Both Marjorie and Dona described their holidays as "absolutely topping". To begin with, Father had nearly a week's leave. He could not arrive for Christmas, but he was with them for New Year's Day, and by the greatest good luck met Bevis, who was home on a thirty-six-hours leave. To have two of their dear fighting heroes back at once was quite an unexpected treat, and though there were still two vacant places in the circle, the family party was a very merry one. They were joined by a new member, for Nora and her husband came over, bringing their ten-weeks-old baby boy, and Marjorie, Dona, and Joan felt suddenly quite grown-up in their new capacity of "Auntie". Dona in especial was delighted with her wee nephew.

"I've found out what I'm going to do when I leave school," she told Marjorie rather shyly. "I shall go to help at a crÈche. When Winifrede was reading out that 'News of Old Girls' I felt utterly miserable, because I knew I could never do any of those things; a hospital makes me sick, and I'd be scared to death to drive a motor ambulance. I thought Winifrede would call me an utter slacker. But I could look after babies in a crÈche while their mothers work at munitions. I should simply love it. And it would be doing something for the war in a way, especially if they were soldiers' children. I'm ever so much happier now I've thought of it. I'm going to ask to take 'Hygiene' next term, because Gertie Temple told me they learnt how to mix a baby's bottle."

"And I'm going to ask to take 'First Aid'," replied Marjorie, with equal enthusiasm. "You have to pass your St. John's Ambulance before you can be a V.A.D. I'll just love practising bandaging."

The girls went back to school with less reluctance than their mother had expected. It was, of course, a wrench to leave home, and for Dona, at any rate, the atmosphere was at first a little damp, but once installed in their old quarters at Brackenfield they were caught in the train of bustling young life, and cheered up. It is not easy to sit on your bed and weep when your room-mates are telling you their holiday adventures, singing comic songs, and passing round jokes. Also, tears were unfashionable at Brackenfield, and any girl found shedding them was liable to be branded as "Early Victorian", or, worse still, as a "sentimental silly".

Marjorie happened to be the first arrival in Dormitory No. 9. She drew the curtains of her cubicle and began to unpack, feeling rather glad to have the place to herself for a while. When the next convoy of girls arrived from the station, Miss Norton entered the room, escorting a stranger.

"This is your cubicle," she explained hurriedly. "Your box will be brought up presently, and then you can unpack, and put your clothes in this wardrobe and these drawers. The bath-rooms are at the end of the passage. Come downstairs when you hear the gong."

The house mistress, whose duties on the first day of term were onerous, departed like a whirlwind, leaving the stranger standing by her bed. Marjorie drew aside her curtains and introduced herself.

"Hallo! I suppose you're a new girl? You've got Irene's cubicle. I wonder where she's to go. I'm Marjorie Anderson. What's your name?"

"Chrissie Lang. I don't know who Irene is, but I hope we shan't fight for the cubicle. The bed doesn't look big enough for two, unless she's as thin as a lath. There's a good deal of me!"

Marjorie laughed, for the new-comer sounded humorous. She was a tall, stoutly-built girl with a fair complexion, flaxen hair, and blue eyes, the pupils of which were unusually large. Though not absolutely pretty, she was decidedly attractive-looking. She put her hand-bag on the bed, and began to take out a few possessions, opened her drawers, and inspected the capacities of her wardrobe.

"Not too much room here!" she commented. "It reminds me of a cabin on board ship. I wonder they don't rig up berths. I hope they won't be long bringing up my box. Oh, here it is!"

Not only did the trunk arrive, but Betty and Sylvia also put in an appearance, both very lively and talkative, and full of news."Hallo, Marjorie! Do you know Renie's been moved to No. 5? She wants to be with Mavie Chapman. They asked Norty before the holidays, and never told us a word. Wasn't it mean?"

"And Lucy's in the same dormitory!"

"Molly's brought a younger sister—Nancy, her name is. We travelled together from Euston. She's in St. Ethelberta's, of course—rather a jolly kid."

"Annie Grey has twisted her ankle, and won't be able to come back for a week. Luck for her!"

"Valerie Hall's brother has been wounded, and Magsie Picton's brother has been mentioned in dispatches, and Miss Duckworth has lost her nephew."

"Miss Pollard's wearing an engagement ring, but she won't tell anybody anything about it; and Miss Gordon was married in the holidays—a war wedding. Oh yes! she has come back to school, but we've got to call her Mrs. Greenbank now. Won't it be funny? The Empress has two little nieces staying with her—they're five and seven, such sweet little kiddies, with curly hair. Their father's at the front."

The new girl listened with apparent interest as Betty and Sylvia rattled on, but she did not interrupt, and waited until she was questioned before she gave an account of herself.

"I live up north, in Cumberland. Yes, I've been to school before. I've one brother. No, he's not at the front. I haven't unpacked his photo. I can't tell whether I like Brackenfield yet; I've only been here half an hour."As she still seemed at the shy stage, Betty and Sylvia stopped catechizing her and concerned themselves with their own affairs. The new-comer went on quietly with her unpacking, taking no notice of her room-mates, but when the gong sounded for tea she allowed Betty and Sylvia to pass, then looked half-appealingly, half-whimsically at Marjorie.

"May I go down with you?" she asked. "I don't know my way about yet. Sorry to be a nuisance. You can drop me if you like when you've landed me in the dining-room. I don't want to tag on."

At the end of a week opinions in Dormitory No. 9 were divided on the subject of Chrissie Lang. Betty and Sylvia frankly regretted Irene, and were not disposed to extend too hearty a welcome to her substitute. It was really in the first instance because Betty and Sylvia were disagreeable to Chrissie that Marjorie took her up. It was more in a spirit of opposition to her room-mates than of philanthropy towards the new-comer. Betty and Sylvia were inclined to have fun together and leave Marjorie out of their calculations, a state of affairs which she hotly resented. During the whole of last term she had not found a chum. She was rather friendly with Mollie Simpson, but Mollie was in another dormitory, and this term had been moved into IV Upper A, so that they were no longer working together in form. It was perhaps only natural that she adopted Chrissie; she certainly found her an amusing companion, if nothing more. Chrissie was humorous, and always inclined for fun. She kept up a constant fire of little jokes. She would draw absurd pictures of girls or mistresses on the edge of her blotting-paper, or write parodies on popular poems. She was evidently much attracted to Marjorie, yet she was one of those people with whom one never grows really intimate. One may know them for years without ever getting beyond the outside crust, and the heart of them always remains a sealed book. There is a certain magnetism in friendship. It is perhaps only once or twice in a lifetime that we meet the one with whom our spirit can really fuse, the kindred soul who seems always able to understand and sympathize. In the hurry and bustle of school life, however, it is something to have a congenial comrade, if it is only a girl who will sit next you at meals, walk to church with you in crocodile, and take your side in arguments with your room-mates.

The spring term at Brackenfield proved bitterly cold. In February the snow fell thickly, and one morning the school woke to find a white world. In Dormitory 9 matters were serious, for the snow had drifted in through the open window and covered everything like a winding-sheet. It was a new experience for the girls to see dressing-tables and wash-stands shrouded in white, and a drift in the middle of the floor. They set to work after breakfast with shovels and toiled away till nearly school-time before they had made a clearance.

"I feel like an Alpine traveller," declared Chrissie. "If things go on at this rate the school will have to provide St. Bernard dogs to rescue us in the mornings."

"The newspapers say it's the worst frost since 1895," remarked Sylvia.

"I think it's the limit," groused Betty. "Give me good open hunting weather. I hate snow."

"Hockey'll be off," said Marjorie. "It's a grizzly nuisance about the match on Saturday."

Though the usual outdoor games were perforce suspended, the school nevertheless found an outlet for its energies. There was a little hill at the bottom of the big playing-field, and down this the girls managed to get some tobogganing. They had no sleds, but requisitioned tea-trays and drawing-boards, often with rather amusing results, though fortunately the snow was soft to fall in. Another diversion was a mock battle. The combatants threw up trenches of snow, and, arming themselves with a supply of snowballs, kept up a brisk fire until ammunition was exhausted. It was a splendid way of keeping up the circulation, and the girls would run in after this exercise with crimson cheeks. At night, however, they suffered very much from the cold. Open bedroom windows were a cardinal rule, and, with the thermometer many degrees below zero, the less hardy found it almost impossible to keep warm. Marjorie, who was rather a chilly subject, lay awake night after night and shivered. It was true that hot bricks were allowed, but with so many beds to look after, the maids did not always bring them up at standard heat, and Marjorie's half-frozen toes often found only lukewarm comfort. After enduring the misery for three nights, she boldly went to Mrs. Morrison and begged permission to be taken to Whitecliffe to buy an india-rubber hot-water bag, which she could herself fill in the bath-room. Part of the Empress's success as a Principal was due to the fact that she was always ready to listen to any reasonable demands. Hers was no red-tape rule, but a system based on sensible methods. She smiled as Marjorie rather bashfully uttered her request.

"Fifteen other girls have asked me the same thing," she replied. "You may all go into Whitecliffe this afternoon with Miss Duckworth, and see what you can find at the Stores."

Rejoicing in this little expedition, the favoured sixteen set off at two o'clock, escorted by the mistress. There had been great drifts on the high road, and the snow was dug out and piled on either side in glistening heaps. The white cliffs and hills and the grey sky and sea gave an unusual aspect to the landscape. A flock of sea-gulls whirled round on the beach, but of other birds there were very few. Even the clumps of seaweed on the shore looked frozen. Nature was at her dreariest, and anyone who had seen the place in the summer glory of heather, bracken, and blue sea could hardly have believed it to be the same. The promenade was deserted, the pier shut up, and those people whose business took them into the streets hurried along as if they were anxious to get home again.The girls found it was not such an easy matter as they had imagined to procure sixteen hot-water bags. Owing to the war, rubber was scarce, and customers had already made many demands upon the supply. The Stores could only produce nine bags.

"I have some on order, and expect them in any day," said the assistant. "Shall I send some out for you when they come?"

Knowing by experience that goods thus ordered might take weeks to arrive, the girls declined, and set out to visit the various chemists' shops in the town, with the result that by buying a few at each, they in the end made up their numbers. The sizes and prices of the bags varied considerably, but the girls were so glad to get any at all, that they would have cheerfully paid double if it had been necessary.

Feeling thoroughly satisfied with their shopping expedition, they turned their steps again towards Brackenfield, up the steep path past the church, over the bridge that spanned the railway, and along the cliff walk that led from the town on to the moor. As they passed the end of the bare beech avenue, they met a party of wounded soldiers from the Red Cross Hospital, in the blue convalescent uniform of His Majesty's forces. One limped on crutches, and one was in a Bath chair, wheeled by a companion; most of the rest wore bandages either on their arms or heads. Marjorie looked at them attentively, hoping to recognize some of the patients she had seen at the Christmas-tree entertainment, but these were all strangers, and she reflected that the other set must have been passed on by now to convalescent homes. She was walking at the end of the line, and Miss Duckworth did not happen to be looking. A sudden spirit of mischief seized her, and hastily stooping and catching up a handful of snow, she kneaded it quickly, and threw it at Mollie Simpson to attract her attention. It was done on the spur of the moment, in sheer fun. But, alas for Marjorie! her aim was not true, and instead of hitting Mollie her missile struck one of the soldiers. He chuckled with delight, and promptly responded. In a moment his companions were kneading snowballs and pelting the school. Now wounded Tommies are regarded as very privileged persons, and the girls, instantly catching the spirit of the encounter, broke line and began to throw back snowballs.

"Girls, girls!" cried Miss Duckworth's shocked and agitated voice; "come along at once! Don't look at those soldiers. Attention! Form line immediately! Quick march!"

Rather flushed and flurried, her flock controlled themselves, conscious that they had overstepped the mark, and under the keen eye of their mistress, who now brought up the rear instead of leading, they filed off in their former crocodile. Every one of the sixteen knew that there was trouble in store for her. They discussed it uneasily on the way home. Nor were they mistaken. At tea-time Miss Rogers, after ringing the silence bell, announced that those girls who had been to Whitecliffe that afternoon must report themselves in Mrs. Morrison's study at 5.15.It is one thing to indulge in a moment's fun, and quite another to pay the price afterwards. Sixteen very rueful faces were assembled in the passage outside the study by 5.15. Nobody would have had the courage to knock, but the Principal herself opened the door, and bade them enter. They filed in like a row of prisoners. Mrs. Morrison marshalled them into a double line opposite her desk, then, standing so as to command the eyes of all, she opened the vials of her wrath. She reproached them for unladylike conduct, loss of dignity, and lack of discipline.

"Where are the traditions of Brackenfield," she asked, "if you can so far forget yourselves as to descend to such behaviour? One would imagine you were poor ignorant girls who had never been taught better; indeed, many a Sunday-school class would have had more self-respect. Whoever began it"—here she looked hard at Marjorie—"is directly responsible for lowering the tone of the school. Think what disgrace it brings on the name of Brackenfield for such an act to be remembered against her pupils! Knit and sew for the soldiers, get up concerts for them, and speak kindly to them in the hospitals, but never for a moment forget in your conduct what is due both to yourself and to them. This afternoon's occurrence has grieved me more than I can express. I had believed that I could trust you, but I find to my sorrow that I was mistaken."

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