somewhat crestfallen.

"I hate sewing!" mourned Betty.

"So do I," confessed Sylvia. "But we'll all just have to slave away at
those bed-jackets if we want to square the Empress. It must come out of
our spare time, too, worse luck!"

Marjorie entered St. Elgiva's in a half-dazed condition. A hurricane
seemed to have descended that morning, whirled her almost to
destruction, then blown itself away, and left her decidedly battered by
the storm. Up in her own cubicle she indulged in the luxury of a
thorough good cry. The S.S.O.P. in a body rose up to comfort her, but,
like Jacob of old, she refused comfort.

"I'm not to be t-t-trusted to have my own postage stamps," she sobbed.
"I've to take even my home letters to the Empress to be looked at, and
she'll stamp them. I'm to miss my next exeat, and Aunt Ellinor's to be
told the reason, and I'm not to play hockey for a month."

"Oh, Marjorie! Then there isn't the remotest chance of your getting into
the Eleven for St. Elgiva's. What a shame!"

"I know. It's spoilt everything."

"And the whole school knows now about the S.S.O.P. It's leaked out
somehow, and the secret's gone. It'll be no more fun."

"I wish to goodness I'd never thought of it," choked Marjorie. "I've got
to sit and copy out beastly poetry while somebody else gets into the
Eleven."

CHAPTER XVI

The Observatory Window

Though Mrs. Morrison might be satisfied that Marjorie's letter to
Private Hargreaves had been written in an excess of patriotism, she made
her feel the ban of her displeasure. She received her coldly when she
brought her home letters to be stamped, stopped her exeat, and did not
remit a fraction of her imposition. She considered she had gauged
Marjorie's character--that thoughtless impulsiveness was one of her
gravest faults, and that it would be well to teach her a lesson which
she would remember for some time. Marjorie's hot spirits chafed against
her punishment. It was terribly hard to be kept from hockey practice.
She missed the physical exercise as well as the excitement of the game.
On three golden afternoons she had watched the others run across the
shrubbery towards the playing-fields, and, taking her dejected way to
her classroom, had spent the time writing at her desk. The fourth hockey
afternoon was one of those lovely spring days when nature seems to
beckon one out of doors into the sunshine. Sparrows were tweeting in the
ivy, and a thrush on the top branch of t