Judith never forgot morning prayers on the first day of school at York Hill. In some miraculous way the throng of girls, who crowded the corridors before nine o'clock, formed in lines at the doors of their old classrooms, new girls were piloted to a special position, and when the prayer-bell rang, an orderly procession, beginning with the little "Removes" and ending with the serious and important-looking Sixth Form, filed into Big Hall and took their places.

The beautiful arching Gothic windows, the soft music from the pipe organ, the dignity of the high, oak-beamed ceiling, all this to Judith's beauty-loving mind was curiously satisfying. The service was short but reverent; a hymn, the reading of the lesson, the prayers for the day, and then the Head Mistress was reading out the promotion of old girls and the placing of new girls.

Form Five A was announced; "Judith Benson, Josephine Burley, Sally May Forsythe, Joyce Hewson, Nancy Nairn, Frances Purdy"—Judith's cheeks glowed as the list was read. Five A! How pleased Daddy would be, and how glad she was that she had stuck to the hated mathematics this summer! And to be in Nancy's form, what joy!

Then followed a busy morning; new books piled high on the waiting desk, new teachers, each seemingly more interesting than the last, new rules to be learned, new girls to meet.

Judith was quite ready for buns and milk at eleven-thirty and enjoyed her fifteen minutes in the open, and by the end of the morning she was both tired and stimulated, for she found that she was required to think for herself in order to take part in the discussions. There was to be a written test to-morrow on the books which had been set for Form Five A's summer reading and Judith had thought that she was prepared for it. But as Miss Marlowe proceeded with her keen questioning, Judith began to wonder if she knew anything at all about "The Idylls of the King." Miss Marlowe had a way of saying, when answers were given, "Yes—yes—what do you yourself think?" which Judith, accustomed to teachers who had spoken with a voice of authority, found disconcerting but highly interesting.

After luncheon and a rest period, Nancy took Judith for a tour of inspection; tennis courts, cricket field, gymnasium, common room, and library were visited in turn, the etiquette of the stairs explained—Judith learned that it was considered fearful "side" for a Fifth-Form girl to use the front stairway to the entrance hall—and the round ended in the tuck shop where Judith was introduced to the presiding genius—Mrs. Wilcox, the housekeeper's sister—a bright-eyed, cheerful little Englishwoman, who, to judge by the way the girls greeted her, was immensely popular.

Sally May and Josephine hailed them from a coveted table by the west window, and the four of them were soon busily and happily engaged with peach sundaes and the foibles and peculiarities of teachers new and old.

The four-thirty bell caused a hasty scattering: Judith was enrolled in music and studio classes and introduced to study hour in the library.

It was a busy day. Judith, as she drifted off into the sleep that claimed her before she had time to think over the events of the last twenty-four hours, wondered drowsily whether she had been at York a day or a week, and however was she going to tell Mother and Daddy all about it as she had promised!

By the end of the week the new girls had been so well shepherded by the old that Judith had lost her first shyness and bewilderment at living with so many new people, and was beginning to feel that she herself was an old girl and ready to uphold and defend York Hill traditions. Everything had so far been made so easy for her that she had lost sight of Aunt Nell's cryptic remarks concerning the important things that the girls were to teach her. But the week was not to end without the beginning of the discipline Aunt Nell had been thinking about.

When Nancy and Judith ran upstairs after luncheon on Friday, Judith was surprised to find on her bedroom door a card. There was one on Josephine's too.

"Oh, dear," groaned that young person, "bedroom inspection already! And I left my boots under my bed last night. 'C,' of course, and I did want to have at least 'B's' this term. What've you got, Judy?" And looking over Judith's shoulder she read aloud, "A. Excellent. A pretty room in exquisite order."

"My word, Judy, you're in Miss Watson's good books all right. Did you hear that, Cathy?"—as their prefect appeared in her door dressed for going out, "Judy has 'A' on her card."

"Splendid," said Catherine approvingly; "I wish the rest of you would take Judith's room as a model. You may thank your lucky star, Sally May," she continued as Sally May joined them, "that Miss Watson hadn't time to inspect your room. It's in a shocking state. Run along now and have things ship-shape by dinner-time."

"Isn't she simply lovely?" breathed Sally May when Catherine had gone; "I'd do anything in this world for her. But I don't see how I could ever be tidy. I never looked after my things before and there's so little space in these tiny rooms."

"They certainly are tiny," agreed Judith. "I couldn't think of anything but a cabin on board ship when I saw mine."

"Well, if Cathy wants us to be tidy, we've just got to be," said Nancy with finality, and Josephine and Jane were summoned to help eat the last of Judith's chocolates, and lend their brains to a scheme "for furthering extreme and painful neatness," as Sally May put it.

"We might have a box for fines," suggested Josephine hopefully.

"I have it!" cried Nancy. "Judith's idea of the cabin was an inspiration. Let's pretend we are a ship. Cathy'll be the captain and we'll be the crew and we'll have to be disciplined if we're not orderly."

Nancy's plan was received with enthusiasm, chiefly because, since sororities were not permitted in the school, it gave them a chance to band themselves together. They had great fun discussing a name before they finally settled on Josephine's suggestion of the "Jolly Susan." "'Jolly,' because we are jolly, and 'Susan,' because, well—don't you think of 'Susan' as tidy, and a ship?"

So the cubicles were formally christened the "Jolly Susan" by Jane, who donated a bottle of ginger-ale for the purpose, and Judith's empty candy-box was hung up beside Catherine's door to hold the fines which were to be used "for the sustenance of disabled (or dejected) seamen."

Sally May entreated Judith to show her how she managed to stow away all her belongings so neatly, and when the half-past two bell rang for outdoor recreation, the "Jolly Susan" was ready for Captain Catherine's inspection.

A basket-ball practice for South House had been posted on the bulletin board, but Judith felt lazy and wanted to finish "The Scarlet Pimpernel," so, taking her book, she went across the quadrangle to a sheltered spot under the big beech tree where she meant to spend a blissful hour reading and lying at her ease on the soft warm grass.

The story would be sure to be interesting, but she postponed the treat and lay watching the big white clouds sailing lazily across the blue of the sky, and enjoying the brilliant splashes of colour in the maples at the foot of the garden.

It had been a very happy week, Judith decided, reviewing the events which she planned to chronicle in her letter to her mother to-night. How nice everybody had been to her! No one could have a better chum than Nancy! How pleased Mother would be that she had received such an excellent mark for her room; and Daddy would be delighted at the high mark Miss Marlowe had given her on that initial literature test; Nancy and Josephine were loud in their admiration of the way she had translated for Miss Langton in Latin class. Altogether, as Judith rolled over on to her elbows and found the place in her book, she was feeling happy and a bit too complacent. Only a page or two had been turned when a shadow blotted out the flickering tracings of the beech leaves, and a surprised voice said—

"Hullo, aren't you Judith Benson of South?"

"Yes," said Judith, sitting up and smiling politely, unconsciously ready for a little more praise: she knew that this was Catherine's friend, Patricia Caldwell, another South House prefect.

"Well, then, why aren't you playing basket-ball?"

"Because I don't want to play," said Judith calmly; "I prefer tennis."

Patricia almost gasped; this from a new girl—"She didn't want to!"

"Every girl is expected to join in the first practice matches so we can pick our players for South," she said pleasantly but firmly. "Weren't you at the Athletic Union meeting on Wednesday? I suppose you didn't understand. However, you can join in the second half."

Patricia was Senior basket-ball captain and secretary of the Athletic Union, and basket-ball was to her at present the most important thing in the School. Judith felt rebellious, but made no reply. She watched Patricia's retreating figure and wondered whether she dare skip the practice.

Nancy, who had come to look for her, was questioned.

"Skip it? You had better not!" she exclaimed in horrified tones.

"But it isn't on my time-table," objected Judith. "Mayn't I do as I please in spare time?"

"Why, but Patricia said you must," said Nancy.

Nancy, brought up in the traditions of York Hill, felt that it was almost sacrilegious to question the authority of a senior prefect.

Judith was aggrieved and a bit defiant. She wanted to finish her story. It was extremely pleasant out under the beech trees. She didn't want to get up and dash about getting all hot and untidy, and making all kinds of mistakes in a silly old game that did nobody any good as far as she could see. Anyhow, her afternoon was spoiled now, and she began to wish that basket-ball had never been invented. The very idea of action grew more and more distasteful, but at the sound of the three o'clock bell she got up very reluctantly and crossed over to the basket-ball court. Fortunately she was dressed ready for the game, since at four o'clock she was due at a gymnasium class.

Esther Harriman, who was umpiring, gave her a red scarf to tie on her arm and briefly explained where she was to play and what she was to do. Unfortunately the girl she was to check was Georgia Fisher for whom Judith had taken an unreasonable dislike; partly because she disliked the way Georgia giggled, and partly because she thought her impossibly stupid. Judith hadn't much patience with stupid people!

"No, I haven't played much," Judith said loftily in answer to Georgia's question. "I don't care about basket-ball—I'd sooner play tennis. Last year I won the tennis prize." Georgia wasn't to think that she, Judith, couldn't play games if she wanted to.

Esther blew her whistle, and instantly the two centres were leaping for the ball, and before Judith could remember that she was supposed to be on guard Georgia quite easily caught the ball, and passed it neatly to Josephine who threw for the basket and made the first score for the Blue scarves.

Judith looked annoyed and Georgia giggled, sympathetically.

"You got to keep your eye on me, and on the ball," she explained good-humouredly, and proceeded to take the ball again in spite of Judith's utmost endeavors to prevent her.

An exhausting half-hour followed. Georgia seemed to be all arms, thought Judith despairingly, trying in vain to check her. Once she did get the coveted ball, and in the excitement of at last outwitting Georgia, she threw it straight into the outstretched arms of Josephine who wore the enemy's Blue scarf. Josephine threw her a kiss of thanks when the ball was safely landed in the net, and Georgia's unfailing giggle helped to heighten the colour in Judith's cheeks.

Up went the ball again and then swiftly it came, passed from one Red scarf to another. "I will have it this time," said Judith fiercely to herself, too engrossed in a desire to win from the Blues to remember the most elementary rules of the game; she caught the ball and ran, yes, just ran to the goal and threw. The proverbial good luck which attends the beginner was hers, but instead of the applause which Judith expected there was a burst of good-natured laughter. She had run with the ball and all in order to throw it into the Blues' goal!

Poor Judith, it was all she could do to smile feebly when Georgia met her with a grin, and, "This ain't football, you know." She hated being laughed at, and when the practice was finally over, left the campus humiliated, cross, and hardly able to bear herself or any one else.

On the way back to the beech tree and the story-book, she consulted her time-table to make sure of the time of the gymnasium class. Yes! thank goodness, she was free until four o'clock—there was just time to finish the chapter.

Four o'clock found Judith in line, a pair of dumb-bells tucked under her arms, ready to march into the gymnasium as the three-thirty class marched out. She had had two lessons already and was beginning to like her class. Last year's instructor had been adored by the girls and consequently their work was excellent. Miss Evans, a young teacher, new to York Hill, busy finding out what her new classes could do, scarcely realized how much she was on trial. This afternoon she called out a last year's girl to lead the class while she stood aside to watch and criticize.

"Wrong, wrong," she cried, and held up her hand as figure five was concluded. Now Miss Evans, as we said, was young and new at her job, and did not count on the adoration which the girls had given her predecessor.

"Quite wrong," she said again.

"That is the way we did last year, Miss Evans," stiffly replied Jane who was leading.

"Indeed!" said Miss Evans, who did not like Jane's tone; "that doesn't make it right. Is there any one here who belonged to another class who can do this figure correctly?"

Alas, Miss Evans, your Irish impetuosity will cost you dear! Condemnation shone forth from thirty pairs of eyes, the hot, unreasoning condemnation of the young. Alas, Miss Evans, it will take you many a day to recapture what you have just lost! Alas, poor Judith, here was the opportunity to regain her lost self-complacency. It happened that she had been taught figure five in a different fashion, and, eager to show that she at least knew how, her hand went up.

"Ah, Judith knows how? Judith, stand out and do the figure."

The music began and Judith went through it accurately and perfectly, entirely to her own satisfaction and to that of Miss Evans.

"Good," said Miss Evans, "that's right. Now once more, Judith, so that the others may follow."

Judith's eyes flew to Nancy's. She loved to see the admiring affection which she had been finding there. But Nancy's eyes were cold and unseeing. Judith, like most clever little girls, was extremely sensitive to public opinion, and she almost dropped her dumb-bells in an agony of shame and humiliation as she saw the coldness of Nancy's eyes faithfully repeated in all the eyes about her. Alas, poor Judith! "Teacher's pet," terrible phrase, was whispered as the class filed out, and when Nancy and Josephine rushed down to the tuck shop for an ice-cream cone they affected not to see Judith, who at first followed disconsolately, and then fled to her room, where, with head buried under the pillows, she sobbed herself into a misery of self-pity and supposed homesickness.

Five o'clock bell rang. Horrors! She had forgotten that Aunt Nell was to be here at five o'clock to take her out for dinner. Aunt Nell would be cross at being kept waiting. Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Would she never find her gloves? Where was her new scarf? She must have left them down in the cloakroom after morning walk. A hurried flight to the cloakroom, another search, and an entirely discomfited Judith presented herself in the drawing-room.

Aunt Nell would look displeased, she thought, as she entered. Judith really did not care that Aunt Nell had been inconvenienced, but merely that disapproval, instead of the approbation for which she thirsted, would be her portion. But Aunt Nell looked amused. Indeed, when they were once in the motor she laughed outright.

"I must say, Judy, considering that you have been in school only a week, you seem to have got rid of any superfluous neatness very quickly." And she pointed to a mirror at the side of the car.

Judith's eyes rounded with horror; she had washed her face, but a grimy streak still outlined one side of her chin, her hair was rough in spite of a hasty brushing, and her hat was comically askew.

"I have been so busy," said Judith, turning scarlet and blinking to keep back the tears of mortification at this last straw.

"Busy!" said Aunt Nell quizzically; "busy learning important things?"

"Very important things," said Judith.