Before the week was up the girls who intended to compete for the Howard miniature prize had given in their names. All was managed very quietly, without the least fuss or excitement. Mrs. Fleming did not wish to have excitement come into the matter, as she knew that such would be against the wish of her dear old friend. The rules were drawn up with extreme care, and were given to each competitor. The intellectual part of the competition would not begin until after Christmas; there would then be two terms for the girls to work in—the Easter and the summer term. The 15th of June was fixed as the day when the prize would be awarded, and this would be a very special day in the school. The fathers and mothers of all the competitors would, if possible, be present; in addition there would be some art judges and judges of music and recitation. Then there would be the judges for the competition itself; these would be six in number, three men and three ladies; they would all be people well known to the literary world, and the mere fact of such distinguished people awarding the prize would largely add to its distinction. As well as the prize itself and the sealed parchment, there would be a beautifully illuminated certificate, which would be set in a frame of a simple band of gold. This would give the names of the judges, the date when the prize was won, and such other particulars as would make the prize of great value in the future.

The last girls to appear in Mrs. Fleming’s study to put down their names as competitors for the Howard miniature were Kitty Merrydew, Sophia Marshall, and the two Misses Dodd. Kitty looked charming and insouciant. Her black hair was tied carelessly back from her charming little face with a wide bow of crimson ribbon; she wore her favourite crimson frock and embroidered black stockings and very neat little shoes with black satin rosettes. Nothing could be smarter than her appearance; no eyes could be brighter than hers. With her straight little features, her beautifully curved lips, her teeth white as pearls, and an additional crimson colour in her cheeks, she made altogether a picture which ought to attract any eye. Even her expression seemed at the first glance to be altogether frank, lively, good-natured; but Mrs. Fleming knew that face well, and wished the dark eyes did not look at her so boldly, and wanted to see less of that spirit of defiance round the proud mouth. She altogether distrusted Kitty, and yet she had no loophole, not the slightest, to account for her prejudice.

Kitty had taken immense pains with her attire on this auspicious occasion, and she was equally careful that the Dodds and Sophia Marshall should not outshine her. The Dodds were allowed by their affectionate parents to spend any amount of money they liked upon dress; but, unluckily for them, they had money without taste. When Kitty was in a good humour she took pains with their toilets, taking good care whenever she did so to get them to present her with a frock or a ribbon or a new bauble for her trouble. The girls were quite willing to do this, for she really attracted them immensely. On this special day they were astonished to see Kitty making herself so smart.

“We had better put on our best frocks too,” said Anne, after looking for a minute at her idol.

“Oh, I don’t think so at all,” replied Kitty. “You’ll do absolutely in those old dowds; but, let me see—perhaps not. You might put on your green frocks.”

“But, Kitty, you said the green frocks made shows of us.”

“Still, they must be worn, and they’re very handsome,” said Kitty. “You’d better put them on. Miss Archdale said we might go to our dormitory on this occasion to dress if we liked. What a fuss there is being made over this old prize! Well, girls, you hop into your green frocks. I think brown stockings would look nice with them, and brown shoes.”

“Wouldn’t black be best?” said Anne.

“No, no; you really mustn’t copy me; it must be brown. Now go and tittivate.—By the way, what are you going to wear, Sophy?”

“That’s nothing to you,” answered Sophia.

“Oh my! how grand we’ve become! My dear child, I’m sure I don’t care; that rusty cashmere of yours will be in holes if you don’t get a new one soon. You’d better write to your beloved parents on the subject. I saw a hole under your arm and another just by your elbow on Sunday.”

Sophia marched out of the room. “Isn’t she huffy?” said Kitty, looking at the two Dodds; “and, oh, don’t I feel gay, gay, gay! What fun this is!”

She began to dance about the room in her exquisitely graceful fashion. Suddenly she danced up to Grace. “Do you know,” she said, “that Jessie Wyndham had a letter from her mother this morning, and I’m to go to them to spend Christmas? Isn’t it glorious? You’ll have to fork out, my cherubs, to buy your darling some new frocks. I can do with three—one extra morning frock and two evening. Twenty pounds will do the business. We had better go and see Miss Weston about it, or she may get filled up with orders. And, by the way, afterwards, of course, Gracie, I’m coming on to you. Why, how glum you look! Surely you’d love to have me?”

“Of course I would, and so would Anne; but the fact is, we are not allowed to ask anybody without father’s leave.”

“Well, write to him and tell him that I’m coming.”

Anne turned very white and looked at Grace.

Grace said, in a nervous tone, “We’d best go and dress.”

“You have written to your father,” said Kitty. “I see it in your faces. Well, what did he say?”

“He said—he said—oh, Kit, we are fit to burst with rage—he said you were not to come.”

A very rich colour now did indeed spread over Kitty’s face. She was thoughtful for a minute; then she said quietly, “What will you bet me that I’ll not go straight from the Wyndhams’ to you, and that Daddy Dodd won’t fetch me in his motor-car—the new Mercedes that you told me he had bought?”

“Oh Kitty, we don’t want to bet.”

“You must bet—you must, you must! I’m going to bet ten pounds with you that I’m going. Now then, now then! You’ll each of you pay me ten pounds if I go, and if I don’t I pay you ten pounds between you. Come, that’s fair. Settle it quick, settle it quick.”

“Very well, Kitty,” said Anne; “but you’ll lose your money, you know, for daddy never changes his mind.”

Meanwhile Sophia had gone up to her room. She was about to put on her shabby frock when there came a tap at the door. Hannah stood without.

“Sophy, I do pity you so dreadfully. Have you quite made up your mind?”

“Yes, I have. I wish I needn’t. You’d best not stand there talking to me, Hannah.”

“Well, if you have,” said Hannah, “and there’s no way out of it, I want to help you in a little trifle. I have nothing to do this afternoon, and I want to mend your cashmere and wash it over with ammonia; it will bring out the colour like anything; and, as you and I are exactly the same height, will you wear this frock of mine when you go with the others to see Mrs. Fleming? See, it is quite new; it came to me from mother this morning by post.”

“Oh Hannah, you are a duck! And what a pretty colour! But ought I to wear it first of all?”

“Yes, please do; it will make me a little bit happier. Let me help you to hook up the eyes; it fastens up the back, you know.”

A few minutes later Sophia was arrayed in a dark-blue cashmere frock, which suited her exactly. She gave Hannah a sort of choky kiss; she tried to murmur some words, but none would come, and then she left the room.

The four girls were, as has been said, the last to enter the little library and to express their willingness to compete for the Howard miniature. Mrs. Fleming looked them all over, beginning at Kitty and ending with Sophia. The Dodds looked sullen and ugly; their green dresses were hideous, and made them look, as Kitty knew well, their very worst. The dresses were made of rich double crÊpe de chine, a most expensive material, and had on the bodices some handsome real lace and little knots of yellow ribbon. The colour of the green was a sort of yellow spring tint, which would really have tried a Venus, unless she were as fair as Peggy Desmond, who could have carried off one of those queer frocks to perfection. Sophia was the only one of the party suitably dressed, and this was owing to Hannah.

Mrs. Fleming, after looking at the girls one after the other, said quietly, “You are anxious and willing to compete for this great prize?”

“Yes,” said Kitty, in a cheerful voice, “I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“I am glad to be able to tell you,” continued Mrs. Fleming, “that all the girls in the Lower School intend to compete, with two exceptions—one is dear little Elisabeth, who, of course, is far too young; the other is Hannah Joyce. I am very sorry indeed about Hannah, and—surprised.”

“I’m not,” said Kitty.

“You are not what?”

“I mean I’m not surprised.”

Mrs. Fleming gave the girl a glance of almost contempt; she knew that Kitty longed to say more, but was resolved on no account to listen to her. “It is not our affair,” she said, “why Hannah does not compete; she is a very nice, good girl, and I have no doubt has wise reasons. I should have liked her to have won the prize, for it would have helped her and her dear mother; but she may perhaps feel differently another year. Now then, to business. You have each of you a copy of the rules of competition?”

“Yes,” said Anne.

“Speak up, Anne Dodd; don’t mumble.”

“Yes, Mrs. Fleming.”

“You know how severe these rules are, with regard to conduct, past, present, and future?”

Sophia clutched her chair very tightly. Kitty, who was sitting next to Sophia, gave her a nudge, and said at once in a very cheerful voice, “I don’t pretend for a minute to be perfect. Indeed, far from that, I’m afraid I’m rather a naughty little girl; I’ve such an eye for mischief; but at least I’m honest and aboveboard, and those are the main things, aren’t they, Mrs. Fleming?”

“They are the indispensable things, Katherine.”

“And,” continued Kitty, “I mean to have a tremendous try for the future. I can’t tell you how hard I shall work to overcome my faults—not to mimic, you know, or anything naughty of that sort, and to be very kind and generous to others. Don’t you think that’s what I ought to aim at most of all, Mrs. Fleming?”

“It is what you all ought to aim at. But now, Kitty, I need not listen to your resolutions for the future. You have but to follow the rules with a humble prayer to God to help you. But, my dear children, what I am coming to is this: You know that in the case of you four I have to demand more, far more than from any other girls in the school. I have to ask each of you once again to assure me, solemnly and before Almighty God, that you had nothing to do with that accident which so nearly cost the life of Peggy Desmond. The prize is great, no doubt, but it is less than the dust compared to the iniquity, the awful sin, of competing for it unworthily. Now, my dears, you know. I don’t want to press the matter any further home. God is your Judge whether you are speaking the truth to me to-day; whether I believe you or not, I shall have to act as though I believed you. You will, all four of you, have the same chance of winning this prize as any other girl in the school; but let me tell you, girls, that if unworthily you attempt to compete for it it will be a curse to you, not a blessing. Now, children, I have spoken. I have spoken with pain, for I am unhappy. There is a mystery, and I cannot get to the bottom of it. I lie awake night after night, thinking of it, wondering and wondering what serpent has come into my Eden. Oh my children, I love you so dearly; do not be tempted for a little worldly gain and honour to imperil your souls!”

There was a profound silence in the room. The four girls looked down. Sophia was shaking from head to foot, and but for Kitty’s restraining hand placed upon hers she would have fallen.

Mrs. Fleming now rose, and, taking a small Bible from where it lay by her side, she put it into the hand of Kitty Merrydew. “Kitty, can you tell me from the bottom of your heart that you know nothing whatever with regard to the mischief done to Peggy Desmond? Remember the book you are holding. Answer me, my child, truthfully.”

“I know nothing,” said Kitty; “nothing whatsoever.” She sprang to her feet as she spoke, and put the Bible on the table; she almost pushed it from her, as though it stung her. Her cheeks were crimson, her eyes unnaturally bright.

The two Dodds went through the same ceremony; and, following Kitty’s example, said that they knew nothing.

It now was Sophia’s turn. Sophia stood up, shaking. “I’d rather not compete,” she said. “I’ve nothing to say, nothing at all; but, please, I’d rather not compete. Hannah and I will stand out together.”

“You must have a reason for this, Sophy.”

“I’ve nothing at all to say except that I won’t compete. Please, please, let me go. The room is so—so hot—I—think I’ll faint.”

“I will see you again after a time, Sophy.” Mrs. Fleming opened the door herself for the girl, who slipped out as though she were beaten.

“I’m glad of this,” said Kitty.

“Glad! What do you mean?”

“I suppose, Mrs. Fleming, you don’t wish me to be a tell-tale? Please may we go? This has been a very unpleasant scene.”

Mrs. Fleming said, in a haughty voice, “You can go, girls, and—if you see Miss Archdale, send her to me immediately.”

Sophia flew to Hannah’s side; Hannah was busily employed mending the little girl’s old cashmere frock. She was a very neat worker, having been taught by her careful mother. She looked up with a start of extreme surprise when she saw Sophia. Sophia flung herself on her knees by her, put her head into her lap, and burst into a passion of weeping.

“Oh Hannah, Hannah, darling,” she said, “it—it was your frock did it; it—it saved me!”

Hannah turned a little pale. “What do you mean, Sophy?” she asked.

“Oh I can’t quite tell you everything. It was too awful; it was like—like the Judgment Seat. Oh Hannah, you couldn’t have borne it for a minute! Mrs. Fleming was so splendid, so—so like Jesus Christ somehow, so sorry for us and so longing for us to do what was right. I could hear it in her dear words and see it in her dear face, and how they ever held out, I—I cannot understand. Somehow, Hannah, all of a sudden my greatest fear left me. Oh I’m a sad, sad coward, and I’m just awfully afraid of Kitty; but nothing seemed worth while then but to do right. I thought of you, who really know nothing at all, and I thought of myself, and what I know. And—can you realise it, Hannah?—Mrs. Fleming, after she had spoken, oh so solemnly and so lovingly!—she got up and brought the Bible to us, and Kitty held the Bible in her hand and had to say she knew nothing; and the poor Dodds, they followed her example; but I—I couldn’t—I felt like a whipped cur, so mean and dreadful, but there was no help for it. I couldn’t tell, of course, but I could at least do what you are doing. I said I wouldn’t compete. I was asked, of course, to give a reason, and I said I had no reason that I could give. I am sure Mrs. Fleming suspects me awfully; but I don’t mind anything now; I don’t even mind Kitty. Of course she’ll try to frighten me to-night in the dormitory. You don’t know what she does when we don’t obey. She just covers her face with some stuff that makes it shine, and oh she makes us scream; but I—I don’t think I mind her. Anyhow, the other is worse—much worse. Don’t you think so, Hannah?”

“Yes,” said Hannah. “I want to kiss you, Sophy,” she added.

“Come for a walk with me, Hannah, won’t you?” said Sophia.

“I will. I have just finished your dress, and it looks so tidy. Let’s fetch our hats, both of us, and go out.”

Meanwhile Mrs. Fleming sat very quiet and thoughtful in her library. There came a tap at her door, and Miss Archdale entered.

“Julia, my dear,” said the head-mistress, “I never felt in such a pickle in the whole of my life.”

“Why, what can be wrong now?” asked Miss Archdale.

Mrs. Fleming then related the scene which had just taken place. “I must tell you quite plainly,” she said, in conclusion, “that I am now convinced of Kitty’s bad influence in the school, and yet the terrible thing is that I have no positive proof, and cannot obtain a proof without spying and prying, a thing which I cannot possibly stoop to, nor allow any of my dear assistant teachers to stoop to. My belief that real wickedness comes to light in the end is as strong as ever; nevertheless, a great deal of mischief may take place before this desirable state of things arrives.”

“The simple thing,” said Miss Archdale, after a pause, “would surely be to ask her people to remove Kitty. You could give a good reason for this without in any way injuring her character.”

“That is just what I cannot do, my dear Julia. The girl is going to compete for the Howard miniature, and would be naturally very furious if she were dismissed now. I would send her away to-morrow if I could find proof; but I cannot get proof; that is the awful thing. I know the child is poor; her mother was a very nice woman, and was loved in the school; I know nothing about her father. On her deathbed her mother wrote to me and begged of me to take Kitty, if in any way possible. How then can I dismiss her now? She goes in the holidays to an aunt, an unmarried woman, a sister of her father’s. I have never seen Miss Merrydew, but I rather fancy that she has very little influence over her niece. No, my dear, we must keep her for the present, although my heart aches at the thought. There is no doubt whatever that there is a conspiracy in the Lower School, and that Kitty Merrydew is at the head of it. She is helped by the Dodds, weak, poor children, with heaps of money. Sophia and Hannah were both rather in her power, but have broken loose. I consider that Sophia behaved with great bravery to-day; the poor child was evidently sick with fright. And now I want you, my dear, to get her right away from Kitty’s influence. She must sleep for the future in the lower dormitory, in the bed which was occupied by Peggy Desmond; and Priscilla Price, an admirable, trustworthy girl, must go and sleep in the upper dormitory. I will myself speak to Priscilla about this. Indeed, it would not be at all a bad plan to put both Rufa and Priscilla into the upper dormitory; it would never do to have that room handed over to the machinations of Kitty and her satellites. Will you speak to Miss Smith at once about these changes, dear, and send Prissy to me when you see her? Oh dear, I am tired, Julia. The management of a school is no sinecure.”

“You poor darling,” said Miss Archdale, “it is worse than a sin to worry you.”

Mrs. Fleming was in her luxurious sitting-room when Prissy arrived. She was a tall, rather handsome girl, with straight features and good, honest eyes. Integrity and uprightness shone all over her young face. She had something the look of a young knight who had girded on his armour, and, with his sword ever by his side, was ready to fight in the cause of righteousness.

“Priscilla dear,” said the head-mistress, “I’m going to ask you and Rufa to do something which I’m afraid you won’t at all like.”

“You mean, Mrs. Fleming,” said Priscilla, “that you want us to sleep in the upper dormitory? We don’t mind at all—that is, if it will help you.”

“It will help me very much, Priscilla.”

“Then it’s settled, of course,” said Prissy, in her pleasant voice.

“I don’t give you any reason for this change, dear,” said the head-mistress, looking at her pupil.

“Of course not. Why should you?”

“Every girl wouldn’t speak like that, Prissy.”

“But every girl hasn’t got a head-mistress like you,” answered Priscilla, and she bent gracefully on one knee, and taking her mistress’s hand raised it in her young, stately fashion to her lips.

“Priscilla, child, you know I can’t bear tale-bearers.”

“Of course you cannot,” replied Priscilla.

“But—if you and Rufa observe anything going on in the upper dormitory which you think I will not like you are bound in honour to uphold me; and, if such upholding fails, you are equally bound in honour to tell me what has occurred.”

“I think I understand,” said Prissy, speaking very slowly. A minute later she left the room.

“Why are we changed?” asked Rufa, when she met her friend.

“I think,” said Priscilla, in a low tone, “because Mrs. Fleming wants us, if possible, to discover a conspiracy.”

“But even if we do, Pris——”

“In that case, Rufa, we’ve got to be plucky.”

Rufa was silent for a minute; then she said slowly, “I don’t like this change at all.”

“No more do I, but what does that matter if we can help?”

“Help!” said Rufa.

“The good,” answered Priscilla.

“I think I understand,” said Rufa in a low tone.