showering the contents of the inkwell which Althea had been using, over a little bunch of pages which had slid beneath.

This final mishap seemed to rob the couple of speech and Len took instant advantage of the fact. Springing forward, she sharply ordered Althea off to the kitchen for cloths to mop up the mess while she sent Val to seek Kirsten Johanssen who was stationery prefect and get blotting-paper from her. That was clearly the first thing to do. But what anyone was going to say about the destruction of the notebook was beyond her.

“I suppose it must go to the Head,” she thought. “They’ve certainly torn it in every sense of the word this time! What will Auntie Hilda say? Oh, drat the little ninnies! There’ll be a row over this. Poor Val! What a mess—though it was partly her own fault.” She went on collecting the loose sheets and by the time Althea came back with bucket and cloths they were piled up on the mistress’s table and when Val arrived a minute later with blotting-paper, she was set to blotting the ink as fast as she could.

Meanwhile Althea, realizing that a good deal of the catastrophe was her fault, had recovered the use of her tongue and began to apologise for it. She had better have let it alone. Val was boiling with fury at the thought of the destruction of all her beautifully-written notes and she boiled over before Althea had got more than half-a-dozen words out of her mouth.

“Stop telling lies!” she flared. “You did it on purpose, you low, mean hunk! Don’t pretend you didn’t!”

“I didn’t—I didn’t!” Althea protested angrily. “I’m most awfully sorry and I’ll get you another book and recopy those notes myself—”

“A lot of use that’ll be! D’you think I want your sort of copying?”

There was so much venom in her words that Len was stunned into silence for the first moment. Then she pulled herself together and took hold.

“Valencia Pertwee, be silent!” she said sternly. “No!” as Val, still too furious to remember where she was and to whom she was speaking, opened her mouth to retort back. “You’ve said enough and more than enough. Now be silent. All this was an accident for which you were as much to blame as Althea. You are both in the wrong over it and, since it seems neither of you can be exactly civil to the other, you can both be in silence until you have seen the Head. Oh, yes; it must go to her. Finish cleaning up this mess first. You can’t leave the room like this!”

By this time Val had contrived to regain a little common-sense. She picked up the last of the pages and shuffled them into a tidy pile and as she glanced down at the work in which she had taken so much pride, tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She blinked them back fiercely, but they were there.

The thoroughly conscience-stricken Althea finished her mopping-up and then, at a nod from Len, carried the bucket and cloths back to the kitchen quarters, by which time her hands and the skirt of her pretty gingham frock were smeared and streaked with ink in a way that no one could miss. The Head, crossing the end of the corridor, had keen sight and she stopped short with an exclamation of horror.

“Althea! My dear girl, what have you been doing?”

“I—I upset an inkwell,” Althea faltered.

“You upset an inkwell? But how did that happen? Why was it not in the tray?”

Althea was so thoroughly overcome by all the disastrous happenings of the afternoon, that she wasn’t very sure what to say. Luckily, Len heard the Head’s voice and came to add her share to the quota.

“There has been an accident with an inkwell in Upper IVb,” she said. “Althea and Val were to blame and they have been cleaning up. Val’s history notebook got torn in half at the beginning and I am afraid it is not much use to her. She will need a new one—”

“I see.” The Head broke in. “I think I had better take over myself. You two girls go to the study and wait there till I come. Just a moment, Len.”

The pair departed for the study and the Head, who knew all about their quarrel—as might have been expected—noted with a secret smile how they kept to opposite sides of the corridor. Then she turned to her Head Prefect.

“I had hoped that they had got over their difference, but I see it’s flared up worse than ever. Thank you, Len. I’ll deal with it now. Is the floor properly cleaned? Then that’s all you need worry over. Thank you, my dear. You may go now. I’ll tackle the rest.”

Thus dismissed Len went off, thankful to be done with it, and Miss Annersley, having inspected the floor, made her way slowly to her study to deal with a much more difficult problem. The destruction of the notebook was a minor detail. The mood in which Val was feeling was, to her, a much more important matter. It was harming the girl’s character and was setting up an unpleasant feeling in the form which was liable to spread. That was her job as Head, and she felt very serious as she passed swiftly to her study to attend to it.

Neither Althea nor Val felt very comfortable as they marched down the corridor to the Head’s study, studiously ignoring each other for all they were worth. Val was still mourning over the loss of her notes and Althea, who had been feeling really repentant for her share of the blame, had now begun to resent Val’s determined refusal to accept her apologies and make up the quarrel. On top of these feelings was more than a little apprehension in both girls as to what the Head would have to say to them. They reached the study and went in. Althea took up her station by the open window and Val stalked to the opposite side of the room and stood with her back turned on Althea.

Miss Annersley was light-footed and they never heard her coming until she opened the door and walked in. Her eyebrows went up as she observed their positions, but she said nothing until she had seated herself at her desk. Then she called them to her.

“Come here, you two. Stand in front of the desk. Now,” when they had taken up their positions, “I want to know the whole story. You may speak in English,” she added, remembering that though French seemed to be easy to Althea, it certainly was not so to Val. “Val, you may begin.”

Val instantly became tongue-tied. You couldn’t very well tell the Head that you loathed and detested another girl and that that was the real beginning of it.

“I am waiting,” Miss Annersley reminded her when she still remained dumb after two minutes.

“Althea was late for history and—Miss Charlesworth told her to borrow my notes and copy out what she’d missed during prep,” Val got out.

“I see. Why were you late, Althea?”

“Miss Burnett was fitting me with new games shoes,” Althea mumbled.

“Yes. Then that is explained.” It also explained to the Head why the two mistresses had seemed to be so chilly to each other during Mittagessen. She knew Miss Charlesworth’s idiosyncrasy and also Peggy Burnett’s casual ways. Well, that was something the two must get over between themselves, thank goodness! She turned to the far more important matter.

“You lent your notes, Val, and—?”

“Althea didn’t ask for them until the end of prep.”

“Why? Didn’t you know that that should have been attended to first of all?” The Head turned to a crimson-faced Althea.

“I—I thought it didn’t matter and—and I knew we had some very sticky—er—difficult algebra,” that young woman mumbled. “I—I thought I’d get through my other work first.”

“In future, my dear, will you remember that anything like copying what you may have missed should be seen to first of all? Yes; go on, Val.”

“I—I gave her the notes and—and she went on copying even after the bell rang for the end of prep. Then she asked Len if she might stay until she’d done them. I didn’t think Len would agree, and I wanted to pack up my books and put them away so I—I tried to take my book from Althea—and—and—she hung on to it and—we both pulled—and it tore in half.” At which point Val ran down.

Althea felt she must do her share and chimed in. “I didn’t mean to tear it, Miss Annersley, but I did want to finish—I’d only about six lines to do—and—”

“And so you behaved like a kindergarten baby,” the Head said sweetly. “Really, I don’t know which of you is the more childish.”

This was the last comment they had expected and both of them reddened furiously.

“Well, how did the ink come into it?”

Neither girl replied. She rapped her desk sharply. “An answer, if you please!”

“We—we were picking up the loose sheets and—and one got torn and I—I pushed Althea out of the way—and—she knocked the desk over and the inkwell fell out,” Val stammered.

“Ah! You seem to have forgotten your manners completely, both of you.” She paused there and Althea was left to wonder why she had ever thought the Head had such a lovely voice. Val was beyond thinking. Her one wish was to find a deep hole into which she could crawl and pull it in after her.

Having reduced the pair to flinders over the notebook episode, Miss Annersley decided to finish with it. She had something much more serious to discuss with them and, on the whole, she preferred to deal with them separately.

“It seems to me that you are both unfitted to be Senior Middles. You behave more like Juniors!” she told them scathingly. “Well, you must pay for the notebook, of course. Also these notes must be made up. As you are both to blame for the loss of the notes you must share the work. Althea will copy out the first half and Val will finish them.”

Val plucked up her courage. “Please, I’d rather do them all myself if I may.”

“Why?” asked the Head blandly.

“I—because—well, because I can follow my own writing b-better.”

The Head considered. She knew that Val’s work was distinctly neater than Althea’s was. Val wrote a charmingly clear and distinctive hand while Althea, who had been brought up on copybook roundhand which was beginning to develop some character, had, to be frank, still a good deal of a scrawl.

“I see. Very well, you may if you wish it, though I’m sorry you should give yourself all the extra work. In that case you, Althea, must undertake to repolish the floor which stands in much need of it after your washing. You may do it before Frühstück tomorrow morning. Perhaps, by the time you two have finished these tasks you may be better able to remember that girls of thirteen and more do not fight over sheets of paper. Neither, Val, do they push each other about. Did you hurt yourself, Althea?”

“N-no, thank you,” Althea stammered.

“Then that is the end of that. But I have something more to say to each of you and I prefer to say it privately.” She surveyed the pair in silence for a moment. “I think you had better go and make yourself fit to be seen for Abendessen, Althea. You must change your frock and get that ink off your hands. Val, bring up that chair and sit down.”

Althea went off looking thoroughly downtrodden. She was afraid of what Matron might have to say about the be-inked frock. However, the Head rang Matron up on the inter-com and all that worthy remarked as she handed out the clean frock was, “Here you are, and do try to keep from messing up your clothes with ink or anything else like a K.G. baby!” It was scathing enough but nothing like as bad as it might have been.

Meanwhile, the Head turned to Val, who was waiting nervously for the worst that might befall her. She looked at the girl thoughtfully and chose her words with care. “Val, why are you and Althea so at odds?” she asked gently.

Val jumped and went red. “I—I don’t know,” she faltered.

“Is that true? When she first came I thought you seemed inclined to be really friendly. Then you suddenly changed. Why?”

Val was in a difficulty. She could hardly say what she knew to be the truth—“it made me mad to see her chumming up with the two girls I wanted to chum up with,” yet what other reason could she give for her sudden change of attitude? Anyhow, what did the Head know about it? It wasn’t likely she could really understand. She was grown-up and grown-ups didn’t understand things like that.

“I—we—just don’t like each other,” she got out finally.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What has she done to you—or you done to her?” The Head was determined to get to the bottom of all this nonsense.

Val thought back. It was, perhaps, the first time she had ever done so thoroughly and when she came to consider the whole thing she felt for the first time that she had been—well—not very sensible. It was hardly Althea’s fault that Sam had chummed up with her. So far as she could remember it was Sam who had made the first advances. Now that she came to consider it in sober earnest, Val realised that it was hardly to be expected that a new girl would rebuff such advances. As for Len, a prefect was a prefect.

“I—I don’t know. I—nothing.”

The Head, too, had been thinking back. “Tell me, child, how far back does this go?”

“I—I’m not very sure. I think to nearly the beginning. I was sheepdog to Althea and—and they said I didn’t do it properly and I was taken off—and I didn’t like it. And then I was ticked off for not sheepdogging properly—”

“In what way?”

“They said I didn’t help her out enough with German, I think that was it.”

“I see. Did you or didn’t you?”

“Well—no; not exactly. And then—well, I felt real mad.”

“Yes; were you annoyed because you felt you weren’t trusted?”

“I suppose so.”

“Well, what came next?”

“Oh, I don’t know. We got across each other. And then she always seemed to get ahead of me with Samaris. And Len took notice of her and not of me—”

“Ah! At last! Now we come to the real reason. You were envious of her. Wasn’t that it?”

Val’s head drooped. “I suppose so,” she muttered.

“Anything else?” Miss Annersley’s voice was very kind.

“Oh, I don’t know. I s’pose—well, I s’pose I got started off on the wrong foot and everything’s gone haywire with me lately.” For almost the first time in the interview, Val raised her blue eyes to meet the look from the Head’s grey ones. What she saw there melted the last of her bad feelings.

“I—I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t mean to be so—so awful.”

“But you do see it, Val. Well, that can be the beginning of a new outlook and you’ll try to see straight in future. Where Len and Samaris are concerned, I’m afraid I can’t do anything. You must make your own way with them. We never interfere with the friendships between you girls unless there is a very grave reason to do so. You wouldn’t like it if we did. I see no reason why, once we get this silly business settled between you and Althea, you shouldn’t in time form a threesome with Samaris; but it must come from yourselves. I’ll give you one word of advice. Don’t push it too hard at first. Let it grow naturally.”

Val thought it over. She volunteered a statement. “I think I was mad because I hated everyone to know I’d been taken off from sheepdogging Althea and I—I blamed her. But I see now that if I’d done a bit more about her German it would never have happened. I s’pose I—I was lazy about it. I’m sorry, Miss Annersley.”

“Good girl! Now you really are trying to see it straight. Well, you’ve messed up the early weeks of the term, but you’ve all the rest of it to put matters right.”

“I’ll do my best. Only—supposing I’ve given Althea a hate at me?”

“I don’t suppose anything so absurd for a moment. She may be feeling sore at the moment, but I don’t think she’s given to holding grudges though I can’t be certain yet, of course. I haven’t known her long enough. But it is a sin of yours, Val, and one you must try to overcome if you want to go through this world happily. Grudge-holders are never really happy. Now you may go and see if Althea has finished changing and send her here to me. As for you, take this poor wreck of a notebook and put it in your locker. You may ask for a new one tomorrow and begin your copying as soon as you like. Now run along, little girl.”

The Head bestowed one of her brilliant smiles on the culprit. Val smiled back as she picked up the remains of the maltreated notebook and went to the door. As she turned to bob the curtsey which was the custom with the Head and which dated back to the first days of the school when it was in Tirol, she beamed again and said, “I really will try. And—and I’m sorry for being such an idiot.” Then she opened the door and slid out to find Althea, looking very spick and span in her clean frock though her hands were still greyish from the ink, standing to one side.

“I—I’m sorry,” she muttered as she went past, leaving the door open.

She waited for no more, but scuttered off down the corridor, leaving the other girl gaping after her. Althea had no time to do more than gape, for the Head’s voice came from the study. “Is Althea there?” and she had to go in.

Miss Annersley dealt with her briefly. For one thing she could hardly feel that Althea was as much to blame as Val. For another, she might not know the new girl very intimately as yet, but she knew enough about her to realize that the pair were very unlike. She did suggest that when the bell had rung Althea, knowing the rules, should have stopped work.

“You could have finished those six lines off tomorrow and you should have let Val have her notes back as soon as whoever had charge of you said ‘Finish’. Remember that, Althea,” she said. “And tomorrow you must borrow someone else’s notes and do it in your spare time. Now have you anything you want to say to me?”

While she had been washing and changing, Althea had been thinking. She did have something to say. “Yes, Miss Annersley. I’m sorry I was so silly and I’d like to tell Val so.”

“Right! You’ll find an opportunity before bedtime, I expect. I think you’ll find she is ready to be friendly. I’ll just say this. Be ready to share your friends as well as your work and play. Now you must go and I must attend to other things. And another time,” she added with a laugh, “if you want to pull books to pieces with someone else, please make sure that all ink is safely out of the way first. That is all. Be off with you!”

Althea said, “Yes, Miss Annersley!”, but her cheeks were scarlet and she was thankful to get herself out of the study and along the corridor. She turned the corner and found Val waiting for her.

“Sorry I’ve been such a specious pig,” she said before Val could open her lips.

“I was the pig,” Val said.

Con Maynard was coming from the opposite direction and overheard them.

“This is French day,” she said firmly. “Pay your fine and do try to remember in future. The fines box is getting far too full!”

“And so you’ve got settled?” Joey Maynard gave a low chuckle and sat back in her chair. “I congratulate you, my love. Let’s hope the little ninnies contrive to remain friendly for the remainder of their schooldays, if not pals. You never know. It might even end in that.”

“You ought to know.” Miss Annersley laughed. “You’ve had experience enough, what with your own schooldays and then your girls.”

Joey looked thoughtful. “Not with Con. She’s friendly with most folk but so far I’ve never noticed that she’s been chummy with anyone—except Ruey Richardson; and that’s hardly the same thing. Ruey counts as one of the family.”

“You won’t be having them so closely after this term,” the Head said.

Joey made a face. “I know—and if only you knew how I hate the idea, Hilda! Still, one can’t keep them babies all their lives. Besides,” she added vigorously, “I want them to have all I’ve had. They’ve got to live their own lives. It’s careers at the moment. Presently it’ll be sweethearts and marriage and then—oh, my sainted Aunt Carrie! I’ll be a grannie!”

Hilda broke into a peal of laughter. “What a grannie you’ll be! Honestly, when that happens, my love, you’ll have to stop being a schoolgirl! You’ve kept it up amazingly—”

Joey sat up in her chair with a bounce. “Never! I refuse to become a dowager type, even if I’m overwhelmed with grandchildren.”

“Unless you alter and fatten up, a dowager is what you’ll never be. What a scrag you still are, Joey.”

“Nonsense. I’m one of the lean kine. What’s more, you can’t talk! You’re very much of a skinnigmalee yourself!” retorted Jo, who believed in carrying the war into the enemy’s camp when possible.

The telephone rang at that point so the conversation had to cease there. An urgent call had come from the school, summoning the Head back to her duties from Freudesheim, where their chat was taking place, but Joey had given her something to ponder over when she was free again. Many of the former Chalet girls, including Jo herself, were married and the mothers of families, but so far she hadn’t considered it for the Maynard girls. But the triplets were all leaving at the end of the term, Len and Con to go to Oxford and Margot to Edinburgh. The same applied to a goodly number of the two Sixth forms, but though she took a deep interest in the futures of all her girls, the Maynards were, as she would have been the first to confess, very special with her.

“I must make time for talks with all of them,” she thought as she went swiftly along the walk above the school’s sunk garden and entered her own annexe by her private door. Then she turned into her salon and was greeting a very Old Girl who was seated there with an enormous hamper standing beside her.

“Sophy!” she exclaimed in German. “But how I am glad to see you, meine Liebste; Welcome—welcome! You will stay with us for a few days?”

Sophy Hamel, a big, sonsy Tirolean, laughed. “I wish I could, but alas! It is not possible. Mein Vater brought me to Interlaken where he has business—and—also this.” She gave her hamper a shove with her foot. “Listen! Joey has told me of the so dreadful fire you had at St Mildred’s last term, and also how much of the dresses for play were burned. I spoke to mein Vater and he has bundles of stuff now out of date and so to him no use of which he my choice gave me. I have brought them today and if there is not enough here, telephone me at home the day after tomorrow and I will choose more. But these, I think, are the best and likely most useful to be.”

She had been unfastening the lid of the hamper and now she threw it back, removed the covering of thick brown paper on top, and proceeded to yank out various lengths of muslins, brocades, cotton cloths and thin woollen materials until the dainty room looked more like a draper’s saleroom than a salon.

Miss Annersley exclaimed delightedly. “Sophy! But, my dear, how marvellous! We’ve been trying to supply the dresses for the Sale with crêpe paper, but most of these will be finished by the end of the day and we have the Christmas Play next term to consider. Thank you a thousand times, my dear, in my own name and the name of the entire school.”

Sophy beamed. “You are pleased? I am glad! And remember; there is plenty more if it is needed. Der Vater is only too glad to be rid of this, for he needs the storage room for new stock. And now, he comes to fetch me from the Ostbahn in Interlaken in two hours so let us talk while we may. I wish to hear all news.”

“You’ll be coming for the Sale, won’t you?”

“But yes; but there is time for some talk. Also I may greet some old friends, I hope?”

“And have elevenses,” ringing her bell to the kitchens. “Yes, indeed; you must have Kaffee und Kuchen with me now—or some of Karen’s lemonade. You remember her lemonade?”

“But yes! Nectar!”

Miggi came from the kitchens at that point. She received her orders and when she had finally departed after bringing a jugful of Karen’s delicious iced lemonade and a dish of tiny cakes, the two old friends settled down to a gossip which had to be all too short for them. However, Sophy promised faithfully to come for the Sale and stay for a few days. The Head had summoned those of the staff who had been at the school when Sophy was a pupil and the gabble that issued from the salon was worthy of any of the commonrooms. Finally, Rosalie Dene brought the school’s little runabout round and bore the visitor away to Interlaken, thus saving her time and trouble, and the Head turned back into her salon and looked at the appalling clutter of materials that littered it from end to end.

“Heavens! What a mess!” she exclaimed. “Help from a Middle or two is indicated. Now let me see.” She left the room and went to her school study to consult the timetable. As she surveyed it she gave a chuckle.

“Well, now I think we can kill a bird or two with one stone. Althea, Val, Sam—and Len in charge. That should be enough. Len has a free-study period at 14.30. The other three may miss their tennis for once. I’ll announce it at Mittagessen. And tonight—well, I must discuss it with Jeanne de Lachennais, but I don’t think she’ll object. This is a windfall and no mistake! Bless Sophy and her papa! But I foresee some hours of hard needlework for everyone until the next weekend. That should see us well through the worst of it. In fact, I think we’ll have to summon a little outside help. Biddy Courvoisier and Hilary Graves, for instance. They are Old Girls and Old Staff; and neither has a small infant at the moment. And we must ask Phoebe Peters. She’s very well just now and she loves this sort of thing. Yes; we can do it. Meanwhile I think I’ll lock this place up and go and do some phoning.”

The result of this was that midway through Mittagessen, the Head’s bell at the high table rang and she arose and made her announcement. “One moment, girls. I wish to see Len Maynard, Samaris Davies, Val Pertwee and Althea Glenyon in my study at 14.30 this afternoon. That is all.” Then she sat down to leave the four people summoned to wonder if this meant fresh references to the previous day’s trouble.

Len gave it little thought. Her long experience of the school quickly told her that the two were not connected. Once a thing was over it was over. Sam was puzzled to know why she should be called in on it now. As for Val and Althea they had decided the previous evening that it was ended. Why should it be raked up again?

“What happens to our tennis?” Althea asked of Val when the rest period which always followed the midday meal was ended and they were carrying their deck-chairs to the verandah at the back of the main building to stack them.

“Miss it!” Val said succinctly.

“Why does she want us?” Sam had joined them.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” retorted Val. A group of prefects were standing near, so it was lucky for her that this was an English day, since she would certainly not have bothered to speak in any other language.

At that moment the bell for the beginning of afternoon school sounded and the three Middles moved off to go to their desks, set under a tall group of pines, to attend to a lesson on French verbs with the junior French mistress. None of them learned much that afternoon. The Head’s command filled their brains and they were more than thankful when Mdlle le Martin dismissed them at the end of the lesson.

Len was waiting for them at the outer door and she greeted them with a friendly smile.

“Come along,” she said, led them to the study and rapped on the door. Voices came faintly to them; then the Head called them in and they found not only herself but Mdlle de Lachennais and Rosalie Dene awaiting them. In spite of herself Len’s eyes widened. She could not imagine what all this was about.

“There you are!” said the Head cheerfully. “Len, the school has had a surprise gift. It came this morning and, at the moment, is spread all over my salon. I want you people to fold it up tidily and take it to the needlework room where Mdlle will show you where to put it. Come with me.” Rising from her chair she led the way and, throwing open the door of her salon, ushered them in on to the wild confusion which reigned there.

Len exclaimed.

“You remember Sophy Hamel, don’t you, Len?” Miss Annersley said. “She had heard of the Millies’ mishap last term and the tragedy of our loss of theatrical dresses. Her father—you know he owns a large department store in Innsbruck—wanted to clear out one of his storage rooms, so he has donated all these remnants to the school to help us replace our lost garments. What is more if there is not enough here, he will send us more. So that solves one difficulty. Meanwhile, Sophy had to turn out her hamper as she wanted to take it back empty. Hence this awful muddle. What we want you girls to do is to sort out and fold all these materials. Put woollens in one heap, muslins in another, those silky materials in a third and so on. When you have done all that, take them to Mdlle, who will show you where she wants them to be put. Tonight we shall begin to make some new dresses. The crêpe paper will do very well for flowers and so on for the Sale dresses, but we have to think of what we shall need for the Christmas play next term. However, Mdlle will talk that over with you.”

“And the term after that there will be the Millies’ pantomime,” Len said. “How very good of Herr Hamel and Sophy!” She was examining some of the short lengths of brocade. “This sort of thing is just what we want to dress courtiers or kings and the muslins will be lovely for angel and fairy dresses. But what about all our paper dresses? Do we scrap them?”

“Certainly not! I told you they would be useful for the Sale. But how much of them will be left fit to be seen after a day’s work at the Sale is more than I can say. Very little, I imagine. However, we aren’t going to ask you girls to bear the brunt of the work. Quite a number of our friends will spare time to come along in the afternoons and sew for an hour or two.”

Len nodded. “I’m glad. We did have such a lovely collection until that awful fire. I nearly wept when I knew all our pretty dresses had gone up in smoke—quite literally!”

“Moi aussi,” Mdlle laughed. “Well, I will go to the needlework room and await your first bundles, my Len. Fold everything carefully and without creasing as far as possible. We must endeavour to keep these fresh. Miss Dene, you will list them, n’est-ce pas? Then we shall know what is available later on.”

The Head nodded. She left them to go and deliver a talk on the Augustan poets to Va, and Mdlle accompanied her, intent on having her shelves ready to receive the folded materials. The four girls set to work to shake out and fold up as neatly as possible. With an eye to Len’s presence, the Middles did their best. Miss Dene had decided that her best post was the needlework room and had gone first to get a notebook from the stock room and then to settle down at one of the long cutting-out tables in readiness to write out her lists.

Len was an organiser. “Sam, you see to those woollen pieces with Val,” she said. “Be careful to fold them as straight as possible. Althea, you and I will attend to the muslins. We’ll leave the silks and velvets till the last. Get to work, everyone. I for one, must go at 15.30 so I haven’t a moment to waste.”

They turned to and the work of tidying up the salon began.

“I say! This will make a lovely fairy queen dress,” Althea suddenly exclaimed, holding up a length of fine nylon studded with sequins. “How it will sparkle in the lights!”

“Not very much of it,” Len said doubtfully. “Is there any more? See if you can find it, Althea. We could very well use it for Spring’s dress in the Sale.”

“Oh, Summer’s, surely,” Sam objected. “Why Spring’s?”

“Because it’s in the spring that we have showers,” Len said. “Look, all of you see if you can find any.”

They hunted gleefully, and then Val uttered a squawk of triumph. “Got it! Here’s a piece! It isn’t the same colour of sequins but that won’t matter. That’s pink and this is blue but won’t it give a rainbow effect?”

“And here’s a smaller piece with green sequins!” Sam squealed, drawing it out from under a quite substantial roll of yellowish-grey woollen material. “Look, Len! Won’t they be nifty together?”

“I’ll tell you what will be even better,” Len said, clutching the roll which the three Middles had pushed aside contemptuously. “That’s this. Look at the yards and yards of it! We can get a lot of robes out of that.”

They glanced at it.

“It’s a horrible colour,” Althea said.

“I agree. But have you never heard of dye?” Len demanded with a giggle. “Dye it crimson and green and gold and it would do us beautifully.”

“Would it dye all right?” Val asked doubtfully. “Some things don’t, I know. My sister Yseult tried to dye a yellowish dress that had faded and it went a horrid colour and shrank so that she couldn’t wear it.”

Len examined the thin woollen cloth. “I think it will dye safely so far as shrinking is concerned, and certainly that neutral tint should take anything. And see how much there is of it!”

“I’m not surprised,” Val said decidedly. “I wouldn’t dress orphans in it!”

Althea pondered. “Perhaps Mdlle would let us try a little piece. If we could dye it it would be splendid for kings’ robes and things like that. That would be really useful, wouldn’t it?”

“Very useful,” Len agreed, setting the roll to one side and returning to her pink muslin. “Help me with this, Val. It’s very tiresome to fold.”

“Perhaps Frau Mieders would let us do it ourselves at Dommy Sci.,” Sam suggested. “Do you think she would, Len?”

“Well, she might let some of the Seniors try,” Len said, as she and Val finished with the tiresome muslin and laid it carefully aside. “It’s more or less a senior lesson.”

“Oh!” Sam said disappointedly. “I hoped she’d teach us.”

“I’ll ask her,” Len said good-naturedly, “but I doubt if she will. There is a good deal of work in dyeing successfully. You can’t just put the stuff into the dye and leave it at that. It means keeping it moving about all the time so that it dyes evenly. Not very easy or very safe for people like you. You might scald yourselves. So don’t be too upset if she reserves it for people like the Fifths.”

In the event, Frau Mieders firmly refused to allow any of the Middles to attempt dyeing. She gave the lesson to Va after it had been proved that the material would dye beautifully, and the final result was some yards of rich blue, green and crimson cloth which would make magnificent robes for the Three Kings in the Christmas play of the following term.

The next thing that happened was something so funny that it passed into the list of school legends, of which there was a very lengthy one by this time.

The Maynards, Louise Grünbaum, Carmela Walther, Nina Konstam, Odette Paulet, Ruey Richardson and Audrey Everett, all members of one or other of the two Sixths and therefore regarded as responsible people, had suddenly thought it would be a good thing to have a few sketches of various beauty-spots round about for the Sale. They went to Miss Yolland with the suggestion and put it to her.

“It’s an idea,” she agreed. “Unfortunately, I don’t see how we can fit in another single sketching expedition before the Sale. I have an odd half-hour here and there I could give you, but that isn’t much use for what you want. It really means setting off for two or three hours at a time.”

“I know,” said Len who was acting as spokesman for them. “What we wondered was whether we might go alone. After all, we’re practically all prees and we do have some sense. None of us has any lessons tomorrow afternoon. We wondered if we could set off after rest period, taking rolls and lemonade and so on with us, and stay until 18.00 hours. We’d be more or less together and, oddly enough, we’ll all be free from pree duty as Miss Ferrars is taking Upper IVb for a geography expedition. That will take up the entire afternoon, so they’ll not be needing our tennis coaching for once. Will you ask the Head for us? Please!”

Rosalind Yolland laughed. “Go and ask her yourselves. I daresay she will agree all right and I’ve no objection.”

Thus armed with Miss Yolland’s sanction, Len and Audrey went to the study and were duly granted permission provided the weather was suitable. The Head saw no harm in it. The girls were all in the late teens and regarded as sensible and steady-going. Tramps and good-for-nothings were rare on the Görnetz Platz. Nine girls together should be safe enough. Miss Annersley asked where they proposed to go and on hearing that they had decided on the woods and the little stream which plunged downwards through them from the upper shelves hesitated no more but gave permission, adding that if she continued to be as free by the end of the afternoon as she was at the moment, she might walk up to join them and share their meal around 16.00 hours.

“Oh, do!” the two representatives exclaimed in unison.

“That would be sma—er—gorgeous!” Audrey added.

“I hope I can,” Miss Annersley said smiling. “But you know I can never call my time my own during school hours. Still, as far as I see there should be nothing to prevent it. Don’t forget to take all you’ll need, for once you set out you must keep more or less together. There can be no rushing back for the odd paintbrush or rag, or anything of that kind. Promise me, please.”

They gave her their word. She added a reminder to Len to ask Matron for one of the first-aid kits without which no expedition was considered proper, and sent them off rejoicing.

This was on a Wednesday. On the Thursday the artists waited until the rest of the school was at work again in the afternoon and then, with well-filled rucksacks on their backs and armed with alpenstocks, they set off on their trip, leaving the school grounds by a wicket gate at the very back. It would save their time and cut off an appreciable part of the walk through the woods, besides saving them the walk along the sun-scorched highroad. The day was very hot and looked like continuing so for hours to come. They had added to their numbers: Ted Grantley, Mélanie Lucas and Jeanne Daudet had asked leave to join them. Ted was not specially artistic, but Mélanie and Jeanne were both fairly good. The Head agreed with Miss Yolland that twelve was an even better number than nine.

“And,” added the Head with a gurgle, “if Ted goes, she’s as keen on judo as Jack Lambert is, so they’ll have a most adequate guard with them. We certainly couldn’t send Jack off with that crowd of prefects. She would hate it and they wouldn’t like it either.”

“Apart from which,” Rosalind Yolland gave a chuckle, “she’d probably deave them to death with questions about what they were doing and why. Jack has improved a lot with added years, but she still wants to know!”

“You’re quite right. We’ve never had another girl who was such a question-mark in all the years I’ve known the school and I doubt if we ever will.”

They both laughed and then turned to their official work once more. Meanwhile the crowd of big girls were climbing up through the pines, groaning over the clouds of flies that haunted the woods during the hot weather. They looked very trim and fresh in their dainty ginghams and the big hats which they were under promise to keep on. It was now the last days of May and the sun was blazing down as if he meant to show what he could do when he really set about it. No one was going to risk sunstroke. By the time they reached the upper path which ran between the trees towards the stream, all freshness had vanished. They mopped their faces alternately with flicking at the flies, and by the time they reached a sunny dell where a huge boulder, relic of some flooding of the brook, stood, they were thankful to pause for a few minutes’ rest.

Audrey nodded at the boulder. “Remember when we found young Win under that?” she asked Len.

Len laughed. “Do I not! What a time we had hunting for her—the imp! I don’t mind telling you now that I was beginning to wonder if she’d been kidnapped.”

“I’d thought of it ages before,” Audrey said soberly. “I felt awful, for Mother had trusted me with her and I’d forgotten all about her while Solange was telling me all the stories Mrs Maclaren had told her about Mrs Maynard’s schooldays.”

Len chuckled. “I don’t really blame you. My mother got through a lot when she was at the school. Well, if we mean to do any sketching we’d better get on. We’re not so far away from the brook now. Come on, everyone! Off we go again!”

They set off once more, but she had been right. They quickly reached the little stream and then they began to scatter.

“Not that brook is what you can call it at the moment,” Con said disgustedly. “Look at it! It’s barely a trickle!”

“Don’t go too far away,” Len called to Mélanie and Margot who were moving further up. “Remember we’re supposed to keep more or less together.”

“And remember that the Head may be joining us for Kaffee und Kuchen around four,” added Ruey, who had already settled down on a fallen log and was unpacking her rucksack.

They all chose their places, some of them electing to sketch the upper run of the brook, others the downward one, and one or two turning their backs on it to paint the path and the pines. They filled their water-pots as well as they could from the little stream itself. It was nearly dry and they had to make the best they could of the tiny pools and trickles; Len patted herself on the back for having elected to use her box of oil-paints. It was a new treasure and she had not done much with it yet, but she was keen to try her hand at it.

“Lucky you!” Ted grumbled as she came back to her own post close at hand with a modicum of water in her jar. “You don’t have to worry about water.”

Len laughed. “I suppose we might have expected it after all these blazing hot days but I never thought of it somehow.”

“Nor me.” Ted picked up her sketching-block and proceeded to wash it over with a yellow ochre wash. She sat back to wait until her paper was dry again and looked thoughtfully at her friend’s beginning. “I almost wish I’d invested in oils myself. At least you can hide your mistakes by painting over them; and that you can’t do with water-colours. Hey! This is dry already!”

“What d’you expect on a day like this?” Len tilted her hat further over her eyes and glanced round to make sure that no one had been silly enough to dispense with her head-covering. Matey’s last words to her had been, “Be sure that everyone wears her hat throughout the afternoon, please.”

“Only that, I suppose.” Ted bent to her work and they stopped talking. In fact for most of the rest of the time there was little conversation. They knew it was unlikely that they would put in another expedition like this. The term was hurrying on and the Sale and the Regatta would occupy a good deal of their time once half-term was over.

They stopped work at 16.00 and laid out their meal. Then they looked for the Head. But she never came. When half an hour had passed they decided to wait no longer. Most of them knew that she could rarely count on having time off during school hours and they wanted to finish. So they had their own meal and then, when they had cleared up the remains, they went back to work. Len kept an eye on the time and called on them to finish in plenty of time for the walk home.

They packed up and set off, strolling along, since it was even hotter than before. Margot proposed that they should go down into the high road, since a good part of that would be in shadow now and walking would be easier. The others were all for it, and this was where Len came in for a mishap as funny, when it was over, as any of her mother’s doings.

The water-colour sketches were all quite dry and the blocks could be tucked into their rucksacks, but her own oil-painting was still wet, which meant that it must be carried carefully. Mindful of this, she picked her way carefully down the rugged path by the side of the stream. All went well until they were nearing the end of the downward trek. Then—calamity!

Nina Konstam, who was walking just behind the Head Girl, caught the end of her alpenstock in a break in the ground, gave it a wrench to free it, and crack! it broke in half. Nina gave a yelp, flung out her other arm and fell full length, plunging hard into Len’s shoulders. Len added a yell as she missed her footing on a nasty snag and went headlong, her face landing smack on the precious painting. Audrey, who had been treading close on Nina’s heels, landed on top of the pair. Luckily, Con had been following on and loitering with beauty-loving eyes fixed on the scene before her: she was just far enough behind the others to pull herself up in time to keep her footing, but when they had restored the fallen members of their party to the upright, Len was a sight to behold.

She was too much of a tiro at oil-painting to know how to tackle the medium properly, and having made several mistakes she had painted them over thickly—in actual blobs in some places. During her struggles to rise she had smeared her face thoroughly and, as Margot told her between giggles, looked more like a Red Indian in warpaint than a Christian Head Girl of a decent school. The front of her frock had suffered minor damage, but her face was a vision!

To crown everything, one of the Sanatorium cars was passing and naturally drew up, and out stepped young Dr Entwistle. He stared at the bedizened Len with a loud gasp before he pulled himself together sufficiently to ask what had happened.

Meanwhile Len, setting first things first, had snatched up her treasured picture and was examining it with eyes full of woe before exclaiming, “Happened? I tripped on a snag and fell, and look what I’ve done to my picture!” She held out the resultant mess to him.

Reg Entwistle had first met the Maynards when he was a boy of twelve and the triplets were only three. He was by now one of the family’s closest friends. He liked all the three elder girls but for the past two years Len had been his favourite. Lately he had realized that when she went to Oxford he would miss her very much indeed: a distant friendship would not satisfy him, he wanted something much more than that. He knew, however, that Len had no such thoughts. She was far too thrilled at the prospect of going to Oxford to think of anything else. Reg knew that it was a question of waiting, and with the quiet dogged persistence which was one of his characteristics he settled down to do this.

One thing he had done. He had spoken to the doctor in no uncertain terms, but neither Jack nor Joey was anxious to have the present situation changed, at least until Len was older and more mature. At present she was still very much a schoolgirl and though, unknown to her parents, she had begun to think of her future rather more widely than before, she was only beginning to emerge from adolescence and leaving school life behind her. Nevertheless, Reg hoped to have a firmer understanding before she went to Oxford in the autumn.

Reg had a strong sense of humour, and as he gazed at the distraught Len his lips began to twitch, but before he could say or do anything Margot had come forward with a handkerchief. “Len, you can’t go down the road looking like that! You’ve a great blob of sepia on the end of your nose and your left cheek is yellow and green, and there are splotches of green and crimson down your neck. Where’s that turps of yours? Let’s see what we can do to get you looking respectable.”

“It’s in the box,” Len said, accepting the handkerchief and beginning to remove the thick of the paint from her face. “Oh Christmas!” as she regarded the resultant mess on the handkerchief. “What do I look like?”

Ted had pulled the box out of Len’s rucksack and was opening it in search of the turpentine. Unfortunately, Len had not screwed it up tightly enough, and most of it had seeped out and was running all over the box. She gave a groan when she saw it. “Well, honestly!”

“There’s some left—enough, perhaps, to take off the worst.” Con was considering the teaspoonful or so left in the bottle.

“We’d better sacrifice our hanks and clean her up with them first,” Audrey said briskly. “Come on, folks!”

“Wait a sec. I may have some gauze in the back of the car.” Reg Entwistle took a hand. “I haven’t my case with me—been down to Geneva visiting friends so I didn’t bother with it. But there might be the odd roll or so.”

He went back to the car and returned with the fag-end of a roll and with the aid of this and the party’s handkerchiefs they finally got the worst of the paint off Len, but she had a peculiar appearance at best. Her frock they had to leave alone.

“Matey will have something to say,” she remarked as she looked at it. “Heaven send we don’t meet any strangers on the road! I’m no advertisement for any kind of school.” She surveyed herself in Jeanne’s bag-mirror. “Fitter for a circus, if you ask me!”

“That’ll be O.K.,” the doctor said. “I’ll run you back in the car and then no one will see you.”

Len brightened up. Then her face fell again. “Sorry, Reg. It’s decent of you, but it’s no go, I’m afraid. I swore to the Head that I’d see we stuck together.”

“She wouldn’t mind, considering all the circumstances,” Con said.

“If you ask me she’d prefer it,” Margot said candidly. “You go with Reg, Len, and the rest of us will follow and we’ll stick in a bunch.” Suddenly she giggled. “But I must say you’ve done it! Even Mamma couldn’t better this!”

In the end Len had to agree; the doctor packed her into the little runabout and whirled her off to school while the rest, having gathered her belongings, set out along the glaring highroad at the best speed they could manage so that they were not so greatly behind their leader after all.

As they went, Ted and Con contrived to get the rest to promise to say nothing about the mishap to the rest of the school. It was not such very hard work. As Ted pointed out, it was hardly the thing to broadcast about a prefect—any prefect—let alone the Head Girl. If only Len could get back and clean up properly without any of the younger ones seeing her first, that would be all to the good. And, thank goodness, as Mélanie Lucas added, you could always rely on the staff not to give you away over a thing like that.

Unfortunately for their plans, they were frustrated. Len contrived to get upstairs unseen by most of the school, but as she fled to her room she was observed by Val and Althea, who had been sent up to change their frocks. Gaudenz had been busy watering the paths in the shrubbery and the pair, tearing back to school by way of the short cut through the bushes, had fallen together. The paths were still moist and the front of their dresses when they rose up meant one thing only—they must go to Matron and seek clean frocks. They were not anxious to face Matey so they went cautiously and were lucky enough to fall into the hands of Matron Henschell who was famed for being easy-going. She scolded them a little but issued the dresses.

They had just changed and were proceeding downstairs again when Len rounded the head of the stairs and came into full view before she realized that they were there. Nor could she do anything about it, for Matey herself hove in sight the next moment and also beheld the vision at the top of the stairs. She swept forward, exclaiming, “Len! What have you done to yourself?”

The pair took instant advantage and fled, hoping against hope that Matey had not seen them. They were dying to know what Len had done to herself, but they dared not wait if they were to get away with anything.

Len gave Matron a rather sickly smile as she began on her explanation, but not because of her appearance just then. She had had no chance to warn Althea and Val to hold their tongues and too well she knew that by the time Kaffee und Kuchen was ended the tale would be all over the school.

As Len had feared, so it was. Not that the pair of young gossips got any chance to start on their story immediately. They had escaped from Matron’s eagle eye, but they fell into the hands of their house mistress, Miss Wilmot, who demanded to be told what they were doing on the stairs at an hour when they should have been busy with prep. Miss Wilmot was a joy and a delight out of school-hours; in them she was a martinet if she saw fit—and she saw fit now. She soon had the story out of them, and by the time she had finished with them both were wishing they could find a nice hole to hide in and stay there for the present.

“You girls were warned to leave the shrubbery alone till after Kaffee und Kuchen,” she said trenchantly. “Disobedience like that isn’t allowed in this school. Who gave you your clean frocks?”

“Matron Henschell,” Althea faltered.

“Ah!” Nancy knew Barbara Henschell and she guessed the pair had both got off lightly. “Well, you may both pay fines for deliberate disobedience.” Then she proceeded to rend them with her tongue. She rated them soundly for five minutes without stopping, winding up by saying that if they couldn’t obey a plain order she would have to see whether the Head thought they deserved their half-term trip. She would wait for a day or two before bringing it to that, but it behoved them to be very careful. Then she sent them to their preparation with their tails between their legs and wishing that they had not ignored the Head’s command about the shrubbery but had gone the long way round by the playing-fields.

“What’s wrong with Willy?” Val demanded when they were out of earshot; but Althea had no explanation so they went their way feeling thoroughly aggrieved.

If they had thought it over, they would have remembered that the flagged paths in the shrubbery were very wet after Gaudenz’s attentions in hot weather, and more than one girl had slipped and fallen, Jack Lambert having capped the lot only the week before by cutting her knee badly on the edge of one of the flagstones. As it was they had forgotten about Jack’s affair and had decided to risk it, since they had dilly-dallied in the changing-room after tennis and the only alternative if they did not wish to be late for prep was to disobey Miss Annersley’s command.

This was the outcome of it—a ticking-off Willy had never bettered; half their prep time wasted; and a fair chance of losing their half-term trip unless they watched their step very carefully for the next two days. In their agitation they forgot the sight they had seen in the upper corridor and set to work on their prep as hard as they could, once they were settled at their desks.

Len herself was ordered off to a bathroom where Matron, having consulted with Miss Yolland, joined her, armed with turpentine, face cream, hairwash and one or two other oddments including a sovereign remover of grease with a very peculiar name. She then set to work and after twenty minutes or so contrived to remove most traces of the accident. About the dress she could do nothing just then. It must go to the laundry for special treatment. Privately, Matron doubted if it would ever be the same again. The paint had had time to sink into the material thoroughly and on such a hot day to begin to dry. As for the sketch, it was done for in Miss Yolland’s eyes and Len tore it across—it was on artist’s board—and tossed it into the nearest waste-paper basket thinking ruefully that she had wasted her entire afternoon. She went down to Kaffee und Kuchen wishing that she had been content to use her water-colours.

Arrived in the Speisesaal she came face to face with Althea and Val, who promptly stared up at her. She was in none too sweet a mood, for Matron’s hard rubbing had made her face sore and she was annoyed by the whole thing.

“Well?” she snapped. “What’s the matter with you two? Go to your seats and—”

“Oh, Len! There you are!” exclaimed a voice behind her. “Call for you from San. You can take it in my office.”

It was Miss Dene so there was nothing for it but to say “Thank you, Miss Dene,” and leave the room for the secretary’s office and go to take the call, which proved to be from Reg Entwistle, anxious to know if she was all right.

“Of course I am!” Len said crossly. “I wasn’t hurt—only in a mess. Matron’s dealt with it and I look normal again, you’ll be pleased to hear. I don’t want to hear anything more about it, please.” Then her training in good manners came to the surface and she added rather more calmly, “Thank you for bothering to ring—and for bringing me back. I must go now. We’re in the middle of Kaffee und Kuchen. Be seeing you!” And she rang off, giving him no time to reply.

She went back to the Speisesaal, a look on her face which caused her compeers after the first glance at her to say nothing about the silly episode but talk urgently about half-term. She cooled down during the meal, though she had already made up her mind to catch the two Middles and warn them to say nothing about what they had seen. She had no mind to have it talked about throughout the school.

She was unlucky again. Margot had decided to get the form tennis fours settled before half-term and had pitched on Upper IVb to try out. She had summoned the four she had chosen in her own mind and having found Miss Burnett unwontedly free as soon as Kaffee und Kuchen was over, begged for her opinion. Val and Althea were called off to one of the match tennis courts to play five games with the other two, and there was no getting hold of them until this was over. If it had been a question of only her sister, Len would have interrupted, but she could hardly do that with Miss Burnett there.

She turned away and decided to let it alone unless by some lucky chance she got either of the two in a quiet corner. She had some Spanish translation to look over so she went to the prefects’ room to collect her books. She would work in the library where she was unlikely to be interrupted.

Meanwhile, by this time Althea and Val had spread the tale far and wide and by the time preparation had ended it had gone from top to bottom of the school—with some startling additions! Needless to state the Middles revelled in it.

“Wish I’d been there to see it,” Erica Standish said wistfully.

“So do I!” Victoria Wood chimed in. “Was her face really all paint, Val?”

“Her face?” echoed Val. “All the front of her hair was, too.”

“And her frock,” Althea added. “I don’t know what Matey can have said about it when she makes such a fuss if we get the tiniest spot on ours.”

“But how did it happen?” Marie Angeot wanted to know.

“Goodness knows! It looked as if someone had been chucking burst tubes of oilpaint at her!” Althea giggled whole-heartedly. “She was a complete mess!”

“P’raps the prees had been having a battle during art,” suggested Robina.

She was suppressed by Freda Kendal of Upper IVa. “Talk sense! Is it likely?”

“But I do not see why not,” Fredrika von Gerling argued. “If they were very angry they might. And,” she added ruefully, “they can be very angry sometimes.”

“Oh, don’t be so silly!” Robina exclaimed. “They are grown-up—or as much so as makes no matter. Grown-ups don’t go round chucking things at each other no matter how furious they are. And can you see Len, of all people, doing that sort of thing?”

They couldn’t; but all the same, somehow the chatter got hitched on to the story and the next day Con was electrified by her young sister Felicity who came to ask if it was true that Len and some of the others had been throwing their paint boxes at each other and Len had been covered with paint from burst tubes from head to foot and Matey and the Head had had to give her a bath in turpentine.

When she had recovered her breath, Con made mincemeat out of Felicity for even dreaming that prefects would do anything so undignified, adding the rider that even if it had happened, it would have been Matey and Nurse who dealt with it and not the Head.

“You little girls chatter a great deal too much,” Con wound up. “You may just go and tell the rest of your crew that all that happened was that Len fell and smeared paint from her picture over her face. It might happen to anyone. Oh, and before you go, please tell me who told you all this rubbish.”

“It’s only what I heard Meta Gordon telling some of her crowd,” Felicity said in injured tones.

“Well, in future don’t pass on things you only hear,” Con said severely. “There’s usually not a word of truth in them or if there is they’re greatly exaggerated. Now scram and don’t let me hear you and your lot nattering like this about Len or any other prefect for that matter. A battle with paintboxes, indeed! I wonder what next!”

Felicity departed, thoroughly squashed and thinking that elder sisters could be a largely overrated arrangement!

Meanwhile Con marched off to find Meta Gordon, one of the shining lights of IIIa, to demand of her where she had got hold of the absurd yarn Felicity had overheard. Meta wasn’t sure but she rather thought it had come from Jocelyn Marvell of Lower IV in the first place and she had told it to Otillie Sneider who had passed it on to her cousin Maria Uilseli, who had told it to Meta.

Having got her teeth thoroughly into the problem, Con did not stop there. She intended to trace the thing right back to the source and put a stop to it. She tackled Jocelyn Marvell of Lower IV, an imp of the first water and gifted with a vivid imagination. Jocelyn acknowledged that she had told Otillie who was in the same form, but denied that she had brought the Head into it at all.

“I never even dreamed of it,” she said virtuously. “That’s someone else’s idea. Well, I can’t see the Head bathing anyone, and not anyone as big as Len. Well, can you?”

Con could not. She did not tell Jocelyn so, but she demanded to be told who had started the tale. Jocelyn said that she had heard it from Swanhild Alvarsen, another member of the form, and Swanhild had said her sister Sigrid, a member of Upper IVb, had told her, and she rather thought that Sigrid had got it from Althea Glenyon, but she wasn’t sure.

Questioned, Sigrid agreed that it was Althea who had started the yarn while they were sitting about after prep. She added for good measure that Val had been there and had confirmed Althea’s story.

“But no one said anything about the Head,” Sigrid added. “That must come from those kids in the Third.”

“Who started the yarn about the paintbox fight—or didn’t that come into what Althea said?” Con demanded.

“I think it was tubes of paint,” Sigrid replied doubtfully, “and I don’t think that was Althea. But it might have been. I am not certain.”

Althea, sent for and stringently questioned by a Con who was growing more and more determined to get to the bottom of the affair, acknowledged that she had told the rest about Len’s weird appearance when she and Val had met the Head Girl at the top of the stairs.

“She looked terrible!” she told Con.

“So, I imagine, would you, if you’d fallen with your face on a freshly painted picture!” snapped Con. “That, since you had better know the whole truth, is exactly what happened. Someone butted into Len’s back when they were coming down the path by the brook and she caught her foot in a snag in the path and fell. Whoever was immediately following her tripped over her and poor Len had her face well rubbed in the picture. That is all!”

“O-oh, I see,” Althea murmured, going a delicate puce.

“And how much had you to do with this stupid tale, Val?” Con demanded.

“I—well, I agreed with Althea,” Val admitted, her cheeks rivalling Althea’s. “But honestly, Con, neither of us said anything about Len having a turpentine bath of any kind. Anyhow, it was Matey who came along.”

“Well, in future will you please refrain from spreading scandal of that kind,” Con said severely. “And if you do tell stories about other people, please make sure that you are telling only the truth and don’t embroider.”

“Ought we to apologise to Len—or anything?” Althea asked nervously.

Con thought it over. “No; leave it alone until I’ve spoken to Len myself. But just remember this. Your tale is giving the prefects a nice rowdy reputation. Fighting with paintboxes, indeed!” It was something she could not get over. “I know we enjoy playing Scandal in the winter evenings; but this is real scandal and could do a lot of harm if it weren’t stopped at once. So just remember that, you two. Oh, and I think you’d better make sure that your own form has the rights of the matter—every last one of you. I don’t want to have to speak to the Head or even your form mistress, but it’s got to be stopped. Now you may go.”

They went.

The remainder of the first part of the term passed without incident. Duly warned by what had happened, the two Upper IVs behaved with the utmost circumspection and Friday morning found the entire school embarked in the school motor coaches, bound for “all over Switzerland”, as Althea phrased it to Robina, next to whom she found herself.

“I’m awfully glad we’re going to Zurich and Zug,” Robina said gleefully. “I’ve always wanted to see them properly and I’ve never been yet, and this is my third year at school.”

“What’s special about them?”

“I haven’t a clue, but I want to see them. And of course there’s lots about Zurich.”

“What?” demanded Val, who was seated in front of them together with Emmy Friedrich.

At least half-a-dozen people tried to answer her at once.

“Zug is famous for its towers,” Lysbet Alsen said. She lived not far from the lake and had spent many a day’s holiday there before she went to the school. “And you get the most gorgeous views of Mount Pilatus to the south and the Rigi to the south-west.”

“Zurich is our most important manufacturing town,” Maxine d’Oran chimed in.

Althea screwed up her face. “I don’t know that I want to explore factories.”

Lysbet laughed. “Ah, you are thinking of the sort of towns you find in England, nicht wahr? But we do not use coal as you know, but hydro-electricity provided by water power, so we do not have the soot and dirt that I have learned you find in English cities. Wait, and you will see.”

“As for Zug, it ought to delight you,” Agneta Gabrielli of Upper IVa observed. “It is full of history. Wait until you see Altstadt—that is the old town!”

“And Zurich, of course, is just crammed with interesting sights,” Freda Kendal, also of the A division, took her turn. “I spent a weekend there when my uncle and aunt were in Switzerland last year and I had a scrummy time.”

“Girls! Don’t chatter all the time,” Miss Wilmot said at that point. “You ought to be looking at the scenery. This is where we turn off from Brienz to the north-east for Sarnen and Lucerne.”

“Oh, are we going by Lucerne?” exclaimed Samaris. “Goody!”

Nancy Wilmot laughed. “We are having our elevenses there if you folk think you can hold out long enough. We’re not staying there, though. Our rooms are at a pension just outside of Zug itself and Mittagessen will be awaiting us.”

They settled down to watch the scenery after that and were rewarded with a glimpse of Lake Sarnen, famed for its fishing, as well as one of the little towns where the hermit St Nicholas von Flüe lived in the fifteenth century.

“Who was he?” Val murmured when Miss Ferrars had given them this information.

“I think,” replied Samaris, “that he prevented an outbreak of civil war between the Swiss Confederacy when they scrapped about who was to have what of the spoils after the Confederacy had beaten the Burgundians at—some battle or other—I forget what.”

“I wish we could stop and see it properly,” Althea sighed. “It sounds interesting.”

However, it was going to take them all their time to reach their pension by 13.00 hours, for which time their meal had been ordered, and Miss Wilmot shook her head at the bare suggestion. They were given only twenty minutes for their Kaffee und Kuchen when they reached Lucerne, then were escorted back into the big coach to set out once more.

They rolled away out of the busy city of Lucerne by way of the autobahn running through Meggen on the north-western end of the lake, then north-east to Küssnacht. Here they had an adventure they could very well have done without. Normally, the coach should have taken the main road but, thanks to a hold-up outside Morlisch, their driver elected to turn off into a side road which took them through a tiny village. Here they were held up indeed, for as they passed over a bridge across a small river, they met a lorry well loaded with bales of hay. The ropes securing the hay snapped and the high-piled bales rolled over the coach. It crawled on about six yards further, then stopped dead, mounting a heap of hay where it perched and then remained with the back wheels whirring round and the front tilting forward, threatening to bury its nose before they became still. Behind them was a long string of motor vehicles of various kinds until there was a full-sized traffic jam behind and another going in the opposite direction, while the hay continued to tumble off the lorry.

Half the girls yelled; a number stopped short of that, but clung to each other in alarm; the driver of the hay wain gave vent to a stream of language that made the staff thankful that he was expressing himself in Schweizerdeutsch which was unintelligible to most of their charges. As for their own driver, he nearly fell out of his seat in his haste to find out what could be done. Luckily, the drivers of the following cars all rushed to the rescue and before anyone had time to feel more than a little chokey with the dust from the hay, they had cleared most of it away and after some three-quarters of an hour the prisoners were freed and able to be helped down to the road. But when it came to moving the coach that was an altogether different matter. In the end, the driver had to go off in search of a telephone box and ring up the nearest garage for another. Meanwhile the escort staff gave their attention to making the girls look more or less respectable. It was 14.30 hours before they reached their pension near Zug, and by that time everyone was not only feeling tired and messy, but ravenously hungry.

Luckily, their meal was still waiting for them and after a good wash and brush-up they sat down to enjoy cold stuffed veal and salad, followed by delicious peaches gathered that morning. As usual they drank a very light local wine mixed with water.

“And now,” said Nancy Wilmot after she had said grace, “after our adventure I think everyone needs a short siesta. In any case it is too hot to go walking for the moment. We’ll all go upstairs to our bedrooms and lie down for an hour. After that, we’ll divide up and do some exploring. En haut, mes filles!”

“Oh gosh!” Val muttered. “Who wants to lie down on a holiday?”

Althea grinned. “I do for one. I don’t mind telling you I fairly feel dead even after that fab meal. Don’t grouse, Val! I bet you aren’t the last to go to sleep, once we’ve lain down.”

“Gertcha!” was Val’s rejoinder. “Bet you I don’t sleep at all!”

However, both spoke under their breath; Miss Wilmot was acknowledged to be a pet by everyone, but she had her limits and they knew better than to overstep them. Eventually, if Val was not the first to fall asleep, she was by no means the last. As for Althea, she was genuinely weary and slept the whole of the hour allotted. It was 16.00 hours when they finally came downstairs, all refreshed and ready for anything that might turn up.

“But not with hay in it!” Len remarked as they assembled in the entrance hall. Then she turned to hear what the mistresses had planned for the afternoon entertainment.

They were divided up into three parties numbering seventeen girls each with one mistress and two prefects in charge. As Miss Ferrars observed, that was as much as they could manage at a time. Miss Wilmot set off with her lot for the old parish church of St Oswald. Among them she included Althea and Val, Samaris and Brigit, Clare Kendal, Gretchen von Ahlen, Agneta Gabrielli and Marguerite Camben, with Len and Ted Grantley.

“Must we croc?” Samaris said of Len.

“Through the streets, certainly,” Len said. “Use your wits, Sam. We’re going to the Altstadt, which is the old town, and the streets are narrow and winding. But it’s awfully interesting,” she added.

“How?” Althea asked.

“So much to see—the Zytturm, which is part of the old fortifications and has a magnificent astronomical clock, and there are two streets running parallel with the Liebfrauenkapelle at one end. Oh, and the Rathaus which is early 16th century.”

Val made a face. “It may interest some folk, but I can’t say I’m mad on ancient buildings,” she murmured to Sam. “I like decent shops and things like that. And what I want to do is to take a trip round the lake.”

“We’ll fit that in later on,” Miss Wilmot told her, “and tomorrow we’re going to visit the Höllgrotten, which is a series of caves with most wonderful stalactite formations. Now let’s be on our way or we shan’t have time to see all I want to show you. Pair off and form lines. And don’t forget that we’re in a town so you can’t yell at the top of your voices. Wait for that until we’re on the lake. Ready, Len? Then lead the way. Ted, you and your partner can tail off and Erica and I will take care of the middle of the croc. En avant, mes amies!”

Headed by Len and Robina the double line set off, all very trim and neat in their clean gingham frocks, big hats and sandals. The narrowness of the streets of the old town helped to protect them from the fiercest rays of the sun, but also made them very hot. The girls were glad to reach the shelter of the parish church. Miss Wilmot detained them a few minutes to point out the beauties of the delicate spires of the church, set off by the massive towers of the city walls; then they went in to admire the wonderful carving of the choir stalls.

“Where next?” Len asked of Miss Wilmot when they came out again.

The mistress consulted her watch. “Yes; I think we have time,” she said. “Come along. We’ll take a tram and then it’s a short ride by the funicular railway to the top of the Zugerberg where you get a magnificent view across to the Rigi and Pilatus. But we can’t do more than look at it or we’ll be late for Abendessen. I’d like you to see it, so come along! Scamper!”

But they didn’t manage it. On the way, Althea caught sight of St Michael’s church where there is a charnel containing a hundred skulls each inscribed with the name, age and address of its former owner, and nothing would serve the Middles but a visit to the place, though both the mistresses exclaimed in horror at this macabre taste. However, they gave way to the girls and by the time the charnel had been inspected there was no time left for anything else unless they wanted to be outrageously late for their meal.

“Oh well, we may be able to put the Zugerberg in tomorrow some time,” said easy-going Nancy Wilmot. “Or there are Sunday and Monday left as well. Meantime we must scram or we’ll miss our tram out of Zug and that would be a pity. Dépéchez-vous, mes petites!”

The next day Miss Wilmot broke to the girls the news that the coach was out of commission for that morning. The cause of its breakdown, after the hay episode, had been discovered. A large pink worm had slid with some hay into one of the engine inlets where it had expired, and the resultant mess would take two or three hours to clear up.

Nancy Wilmot gave the news in her own inimitable way. “It’s bad for us,” she said, “but it’s worse for the worm. We’re only missing the trip we’d planned and we’ll try to fit it in somehow; and if we can’t there’s another holiday next term, or we might do it as an expedition later in the term. But the worm has no tomorrow, poor thing.”

“I couldn’t care less for that,” Val muttered.

Althea giggled. “Heartless object! It might have been looking forward to turning into a beautiful butterfly. You never know.”

Len overheard them and grinned at them. “I doubt that, Althea. I don’t believe worms or caterpillars think. They haven’t those kinds of brains. But what are we going to do instead, Miss Wilmot?”

“Well, what do you say to a trip round the lake this morning? And this afternoon I propose we visit the Höllgrotten and inspect the stalactite formation there. Stalactite caves are always cool, not to say chilly, and from all accounts it’s going to be a boiling hot day.”

This idea was received with acclamation. Most of them had never seen stalactites and the promise of coolness was very welcome. It was only 8.00 hours and already the thermometer was climbing high. Miss Ferrars, who had been arranging for a picnic meal to take with them, arrived mopping her face and declined the hot coffee Con Maynard brought her, demanding iced milk instead.

“It’s going to be a scorcher of a day,” she proclaimed as she sipped her milk. “Well, have you girls heard about the pink worm catastrophe and the subsequent change in our plans? I for one am not sorry to be spared some of the afternoon heat.”

Then she settled down to the dish of fruit the waitress had put before her. The mistresses were thankful that the girls seemed quite satisfied with the new programme. As the earlier idea had been to visit Lucerne, which everyone wanted to see, they had been afraid of grumbles from the girls, but stalactites would be something out of the ordinary.

They set off an hour later, with well-filled rucksacks strapped over their shoulders, and caught one of the boats that tour round the lake at ninety-minute intervals.

“What a duck of a lake!” Margot Maynard exclaimed.

Miss Ferrars chuckled. “Margot! What a ghastly description!”

Margot blushed. “It is a duck,” she said defiantly. “I simply love it.”

“You might have chosen a more appropriate epithet, though,” Len said laughing.

“Most appropriate, I think,” Margot retorted. “Ducks and lake. Don’t they add up?”

Con gurgled. “They do in one way. But it is a pet of a lake. You’re right there. And here comes the boat! Line up and file on quietly, all of you.”

“Girls! Aren’t you ready yet?” demanded Miss Ferrars from behind them. “Come along and stop wasting half the morning in arguing.”

They obeyed and presently they were well out in the middle of the lake, where a little cool breeze made everyone decidedly more comfortable.

“Isn’t the view magnificent?” Len said with a sigh of satisfaction. “Look at all the orchards round. They must be a sight when the early blossom is out!”

“And an equally gorgeous sight when the fruit is ripening,” Val chimed in. “What are they, Len?”

“Apricots, apples, pears, peaches—and the apricots and peaches are coming already,” Len said pointing. “Look over there.”

Everyone turned to look and exclamations of delight broke from the entire party as they caught sight of the fruit gleaming here and there among the green leaves.

“I wish we could go and pick some,” Val said. “I’ve always wanted to eat them fresh from the tree.”

“What I like,” observed Althea, “is watching the fish. The water’s so clear. Look, Sam! Down there. Do you see?”

There was a rush to the side of the little steamer by everyone who overheard her and they all gazed eagerly at the fish, swimming a little way off but quite clearly to be seen in the sunlit waters.

“Mind what you’re doing, girls!” cried Nancy Wilmot with an eye to Val, Althea and Sam, who were leaning over perilously. “We’re not so near home that I want to take drowned rats through the streets!”

“Furthermore,” put in Kathy Ferrars, “don’t forget what Matron would have to say if you all went home with streaming colds as a result of taking a dip in your clothes.”

That was quite enough for the three, who were all too well aware of what Matron would say if such a thing happened. They straightened up and everyone else followed suit—much to the mistresses’ relief. The short trip ended safely and presently they left the boat, and Miss Wilmot proposed that they should find somewhere to sit down and have their picnic. This was easy enough: they found a little dell under the shade of a great apple tree where Brigit gave a yelp of joy and plumped down on to a little mound before anyone could stop her. She was off it in double-quick time with more yelps, this time of anything but glee.

“Brigit!” shouted Kathy Ferrars. “Don’t you know an anthill when you see one? Miss Wilmot! Come and help me clear her!”

Nancy had been at the far side of the clearing but she came with great leaps and bounds and grabbed the writhing Brigit by the shoulders. “Stand still, Brigit! You others, keep clear of the ants.”

“Ow! They’re biting,” wailed the sufferer.

“We’ll have to undress you and get you into the lake to clear them off,” Miss Wilmot said. “Surround her, girls. Keep still, Brigit! Yes; I know they’re biting, but we’ll clear them once you’re in the lake; and luckily there’s a nice little shore here, so it isn’t too deep.”

While she was talking the mistresses were stripping the squirming, howling Brigit. When all her clothes were off Len produced a plastic raincoat from the bottom of her rucksack and they pulled it on. Then Margot and Con escorted her down the little shore and into the lake, while Len picked up her discarded garments and swished them through the water, effectually disposing of the ants which still clung to them. The other girls drew back respectfully from the stream of furious insects which still poured forth from their anthill, indignant at the invasion of their home.

“What are we going to do about getting her back to the pension?” Margot asked when at last Brigit emerged from the lake, clad once more in the raincoat.

“Dry off her clothes—it won’t take long in this heat,” Miss Ferrars said, eyeing the scanty garments hanging over various bushes and steaming steadily in the hot sunshine. “She’ll look rather rough-dried, I’m afraid, but it’s the best we can do at the moment.”

“I’ve thought of something better,” Len said. “Couldn’t some of us scoot back and get her a change and bring it here? Those things will have to be properly ironed before she can put them on again. Let Margot and me go. It won’t take long and we can be quicker with just two of us than if we all go back; and Brigit can’t wander about in that plastic affair in the middle of the day.”

“A good idea,” Nancy agreed. “What’s more, I’ll give you some money and you can call in at the nearest chemist’s and get a bottle of lotion to dab on the bites. Sam! Come away from that anthill or you’ll regret it! Those ants are raging, and I, for one, don’t blame them.”

Sam moved back and after a little more discussion Len and Margot went off armed with money to buy the lotion and some cottonwool. While they were gone the rest set to work to lay out a delicious meal of little meat pasties with the meat embedded in rich jelly, slices of bread smothered in ivory butter, and little pasteboard cases filled with a delectable mixture of stewed fruit, sponge cake and whipped cream. Flasks of iced lemonade washed all this down, and before they had finished, the Maynards were back among them with a set of fresh clothes for Brigit and a bottle of lotion which, being dabbed on to her stings, relieved the burning, itching sensations left by the ants’ fury.

“But another time,” Miss Wilmot said with a grin at the victim, “avoid sitting on humps in the grass, however inviting they may look.” She looked at her coadjutor with another grin. “I wonder if any of the other parties have had as many odd adventures as we have had? I doubt it.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Kathy said. “We never do lack for adventures in this school. Now sit down, you two, and get your meal. You must be famished by this time. Ah, that’s better!” as Brigit, clothed and in her right mind came out from behind the great clump of bushes where she had been effecting the transformation with some help from Len and Margot. “The bites easier?”

“Yes, thank you. But I’ll always loathe those horrid insects.”

“Well, let’s hope we’ve seen the end of our mishaps for the rest of half-term!” Miss Wilmot observed.

Miss Ferrars laughed. “We’ve certainly had our share. Thank goodness it’s been no worse. Now eat up, you people, or we shan’t have time to go to the Höllgrotten, and I do want to show you it.”

So they forgot Brigit’s adventure for the time being and, after finishing their meal and clearing away the leftovers in the rucksacks, shouldered them cheerfully and set off for the Oberaegeri railway station, near which lay the entrance to the caverns.

The Höllgrotten proved to be as cool as they had been promised and quite as wonderful as Miss Ferrars had described, with long columns of limestone, some reaching from the roof to the floor where a stalactite and a stalagmite had met and joined together, while other stalactites pointed downwards and stalagmites pointed upwards.

“How are they made?” Sam wanted to know.

“By water escaping through cracks in the rocks. The water is slow flowing, going drop by drop, and is strongly impregnated with lime. As the water evaporates very slowly in the icy air the lime is deposited in the form of these columns.”

“But doesn’t it ever melt?” Althea asked.

“Of course not. It’s solid limestone,” Miss Ferrars said briefly. She had no wish to spend part of her holiday in giving lessons in physical geography.

Claire Kynaston of Upper IVa grinned. “Oh, put a sock in it, Sam! This is a holiday, woman!”

“I quite agree,” the mistress remarked. “But I’ll give you a lesson on the thing next geography lesson. I’ve got some rather good photos of the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky, which is one of the largest in the world, and I’ll look them out for you.”

“Oh, cheers!” cried the irrepressible Val. Then she took a step backwards and went headlong over a small stalagmite which was poking its head out about four inches above the floor of the cave.

Not only Val but three other people yelled as she went down, and the mistresses cried out as they made a dive for her. She was bruised, but otherwise unhurt, but Miss Wilmot decided that they had had enough of the Höllgrotten for one day. She faced them about and marched them out of the chilly cavern and into the warm air of the outer world, where she proposed to take them to a cafe for Kaffee und Kuchen when they had tidied themselves. Miss Ferrars remarked thankfully, “Well, I’m grateful to be out of that! I was beginning to wonder if we should turn into stalagmites ourselves before long.”

“Where are you hurt, Val?” Miss Wilmot demanded.

“My head,” Val said briefly.

“Let me see.”

But apart from a lump the size of a pigeon’s egg there was nothing to see. Nancy felt it with delicately-probing fingers, but the skin was unbroken, and although Val winced and cried out, she had to acknowledge that it didn’t hurt too badly. Kaffee und Kuchen seemed to supply relief to shaken nerves, but even Miss Wilmot said she was glad to be out in the open air again.

“How people can go pot-holing is beyond me,” she said aloud to the prefects.

“But what, then, is pot-holing?” Gretchen demanded of Althea.

“It is going down to much undergrounder caverns than these,” Althea replied.

“Into what?” ejaculated Kathy Ferrars.

Althea went red. “Well, you know what I mean. Caverns that are feet deeper down than this one, where you have to use ropes to help you to get down and sometimes have to go crawling on all-fours to get along and things like that. My oldest brother has done some with his school, and Tony, the youngest, is always saying that when he goes to his public school—it’s the same one—he’ll go in for it.”

“Good luck to him!” exclaimed Con Maynard. “He can have every underground cavern in the world for all of me.”

“What about yourself, Althea?” Len asked with a smile.

“Oh, I should hate it,” Althea said frankly. “I don’t like dark, shut-in places, and apart from wondering all the time if the roof was coming in on top of me. I should be wondering if water would break through. It does sometimes, and floods the caves, and people get drowned.”

Miss Wilmot put a stop to the talk. “This conversation will now cease,” she said firmly. “You’ll all be having nightmares if it goes on. Instead, let me inform you that this evening we are taking the funicular up the Zugerberg where you get one of the most wonderful views in Switzerland. On Sunday we shall have one of our usual quiet Sundays, and on Monday I propose to take the lot of you on a trip round Lake Zurich—and that will be our half-term, for Tuesday will be taken up with going back to Görnetz Platz.”

“And then we’ll have to settle down to exams and the Sale, not to speak of our Regatta,” Miss Ferrars added.

“Are we having the Regatta this year?” Margot cried excitedly. “Oh, nifty! It’s the one thing I’ve really missed since we left St Briavel’s.”

“Well, I don’t see how that can be,” Len said. “We never had all that much of it, seeing that we only had about a year of the island before we came out here.”

“I know; but I’ve always regretted missing it and wished we could manage it here.”

“Well, we hope to do it this year,” Nancy told them. “We’re going to have a busy time the next half of the term. Meantime, we’d better get back to our pension and change for the evening. Val, if your head aches, you must let me know. And girls, please try to keep from having any more adventures or accidents for the rest of the weekend. I, for one, have had enough!”

“Last night, thank goodness, and Val’s exploit in the Höllgrotten seems to have been the end of our adventures. On the whole it hasn’t been too eventful, has it?” Thus Miss Wilmot to her colleagues and the prefects as they sat in the long verandah which ran across the front of the pension enjoying a peaceful hour or so after the Middles had gone to bed.

During the past day all their doings had gone according to plan and no one had tried to enliven things by so much as disturbing an ants’ nest or tripping over the smallest snag in the ground. They were returning to school on the morrow, so Nancy felt herself safe in making her statement.

Con chuckled. “Touch wood! We aren’t at the school yet and you never know.”

“Superstitious object!” scoffed Ted. “Unless we get landed in an accident with the bus, perhaps you’ll tell me what could happen.”

“Well, not that, I hope!” cried Miss Ferrars. “As for what could happen, anything could where you girls are concerned. I used to think we were a pretty adventurous crowd when I was at High School, but the Chalet School beats our lot hollow.”

Nancy Wilmot laughed. “It’s always been like that at the Chalet School. You know,” she went on, addressing the three Maynards, “I’ve often thought your mother ought to write a history of the Chalet School. I’m sure it would go like hot cakes.”

“I’m certain it would,” Margot agreed. “The trouble is she’s got a very full programme at present, what with her contracts and the house, and then there’s always Phil. She’s getting better now but Dad told us that it will be a year or two before she’s anything like normal. And we three will be off next term. Not even next door, but away in England, so that she can’t call on any of us in case of need. Oh, I know she has Anna and the Coadjutor, but there are times and seasons when you want family.”

“Well, Anna is family all right,” Len said. “She’s been with us since before we three were born, and the Coadjutor has been nearly as long. We wouldn’t know ourselves without them.”

Kathy Ferrars had been glancing at her watch. She stood up.

“Time for bed,” she said. “We’ve a fair journey tomorrow and, as Con has reminded us, you never know what may lie in front of you.”

“Too true!” Nancy Wilmot stood up, yawning and stretching. “Off you people go! It’s almost 22.00 hours—shocking time for growing girls!” She gave them a wicked glance and chuckled as she beheld their expressions. “Don’t forget either that school work begins the day after tomorrow and that this is the most hectic half of the term. Exams—the Sale—and if we have decent weather on the day—the Regatta.”

“To say nothing of the Sports,” Margot put in. “But we three haven’t got exams, glory be!”

“You wait till next year!” Nancy told her laughing. “Whose book is that under that chair? Yours, Len. Then take it with you. Remember you have to have all your belongings packed up by 08.30, for that’s when the coach is calling for us.”

Len picked up her book and the party went off upstairs as quietly as they could. The mistresses opened the doors of the rooms where the Middles were sleeping and peeped in, but everyone was sound asleep. They were tired after a day spent on a trip down Lake Zurich and climbing the Rigi, and not even Val and Co. had felt disposed to lie awake. Their elders were in much the same case and long before midnight everyone in the pension was sound asleep.

It was nearly 02.00 when some slight sound roused Althea from a delightful dream of being out on Lake Zug in a long boat together with her mother, her brother Anthony, Val and Sam, with Len Maynard standing at least ten yards away, perched on the stern and waving a Union Jack, while climbing up the mast in the middle of the boat was a great monkey which was throwing roses at her. Althea lay for a moment or two with her eyes still shut. Then another sound—the cautious opening of one of the drawers in the great chest that they shared among them, made her turn her head slightly and look towards it. To her horror a man was standing there, turning over the contents.

Althea nearly gave vent to a howl. Luckily, she managed to control herself and lie perfectly still. What on earth should she do? How should she give the alarm? In that drawer were the various gifts they had bought to take home and she couldn’t possibly stay there and let this wretched object make off with them. She lay still and watched him as he sorted out the best of the parcels before packing them into a bag lying on the floor. Fascinated, she saw him empty one drawer and then open the one above. He gave a disgusted grunt, for that was empty since they had already packed most of their belongings. But the next one contained their shoes, and the sight of him abstracting them and calmly packing them in on top of the parcels was too much for her. Without an idea of what they could do, Althea stealthily slipped out a hand from under the sheet which covered her and poked Sam gingerly. Luckily the beds were close together and the intruder was too intent on what he was doing to notice. Also, Sam was a light sleeper and easily roused. She turned her head in Althea’s direction and that young person had time to touch her lips with a finger and make a light movement towards the far end of the room before Sam could speak.

Sam was also quick to take a hint. She stared down the room and then touched her neighbour, Clare Kendal, who was equally on the spot, and between them they had at least six girls of the twelve roused without disturbing the malefactor.

Just why he should have concluded that a dozen girls of their age should remain sleeping peacefully through his actions was something that puzzled most people later. Nor why he did not keep more of a watch on them. The fact remains that by dint of a sign language they had evolved among themselves for use in prep they contrived to pass certain information down the dormitory, and at a given signal from Sam, who had assumed the direction of the manoeuvre, they bounced out of their beds, grabbed their dressing-gowns, and giving vent to a series of yells that would have done credit to a band of Red Indians on the warpath, hurled themselves on him with all their might.

Taken by surprise, he overbalanced and went headlong, when four hefty people instantly sat firmly on him while the whole lot kept up their shrieks until they should have been heard at the far side of the lake.

The climax came when Clare, accustomed to horses at home, planked herself on his head, and Miss Wilmot, the first of the grown-ups to rouse, came rushing to the rescue and sat her entire ten stone and odd on his feet, while the owner of the pension—who was a weird sight with her hair in curlers covering her whole head—rang up the gendarmerie and shrilly demanded their assistance. In short, never had the respectable establishment known such excitement. As for the would-be burglar, he was thankful when a posse of gendarmes arrived to rescue him from his captors. The whole affair had been a dead loss to him, for not only had he gained nothing by it, but he had lost as pretty a set of tools as anyone could desire; his identity was now known to the police who, he was convinced, would hound him from pillar to post and, to crown all, it was a parcel of schoolgirls who had done it!

It was almost 05.00 before everyone got back to bed to make the most of their broken night, and the two mistresses conferred seriously as to whether to ring up the school and put off their return until the next day.

“Better not,” Nancy finally decided. “It would only scare them unnecessarily. And, after all, no harm has been done. Though that man had got at the office safe, I only wish we could pipe down on the whole thing. However, I suppose that’s impossible now.”

“Well, it serves you right for saying things would go well now,” her colleague told her severely. “Talk of counting your chickens before they were hatched! I never met a more flagrant example of it. Well, what are we going to do about taking the girls home? I’d just as soon do that and I don’t suppose it’ll hurt any of them to go short of two or three hours sleep for once. They can make it up by early bed if necessary, two or three nights this week.”

Finally, it was left at that. The girls were ordered back to bed to get what sleep they could and when the coach arrived they were all waiting in the lounge hall, cases piled up on the verandah and ready to be taken aboard.

“Well, we’ve had fun, anyhow,” Sam observed as they settled down in their places. “I’ll bet none of the other crowds have nobbled a burglar!”

“I still don’t know how you folks got away with it,” Erica remarked. “He must have been a beginner.”

“Let’s hope this failure puts a stop to any more attempts from him,” Brigit said severely.

“Well, I consider that Althea did very well, for it is indeed owing to her that the capture was made,” said Jaquetta de Henezell.

Con, seated behind her, gurgled. “Yes; I call her quite an addition to our numbers. In fact she has made a real mark on the school for a new girl.”

However, even now their adventures were not quite ended. The girls, knowing that their journey home would go through Berne, had begged for a visit to the famous bear-pit. They had made good time along the road, so the mistresses agreed and they left the coach for that purpose as well as for Mittagessen.

It was a bright, breezy day and when the girls left the coach they found they had to cling to their hats. Len and Con had invested in two cans of Swiss milk which Miss Wilmot handed over to the bear-pit keeper to pierce before he tossed them into the pit. There they were seized on by two ursine gentlemen who dealt speedily with them by turning them upside down so that the viscous fluid could dribble slowly down their cheeks and muzzles on to their tongues. What flowed down their great chests and down their flanks was instantly tackled by some of the younger bears who gave their elders a good licking in every sense of the phrase, to the glee of the younger girls. Then came another amusement. In her excitement Althea let go of her hat brim. A sharp gust caught it and away went the hat, floating halfway across the pit before the wind died away and the hat descended on the head of an indignant mother bear who plucked it off and proceeded to make mincemeat of it while the unfortunate owner exclaimed in horror. When Madame Bruin had tossed aside the remnants the babies pounced on them and Althea was hatless.

“Oh, my goodness!” she cried. “What will Matey say?”

“Any amount,” she was assured by a chorus.

Kathy Ferrars suppressed them. “Not when it was an accident thanks to the wind,” she said. “Matron is strict but she is fair. You can get a new hat from stock tomorrow. Meantime, as the sun is still powerful, you must tie a handkerchief over your head—oh, not in the coach, but when you get out. Now come and have a real Bernese Mittagessen.”

“Fondue?” Althea asked eagerly.

“Isn’t it rather hot for that?” Kathy Ferrars said doubtfully. “It isn’t usually served at this time of the year. I was going to suggest saucissons with French beans and Röschti with fried bacon.”

“What are Röschti?” demanded Val.

“A German-Swiss form of fried potatoes. And what about Leckerei to wind up?”

The girls agreed and thoroughly enjoyed their meal. Iced lemonade accompanied the solids, giving a satisfying Mittagessen which was filling yet not too heavy for the hot day. Finally, they clambered into the coaches for the last part of their journey home which this time they accomplished without any mishaps.

“Enjoyed your half-term trip?” Miss Annersley asked when she welcomed them back.

“Oh yes, indeed!” the whole lot chorussed.

“Good! Well, I have some news for those of you who distinguished themselves by capturing a burglar. You will be wanted to give evidence against him at the Zurich Court of Justice, so you will be going back to Zurich next week.”

“Wh-what will happen?” Althea faltered.

“Just what happens at any such Court—Swiss—British—French. You must give a full and truthful account of the whole thing, and answer any questions you may be asked.”

“And what will happen to him?” Sam inquired.

“Prison, I imagine, but I can’t say definitely. Well, what is it?” the Head asked with a smile at Lysbet Alsen.

Lysbet blushed. “It is only that—I wondered if anyone else had as many adventures as we did.”

The Head laughed outright. “No—or not such unusual ones. Which reminds me—how is your head, Val?”

“I’ve still got a lump, but it doesn’t ache any more,” Val replied.

“Good! Matron will be wanting to examine it. And now, you had better go and make yourselves tidy for Abendessen and Prayers and then it’s bed for all you folk. And tomorrow we start on the second half of this term, so sleep well when you are tucked up. Now run along, all of you. You have only twenty minutes left.” The Head rose to dismiss them and they filed out in a long, orderly line.

But when they were going upstairs to bed after Prayers, she happened to encounter Althea as that young person was walking demurely down the corridor towards her dormitory. Miss Annersley halted to smile down at the term’s only new girl.

“This is the end of your first half-term at the school,” she said. “How has it been, Althea?”

“I miss Mother and Daddy and the boys,” Althea said thoughtfully, “but except for that I’ve loved nearly every minute of it and I know I’m going on now. I’m awfully glad that Aunt Joan married Uncle Desmond and he told us about the Chalet School so that I came here; and I hope I’ll be here until I leave school for good. I’m sure I shouldn’t like any other school as well as this school.”

“That’s good hearing! I hope you will stay with us and end up your schooldays as a real Chalet School girl,” Miss Annersley told her before finally sending her off to bed to prepare for the second half of her first term.

TRANSCRIBER NOTES

A cover was created for this eBook and is placed in the public domain.

[The end of Althea Joins the Chalet School by Elinor Mary Brent-Dyer]