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“Oh, excuse me, please, but—but I think you must be my Aunt Joey Bettany!”

At this startling statement from a total stranger, Joey Maynard stopped dead in her headlong rush down Oxford Street and swung round to face the speaker. She saw a slender child of twelve or thirteen whose big blue eyes were looking straight up into her own black ones with an eager trust that, as she said later, made her positive that this was no “try on”.

“Who on earth?” she began slowly, still surveying the earnest little face with a puzzled look. “Well, to my knowledge I’ve never seen you before. And yet I feel I ought to know you. Your face rings a very loud bell in my memory. Who are you, anyhow? And if you’re my niece—blood or brevet—how come I’ve not seen you before? For I’m fairly sure I haven’t, you know.”

The child went deeply pink at the question. Before she could speak, however, there was a little rush and a small, plump lady came bustling up to them.

“Erica Jane!” she exclaimed in shocked tones. “How very naughty of you! You’ve been told that you mustn’t go diving across the streets here. You might have been killed. And you musn’t—Oh, please forgive her!” She turned to Joey who smiled affably in response. “We’ve just come from Kashmir, you see.”

Joey’s smile became a broad grin. “At that rate there’s certainly nothing to forgive. Besides, I know I should know her. Her face is very familiar to me. Likewise, I was Joey Bettany—way back in the Dark Ages. I’ve been Joey Maynard for eighteen years now. Also, I’ve a number of brevet-nieces to whom I’m ‘Aunt Joey’. The thing is I just can’t place—did you say ‘Erica Jane’? But what a delightful name!” She glanced round at the crowds hurrying past, then slipped her free hand into Erica Jane’s arm and drew her to one side. Her escort followed as a matter of course. “O.K.! This way, both of you. In at that door and up the stairs. There’s a very decent café here and I think we shall be able to get things more easily unravelled over a nice cuppa and a cake or so. It looks like being a very tangled skein, doesn’t it? That table in the window, I think. Scoot ahead and bag it, Erica Jane. We’ll follow.”

Erica Jane scurried across the floor while Joey, pausing only to give her order to a nearby waitress, threaded her way more calmly through the maze of small tables and rout-chairs, finally fetching up at the table of her choice.

“Sit down,” she said hospitably. “And now,” as her guests obeyed her, “I think we’d better exchange names as a beginning. You know I’m Joey Maynard and I know that this young woman is Erica Jane.” She flashed a smile at the excited Erica Jane. “But Erica Jane? What and who are you? For we’ve not been introduced, even sketchily so far. Do give me your name.”

“I’m Erica Jane Standish,” that young person said promptly. “And you are my Aunt Joey Bettany. At least, when Mummy knew you that’s what you were called. She did say you were married, but she hadn’t kept in touch with you, and then the war came and letters didn’t get through and then she married Daddy and so, what with one thing and another, she couldn’t remember your married name, or where you were living, though she knew it was in Austria.”

“Not during the war, and rather more than eight years after that,” Joey interrupted her. “We had to skip, you know, and my first married home was in Guernsey.”

“Oh? Well, anyway, she couldn’t write and let you know about me. But she had piles of snaps of you when you were in India.”

“In India?” Joey interrupted her again, her eyes shining with excitement.

Erica Jane nodded. “ ’M! Coorg, it was. You were staying with your brother, and my grandpa was District Commissioner for that part.”

“Coorg! Are you telling me you’re Dacia Parson’s girl?” Joey exclaimed. “You are? But this is stupendous! Is your mother with you? Where——” She stopped short. The blue eyes were clouded and the little pointed chin was quivering. She could say nothing for the moment for the waitress arrived with a loaded tray at that point and conversation ceased while she laid the table. But when she had finished and gone, Mrs Maynard laid a slender hand on the shoulder nearest her. “Don’t bother, my sweet. Tell me, instead, what this lady’s name is. To say nothing but ‘you’ to anyone has rather a chilly effect.”

The lady laughed. “I’m Miss Waller and I suppose you’d say I was Mrs Standish’s companion-housekeeper. I’ve been Erica Jane’s governess, too, in the intervals.”

“It sounds a pretty full programme. Miss Waller, I’m delighted to meet you both and especially Erica Jane. Of course, if she’s Dacia’s girl no wonder her face was so familiar to me! We were great pals when I was in Coorg. The thing is I wasn’t thinking of India at all, which is why I was so puzzled when we first met. But this young woman is her mother’s miniature.” She picked up the teapot and began to officiate. “I hope that’s how you like it, Miss Waller. Sugar, Erica Jane? And now try a hot scone. This place is famous for them.”

Erica Jane had had time to pull herself together. “Auntie Joey, Mummy said I was to tell you that she left me to you. She couldn’t bring me herself, but she said she knew you’d look after me and there was no one she’d rather trust me to. You will, won’t you?” She gave Joey an anxious look.

“Of course I will!” Joey replied promptly, for that look went to her heart. It told a story of a child badly shocked and filled with uncertainty. However, she must wait until she could get Miss Waller alone and then get the details. But Erica had managed to control her feelings and she went on.

“You see, Auntie Joey, Mummy died early this year when we were living in Kashmir, up in the hills. It was all difficult at first, but—but I know I mustn’t fret because she said I mustn’t. She’d been ill a long time and she’d missed Daddy and Grandpa and Gran so much and there was no one else.”

Joey shot an inquiring look at Miss Waller. To her amazement, that lady was a violent puce and was looking anywhere but at Joey. “Yes?” she said.

“Of course Miss Waller can’t take me on, ’cos Mr Parker is going back to Kashmir when his furlough is ended,” Erica Jane went on, cheerfully ignoring the embarrassment of her present guardian. “Mummy always said that as soon as I was old enough I was to go to the Chalet School. I’ve known that for ages.”

“Good! You’ll enjoy life there,” Joey responded.

Miss Waller had returned to her normal colour and she took a hand now. “Mrs Standish didn’t know your address so she couldn’t write to ask you, but she said she knew it would be all right. You are Erica Jane’s legal guardian.”

Joey gasped. “Am I? You know, this is all news to me. Have another scone, Erica Jane. By the way, do you always use your full name? It’s somewhat of a mouthful for every day.”

“Mummy often called me just Erica. It’s after Daddy, you see. He was Eric. I didn’t know him, you know. He died when I was quite young—only a baby. Of course we had heaps of photos of him and I’d know him if I met him—just as I knew you the instant I saw you. I’ve sort of grown up with you two,” Erica Jane confided to her.

“I see. Well, do you mind if I use just Erica? It’s a dear little name,” Joey added. “I do like it. I must use it some time.”

“In one of your books, you mean?” Erica nearly dropped her scone in her excitement. “Ooh, Auntie Joey, that would be a thrill!”

“It shall be done. Now what about second cups? Miss Waller—more tea?” She refilled the cups before she went on reminiscently. “It’s all such ages ago—I mean our trip to India. I’d just left school and was living up on the Sonnalpe with my sister and brother-in-law. He was head of the big sanatorium up there. There was a newish young doctor and he chased me good and hard. I couldn’t bear him and he wouldn’t take ‘No!’ for an answer from me or anyone else. Jem and Madge were my guardians and they didn’t like the idea any more than I did. The only thing was to get me well out of his reach. Dick and Mollie had been asking if I couldn’t go out to them for the cold weather so India seemed the answer. I was packed off together with young Robin.”

Erica gave a cry. “Oh, I was going to ask you about her. Mummy told me lots about her and what a darling she was and how lovely. Does she still live with you, Auntie Joey, or is she married, too?”

“No, my sweet. Robin only wanted one thing most of all in her life. She’s a nun in the La Sagesse Order and lives in Canada, though she’s been over here the last two or three years, teaching in one of their houses in Provence. She’s gone back to Toronto now, however. Oh, won’t she be thrilled to hear all this! Rob was awfully fond of your mother. She was more than anxious that one of my three elder girls should be named for her.”

“Three? Have you three? What are they called?” Erica asked eagerly.

“Len, Con and Margot. Never mind them just now. Time’s flying madly and I have to be at Paddington for the 5.35 train to meet the friend I’m staying with. You’ll be meeting my entire long family before very long I hope. Now tell me, Miss Waller, where are you two parked? When did you arrive, by the way? And how, under the sun, did you expect to get on to me?”

“Oh, that was Mr Parker’s idea,” Erica said. “We reached London on Saturday and he took us to a hotel for the night, but we moved into lodgings on Monday. That was yesterday. He couldn’t stay with us ’cos he had to report to his board—he’s a missionary, you know—but he said there were people who knew all about schools and we’d better get on to them and find out where the Chalet School was and they’d probably be able to put us on to you.”

“We were going there when Erica Jane broke away from me,” Miss Waller explained. “However, now there is no need. You see,” she went on blushing furiously again, “I—we—that is——”

“You’re going to be married!” Joey jumped to the rescue. “How gorgeous! I wish you every happiness—as much as I have, and I can’t say more. When?”

“On—on Friday,” Miss Waller replied. “So I hope you’ll let me keep Erica Jane with me until then. I promised that she should be my bridesmaid, you see.”

“That will be all right,” Joey said cordially. “Where is the wedding to be?”

Miss Waller gave her the details, assisted by Erica, and by the time they had finished tea, Joey knew most of them thoroughly. She escorted them to the Ladies’ Room—the cakes had been jammy and Erica’s fingers were sticky—and while that young person was washing them and combing out the straight fair hair held back from her face by an Alice-in-Wonderland band, she had a quick word or two with Miss Waller.

“What was wrong with Mrs Standish?”

“It was a form of general debility. At first she had seasons of pulling up and we hoped she would recover. But she got worse and worse. It began when Mr Standish was killed—he died in a flying accident. She did try to live for Erica Jane’s sake, but she wasn’t a strong woman, Mrs Maynard, and it was all too much for her. I have a letter for you from her. I’ll give it to you next Friday—or I could post it tonight when we get back to our rooms and you’d get it tomorrow.”

Joey nodded. “Yes; I think that would be best. Then I’ll have time to think things over before Friday, 11.30 at Holy Trinity, you said? O.K. I’ll be there. Have Erica’s things packed ready, for I’ll take over from there. You certainly won’t want a schoolgirl butting in on your honeymoon,” she added with a chuckle.

“Er—no,” Miss Waller agreed with another of the violent blushes to which she seemed addicted at any mention of her marriage. “Thank you so much, Mrs Maynard.” She paused and glanced across to where Erica was raking a comb through the waist-length linty locks that framed her small face. “Mrs Standish told me that you were one of the most understanding people she had ever known. That was why she left Erica Jane to your guardianship. She thought the child might find school life difficult at first as she has never had much to do with girls of her own age, and she said you would know how to help her to cope with it.”

Joey nodded. “I ought to—I’ve eleven of my own to start with—oh, not all girls! Don’t worry, Miss Waller. I was always very fond of Dacia-Denise. Anything I can do for her girl I will. Now we must stop, for here she comes. Ready, Erica? Then this is where we part; but I’ll write during the week, and on Friday I’m coming to see Miss Waller well and truly married and then after that, and a feed, you’re coming with me.”

“Where to?” Erica asked.

“Well, to Dover in the first place. On Saturday we leave England for the Oberland—in Switzerland,” she added. “That’s where I live and that’s where the Chalet School is. You’ll like it. And as it’s up in the mountains, you ought to feel quite at home almost at once. Anyhow, my crowd will see to that.”

“Your crowd? Have you a big family, Auntie Jo? I mean is it really big like Charlotte Yonge’s families in The Daisy Chain and Pillars of the House?”

Joey grinned. “Eleven, so far. The three eldest are triplets. Then we had three boys, all singletons. Felix and Felicity came next—that was while we were in Canada. My Swiss babies are Cecil who is named after Robin—her name in the world was Cecilia Marya—and the twins, Philippa and Geoffrey. They aren’t much more than babies yet. But by this time next week you should be beginning to know them.” She glanced at her watch and gave an exclamation. “Mercy! Where does the time go? I must fly or I shall miss that train. Goodbye, Miss Waller. I’ll be waiting for that letter with my tongue hanging out. Erica, my sweet, I hope you’re going to be very happy among us all.”

“Oh, I just know I shall!” Erica exclaimed, throwing her arms round Joey. “Mummy said you’d look after me and I just feel you will. And then there’ll be all your family—and I’ve longed for brothers and sisters all my life. And on top of it all, THE CHALET SCHOOL!”

Joey gave her a hug. “And something more, though I’m saying nothing about that just yet. But this is a most important term for the school. You’ve come at exactly the right time. Now we must scram! Come along!”

She ushered the party down the stairs and into the street. An empty taxi pulled up, thanks to a traffic jam, and she hurriedly kissed Erica again, signalling violently to the driver. “I must take this or I’ll never reach Paddington in time.” She scrambled in and the driver slammed the door. But as the long stream of traffic began once more to move on, she leaned out of the window to call, “Goodbye! Remember, Erica, you belong to us now. Be seeing you both on Friday!”

At that point the man quickened speed, and the last they saw of her was a waving hand before she sat back in her seat and began, metaphorically speaking, to get her breath. It was not difficult. All her life Joey Bettany had been running into adventures of one kind or another. She had other wards beside Erica as well as being “Home” for quite a number of folk.

“But it’s stupendous to think that after all these years Dacia remembered me and trusted me enough to leave her only child to me,” she thought. “Heaven grant I fulfil that trust!”

“Here we are and this is where our journey really begins!” Joey glanced down at the smooth, fair head that came not quite up to her shoulder. She was a tall woman and Erica was on a miniature scale.

“It’s a terrific thrill,” Erica said with a chuckle. “Oh, I know I’ve travelled heaps further and in quite different ways, too. But this is a thrill in quite another way. Auntie Joey, I did like that friend of yours Miss—Miss Mary-Lou. Does she live in that place we’re going to now? She told me it wouldn’t be long before we meet again at the—the——”

“The Görnetz Platz,” Joey supplied with a grin. “Well, she does and she doesn’t. She owns a house just outside of Howells village. That’s where I’ve been staying, as you know. Your Uncle Jack and I are her guardians and trustees, and as he couldn’t come to attend to some business, I had to. It’s all pushed out of the way now, and Mary-Lou—no need to call her ‘Miss’, by the way—can go ahead in peace for the moment. Here’s our compartment. In you hop! Follow our porter. He knows which seats are ours.”

Erica scrambled up the high steps into the coach and followed the pleasantly smiling coloured man who was bearing their cases into the Pullman where seats had been reserved for them. A bundle of rugs, raincoats and other oddments followed. The big trunk on the back of his barrow he whirled away down the platform to the guard’s van. Erica watched it go with a little apprehension.

“Where is he taking it?” she asked.

“Only to the van. It’ll be all right,” Joey said with a smile. “He’ll be back in a moment to tell me exactly where it is—and collect his tip. You go and sit down. I’ll wait here for him. Run along.”

Thus bidden, Erica skipped off down the aisle again and took her seat by the wide window, watching the scurrying crowd with deep interest. Joey joined her presently and proceeded to prove, if proof were necessary, what an experienced traveller she was. She produced from a small case, books, a double pack of patience cards, a box of American candies and a basket of ripe grapes, as well as her own knitting-bag, a couple of newspapers and a small washing-case complete with face-cloth, soap and towel. Erica stared at it.

“Ages ago,” her new guardian remarked as she settled back in her seat, “this sort of thing was necessary to remove sheer dirt. Now that engines run on diesel oil instead of coal, there isn’t so much need of that. Sweets and grapes make you sticky, however, so I’ve taken precautions.”

“Oh, I see,” Erica said. Then, “Was it really as awful as that?”

“Worse!” Joey said with conviction. “I well remember arriving at the end of a journey feeling that the thing in life I most wanted was a nice, hot bath with chunks of soap and oceans of water so that I could wallow!”

Erica giggled. “It must have been ghastly. But why?”

“Because for the most part continental railways used soft coal in their boilers. Very hot, so good for making steam, but horribly given to scattering soot and smut. If you wanted to reach your destination moderately clean you tucked all your hair into a beret and wore cotton gloves. Nowadays, we’ve done away with that sort of thing on the big railways, anyhow. In Switzerland, of course, all the railways are electrified.” She paused to look at the heaped-up table. “We shan’t need all this lot at once. Which will you have—book or cards? Don’t forget this is the ferry train. We’ll have a longish time in it.”

“I’ll read, please, though I expect I’ll do a lot of looking out of the window at first,” Erica decided. “O-ooh!” as she saw the book Joey pushed towards her. “It’s one of yours, Auntie Joey! Werner of the Alps—I’ve never even heard of it.” She opened it and her face went pink as she saw the fly-leaf on which Joey had written, “Erica Jane Standish. In memory of our first trip to the Görnetz Platz. With love from Auntie Joey.” She looked up at Joey with sparkling eyes. “Is it really mine! Oh, how—how stupendous!”

“Oh, we must see that you have a full set of my works,” Joey said lightly. “That’s historical. I hadn’t any of the school stories at hand and couldn’t take time to visit a bookshop. This was a spare of Mary-Lou’s. Lucky she had it. Hello! Here come some of our travelling companions, I think.”

Erica glanced up to behold a couple of young women clad in tight jeans, big, Sloppy Joe jumpers, and with hair that looked as if a rake had been pushed smartly through it. She was a fastidious creature and she made a face as she noticed that the scarlet nails of both had black rims. They carried knap-sacks crammed with artists’ materials and a big hold-all seemed to be dedicated to clothes and other necessaries, for a nylon stocking dangled out of it.

“Told you we’d do it,” the darker one of the pair observed in a high-pitched adenoidal voice. “All that fuss for nothing! You are an ass, Nillie! Here, sling this thing up. You’re taller than I am.”

Nillie, who seemed to be a biddable creature, did as she was ordered before sitting down and producing a packet of cigarettes and lighting up. Noticing Erica’s stare at the pair, Joey touched her ankle under their table.

“Must you stare at them?” she asked in an undertone. “They might be snakes and you their coming victim! They’re only beatniks—that means people in need of a capable nanny and a good tubbing. Incidentally, that sort of thing is going out of fashion, thank goodness! One can put up with all sorts of whims and fancies from people in the teens, but beatniks are plain dirty and nothing else—unless you reckon plain lazy and clearly untrustworthy.”

“Why?—untrustworthy, I mean?” Erica asked, startled.

“My dear girl! If you’ve so little self-respect you don’t care what a sight you look you certainly can’t be trusted to respect other people. At least,” Joey modified her dictum a little, “that’s the impression you give. Now settle down. We’ll be off shortly. Got everything you’re likely to need?”

Erica looked over the new book, the patience cards, the sweets and fruit and the washing apparatus which Joey had tucked down at one side of her seat. She gave a delighted giggle. “I should think you might say so. How long are we in this train?”

“Until 4 p.m.,” Joey told her. “We have about a couple of hours to wait in Paris so we’ll have time for a meal somewhere. Once we’re safely in the Vienna express, we’re all set till around 6 tomorrow morning when we reach Basle. Uncle Jack said he’d meet us if he could. If not, one of the other doctors will be there, no doubt. I’m not worrying.” With which she took out her knitting, opened her book and set Erica an example by becoming immersed in Orley Farm while her needles clicked busily.

Between reading, feeding and, once they were well away from Boulogne, gazing at the scenery, Erica found the time passing swiftly. Lunch, Joey had provided in a picnic meal. She had not been sure just what sort of a train traveller Erica might be and had decided that her best plan was to start the girl off with the sort of food she would have brought for some of her own youngsters. Erica had no objection. She thoroughly enjoyed the rolls stuffed with shredded chicken in a delicate sauce, accompanied by pale green heart-of-lettuce leaves and topped up with fruit jelly, served in small glass jars. For drink there was home-made lemonade. There was plenty, but none of it likely to make much demand on a queasy stomach if Erica had suffered from one. Actually, that young woman proved to have a cast-iron digestion; still Joey felt she had done the right thing in risking nothing at that stage in the proceedings.

When finally they rolled into the Gare du Nord, they lost their messy companions, much to Joey’s relief. She was no prude, but she did object to the downright profanity the pair saw fit to use with every other sentence. And she did wish someone had told them that there were more adjectives than one in the English language! She said nothing to Erica, having learnt long ago that least said was soonest mended. Instead, she proceeded to give her charge another new experience and, from Erica’s point of view, a hair-raising one. Having made all arrangements for their baggage to be taken to the Gare de l’Est to meet them on the Vienna express, she whirled the girl out of the Gare du Nord and into a taxi which she directed to a pâtisserie which was a favourite with the Chalet School coterie.

“You did say we all learned to speak French and German?” Erica said, after listening with dropped jaw to her brevet-aunt’s fluent conversation with the driver. “Do—does everyone have to talk it as fast as you do? For I warn you, I never shall!”

Joey chuckled. “My sweet, remember that I’ve had years and years of practice—since before I was your age, in fact. Don’t you worry. It comes by degrees so that after the first few weeks, you hardly notice that it is coming until one fine day you find yourself thinking in whichever language it is. From that to dreaming in it is a short step and then you’ve arrived—Hi! Keep your hands to yourself! You’ll make me black and blue with bruises if you grab me like that!”

“But—but—Oh, we’ll never get through that tiny gap!” Erica gasped. Then, “Oh! we’re through!” But she added after a moment, “I don’t know how he did it!”

Joey laughed. “You be thankful you’re in the taxi and not having to plunge across the road all among the traffic. Personally, when I have to do that I more or less shut my eyes, take my life in my hands and run for it!”

“Oh, I’d never get across a road,” Erica told her. “I’d just have to stay on the same side. O-oh!” as they slid between a great van and an enormous Chrysler car. “It—it’s quite an adventure, isn’t it?”

“Here is where it ends,” Joey said, laughing as they suddenly slowed down. “Out you hop!” She had the fare and his tip ready for the man and when he had gone off, she took Erica’s free arm and drew her into the pâtisserie. They found a table and then, after Joey had ordered coffee, she initiated the schoolgirl into the pleasant French custom of arming yourself with plate and cake-fork and then making your own choice from the great trays heaped with pastries and cakes of every kind.

When they were sitting down again, Erica turned solemn blue eyes on her guardian. “And that’s another adventure—or a tiny one,” she said.

“What is?” Joey asked before she bit a creamy concoction enclosed in choux pastry. “The entire journey—crossing French streets—riding in a Paris taxi? I’ll grant you that can be a hair-raising adventure.” She laughed.

“The lot,” Erica said after a moment’s thought. “Though I’d never call a ride in a taxi like the one we’ve just had a tiny adventure. What I really meant then was choosing one’s cakes like that.” Wherewith she bit firmly into a pastry roll and a large dollop of whipped cream and pistachio nuts shot out of the further end, missing Joey by a hair’s-breadth and landing in a mound on the polished floor to one side.

Joey went off into giggles even as a waitress came hurrying up with a cloth to wipe up the mess. Erica was crimson to the tips of her dainty ears and a schoolboy seated at the next table who had seen the whole thing spluttered loudly.

Joey stopped her giggles at once as she saw the embarrassment in Erica’s face. “It’s all right. It’s a pity it was wasted! That’s a most delectable mixture. However, there are worse troubles at sea and in the air. Here! Have mine! Go on; I’ve plenty without it. In fact I was beginning to wonder what possessed me to load my plate like that,” she added thoughtfully as she surveyed her plate. “As for the traffic here, my own idea is that you have to be born a Parisian to be able to cope with it adequately. It gets worse all the time!”

“Is it like this in Switzerland?” Erica asked, nibbling cautiously at her pastry.

“Oh, no; not nearly so bad. For one thing the taxi-drivers there don’t seem to be so reckless as the Parisians. For another the Swiss, especially those in the Oberland, are extremely law-abiding. They have a definite rule-of-the-road and stick to it every time. The French may, too, for all I know, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen much sign of it!”

Erica finished her pastry and inspected her plate for something else. Then she went back to the question of adventures. “Do you ever have exciting adventures at the school, Auntie?”

Joey’s mouth was too full for speech at the moment so she merely nodded. When she was able to talk again she said, “Don’t we just! Only last term Adrienne Desmoines and Janet Henderson set themselves on fire—”

“Fatally?” demanded the seeker after thrills.

“Certainly not—though it was quite bad enough as it was. The term before that we lived through a genuine thriller with heroine, villains and C.I.D. complete. We’ve had a royal princess who was kidnapped by her father’s cousin only she was saved in time, thank goodness!” Joey glided over her own considerable share in that adventure.^[1] “Besides that, we’ve been imprisoned by floods, had people who climbed the roof to rescue the school cat—you’ll meet Minette when you get to school: she’s still going strong—and on one occasion had a pupil who ran away and when she came back, brought German measles with her—which she handed out to half the school. Oh, how we did not love Gay on that occasion! By the way, her niece is at the school this minute. Who is she? Never you mind now. I’m not telling and you can have the fun of guessing for yourself. You just wait till you get to school. You’ll find adventures in plenty once you’re there!” Joey declared, not knowing what a horrific adventure she and Erica were to pass through before ever they saw the school again.

“Well, tell me about one of your adventures,” Erica coaxed.

“Wait until we’ll be in the train for Basle and then I will—just one,” Joey told her. “There isn’t time now. We’ve got to get off to the Gare de l’Est in about five minutes or we’ll end by missing our train. That might be an adventure all right, but a very boring one as it would mean taking the 21.35 train, and just what we’d do with ourselves while we waited I don’t know, not to speak of the fact that it isn’t an express train and the journey is infinitely longer and thoroughly boring. Eat up, my lamb!”

Erica sighed, but did as she was told with the result that they reached the great express train in plenty of time to claim their baggage, find their seats and settle down in comfort before at last they found themselves moving slowly out of the station. Joey had booked a double sleeper for them and Erica was quite disappointed to find on their first arrival that it had the normal everyday appearance. She had expected to find the berths ready made up. Joey laughed at her and pointed out that at that hour it was hardly likely that anyone would want to go to bed. The attendant would come along and prepare the berths while they were in the dining-car at dinner.

“You’ll have to wait till after that,” she said.

“May I have the top berth?” Erica pleaded. “I’d just love it.”

“You may,” Joey said cheerfully. “I don’t mind not having to climb up to go to bed. Now pipe down a little. You’ve been talking even on for nearly two hours and if you go on getting revved up like this, you won’t need to go to bed because you’ll be too excited to sleep. In that case, my sweet, let me warn you that you’ll spend tomorrow in bed at Freudesheim. Matey would have something to say if I handed you over looking like the morning after the night before!” She gave a chuckle before she went on, “I may be grown-up, a married woman, the proud mamma of eleven and with quite a number of books to my name, but I don’t mind telling you, Erica, that I’d rather run plump into the arms of a covey of raging reviewers than have a session with Matey when she was feeling annoyed.”

“Goodness!” Erica said in awed tones.

“So now you calm down. Got anything to read? Good! I’ll enjoy a chapter or two of Orley Farm until dinner calls. And you can always look out of the window. Not that this is what I call inspiring scenery. Still, it’s new to you and new things are usually interesting.”

Thereafter, they read until the summons to dinner came. On their return, Erica was thrilled to find that the berths were ready for them. Joey with an eye to the exciting day she had had, suggested that 8 p.m. was not too early for bed—especially as there was no reason why she shouldn’t read, once she was there. All the same, half-an-hour after the girl had settled down, the book fell from her hand and Joey rescued it, tucking the bedclothes round her. The day had been warm but the nights were still chilly. That done, she decided that a spot of bed would suit herself very nicely. She began to make preparations, taking down her long mane of black hair and brushing it thoroughly before plaiting it loosely into a long, thick pigtail. She had just finished when there came a sudden crash. Others followed, mingled with screams from people who had been dozing and were rudely startled to consciousness. A shriek of “Fire!” rose, even as Joey scrambled on to her own berth to haul Erica out of hers. It was well that she did so, for at that point the next coach drove hard under theirs, shearing off the floor as if with a giant knife. Joey clutched the terrified Erica, forcing her back into the berth while their coach tipped up at one end. For a moment it stayed poised. Then, with a movement like a shying pony, it slewed half round. There came another crash—behind them this time—and, still clinging to Erica, Joey saw by the red light which poured through the window from coaches farther up the train which had caught fire, that they were balanced across the wreckage beneath and realised with icy horror gripping her that at any moment the coach might overturn and slide down the embankment into the river brawling beneath.

Later, much later, someone asked Joey how she had contrived to keep her head through the whole of the horror. She answered truly that she couldn’t say. It was the only thing to do if she wanted to get herself and Erica out of the mess safely, so she had done it.

“I knew that at almost any moment we might tip over and down the embankment and into the river. If that happened, I knew it was the finish for both of us. I didn’t want that to happen, so I kept my wits about me. It was a bit of an effort,” she added with a grin, “but I’ve always found that if you must do a thing the little extra needed to get you through comes from somewhere. I did pray, of course—prayed for all I was worth; and if you ask me, that was what really saved us.”

One other thing she had done, though she kept it to herself at the time. She had thanked God that if this ghastly business did end fatally for herself and Erica, the child would be safely with her parents; and as for her own family, Len would take hold at once. Nor would it mean that her life must be spoilt. Jack and she held strong views on the iniquity of expecting elder sisters to take charge at the sacrifice of their own futures. He would see to it that Len lost nothing.

She had been standing stockstill, holding Erica closely and thinking of all this when there came a call from below. “Est-ce qu’il y a du monde là-haut? Répondez, s’il vous plaît!”

“Oui! Il y a deux—une petite fille et une femme!” Joey called down.

“Bien! Écoutez, Madame! Restez tranquilles, tous les deux. On va vous délivrer à l’instant!”

“Merci beaucoup!” Jo replied politely; then the idiocy of it struck her and it was with an effort that she restrained a giggle. Erica in her arms moved just then and she instantly turned her mind to the need for keeping quite still.

“Steady, precious,” she said quietly. “They’ll have us out of this in short order, but just at this moment it means keeping still. I have you safely.”

Erica’s head was buried against her shoulder, but she heard the girl’s reply: “It’s all right, Auntie Joey. And if it isn’t I’ll see Mummy and Daddy again.”

Then there came the grinding of wheels and a platform swaying on a level with their window appeared. On it stood a stalwart fireman, who ran an experienced eye over the coach.

“Can you get us out?” Joey asked quietly.

He nodded. “Ah oui!” he said in a gruff voice. “Restez tranquilles, s’il vous plaît.” Then he turned and shouted something down to his mate who seemed to be on the ladder beneath him. There was a reply, long and unintelligible since it was couched in the argot of the Paris back-streets, and the man turned again. “Écoutez, Madame! Remain at rest, both of you. That is all. We will do the rest.”

“Bien entendu!” Joey replied. “Merci, bien!”

Of the next few minutes, she never cared to think. She was completely helpless and could only stand there, holding Erica tightly to her while the men manœuvred the swaying platform into position. That done, her first friend swung himself off it and down on to the side of the coach across which they were balanced. He tried the door, but the shock had warped it and the lock remained firm. Then he nodded to Joey.

“Put the child through the window,” he said. “Quickly, Madame! There is danger here and others in the lower coaches must be got out. Hand her up!”

Joey lifted Erica. The child behaved well. At a word she let herself be moved as the elders said. Exerting all her strength, Mrs Maynard lifted her so that the man, back on his platform which had been elevated to the height of the window, could grasp her. He lifted her clear, passed her on to his mate and turned to give Joey instructions. He found that they were not needed. That lady was already halfway through the window, thanking God as she moved cautiously, that she had seen to it that it was well and truly opened before she had switched off the light when she lay down. A helping hand from their rescuer was all that was needed and then she was safely on the platform. She felt a passing wish that their clothes might have been saved. All she had been able to do during the brief interval between the happening of the accident and the arrival of the man had been to wrap Erica’s coat round her and push her arms into the sleeves of her own. It was better than nothing, but the night air was biting.

“Oh, well, they’ll see to it that we get warm somehow,” she thought as, obeying the instructions of her rescuer, she clambered down the long ladder to the ground. “They won’t want to have our pneumonia cases on their chests!” With which remarkable piece of anatomy she landed safely to be gripped by a sobbing Erica whose nerve was going badly, now that the danger was over. The next minute the pair of them were whirled to one side while the men moved the platform to the next place. Then a pair of gentle hands took Erica from Joey and someone else flung an arm round her while a quiet voice said in French, “Come, Madame! We will take you where you will find food and warmth and rest. Come with me.” And turning, she found herself in the arms of a nun.

Erica was being carried off by another and Joey recognised by the cornettes both were wearing that they were safe with Sisters of St Vincent de Paul.

“Many thanks, Sister,” she said. “I am quite all right—I can walk alone. You may be needed for others who are hurt. See, I will follow where my little niece goes. She is not hurt, either, only badly shocked, I fear.”

“I am not needed,” was the reply. “I will see you safely into our school bus before I return. I think you and the little one will fill it and Ma Sœur will take charge when you reach our convent. Ah, here we are! Help the lady, Sœur Louise. Is there room for more?”

“No; this is the last,” said a pleasant Norman voice “Enter, Madame. Your little daughter is here, safely.” And she showed where Erica sat with a very small child, obviously French, hugged in her arms. The little thing was perfectly quiet, but there was a dazed look in the big brown eyes that went to Joey’s heart and stirred all the motherhood in her. Taking her seat, she drew the baby into her arms, cradling her tenderly.

“It’s all over now, petite,” she crooned. “There! Rest, chérie!” Then, as the child seemed to nestle to her a little, “Good girl, Erica! That was the right thing to do. Oh, not crying, my sweet? Not now, after you’ve been so brave!”

“It—it—Oh, Auntie Joey, when the nun asked me to hold her she said—she said that her mother—was—dead!” Erica choked. “And she’s so little!”

“Then suppose you say a prayer,” Joey suggested, anxious to get Erica’s mind off the awful events of the past hour or so. “That will be more use than crying. Heart up, my lamb! We three are safe and so are a good many others,” with a quick glance round the crowded bus in which people of all kinds and in various forms of attire were being borne off to the convent.

Erica made an effort and choked down her sobs. “I—I know that. I will, Auntie Joey—only——”

“I know. It’s the whole affair,” Joey said, freeing a hand to clasp one of Erica’s. Then she added prosaically, “Well, anyhow, you were wishing for adventures and you’ve certainly started your school career with a most sensational one.”

At this point, the coach swung through some big gates into a courtyard paved with stones as Joey guessed from the sound of the wheels and the jolting motion. They rolled to a standstill before a great door set wide with the light streaming out across the courtyard into which they had lumbered. Another of the nuns in the big cornettes appeared at the sound and welcomed everyone with wide-spread hands.

“But welcome—welcome all! Enter, then, and be safe. Soup, good and strong and hot awaits you, and warmth and beds, also. Enter!”

Joey, burdened by the small child who now seemed to be sleeping, waited until everyone else had left the bus. Then she rose and, followed by Erica, descended to the ground and carried her burden to the tall nun at the door.

“She is motherless now,” she said in her fluent French. “They told my niece that her mother was dead. It may be, Ma Sœur, that she is too small to know her full name. I do not believe she is more than eighteen months. It may be a little more; I doubt it. If there is difficulty, I will be responsible for her until her own people are found.”

The nun looked at her shrewdly. Then she smiled “Thank you, Madame. I will remember. Meanwhile, come this way.”

She led the way to a big refectory where already people were seated at the long table, drinking soup and eating the delicious, crumbly rolls which accompanied it. There were little glasses of red wine to go with it and Joey was thankful to see that Erica ate her share. Someone had taken the baby away, but as soon as she had satisfied her first hunger, Joey asked for her.

“We have taken her to our nursery,” the nun replied. “We are an orphanage and school, you see, Madame. At present our boarders are absent on holiday, so we have beds to spare. And now,” she added with a smile, “This child looks weary so she shall go with Sœur Sophie and you, Madame, if you will come this way, there is a bed for you, also.”

Joey looked at her with black eyes full of great longing. Sœur Toinette was startled into asking, “But, Madame, what is it, then? What is it you wish so much?”

“Well,” Joey hesitated, then she went at it. “The thing I most desire at the present moment is a good hot bath with lots of soap,” she confided.

Sœur Toinette’s lips twitched. Then she burst into hearty laughter. “But, of course! You are English, n’est-ce pas? Most of our—involuntary guests, shall I say?—appear to be Belgian and French. It is the English who have such a yearning for baths. But even that we can provide. Come with me and you shall have all the hot water and good soap that you desire. This way!”

She led the way and presently Joey was, as she said when she later told her story, wallowing whole-heartedly. Sœur Toinette had presented her with a night-gown of lavender-scented linen, coarse, but snowy white, and when at last she felt clean again and had rolled up her mane of black hair in one of the towels she had been given, she donned it and also the rope-soled canvas shoes and loose cotton gown that went with it, and leaving the bathroom, found her cicerone outside, waiting to usher in an elderly lady who grimaced at Jo as they met.

“Thank God for hot water and soap!” she said, with a gesture towards her own streaked attire.

“And it is hot, believe me!” Joey said with a chuckle. “I feel pounds better since I’ve bathed—hair and all. Yes, Sœur Toinette, I come, and if I may see Erica and the baby I’ll go thankfully to bed, for I feel as if I could sleep the clock round.”

Sœur Toinette laughed, but took her into a long, narrow room with rows of narrow wooden beds, all shrouded in white curtains. She paused by one, drew the curtains apart and, by the light of a small torch, showed Erica, clean once more and sleeping peacefully. In another of those long, narrow rooms where there were cots in place of the beds, the unknown child was also asleep.

“Neither is harmed by even a scratch,” Sœur Toinette said in a low tone as she led the way out and down the corridor. “Our Infirmarian came to examine both and there is not a mark on either.”

“If only their minds are not scarred by the horror!” Joey said.

“Ah, for that we must trust le bon Dieu. The little one is so very little I hope it will soon fade. For your little—how do you call her?”

“Erica,” Joey said. “Erica Jane in full, but for every day I’ve recommended her to drop the ‘Jane’. I hope indeed that it will fade with her. It is not so long since she lost her mother. Mme Standish died after some years of ill-health, so Erica has had her share of sorrow already, child as she is. Oh,” as she was ushered into a tiny, spotless room, furnished with a bed, a chair, a prie-dieu in one corner, and a narrow armoire. “Am I to sleep here?” She regarded the narrow bed gloatingly. “I couldn’t ask more. If I may just go to bed and sleep!” Then she suddenly swung round. “Yes; there is one other thing I must ask. May I use your telephone? I must let my husband know that we are safe and alive in case he hears of the train-smash. He’s a doctor in Switzerland and he might very well learn of it before I can get home to let him see for himself that I’m whole. I don’t want that. Can I get the Görnetz Platz in the Oberland from here?”

“But yes; certainly.” The nun’s eyes twinkled. “At the same time, I should advise leaving it for another four or five hours. It does not seem likely to me that news of this terrible accident will travel to the Oberland before noon of today and if your husband knows nothing about it, would it not be best for him to learn of it during the day. If all goes well with the little Erica—but I find her name charming!—you and she may well be safely on your way to Switzerland long before noon.” She added with a laugh, “I do not doubt that you will be well. But if you will give me the number and also M. Maynard’s—”

“Oh, he’s Dr Maynard,” Joey interrupted her. “You may even have heard of the Sanatorium of which he is head——”

“Not the Görnetz Sanatorium?” the nun interrupted in her turn. “But, ma fille, that is well-known to us. And also the Chalet School which is on the Görnetz Platz. Indeed, two of our former pupils have been there—Babette and Cécile Rolland. Perhaps you knew them?”

Joey giggled softly. “I should think I did! In me you behold one of the foundation stones of the Chalet School. I was the first pupil. I remember the Rolland girls quite well. They came because Mme Rolland was threatened with illness. When she recovered they left, for M. Rolland had gained a transfer from Arras, where he had formerly been, to the Riviera. He was in a bank, I remember. Were they your pupils, ma Sœur? But this is delightful. But now about ringing up my husband.”

“That will be done early tomorrow morning,” Sœur Toinette said firmly. “At present, Madame, you must retire to bed and repose or you will be too fatigued to continue your journey tomorrow. Come!” She drew back the sheet and blankets invitingly and Joey heaved a deep sigh.

“I can’t resist it. You will let my husband know that Erica and I are still alive and well?”

With an eye for the black shadows under her eyes and the drawn look about her mouth, Sœur Toinette was not so certain of the last part, but she let it go for the time being and agreed that the doctor should be told that all was well with his wife and her brevet-niece. Joey yawned widely and snuggled down on her pillow. “Oh, what a joy a bed is when—you’re—almo——” Her voice trailed off there as the black lashes fell over her eyes. Sœur Toinette drew up the bedclothes.

“And now, Madame, you will sleep,” she murmured, leaving the little cell-like room after giving the sleeping Joey a blessing. Her thoughts went to the tiny girl Joey had been so ready to claim and she nodded to herself.

“I think if that small one is indeed left orphaned and destitute she will find a new home,” she said to Ma Sœur later when the last involuntary guest at the convent had been safely bedded for what was left of the night. “I have heard much of the Chalet School and also of the Sanatorium. You recall, Ma Sœur, that nun who came to spend a night here on her way from Canada to Provence to the Sagesse convent at Altarie near Arles? She was also a member of the school. I remember she said something about it at the time.”

Ma Sœur nodded. “I remember. What is the hour? Ah! Time to prepare for Mass!” She smiled. “Certainly we must let M le Docteur Maynard know, but now we have our duty to God to consider.”

So Joey was left to sleep for the next five hours, though the devoted Sisters duly rang up the Görnetz Platz at seven o’clock that morning, and broke to Dr Maynard the news of the danger in which his wife had been. Jack Maynard heard out Sœur Toinette. Then he issued his orders. His wife was to stay where she was until he could come to fetch her. He begged the Sisters to see that she and Erica were supplied with what they needed and wound up by promising to be with them as soon as possible. In the event he arrived during the afternoon having driven hell-for-leather the whole way from the Görnetz Platz to the convent. Sœur Louise welcomed him and sent for Joey who was more or less herself again, though her eyes were still shadowy and she was paler than she had been through the ordeal. But even Jack the imperturbable was rocked when his wife, after the first ten minutes or so, suddenly vanished to reappear carrying a small black-haired, brown-eyed creature in her arms.

“Jack,” she said while Sœur Louise looked on with sympathizing eyes, “this is just possibly another adoptee. Her name is Marie-Claire but no one knows what else. She was taken from her dead mother’s arms in the train. We’ll have to find out if anyone has a right to her. If not, she is a baby sister for Erica who has never had one though she’s wanted one all her life, and a new niece for us. Have you room for her?”

The nun waited, breathless. If no one claimed little Marie-Claire she would not be thrown on the world, but how much better for her to have the kind of home it was clear she would have with the Maynards than to grow up in the orphanage!

She need not have feared. Jack Maynard took the baby from Joey and kissed her in fatherly fashion. “Room for any baby left alone,” he said. He grinned suddenly “After all, with the crowd we have of our own, plus our many adoptees, what does one more or less matter. If no one claims Marie-Claire she belongs to us—and to Erica. That pleases you, lassie? Good!”

Erica beamed. “I don’t mean to be horrid or anything, but I do rather hope no one does want her, for oh, Uncle Jack, I do! To have a new baby sister at almost the same time as I begin school would be too marvellous for words!”

“Ready, Erica? Come on, then!” Margot Maynard, the youngest of Joey’s triplet daughters, caught Erica’s arm and gave her a jog. “Claire will be all right, whether you’re here or not. Trust Mum and Anna to see to that!”

“Oh, I know!” But Erica turned reluctantly from the baby sister she had adopted with such enthusiasm. Little Marie-Claire, henceforth to be called only by her second name in the family, had been brought out to the Görnetz Platz only the previous day and even the thought of the Chalet School to which she had been looking forward with such excitement could not make up to Erica for having to part with her so soon.

It was Thursday of the week after the accident and the first day of term. Jack Maynard had advertised on Claire’s behalf in a number of French, Swiss and Belgian journals and the nuns had taken their own measures to discover, if they could, any relatives who might have a claim on her. So far, nothing had come of any of it and Jack had insisted on bringing the baby out to Freudesheim for the time being. The nuns had consented, mainly because there was no clue to the child’s identity. The little mother’s case and bag had both been destroyed and the people who had been in the same coach could say nothing beyond the fact that she had seemed to be quite alone when she boarded the train in Paris. Even her ticket had vanished and no one could say where she had been going. The only possible clues they had were the baby’s reiterated “ ’suis Marie-Claire, moi!” and the fact that she seemed to know no language but French.

There had been a good deal of red tape attached to even a temporary adoption, but Jack Maynard was accustomed to getting his own way and after lengthy and heated argument with the authorities, he had carried his point. He arrived home bringing the solemn-eyed baby-girl with him, together with a case of clothes provided by the good nuns. She had been welcomed rapturously by everyone from Joey herself, down to Phil and Geoff, the Maynard youngest pair who must, Jack thought, be nine or ten months older. But the most rapturous of the lot had been Erica who had claimed a special property in her.

“All you Maynards have such crowds,” she had said seriously to Len, the eldest of the long Maynard family by a full half-hour. “I’ve no one at all. I want Marie-Claire for my own. If it comes all right, she’s to have my name and be Marie-Claire Standish, and I’ll share everything I’ve got with her.”

“I do hope to goodness we can keep the kid,” Len told her mother at bedtime. “Erica will break her heart if she really is claimed.”

“I very much doubt if she will be claimed,” Joey said. “There hasn’t been any reply to your father’s advertisements and when Ma Sœur wrote she said they hadn’t been able to find out a thing, either. Well, we must hope that Erica gets so wrapped up in school that it will give her a rival interest.”

It was early evening of the Thursday and Claire and the Maynard baby twins had just been put to bed. All three were more or less sleepy and little Claire had no idea that the person who was keenest on her was leaving her. Erica ran back to kiss her again, but Joey stopped her.

“No, Erica. You don’t want to disturb her when she’s so nearly asleep. ‘Let sleeping babes lie’ is a proverb I most devoutly believe in. Off you go, my sweet. Margot is waiting for you and she won’t love you if you make her late. Goodbye until the next time.”

“You’ll take heaps of care of Claire, won’t you?” Erica pleaded, lifting her face for Joey’s kiss.

“All the care in the world. Rely on me, my lamb. After all,” Joey gave a chuckle, “I have had eleven of my own and I do know something about babies.”

Erica went pink. “I—didn’t mean that,” she said unevenly.

Joey laughed. “My sweet, I know that. Now be off or you won’t be the only one to have Matey on her track!” She gave the child an extra hug and shooed her out of the house, down the steps and away to the drive where Margot, the youngest of the triplets, was waiting.

Erica ran as soon as she left the steps, for Margot was waving impatiently to her and that very grown-up young woman was a somewhat daunting person to a girl who was a mere Middle. Len, Erica had decided, was nearly as great a pet as Auntie Joey; Con, the middle triplet, was kind if inclined to be vague at times; Margot on the other hand had an abrupt way with her when dealing with her juniors. Erica, by no means at all sure of herself, was not anxious to cross the elder girl.

“Come on!” Margot exclaimed impatiently as the Middle reached her. “The coaches will be here before we get across if we don’t look out, and then Matey will talk! Take my tip, Erica. Keep out of Matey’s black books. She’s a poppet when she likes, but when she’s mad with you she can reduce you to flinders—schoolgirl, staff or Old Girl. I’ve seen her do it with Mum and the aunts. And have I known it myself!” She looked wicked.

Erica gave her a startled look and Margot laughed. “Yes indeed! Why, I’ve even known the Head turn meek as Moses under Matey’s stern glance. So you can imagine what’s the effect on people of your age. Never to speak of mine!” She added as she swung open the gate for Erica to pass through. All gates were rigorously shut at Freudesheim. What with a big St Bernard dog and twins who were, as Len had remarked, all over the place, precautions had to be taken.

The pair raced along to turn in at the main gates of the school. Margot led the way round the house to the sidedoor and there they parted. Margot went to the prefects’ Splashery and Erica, having had it pointed out to her earlier in the day, made her way to the one devoted to the Junior Middles. Here she shed beret and coat, changed into house-shoes in accordance with the instructions Len had given her and then, having made certain that she was tidy, walked sedately along the corridor, up a long passage and out into the wide entrance hall where most of the Staff and all those girls who lived up on the Görnetz Platz, and so came to school early in the afternoon, were assembled to await the arrival of the school’s great motor coaches.

The mistresses, all very fresh and gay in their pretty frocks, were clustered in knots and groups around the walls of the hall. The girls were all mounted on the lower steps of the big staircase. No one was present belonging to Form Upper IVb which Erica had been told would be hers, but Len Maynard, standing beside Con, the second of the Maynard triplets, and Ruey Richardson, one of the Maynards’ wards, caught sight of the new Middle as she sidled shyly into the entrance hall and gave her a beckoning smile.

The shyness began to slip away. Already Erica was prepared to give to Len all the admiration due to a popular Head Girl. Even in the few days she had known the elder girl she had found her kind, patient, and with a faculty for understanding which was a tremendous help to anyone who found it difficult to talk out her feelings. She went to the staircase in response to Len’s smile and was welcomed gaily.

“Here you are! Come along up. We always stand on the stairs until the whole school is here. Then we join our own forms. Park yourself on the step above Felicity and her gang. The coaches will be here any minute now.”

Felicity, the fourth Maynard girl, turned to grin in friendly fashion at her new “cousin”. She was only eight years old, so not likely to be much help to Erica. All the same, she had absorbed the feeling for helpfulness which pervaded the whole of the Freudesheim family and, as Erica was to learn, the Chalet School.

“Hello, Erica!” Felicity said affably, moving to one side to let the elder girl pass. “Come on. Above Lucy and me. Oh, an’ this is my other chum, Jean Morrison.” She indicated a freckle-faced small girl of her own age, who grinned amiably, but said nothing.

Erica took her place and at the same moment there came a loud hooting of motor horns and there was an instant stir in the waiting groups. Miss Annersley, the Headmistress, swept forward, tall and stately in her well-cut dress of blue while the rest of the staff ranged themselves behind her. Behind them were the girls on the stairs, all looking eagerly at the wide-open front door and everyone, as Erica told Joey afterwards, literally wreathed in smiles.

The first of the big school coaches rolled up to the broad step and drew up. The doors flew open and out poured a stream of girls, each grasping a night-case in one hand and in the other a neatly-strapped bundle consisting of travelling-rug, tennis-racquet, cricket bat and sundry magazines. They trooped into the great entrance hall and took up what was clearly an accustomed position.

“Inter V!” Felicity hissed over her shoulder at Erica. “These next ones are Va and b, and the two Sixths stand right at the back.”

“Stop talking, Felicity,” Len commanded from above them. “Plenty of time to explain things to Erica later. Give her a nudge when Upper IVb arrive. That’s when you leave the stairs and join up with them, Erica. But I’ll hang on and take you myself,” she added, as Erica turned an agonised look on her. It was asking rather much of such a very new girl to go forward on her own, Len thought.

Erica gave her a grateful look. Then she turned to survey the scene. Never, in all her life, had she seen so many girls together at once. It seemed to her that there was a complete world of them—big girls with their hair plaited and coiled round their heads or over their ears; girls with hair bobbed, shingled, or shoulder-length and even one, as the new girl noted, whose glossy black locks were cropped boy-fashion; girls of her own age; girls of Felicity’s kind; and behind them, big girls not quite so old as the Maynards, but older than herself. They took up their places without any fuss or trouble. At a given moment, Jean slid down the stairs and went to join a long line of other eight-year-olds. She was followed by Felicity and Felicity’s great friend, Lucy Peters. Then it happened! Erica, hurrying to do as she was told and take her place, put her foot too far forward on the tread of the next step, slid, tried to regain her balance, and, as Scottish Janet Henderson of Inter V remarked later, stotted down the remaining three, landing on all-fours against the knees of Miss Armitage the science mistress, and nearly brought that lady down on top of herself.

Len uttered an exclamation and sprang down to catch the mistress and steady her while Ruey Richardson hauled Erica to her feet with right goodwill. Matron Henschell, one of the under-matrons, came hurrying to ask if Erica had hurt herself. Erica, scarlet with shame at making such a wild, not to say topsy-turvy début, shook her head and Ruey, guessing how she felt, pulled her gently to where Form Upper IVb were standing. Len followed them and as they reached the long line of Junior Middles, nodded to a brown-haired girl whose grey eyes lit up as the Head Girl caught her eye.

“Astrid, look after my young cousin, Erica, will you?” Len asked. “She’s to be in this form, so be a lamb and play sheepdog for her.”

Astrid nodded and stretched out an eager hand to clasp Erica’s wrist and pull her into line with her. “Come on, Erica! Shove down, Gretchen. Here—between Gretchen and me!”

Thankful to hide herself from the gaze of the rest of the school, who were giggling whole-heartedly over her exploit Erica made haste to efface herself as well as she could between the pair, glad that the girl in front of her was a good half-head taller than she was. She was still crimson. Never, she felt, could she live down such an entrance! The only consolation she had was Len’s friendly smile and her murmured, “Buck up! No one’s dead yet!” as she passed on to the back of the long lines to take her place among the rest of the prefects. Then Astrid squeezed her arm and muttered—with one eye on the Head who was waiting until the last girl was in her place, “Don’t worry! Lots of people do madder things!” Erica felt better after that.

The next moment, all bustle and whispering had ceased, for the Head had lifted a hand and everyone was waiting to hear what she had to say.

Erica had met Miss Annersley some days earlier and had decided that she was all that a Headmistress ought to be. She was tall, slim and stately. Her wavy brown hair showed here and there a silver thread, but that was the only real sign of age about her. With her clear-cut features, pink and white complexion and keen, grey-blue eyes, she was good to look at. In addition she had one tremendous asset. She owned a beautiful voice, sweet, deep and so clear that, as Ruey Richardson had remarked, she never needed to raise it to be heard, even at the very back of the hall. Normally her manner was gentle and everyone knew that when it was possible to temper justice with mercy, she stretched it to the wildest limits. But, as Joey Maynard had once observed in her own eventful schooldays, get across her and you knew all about it!

On this occasion she spoke briefly. She welcomed the girls back for the new term. Then she reminded them that this term they would have Sports Day as usual as well as the annual garden fête in aid of the big sanatorium at the other end of the Platz. She also reminded them that this was exam term, whereat everyone groaned and she laughed.

“I know; but in any case you ought to be fully prepared by this time and need no more than revision in the next few weeks. However, we’ll discuss that more fully tomorrow. I have one more remark for you and then you may all go and change for Abendessen which will be ready by the time that you are.” She paused here and there was a dead silence. What was she going to say now?

“I want you all,” she said slowly, “to consider what year this is in connection with the school. That is all I am going to say at the moment,” as her eye was caught by a movement from a side-corridor. “Abendessen is ready and you must hurry up and change. Turn! Forward—march!”

Like one girl the school turned and marched off to the Splasheries to doff berets and coats and change into house-shoes. Erica went with the others, not quite knowing what else to do. There was no talking on the corridor, but once they were in the Splashery which they shared with Upper and Lower IVa, everyone began to chatter. Astrid demanded if Erica knew her peg and shoe-locker and learning that she did, remarked, “Oh, yes; Len said you were a cousin of theirs. I suppose you’ve been at Freudesheim. Lucky you! I say, shove my shoes into my locker while I wash, will you? Thanks a million! Over there!”

By the time they were all marching more or less sedately to the Speisesaal as they called the dining room, Erica was beginning to feel that she already belonged to the school. When she found that she was seated between Astrid and Gretchen at a table of which Len Maynard was head, she felt it even more. She enjoyed the delicious soup, followed by wafer slices of ham served in a delicate sauce with feathered potatoes and stewed tomatoes, with apricots in syrup to top up, instead of being too shy to enjoy anything. The meal ended and Grace said, they cleared the tables, Astrid showing her exactly what she had to do. Prayers came next and there, Astrid and she must part, for Swedish Astrid was a Protestant and Erica herself a Catholic. Fortunately for her, so was Gretchen von Ahlen, who took charge of her every bit as competently as Astrid had done.

“It’s awfully decent of you and Astrid to help me out,” Erica said when, Prayers over, they marched back to Hall. The juniors went straight to bed, but the Junior Middles had another half-hour before they must go upstairs.

“But no,” Gretchen said. “It is so always. When new girls come we try to make them feel—at home, is it not?” She appealed to Astrid who had joined them at that moment.

Astrid nodded. “That’s about it. So if you want to know anything, Erica, never mind asking one of us. If we can tell you, we will. And if we can’t, well, Len Maynard’s your cousin. You can always ask her. And if she can’t help then ask a mistress. And the same goes for languages.”

“Yes,” Gretchen said. “You speak English, we know. French, also? And German? Yes?”

Erica shook her head. “French a little and German not at all. The Maynards did tell me, though, that we had to speak all three twice a week each. You’ll help me if I get stuck, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Astrid said cordially. “Oh, bother! There’s the bell! Come on, Erica. Which dormy are you in? Gentian? Good! So’m I. Gretchen is in Nasturtium, though, at the other end of the corridor. Oh, well, we can see plenty of her during the day. Come on, folks! Upstairs!”

They lined up behind Upper IVa, and marched off to find the Head at the foot of the stairs, waiting to say good night. Then upstairs and off to their dormitories where Astrid, still playing sheepdog as hard as she could, showed Erica which bath cubicle she might use and added any other hints she could think of at the time. The result was that when finally she curled up in bed and the lights went out, Erica had time only for a loving thought of little Claire and a whispered prayer to her guardian angel before she fell asleep, to sleep without stirring until the school bell woke them next morning to the new day of work and fun all nicely combined.

School began on the Thursday, and by the Monday Erica was beginning to settle down. On the Friday, apart from unpacking, they had short lessons in every subject, mainly so that the mistresses concerned could set preparation in the various subjects, ready for next week. Erica decided by the time she went to bed on Friday night that life looked like being interesting. In particular she looked forward to the history lessons. Miss Charlesworth, the history mistress, had announced that this term being the last in the school year, they would revise and in the brief period she had with them contrived to make the beginnings of the revision so interesting that Erica looked forward eagerly to a proper lesson.

People of her age, she learned, were expected to get the broad outlines of great movements and important events of their period and to begin to reason from cause to event and vice versa. She had never been taught in this way, and she found it thrilling. Geography, with such exciting helps as papier mâché models they made themselves, synthetic maps and weather and rain charts was another thrill. She even discovered that arithmetic, which she had always considered the most boring of subjects, could be quite interesting, and even useful, as taught by Miss Ferrars.

As for languages, while her German was nil, she had done a fair amount of French with her mother and she was delighted to hear Mdlle de Lachennais, head of the languages in the school, commend her accent. Her weakness there was lack of vocabulary, but Mdlle obligingly showed her how the school helped girls to overcome that. She was given a small notebook into which she was told to copy ten French words and their meanings each day. During the day, she had to try to learn those ten words and at the weekend, someone would hear her through the lot on the Saturday morning. Erica was especially anxious to improve her vocabulary because the book Upper IVb was using for translation was Les Malheurs de Sophie. It was one of the standard French story-books and recounted the misdeeds of Sophie, a small girl. Peeping at it, Erica had been instantly enchanted by odd sentences she was able to understand. In addition, the edition they used was illustrated with the most delightful line drawings. Erica felt that she simply must be able to read it as soon as possible.

Latin was another subject in which she felt that she would make headway, for Astrid told her that they frequently acted little scenes from a book compiled for the purpose by Mdlle Berné who took the languages at St Mildred’s, the finishing branch of the school.

“It does help awfully doing it like that,” Astrid said. “And then, of course, Mdlle Berné knows just what we like in the school and the scenes are really decent.”

Monday began with Frühstück, as Erica was learning to call breakfast. It was followed by a rush to the dormitories for bed-making, dusting and sweeping and general tidying. After that, as it was a fine morning, they got into berets and coats and shoes and went off for a brisk walk. Erica loved that. She was accustomed to living up in the mountains, but those of Kashmir were very different from these of Switzerland. She sniffed the fresh, sweet air delightedly and reflected thankfully on the fact that here there was no need to keep a look-out for snakes if you stepped off the footpath into undergrowth.

“I suppose you don’t often get snakes here?” she said to Astrid who was partnering her.

“Well not often,” Astrid allowed. “Of course you do see them now and then, but not often.^[2] Last autumn term, though, Len Maynard killed a viper, but that was up on the Rösleinalpe and quite rare, anyhow. Why? Are you afraid of them?”

“I don’t like them—well, does anyone? I just wondered when I saw you dive into that long grass. In Kashmir where I’ve lived for ages it wouldn’t be safe to do that. So I wondered.”

“It’s all right here,” Astrid said confidently. “I’ve never heard of any snakes down here, though we do get lots of little greeny lizards in the summer. They’re rather pets, I think.” At which point Con Maynard brought the pair up with a jerk by pointing out that this was Monday and French day this term and so far they had been speaking in English.

“I’ll let you off this time,” she said with a twinkle at Astrid who had gone red, “but it won’t happen again. Erica, try to remember that this term it’s French on Mondays and Thursdays; German on Tuesdays and Fridays; English on Wednesdays and Saturdays until Mittagessen; go as you please on Sundays. I’m certain you don’t like being penniless any more than anyone else and that’s what will happen if you forget too often. As for you Astrid, you ought to know better after all this time.” Then she dropped back to join up with her partner, Priscilla Dawbarn, and the conscience-stricken Astrid did her best to make up for her sins by insisting on speaking French for the rest of the walk.

Back in school again, they had to hurry to make themselves tidy. Then they went to their form rooms to take out the books they would need for the first half of the morning. To Erica’s joy, Les Malheurs de Sophie was the first Astrid named. They had French translation for the first half-hour, followed by half-an-hour of New Testament with Miss Annersley. After that came arithmetic for forty minutes with Miss Ferrars.

“That is all one needs until Break,” Astrid said, painstakingly speaking slowly in French. “Now come and sit down at your desk.”

Erica followed her from the lockers where books were kept to the line of folding desks where she herself was seated between Astrid and Gretchen. She set her pencil-case at the top, her scribbler and Sophie on the desk itself and, following the example of the others, piled up the remaining books to one side of her chair. There was no more to do until the bell brought their form mistress, Miss Smith, to take register.

Keeping a watchful eye on her charge, Astrid suddenly leaned towards her. “Have you got your vocabulary book?” she hissed.

Erica had been replying to a remark made to her by Nita Tarengo who sat behind. She swung round quickly, jerking to reply to Astrid and a minor catastrophe occurred. Her foot caught the little pile of books and away they went in every direction so that when the bell rang and Miss Smith marched into the room it was to find a good half-dozen of her girls scrabbling around on the floor. It was not a very good beginning to the day, and there was some excuse for the sharpness in her voice as she demanded, “What do you girls think you’re doing?” They bounded to their feet on the word, but Erica forgot that she was under her desk and hit her head with a crack that made the mistress drop the books she was carrying and hasten to help her up with an anxious query as to whether she was hurt.

“No, I—think not, thank you,” Erica gasped, feeling the top of her head gingerly. “I’ve just banged my head a bit, thank you—er—merci bien!” she hurriedly corrected herself.

Miss Smith gave her a keen look. “Sure?” she asked.

“Oui, vraiment!” Erica assured her. The child seemed upset at having attracted attention, so Miss Smith let it go at that. She sat down at her table to take register while those girls not in their seats scuttled to them in short order. Miss Smith was a very pleasant person, but she had a fad for having her form sitting primly in their seats during register and certainly that could not be said of quite a number of them on this occasion. Astrid decided to take a hand.

“Erica’s books fell,” she said, standing up. “We were helping her to pick them up.”

“I see,” Miss Smith said. “In future, Erica, put your books so that they will not fall. Now let us turn to register. Sit down, Astrid.”

Astrid sat down and Register was taken without any further contretemps. Agneta Gabrielli, who was the form prefect, bore it off to the office where Miss Dene, the Head’s secretary, was in charge of all the registers. She came back just as the second bell rang for Prayers and the form lined up by the door and when Miss Smith gave the word, marched out, some to Hall; the rest to the Gym.

On the whole, Erica was thankful to know that there would be no lessons for her with Miss Smith that day. She felt that she must have made an unfavourable impression on the lady; whereas Miss Smith was only worried in case the girl had really hurt herself. She caught her new pupil before she went off to give a Latin Lesson to IIIa and asked again if she felt all right.

“Yes, thank you. I am quite all right,” Erica said.

“You must have a head made of teak!” Miss Smith said. “Very well, Erica. But if you start a headache during the morning, you must go to Matron.”

“Yes, Miss Smith,” Erica replied demurely. She was not telling anyone that her head was already aching. A nice way that would be to begin term! She went into her form room and sat down and opened Sophie, by which time Mdlle de Lachennais had arrived and the girls all stood, chanting, “Bonjour, Mademoiselle!” Mademoiselle was a small, very attractive Frenchwoman with a marked gift for teaching. She was very amiable as a rule, though there had been occasions when the girls learned, much to their surprise, that she had a temper. Joey Maynard had told Erica that Mdlle had been with the school from the beginning—or very nearly so, but Erica thought she didn’t look nearly old enough for that. She took her place at the mistress’s table, opened her book and then remarked, “We have a new girl, have we not? Erica—ah, ma petite, have you read this little history before?”

“No, Mdlle,” Erica said shyly.

“Then you will enjoy it. Me, I am thankful we have no one so naughty as Sophie in this school,” said Mdlle with a humorous quirk of her lips. “Begin, Nita, if you please.”

Nita Tarengo began, in French first and Erica was startled to see how often she was pulled up for bad pronunciation. Her translation was another matter. She was good at it and Erica suddenly laughed over one statement. She infected the others and they all laughed, Mdlle included.

“Ah, yes,” she said when they had sobered down. “That is very funny, but how would you like to have to deal with such a child in school here?”

“It would be terrible!” Jaquetta cried. “But it is funny to read about,” she added with a giggle.

“And now let us continue,” Mdlle observed. “Astrid, please read.”

Astrid read and then it was Gretchen von Ahlen’s turn. After her, Mdlle, who had been watching Erica keenly, put her on. Erica read well in French, but she translated haltingly, partly from self-consciousness, partly from lack of knowledge. She had never done such a thing before and she was sure that all the other girls were criticising her. Mdlle helped her out once or twice, but for the most part she let the girl go on as best she could. When at last Erica had finished, she nodded with a smile.

“That is not bad, Erica. Work at your vocabulary and soon you will do as well as anyone else. Now Emilie. Will you read?”

The lesson ended with Mdlle setting their preparation. Then she left and Erica looked round to find out what came next—New Testament or arithmetic.

“New Testament,” Astrid said. “Tales from the Acts—that blue book. You’ll like it,” she added. “It is most exciting.”

The head arrived at that point, so there was no more talking. After she had bidden the girls sit down, Miss Annersley smiled at them.

“Revision this term,” she said. “First let me see how much you remember of what I told you at the beginning of the year. Clare, who wrote the book?”

“St Luke, for his friend Theophilus,” Clare said eagerly. “Ever since you told us that, Madame, I’ve liked St Luke so much. He must have been a real friend to want to share things like that.”

“Or do you think Theophilus asked him to do it?” Jaquetta queried. “Like having a sequel, you know.”

“We aren’t told,” Miss Annersley responded. “Myself, I should think it was a little of both. Gretchen, do you remember in what language it was written?”

Gretchen did not, but quite half the rest of the form did to judge by the forest of waving arms, and Erica, who was among those who had not known, was intrigued to learn that from that tiny snippet of knowledge came proof of St Luke’s own nationality. He was a Greek.

After fifteen minutes or so of this, the Head switched on to the story of the Ascension. By dint of skilful questioning, she soon had the whole tale and even some attempts at describing the scene. Astrid pointed out that as it was spring there must have been anemones growing wild everywhere. Someone else hazarded the opinion that the birds were probably singing. In short, by the time the lesson ended, Erica felt that the Ascension had really come alive for her. She was already looking forward to next week’s lesson.

Arithmetic which followed was not nearly so exciting. Erica was no mathematician, partly, perhaps, because Miss Waller had taught her on old lines involving the learning by heart of tables and avoiding all sorts of modern short cuts. All the same, once she settled down to trying out the new method with mixed compound fractions in which Miss Ferrars instructed them, she discovered that even arithmetic might be interesting.

Break brought with it milk and three each of Cook Karen’s delicious home-made biscuits. Those disposed of, everyone hurried into blazers and overshoes and made a beeline for the playing field or the garden.

“We get lots of being out at this time of year,” Astrid explained. “You see, when the winter really comes, it often means that we can’t go out at all for days and days; so we make the most of all we can in the fine weather. Come and look at the tennis courts and the cricket pitches. Which do you play?”

“I haven’t played either,” Erica confessed. “I do hope to play tennis, though. My mother was very good when she was a girl.”

“Can you inherit tennis?” Gretchen asked thoughtfully.

“Oh, I expect you can,” Jaquetta rejoined. “Well, isn’t Mrs Maynard still good at it? And look at Len and Margot!”

They left it at that for the bell was ringing for the end of Break and they had to hurry to collect paintboxes and pencil cases and then go as quickly as they could to the art room where Miss Yolland, herself an Old Girl of the school, was waiting for them. Erica found that they might not go streaking off the instant they were ready, either. They had to go in a long file and all together. Anyone who was slow about collecting her belongings was not greatly loved at the moment. Miss Yolland’s lessons were regarded as real joys, even when they meant freehand drawing.

Erica looked at the mistress with deep interest, for these would be the first proper lessons in art she had ever had. Miss Yolland was tall, slim and graceful. She was very good looking and above all she has a keen sense of humour which appealed to all her pupils. Astrid brought Erica to her and, the first question having brought out the new girl’s complete lack of any training in the subject, Miss Yolland decided against the geometrical design she had planned and switched over to illustration.

“Now sit down and stop talking!” she said firmly. “Yes, Astrid; Erica may sit beside you, but don’t chatter too much. Fill the water jars, Sara, and hurry up. Give out the paper, Gretchen. That’s right. Now!” when the last girl had been supplied with water colour paper and water, “I want you to draw me a picture to illustrate the following proverb.” And she wrote up on the blackboard, “Fine feathers make fine birds”. Dusting the chalk from her hands, she inquired, “Who can tell me what that means?”

Every hand went up and Hildegard Johanssen informed them, “It means that you can be very grand to look at if you wear grand clothes, but it is only looks.”

“Quite right!” Miss Yolland said with a smile. “Well, now you people get to work on a picture illustrating that.”

“Are we to paint it?” someone asked anxiously.

“Yes—when you’ve drawn it. That must come first. Now don’t forget,” she added, mainly for Erica’s benefit, “that first you must rule off a frame in which you will work. Remember that you mustn’t give your figures such long bodies that they have no legs, or arms so long they reach below their knees. Also, as this is a picture, don’t concentrate on figures only. Put in some sort of background. Right? Then go ahead.”

They settled down to it at once. Erica, after sundry glances at what Astrid was doing ruled her frame and began to draw in her first figure. It was fun but not nearly so easy as she had thought. The first head she drew was far too big and she had to rub it out and begin all over again.

“Not sure what to do?” Miss Yolland had come to her side as she sat sucking the end of her pencil. “Now listen to me, Erica and then try again. Roughly speaking, a figure may be divided into head and neck—body—legs and feet, which is the longest part, do you think?”

Erica considered. “Well, it’s my legs that are longest,” she said finally.

“And the shortest? Head? Quite right! Look here!” And she quickly pencilled a rough drawing of a figure, showing the various proportions. “Now do you think you can manage better? Then try again; but never be afraid to ask if you get into difficulties.” She wound up with a smile and Erica, greatly heartened, set to work once more.

By the time the lesson had ended, she had contrived to produce something that contained two or more less human-looking figures as well as something that was meant for a hanging mirror on the wall and, in one corner a chair off which anyone would have slid unless they gripped the sides. Miss Yolland commended the effort, however, for she could see that the new girl had tried. “We’ll paint these next lesson,” she said as she shuffled the various attempts together in a neat pile and slipped them into a big filing-case. “Now clear, please. Empty out your painting-water, push your chairs into place and then line up at the door.”

They obeyed her implicitly and when she had given the word, marched off to their Splashery to prepare for Mittagessen. Erica was firmly convinced that she was going to love being at the Chalet School and of all lessons she would like her art lessons best.

By the end of the first fortnight Erica had found her feet and was enjoying life to the top of her bent. She was one of a little coterie headed by Astrid Anderssen and including the form prefect, Agneta Gabrielli, Gretchen von Ahlen, Nita Tarengo, Clare Kynaston and a lanky creature whose name was Freda Kendal but who was better known to her fellow-criminals as “Spider” because as Astrid explained to Erica she was all arms and legs. These five had all come to school the same term. The Head Girl, Len Maynard, declared that a natural affinity had drawn them to each other. The fact remains that for three years they had had a firm friendship among themselves. They were friendly enough with other folk, but until Erica arrived, they had admitted no one else to the intimacy of their innermost ring. Then, for no reason that anyone could see or they, apparently, explain, they had let the barrier down and taken her in. Out of school, therefore, she did not lack for interests. They saw to that!

In school, she acknowledged that her favourite lessons were literature and languages. Art and history ran these a close second. For the rest, she looked on them as something that you had to do because everyone did. You had to get through them and if you worked fairly steadily, they weren’t too bad. As for games, so far she had declined to state her preference. She thought it would probably be tennis as she had never played cricket before coming to school. She told Astrid and Co when they questioned her that she knew how to row and she could swim. However, it was not yet warm enough for water sports so they had to wait for her to prove her words.

One great joy of her present life was the Hobbies Club. She had found it hard to make up her mind which of the many handcrafts the girls enjoyed she should choose. Agneta was urgent for her to take up pillow-lace but, as Erica truly pointed out, you had to be a careful person if you went in for that.

“And I’m not really,” she said. “I’d love it if I could make lace like yours, Agneta, but I’m sure I’d forget in the middle and twist the bobbins the wrong way and move the pins hindside foremost or something silly and then it would go all wrong and get into awful muddles.”

“You’d better have a go at raffia table-mats,” Astrid suggested. “They don’t want too much thinking about and you can make really pretty ones with all the coloured raffias you can get nowadays. You could go in for lacework another term if you felt like it. Sooner you than me!” she added with a giggle. “If you got it wrong I should think mine would be a cat’s-cradle!”

Erica laughed and took her advice, setting to work to weave a set of dinner mats for Miss Waller—or Mrs Parker as she now was. As for what she would collect, once she had seen Sara Carlyon’s “Dolls of all Nations” she never had any doubts. She was thrilled with them. Sara bought small dolls, none of them longer than six inches. She dressed them herself, though she had one or two bought ones which friends had sent her.

“But it’s lots more fun to do your own,” she told Erica.

“You won’t mind if I do the same thing, will you?” Erica asked anxiously.

Sara was a nice child if distinctly duller than Astrid and Co and she shook her head at once. “Of course I don’t. Why should I? I can’t dress all the nations myself and I think it’ll be fun for us to compete. I’ll tell you what. I’ve got a spare dollie here. You have her and then you can begin at once. Mdlle de Lachennais has piles and piles of scraps and remnants. You go to her and ask her and she’ll let you have some if you tell her why you want them.”

Mademoiselle was quite enthusiastic about it. For one thing, Erica enjoyed needlework, in which she was unlike the majority of her contemporaries. Mdlle found her a refreshing change from the girls who grumbled about sewing and whose work had all too often to be unpicked and done over again. She provided Erica with a bundle of pieces and having inquired as to which nation she meant to do first, provided a pattern and instructions for dressing a Breton fisher girl. The instructions were in German which made things rather difficult, but Erica set to work on them with grammar and dictionary, not to speak of help from anyone she could rope in. In the end she was able to read them. What was more, she had enlarged her German vocabulary considerably.

With all this the days were full, and Erica had little time to hark back to that awful experience on the way from Paris. Neither could she fret because she could not have little Claire with her all the time. Joey Maynard, keeping an unobtrusive eye on her young ward, mainly by means of flying visits to the school and brief talks with her own daughters, was satisfied that the child had settled down comfortably. When at the end of the first fortnight Matron assured her that Erica ate well, slept well and seemed to revel in her present life, the busy Mrs Maynard drew a long breath of relief and turned rather more of her attention to her other concerns.

On the Friday at the end of the second full week of term a very important staff meeting was held. The girls knew about it because no mistresses came to take preparation, which for that evening was left to the prefects. Usually four prefects took duty among the lower forms and the junior staff accounted for the others.

“I wonder what’s in the wind,” Len Maynard remarked to her bosom friend, Ted Grantley, coming back from a summons to the study where she had been requested to turn all prefects on to prep that evening as the staff would be otherwise employed. “It’s rather early for them to arrange a staff evening.”

“Did your mother say anything when you were at home last Sunday?” Ted asked. “She generally knows, doesn’t she?”

Len shook her head. “She didn’t say a word to me. That,” she added with a wide grin, “is why I’m wondering madly just what is up. Mamma generally knows all there is to know as you so rightly remark.”

“Oh, well, it mayn’t be anything much. Extra building again these summer hols, perhaps. It’s quite likely. We’re full up this term and for once there aren’t a lot of folk leaving at the end of term. Betty and Alicia are, and Hilda Pinosch and Lizette Falence and didn’t someone say Eloïse Dafflon was going, too? But there aren’t a lot more—or not that I’ve heard. You three aren’t and I’m not and nor is Heather or Francie. If we get our usual influx next term we shall be bursting out at the doors and windows.”

“I’ve heard nothing about it,” Len said, gathering up her books. “Well, I suppose we’d best get down to our various preps. Sure you don’t mind having Upper IVa, Ted? I thought you could cope with them better than some and I have taken on Inter V myself. Ready? Then come on.”

The two prefects, the last left in the prefects’ room, glanced round to see that all was in order. Then they left it and swung off down the corridor to the form rooms where their duties for that evening lay.

They were not kept waiting long for information. After Prayers next morning Miss Annersley told her section of the school to sit down. She had something to say to the whole school when the Catholics should join them in Hall. Two minutes later they heard the marching feet of the others and then they came in and took their seats, all agog with curiosity as to what was coming next. The mistresses went up to the dais and sat down among their compeers and when the last person was seated the Head, who had been chatting quietly with Mdlle de Lachennais, the doyenne of the staff, gave Mdlle a sudden brilliant smile and then walked to the great carved lectern and leaned an arm on it.

“I have something to say to you, girls,” she said in her deep, beautiful voice which Erica had admired from first hearing it. “I should like you all to think what year this is.” Then, as she saw the bewilderment in so many of the young faces lifted to hers, she added quickly, “I mean in connection with the school, of course. Does anyone know?”

There was silence while the girls thought hard. It was beyond the younger ones completely. They gave it up after a very brief effort. Most of the Middles were in the same boat, too. Then Jack Lambert of Upper IVa stood up. “Please,” she asked, “do you mean that there is a—an anniversary this year—like coming out here so many years ago, f’rinstance?”

The Head nodded with a smile. “Exactly that. But it’s a very much more important one than that. Now, girls! Who knows what it is?”

More deep thinking on the part of most folk, during which such a number of even Seniors screwed up their face in the wildest grimaces that Miss Wilmot was moved to murmur to her boon companion, Miss Ferrars, “Let’s hope someone gets it quickly. If this goes on, half the girls will have turned their faces inside out.” To which Miss Ferrars replied with a smothered giggle, “I’d no idea we had so many indiarubber-faced creatures in the place!”

However, before anything more could be said, Con Maynard guessed it and, being Con, instantly bounced up and cried, “It’s our silver jubilee—twenty-five years since the Chalet School was founded! That’s it, isn’t it?”

Before the Head could say yea or nay, there was an instant outburst of exclamations. “Of course!—Mais oui, c’est ça!—Impossible! Est-ce vrai que vingt-cinq ans sont passés? Ah, non!—Ist es so lange? Du lieber Herr Gott!” And then, well above the polyglot chorus came Jack’s own cry of “Gosh! How are we celebrating?”

The staff were laughing and the Head herself smiled at the sensation her news had caused. She held up her hand for silence but for once it failed and she had to peal the little handbell on the lectern before the noise died down and she could be heard.

“Twenty-five years it is. And now, if you think you can control yourselves sufficiently to keep calm, I propose to tell you what it has so far been suggested we should do by way of celebration.”

Silence fell instantly and she went on. “First of all, we will have thanksgiving services in each of our chapels to thank God for bringing us safely through the years. As you are aware, there was a short space during the war when we had to close down and it might have meant the end of the Chalet School.^[3] It did not and we have gone on. Now, twenty-five years after the school opened with exactly three pupils, here we are, a school of close on three hundred here in Switzerland—that is including St Mildred’s, of course—and a branch that is well over a hundred strong in England. We have a great deal for which to be thankful.” She paused and a low murmur of agreement rose from the school. But she had still more to say and this time her lifted hand was enough to hush them. She went on. “Besides this, we are planning, among other things, for a reception of Old Girls and Old Staff. That and the services will take place at half-term. But I know we all want to do something more to mark any year so important as the year of our Silver Jubilee. I imagine that quite a number of you will have ideas of your own to offer us. This is Saturday. We are giving you until Monday morning to decide what you would like to do by way of extra celebration. A box will be placed in each form room and if anyone has a suggestion to make, will she please write it on a slip of paper and put it in the box in her own form room. The boxes will be collected after Prayers on Monday morning. And while I think of it,” she looked at them with eyes dancing with mirth, “please don’t offer us any so-called funny notions. Whatever we do must be done at half-term and that is only four weeks ahead so we have no time to waste.”

She turned to glance round the ranks of the staff, and Miss Denny, who taught some piano and some languages, bent forward and spoke urgently. The Head nodded and turned back to the assembled school.

“I have one more statement for you. It is now half-past nine and you still have all your mending to do as well as any prep left over from last night to finish. The prep will be excused if you cannot do it in the time. Your mending, of course, you must do. School—dismiss!”

Miss Lawrence at the piano struck up a jolly quickstep and the girls, rising, turned and marched smartly out of Hall and along the corridors to the various form rooms.

“Scram for all you’re worth!” cried Miss Wilmot up in the staffroom as she scrabbled together mathematics exercises from the three Fifths. “That crowd will have the roof off the place if they’re left an instant longer than can be helped!” And she set an example by scuttling off at top speed to her own form, Lower V.

Miss Smith, form mistress of Upper IVb, picked up an anthology and some sheets of paper and went off to Upper IVb where she found pandemonium reigning. Agneta was doing her best to reduce the rest of the form to something like silence, but they were far too excited to pay any attention to her hand-clapping and anguished exclamations. In fact it was not until the mistress herself had thumped the bell on her table three separate times that they realised that Authority had arrived. Then, however, they scurried to their seats and sat down trying to look as if creating a tumult was as far from their thoughts as possible. Miss Smith was very well liked by all her pupils, but her discipline was all that could be desired. The effect of her icy gaze on the two or three who were still too wildly excited to calm down at once was amazing. Catherine Leonard, Rita Quick and Nita Tarengo suddenly remembered where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. Less than ten minutes after she entered the room Miss Smith had quietness.

“Now listen to me,” she said crisply. “Until 10.00 you work in silence at your prep. After that, you may leave what you haven’t done and go on to your mending. You may talk during mending if you can do it quietly. Begin, please!”

Meekly they turned to what was left of their prep. For the next twenty minutes or so there was silence as the girls prepared repetition, French translation or religious knowledge. Arithmetic had been disposed of the night before.

Erica, having done everything, spent the last five minutes in learning two or three more words. She had intended to add a further ten during mending period, since she had only one button to stitch on to a frock. With an entirely new outfit she found it easy to keep her mending well in hand and, in any case, she was not heavy on her clothes at any time. She kept one eye on the clock and when Miss Smith, anticipating the bell, told them to put their prep away and begin on their mending, she was busy with that button at once. Nor was she the only one. A few minutes later quite half-a-dozen hands were waving madly; the young mistress, looking up from Lower IVb’s efforts at parsing which drove her to wonder if she had taught badly or Lower IVb was composed mainly of half-wits, thankfully pushed the papers aside as she said, “Yes? What is it, Erica?”

“Please, I’ve finished my mending,” Erica said.

“So have I?” Gretchen chimed in. “Please, Miss Smith, may we speak of the Silver Jubilee now?”

“By all means,” Miss Smith said cordially. “I only ask that you try to remember that there are other people on this corridor and they may be still working hard at lessons. Are you sure you girls have finished? You’ve been very quick over it. I think I’d better see it. Bring it out and your work-boxes and then if you’ve really done everything, you can put them away at once.”

However, she found that the work had been done and by the time the last stocking had been examined, there was still a full twenty-five minutes for discussion.

“What do you think we ought to do?” Astrid the ever-ready asked the others while Miss Smith shuffled her papers together and placed them neatly in the file-cover in which she kept them.

“Oh, something exciting!” This was Clare Kynaston. “The only thing is I can’t think of anything that would be really extra thrilling. Can you?”

“I wondered—” Gretchen began. Then she stopped short.

“Yes? What did you wonder? Go on!” chorused the rest.

Gretchen’s small face was pink as she said, “Well—but it is only a thought, you understand—but would it not be nice if we could erect a statue to Madame?”

A deathly silence followed while Miss Smith did her best to strangle the giggles which had taken possession of her on hearing this startling proposition. Then Astrid said doubtfully, “But should we? She’s not dead yet and don’t you just put up statues to people after they’re dead—like—like tombstones?” she added; whereat Miss Smith very nearly did succumb.

“I rather think,” Erica ventured, “that they did put up statues to Queen Victoria long before she died. Other people, too.”

Victoria Wood, a very superior young person, regarded the new girl scornfully. “That’s different. She was a queen and it affected the whole country.”

Erica went red, but Clare came to the rescue. “Not a statue, perhaps,” she said, “but what’s the matter with having her portrait painted for Hall? I know you can do that all right, ’cos the head of Daddy’s firm retired last year and the firm presented him with a portrait of himself.”

“But Lady Russell’s in Australia. How could you get a portrait of her done?” demanded Rita Quick. “And anyway that wouldn’t be for the school.”

This was so true that they dropped the idea forthwith. Nita Tarengo produced something much more popular.

“Couldn’t we collect for a swimming bath?” she asked.

“Oh, yes!” Astrid who was a regular water-baby was thrilled at the suggestion. “Then we might be able to swim every day in the warm weather and not have to wait to go down to the lake.”

“We could get swimming,” Agneta said, “but we could not row on it.”

“Oh, well, we might have swimming in the morning and go down in the afternoons for boating just as we do now,” Gretchen pointed out.

Astrid turned to Miss Smith. “Do you think we might send that in as one suggestion? It would be fabulous to have our own swimming-bath!”

“It would,” Miss Smith agreed. “The thing is where could we have it. To be of any use it must be a good size and most of our land is already planned. I should certainly send it in, Astrid. It is a good idea. But you have what’s left of today and all tomorrow to think of other things, so don’t just rest on your oars, girls. And there is the bell for Break. Put your belongings away and then line up. Quickly!”

They obeyed her, but they were so thrilled at Nita’s proposal that it took them three minutes longer than usual to stop talking and be ready to march in silence to the Speisesaal for their lemonade and biscuits.

The school at large passed an unusually peaceful weekend. The Head’s reminder about what eventful year this was to them, at any rate, and request that they should consider in what ways it should be celebrated had given them plenty to think about. Upper IVb were very pleased with their own effort but, as Gretchen von Ahlen pointed out, if they could put forward one or two more suggestions it would be all to the good.

“For,” she said with great seriousness, “if we have several slips in our box then all will see that we have tried. If more than one of them is good, then the mistresses will know that we are an ingenious form——”

“A what form?” Jaquetta de Henezell demanded. “What do you mean?”

“I mean a form of girls who think and consider and—and have ideas,” Gretchen said with great dignity. “This is a matter of great importance, Jaquetta.”

“Do you mean us or the jubilee?” Freda asked pointblank.

“Oh, I meant the jubilee, of course. But I think, also, it is important that people should know that we do not all play, but that we think.”

Some of the more frivolous members of the form giggled at this, but Gretchen remained quite serious and most of them came round to her way of thinking. As a result, little else was talked of during the ramble they had in the afternoon and on the Sunday if at any time you saw little knots of Upper IVb girls with their heads together, you would be safe in saying that they were discussing further ideas for the celebration of the school’s jubilee.

The result of all this—for none of the other forms were behindhand in the matter, either—was that when Monday evening brought together the mistresses from not only the school proper but also from St Mildred’s the finishing branch, there was a goodly heap of slips awaiting them. Miss Dene had emptied the boxes, banded together the slips in each and laid them in neat piles before the place of Miss Annersley and Miss Wilson, the school’s co-heads, in readiness. The staff having seen the Juniors off to bed and left the prefects to take charge of the games and dancing with which the others might occupy themselves during the free time after Abendessen, scurried off to the staffroom and settled themselves comfortably, prepared for anything that might happen. The elder girls would think before they brought forward any suggestions, but the school had voted on this sort of thing before and most of the mistresses present had lurid recollections of some of the notions the Middles and Juniors had been responsible for.

“Lets hope we don’t have anything too wild,” said Miss Moore, the geography mistress as she took her seat beside Nancy Wilmot and Kathy Ferrars. “Remember some of the ideas shot at us for the coming-of-age celebrations?^[4] That Irish child, Norah Fitzgerald wanted us to run a pony club, I remember.”

Kathy Ferrars emitted a delighted giggle. “What I remember is that our one and only Yseult wanted to change the uniform to something picturesque. I got it out of Mary-Lou and Co later on that her idea was something medieval!”

“She would!” Nancy Wilmot said scornfully. Then she, too, giggled. “And after all the fuss and bother she made about that sort of thing she’s settled down to becoming an ordinary housewife, according to Corney van Alden.”

Rosalie Dene looked up from the slip she had been studying. “Oh, she’s going further than that. I had a letter from Corney this morning and Yseult has decided that if the baby is a boy it’s to be named Arthur for her husband. If it’s a girl it’s to be plain Mary. She says she’s had enough of fancy names!”

“Goodness! Is that the next thing?” Peggy Burnett, the P.T. mistress asked. “By the way, I thought Corney said Ronny and Val were to come back to us this year? How come they’re still not here?”

“Both had scarlet fever at the beginning of September. Then Yseult knew about her baby and she begged to keep the girls with her until it had arrived—which isn’t until May. The school is guardian to those two and it was finally decided to give Yseult her way. But they are coming in September. It’ll give Ronny two more years here, anyhow. Val, of course, won’t be quite fourteen. By that time, though, Yseult will have plenty to occupy her mind on her own account.”

There was time for no more. At that moment the door opened and the co-heads of the school arrived looking delightfully unofficial in their semi-evening dresses. Miss Wilson bore a basket loaded with tiny Viennese cakes and Miss Annersley laid a big box of American candies on the table. Not that anyone paid any heed to these luxuries. Behind the pair came Joey Bettany beaming broadly on everyone and a chorus of welcome rose.

“Joey! I didn’t know you were gracing this occasion with your presence!” exclaimed Rosalie. “Welcome to our midst, all the same!”

Joey laughed. “You surely didn’t think you’d be left to consider anything so important as our jubilee celebrations without either Madge or me being present?” she demanded. “She can’t come—much too busy being the wife of the great Sir James Russell in Australia. She’s awfully fed up about it. However, this summer sees the end of that, thank goodness! That my seat? Thanks, Jeanne—though what I’ve done to be set next the Senior Mistress of this establishment, I can’t think. Still, thanks for the honour. And now, what suggestions have you had in? Here’s mine, by the way!” She leaned across and dropped an envelope on top of one of the piles.

“What is it?” Nancy Wilmot asked suspiciously, “any of your leg-pulls?”

“Nancy! My dear girl! Do you really think I’d indulge in a leg-pull on such an auspicious occasion as this?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you!” Nancy retorted.

“Words fail me! What have I ever done to deserve this? Forgive me if I swoon on you, Jeanne!”

But Mdlle was ready for her. “But if you do that, my Jo, I will run the pin of my brooch into your arm and that will swiftly restore you,” she said sweetly, beginning to unpin the big cameo she wore. “It is a large and sharp pin!”

“How I could ever have imagined you were fond of me!” Jo observed, regarding the pin with unmitigated dislike. “All right! I’ll forgive you!”

“And now,” said Miss Annersley who had taken her seat and was smothering a smile, “if you people have quite finished with these frivolous passages, we can get down to business.”

She spoke quietly and with a half-laugh in her eyes, but all present knew her well enough to know that she meant what she said. The meeting came to order and Miss Annersley rose to her feet.

“Judging by the piles of slips before Rosalie, we have no time to waste, so I will ask her to pass the slips belonging to each form to the form-mistress who will read them out one by one. Mark the best with five points; fairly good with three. Anything else may be rubbished if someone will provide a container. Anything about which we have doubts may be set aside for later comment. Does anyone wish to say anything before we begin?”

No one did. Rosalie Dene handed out the slips and the Head called on Mdlle who was nominally form mistress VIa.

“If I see that anything is foolishness, I need not read it?” Mdlle asked.

“Please don’t. We shall have no time to spare for anything of that sort,” Miss Annersley said, laughing. “One moment, first!” She opened her box and passed it round while Mdlle scanned the five slips before her thoughtfully. Two she discarded promptly. The remaining three she read out.

“Here is someone who wishes that we should have a portrait of our dear Madame painted to hang in Hall,” she announced. “I award that five points.”

A chorus backed her up. Everyone was delighted at the idea and Rosalie Dene noted it down as a “must” before Mdlle continued.

“This next one wishes that we should compile a Book of the Silver Jubilee containing a history of the school and illustrated with photographs. I like it, but who will do the work? Who has time?”

“Joey, you could do it,” Nancy Wilmot said with a fiendish grin at Joey.

“Not on your nelly! I’m up to the eyes, what with my new book and that blessed anthology I began before young Cecil was born. And I may say here that if I’d realized all the work it entailed, I’d never have taken it on,” she added. “It’s nearly five years since I began on it and I’m just coming into the straight with it now, so to speak. And while I think of it, I’d be glad if you’d all put your brains in steep and find me a title for it.”

“What kind of a title?” Kathy Ferrars inquired. “Won’t just ‘Poems’ do for you?”

Joey shook her head. “It’s got to be an inviting title—something to make kids want to see what it’s about—like The Golden Staircase, for instance.”

“Yes; well, let it alone for the moment, please,” Miss Wilson said briskly. “At the moment we’re considering how best we can celebrate our jubilee. Go on, Jeanne. In the meantime, I’ll award that idea five points. It’s a good one.”

The third which Mdlle gave them was a proposal that they should contribute for a House shield to be won by the House which produced the greatest number of outstanding events each year. It was firmly turned down by almost everyone. As Miss Derwent pointed out they already had a House Shield and a second one would be overdoing it. Apart from that they had no assurance that outstanding events were to the credit of a House. Not infrequently such episodes were hair-raising at the time. Still, VIa had given them two inspirations which, as Miss Charlesworth observed, was good going.

VIb had proved to be most uninspired, the only proposal of theirs which their form mistress, Miss Derwent herself, read out being that they should rebuild the sports pavilion, replacing it by a really good one. This was awarded three points and they turned to Va to see what they had to offer.

The members of Va were a much more go-ahead set and the first idea Miss Armitage announced was that the school should collect enough money for a travelling scholarship to be awarded to that girl at the end of her school career who seemed likely to make the best use of it. The form had even given an illustration to push the plan home. They had cited Mary-Lou Trelawney as being the kind of girl they meant. Everyone knew that Mary Lou hoped to go in for archaeology, once she had finished her university course. A travelling scholarship would have been exactly what she would like.

Miss Armitage giggled wildly over the next slip and when asked what the joke was, she said solemnly, “I’ll read it, though I think it’s quite impossible. But you all must share it. Some genius proposes that we should establish a scholarship in engineering——”

“What?” exclaimed Miss Wilson. “Vida, you’re making that up!”

“I’m not! Read it for yourself!” Miss Armitage protested, handing it over. “It’s a sheer impossibility, of course. Half the time that scholarship would be lying idle. In fact if you ask me it would benefit Jack Lambert and no one else. However, here’s another,” she picked it up, “which is meant as a help to the entire school.” And she read it out: “ ‘Collect subscriptions towards establishing a winter garden with a fountain so that even in winter we could have flowers.’ There! How’s that for genius?”

“It would be very delightful,” Miss Annersley said with a smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t imagine where we could put it. Our land is fairly fully planned out. I don’t quite see where we could put up any more buildings—or not for the next few years. Now what have I said?” she added as her eye was caught by Miss Smith’s crestfallen look.

“Oh!” burst out that young woman, “it’s just that my form have made a really brilliant suggestion only—well it will take up land.”

“If you come to that, Inter V have also had a brainwave which, I’m very much afraid will mean land,” Kathy Ferrars said ruefully.

“What are these—er—master-strokes?” Nancy Wilmot demanded. She looked at the Heads. “Couldn’t we hear them now? Kathy looks ready to burst and Deb isn’t far from it either. Have pity on them and let them expound, Hilda!”

Miss Annersley chuckled. “By all means if everyone else agrees. It would cast a shadow over proceedings if those two were as appallingly incapacitated as you seem to suggest, Nancy. Go ahead by all means, you two. Only, if it’s going to mean more land, I don’t know where we’re going to find it.” With which she offered her sweets all round again and then Kathy Ferrars was called on to produce Inter V’s inspiration.

“Let us collect to build a proper library,” she read. “Include the Sarah Denny Museum in the building. If there is any money left over, buy books with it and ask everyone connected with the school to give one book. There!” She sat back triumphantly. “How’s that for an idea?”

The Staff left no one in any doubt as to their appreciation of it. As Rosalind Moore pointed out they didn’t really need any more scholarships, being already well-supplied in that line. The sports pavilion could very well go on for some years to come so that was another thing not needed.

“And,” put in Joey at this point, “if you really want a portrait of Madge, I’ll write to Gillian Linton—I mean Young—and ask her what she’s got an artist husband for. After all, she hasn’t even provided the school with a grand-daughter. There she is—three boys and no girl——”

“That’s where your toes turn in,” Rosalie Dene said, sitting up with a spark in her eyes. “Gillian has a daughter born last night. So put that on your needles and knit it!”

The entire staff gasped. Then Miss Annersley fell on her secretary.

“And when did this news come through? And why haven’t we been told sooner?”

Rosalie made a gesture of mock terror. “Oh, please, don’t slay me! I should have told you before Abendessen, but there wasn’t a chance. You were late and everyone was discussing those new textbooks we’re thinking of trying out next term. Anyhow, the news didn’t come till late this afternoon, just before Kaffee und Kuchen. Peter Young rang up then. He says the baby’s a picture and Gillian is very fit and overjoyed to have a girl at long last.”

“What are they calling her?” Nancy Wilmot asked; but the Head thumped on the table. “No! We must get this out of the way.” She indicated the slips. “Now that we know, I’m sure we’re all delighted to hear about Gillian’s daughter, but she can wait until we’ve finished with this. Joey!” Joey came promptly to attention. “That’s a very good idea about Peter Young. I happen to know that he’s always wanted to do a portrait of Madge, only she’s been away for so long there’s been no opportunity. The school certainly ought to have a portrait of its foundress and at least Peter can be trusted to paint her as she is and not give us some weird picture which may not be even human. We’ll leave that matter in your hands, Joey. By the way,” she added, “we haven’t looked at your suggestion yet. Open it, Rosalie, and let us know the worst.”

“What an insult!” Joey cried as Rosalie opened her slip.

“No insult. I’m expecting something quite original,” Miss Annersley told her. “Well?” For Rosalie had given an exclamation. “What is it?”

“Oh, a brilliant idea! I wonder you didn’t think of it, Rosalind.” She glanced across the table at Rosalind Yolland.

“What is it?” that lady demanded. “And why me in particular?”

“Because I should have said it’s right up your street. Listen, folk!” And she read out, “ ‘Commission someone to paint a picture of the original Chalet where the school began.’ How’s that for a brainwave?”

They were all over it. In fact, as Miss Wilson remarked somewhat scathingly anyone would have thought this was a meeting of Middles and not of staff.

“I’ll admit it’s a stroke of genius on Jo’s part,” she wound up, “but need women of your age and standing make quite so much noise over it?”

Her partner laughed. “Don’t scarify us so badly, Nell! And you young things,” she fixed the younger members of the staff with a look, “Be a little quieter. Joey, I congratulate you! The only thing against it is that we can’t hope to get it done in time for half-term.”

“Can’t we?” Joey was out of her seat and making for the door. “What about this?” She bounced out of the room and returned, carrying one end of a large flat wooden case. Jack Maynard had the other. Between them, they bore it in and laid it on the table. The screws in the lid had been loosened and he took them out dropping them into a pocket. Then he and Joey lifted from the case an oil-painting which, between them, they reared up against one wall. It was a painting of the chalet where the school had begun. It was beautifully done and those who had known it in the early days, gazed at it delightedly.

“Joey, what made you do this?” the Head asked after a minute or two.

“Well, I knew it was our jubilee year, of course. In fact,” Joey confessed, “I commissioned this last year. It’s an offering from the entire family—Russells, Bettanys and Maynards—to the school. I meant to speak about the jubilee, but what with one thing and another, I never got round to it. Then the girls told me that some brain had managed to remember, so I just kept quiet. But you’ve got your picture, anyhow, so I think we’ll withdraw that slip of mine. Help us to put this back into its little case until the moment comes to hang it, someone. And be quick about it!” she added. “It’s no light weight, let me tell you!”

Nancy Wilmot was at her side in a moment. “Out of the way! We may be more or less the same height, but I’m the heftier. Ready, Dr Jack? Then up she goes! And bed her down. Where is she to live until half-term, by the way?”

“Here, of course! You don’t suppose we are lugging her back to Freudesheim now we’ve got her here? Hilda, that’s O.K., isn’t it?” Joey looked at the Head.

“Oh, yes; we can store her safely. Screw on her lid, please, Jack, and she can stay here for tonight. Tomorrow Gaudenz and one of the other men can bring her into my quarters for the time being.” The Head turned to her mistresses with a gesture. “And now, please sit down and let us finish. It’s growing late and we still have quite a number of slips to go through.”

They obeyed her and the remaining suggestions were dealt with in short order. Many of them were turned down as being too ordinary. A proposal from Upper IVa that the school should have its own speedboat and the girls be taught to run it was cried down instantly. To quote Miss Moore, “I admit that there are times and seasons when I feel like smothering the little dears, but they are rare and I’m not murderously inclined as a rule. I, for one, will have nothing to do with anything so dangerous as a speedboat where that crowd are concerned!” It was felt she had voiced the feelings of all.

Upper IVb’s idea of a swimming-pool was, however, received with acclamation. As someone pointed out if they could spare the land they could easily use the Görnetz stream to provide the water. The land would be the difficulty and they would have to think long and hard before they finally decided on it.

That was the end. Joey with a glance at her watch leapt to her feet and shot off home as fast as she could. Miss Wilson and Miss Annersley said good night and departed to the Head’s quarters where Miss Wilson had a room always ready for her. The mistresses set to work to clear up the staffroom and as the big school clock chimed midnight, the last tumbled thankfully into bed and switched off her light. The session was over.

Two days later, Miss Annersley summoned the school to a special meeting at the end of morning school. She even cut out the final lesson which caused a real fluttering in the dove-cotes among the girls.

“What do you think it means?” Sara Carlyon asked as they put their books away.

“Goodness! How should I know?” Astrid laughed.

“Do you think it may be to tell us what they have chosen for the Jubilee?” Gretchen suggested.

“Not very likely,” Victoria Wood chipped in in her superior way. “I don’t suppose the Head feels that even the Jubilee is as important as lessons. Heads and all teachers, in fact, seem to think lessons the first thing in life.”

“Well, I suppose they are—to them,” Gretchen allowed. “For me, I do not think I could ever feel that way. But then I do not mean to teach.”

“Well, if it isn’t the Jubilee, what do you think it is?” Erica demanded of Victoria. She and the other girl had never got on very well together. Erica resented Victoria’s assumed airs of superiority and Victoria had more than one reason for her dislike of Erica.

In the first place, although the younger girl was a good six months younger, she could give the elder points and still beat her in form places. In the second, Victoria had had a sneaking admiration for Astrid but since Erica had come to the school even the very tepid friendship Astrid had shown Victoria had seemed to be fading while already Erica was well “in” with what was known as “The Crew”. Victoria had wanted to be a member of this select crowd ever since she had first come to school, but they didn’t like her enough for it so much as to occur to them. Something about Erica had appealed to Astrid and Gretchen in the beginning and the other members also liked her. No one had even said, “Will you be one of our crowd?” She had simply slipped in among them and by the time of the various Jubilee meetings was firmly established. Victoria felt that it was unfair that a new girl like Erica Standish should belong to the group while she, who had been two years and more at the school couldn’t flatter herself that she was even on its fringes.

As a result of all this, Victoria assumed the most patronising airs towards Erica, not infrequently rousing highly unchristian feelings in that young person’s bosom. On this occasion Victoria smiled indulgently and said that she didn’t know and therefore couldn’t possibly say.

“It’s always wiser to own up to your ignorance rather than make wild guesses,” she said in her loftiest tones. “You look such a fool later on when you’re proved all wrong.”

Erica flushed, but before she could reply, that lanky specimen, Freda Kendal, did. “Not really?” she asked, opening great pansy-blue eyes at Victoria. “That accounts for it, then. I’ve often wondered.”

“Wondered what?” Victoria lost her disdainful air for the moment. Freda might be the youngest in the form, but she had wits as sharp as a needle and a trick of saying outrageous things in such a matter-of-fact way that frequently people unaccustomed to her let them go until they had time to think them over.

“Oh, nothing that matters. I just wondered.” There was no time for more though Freda concluded, “It’s puzzled me at times.”

“Be quick, girls, and get into line!” said Miss Smith at that point in slightly irritated tones. She had not had her own form for the previous lesson but she knew that Mdlle who had, had told them to clear up and be ready to go as soon as their form mistress turned up. Here they were, milling round and quite half of them with everything still to clear away. No wonder she was annoyed! The few who had been wise and tucked their belongings into their lockers as soon as Mdlle had left the room lined up at the door. Erica was among them and so was Gretchen. Poor Agneta as form prefect had to see to the others, and hadn’t even begun to gather up her possessions. Erica, standing near her desk, made a dive and scrabbled them together. Luckily for her, Miss Smith was fully occupied with helping Jaquetta de Henezell, who was famed for possessing ten thumbs on all important occasions and had been picking things up and dropping them again. It was no use to scold her. That only made her worse. Miss Smith sighed and went to her assistance. The result was that when Agneta contrived to think of her own property, she found that all she had to do was to carry everything to her locker and put them in.

At last even Jaquetta had cleared up and Miss Smith, after a quick glance down the prim and proper line of girls, nodded. Agneta at the head led off and Upper IVb reached Hall and their own seats and thankfully realised that they were by no means the last form to take their places.

That honour was left to those members of the two Fifths (a and b) who were over at the science labs and who came in rather breathlessly five minutes later. Miss Wilson had kept them until the last minute, but, as Connie Winter of Va remarked later on to Len Maynard, it didn’t matter so much for them. Bill, as everyone at school called her, though strictly not to her face, was one of the Heads, and since she was in the school proper at the time it wasn’t likely that any important meeting would be held without her.

“All the same, I must say I wish she hadn’t kept us. But that’s Bill,” Connie said with a resigned sigh. “She’s a poppet in most ways, but if she’s busy with an experiment—which she wasn’t, I may say, this morning—or giving a lecture, she just doesn’t worry about bells. I thought we would never get to Hall!”

Len chuckled. “Well, you all did come in looking rather as though wolves were at your heels. Thank goodness I gave up science ages ago. Not that I don’t like Bill. I agree with you. She’s a poppet. But she hasn’t any idea of time when she’s teaching.”

On this occasion Miss Wilson came in with Miss Annersley, looking quite composed, and took her seat in the second of the two great William-and-Mary armchairs which occupied the places of honour on the dais.

“Are you all ready?” Miss Annersley asked when the big doors had been closed. “Good! Please listen. We’ve called you together to tell you that one or two of your ideas have been definitely adopted for our Jubilee celebrations.”

There was an excited stir among the youngsters and even the Seniors sat up more alertly. Everyone who had sent in a suggestion was anxious to know if it was one of those adopted or not. However, the Head was continuing tranquilly and they could only wait and see.

“First of all,” Miss Annersley said, smiling at them, “it has been suggested that we should have a portrait of Madame—Lady Russell. I fully agree. She founded the school and was its first Head. She has never set it aside altogether, though with all her activities as wife of Sir James and mother of quite a long family—Yes,” she broke off as the top door opened. “Come in, Mrs Maynard. There’s a seat for you beside Mdlle, I think.”

Joey gave her a grin and sat down. When she was settled, the Head went on with what she was saying before.

“No; with all the social activities she has to meet as Lady Russell, and with her work with her long family she has always found time to take a deep interest in the Chalet School. I am glad to be able to tell you that Mr Clement Peter Young the artist has consented to paint us a portrait and she has consented to sit for it.” She paused to take a sip of water and the girls seizing their opportunity, clapped long and loud. But the Head gave them little chance for noise. She set down her glass and continued.

“One good suggestion was that we should collect subscriptions for the erection of a building to house our library and museum. Another was the establishing of a swimming-bath. Now both these are big items of expenditure and we can hardly afford both. Presently, you will vote on which you would prefer. Another idea was that someone should be called on to compile a history of the school. The suggestion was put to Mrs Maynard, but she turned it down flatly.”

“Well, of course I did,” Joey cried. “With all my other work, when do you imagine I could get down to it? Oh, no! But I’m not the school’s only author, remember.”

“Then who else is there?” Erica murmured to Agneta sitting next her.

Agneta shook her head. “I have no idea. But we must not talk, Erica.”

There was no need to say it. Already Miss Wilmot had seen the two heads close together and was scowling severely at the pair. Erica subsided and, in any case, the Head had something more to say.

“I am well aware of that. We have transferred the request to Dr Eustacia Benson and she has kindly consented to begin the history, anyhow.” She paused again to let the girls let off a little steam. A minute later, she held up her hand and they fell silent.

“Finally,” she said, smiling down at the school, “Mrs Maynard herself proposed that we should have a picture of the first chalet where the Chalet School began. What is more, she decided not to leave it to chance. The picture is in the annexe in my quarters and on the day of our Jubilee reunion, we proposed to hang it here, in Hall, so that everyone can see it daily.”

This time, she had to let them have their way. They all applauded furiously and someone among the Senior Middles was bold enough to start off “For she’s a jolly good fellow”. It was taken up at once by everyone present and Hall rang with their voices. Joey kept her seat, though she went very pink. However, as Miss Wilson remarked resignedly later on, it wouldn’t have been in Joey Maynard not to take anything of the kind in her own inimitable way. When the singing ended, she stood up and bowed gracefully, right, left and centre before thanking them sweetly for the tribute. But for all the sweetness, there was something in her tone which made those who knew her best wonder just what was at the back of her mind. However, she had sat down and the Head rose at once to throw the meeting open for discussion. “You may talk very quietly for the next five minutes or so,” she said. “Then the prefects will distribute paper and you may write down your choice of a swimming-bath or a library.” She gave them a nod, sat down in her own chair, swinging it partly round so that she could chat with the mistresses and the school, set free to relieve its collective minds, set up an instant buzz and hum.

“Which do you think?” Astrid asked Erica. “I vote for a swimming-bath.”

“If it’s just got to be one or the other, so do I,” Erica responded. “I s’pose there isn’t a wee chance of our getting the two?”

“Of course there isn’t!” It was Victoria the Superior again. “How do you think we could possibly collect enough to pay for both? Do use your wits and your commonsense—if any!”

“You shut up!” No less a person than Freda had plunged in again and she was glaring at Victoria and looking rather like an angry kitten about to scratch. “How d’you know we can’t do it? It won’t be just us here now, r’member!”

“Pipe down, Spider!” Astrid said hurriedly. “You can’t start rowing here!”

“Anyhow,” Agneta suddenly took a hand, “look at the way we managed our chapels for the coming of age. There are two of them and we built them and furnished them into the bargain. I know that many people gave us the more costly things like the altars and the pulpits and the windows; but we did a lot ourselves. It is not as if we had to build with bricks and mortar or dressed stone. The buildings will be of wood like all others up here. That does not cost so much.”

They looked at her with awe. Not even Victoria had thought things out so thoroughly. But Agneta’s father was an architect and she had heard him talking at home. Then the sound of the Head’s bell rang for silence and the buzz of chatter ceased as the school turned to face the dais once more.

This time, Miss Wilson took over the conduct of the meeting. “Are you all ready to vote now?” she asked, looking them over with a marked twinkle.

Len stood up. “I expect we all feel we could do with a little longer,” she said. “It’s rather a big decision to make. Could we have a little more time to discuss it, please?”

There was an instant rustle among the girls. One or two even patted their hands together in appreciation. “Bill” turned to her colleagues with lifted eyebrows. Miss Annersley was the first to respond.

“I think we might give them till this afternoon,” she murmured. The rest of the staff fully agreed. As Len had said, it was rather a big decision to make almost on the spur of the moment. Bill nodded and turned to the school again.

“Very well, girls. In any case, my own House must know and vote on the matter and as they are in Bern for this afternoon’s concert, we can’t do anything about that until this evening.”

She sat down and the girls were left to murmur among themselves while their elders did more or less the same thing on the dais.

“Wonder what we’ll do now?” Margot Maynard muttered to Francie Wilford, the school librarian, beside whom she was sitting. “I say, Fran, what do you think of the library idea? D’you like it?”

Francie nodded. “Well, rather! For one thing it’ll be a lot easier to keep an eye on the books. If we do have it, I’m going to ask if the mags can be kept there as well—have a sort of reading-room, you know. It’s an odd week if at least half-a-dozen people haven’t been at me because some mag or other they want has gone missing. Though I must say,” she added with a smothered giggle, “I thought the limit had been reached when The Times Educational Supplement was found in the junior common room. I always had an idea that it lived in the staffroom. After all, it’s the staff who take it. Willy came ramping because it was missing and when I did find it after hunting everywhere I could think of, I nearly fainted with shock.”

Margot chuckled softly. “How on earth did it get there?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. That’s where it was, anyhow.”

“Pipe down!” came from Len at that point. “The Head’s going to make an announcement. Poke that crowd in front of you, you two.”

Silence came speedily, thanks to sundry pokes and nudges and when Miss Annersley did finally rise to her feet, it was to a very correct audience she spoke.

“I have one thing to say, girls. The view of the original Chalet School has been painted for us by an Old Girl—Clemency Barras.”

There was instant acclamation. Clem, as she was generally called, was known to a good half of the school and even the younger girls had seen her more than once in the St Mildred’s pantomimes. Besides that, she had been living up at the Rösleinalpe, the shelf above the Görnetz Platz, during the latter part of last summer’s term and the girls had met her frequently during their rambles. Clem had been a very popular prefect at the school and as, to quote Margot, she never put on any airs but was as matey as ever she had been, a favourite she remained. Indeed, it was only the fact that their elders kept a hold on them and restrained them from completely forgetting where they were that the Junior Middles, at any rate, did yell their heads off with cheers.

Miss Annersley gave them two minutes of it. Then she sounded her bell and when silence fell, dismissed them to the Splasheries to tidy up for Mittagessen before they went to the common room where they gave full vent to their feelings.

“It is fabulous that Clem should have painted that picture,” said Gretchen. “Indeed, I think it would be miraculous if she could do the portrait of Madame as well. Do not you, Agneta?”

“But Clem does not paint portraits,” Agneta pointed out. “At least I have never heard that she did. She paints views and studies of flowers.”

“Oh, well, Mr Young is connected with the school,” observed Renata van Buren, a shining light of Upper IVa. “Mrs Young used to be Miss Linton who taught in the Junior school ages ago when we were in England.”

Judging by Renata’s tone, this had taken place some time during the previous century and Jack Lambert, one of her bosom friends, grinned as she said, “I’ve heard all about Linny from my two aunts. They were at school when she was teaching and they said she was a whizzer.” The gong sounded and she went on in scandalised tones, “What’s that for? It’s only 12.40 hours. Mittagessen isn’t till 13.00 hours.”

“I expect,” Erica was thinking aloud, “they think that as morning school is over anyhow, we might as well have Mittagessen early.”

“Who’s talking in here?” Ted Grantley had come to march them to the Speisesaal. “You, Erica? Well, you know the rules. Lose a mark and don’t do it again, please. Lines, there, you people—Nita Tarengo—Clare Kynaston—Victoria Wood. That’s better!” as the three addressed hurriedly scuffled into line. “Ready! Lead on, Agneta!”

The school settled down to Mittagessen which today consisted of Karen the cook’s famous vegetable sausages, the recipe for which she refused to everyone, even Joey Maynard, though whenever she made them she sent a dishful across to Freudesheim. Whatever was in them, they were savoury to the last degree and the girl who refused one had yet to be found. Potatoes dipped in a rich batter and fried golden-brown so that outside they were crisp though inside they were melting, accompanied them. The Middles and Juniors tucked in delightedly. They were not greedy, but it was not often that Karen, the ruler of the kitchen, treated them to Pflanzenwursten since they were tricky to make and needed a good deal of preparation.

“I do love these little sausages,” Erica sighed as she swallowed her last mouthful. “Why don’t we have them oftener?”

“Because they’re so fussy to make,” said Len Maynard who headed the table. “She doesn’t give us them oftener than twice in the term. But I agree, Erica. They are ambrosial.”

“Perhaps she will give us them oftener this term as it is the Jubilee term,” Jaquetta suggested. “Someone might ask her, perhaps.”

“Then you’ll do it among yourselves,” Len said with decision. “It is no use looking at me like that, Jaquetta. I like Pflanzenwursten as much as you do, but not enough to have myself labelled plain greedy.” She ended with a chuckle and Jaquetta subsided. But, little though she knew it then, Len had started something. At the moment, she glanced round the table, saw that everyone had finished and signalled to Miggi to remove the plates.

“Len, which do you think of voting for?” Clare asked when the second course had arrived and they were all busy with a creamy mixture which tasted of gooseberries but, as Ted said later to her compeers, gooseberries with a difference.

Len laughed. “I honestly can’t tell you—yet,” she said. “It’s a puzzle to know which to choose. I love swimming, of course, and it would be stupendous to have our own baths and be able to swim all the year round. On the other hand I also love reading and I do not—repeat, not—enjoy missing odd pages in a book, or finding some of them loose and falling out all over the place. If all the library books were kept in a separate building there might be rather less of that.”

This being a Tuesday, Len spoke in German but after four-and-a-half weeks of the school Erica had picked up enough to understand some of what Len was saying. The context supplied the rest and she turned richly red. Only the previous week she and Valerie Gardiner of Upper IVa had made a dive for the same book and between them, they had torn part of the spine away. They had to confess to Eve Hurrell, the Library prefect. Eve, seeing it was Saturday and an English day, had given her tongue full swing. She was a pleasant girl and a great favourite as a rule, but she had managed to sting up the two sinners very considerably.

Freda glanced at her and then at the Head Girl. “But Len,” she said in her careful German, “does it not happen to the book wherever it may be?” Then, as Len looked at her thoughtfully, she added, “I mean if the page of a book is torn out, it might have happened in a library or a schoolroom, or a bedroom, or a——”

“Thank you, Freda. There is no need to go through a list of all the rooms you might find in a house,” Len broke into what looked like being a complete dissertation and Freda who knew exactly how far she dared go with certain people gave it up and attended to her sweet.

“I should choose the swimming-bath myself,” Victoria said thoughtfully. “As you say, Len, it would be delightful to be able to swim all the year round.”

“Did they say the Museum as well?” Agneta asked. “But we have only a very little museum. There is the model of the Elizabethan house; and those fossils Miss Charlesworth presented; and that snake bracelet made of lava from Mt Vesuvius. I don’t remember much else.”

“There are the curios from the Amazon country that Mary-Lou Trelawney gave and the great case of butterflies,” someone said.

Astrid finished the last spoonful on her plate. “I have an idea,” she said as she laid her spoon down.

“What is it?” Len asked with interest.

“Should we not try to make larger our museum as another way of celebrating the Jubilee?”

Freda looked angelic. “I like that idea. But had we not better wait until we see if the choice is a special library building? We shall have little room if we don’t.”

“Then that should settle it.” Victoria’s tone was even more supercilious than usual. “If we have nothing more to add to the museum than that, there is no use in having more space.”

“But that cuts both ways, Victoria,” Len said with a smile. “If we had more space we might soon have more objects to put into it.”

Victoria had no more to say and the bell on the high table rang for Grace which was just as well. More than one of Victoria’s fellows was ready to argue the case with her. She was one of those unfortunate people who by their manner can set other people against them. However, the bell rang and when they were all standing, the Head made an announcement which gave Upper IVb at least something fresh to think about.

“As we have been so much earlier with Mittagessen,” she said, “lessons will begin earlier and finish at 15.00 hours. The rest of the afternoon will be given up to a ramble. You will take a packed tea with you and when you return you will have one hour for preparation. That is all. Grace!”

Every head was devoutly bowed, but it is to be feared that most of the younger members of the school thought very little of the few Latin words the Head spoke before leaving the girls to clear the tables before they hurried off to Hall for the half-hour’s rest which was a “must” every day.

“Why can’t we just begin lessons right away?” Erica asked of Astrid in German that was enough to make any true German’s hair stand on end.

“Because we’ve got to have the rest, of course,” Astrid told her.

“But why? I’m sure I don’t want any rest.”

“Dr Jack and the other doctors say so,” Gretchen chimed in. “Erica, your German was terrible just now. This is what you should have said.” And she repeated Erica’s sentence in impeccable German, finishing up, “Now you say it.”

Erica made a face, but she knew the rule too well by this time to rebel. She repeated the German after Gretchen until that young woman nodded, by which time the whole phrase was more or less imprinted on her memory. It might be annoying and it certainly slowed down conversation at the time, but it did help you to learn, as more folk than Erica had found out over the years.

In Hall, they set up the deck-chairs they had been given, settled themselves with their books and for the next half-hour there was silence. The moment the bell sounded, however, they were on their feet and slamming their chairs together to hand them over to the prefects in charge before scuttling away.

The first lesson on Tuesday afternoon was German repetition which might mean repeating verse or prose or, if Miss Denny who took them for it thought fit, vocabulary or verbs. On this occasion, she elected to hear the verses from Goethe’s Erl König which she had set last time.

Halfway through the lesson, Erica raised her hand. “Please, what is an Erl König?” she asked politely.

Miss Denny looked at her. “Do you mean to say, Erica, that you have been learning—one—two—three—four—five verses of your poem without finding out what it is about?” she demanded rather awfully.

Erica flushed. “Well, I just learned the words,” she said apologetically.

“But didn’t you learn the meaning as well?”

“Well, I had only time for the words. I do know—er—roughly what it’s about. Someone is trying to persuade a little boy to go with him—somewhere.”

Miss Denny was reduced to a stunned silence for a moment. Then she looked round the form. Quite a number of the Swiss and German girls were wagging eager arms to show that they knew. She ignored them and passed on to Victoria. “You tell Erica, please, Victoria.”

Now like Erica, Victoria had bothered more with the actual words than the meaning and she had little more idea than the younger girl what the Erl König was, so she dropped her long lashes and looked silly. Meg Lyall was no wiser. Grimly Miss Denny set to work among those girls to whom German was a foreign tongue to find out which of them had taken the trouble to learn what the poem was about. Sara Carlyon—Barbara Holmes—Jaquetta de Henezell—Hildegard Johanssen—all the bunch were wildly vague about it until she came to Freda Kendal who was always something of a dark horse. Asked to explain, that long-legged individual stood up and proceeded to give a clear if somewhat abbreviated account of the mythical gentleman. The bell rang for the end of the lesson halfway through but that mattered less than nothing to Miss Denny. Usually one of the most amiable beings imaginable, she was well on the warpath this afternoon and Miss Ferrars who had Upper IVb for the next lesson was held up for fully ten minutes before, having ordered the form to learn the next verse of the poem by heart and also write out an account of the legend for next week, Miss Denny stalked out of the room, snapping, “Sorry to keep you waiting!” at her junior who couldn’t imagine what it meant.

“What have you people been doing?” she demanded as she set down her books prior to returning their algebra homework.

“It’s that awful Erl König,” Clare said gloomily.

“It is not awful!” Gretchen cried. “It is a beautiful poem and Goethe was a great poet. You should have found out what it meant.”

At least three pairs of lips opened to confound this, but Miss Ferrars was quicker than they. “That’s enough. This is algebra—not German repetition if you please,” she said. “Astrid give out this homework. Don’t forget, girls, that before you do your fresh prep you must correct any mistakes in this. At the same time, I may say I’m pleased with you as a form. You seem to have grasped the principles of brackets very well. Next time we begin on equations, since our time has been cut, thanks to your stupidity about German verse. I will just give you your prep for next time and you may take what is left of the lesson to look over this bracket sum.” Then she added sweetly, “And any time you may have over from your algebra prep please spend on your German. Open your textbooks at Exercise 10k.”

This was acceptable to no one. They could do nothing about it, however. Miss Ferrars directed their attention to a positive nightmare in brackets and they worked it out on the blackboard after she had set their homework. It occupied every moment of the time left, for between her strictures and Miss Denny’s they became badly muddled and even Barbara Holmes and Emilie Laurent, who were the shining lights of the form where maths was concerned, tied themselves into the most appalling knots.

Mercifully everything comes to an end sometime. The bell rang and Miss Ferrars went off while they hurriedly cleared up their form room and then went as fast as they dared to the Splashery to get into blazers and hats. It was the second week in May and already Matron had put up a notice about wearing summer frocks next week.

“And if it goes on being as warm as it’s been today, I expect she’ll tell us to start on Wednesday,” Agneta said. “And that means no stockings so no more darning on Saturdays! That is a good thing, I think!”

They fully agreed and gloomy faces brightened at the thought as they lined up on the side path, ready to receive their packets of buttered rolls and cake and flasks of milky coffee which they stowed away in their rücksacs before marching on to the playing-fields where Len Maynard, Ted Grantley and Heather Clayton came to take charge of them and Upper IVa, which was their sister form.

Jack Lambert greeted the prefects with a welcoming grin. “Hello! Are you three taking us?” she queried. “Aren’t we to have a staff at all?”

“Heavens! I hope so!” Heather exclaimed. “I can’t say I feel like being solely responsible for all you folk. But it’s all right,” she added in relieved tones. “Here come Mdlle de Lachennais and Miss Dene. Have you all got partners?” They all had except a new girl, Emilia Casabon who had arrived the previous week. The prefects knew that she was here because her mother was at the big Görnetz Sanatorium at the other end of the Platz. What none of them, not even Emilia herself, knew, was that Mme Casabon was not expected to live through the summer. Emilia was thirteen, small for her age, and very dark. She was also, as Upper IVa, in which form she had been placed had speedily discovered, brilliantly clever. Her maths was excellent; she wrote English with style and her other languages were fluent. In short she had an amazing number of gifts. Only one seemed to have been left out—the gift of making friends. The girls, obeying the school’s unwritten law, had done their best, but she remained aloof and chilly.

So far the prefects had had no reason to notice her. They were to make up for that on this ramble. Heather joined up with Emilia just as Mdlle and Miss Dene arrived and Len and Ted were sent to the rear to act as whippers-in while the two mistresses walked somewhere about the middle of the long procession and Heather and Emilia led it.

“Which way are we going, Mdlle?” Heather asked as she steered Emilia to her place. “I suppose we can’t make it the Auberge and the echoes?”

Mdlle laughed. “But no; I fear not. Miss Andrews and Miss Barton are taking all the Junior Middles there. If we joined them we should be too many. I think we will walk along as far as the Élisehütte and then turn up and go through the pinewoods. You like that, n’est-ce pas, ma chère?”

“Very much,” Len said. “We’ll come down by the stream, shan’t we?”

“That is what Miss Dene and I had planned,” Mdlle said demurely, though her black eyes danced. “Lead on Heather and—ah—Emilia!”

They set off, over the playing-fields, out by what the school called “the back gate”, past St Mildred’s House and then on to the high road until they had reached the Élisehütte, a pretty chalet where Val Gardiner’s mother lived, together with the mother of the Everett girls and Mme Charlot, the aunt who was guardian to Solange de Chaumontel of Inter V. Mrs Everett was busy in the garden. She waved as the crocodile came past and little Win, Celia and Audrey’s small sister who was a daily boarder at St Nicholas, the kindergarten house of the Chalet School, raced to the gate and swarmed up it to greet the Seniors with a shout.

“Pretty kid, isn’t she?” Astrid remarked to Erica as they left the Élisehütte and Win behind. “Looks like the picture of baby angels.”

“It is only looks,” said Len who overheard this. “Young Win is a complete pain in the neck more often than not. Do you remember the doing that gang gave us this time two years ago? And Win was the worst of the lot.”^[5]

By this time they had left the Élisehütte right behind and the long train had begun to mount up a path running between the pine trees. Mdlle gave the word to break ranks and they promptly formed up in groups, spreading among the tall trees as they went. “Breaking” was governed by only two rules: not less than three might go together; no one strayed from sight of the path. It was one of the most valued privileges of their rambles and as breaking the rules meant a prim and proper crocodile-walk next time, the girls themselves saw to it that no one transgressed. Anyone who did was very soon made deeply sorry for her sins!

“Isn’t it gorgeous today?” Erica asked Astrid, as accompanied by the rest of the Crew they wandered among the trees at their own sweet will. “It is so warm! And you are not tormented by all the insects as you are in Kashmir.”

“Too early yet,” Gretchen said. “Next month when it is really hot, the flies under the pines are a very great pest.”

“But we have lessons out-of-doors under the trees,” Astrid chimed in. “That makes up for a lot.”

“I should think it might. Do we really? But I shall enjoy that,” Erica said. She gave a little hop of sheer delight. Unfortunately, she had not noticed that there was a half-buried pine-root sprawling right across the path. She caught her toe and away she went. Astrid and Agneta grabbed her in time to save her going completely headlong, but they were unable altogether to prevent her falling and she gave a gasp of pain as she tried to straighten up. She had given her ankle a twist and when she attempted to stand on both feet the pain made her cry out again.

“Oh, what have you done?” Gretchen exclaimed while Astrid looked round for the nearest mistress. They were on a track some distance above the one on which the girls were, but luckily Len Maynard was not far off. She and Ted heard Erica’s cry and came hurrying to see what was wrong.

“It’s my foot,” Erica half-sobbed, for the pain was sharp. “I—I think I must have—given it a wrench.” She caught her breath as an unwary movement sent a sharp knife of pain through the foot and Len flung a supporting arm round her.

“Help me lower her, Ted,” she said sharply. “Astrid, scram and bring Miss Dene or Mademoiselle. One of them will have the first-aid box. That’s it!” as she and Ted lowered Erica to the path and Ted, kneeling behind the younger girl, propped her up against her shoulder. “Now let’s see.”

In the exigency of the moment she and Ted had both forgotten that this was German day and were using their own language freely. Len ran her fingers over the injured ankle, but delicately as she touched it, Erica was unable to help giving another cry and the Head Girl sat back on her heels.

“It’s a wrench all right and a nasty one,” she said. “Never mind, Erica. Here comes Miss Dene and she has the box so she’ll soon make you more comfy, anyhow.”

Tears of pain were streaming down Erica’s cheeks. “Oh I hope—she wo-won’t touch it,” she gasped. “The pain—is—horrible!”

A sudden scuffle behind made Ted Grantley glance round. One girl had another by the shoulders and was shaking her violently. Two others were trying to pull the pair apart and not succeeding very well.

“Chuck it, you two!” Ted cried sharply. She made an involuntary movement which jerked Erica. It was the final straw. Just as Miss Dene arrived on the scene, Erica fainted and the secretary and the prefects had their hands full with her for the moment. Luckily, Mademoiselle came up now, and took charge of the others. She did it with a sureness that subdued them instantly. Calling everyone to order for not speaking German, she issued a sharp command to Nita Tarengo to let Victoria Wood alone and another to Agneta to call the others in and help form them into line. By the time Miss Dene, working quickly and deftly, had the ankle firmly bandaged and had brought Erica round, both Upper IVa and b were standing in double lines waiting instructions, with Nita at one end in charge of Celia Everett and Victoria at the other under the eye of Barbara Hewlett, Upper IVa’s form prefect.

Then the two mistresses conferred together for a minute or two before Mdlle informed the girls that Miss Dene and Len Maynard would remain where they were in charge of Erica while long-legged Freda was to run down to the Élisehütte and ask leave to telephone to the Sanatorium for an ambulance to take Erica thither for an X-ray of the foot. Miss Dene was afraid that she had displaced or even broken one of the small bones.

A shock came for the two grown-ups as the secretary made this announcement. From her end of the long row of girls, Nita Tarengo gave an exclamation in her native Italian.

“And now, Victoria Wood,” she cried, “perhaps you will have a little less to say about people being cowards and crying for nothing!”

Tableau!

“And the long and the short of it is that the kid’s got to stay where she is for the next week or so. The fractured bone will mend all right; it’s a simple break: but the doctors say that she’s in a highly nervous state, what with one thing and another——”

“Including being chucked around from pillar to post for the last year or so, never to mention that railway accident she and your mother were in,” Ted interrupted Len. “The wonder would be if she weren’t all het up and on edge. But go on.”

“Is there any need to? You seem to know all about it without any more help from me!” Len retorted with some asperity.

“It’s only Ted. You ought to know what she is by this time,” Ricki Fry said soothingly. “Go on, Len; and you pipe down, Ted.”

“Sorry,” Ted herself apologised. “Do go on, Len. What’s the net result of the consultations? We do all want to know.”

“Just that she’s to stay where she is, as I said before, and get a little peace and quiet,” Len said. “She does look rather washed-out, I must say.”

“Hard luck, poor babe!” remarked Margot. “One little skip of joy and she’s landed with this! Honestly, you don’t seem to be safe anywhere or be able to do anything nowadays.”

Ted cocked her head on one side. “Isn’t it the result of just where she did the hopping?” she queried. “Oh well, she’ll be well looked after along there. It’s hard luck—I say! she won’t be out of the celebrations, will she? That would be hard luck if you like.”

Len had been collecting paper, notebooks and other oddments from her cupboard shelf. Now she returned to the table round which the rest were sitting and began to arrange them in her place. “Nothing so bad as that. I caught Uncle Laurie who’s looking after her and he says a week or ten days ought to do it nicely. The foot will be a longer job, but luckily they don’t keep you lying flat for weeks on end nowadays just because you’ve broken a bone. They do you up in plaster and tell you to get on with it. Much saner in my opinion.”

“Is she in a children’s ward or a private?” Heather Clayton asked.

“Neither; she’s in one of the accidents. There’s an awfully jolly girl in the next bed—a Canadian of about twenty or so. She was mixed up in a bobsleigh accident and emerged with a compound fracture of the thigh, poor soul! She’s all strapped up and can’t move much, but she’s getting better and they say she won’t even limp when they take her out of the set-up. She and Erica are getting quite pally. She’s got some sense—won’t talk the kid to death nor leave her to brood all to herself. And now will someone kindly tell me the subject of the Abbess’s latest essay demand and then all of you shut up? Time’s flying and I’d better make a start at something.”

Thus recalled to the present, the assembled members of VIa decided to give Erica and her doings a miss for the moment. Con kindly informed her sister of the essay subject, drawing a sepulchral groan from Len and the remark, “Well, I suppose she might have thought up something more impossible but I greatly doubt it!” Then they all became buried in their work and there was no further chatter for the moment.

It was a week after Erica’s accident and Len had been given leave to go and visit the invalid in the big sanatorium at the far end of the Görnetz Platz. Her godmother and the Heads had visited her daily, but none of the girls, and it was to Jo that Erica had said wistfully that she would like to see some of them. Wasn’t it allowed?

“It hasn’t been. You were too much upset at first,” Joey had replied. “No reason why you shouldn’t now, though. You wait till tomorrow and see what the fairies send you!” Which remark caused the invalid a fit of the giggles. In the event, the fairies had sent Len, Joey and the Heads deciding that they had better begin slowly and gently.

Erica had enlarged on the subject to Len. “Auntie Joey has been along and so have the Heads and Matey,” she said. “It’s sweet of them and I was awfully glad to see them, but in one way I’m even gladder to see you.”

“Well, that’s jolly nice of you,” Len had replied with a grin.

“Oh, it isn’t just because you’re you,” Erica informed her frankly. “The thing is with grown-ups they’d come, anyhow, ’cos it’s a duty.”

“Not with Mamma,” Len interrupted her ruthlessly. “You ought to know, you young ass!”

Erica flushed. “Well, so I did. But what I wanted to say is that I don’t like being just duty. What’s so lavish is when your own crowd and even the prees bother to come. Did you say you saw Marie-Claire on Sunday? How is she? Has she grown any more and has she any more teeth?”

“Queer kid!” the Head Girl thought as she considered the essay on “An Imaginary Journey to the Mountains of the Moon” which it had pleased the Head to set as their subject for the fortnight. “She’s certainly taken this adoption of the baby very seriously. Now just what does Auntie Hilda want? Is it a trip to—to Luna? If not, just where, exactly, are the Mountains of the Moon. Africa somewhere, I fancy.”

After some minutes spent in deep thought she remembered that Miss Annersley had mentioned the Mountains of the Moon in connection with a travel book about Africa which she had recommended the form to read.

“Oh, how keen of Auntie Hilda!” the girl thought with an inward chuckle as she settled down to make notes of what she remembered about the book. “Good job for me I took her hint in earnest and read the thing. Where’s my atlas?” And for the rest of the evening she was buried fathoms deep in making notes, even going to the length of visiting the staffroom to ask Miss Moore if she might borrow the school’s copy of the book again. She was unlucky there, someone else having taken it out at the weekend. Still, the essay had not to be handed in until the following week and she had done a good deal of the donkeywork of relief, vegetation, inhabitants and so on already.

At the Chalet School, the periods allotted for work were generally well-filled. They were rarely extended, but any wasting of time was apt to be severely criticised and in any case the girls were mostly anxious to get through the work as quickly and thoroughly as possible. This apart, Len was a genuine student and thoroughly conscientious. She had no difficulty in thrusting Erica and her concerns to the back of her mind and concentrating on her work. After Abendessen, however, when they were all out in the grounds, playing tennis or cricket, or gardening or merely gossiping together, she remembered and with a praiseworthy idea of getting one or two more visitors for Erica, she mentioned the younger girl to the group with which she was chatting.

“Of course people are difficult,” she said in reply to a somewhat dogmatic statement to that effect from Ted. “It would be awfully monotonous if they weren’t.”

Con chuckled. “That’s what Mamma says—that at least there’s nothing monotonous about our family. We’re all as different as chalk from cheese. And the odd thing,” she added, “is that even the adoptees are different. Take Ruey Richardson and our latest—young Erica, for instance.”

Len saw her chance and leapt at it. “That reminds me; I wish one or more of you would get leave to go and visit Erica. I fancy the kid’s lonely.”

Con looked dubious. “Lonely she may be, but do you really think having our crowd trotting along will be what she wants?”

“Yes, I do. She told me when I was there this afternoon that she was gladder to see me than even the Heads and the rest of the grown-ups.” Len looked round the circle. “You know it’s rather stuck in my mind. The kid said they went as a matter of duty and she doesn’t like being a duty.”

“Oh, come off it!” Heather Clayton exclaimed. “Kids of Erica’s age don’t think like that. It’s beyond them.”

“But they do,” Con said seriously.

“Oh, I don’t say people like you and Len mightn’t have done,” Heather replied with a laugh. “You two always did go deeper than the rest of us. But I can assure you that I never did; and I doubt if most of the rest of our crowd did. I’ll bet Margot and Ricki didn’t—not at just twelve or so.”

Margot smiled lazily at her. “Ta muchly for the flowers. You seem to be very sure of us. What about Ted, though?”

Heather flushed, but she stuck to her guns sturdily enough. “Quite likely she did. She’s more the type——”

“Sorry, but that’s where your toes turn in,” Ted herself said amiably. “I didn’t bother to think along those lines more than most girls of that age. In fact, if you want to know at twelve I was a complete pest and I gave most of my brains to thinking up outrageous things to do. Fact!”

“Just what are you getting at, Len?” Ricki demanded turning to her friend.

“Nothing in particular. Yes I am though. I want to provide the kid with a few pleasant visitors who won’t talk her into a high fever or do nothing but sit and giggle until Nurse turns them out.”

“Aren’t there any like that in her gang? Dear me! What are our Middles coming to?” Margot said mildly.

Len looked across at her with a grin. “Just what all our Middles have come to as a rule when they reached that age.”

“Better tackle the Wood child and send her along,” Ricki said with a chuckle. “Throw in Nita Tarengo for good measure. Anyone know the why of that business, by the way? Those two seem incapable of meeting each other without black scowls. And while I think of it, don’t send Vicky to visit the sick or murder may be done. Who else is there in the form. Who does she run around with? Anyone know?”

“Oh, Clare Kynaston, Astrid Andersen, Jaquetta de Henezell—all that crew,” Con said. “Len, do you know why our Victoria has made such a dead set at young Erica?”

Len shook her head. “So far as I can discover it’s a plain case of, ‘I do not like thee, Dr Fell,’ ” she replied. “I suppose they got across each other somehow. At any rate neither has gone in for anything really outrageous like Jack Lambert and Jane Carew, for instance. So far they seem to have done nothing but glower when they meet like a couple of fighting tomcats. You can’t take any notice of glowers. But to return to our muttons, do, some of you, take time off and go and see Erica.”

“I will,” Margot said unexpectedly. They looked at her for so far in her career Margot Maynard had shown little sign of troubling about other people. She lifted her chin, but she said, “After all, she’s part of the adoptee family. Mum would expect us to keep half an eye on her, anyway. O.K., Len. I’ll hop along tomorrow. How do we get there, by the way? Three miles is three miles when it comes to walking it.”

“ ‘Are three miles’,” Heather murmured; but no one took any notice and, being good-natured Margot said, “I can’t manage anything before Saturday, but I’ll give the kid a pop visit then if no one puts a stopper on it.”

Len nodded at her. “Good enough. By that time she ought to be well enough for us to let loose the throng on her and I’ll see who of her own lot will go.”

They left it at that, Francie Wilford and Carmela Walther coming at that moment to demand another pair for practice on the tennis court they had succeeded in bagging. Len and Margot went off and Con departed to fulfil a promise to help weed the sunk rock-garden which was the special care and pride of the two Sixths. The others produced books and read peacefully.

Meanwhile, Victoria was not having too happy a time with certain members of her own form. Nita’s outcry at the time of the accident had told the entire thirty who made up the form just what she had said about Erica and as soon as it was known that the younger girl had broken a bone as well as wrenching her ankle badly more than one member of the form fell on Victoria for her unkindness.

“Rotten of you!” Freda Kendal had said coldly. “I’ll bet you wouldn’t take a doing like that without a yowl or two.”

“And why are you so unkind to Erica?” Agneta added. “She has done no harm to you—none in the world. It is wrong, Victoria, to behave so to anyone.” Astrid put the finishing touch by echoing Agneta’s remark.

Victoria glared round at them. “You needn’t talk about being unkind,” she said hotly. “And as for Erica Standish, it’s my affair whether I like her or not. Mind your own business—all of you!”

Well! The recognised leaders of Upper IVb returned glare for glare before linking arms as if by common consent and marching off with noses in the air. They left behind them a girl who was not only unhappy but bewildered. Victoria was unable to understand herself. Why she should hate Erica as she did was beyond her. And why the others should take sides against her so whole-heartedly was another puzzle. And then when Monday came it brought the news that there was no need for further visitors to the sanatorium. The doctors had decided that Erica’s nerves were steady enough now for it to be better for her to be with her own kind when she was not taking the hours of rest that were still to be enforced. Dr Maynard fetched her back to school in his car and she was tucked up in bed in a hitherto unused small room with french windows opening on to the front lawn. It was a sunny room and had been made attractive with curtains and rugs of leaf green, a matching rug by the bed and another before the window. A wicker lounge-chair stood there piled with a rainbow of cushions and a small bookcase held a thrilling selection of books.

Joey Maynard was there, too, and curled up on the rug by the window was a small dark-eyed toddler at sight of whom Erica gave a cry of delight. “Marie-Claire!” She glanced quickly at Joey. “Oh, Auntie Jo how stupendous of you? Am I to keep her for the present? Come to Erica, my precious! Oh, haven’t you grown? And what pink cheeks!”

Joey laughed as she carried the baby over and seated her beside Erica. “I’m afraid you can’t keep her, lamb. Babies are not the best things to have in a school. But she will come and visit you every day until you’re able to come and visit her. Say Hello to Erica, Claire-baba!”

“Ha-yo!” Claire said solemnly. Then she put up her little round face for a kiss before remarking sweetly, “Me yikes oo, Elica.”

Erica hugged her. “You precious pet! Oh, Auntie Jo, how nicely she’s beginning to speak English!”

“Seeing that she hears it all round her most of the day she’d have to be completely dim if she didn’t pick it up,” Joey said in matter-of-fact tones. “It’s the same thing as you picking up German and French here at school. At the same time, I’m inclined to think that she’s pretty quick and probably musical. Well, here comes Nurse to give you Mittagessen and it’s time this young woman had hers. Goodby, my Eric! Expect us when you see us!” And she went off, the baby cuddled to her, leaving a girl who was just beginning to realize that something smelt most savoury. For the first time since her accident, Erica really did want her food.

One of the first things Erica had wanted to know when she was able to think of anything except her food had been, “Has anything been decided about our Jubilee celebration? What’s been chosen?”

Astrid had informed her jubilantly, “Yes; we’re having the swimming-bath. Isn’t it fabulous?”

“Stupendous!” Erica was keen on all water-sports. “Is it just swimming baths or will there be a—a kind of lake so that we can practise rowing?”

Len Maynard, who had escorted Astrid to the sanatorium grinned. “You don’t want much, do you? Where do you imagine we could put a lake up here? You be satisfied with going down to Lake Thun three times a week.”

“I suppose we’ve got to be,” Astrid sighed. “It would have been awfully decent if we could have had our own lake up here, though.”

“I dare say! When the school was at Howells village we had neither swimming or boating let me tell you,” Len said severely, though her eyes were laughing. “It just wasn’t possible.”

“Why ever not?” It came as a duet from a wide-eyed pair.

“No water near enough for that. It wasn’t as if Plas Howell belonged to us, either. We only rented it and we couldn’t go digging swimming-baths all over the place, let alone a boating pool. We never had any water sports until the school went to St Briavel’s.^[6] We did then, though!” Len chuckled as she recalled the arrival of the first boats the school had owned since its departure from Austria. “Oh did we not! And wound up the term with a most hair-raising business. You people never knew Annis Lovell and you’re not very likely to meet her now. She’s married and farming with her husband in Australia. They have a big sheep run in New South Wales. But it was a miracle she’s alive for it to have happened.”

More than that, she refused to say, telling them to look up a certain book of “Legends” which was in the non-fiction library if they wanted the details. The following Monday, ten days after her accident, Erica returned to school. Her nerves had steadied and the foot was well and safely bound up in plaster. The doctors all considered that school was the best place for her, though she would be watched to make sure that she did not overdo either mind or foot. Games would be off for the rest of the term and so would long walks and rambles.

“It’s the utter end!” she groused to a select audience consisting of Freda, Gretchen, Agneta, Clare and Nita. “Here it’s the summer term and we’re in the first week of June with tennis and cricket—and I’ve been dying to go on with cricket—and everything on the go and I’m stuck at watching! Watching! Just as if I were an old woman of fifty-odd!”

Freda eyed her thoughtfully. “It’s bad luck but after all you might have been tied down to a bath-chair and you can get about under your own steam. Have you ever thought of that?”

“Or,” struck in a fresh voice behind them, “you might have been like poor Angèle Toussaint who was in the next bed to you at the San. It’ll be more like August than July before she’s rid of that ghastly contraption they’ve rigged up over her. How would you have liked that?”

The little girls swung round to find themselves facing Miss Ferrars who had come up without their noticing her. They all went pink, but Erica held up her head as she said sturdily, “I know it might be a lot worse, but honestly, Miss Ferrars, don’t you think it’s bad luck on me?”

A humorous smile quirked the mistress’s lips as she answered promptly, “Very bad luck! However, no amount of growling about it will hurry on your recovery, so why waste your time? Instead, suppose you people begin to think of new books for the library. Each form may give in three titles of fiction and three of non-fiction. Form prefect, aren’t you, Agneta? Then I’d start discussing it with the rest if I were you. You’ll need plenty of time to consider all suggestions and vote on them as a form if I know anything about it.”

She gave them a quick smile and they grinned back at her. Then Gretchen thought of something. “Why are we to give in new lists now, please?”

Miss Ferrars laughed. “I wondered if anyone would think of that. We’ve had a donation towards the library and unless any form wants something outrageous in the way of cost, it’s going to run to two books of each form’s choice from the Middles and Seniors. The Juniors had the benefit of the last donation, so it’s your turn now. Talk it over among you.” She nodded to them and turned to leave them. A sudden recollection struck her and she swung back.

“By the way, I hear that there are a couple of new swarms of bees already hived up here. If you see a small army of bees making for a tree or something like that, leave them alone. They won’t hurt you so long as you don’t hurt them.”

“What sort of tree will they make for?” Erica asked eagerly.

“I don’t think they’re very particular. Of course they prefer a blossoming tree. Scent to them means nectar for honey—so don’t,” she added with a laugh, “adorn yourselves with roses or lilies or sweet-peas from the garden or you might find the bees swarming on you!” She did go then, leaving them all agog what with the news of new library books and the idea that they might go into form adorned with buttonholes.

“Wouldn’t Miss Smith have something to say!” giggled Clare. “You know what a fuss there was last term when someone sent Sara Carlyon a bottle of eau-de-Cologne and she put the tiniest drop on her hanky.”

“When do you think we must hand in our choice for the library?” Gretchen asked as they began to make their way back to school at the slow pace Erica’s mishap demanded from them.

“I don’t know,” Agneta replied, “but we had better make it as soon as possible. If we are not ready when Francie or Eva asks for it, they may say we must miss.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t like that!” Gretchen protested. “I have already made my choice of a non-fiction book.”

“What is it?” It came as a chorus.

“Tiere der Heimat by Schropfer. It is all about animals and how they live—wild animals, I mean.”

“Sound pretty good,” Nita said critically.

“I’m suggesting Bow Bells by Cynthia Harnett,” Freda said.

“A yarn about Dick Whittington?” Clare queried. “The real one or the fairy one? I don’t think we want fairy stories at our age, do we?”

“It’s the real Dick,” Freda retorted. “My sister told me about it when she gave me The Great House by the same author, all about a boy and girl who lived in the time of Sir Christopher Wren. She said her books were stupe—and they are. You’d all love it, I know. I’ll bring it back next term.”

“But I’ve read it,” Erica said in the French that was daily becoming more fluent now. “Auntie Joey has it and when I was staying there I read it. I’d love to read more of hers.” She went on eagerly, “But I’ll tell you a French book I’d like us to have and that’s Le Cheval sans Tête. I read an English translation of it called A hundred Million Francs and I thought then I’d like to read it in French now that I’m able to understand it so much better—French, I mean.”

Jaquetta nodded. “But yes; I should like it also. I have read it and I have also seen the film made from it. It is by Paul Berna who has written so many books for children and all of them delightful.” She suddenly giggled.

“Why the chuckles?” Freda asked curiously.

“It is just that when the robbers chase the children and try to steal the horse, one of the girls whistles a strange whistle and all the dogs around come running and chase them. Oh it is so funny!” And Jaquetta doubled up as she remembered the scene.

By this time the rest had joined them and, at Astrid’s suggestion, they gave up the idea of going to their form room and made for their favourite stamping ground, a shady lime-tree. One or two chairs stood there and were instantly dedicated to Erica first and then whoever succeeded in “bagging” a seat. They explained Miss Ferrars’ message and were presently chattering like starlings as to choice when Rita Quick the featherheaded, who had been sent for by Miss Dene just before they had made for the garden to receive a belated birthday gift, came flying across the lawn to them, the opened box in her hand.

“Look!” she cried. “Just look what Auntie Vinnie has sent me for my birthday! Isn’t it fabulous?” And she produced a scent-spray and held it up for them to see.

They crowded round, exclaiming and admiring. Clare asked what the scent was.

“It’s called ‘Une nuit douce’,” Rita replied. “That means ‘A sweet night’, but Deney says it’s just sweet-pea. It’s very sweet, anyhow.”

“How do you get at it?” Freda demanded. “Just press the bulb?”

Rita nodded. “Yes. Deney let me spray a tiny speck on her handkerchief and it’s simply miraculous!”

“Oh, let me try!” Jaquette cried, snatching at the pretty toy. Fearful lest it should be broken, Rita as swiftly drew it away. Just how it happened no one could ever say, but between the pair of them the bulb was squeezed and a generous mist of fragrance was loosed, falling on the full skirt of Erica’s frock, filling the air with the aromatic perfume which was never meant to be used in such a wholesale manner. A chorus of exclamations arose.

“Oh my goodness!” Erica gasped. “What do I do now? I niff to high heaven!”

“What an ass you are, Rita!” Freda added her quota while Astrid and Clare hurriedly produced their handkerchiefs and tried to wipe off the worst of it.

“It wasn’t my fault!” Rita exploded. “If Jaquetta——”

“But me, I only wished to look at it!” Jaquetta protested.

It was left to Astrid to make the most sensible suggestion. “Erica must certainly keep away from people until she smells less awful. Walk about, Erica—Oh! But you must not walk too much! Then we must shake your dress to get rid of the odour. Stand still and we will do it.”

Before they could do anything about it, there came another sound—a deep, sonorous sound and before anyone could speak or move a swarm of bees came zooming across the lawn and made straight for Erica. The girls fled in all directions at the onslaught. Erica herself, unable to move except very slowly, could do nothing but cling to the back of the chair from which she had got up when she was sprayed. She was very white, for she was afraid of insects, but she had enough sense to know that she must keep quiet and not annoy the bees.

The swarm made for the full, swinging skirt of her frock and clung there with a contented humming—the sound of swarming bees attracted by fresh perfume.

The girls were stunned. Most of them remained where they were, clutching at each other, gazing at Erica with distended eyes and dropped jaws. Long-legged Freda recovered first from the shock and made a wild dive to seek someone in authority. It was left to Victoria to pull herself together and dash to the rescue. Her father was an enthusiastic amateur bee-keeper and she had watched him take a swarm often enough to know something about it. While the rest were convinced that Erica was on the verge of being stung to death, she forgot all her silly enmity towards the new girl and moved to her quietly, saying in an undertone, “Keep quite still, Erica. They won’t hurt you while they’re swarming. Look, I’ll hold you and that’ll help to steady you.”

She went up to Erica, not without some qualms. It was one thing to watch her father at work, but quite another to put herself deliberately into danger. But Erica was growing whiter under the strain and Victoria knew that if the bees were angered during their swarming, the younger girl might be very badly stung indeed.

Erica gave her unexpected ally a pathetically frightened smile. “I’ll—I’ll stick it—if I can!” she gasped. “It—it’s awfully brave of you to stand by, Vicky.”

Victoria tightened her clasp of the slim shoulders round which she had put an arm. “O.K. I’ve seen Dad take swarms so I know,” she said. “Keep still and don’t talk!”

Just what would have happened there is no knowing. Luckily for everyone, expert help was at hand. Herr Antonelli, to whom the bees belonged, had followed their flight as fast as he could. Now he came forward, followed by a son who was carrying the swarming-skep. Just as the horrified Miss Ferrars to whom a breathless Freda had gasped out, “Bees—swarming on Erica’s frock! Come!” arrived on the scene, waving a chiffon scarf she had snatched up as she raced after the girl to do what she could, reached the lawn, she saw the pair go forward and then she came near enough to hear the sturdy little black-eyed farmer say to Erica, “Keep still, mein Mädchen. All is well! Ah!” As his quick eyes spotted the queen running over the backs of her subjects to take her place and they clustered closer and closer round her until they looked like a great bunch of black grapes depending from the belt of the frock and over the brief skirt. Herr Antonelli addressed a short sentence to his son who held the skep ready. There was a tense few minutes. Then the farmer caught the dress and with a quick, dexterous movement, shook the swarm into the skep upturned ready to receive it. Another minute or so and it was safely sealed and the lad was bearing it off to place it with the other hives where a new one was waiting in readiness for the new swarm.

Herr Antonelli waited until the boy had gone. Then he bowed to the two girls who were still standing rigid. “It was very well done,” he said, “Very well done, indeed.” He turned to Miss Ferrars who had come to help Victoria with Erica who looked like fainting now the worst was over. “Meine gnädige Dame, I shall hope I may send a little honey for the young ladies who were so brave. But,” he added, turning to Erica who, between feeling decidedly giddy and his strong accent, understood perhaps one word in ten of all he said, “It is said that those on whom the bees swarm are lucky for ever after. I hope it may be so with you, mein Blümchen!”

“Thank you!” Erica faltered while Miss Ferrars put her arms round her.

She had no idea if she was saying the right thing or not, but evidently it was all right, for he beamed on them before taking his leave. He was just in time. If Miss Ferrars had not been there, Erica would certainly have fallen, for Victoria could never have held her up. As it was, the mistress set the half-fainting girl down on the nearest chair and pushed her head down to her knees, holding her doubled up of the next minute or two.

“Stay still!” she said firmly. “You’re only a little faint and this will soon set that right. Victoria, are you all right?”

“I—I think so!” Victoria gasped. Then she found she was being seated by Astrid, who pulled her down into the other chair, saying, “Squattez-vous, Vic. I expect you felt a bit shaky after that.”

No one at the Chalet School ever encouraged any girl to feel sorry for herself. Satisfied that Erica would not faint, Miss Ferrars turned to the rest and demanded an explanation as to why the bees should have elected to swarm on Erica’s dress. Between them, they managed to give her some idea of what had happened without blaming Rita and Jaquetta too much. Miss Ferrars listened and her face grew grimmer and grimmer. After three years of teaching she was well able to fill in any gaps for herself. She catechized the party until she got all the details. Then she pronounced sentence.

“Did Miss Dene say you might bring that thing out here, Rita?” she asked.

“Er—n-no.” Rita stammered.

“What did she tell you to do with it?”

“She said to take it up to Matron and ask her if I might put it in my bureau,” Rita confessed.

“I see. Well, you may give it to me. When the end of term comes you may ask me for it and take it home. And please don’t bring it back for another three years. You will be sixteen by that time and may, I hope be safely trusted with such a thing. Jaquetta, I don’t expect to hear of a girl of your age behaving in such a babyish way. I wonder if you two realise that if it had not been for Victoria’s courage and Erica’s own steadiness we might have had a very unpleasant episode? And don’t think,” she added, “that this is the last you have heard of it. Such a thing must, of course, be reported to the Head and she will certainly want to speak to you on her own account. You may go away now.”

They went, nearly in tears. Jaquetta had been in trouble more than once for similar behaviour. As for Rita, to do her justice she minded much more what Miss Ferrars had said to her than even the loss for the rest of the term of her newest treasure. The other girls were equally impressed. They could see that “Ferry” regarded the whole affair quite seriously. Astrid summoned up her courage and inquired why the bees had gone so instantly for Erica.

“Because of the strong perfume on her frock,” the mistress replied. “And that reminds me, Erica, we must see Matron about a clean frock for you. I hope we get no more swarms coming this way, but we won’t risk it. Apart from that, I should imagine you’ll be thankful to be done with this strong perfume. Do you feel able to walk a little now? You do? Good! Victoria, you had better get a book and keep quiet for the next half-hour or so. I’m very pleased with you and so will Miss Annersley be when she hears how plucky and self-forgetful you were during Erica’s danger. The rest of you go and find something to do.”

She led Erica away then, to get a fresh frock before she went to join Victoria under the lime-tree while the rest went off to tennis practice. But by the time the bell rang for Abendessen, everyone in the school knew the story and Victoria wished something would come up that would take the school’s attention off herself. It did come up. Miss Annersley, as usual noting everything, decided to make an announcement which she had meant to leave until later in the week to give the girls something to take their minds off Erica, Victoria and the bees. Accordingly, just as the meal ended, she rang her bell and when there was silence in the room and everyone was gazing at her, she stood up.

“I have some news for you, girls,” she said, her deep, beautiful voice reaching easily to the farthest end of the room. “As you know, we finally decided on the swimming bath for our Jubilee’s celebration. That meant giving up the idea of housing our library and museum in their own building. However, some of the Old Girls were so greatly taken with the idea that they have decided to present such a building during the summer holidays and the first spadeful of earth to be dug in readiness is to be dug at a private ceremony of our own on the last full day of term.”

She paused there, surveying the excited school with dancing eyes. Then Len Maynard stood up. “Please—who is to do the digging?” she asked.

The school waited breathlessly, but broke into loud cheers as the Head replied, “A girl known to most of you still here—a girl who has set an indelible mark of her own on the school—Mary-Lou Trelawney!”

“Thank goodness, I’m back in form again! You can’t think, any of you, how bored I have been in the sanatorium. I will say for Nurse that she brought me some very interesting books from the library, but even so, I thought it was never going to end!” Thus Erica in the best French she could muster. She had come limping into the form room just before register on the Thursday morning after the bees episode. Matron had whisked her off to the school sick bay as soon as the swarm had been safely hived and removed to permanent quarters. This was the first time any of her own clan had seen her since, the Powers insisting that she must have a couple of days of complete quiet. However, here she was and, apart from her limp, looking as well as she had ever done. Her fair hair under its Alice band gleamed golden and her face was round and pink. She grinned at the crowd as she looked round and at least half the girls jumped up to welcome her back to their midst.

“Hello, Erica! Why did they put you in San?” Sara Carlyon asked. “You look quite as fit as usual to me.”

“So I am. But Matron had some idea that those bees must have upset me and they said I must have two days of complete quiet,” Erica said disgustedly.

“But truly, Erica, such a happening was enough to upset anyone,” Agneta said seriously. “For me, I should have fainted, I know. How you kept so still, so rigid, just like a statue, I do not comprehend. You are indeed brave.”

“Rot!” said Erica, abandoning her French in her embarrassment. “Nothing brave about it. I knew I must keep still or be very badly stung. The really brave one was Vicky. She didn’t have to stand by me, but she just did. I call that a really brave thing to do, for I bet she knew she might get hurt.”

In her earnestness, she forgot that the form room door was wide open. Ted Grantley, hurrying past on her lawful occasions, overheard the English, stopped short and turned back into the formroom to demand, “Who is that forgetting which day it is?” in her prefectorial manner.

“C’était moi, s’il vous plaît,” Erica said hurriedly resuming French.

The corners of Ted’s lips relaxed, though if it had been anyone else she would have administered a pretty sharp rebuke. However, though no one had said anything to them, the grandees of the school had mutually agreed that for the next week or so they must run Erica Standish lightly. As Len Maynard pointed out, she had had a fairly agitating time since she had left Kashmir. What with the voyage to England, the train accident in France on the way to the Görnetz Platz and damaging her foot as well as all the fuss with the bees, it was enough to throw any kid of her age off her balance.

The grandees of the Chalet School fully agreed with this statement. As a result, while the form waited to hear Ted, who had a scathing tongue of her own on occasion, fall on the new girl with vim and point, all that happened was that Erica was warned to be more careful if she didn’t want to be fined.

“Oui, vraiment,” Erica murmured. Ted grinned at them and continued on her way. As for Upper IVb, having some regard for the time, they went to their seats and when Miss Smith arrived to take register, she found them all sitting very properly in their places and looking, on the whole, as if butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths. She smiled at them and then turned to Erica.

“Glad to see you back in form again,” she said. “You must take care, though, and not damage yourself again. Can’t afford to miss so much school at your time of life. And I hope,” she added with a twinkling smile at Rita, “that no one will give you another scent-bath.”

Rita went red and squirmed visibly. She felt she had heard enough about her scent-spray for a while. Jaquetta, too was crimson. However, Miss Smith was merciful and turned to the form register.

“Register, please. Sit, everyone,” she said; and the form sat down. Going through the register was mostly a mere matter of form. If any girl were likely to be absent it was either because of illness or because a relative or friend was coming to take her out. In any case her house matron always knew and handed on the information to her form mistress. On this occasion, however, Gretchen von Ahlen’s name was called three times vainly.

“Gretchen?” Miss Smith repeated. Then, as there was no response, she asked Agneta as form prefect, “Mais où est Gretchen, s’il vous plaît?”

“Je ne sais pas,” Agneta replied after gazing round the room.

“Mais on l’a vu au petit déjeuner.”

“Oui,” Agneta agreed stolidly. She had, indeed seen Gretchen at breakfast. What had become of her since then was a puzzle. Besides, as Astrid pointed out in her best French, Gretchen had been with them during the early morning walk.

It was left to Heather Clayton to solve the puzzle. Just as Miss Smith, giving it up for the time being, was about to continue with the register, the Games prefect appeared with a note which she handed to the mistress.

“From Miss Annersley,” she said.

“Thank you, Heather,” Miss Smith replied. “One moment! There may be an answer.”

She opened the note and glanced over it. The next moment she was nodding to Heather. “Thank you, Heather. Will you tell Miss Annersley that I’ll see to it at once—or immediately after Prayers,” she added as the bell rang.

“Yes, Miss Smith,” Heather went off with the message, turning at the door to grin at the mystified form which, however, had little chance of expressing its mystification. Miss Smith commanded them to line up and marched them off to Prayers.

Prayers ended, they went back to their form room where they had to open their books in readiness for a maths lesson with Miss Ferrars. The second maths mistress was a great favourite with the school at large. She possessed the gift of being able to keep the reins exactly right, holding them neither too tight nor too loose. She was kindly and sympathetic, but quite capable of holding her own with the naughtiest form. In addition, she was an attractive-looking person, small and trim with brown hair and eyes and a brown skin that was, never-the-less, full of colour. Miss Smith was inclined to keep her form very much in order. They respected her, for she stood no nonsense, but not one of them felt the friendliness towards her that they almost automatically gave Miss Ferrars.

When she had sat down at her table and was disposing her books in order, Agneta stood up. “Please, Miss Ferrars,” she began in her best French, “Is anything wrong with Gretchen? And may we know what it is?”

“Ferry”, as they called her, looked startled. Then she laughed. “My poor girls, has no one told you? Gretchen has met with a most unfortunate accident. She will be here shortly—as soon as Matron has finished with her.”

“But another accident!” Agneta protested.

“It is almost as if an evil spirit was ill-wishing the form,” Jaquetta said in awe-struck tones. “First Erica and now Gretchen!”

“Please—what has happened to Gretchen?” Freda asked with lively interest.

Miss Ferrars looked at them with dancing eyes. “About as silly a thing as you could imagine. Gaudenz proposes to yellow-wash the outside form rooms and had prepared a tub full of yellow-wash. Gretchen was taking a message from the Head to Miss Yolland. She had been told to hurry so as not to be late for register. As a result, she did not look where she was going and she fell over the tub and went head-first into it.”

“Her hair and all?” Rita asked in startled tones.

“Naturally, her hair. Unfortunately, in her efforts to get out, she splashed herself vigorously from head to foot and a more pathetic object I never saw. However, Matron Henschell is coping and I expect Gretchen will be here shortly. Now suppose we turn our attention to our arithmetic. Attention to the board, please. I am going to teach you the beginnings of square root.”

They knew better than to continue chattering. Everyone sat up and all eyes were fixed on the blackboard while the mistress introduced them to the new rule. All the same, even when she had finished her explanation and set them all to work on a simple square root so that she might judge whether or not they had taken in what she had taught them, more than one kept listening for Gretchen’s footsteps in the corridor. When the end of the lessons came and she still had not arrived, they were all agog to know what could have happened. To their minds, all Gretchen would need would be a bath, a shampoo and a change of clothes. The accident had occurred before Prayers and here was almost an hour gone and she still had not turned up.

They would have been even more excited if they could have overheard the brief conversation which passed between Miss Ferrars and the Head who came to them for religious knowledge for the second lesson.

“How is it going? Have they got her cleaned up?”

“Not yet. Gaudenz says there is a form of size in the colour to ensure it’s wearing well. Believe me, my dear,” the Head’s eyes were alight with laughter, “I should say it does just that. They’ve got most of it off her skin, but Barbara Henschell has shampooed her hair twice and it isn’t anything like clear.”

“Her form were dying to know where she was. No one had told them, poor lambs, and they couldn’t imagine what had happened.” Kathy Ferrars paused. “Why didn’t Deborah Smith tell them?”

“She didn’t know herself until just before Prayers when I sent Heather with a note and asked her to run up and give Gretchen a cheering word. The poor girl is dreadfully upset. I thought a little interest on the part of her form mistress might soothe and encourage her. I also imagined she would inform the others, however briefly. I gather you have done so. You shall tell me of their reactions at Break.” She nodded to the young mistress and went off with a quiet laugh.

She found Upper IVb in a turmoil. French day or not this was something that must be discussed in their own varied languages. There was a fair amount of French, but mingled with it were English, German, Italian and Swedish. The Head paused at the open door for a moment, then she walked in, causing consternation among those nearest the door, who “shushed” vigorously in an effort to bring the form to order. One or two heard and heeded. The majority did not. Miss Annersley made her way to the mistress’s table and having laid her books on it, clapped her hands loudly.

Silence fell as the girls realised that the Head was there. Astrid, who had been squatting on the lid of her desk, slid down into her seat with celerity and Meg Lyall tried to follow her example. Unfortunately, a loose splinter of wood had caught in the hem of Meg’s frock. She did slide down, but her skirt remained caught and, as she turned in coming down, was badly twisted. Horrified, she tried to tug herself free and a rending sound was heard as the gingham tore right up. Victoria, sitting next, tried to free her, but only made bad worse by tugging sideways so that what had been a straight rip became a triangular tear. Meg was freed, it is true, but both she and Victoria eyed the damage to her frock in speechless horror. What ever would Matey have to say?

Miss Annersley smothered a smile as she jumped up and came to examine the mishap for herself. “Stand still, Meg! If you wriggle like that you will ruin the frock. Now let me see. Ah! Here’s what has caused the mischief. Just a moment, dear—there!” as she released the skirt and Meg was able to stand free, if in rags. “Yes; well, I think you must go to Matron and ask if you may put on a fresh dress. Wait!” as Meg, with a very rueful glance at Victoria, prepared to leave the room. “I’ll give you a note. Come straight back as soon as you have changed. I shall time you from—now!” She glanced at her watch as Meg, holding up her rags with one hand and the note in the other, made for the door.

By the time Meg had vanished, the form was all seated looking as much like a set of seraphim as it could manage. Miss Annersley, like her assistant mistress, knew exactly when to tighten the reins. On this occasion, she ignored the scene which had caused Meg’s mishap, and set the girls to writing out the verses from St Mark’s Gospel which had been their homework. By the time this was done and the sheets of paper containing the memory work had been handed in the form was in its right mind and she was able to go on with the lesson she had prepared to take with them. Even Meg’s return, clad in a clean frock and with a very subdued look about her left them unmoved. Meg slid into her seat thankfully and the lesson ended at Break as if nothing out of the way had happened.

But it seemed that once Fate had began to stir up Upper IVb, she intended to continue. The lesson after Break was geography which they took in the geography room; this, like the art rooms, laboratories and domestic science kitchens, was part of an annexe which could be reached in winter by a wooden corridor. In fine weather, however, the girls ran across a wide courtyard to it. The Seniors usually strolled across, mindful of their dignity, but the Middles always ran and, though running in the corridors and passages once they were inside was more or less forbidden, it was a rule that was broken on occasion. This time, Emilie Laurent, a French girl, and her cousin, Thérèse Parrais, elected to break it. They had loitered behind the others until they had realized with a shock that everyone else had vanished. Then they took to their heels and ran. In their hurry they never looked where they were going. Emilie, who always ran head down rather, as Len Maynard had once commented, as if she were a goat, tore past the laboratories, she reached the door of the kitchens just as Frau Mieders, the domestic science mistress, came out, carefully carrying a bucket full almost to the brim with buttermilk, and cannoned into her, butting her firmly at the waist. Frau Mieders gave a loud gasp and sat down violently and suddenly, the bucket dropping beside her and then rolling down the corridor, leaving a thick trail of buttermilk behind it. Emilie went sprawling on top of the mistress, and Thérèse uttered a loud shriek which brought several people on the scene in short order—including the members of VIb who were supposed to be having a lesson in invalid cookery. By this time, Frau Mieders had rid herself of the stunned Emilie, though she was still sitting on the floor, crowing like a cock—Emilie had a hard head and she had butted with all her force—and Emilie herself was scrambling to her feet. The front of her frock was dripping with buttermilk and her hands were filthy with her scrabbling about the floor.

The first on the scene was Miss Moore, the senior geography mistress, who had been instructing Inter V in the uses of isotherms. She promptly took charge. While Primrose Trevoase and Eloïse Dafflon, shining lights of VIb, helped Frau Mieders to her feet, Miss Moore sent the almost weeping Emilie off to her own House with instructions to find Matron Bellenger, her House Matron, and ask her for a fresh frock. Then she ordered the exclaiming girls back to their own room; sent Tina Harms and Ruey Richardson for mops and mop-buckets, with instructions to clean up the corridor; commanded Thérèse to go into the geography room and wait by the desk; and finally administered a cup of coffee to her injured colleague who was slowly ceasing to whoop and crow, though her eyes were wet with involuntary tears.

Mercifully, thereafter Fate held her hand, evidently thinking she had paid Upper IVb enough attention for one day. The remainder of the morning’s work was got through without any more untoward events. Emilie returned to the form spotlessly clean but dismally aware that she must do her level best to keep her fresh gingham in decent order. Clean frocks were never permitted oftener than twice in the week and this was Emilie’s third that week. Looking down at its immaculate neatness, Emilie sighed inwardly as she thought of what would happen if it were too untidy by Monday morning. Luckily on Saturday she was going out for the day with the newly-married sister who was interrupting her honeymoon long enough to pay this visit to the family baby. You did not go out for the day in your school uniform, as Emilie remembered with thankfulness. She would wear her Sunday blue nylon to go with Hélène and Georges to visit the cousin staying at Montreux. Even so, she knew she would be terrified of upsetting anything over this clean frock. In fact, when Emilie changed into tennis kit after preparation that evening, she heaved such a sigh of relief on seeing that apart from looking a little crushed the frock was its pristine self, that nearly blew away the people on either side of her.

“Why do you sigh so, Emilie?” queried Jaquetta.

“It is such a relief to know that my gingham is still clean and will be fit to wear on Monday,” Emilie explained “But has this not been a bad day for us? Gretchen falls into yellow wash and Matron had to give her a clean dress. Meg has torn hers—oh, ma pauvre Meg! How grieved I am for thee with such a large tear to mend!—and I upset buttermilk over mine.”

Jaquetta giggled. “Matron will think we have done it on purpose. Three clean dresses in one day! Pfui!”

“And the Head says I need not mend my dress; for it is so badly torn it needs a fresh breadth in the skirt. Oh, I must pay for it, but I don’t mind that so much as having to sit for hours and hours darning a whacking big rip like that,” Meg declared. “It’s only 10 centimes off my pocket-money for the next four weeks so it might be worse.”

They agreed with her but Miss Smith considering her form’s record for that one day read them such a lecture on being careful for the future that they were quite subdued for at least an hour. Then it slid off their minds. Such accidents were very much in the day’s work for most of them though it must be owned never before had there been quite such a run of minor catastrophes.

“Rosalie? That you? Joey here. Is Hilda anywhere around—I mean is she available?”

Rosalie Dene gave a low chuckle. “You never know how lucky you can be! She very nearly went off to Berne for the day to attend to some business but decided that it could wait till next week. Then, having, as she thought, left herself with a clear run until Saturday, what happens? Professor Fry announces that he will be here tomorrow as he wants to discuss various ideas with her. I suppose the next thing will be that Ricki is leaving at the end of this term after all. If we lose Ricki, we also lose Sue Mason. That’s an understood thing.”

“I hope it isn’t that,” Joey said seriously. “Ricki may be old enough to make a start on her career, though I have my own opinion of that; but Sue is little more than a baby, lanky object though she is. Anyhow, she’s not much more than seventeen and from all I’ve heard she won’t be welcomed at her hospital until she is eighteen and a half. Surely the Masons don’t want to have her hanging about at home for the next year or more?”

“I have no idea. Hilda will be able to tell us after tomorrow, I expect.”

“Well, if it’s that, I hope she’ll dig her toes in and persuade him to change his ideas. Professor Fry is a very clever man and knows more than most about Chinese ceramics, but where Ricki is concerned he has next to no commonsense. Remember what happened her first term with us?”^[7]

“Do I not! And the mood in which she came! Enough of that. Do you want me to send round for Hilda? Or can I do anything?”

“Well, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble I’d like Hilda.” Joey cooed. “Not that I’m disparaging your abilities. Don’t think that for a moment. But this is where I need advice from her.”

“Hang on, then, and I’ll see if I can locate her.” Rosalie laid down the receiver and turned to study the enormous timetable hanging at one side of her desk. This was a free period for the Head which would mean that she might be anywhere. Miss Dene sighed, called Joey to tell her to stand by for a ring as soon as possible, and then set to work on the inter-houses telephone.

Joey hung up and went into the salon where Phil and Geoff, the nearly-four-year-olds who were still the tail of her long family of eleven, were busy with big sheets of paper and crayons, producing houses and boats, trains and people and animals never seen outside a science fiction comic! In the playpen on the terrace on to which the french windows opened, Baby Claire was sitting, thoughtfully picking a yellow plastic ball from one bowl and dropping it into another. Joey picked her up and kissed the silky black hair rapturously before sitting down the baby still in her arms.

“I suppose that for your sake we should all be rejoicing,” she told the small creature who gurgled in response. “We shan’t, you know. Far otherwise, in fact. I don’t want to lose you just when I’m well into the swing of a real baby again; and what Erica will have to say isn’t a guess at all. We all know!”

Claire gurgled again, put up a fat hand and clutched at one of the big flat whorls of plaits over Joey’s ears. Jo was just in time to prevent its being pulled loose. With an exclamation, “Oh, no, you don’t!” she removed the small fingers firmly, dumped the joyously chuckling baby into the playpen and proceeded to set her hair to rights.

Her own twins giggled. “Claire nearly did it vat time,” Philippa said.

“Every last one of you has tried it on at her age,” her mother said severely as she rammed the last hairpin home, “from Len and Co—Margot was a demon at it!—down to your noble selves. Claire’s in good company, my precious.”

“I never didn’t,” Geoff remarked.

“Did you not! You were the worst of the batch,” his mother said. “And there goes the telephone so Auntie Hilda wants me—I hope. Keep an eye on Claire for me, please. I won’t be long.”

She left the room and went to the study where she announced into the receiver, “Is that you, Hilda? This is me!”

“So I hear. When I think of the hours I spent teaching you decent English I’m tempted to wonder if I ought to have gone in for teaching at all.” The Head’s beautiful voice came back to her. “What do you want so urgently, Joey? Nothing wrong, I hope? Babies all right? No bad news from Australia?”

“No news from Australia and the family are fit as the Irishman’s flea.”

“Joey! Where on earth do you pick up your awful expressions? Please tell me what you want at this hour of the day and be quick about it. I’m in the middle of a lesson. I simply haven’t time to chat just now.”

“Sorry! Look, Hilda, I think I’d better come across and tell you later when Rösli takes the small folk out for their walk. I’ll just say briefly that we seem to have got on to Claire’s folk. That’s all. I’ll tell you the rest when we meet. Be seeing you!” Joey hung up on her last word, leaving Miss Annersley without a chance to comment. That lady laughed and hung up. She knew her Jo and she knew that nothing would prevail on that young woman to divulge her news except in her own good time. Very wisely she had let it go and returned to her lesson.

“All the same, I could shake Joey,” she said aloud as she went along the corridor in the direction of Upper V. “To hang up on me at that point and leave me wondering just what they have found out is the outside of enough!”

Meanwhile Joey, satisfied that she had roused her friend’s curiosity to its fullest pitch, returned to the salon and called the twins for the brief hour of lessons they always had at this time. Normally she had a Mamsell or Mother’s help but the last one had not been satisfactory and she had decided that as the twins were no longer mere babies she could manage without. She had not reckoned on the arrival of little Claire. Luckily, Claire proved to be a sunshiny little person, very contented and undemanding. She amused herself while her adopted guardian was busy with Geoff and Phil, or else curled up and went to sleep.

Like the redoubtable Mrs Wesley, Joey had taught all her children their letters early in life and, like that remarkable matron, she would have thought any of them very stupid who did not know the whole twenty-six by the end of two days. Phil and Geoff had proved quick learners and already were beginning to read off whole sentences in the big book with its gay pictures which had served Joey herself in her early childhood. Ten minutes each was followed by some fascinating adding and subtracting games with tiny sweets to help out. This ended, they spent a quarter of an hour learning to print their own names. Phil was better here and Joey praised her intoxicated-looking printing of “Philippa” while she told Geoff that no one could possibly guess what his efforts stood for. Geoff grinned. So far, he was not interested in lessons. Joey laughed and rang for Rösli, better known as the Coadjutor, to come and take the three tinies to the playroom for milk and biscuits before putting on their big hats and leading them off for their morning walk.

“Be good, my sweets,” she said, kissing them. “Do as Rösli tells you and remember to keep your hats on. The sun’s very hot today.”

They promised and went off happily while their mother, after a cursory glance at herself in a nearby mirror, picked up an enormous scarlet Japanese umbrella, known in the family as “The Red Peril”, and went on to the terrace, down the steps into the rose-garden and across that to the little knoll, down which she ran towards the wicket gate set in the thick hornbeam hedge which separated the garden of Freudesheim from the school grounds. Beyond this she went along a brick walk running above the school’s sunk garden on the right hand and a thick grove of trees and shrubbery on the left. It was very still just here, with only the summer sounds of singing birds and humming insects to break the silence. As she drew nearer the great mass of school buildings, however, the sound of voices told her that Break was over and the girls hard at work again.

“Poor lambs!” she said to herself as she tilted her umbrella to look round before turning the corner of the main building to reach the Annexe where the Head shared private quarters with Rosalie Dene and Mdlle de Lachennais. All was peace here, and she judged from the usual lack of noise that most of the Juniors and Middles were having their classes out in the grounds. She turned back, however, as she heard lagging footsteps approaching her.

“Gretchen!” she exclaimed. Then, as she took in the whole of Gretchen’s appearance, “What have you been doing with yourself? Your hair’s yellow ochre! And—Mercy on us! you’ve streaks on your face. What have you been doing?”

Gretchen was scarlet. “Ach, Tante Joey, ich bin in einen Zuber von tuschgelb gefallen!”

“You look like it, I’m bound to say,” her brevet aunt replied with a schoolgirl’s giggle at the vision before her. Gretchen with yellow-ochre hair instead of her usual flaxen locks, never to speak of the streaks still remaining at various points of her small face, was rather a startling sight. “Thoroughly, I should call it,” she added, a suspicious quaver in her voice.

Gretchen could go no redder, but her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Tante Joey, it was so terrible! And my head is sore for Matron could not get the colour out of my hair and she scrubbed it, and—and——”

Joey pulled one of the damp locks with a caressing effect. “Well, don’t cry over it, mein Vögelein. Worse things happen at sea. In fact, I came off a lot worse myself before Steve arrived in the world. Yellow doesn’t look too bad on the hair and even on the skin it isn’t nearly so noticeable as green.”

Stunned, Gretchen gazed up at her. “Du warst grün!” she gasped incredulously.

“As grass!” Joey nodded. “I was a complete vision! I refused to see anyone until it had washed off and that wasn’t for some days. Steve’s arrival was a boon and a blessing, I may tell you.” Then she added with a chuckle, “And just how much of Gaudenz’s precious colourwash did you leave him, may I ask?”

“Not very much,” Gretchen admitted with a half-tearful giggle. “All my top part went in and I splashed so much about when I tried to get out.”

“I’d have liked to have been an insect or a bird to be around to hear him on the subject when he saw it!” Joey said yearningly. “He’d be worth listening to!”

All desire to cry had left Gretchen by this time. “Len came just as I was getting out and she said she would explain because I must go straight to Matron. Len is very helpful, Tante Joey. She is a very good Head Girl.”

“Glad to hear it,” quoth Jo. “Well, you’d better run along or you’ll be missing the whole morning’s lessons and no one will be very pleased about that. Oh, by the way, don’t tell Erica I’ve been here. It’s a private visit.”

“I promise,” Gretchen said solemnly. Then she went off, completely cheered up which was just what Joey had been aiming at when she let the young woman into her hitherto carefully-guarded secret of what had happened before the birth of her eldest son. Only two or three people had known before this and they had been sworn to secrecy. But Joey had seen that Gretchen was on the verge of a succession of weeps over the catastrophe. The girl had been very delicate in her early years and even now the authorities watched her carefully, though the doctors at the great Görnetz Sanatorium were all agreed that any danger of serious disease might be considered at an end.

“Poor kid!” Jo thought as she furled her umbrella since the path here was in shade and there was a risk of the tree branches catching at it. “But I must certainly use this episode in my next school yarn. It’s much too good to lose. Well, now to catch Hilda and see what she thinks about the news about Claire. I’m very this-way-that-way minded about it myself.” She turned in at the door to the Annexe, leaned the Red Peril up against a big oak chest and made her way to the gay little salon where Miss Annersley entertained her private visitors. The Head was seated at a little table set by the wide-open french-window. On the wonderfully carved walnut stood a gently-bubbling percolator and cups and saucers of delicate china; a dish of Cook Karen’s special petits-fours crowned everything and Joey heaved a sigh of satisfaction.

“Here’s richness! But why the display? It isn’t anyone’s birthday, is it?”

“Not so far as I know,” her hostess responded tranquilly. “The fact is we’ve been having a morning of it and Karen evidently thinks I need something extra.”

Joey gurgled as she sat down. “I know—tubs of yellow-wash. What does Gaudenz put into his washes that they stick so firmly? It’s a good thing Frieda can’t see her elder daughter just now or she’d go off like a squib! I met Gretchen as I was coming over and she looks as if she were coming out in streaks of jaundice!”

The Head laughed. “What a description! Matron rang me on the intercom to warn me that they hadn’t been able to rid her of all evidence of the accident, but I haven’t seen her myself. Does she look so very awful?”

“I’ve seen her look better. But she isn’t as bad as I was when I turned that bowl of green dye over myself the day before Steve’s arrival. Remember?”

“Do I not! Though I never saw you at your worst. You and Jack took care of that.” Joey grinned at her. “So I should think. I rather fancy, though, that it will be all over the school shortly. Gretchen was on the verge of a torrent so I told her of my own mishap to divert the tears. She’ll think of it presently and tell her own gang and then it’ll go the rounds if I know girls. Oh, well it’s been a secret for more than fourteen years now and if it’s prevented Gretchen from crying herself sick over her own effort, it’ll have served its turn. But what else has happened? I can see by your eye that Gretchen is far from being the only casualty on this bright summer’s morning. Come on, Hilda! Give—give!”

Miss Annersley laughed. “You’re quite right. Gretchen is not the only one. Meg Lyall and Emilie St Laurent have done their mite towards brightening up the day. Matron has had to dole out three clean frocks—and on a Thursday at that!—Frau Mieders has been severely winded—she vows that Emilie’s head must be made of cast-iron!—and Matron reports that the skirt of Meg’s frock will have to have a complete new breadth in it. Apparently it’s so badly torn that mending it would be a task beyond the average needlewoman. She caught it on a splinter and tugged, with the result that at one part the material is in rags. Altogether we’ve had an exciting morning. Now take another petit-four and pass me your cup for a fresh libation of coffee and tell me your news. You can get the details of mine later on. What is this about Claire? Have you really discovered who she is and found her relations?”

Joey passed her cup over and nodded. “It certainly looks like it. I had a letter this morning from Arles. Claire’s relations seem to have been found though I must say they’re writing very cagily about it. It’s quite a yarn and, if you want to know, I don’t fancy the poor baby will be any too welcome among them. However, an aunt and her husband are coming to see her and make full inquiries. And,” Mrs Maynard concluded as she took her cup with a smile of thanks, “I’m hoping and praying that they just aren’t related to her. I don’t want to lose her, the precious; and what Erica will have to say about it all I shudder to think!”

Miss Annersley looked at her with raised eyebrows. “This sounds very dramatic.”

“Not dramatic—tragic is the better description. You sit back and I’ll tell you all I know and see if you don’t agree with me!”

Later on, when she had heard the full story, Miss Annersley agreed that little Claire’s life had, indeed, begun in tragedy. Joey’s first tale was the bare outline of the story. The visit to Freudesheim one day of the next week a middle-aged couple brought many more details, most of which made Mrs Maynard see red.

She arrived in the Annexe in the evening, when she knew that the Head would normally be free, and found that lady taking her ease for once. With her were Rosalie Dene, Jeanne de Lachennais and the languages mistress from St Mildred’s one Julie Berné who had known the school almost as long as any of the other three, though she was much about Rosalie’s age. To them Joey entered, ramping with rage. Hilda Annersley took one look at her and proceeded to deal with her firmly and promptly.

“I don’t care how furious you feel, Joey. You are going to sit down in that chair and I don’t want one peep out of you until you have had a cup of my coffee. Thank you, Jeanne.” As little Mdlle de Lachennais produced a fresh cup and saucer from the cupboard where such things were kept. “Now drink that, Jo. Then you can tell us the whole story—that is,” she added reflectively, “if you can manage to keep from swearing over it.”

Jo sat up with a bang. “And when, pray, have you ever heard me swear? I never do! Quite apart from it’s being a sin, I’ve always thought it ugly and unnecessary.” She glared at her friend who smiled back at her, quite unperturbed.

“My dear Jo, you were in such a state when you came in, I expected anything!”

“Drink your coffee. Remember that we’re all longing to know what has happened.”

Jo suddenly relaxed and sipped the delicious Viennese coffee. Presently she set the empty cup aside, wriggled more comfortably into her chair and began.

“To start off with, Claire is Marie-Claire de Mabillon. Her father was a French army officer, the youngest of his family, and her mother was a ballet-dancer whom Gaston de Mabillon seems to have met when he was posted to the French embassy in London.”

Jeanne de Lachennais nodded. “I have heard of the de Mabillons. The estate is near Arles and there is a famous château noted for its tapestries.”

“Really? Well, nothing was said about that, of course. But I don’t mind telling you, Jeanne, that of all the ghastly snobs I ever met those two are about the worst.”

“But you forget, my Jo, that they are of the French aristocracy and in many ways therefore, think in the manner of eighty years ago.”

“Then it’s high time someone woke them up and told them that time has a habit of moving on and this is the middle of the twentieth century and not the end of the nineteenth,” Joey retorted unrepentantly.

“Never mind about that!” Rosalie cried. “No; don’t argue with her, Julie. After all, we all know what you mean—Joey included. What we want at the moment is not a debate but a plain story. Go ahead, Joey, and cut out the trimmings unless they are absolutely needful.”

“O.K. But remember what I’ve said. Well, it was a love-match. They seem to have fallen flatter than pancakes for each other. Gaston must have known the French laws of marriage, but he ignored them. He didn’t even so much as tell his folk that he had met the one girl in the world for him. They had a special licence and he married his Anne-Marie in a little Catholic church tucked away somewhere in London. Just how he managed to escape the notice of his colleagues and the ambassador and all the rest of the set-up at Knightsbridge is anyone’s guess. He did it, and he spent his days at his job and his nights with Anne-Marie. I gathered more from what Mme de la Roche didn’t say than from what she did that they were completely and utterly happy. Gaston established Anne-Marie in a flat in a quiet suburb and they were very happy and domesticated. Then Anne-Marie discovered that there was going to be a baby and that was where Gaston seems to have decided that it was time the family knew about his marriage. He wrote a lengthy letter to them, but, though no one knew about it till much later, it was in one of the bags lost during a mail-train robbery and never reached the Château Mabillon. At first it seems he didn’t worry when no reply came. But when nearly two months had passed, it struck him at last that his letter must have miscarried. He wrote again and this time the letter arrived all right, but his father had a seizure while he was reading his post. It was a bad one. All the correspondence was shoved aside into a drawer until he should recover—or otherwise, I suppose—and that was that.”

“I gather that M. de Mabillon——” began Miss Annersley.

“Le Comte de Mabillon,” Joey corrected. “On her pa’s side, Claire comes of the bluest blood for what that’s worth. Yes; he recovered, but not fully. He is still living, but very feeble, from what his daughter says. Anyhow, no one seems to have bothered about the letters. They did write to Gaston to demand that he should come to his father’s bedside and he went, after making sure that everything would be all right with Anne-Marie for the few days he expected to be away.”

“Then what happened?” Rosalie asked, watching Jo’s expressive face keenly.

“A flying accident. You remember that plane which came down somewhere near Pontigny? The thing was burnt out and it was some time before they got on to whose it was—it was a private plane—and all anyone knew was that the owner who was piloting her, had died in the flames and the passenger with him as well.”

“But how terrible!” Julie Berné cried. “But they learned the name in the end?”

“Oh, yes. Only, by that time it was a month and more since Gaston had left Anne-Marie to visit his people. In any case, she had been anything but fit and felt unable to cope with unknown in-laws. She just let things go until Gaston came back as she felt sure he would.” Joey paused and looked at her friends seriously. “You know, my lambs, it must have been too ghastly for that poor girl when news finally did come and she knew that he would never come back to her again.”

“But she knew she wouldn’t be alone long,” Hilda Annersley said quickly, for Jo’s eyes had clouded and she knew as they all did that Mrs Maynard was thinking of that awful time when she had thought she, too, was a widow.^[8] In her case, it had come right in the end, for Jack Maynard had turned up. It seemed that Gaston de Mabillon had not.

“Yes; I suppose that helped,” Joey agreed. “In fact, I’m positive it did. Anyhow, according to Mme de la Roche, she wrote to them, telling them who she was. By that time Gaston’s letter had been found and opened—I must say I consider them a dim lot. No one seems to have bothered over the letters the Comte had the day he had his stroke—No, Rosalie, it had nothing to do with that. Apparently the old man had been suffering from high blood pressure for years and a stroke could be expected at any time. Gaston’s screed hadn’t even been opened until the Comtesse went through the whole lot. I gather they got quite a shock.”

“I can imagine it,” Mdlle de Lachennais spoke dryly. “I know of the de Mabillons. They are very proud. If their son married into the trading classes or even into the professional, they would consider it beneath them. What did they do, my Jo?”

“The first idea seems to have been to make some sort of provision for her and make a condition that she should hand the child over to them. After all, Claire is a de Mabillon and they have enough family pride to want to have her brought up as such. Apart from that, if they ignored the child the mother might have made a fuss and brought a few skeletons to light. Now that she is dead, they feel that there may be less need for much fuss. According to Mme de la Roche their idea is to send the child to a school in which they are interested. There, she would be brought up to earn her living at teaching, nursing or something of that kind. It’s a convent school and after being brought up there she might even want to enter religion which, from their point of view would be the best solution of all.”

“Have you any idea what they will do now?” Julie Berné asked.

“What I’m hoping is that they will agree to leave Claire with us,” Joey said slowly. “I think Madame was rather taken aback when she realised how many folk are involved in the affair. Also, I fancy she thought we were the kind of folk she and her aristocratic husband could snub very easily. It was quite a shock to her when I came over all haughty and wife of the head of the Görnetz Sanatorium.”

“You don’t have to tell us that!” Rosalie spoke with emphasis. “I only wish I’d been there to see you. I suppose you also put it on as being a well-known writer. They certainly wouldn’t find you in the least snubbable.”

Joey gave vent to a chuckle. “They did not. What’s more, Jack was there to back me up. I thought if Mme de la Roche was having her husband to back her up it would be all to the good if I had mine and I made him arrange to be present at the interview. I don’t think anyone could accuse either of us of being snobs, but I judged from the good woman’s letter that I’d better put on my best bib and tucker and be prepared to be as haughty as I knew how. And that, my loves, was where Claire butted in and spoilt everything.”

“What do you mean?” her audience cried with one voice.

“What I say. I had it all planned. Rösli was to bring Claire in to the salon about half-an-hour after the de la Roches arrived—unless I rang for her earlier. We dressed her as prettily as we could—luckily I’ve heaps of baby frocks, even now—and she really looked a picture. She’s friendly enough as a rule, too, but today she flatly refused to have anything to do with any stranger, least of all her lovely relatives. Rösli gave her to me and departed and I tried to introduce the young lady to them. Claire wasn’t having any. She hid her face on my shoulder and when I tried to give her to Mme de la Roche, she went dark crimson and howled—long and loudly! In the end, I had to ring for Rösli to come and take her. We couldn’t hear ourselves speak. And then, you know, I realised all in a moment that from our point of view it was the best thing she could have done.”

Her auditors looked startled and the Head asked, “How do you mean?”

“We don’t want to lose her, do we? If she’d been friendly as she usually is the chances are they would have been captivated by her, for she’s a lovely little creature to look at and normally she has delightful little ways. But you can’t be captivated by something that goes red in the face, screws up its eyes to mere slits and opens a mouth like the Mammoth Cave of Kentucky to emit yells of the loudest horror and fury. I saw Mme de la Roche glance at her husband in the most significant way. Oh, nothing’s definite yet. It’s far too early for that. But my guess is that when they’ve allowed a decent time to elapse they’ll start in on the school idea. That is where Jack and I will step in and I rather think they’ll agree to hand the baby over to us.”

“What about the mother’s family?” Jeanne de Lachennais asked.

“None left so far as Jack can find out. She was an only child and her parents died some years ago. The father was an épicier in a small way and the mother came from much the same class. Anne-Marie appears to have been a regular hop-out-o’-kin. They had a photo with them which Anne-Marie had sent them when she wrote to them after Claire’s birth and she must have been a most attractive creature. She had the true ballerina look—small head with smooth black hair, oval face, beautifully marked eyebrows and delicate features. And graceful! Claire is going to be like her, I fancy, though when I saw Mme de la Roche I realised that she has de Mabillon characteristics, especially about the mouth and chin.”

“Did you find out if Anne-Marie would have become a prima ballerina?” Julie Berné asked curiously.

Joey shook her head. “I don’t think so. Of course, they’d never seen her, but Mme de la Roche said she was merely in the ballet chorus with only one or two tiny solos. If there had been any chance of her becoming a second Fonteyn or Markova I got the impression that they might have been more forgiving. As it is, Gaston’s gone. She’s joined him. Their child isn’t wanted at Mabillon—not really. As my own Margot says, I’m keeping my fingers crossed, but I somehow think there won’t be too much of a fuss if we offer to adopt the baby.”

“I suppose it’s just a case of ‘wait and see’,” Rosalie said. “If you want to know what I think it is that the only danger of a refusal may lie in the fact that they are de Mabillons: Claire is a de Mabillon: they may feel that it would be infra dig. to let a stranger adopt her.”

“I’m not so sure,” Joey said thoughtfully. “I told them—or Jack did; it comes to the same thing—that we would wish to do it legally, all shipshape and Bristol fashion. Claire would take our name, though I expect Erica will make a fuss about that. She was so keen to make a real little sister of the infant and give her her own name. However, she’s a reasonable child and I think we can get her to see that in this instance half a loaf is distinctly better than no bread.”

“I’ll have a talk with Erica myself and get her to understand,” Miss Annersley said unexpectedly. “Then that is the whole story, Joey?”

“Up to date it is. Jack warns me that legal adoption is a slow thing. It was a different business with the Richardsons. Professor Richardson had appointed Jack and me as their guardians so there could be no argument. But there’s no one to do that for Claire. That’s why Jack insists that if she comes to us it’s as a legal adoptee so that there can be no trouble later on.”

Rosalie thought this over. “You mean if the child has inherited a double portion of her mother’s gifts the de Mabillons won’t be able to claim her. Yes; I see the point. I think that’s a wise decision of Jack’s.”

“I’m sure it is,” Joey got up, shook herself and then sat down again. “And now, since we can’t do any more about Claire for the moment, it might be wise to concentrate on our Jubilee celebrations. What about you folk coming over for ‘English’ tea on Sunday and looking over my contributions to the Sale. I’m aching to see what the girls make of that, by the way. It ought to be delightful. A Kate Greenaway Sale should be something quite out of the common. How are you managing for the boys’ dresses, by the way? I can see that trousers will provide no difficulty nowadays, but what about those funny peaked caps they used to wear?”

“I understand the Handcrafts and Art people are being responsible for them,” Miss Annersley said. “What is providing much the worst headache is the furniture. You see they decided to arrange the stalls as rooms furnished according to the style of those days. I gather that the Empire furniture is most appropriate and as no one on the Platz seems to have any they’re having to fadge it up. However they’re an enterprising crowd and I don’t doubt they’ll cope somehow.—Is that Jack whistling? Call to him to come in Rosalie.”

But Joey was on her feet. “No, don’t! He said if all was well at the San he’d come back early and try to get a good night. He’s been routed out three nights this week already and he’s pretty tired. Goodbye, everyone! See you on Sunday!” And she was gone in a flash, leaving her friends to clear away the remnants of their coffee and cakes before going to bed themselves.

“Oh, isn’t it attractive!” Thus Erica, who was still limping but otherwise able to get about quite comfortably under her own steam.

She was standing in the middle of a charmingly formal garden, and no one would have known that the paths were made of hardboard to which sand had been glued, that the flowerbeds had been managed in the same way and that the decorative standard rose-trees set at intervals round the lawn were in tubs which had been buried in the ground. Tables loaded with books of all kinds were dotted here and there. The books had been carefully classified so that one table held poetry, another essays and belles-lettres, yet another historical novels and so on. The entire school had contributed at least one book per girl and some had given more. Various people living on the Platz and in the villages round about had also added to the store and Upper IVb smirked complacently as they surveyed their stores.

Len Maynard appeared on the scenes to inspect. She looked very tall and grown-up in her high-waisted yellow gown with fichu and mitts. Her chestnut hair was drawn up on top of her head and coiled there in a high coronet, only a couple of ringlets bobbing on either side of her face.

“Oh, Len, you look exactly like a Kate Greenaway Mamma!” Erica cried as she gazed at her. “It makes you awfully pretty!”

Len went scarlet. “Don’t talk rot!” she said sharply. She turned to the rest while Erica, not noticeably subdued by the snub, grinned sidewise at Gretchen. “Have you everything you want? Has anyone brought you your floater of change? Who is in charge of it—you, Agneta? Good! Now don’t forget. You may not lower prices for anyone. There are people who will try it on—‘If I take these three books surely I can have them at a reduced price?’ Don’t give in. Say quite firmly that the prices are marked in the books and that’s all about it.”

“Yes, Len,” Agneta agreed. “But supposing it’s one of the mistresses or the Millies? Do we stick to it for them?”

“For everyone,” Len said firmly. “It’s not in the least likely that they will, though. If you do get into difficulties, come and find me or one of the others and we’ll come. You’ll find someone on duty at the silver stall anyhow.” She suddenly relaxed into a brilliant smile. “I must say it looks most Kate Greenaway with those formal beds and the little paths. Are they quite safe, by the way?”

“But yes; two of the men pegged them down tightly,” Jaquetta assured her.

“Good!” She looked round again. “You all look very nice. Those Miss Kenwigs pigtails some of you are wearing look very well. Got your hats and bonnets handy, by the way? It’s not so bad yet, but it’s going to be a scorcher later on.”

“Over there in the Arbour,” Erica said, pronouncing the last word with almost bated breath. The fact was that the Arbour had been a last-minute inspiration of Jack Lambert’s and had been rushed up with canvas flats from the stage properties and decorated with long streams of briar-roses from the same source. It looked most attractive and did well enough to hold the hats and bonnets which the girls disdained to wear at the moment, but it was frail in the extreme and they had all been warned to handle it tenderly.

“Where’s your own bonnet?” demanded Jack who had come to give her handiwork a final look over. “I thought all you seniors were wearing bonnets?”

“So we are—but not until we must!” Len retorted. “The same applies to you people. Don’t play tricks with head-gear, any of you. It’s going to be a broiler of a day later on and no one will love you if you fill the San with cases of sunstroke.”

They giggled at this and then Jeanne Sarazin, in a laudable attempt to change the subject drew the Head Girl’s attention to the simple but clear and well-done pictures which decorated the front of each stall. “Do you like them, Len? They were the idea of Miss Yolland. See, this with a harp and a laurel wreath stands for poetry. And here, this girl reading on a seat in the garden, that is for novels. And this with a pistol is for detective stories. Is it not a good idea?”

“First-class!” said Len who had been responsible for the harp and laurel wreath, Miss Yolland having called on the two Sixths to provide the pictures among them. “By the way, they might come in usefully for plays later on, so take care of them, will you? Or we might use them at another Sale.” She smiled, nodded and went off with Jack at her heels, to inspect the fancywork stall which this year was in charge of Inter V.

This Kate Greenaway Sale certainly looked like being a real success. The dresses were all one could ask, so dainty the girls looked, especially those who had already donned their bonnets or big leghorn hats against the heat of the sun. The boys were in tapering slacks buttoned over little close-fitting jackets made of dyed sailcloth, adorned with huge buttons and Dog Toby frills at the neck. Those of the elder girls who had elected to be men were attired in tailcoats and pantaloons, with neckcloths of weird and wonderful construction, and finished off with Wellington boots. Hats they had contrived out of old felt hats, which had been soaked, cut up and remodelled, and the effect was remarkably good. As Miss Annersley averred to her co-Head, Miss Wilson, as they strolled round the grounds for a final inspection, they might almost have been transported back a hundred and fifty years or so. She paused before the table loaded with historical and period novels and her eyes suddenly gleamed as she made a dive. “Simon the Coldheart! Where did that come from? I’ve been trying to get hold of it for years. And here’s an Anthony Trollope on the next table that I’ve never read.” She glanced at her friend and her tone changed. “My dear! What is it?”

“Nothing—nothing!” Miss Wilson said hurriedly. “Come along and examine the rest of the show.” And slipping a hand through Miss Annersley’s arm, she drew her away. “What is it? Well, I’m not making any rash statements, but I don’t like the look of that sky.” She waved her hand towards the sky which was clear, blue and completely cloudless.

Miss Annersley gazed at it. “I don’t see anything except every indication that we’re in for a scorching hot day. Anyhow, there was nothing in the weather report this morning. I hope and pray you may be wrong!”

“Oh, so do I,” Miss Wilson agreed with her as they turned off to admire the bric-à-brac stall. “A storm that broke our record would be too bad.”

By the time half-past ten had come, the first visitors were arriving and it was so hot as to be absolutely sultry. The first visitors to appear were thankful to be directed to the refreshments where they could regale themselves on ices, iced lemonade or other fruit drinks, all home-made, or ice-water. The sun was blazing down and the tiny breeze which had cooled the atmosphere earlier on had died away as the day advanced.

“If it’s like this now,” Jack Lambert said as she ran a finger inside her Dog Toby frill, “What on earth will it be like this afternoon?”

“Broiling, darling!” responded Jane Carew of the same form.

Among Upper IVa the same opinion was rife.

“It’s too hot to live!” Clare Kynaston sighed as she pushed back the ringlets into which her hair had been set and pinned.

“If you ask me,” said Erica who had been gazing up at the sky, “there’s thunder in the offing. It has that feel. It wouldn’t surprise me——”

She got no further for everyone within earshot overwhelmed her with cries of horror. Ailie Russell, who, in addition to being a shining light of Inter V, was also the youngest daughter of the Lady Russell who had founded the school, pointed out that, odd as it might seem, it was a fact that never yet had the Sale been spoilt by bad weather.

“And I should know!” wound up Miss Ailie who had come to borrow some drawing-pins. “After all, I’d have heard about it from my sisters and cousins if it had. Besides, we’d certainly have heard about it from Auntie Jo and she’s never said a word. So put that on your needles and knit it, young Erica. Thanks a lot, Agneta. Sure you can spare them? Oh, nifty!” And she rushed back to her own stall.

“You didn’t really mean that, did you?” Meg Lyall asked anxiously.

Erica grinned. “I’ve seen the sky look like this in Kashmir just before a violent storm. I didn’t say when it would come,” she added, relenting a little as she saw their faces of horror.

“Oh, well, that was Kashmir and this is Switzerland,” Rita Quick said—unanswerably, so far as Erica was concerned.

“Have it your own way!” was the best she could manage by way of retort.

“It’s not our way; it’s God’s. He settles the weather,” Nita said crushingly.

But the weeks she had spent at school, especially the ending of the great feud between herself and Victoria had made Erica much surer of her ground. She was standing firmly on her own feet now and was turning out to be very unsquashable at least where her own clan was concerned. Now she grinned at them and said with a detached air, “There’s always got to be a first time and an exception that proves the rule.”

Before anyone could make any reply to this, Con Maynard arrived to demand that they should stop their arguments and take their places at the tables. Con might be the quietest and least noticeable of the Maynard triplets but when she chose to exert her authority no one ever argued with her. She was growing into a very handsome girl, with long-lashed brown eyes and wavy black hair which today was swept up on top of her head in a series of loops and knots that gave her a very grown-up air. She had the delicately-cut features her sisters had and a complexion of cream and roses which would have made her a pretty creature anywhere. In her high-waisted gown of crushed-strawberry pink with its skirts sweeping her insteps and a silver gauze scarf draped about her arms and shoulders she looked even older than she was. The younger girls went meekly to their tables and waited in readiness for customers. Meanwhile, they talked quietly among themselves, Con having left them with a promise to look in on them a little later.

“Does not Con look—adulte?” Jaquetta queried of her cronies as she made sure that she had plenty of paper and string. “She is almost like a mistress, n’est-ce pas? How is that? She is not the only one to wear long skirts.”

The girls made sundry suggestions, but nothing satisfied Jaquetta until Erica suddenly said, “I know what it is.”

“Well—what?” Freda asked impatiently.

“Her hair. Didn’t you see? She’s abolished her fringe.”

They stared at her. Then Astrid nodded. “You are right, Erica. That is just what she has done. But how has she done it? It was not long enough to brush in with the rest of her hair and surely she hasn’t cut it off? Yet it is gone.”

It proved an insoluble problem for the moment. Some weeks later, however, Erica found out that Con had smoothed it back from her centre parting with some special setting lotion. She liked the effect so much that she decided to get rid of her fringe in earnest, though she had clung to it all her life, so far. The result was that no one at school ever saw that fringe again.

By eleven o’clock, the Chalet School grounds were thronged with buyers, and once the Sale had been declared open by the wife of a famous doctor, the girls had a busy time of it. There were all the usual stalls—plain and fancy sewing; knitted articles; bric-à-brac and hand-painted china as well as hand-woven scarves and lengths of material; household produce—Matron boasted later that she had contributed over two hundred pots of jam and jelly—including cakes and sweets; a toy stall; Upper IVb’s book stall; a lucky dip. The cream of the stands, however, was the silver stall which was an innovation proposed by Len Maynard and taken up by the rest of IVa with acclamation.

The girls had begged from all their friends and relatives for articles of silver. They had made a collection among themselves and any other of the Seniors who wished to join in, and bought silver oddments with the result. Letters had gone to all the Old Girls they could get in touch with. The result was a really delightful stall, with toast-racks, napkin-rings, photo-frames, vases, small bowls and ash-trays and even a couple of cigarette-cases, a cigarette-box and some match-cases. But the glory of the stall was a completely hideous tea-and-coffee service in repoussé silver which had been a wedding gift to Joey Maynard from two old ladies, known to that ungenerate young woman as the Stuffer and Maria.^[9] When Joey had unpacked the great case in which the set had arrived, she had shrieked with dismay. The service had been on view for about six weeks. Then it had disappeared. The Stuffer and Maria had both died some years before this and Joey had decided that it should be of some use now.

“The Stuffer told me that it had been a wedding present to her parents,” she told her delighted if over-awed triplets when she brought it out and showed it to them. “I’ve never had any use for it. Take it away and get rid of it, do!”

“We’ll have to raffle it,” Margot remarked. “We’ll never get anything like its value any other way. I can’t see anyone wanting to buy a thing like that. ‘Ornate’ doesn’t begin to describe it. I’d call it bedizened, myself.”

The entire crowd agreed with her. They demanded books of lottery tickets and had already sold enough to make a substantial addition to the Sale’s funds.

The morning passed quickly. Apart from the stalls, there were various competitions and, standing on a table by itself, the annual dolls’ house which came from Tom Gay, an Old Girl, who was not only neat-fingered, but a fully-trained carpenter.^[10] This was another raffle which usually brought a good sum. In addition, Sybil Russell, Ailie’s eldest sister, had sent a beautifully embroidered afternoon tea-cloth and set of napkins; one or two Old Girls who were artists had provided pictures and Frau Mieders had baked a huge cake and iced it to perfection. This involved a weight-guessing competition. For any menfolk who turned up, there was clock-golf at the far end of the playing-field.

By midday, the sun was blazing down with what Erica called “a desert of Sahara hotness”. Everyone was flushed and sticky with heat. In fact, so hot was it that Miss Annersley had called off the folk-dance display and the girls had had to substitute a hurriedly-selected programme of songs and music.

“It’s a broiler of day!” Clare gasped, pushing back her ringlets impatiently. “I wish I’d gone for Kenwigses! You had more sense, Erica.”

“I’m melting!” Freda declared as she pulled off her cap and mopped her wet forehead. “It’s not so bad for you folk in frocks. At least you’ve got low necks and those rather ducky little puffed sleeves. But look at me, buttoned up to my throat and with this ghastly Dog Toby frill round my neck. Thank goodness it’s lost most of its starch! And on top of that, sleeves to my wrists and that awful cap!”

“It’s too hot by half,” croaked Cassandra—i.e., Erica. “You can say what you like, but I’ll bet we’re due for an outsize in storms. I can feel it in my bones!”

“Fiddle!” This was Victoria. “There isn’t a cloud in sight, so what are you blethering about? It’s hot, but I’ll bet there’s no storm.”

“Huh! You can’t say there won’t be,” Erica persisted. “You ought to know how quickly storms can come up in the mountains. And just supposing one does break in the next hour or so, what are we to do with all these books?”

“Gosh! I haven’t a clue!” Astrid exclaimed. “Hurl ourselves on them and get them into the house, I suppose. It wouldn’t be so bad for the people who are using the stage cottages. They fixed the roofs on, so they’d have some shelter. But we’re out here with none. And we’re not the only ones, either.”

As it happened, they were not the only ones to be worried about the weather either. Miss Wilson had sought out sundry members of the staff and informed them that the day was a weather breeder and they ought to be prepared as far as they could be to move all the stalls and their contents into the school buildings. She and Miss Annersley, after a rapid consultation, settled which stalls should go to which places and the younger mistresses went off to hunt out wheelbarrows and place them in as unobtrusive places as possible near the various stands. Miss Wilmot had an inspiration, communicated it to her particular chum, Miss Ferrars, and the pair of them rushed off to commandeer the big china trolleys which were used in the Speisesaal and wheel them to various vantage points whence they could be raced to the particularly vulnerable stalls to be loaded up with perishables. Then, having done all they could without alarming other people, they mingled with the crowds once more having requested Miss Moore, who was the school’s weather expert, to keep an eye on the skies.

Noon brought a lull in the shopping fever. Most folk headed for the refreshments which were set out in Hall, the Speisesaal and a big marquee just outside the windows of Hall. All members of the two Sixths who were not prefects were on duty in one or other of these places and very attractive the girls looked in their print frocks, frilled aprons and mob caps. Equally attractive was the food. Frau Mieders and the Seniors had been responsible for much of it and people looked gratefully at the aspic jellies, iced salads and dishes of fruit, creams and ices with which they were tempted.

“Thank goodness for a respite from selling!” observed Len Maynard, stretching herself when the silver stall was momentarily deserted. “Ouf! It’s hotter every minute! Poor you, Ted!”

Ted Grantley, who was sweltering in complete hunting pink borrowed from a cousin wiped her hands over with cologne ice before replying. “Oh, I’m melting, but if that storm that I hear young Erica has foretold comes along, I’ll stand a better chance of keeping dry than you in your muslin and frills.”

“Is Erica setting up as an oracle?” Len asked with an infectious laugh.

“Where this storm of hers is concerned, the answer is ‘Yes’,” Ted stated. She squinted at the sky and frowned portentously. “I’m not so sure she isn’t right though her own crowd have squashed her good and hearty. The sky’s clear enough at the moment, but there’s a queer look about that blue. With luck it’ll hold off till the afternoon’s over but it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if we had a snorter of a storm this evening. Erica’s little pals to the contrary,” she added.

“Poor Erica, playing Cassandra!” Heather Clayton laughed. “How’s the raffle come on, anyone?”

“Extremely well,” Len said, showing the bundle of notes she had clipped together. “Mother will be thankful to get rid of that atrocity, anyhow!”

“I wonder who—” began Francie Wilford who had strolled round from taking charge of the clock-golf in time to hear this colloquy.

She got no farther. At that moment, the sunlight vanished beneath a terrifying pall of black cloud which suddenly appeared from nowhere as it seemed. Even before anyone could move or speak there came a long, low peal of thunder. Miss Ferrars bounded across the lawn to the stall and with a cry of, “Into the trolley with all you can!” started shovelling up the various knicknacks still left on the stall. Miss Wilmot was equally busy at the china and glass stall. Miss Wilson appeared round the corner of the house and took charge.

“Leave that massive affair of Joey’s!” she commanded. “Francie, Eve, and you, Ted, go round and get the Juniors under cover. Never mind the stalls. Get them all into the house. Miss Ferrars, run that thing round to the tool-shed—it’s nearest. Yours, too, Miss Wilmot. Mind you lock the doors after you.”

This last remark had to be shouted for another peal of thunder crashed out as she spoke. Then, having set everyone to some special job, she turned to attend to the Middles, making for the “Garden” where Upper IVb were desperately gathering up the books, heaping them into wheelbarrows or staggering off under piles. Books are very vulnerable to wet—more so than silver or china. The needlework stalls were all being stripped under the direction of Mdlle de Lachennais, aided by her various compatriots. Two of the men who worked about the estate had appeared and were carefully carrying Tom Gay’s house to shelter. In fact, while the houses were buzzing, the lawns were still scenes of activity when—it happened!

The thunder had been booming almost incessantly by this time. Lightning cut almost continuously across the menacing gloom overhead, the Juniors had all been hustled to safety and the Junior Middles as well. Most of the Senior Middles were pouring in at the doors of the building. Only Jack Lambert, Jane Carew, Gretchen von Ahlen, Erica and Agneta were left, scrabbling for the last books when there came a loud swishing noise. It became louder and louder, almost like the noise of an express train dashing through a country station. Something glowing fierily came tearing through the cloud, lighting up the scene with a reddish glow. Then, even as the five Middles set up a concerted yell of terror, Something flashed down. There was a terrific crash in the direction of the First XI cricket pitch. Then the rain came in a deluge and the full force of the storm let loose its fury on them.

After their first yells, the five stood silent, almost petrified by the suddenness and completeness of it. Mercifully Miss Wilson had been making a swift tour of the stands to see that as much was saved from the fury of the storm as possible. She dashed across the grass which was rapidly becoming a churned-up muddy mess, her arms outspread to sweep the girls before her.

“Into the house!” She shouted. “You’ll be drenched to the skin! Never mind the books left. They must take their chance! Run, all of you!”

For reply, Erica caught up the frilly hem of her frock and bundled as many of the books left as she could manage into the ensuing bag. The others followed her example and then they ran pell-mell for shelter. Even so, by the time they reached the buildings, they were soaked through and through and Miss Wilson in her very elegant afternoon attire had fared no better. Nor were they the only ones. The younger girls had escaped with a mere sprinkling; but quite a number of people from the Seniors looked, as Scottish Janet Graham expressively remarked, like “drookit craws” with water dripping from hair and clothes.

Matey was on the spot, however and she took hold promptly. People who were soaked were ordered to the bathrooms in their own Houses. Those who had been merely splashed were told to go and change into dry things after a good rub down with a towel.

“I’m not having any streaming colds about the school at this date!” she said.

No one ever argued with Matey, not even the Heads. Jo Maynard in her sinful Middle days had once alleged, “Whatever you may think, when Matey says, ‘Turn!’ we all turn and that’s that!” The thirty-odd people whom she addressed departed to do as they were told with becoming meekness. Meantime Karen of the kitchen did her best to prevent colds by warming up a grand jorum of what had been iced soup only that morning and cups of it were sent round to everyone with strict injunctions to drink it as hot as possible.

“I call that and the baths a stupendous idea!” Jack Lambert stated as she perched on her bed in her dressing-gown and sipped the savoury soup with due care. It was very hot. “Curious, isn’t it, that we were thankful to have this stuff iced for Mittagessen and now, not much more than an hour later we’re equally thankful to have it piping hot? I was sweltering before the rain came but now, I can tell you, I was shivering until I had this.”

“What’s happening about the rest of the Sale?” Jane asked from her own cubicle where Janice Chester was rubbing her long fair mane of hair dry. Janice’s own black locks had been twisted up over her ears under a boy’s cap and so escaped a soaking.

No one could reply to Jane’s query though they hazarded a good many guesses.

“Most of the visitors have gone home, I think,” Ailie Russell said. She had no real business to be in that dormitory. Matron, who had endured many things from Ailie and Co. had separated them this term with the remark that they would see if that would cure the trio of evolving mad tricks. Ailie was in Jonquil this term, but she had considered that no one was going to take much notice of such a minor breach of rules as being in a dormitory not your own.

“There’s a good third of the things left,” Jane explained further. “What shall we do with them? Have another sale next week?”

“Help—no! There isn’t enough for that,” Ailie said.

“Girls! When you are ready, please go down to Hall.” Len Maynard had come in, unnoticed by most of them, and Ailie meditated a dive beneath someone’s bed before Len spotted her. With such a hair-raising thing as that storm going on Len ought not to notice, but you could never bet on the prefects and Len was notorious for seeing just what you didn’t want her to see.

“And just because we’re cousins she’ll jump on me harder than ever,” Ailie thought as she tried to slide behind the door.

She was too late. With a grin which Ailie thought most uncousinly, Len twinkled at her and said, “Come out from behind there, Ailie: I can see you! And now be off! This isn’t your dormitory this term—or has Matron relented and brought you back from Jonquil?” she added.

“Well, she hasn’t and you know she never would!” Ailie burst forth aggrievedly.

“Then don’t let her catch you in here,” Len said. “If you’ve changed and so on, go downstairs and don’t be silly. The rest of you hurry up! There’s no need——”

She got no further. At that moment there came a deep, thunderous growling that yet was not the noise of real thunder. It went on and on, growing louder and louder. For whole minutes it lasted while the girls stood stock still, wondering what was going to happen next. Len guessed at once. She had heard much the same sound once before and her old friend, Mary-Lou Trelawney, had also heard something very similar in an avalanche. It meant, as Len guessed, a landslide and probably a bad one.

“And where it is is anyone’s guess at the moment,” the Head Girl thought as she called on her juniors to pull themselves together and finish changing.

“Wh—what was it?” quavered Janice.

“At a guess, a landslide. It isn’t likely to affect us here. But hurry up, all of you and go down to Hall. Jack, do something about your hair, for pity’s sake. You look as if you’d been dragged through a threshing machine. I’m going to Jonquil and then Crocus and Alpenrose,” Len said cheerfully, though inwardly she was quaking. That crash had been frightening to the last degree and landslides in a mountainous district could be very horrible in their results.

She escaped from Pansy and its occupants who had recovered the use of their tongues and were bursting with questions, and went along the corridor, through the narrow passage that led into the next House and so to Jonquil to make sure that Ailie had done as she was told. She caught that young woman, looking white and frightened, just outside the dormitory. At sight of her cousin, she clutched her, babbling nervously.

“Len! Oh, Len, what was it—that awful noise? Was it another thunderbolt? But it didn’t sound like the first. If it wasn’t what was it? Oh, please tell me!”

“Keep calm!” Len said, forcing herself to speak quietly. “As we’re still all here and alive, whatever it is hasn’t affected us.”

“But Auntie Jo? Supposing it’s come down on Freudesheim?” Ailie gasped, half-crying. “Or it might be the San. Oh, Len! How can you be so cool over it?”

Len had whitened at the ruthless suggestion, but she still kept her head. “You’re being silly, Ailie. If it affected Freudesheim it would certainly affect the school. And I doubt if we’d have heard it so clearly if it had been as far away as the San. That’s three miles or more, remember.”

“C-can I c-come with you if—if y-you’re g-going to find out?” Ailie stammered.

“Yes; if you’re fit to be seen.” Len still spoke in matter-of-fact tones and no one knew what an effort it meant for her. But she could see that her young cousin was on the verge of hysterics and she knew how easily one girl can affect a whole number of girls in such circumstances. “And I’m seventeen,” she thought, “and Head Girl. I’ve just got to keep my head.” Aloud she added, “Snap out of it, Ailie! At nearly fifteen you’re old enough to have a little self-control, I should hope! And for goodness’ sake stop gripping my arm like that! I’ll be black and blue by bedtime!” Then, as Ailie rather shamefacedly released her clutch, she pushed up the sleeve of her cardigan to reveal four black marks where Ailie’s fingers had clenched her arm like a vice.

That young woman went scarlet. “Did I do that? Oh, I say, Len, I’m most ghastly sorry! I didn’t mean to bruise you so.”

“O.K.,” her cousin said. “I know that. Only in future remember you’ve a grip like a gorilla’s and curb yourself a little.” She laid a hand on Ailie’s shoulder and began to steer her down the corridor. “Come on! I must just see that no one else is behaving like a hysterical baby and then we’ll go down to the office and ask Deney if we can ring up Mother and make sure they’re all right at home.”

Ailie blushed again, but for once she made no attempt to defend herself. She felt she had been very cowardly, even though the day had so far been crammed with unusual and frightening happenings. She went meekly with Len to the dormitories where they found that some of the junior mistresses had already arrived and were taking charge. Having made sure of this, Len ran Ailie down the stairs and along to the office where she found Rosalie Dene besieged by Audrey Everett from Va, Solange de Chaumontel from Inter V, whose people also lived on the Platz and her own two sisters. Miss Dene smiled at the Head Girl as she entered and spoke instantly.

“All right, Len. I’ve just been telling these people that what has happened is that part of the cliff has broken away and gone down to the valley. Mercifully from what Gaudenz says it seems to have scattered widely. I’ve no other details for you, I’m afraid; but you girls will be told as soon as we have them.”

“Do you know whereabouts the fall came?” Len asked. She was beginning to feel a trifle shaky now that the need for restraining her own feelings was at an end. She looked round for a chair and her sister Con saw her and pushed one under her with such vim that she nearly fell off it sideways.

“Carefully, Con!” Miss Dene said with a smile. “You nearly landed Len on the floor then! Now, girls,” she turned to the others, “so far as we know the fall doesn’t affect any of your homes. It doesn’t even seem likely to affect the road to the San, though the authorities may consider it wise to sweep that inward a little. I can’t say. What you three Maynards had better do is go to Hall and help with counting our takings. Audrey and Solange, I want you to go along to Upper Ia and take charge there. I’ll send one or two other people along to help you. The rain seems to be easing off,” she glanced through the window as she spoke, “but even if it stopped this minute none of you could go out. The Platz must be a sea of mud and until it dries up you’ll have to content yourselves indoors. Ailie, you might trot along and give Audrey and Solange a hand, too. We shall have to ring up your mother in Australia some time shortly and you shall be called to have a few words with her when we do. Now be off, all of you.”

She waved them away and all but Len went. That young woman was feeling as if she had sticks of macaroni for legs and she stayed in her chair. Miss Dene glanced at her and came round the desk swiftly. “Bend over and put your head between your knees!” she said sharply. “Keep down, Len! You’ll be all right in a minute!”

The communicating door to the Head’s study opened and Miss Annersley appeared to ask if any further details had come through. She saw the two and grasped what was wrong at once. She swung round and presently returned with a glass of water.

“Here, Len! Sip this!” she said. “You’re better now, aren’t you?”

Len sipped the water. She gave the glass back to Rosalie with a tremulous laugh. “Sorry! I don’t know what made me make such an ass of myself.” Then she gave a little gasp. “Oh, but I do! That awful noise reminded me of the time when I nearly went down that precipice on the way to Wetterdorf. Remember, Auntie Hilda? That was a landslide and I nearly slid with it, only I got caught in the boughs of a fir-tree and Aunt Grizel rescued me before the whole shoot went down.”^[11] She stopped with a shudder. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the awful feeling when the rock on which I was standing broke off and I went with a terrific amount of stones and earth and everything.” She shuddered again.

“Yes; I agree it was a nasty experience,” the Head said calmly though she kept an eye on Len’s white face. “Still, bad as it was, think of what came of it.”

“You mean Grizel’s marriage?” Len’s thoughts were jerked away from her memories. “Yes; that was stupendous.” She stood up, the colour coming back to her face. “She’s tremendously happy and now they have their little boy she says she hasn’t a wish left unfulfilled except that she would like to find a chalet up here so as to be with the rest of us instead of having to live in a flat in Neuchâtel——”

“Grizel knows she was very lucky to get that,” Miss Annersley interrupted. “Now run along to Hall and help in the reckoning. I’m afraid this Sale is going to be a very poor affair compared with most of our latest efforts; but it can’t be helped.”

Len made the curtsy that was always made to either Head and left the room for Hall where she found five of the staff and most of the prefects counting up the day’s takings. She was welcomed by her sisters and Ted Grantley with exclamations of relief.

“Thank goodness you’ve come!” Margot said. “We’ve all added up this lot and we’ve got three separate totals. For goodness’ sake come and see what you make of it! It’s got beyond me!”

Len sat down and began to go swiftly through the bundles of notes in their clips. She jotted down the result and began to add up the centimes which were in a big cotton bag. This was slow work and by the time she had ended, most of the other folk in the Hall had finished. The three who made up the quartette with which she was working looked at her anxiously.

“What do you make it?” Con asked urgently. “Something to match up with one of us, I hope. We’re the last of the adders! Everyone else has finished.”

“Call yourself names if you like!” Margot said with a toss of her curly red-gold crest, “but I’ll thank you not to call me a snake, young Con!”

Con looked startled. “I never said anything like it!” she protested.

“Didn’t you? What’s an adder, then?” Margot retorted amidst the giggles of the others while Len complained, “Now I’ve lost count! Oh do stop trying to be funny, Margot! I’ll have to start this all over again.”

“No, you don’t!” Ted checked her as she was about to sweep the piles of coins into one heap and start all over once more. “I was counting with you. I’ve got the total—two hundred and twenty-seven, isn’t it?”

Len looked relieved. “Just exactly that. Thanks a million, Ted! Now be quiet you two and let me finish.” And she set to work again, watched this time by all three and they announced the grand total of centimes with one voice.

“Three hundred and seventy!” Len wrote it down, added it up with the total of the notes and made a face at the result. “Oh, my loves! What a drop! Well, I suppose it can’t be helped. Here, Con, take it to Miss Wilmot and ask her to let us know the worst as soon as possible. What’s happening to the goods we have left over? Anyone know?”

Before anyone could reply there came a series of loud bangs accompanied by a chorus of shrieks which brought at least half of the auditors to their feet and sent Miss Ferrars and Mdlle de Lachennais to the door and out into the corridor. Nothing was to be seen, but from the entrance hall came the well-known tones of Matey and Matey at her least sweet. The two mistresses looked at each other and then scuttled along to the entrance hall to find out what this latest alarm was about. They found Matey drawn up to her full five feet two inches and looking her most alarming. At her feet were two girls—Erica and Victoria, both holding their heads and looking sorry for themselves. One of Cook Karen’s largest trays was between them, and hanging over the banisters of the main staircase which, incidentally, was forbidden to all girls but prefects, were least at half the members of Upper IVb.

“What has happened, then?” Mdlle asked, going forward. “Erica—Victoria! What, then have you been doing?”

There was a moment’s silence. Then Victoria who had struggled to her feet and hauled Erica to hers, replied. “Please, Mdlle, we—we were only tobogganing down the stairs on the tray—s’il vous plaît!” she added hopefully. The French might do something to soften Mdlle which would be something. Nothing they could say or do was likely to soften Matey who was looking her most forbidding.

Mdlle primmed up her lips, but in a fatal moment she caught Kathy Ferrars’ eye. It was too much. The two mistresses gave a gasp and then broke into peals of laughter in which Matey joined, however unwillingly. As for the culprits, they stood there looking sulky. They could have borne to be scolded, but to be laughed at was too much.

Miss Ferrars put the finishing touch to their discomfiture. “They would if they could, but they couldn’t!” she said in tones that were still shaky with mirth.

“And in any case,” added Matey while the two glared at the mistress not very sure what she meant, “Why use the main staircase?”

“Pup-please, we didn’t know tea-tray tobogganing was forbidden,” Erica said.

“It wasn’t—but for the future it is,” said Miss Annersley’s voice behind them. “You little girls, please leave the staircase and go to your own rooms.”

That was enough for Upper IVb who were indignant at being addressed as “little girls”. They withdrew as fast as they could and the two sinners were left to the staff. Miss Annersley swiftly made mincemeat of them.

“Whose idea was it?” she asked.

“Mine, please,” said Erica, inwardly quaking.

“And whose idea was it that you should come off the tray?”

No answer to that one, though the Head paused a moment. She went on. “Are you hurt? Did you bump yourselves?”

“Just a—a little bit,” Victoria said.

“And you, Erica? Have you damaged your ankle again?”

“N-no, I don’t think so.”

“Good! Return that tray to Karen—personally, I mean. You are to take it to the kitchen and give it into her hands—you understand? In future, leave the kitchen things alone. Then go and make yourselves tidy again. That is all.”

They departed, bearing the tray which they took most unwillingly to the kitchen. Karen was a dear most times, but she had a rough tongue when she was annoyed. As she had already set two of the maids to hunt for her missing tray she was very annoyed and it took the humblest of apologies from the culprits before she agreed to forgive them.

In the entrance hall, the Head let herself go in a fit of laughter. “I think,” she said when she had recovered a little, “that tea-tray tobogganing will not be a popular indoor sport with any of those young demons after this. I have the totals. Will someone ring the bell to summon the School to Hall. After that, Abendessen will be ready and, all things considered, I feel that early bed is indicated for everyone—including ourselves.”

And so it was!

“Well! Perhaps someone will kindly tell me what we are going to do for a First XI pitch for the rest of the season! I don’t mind telling you that this one will be well out of use for that period!” Thus, Heather Clayton, Head of the games, as she and the rest of the prefects surveyed the great crater next day. Their treasured First XI pitch was abolished for the moment. The depth and width of it gave good reason for the intense indignation in her voice.

“I suppose Gaudenz will fill it in tomorrow?” Eve Hurrell, the chief librarian prefect queried. “It certainly isn’t safe to leave it like this.”

“It can be filled in all right,” Margot Maynard assented in her most incisive tones. “The real problem will be getting it decently level when that’s done. It was a jolly good pitch before this happened—smooth as a billiard table. But just look at it now!”

The entire body looked with varying degrees of melancholy in their faces so that there was definite cause for Miss Wilmot’s remark as she came swiftly across the cricket ground to stand beside them. “Well, you do look a dismal set of Weeping Willies! What cat’s eaten all your canaries now?”

Francie Wilford waved her hand towards the hole. “Just look at the pitch. Honestly, Miss Wilmot, d’you think it can possibly be got into match condition before the end of the term?”

Miss Wilmot shook her head mournfully. “Alas! I fear you are only too right. It won’t,” she said sadly, causing Len Maynard to look quickly at her. Len had known Nancy Wilmot all her life and it was most unlike that cheerful young woman to turn Job’s comforter in this way as the Head Girl very well knew.

“What do you suggest we should do?” she asked; and it was Miss Wilmot’s turn to give her a sharp glance. There was a good deal of meaning in Len’s voice.

Mistress or not, Nancy Wilmot enjoyed gentle legpulling when she could do it, but she realised that she must go carefully now. Len was very much too quick. She decided to suppress her first thought and substituted something else.

“Well, I don’t know how this idea will strike you,” she said suavely, “but how about moving the pitch elsewhere and turning this into our swimming-pool?”

Impetuous Margot’s face lit up. “That’s a nifty idea! It’s not nearly big enough, of course, but it would do for a starter.”

“And that would save some expense, nicht?” Carmela Walther put in eagerly.

“It would also make it easier for the Millies to use it,” Thérèse Rambeau added.

It was left to Ted Grantley who had been looking thoughtful to pour cold water on their enthusiasm; but Ted had plenty of commonsense. She used it now. “Yes; I can see that it would save a lot of time over the digging. But I thought the idea was to use the swimming-bath all the year round and that would mean heating the water in winter. How do you propose to do that out here?”

Their faces fell at this douche. It certainly was a snag.

“Me, I never thought of that,” Lizette Falence said in stricken tones. “But never—never! And if it were not heated, it would freeze, n’est-ce pas?”

“Well yes; it might,” Len agreed with a giggle. “And it wouldn’t be big enough for a skating pool, so I’m afraid that idea would be out, too.” She gave the mistress a glance and got a twinkle in return. “And apart from all that,” she continued, “how would you bring the water here? It would mean having pipes and a pump to get it up from the stream and that would cost the earth!”

“Oh, lor’!” Margot said dismally. “Then we can’t possibly make any use of it and all it’s done is to spoil our cricket pitch. That’s a nice way of celebrating our Jubilee, I must say! It ruined the Sale and now it’s ruined the pitch. I call it an utter mess-up myself!”

Miss Wilmot glanced at them and then considered the crater. “I’m afraid a hole of that size will be difficult to fill, not to speak of turfing it and getting the whole pitch back into match form. I’m sorry, Heather, but it looks to me as if the only thing you can do is to use the Second XI pitch for the match pitch. It isn’t in too bad shape is it?”

“It might be worse,” Heather admitted grudgingly. “It isn’t what I’d call a First XI pitch by any manner of means, but if that’s all we can do, we’ll have to do it. And then the next thing will be to find a pitch for the Second XI.”

“And that won’t be easy,” Ricki Fry said disconsolately. “We have so many tennis courts that we really have had only those two decent pitches.”

“Cheer up!” Miss Wilmot said heartlessly. “There are worse troubles at sea. And in the meantime, as you all seem to agree that this—excavation, shall we call it?—is of no use to anyone, we had better ask Gaudenz to fill it in at his earliest convenience. Otherwise, I can see more than one person falling in. And now that that’s settled, what about your usual walk between church and Mittagessen. Hadn’t you better all go and get ready? Otherwise you won’t be able to fit one in. Len, you might go round to Gaudenz’s quarters and give him a message from me. Oh, and go quietly, please, girls. Miss Annersley has a severe headache as a result of yesterday’s happenings and is lying down to try and sleep it off. So talk quietly when you go past the Annexe, please.”

The prefects went off quietly, but Nancy Wilmot remained to stand gazing at the crater the thunderbolt had dug for itself with deep thought on her face. It struck her that they had had a narrow escape of a really nasty accident. Indeed, if it had not been for the fact that the two match pitches at the school were always held sacrosanct, there might well have been a tragedy. One at least of the stalls would have been set there and someone might easily have been caught by the bolt in that case. She voiced this thought aloud to Kathy Ferrars when that young woman joined her a minute or two later.

Miss Ferrars agreed with her. “We’ve a lot to be thankful for.” She surveyed the pit thoughtfully. “I’ll tell you something, though, Nancy. It’s more than time it was fenced off. Bill and the rest of the Millies staff often come this way, especially in the evening, when they’re visiting us. Someone in a hurry might very well slip into this and—well—it’s quite a good depth.”

“I’ve sent word to Gaudenz,” Nancy said, slipping a hand through her friend’s arm. “I have an idea no one has given much thought to it, what with the Head being so ill with headache this morning, and one or two of the girls not much better. Not to speak of young Erica’s having damaged her foot badly again by falling downstairs yesterday. Silly little ninny! Well she’s dished herself for the afternoon’s trip. The Harder isn’t it, where her crowd are going? I had a word with Barbara Henschell just before church and she tells me that all Erica’s foot is fit for is to hobble out to the garden and back again later. Victoria got off lightly with just a bumped head. Well, gazing at that pit won’t mesmerise it away—more’s the pity! Didn’t I hear someone say that Mittagessen would be early? Then come along and lets get our orders.”

“It’s heating up again,” little Miss Ferrars remarked as they strolled away from the cricket pitch towards the school. “Not so hot as it was yesterday, however.”

“Thank goodness for that!” Miss Wilmot spoke in heartfelt tones.

“No. The rain has cooled the atmosphere nicely,” Kathy Ferrars agreed. “I don’t think we need to fear thunder again today.”

They went on their way, encountering Gaudenz, chief of the men who worked in the grounds, and paused for a word with him. He fully agreed that the crater must be fenced off as soon as possible and added that he was on his way to see to it when he had received Miss Wilmot’s message.

“Earlier to do him was not wise,” he rumbled in his deep tones. “The ground wet and soft was, sodden as a bog. No stakes would have stood up firm. But now the sun shines and soon all will be right to drive in the stakes. Then I nail wire round them and so make all safe. I go to measure for the wire. Auf Wiedersehen, mein Fräulein.” He saluted them and strode away to attend to it.

Meanwhile the mistresses also went their way to learn that duty for them that day meant taking the fifty-five girls who made up the three top forms in the school down to the valley. They were to take the steamer up Lake Thun to the little town of the same name that lies at the head of the lake. There, they might have Kaffee und Kuchen in one of the many pâtisseries before returning later. There were other expeditions planned for the rest of the school. Before Miss Annersley had been forced to go to bed with her headache, she had sent instructions to the staffroom. During the night while she had lain awake she had decided that until something could be done about the crater the girls would be safer away from the grounds. Apart from that she knew that a good many of the girls would be in a nervy state after the shocks of the day before. It would be wise to give them something else to think about. So they were to be told that though Sunday expeditions to the lake towns were not permitted as a rule, this being “Jubilee Sunday”, they were to have them to mark the occasion.

Most of them thought no more about it. Len and two or three of the more thoughtful seniors pondered on it, however. Not that they said anything except among themselves. As Len pointed out to a select body consisting of her sister Con, Ted Grantley and Francie Wilford, least said was distinctly soonest mended.

“The less the kids grasp quite how near a squeak we had the better,” the Head Girl said. “Some of them have lurid imaginations. Better not encourage them to extend themselves.”

As a result, by fourteen hours that afternoon, the school was almost deserted except for half-a-dozen or so people who were unable to leave. Among them were Erica and Victoria. Erica had damaged her ankle again, despite her denials of the day before. When she got out of bed on the Sunday morning it was all she could do to avoid uttering a squawk of pain and by the time she got herself downstairs, she was limping badly. Matron Henschell had encountered her after Frühstück, made inquiries and, in consequence, Erica found herself condemned to keeping still and resting her foot for the whole day. Victoria was suffering from a bad headache and Solange de Chaumontel and Mélanie Lucas, two naturally nervous girls who were always badly affected by thunder, were also lying down. The others were juniors and they had been taken off by little Miss Andrews, who was head of the junior staff, to rest quietly under the trees and listen to the story she read to them. The school always kept a firm eye on anything out of the way in point of health. Too many of the girls had relations who were either at the big Sanatorium at the farther end of the shelf or else staying in the mountain villages for health’s sake for anyone to overlook anything.

The expeditions all departed, the stay-at-homes among the middles got books and letter-cases and settled themselves for the afternoon under various trees.

An unwonted silence descended on the school, and Miss Annersley, her pain conquered at last by a favoured nostrum of Matron’s, fell asleep with a final thought that at least it was improbable that anything could go very badly wrong in the next few hours.

Erica, her injured ankle firmly bandaged, had established herself under a tall pine tree close to the path which led from the garden to the playing-fields. It was a hot day, but not sultry. The sweeping branches of the tree spread a pleasant shade and there was a little breeze to give the final touch of comfort. Erica snuggled down among her cushions in the deck-chair, opened The Bell Family which she had taken from the library on the recommendation of Clare Kynaston, and began to read. She was actually feeling disgruntled since only Victoria of her own form was left in the school and Victoria was in bed and forbidden any visitors until her head stopped aching. Even the delightful account of the doings of Paul and Jane, Ginnie and Angus, and their dog Esau failed to soothe the young woman’s feelings. Presently she closed the book, laid it down on the pine needles and lay back in her chair, wishing with all her might that she had not been inspired to try tea-tray tobogganing the day before. Upper IVb had gone to visit the Alpenwild Park on the Harder, something she had been longing to see and here she was, clamped to her deck-chair more or less, thanks to her own idiotic behaviour.

“It’s horrid luck!” she said aloud. “I wish I hadn’t! I wish Auntie Jo would come along. I’ve no one to talk to and it’s jolly lonely. Oh, dear I do wish I hadn’t been such an ass!”

And then she set out and did something almost equally silly.

Before she went back to the school to see after those of her charges who were in bed, Nurse had told Erica to stay where she was and rest the foot as much as she could. Thanks to her skilful bandaging, it felt much easier. Naughty Erica decided that she might take a little walk so long as she didn’t overdo it. She picked up the stout stick she had been given as a support when she did need to walk, got out of her chair and looked round. She was quite near the shrubbery with its flagged path. It couldn’t hurt to go a little way along it. Besides, Erica had heard about what had happened to the cricket pitch but she wanted to see it for herself. She knew that Gaudenz would fill up the hole the thunderbolt had made as soon as he could. If she really wanted to see it, she must go now.

No sooner thought of than acted on. Erica, with a glance round to see that no one in authority was about to see her and forbid the expedition, left her tree and slipped into the shrubbery. Once she was there she felt fairly safe from watching eyes. She did have enough sense to go slowly and carefully and to watch that she did not catch the ferrule of the stick between the paving-stones. She reached the end of the path and looked round again. So far as she could see not a soul was about. It wasn’t very far to the First XI pitch. She would just walk that far and really see the crater for herself and then she would go back to her chair. That couldn’t hurt. In fact it might even do the strained ankle good to exercise it. Of course, if Matron Henschell or anyone asked her if she had stayed put all the afternoon she would have to own up, but she didn’t think they would say very much to her. With a final look round, Erica started again.

She had not gone very far before she began to wish she hadn’t begun. She found walking over the meadowland a very different thing from walking along a paved path. For one thing, it was rough here and more than once she came down on the bad foot with a jerk which set it throbbing again. Still, she had set out on this and there was a streak of obstinacy in Erica which kept her going. Slowly she crossed the meadow and came to the cricket ground. The First XI pitch was farther away from the school than the other. By the time Erica had reached it her ankle was aching badly and she was wondering how in the world she could ever get back to her chair under the pine.

In fact, she was so absorbed in this that she never saw the tall, dark lady on the far side of the rails that fenced off the school grounds from the road. She limped slowly along to survey the great break in the earth’s surface, just as the said lady gave an exclamation and then nimbly scrambled over the railings towards her. But by that time, Erica was beyond noticing anything but her own awful dilemma. In her anxiety to see the whole business, she ventured to the very edge of the pit, struggling through a space between two of the palings with which Gaudenz had temporarily fenced off the danger area. The ground, still intensely friable from the blazing sun, gave under her weight and, with a wild shriek of horror, Erica was precipitated over the edge and down to the very floor of the crater as Joey Maynard came rushing up and went down on her knees to stare horror-stricken at the little heap of blue-frocked girl lying some ten feet or more below her.

It was well that the many catastrophes through which she had lived all her life had taught Joey Maynard self-restraint and presence of mind. Even alarmed as she had felt when she saw Erica lying in that pathetic little heap, she had been careful to go cautiously once she came within the area of the crater. For the last part of the way she went down on all-fours and crawled as near as she dared to the rim. The partially-stunned Erica was coming to herself by this time and as her guardian squatted as near the edge as was safe, she rolled over on to her back and tried to struggle into a sitting position. The result was a loud shriek as she gave the bad ankle a sharp jolt which sent a sickening arrow of pain right through it. She collapsed on her back again.

“Oh, my ankle! Oh, it hurts horridly!”

“Only that?” Joey called down. Then as Erica made no reply, “Erica! Answer me, please. Does your back hurt—or your head—or anywhere else?”

“I—I don’t th-think so-o!” The tears of pain were pouring down Erica’s cheeks which, as Joey could see, were unnaturally white and pinched-looking; but her voice was stronger, and when she tried to move her arms and the uninjured leg, though she gave little howls they were caused by the pain any movement gave her bad ankle. She was bruised in one or two places, but luckily the chalky clay had not yet time to harden into rock. Also, when she fell it had been more of a slither for most of the way down than a regular fall, so no bones were broken. Indeed, as they found later on, even the ankle itself was not so bad as it might have been, considering the second wrench she had given it.

Reassured by her declaration that only the ankle really hurt her, Jo sat back on her heels and considered. It was a tricky situation to say the least of it, and if there were any more falls into the crater it might well become downright nasty. Erica must be got out as quickly as possible. The trouble was that, thanks to the expeditions and holiday, there would be next to no one about to help. Joey realized that to go scrabbling down herself would be more likely to complicate the affair than to be of much help. Indeed, her weight on the walls might be enough to bring about a regular landslide.

“If only Gaudenz were here!” the fermenting Mrs Maynard thought. “He’s done a lot of mountaineering in his time and he knows how to deal with it. But Rosalie told me that he and his missus were going to Bertenthal to visit that aunt of hers so they’ll be away all day. And Hilda said she was giving all kitchen staff the day off and the men as well, so I can’t have even Otto to help. Nancy—Kathy—Jeanne—all that lot are off on the school expeditions and Hilda herself is flat out with that headache, poor lamb. I wonder which matron is in charge? And Eitel’s out, thanks to that tooth. Jack himself has gone off to Berne for that consultation. Drat the man! I never can get hold of my own husband when I want him most urgently! So what?”

The aggravated Mrs Maynard got thus far when a quavering voice sounded from the bottom of the crater. “Auntie Joey! Pup-please can someone help me to get out of this?”

“Don’t worry!” Joey called down. “You aren’t staying there a moment longer than I can help. Just lie quiet and I’ll go and see who I can roust out to come and give me a hand with you. Chin up, old lady! You’re not dead yet!” With which heartening remark she got to her feet and then went racing off to find someone to come and help her extricate Erica from the crater.

Left alone, Erica swallowed hard, scrubbed her eyes with her handkerchief and then looked round. Things were pretty bad for she did not see how she was ever going to be got to the surface with any ease. She turned her head to look at the place where she had come down. Quite a big bite had been taken out of the rim when she had slithered. There was a crack running from top to bottom just there as well. An awful thought came to her. Supposing there was another fall just there. If it came down on her she would be buried alive! How ghastly! Almost she lost her nerve and gave way to screaming panic. But she was a plucky girl and furthermore, her commonsense came to her rescue. Yelling her head off would do no good. It might even do harm. Erica had heard how in parts of the Alps a sudden sharp noise can bring down a heavy snow cornice, starting off an avalanche. The same sort of thing might affect the side of the pit. Erica shut her lips tightly on the first scream and swallowed hard again.

Was there anything she could do to make things easier when someone did come to get her out? She thought it over and decided that there was. She was lying quite near to where the rim had broken away. Supposing she tried to crawl to the opposite side? It would be safer for everyone.

“Oh, but I can’t!” she said aloud. “I could never do it—not when my ankle hurts so!”

Into her head came the thought, “But you haven’t to do it alone. Ask for strength to do it and strength will come. You ought to try, you know. It’s your own fault this has happened. The least you can do is to try to make it as easy as possible for the folk who have to get you out of the mess.”

“I am an idiot!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t I think of it sooner?” And she clasped her hands together and addressed the God she had been taught would always listen to any child of His who prayed to Him. “Please, God, I know I’ve been very naughty and stupid. Forgive me and let me get safely out somehow. And please, God, give me strength to move away if it’s only into the centre so as to make it safer for everyone.” That done, she stayed where she was for a full minute, summoning up all her courage and determination.

“Now!” she said aloud; and slowly, slowly she turned over and then began to crawl as well as she could towards the farther side.

It took all Erica’s force of will and every ounce of bravery she possessed to take her forward on that journey. It was true that the floor of the crater was little more than twenty-five feet across just here, but every movement was agony to the poor foot. Sweat stood on her forehead in great beads and tears rolled down her cheeks with the pain as she drove herself on away from the dangerous side; but she made progress, however slowly. As she went on painfully, she heartened herself with sundry remarks.

“Come on, Erica! That’s not so bad!—Oh, please, God, please help me to go on!—Come on! You’re a good foot farther away from the bad side than—than you we-ere—Oh, I can’t—I can’t!” At which point she broke down completely and cried bitterly, for the pain was sheer torture.

Mercifully, it was not to continue more than a moment or two longer. Joey racing madly towards the school encountered one of the young doctors attached to the staff of the great sanatorium at the further end of the Platz. Dr Entwistle was a close friend of the Maynards. Indeed, he had hopes that one day in the future he might become a relation of theirs. Seeing Mrs Maynard haring over the playing-field like a madwoman, he stopped his car, vaulted over the railings and went after her, shouting, “Mrs Maynard—Mrs Maynard!”

Joey heard him and stood still. She turned round and some of the strain left her face as she saw him. “Reg Entwistle! Oh, thank God—thank God! Come with me. Erica has fallen into the crater that thing left yesterday. I’m just going to the gym to get ropes and a climbing net to try to get her out.”

“O.K.,” he said easily. “You go on and ring up Adlersnest for Courvoisier. He’s free this afternoon and he said he meant to spend it in the garden with the family. He’s a practised alpinist and between the two of us we should get young Erica out easily. Tell him to bring his rope and ice-axe. I’ll get the stuff from the gym while you do that and meet you beside the crater. O.K.?”

“O.K.,” Joey said briefly, and was off like a flash, heading for the side door leading into the Annexe as the shortest way to a telephone. Meanwhile, Dr Entwistle rushed off to the gymnasium whence he extracted a stout rope and a climbing-net before turning and making for the First XI cricket pitch at top speed.

He got there before Joey, for first Dr Courvoisier had to be summoned from the garden where he and his very young family were playing together, and then just as she was crossing the garden she met Matron Henschell looking both annoyed and flustered. Knowing that Erica was one of Matron Henschell’s girls, Joey stopped to tell her what had happened. Barbara Henschell got in first, however.

“Joey! Look here, I’m going to tick off that young ward of yours, Erica, for all I’m worth. The little monkey’s gone off after being told to stay in that chair there and rest her foot—I suppose you heard what——”

“Yes; I heard. Don’t delay me. Whatever you said, Erica at the present moment is down at the bottom of the crater that thunderbolt made yesterday and just how we are going to get her up is more than I can say. The sun has dried out the surface, but it’s stickily wet underneath the top skin and as unsafe as can be. I’m off to help. Reg Entwistle has come and I’ve rung through for Eugen Courvoisier to come and bring his climbing tackle. Coming?”

She need not have asked. Barbara Henschell was bundling along beside her on the word. “What do you think?” she panted. “Oh, the bad child! Is she hurt, Joey?”

She got no reply to that. Joey was saving her breath for running. They reached the cricket pitch in short order to find Reg Entwistle already there, talking to the weeping Erica and considering how best to bring her to the surface.

“Now stop crying, you little ass!” he was saying breezily. “You’re not abandoned to your horrid fate and I’m sure your foot isn’t as bad as all that.”

Joey interrupted him. “Erica! Oh, Erica, my lamb, how did you manage it? You poor, plucky girl!” She swung round to the doctor. “She fell down over there—at that side where the crack is. She had a strained ankle to start with and I don’t suppose the fall has done it any good. Just how she managed to get herself here is more than I can say. But I’m not surprised she’s crying. That ankle must be sheer torture.” Her voice changed. “It’s all right, Erica, my pet. We’ll have you out in two twos and then we take you to bed and Matron will do something to relieve the pain in your ankle.”

Barbara Henschell added her quota. “Pull yourself together, Erica. It’s nearly over now and the very worst is, in fact.” She turned to look at the young doctor. “Could I get down to her? I might be able to tighten the bandage on her foot and that would give her a little more support.”

She was eager to go, but he caught her arm. “For heaven’s sake no! Look at that wall over there! Anything might bring a great chunk of it down. We must wait until Courvoisier comes. He’s smaller than anyone here and lighter. Also he’s a trained alpinist and will know the best way to get down with the maximum safety for all concerned. Your best job will be to go back and get a bed ready for her. Hot water, bandages, and that lotion your Matey swears by. Her pyjama top but not the trousers—not today anyhow. A cup of tea might be a help—Ah!” as they heard the put-put-put of a motor cycle ridden at full speed. “Here is Courvoisier. Now we shan’t be long!” He bent to call down to Erica who was sobbing drearily but quietly, “O.K., Erica! We’ll have you out of that in two twos now!”

Erica choked on a sob and then replied, “Y-you said th-that be-before, but I’m s-still—h-here!”

It was unexpected and inwardly he applauded the pluck that enabled her to make the retort. Aloud, he only responded, “Oh, well, this was a long two twos!” which drew a quavering laugh from her.

Joey, meantime, had fixed her eyes on the wall where Erica had come down. She did not like what she saw. The first crack looked as if it were widening. To make matters worse another was starting near the floor of the pit. If there were a connection between the two a small avalanche of limestone rubble and clay might very well descend and land on Erica. Yet she dared not call to the girl and order her to start crawling again. Oh, if only Eugen would arrive! Surely it couldn’t take all this time for him to round the wide outward sweep of the road just there and come rushing to join them! Then the motor bicycle stopped and she heard the swift running steps as the young Swiss doctor came up to them, his nylon climbing-rope over his shoulder, his ice-axe in his other hand.

“Where is she? Ah! There!” The quick, dark eyes glanced over the scene and Eugen Courvoisier took in all the hazards. “Right! Move back, Joey! Entwistle, secure the rope round the axe. What’s that? Climbing-net? Good! Give him to me!” He spoke in his national Swiss German. “I will go down. Be ready to haul when I give the word, please. Joey, you be ready, also. And Sheppard was with us when you rang and is following in his car. He will help.”

Joey looked down into the crater once more and shuddered at what she saw. It would need to be very quick work, she thought, if they were to get Erica out safely. Already the second crack was creeping upwards and as the sun shone on it, she saw that the edges were wet. Water was behind the wall!

If ever she prayed in her life, Joey Maynard prayed then—for Erica; for Reg Entwistle whom she had known from his earliest boyhood; for Eugen Courvoisier who was the husband of one of her dearest friends. Then she gave all her attention to the work in hand. She dared not look down again into that crater, even if she could have seen, which she could not. Eugen had driven the point of the ice-pick into the ground at some distance from the edge and Reg had signed to her to stand by the end of the rope while he carefully unravelled it and swung it down over the rim. And then further help came, for Dr Sheppard, another of the Sanatorium doctors and husband of another very dear friend, was there, helping Reg to pay out the rope steadily and evenly.

A shout reached her. “Oh, good girl, Erica! Brave girl!”

It was answered by a little wailing cry, “I’ll try—I can’t—” Then there was silence. But that was followed by Eugen’s exclamation: “I have her! Steady the rope! Ah! She has fainted! No matter! I can carry her! Pull when I say!”

What came next she had to sort out later. From the exclamations of Reg and Dr Sheppard she gathered that Eugen was climbing up with Erica over his shoulder. She would have given worlds to be able to go to watch, but at the first hint the men waved her back imperatively. Suddenly there came a shout of, “Pull!” and at the same moment the ground shook under her. There came a crash followed by the sound of water gushing through rubble and stones. Eugen, his face ashen with strain, appeared over the edge, an unconscious Erica over his shoulders and while Neil Sheppard stooped to lift him up the short distance remaining, Reg Entwistle took Erica in his arms and turned to the school.

“Come!” he said curtly. “She was unconscious, thank God!”

Joey went without a word. That some awful catastrophe had only just been averted she could guess. What it was, she had no idea, but she felt that at the moment, her first duty was to Erica. She walked swiftly with Reg to the school where Barbara was awaiting them in the little school sanatorium with the medicaments Reg Entwistle had asked for laid ready, a bed opened and a pyjama top waiting to be pulled on. There was even an electric kettle beginning to sing and a small tea-tray laid.

On the whole, Jo felt thankful that there was plenty of work for the next twenty minutes or so. She helped Matron Henschell to strip Erica’s clothes off her, sponge her down and induct her into the pyjama top before the injured ankle was attended to. Erica came round when Matron and the doctor set to work on it, but Jo’s hand in hers, Joey’s voice, “Well done, my Erica! You’ve behaved like a hero in that awful place!” helped the girl to pull herself together. A cup of tea and a tablet from the doctor helped and before long, Erica was fast asleep.

“What exactly happened after Dr Courvoisier got me?” It was five days later and Erica was up for the first time since that eventful Sunday. She was sitting in the staff garden in the swing seat so that the ill-used ankle might be kept up. That last exploit of hers had resulted in the fracture of a tiny bone and between the pain from that and the nervous strain she had undergone they had had to keep her in bed until the Friday. For two days she had run a high temperature and even when that returned to normal she felt too weak and shaky even to want to be up. However, she had wakened that morning feeling more like herself again, and Dr Maynard had come in before he went off to the Sanatorium and carried her out to the garden to establish her on the swing-seat with a severe admonition to keep herself quiet and give no one any further trouble. But Erica knew “Uncle Jack” by this time and her only response had been a giggle.

Joey, who had brought all the Freudesheim small fry, including little Claire, to visit the invalid, laughed. “Honestly, Erica, I’m none too sure myself. He gave you a fireman’s lift up the wall of the pit and we got the two of you out safely—and only just in time, I may say.”

“How was that?” Erica asked, wide-eyed.

“There was a crack in the wall where you hurled yourself down. Another developed while we were waiting for help—I’d no idea you were such a hefty young woman!—and there was a little spring just there—or well below it, rather. It took the opportunity of bursting forth and the walls came down and just what we are going to do about a First XI pitch is more than I can tell you. Len informs me that Heather and the rest of the Eleven are using their spare time to tear out their hair by the handful!”

Erica giggled. “Oh, Auntie Joey! I’m sure they’re not! No, but seriously! What has happened?”

Joey discarded her light manner. “My dear, if you hadn’t set your teeth and got yourself well past the middle of that crater by the time Eugen reached you, I doubt if either you or he would be here. But you did it and just that little bit of extra time—perhaps thirty seconds—made all the difference.”

Erica stared up at her and then turned to look at the little ones playing with a huge blue ball. “I—it wasn’t—me so much,” she said unevenly. “I asked God. And I—didn’t really deserve it.”

“No,” Joey’s beautiful voice was very tender. “How rarely any of us deserves what God gives us! All we can do is to give Him the best we can. If we fail, we can only ask His forgiveness and beg Him to help us to try harder next time. It will come with trying, my Erica. Never forget that.”

Erica nodded. Then she changed the subject after a minute or two. “Is the spring still going or has it stopped?”

“Stopped, so far as we can tell,” Joey replied, tacitly accepting the fact that the grave talk was to cease for the time being. “However, as no one really knows, all that part of the playing-fields has been fenced off—well and truly fenced off. Not even Geoff or Phil could wriggle through that fencing.” Erica went scarlet, but Joey only laughed at her.

“I didn’t think,” the culprit said in low tones.

“No; but I think that won’t happen again so readily,” her guardian said. “You’ve had a sharp lesson as to what can happen if you don’t think. And that’s all I or anyone else is going to say to you about the affair. Just remember this, though. Your ‘didn’t think’ might have ended in a tragedy. As it is, we can quote Shakespeare and say, ‘All’s well that ends well’!”

[The end of Summer Term at the Chalet School by Elinor Mary Brent-Dyer]