. She
had hardly dared to hope for success, as Catherine had been rather
withering over her Catechism, and had warned her that she would probably
be disqualified. It was pleasant to meet with encouragement, and
especially to be commended before the whole school. She had never dreamt
of such luck, and she looked her grateful thanks at Ulyth across the
room.

She was the last but one on the list of applicants, and when Jessie
Howard (alas, poor Jessie!) had been rejected the ceremonial part of the
meeting was over. The girls smiled, for now the "stunt" was to begin.
Catherine produced the bag, shook it well, and handed it to Mrs. Arnold,
who drew out a slip of paper.

"Marjorie Earnshaw!" she announced.

"Glad it's one of the Sixth to open the ball," murmured some of the
younger girls as Marjorie stepped to the circle reserved for performers
in front of the table.

The owner of the one guitar in the school was always much in request at
Camp-fire gatherings, so it seemed a fortunate chance that her name
should be drawn first. She had brought her instrument, so as to be
prepared in case the lot fell on her, and giving the E string a last
hurried tuning she sat down and began a popular American ditty. It was a
favourite among the girls, for it had a lively, rollicking chorus, which
they sang with great gusto. Fifty voices roaring out: "Don't forget your
Dinah!" seemed to break the ice and set the fun going.

Marjorie's E string snapped suddenly, but she played as best she could
on the others, though she confessed afterwards that she felt like a
horse that has lost its shoe. Except for this accident she would have
responded to the enthusiastic calls of "Encore!"; as it was, she retired
into the background to fix a new string. It lent a decided element of
excitement to the programme that nobody knew what the next item was to
be. The lot, as it happened, fell on one of the younger girls, who was
overwhelmed with shyness and could only with great urging be persuaded
to recite a short piece of poetry. By the law of the Stunt everybody was
obliged to perform if called upon, so Aveline fired off her sixteen
lines of Longfellow with breathless speed, and fled back joyfully to the
ranks of the Juniors. Two piano solos and a step-dance followed, then
the turn came to Doris Deane, a member of the Upper Fifth. Doris's
speciality was acting, so she promptly begged for two assistants, and
chose from IV B a couple of junior members w