A Patriotic Schoolgirl (WWI Centenary Series). Angela Brazil

them in vain. They wondered whether she would wait for the next train, and, if she did not, how they were going to get across London to the Great Western railway station. Marjorie felt very doubtful as to whether her experience of travelling would be equal to the emergency. She hid her fears, however, from Dona, whose countenance was quite sufficiently woebegone already.

      “We’ll get chocolates out of the automatic machine, and buy something to read at the bookstall,” she suggested. “Two hours won’t last for ever!”

      Dona cheered up a little at the sight of magazines, and picked out a periodical with a soldier upon the cover. Marjorie, whose taste in literature inclined to the sensational, reviewed the books, and chose one with a startling picture depicting a phantom in the act of disturbing a dinner-party. She was too agitated to read more than a few pages of it, but she thought it seemed interesting. The two hours were over at last, and the girls and their luggage were safely installed in the London train by a porter. It was a long journey to Euston. After their early start and the excitement at Rosebury both felt tired, and even Marjorie looked decidedly sober when they reached their destination. Each was wearing the brown-white-and-blue Brackenfield badge, which had been forwarded to them from the school, and by which the mistress was to identify them. As they left the carriage, they glanced anxiously at the coat of each lady who passed them on the platform, to descry a similar rosette. All in vain. Everybody was in a hurry, and nobody sported the Brackenfield colours.

      “We shall have to get a taxi and manage as best we can,” sighed Marjorie. “I wish the porters weren’t so stupid! I can’t make them listen to me. The taxis will all be taken up if we’re not quick! Oh, I say, there’s that Tommy again! I wonder if he’d hail us one. I declare I’ll ask him.”

      “Hail you a taxi? With pleasure!” replied the young soldier, as Marjorie impulsively stopped him and urged her request. “Have you got your luggage this time?”

      “Yes, yes, it’s all here, and we’ve found a porter, only he’s so slow, and——”

      “Are you Marjorie and Dona Anderson?” interrupted a sharp voice. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Who is this you’re speaking to? You don’t know? Then come along with me immediately. No, certainly not! I’ll get a taxi myself. Where is your luggage?”

      The speaker was tall and fair, with light-grey eyes and pince-nez. She wore the unmistakable Brackenfield badge, so her words carried authority. She bustled the girls off in a tremendous hurry, and their good Samaritan of a soldier melted away amongst the crowd.

      “I’ve been waiting hours for you. How did you miss your train?” asked the mistress. “Why didn’t you go and stand under the clock, as you were told in the Head Mistress’s letter? And don’t you know that you must never address strangers?”

      “She’s angry with you for speaking to the Tommy,” whispered Dona to Marjorie, as the pair followed their new guardian.

      “I can’t help it. He would have got us a taxi, and now they’re all gone, and we must put up with a four-wheeler. I couldn’t see any clock, and no wonder we missed her in such a crowd. I think she’s hateful, and I’m not going to like her a scrap.”

      “No more am I,” returned Dona.

      CHAPTER II.

      Brackenfield College

      Brackenfield College stood on the hills, about a mile from the seaside town of Whitecliffe. It had been built for a school, and was large and modern and entirely up-to-date. It had a gymnasium, a library, a studio, a chemical laboratory, a carpentering-shop, a kitchen for cooking-classes, a special block for music and practising-rooms, and a large assembly hall. Outside there were many acres of lawns and playing-fields, a large vegetable garden, and a little wood with a stream running through it. The girls lived in three hostels—for Seniors, Intermediates, and Juniors—known respectively as St. Githa’s, St. Elgiva’s, and St. Ethelberta’s. They met in school and in the playgrounds, but, with a few exceptions, they were not allowed to visit each other’s houses.

      Marjorie and Dona had been separated on their arrival, the former being entered at St. Elgiva’s and the latter at St. Ethelberta’s, and it was not until the afternoon of the day following that they had an opportunity of meeting and comparing notes. To both life had seemed a breathless and confusing whirl of classes, meals, and calisthenic exercises, with a continual ringing of bells and marching from one room to another. It was a comfort at last to have half an hour when they might be allowed to wander about and do as they pleased.

      “Let’s scoot into that little wood,” said Marjorie, seizing Dona by the arm. “It looks quiet, and we can sit down and talk. Well, how are you getting on? D’you like it so far?”

      Dona flung herself down under a larch tree and shook her head tragically.

      “I hate it! But then, you know, I never expected to like it. You should see my room-mates!”

      “You should just see mine!”

      “They can’t be as bad as mine.”

      “I’ll guarantee they’re worse. But go on and tell about yours.”

      “There’s Mona Kenworthy,” sighed Dona. “She looked over all my clothes as I put them away in my drawers, and said they weren’t as nice as hers, and that she’d never dream of wearing a camisole unless it was trimmed with real lace. She twists her hair in Hinde’s wavers every night, and keeps a pot of complexion cream on her dressing-table. She always uses stephanotis scent that she gets from one special place in London, and it costs four and sixpence a bottle. She hates bacon for breakfast, and she has seventeen relations at the front. She’s thin and brown, and her nose wiggles like a rabbit’s when she talks.”

      “I shouldn’t mind her if she’d keep to her own cubicle,” commented Marjorie. “Sylvia Page will overflow into mine, and I find her things dumped down on my bed. She’s nicer than Irene Andrews, though; we had a squabble last night over the window. Betty Moore brought a whole box of chocolates with her, and she ate them in bed and never offered a single one to anybody else. We could hear her crunching for ages. I don’t like Irene, but I agreed with her that Betty is mean!”

      “Nellie Mason sleeps in the next cubicle to me,” continued Dona, bent on retailing her own woes. “She snores dreadfully, and it kept me awake, though she’s not so bad otherwise. Beatrice Elliot is detestable. She found that little Teddy bear I brought with me, and she sniggered and asked if I came from a kindergarten. I’ve calculated there are seventy-four days in this term. I don’t know how I’m going to live through them until the holidays.”

      “Hallo!” said a cheerful voice. “Sitting weeping under the willows, are you? New girls always grouse. Miss Broadway’s sent me to hunt you up and do the honours of the premises. I’m Mollie Simpson. Come along with me and I’ll show you round.”

      The speaker was a jolly-looking girl of about sixteen, with particularly merry blue eyes and a whimsical expression. Her dark curly hair was plaited and tied with broad ribbons.

      “We’ve been round, thanks very much,” returned Marjorie to the new-comer.

      “Oh, but that doesn’t count if you’ve only gone by yourselves! You wouldn’t notice the points. Every new girl has got to be personally conducted by an old one and told the traditions of the place. It’s a sort of initiation, you know. We’ve a regular freemasons’ code here of things you may do or mustn’t. Quick march! I’ve no time to waste. Tea is at four prompt.”

      Thus urged, Marjorie and Dona got up, shook the pine needles from their dresses, and followed their cicerone, who seemed determined to perform her office of guide in as efficient a fashion as possible.

      “This is the Quad,” she informed them. “That’s the Assembly Hall and the Head’s private house, and those are the three hostels. What’s it like in St. Githa’s? I can’t tell you, because I’ve never been there. It’s for Seniors, and no Intermediate or Junior may pop her impertinent nose inside, or so much as