"I say, Miss Cardew, I'm most awfully sorry. I really didn't---- I say,
Dahlia," he went on confidentially, "oughtn't we to do something about
this? Rub her feet with snow or--I mean, I know there's _something_ you
do when people have hysterics. It's rather serious if they go on. Don't
you burn feathers under their nose?" He began to feel in his pockets. "I
wonder if Gaspard's got a feather?"

With a great effort Miss Cardew pulled herself together. "It's all
right, thank you," she said in a stifled voice.

"Then let's get on," said Archie.

We resumed our seats once more. Archie took Dahlia's feet on his lap.
Myra took mine. Miss Cardew took Thomas's. Simpson clung tight to his
luge with both hands.

"Right!" cried Archie.

Gaspard swore at his horses. They pulled bravely. The rope snapped--and
they trotted gaily up the hill with Gaspard.

We hurried after them with the luges....

VI.--A HAPPY ENDING

"For our last night they might at least have had a dance," said Myra,
"even if there was no public presentation."

"As we had hoped," I admitted.

"What is a gymkhana, anyway?" asked Thomas.

"A few little competitions," said Archie. "One must cater for the
chaperons sometimes. You are all entered for the Hat-making and the
Feather-blowing--Dahlia thought it would amuse you."

"At Cambridge," I said reminiscently, "I once blew the feather 119 feet
7 inches. Unfortunately I stepped outside the circle. My official record
is 2 feet."

"Did you ever trim a hat at Cambridge?" asked Myra. "Because you've got
to do one for me to-night."

I had not expected this. My view of the competition had been that _I_
should have to provide the face and that _she_ would have to invent some
suitable frame for it.

"I'm full of ideas," I lied.

Nine o'clock found a small row of us prepared to blow the feather. The
presidential instructions were that we had to race our feather across a
chalk-line at the end of the room, anybody touching his feather to be
disqualified.

"In the air or on the floor?" asked Simpson earnestly.

"Just as you like," said the President kindly, and came round with the
bag.

I selected Percy with care--a dear little feather about half an inch
long and of a delicate whity-brown colour. I should have known him again
anywhere.

"Go!" said the President. I was rather excited, with the result that my
first blow was much too powerful for Percy. He shot up to the ceiling
and, in spite of all I co