she means."

"No inferior talent permitted," agreed Addie. "Only freshwater oysters
may wag their tails."

"Metaphor's a little mixed, my hearty. Perhaps you'll show us an
oyster's tail?"

"Well, they've got beards, at any rate."

"To beard the lion with?"

"If you like. I suppose Lord Glyncraig will be the lion of the
afternoon. We shall have to perform before him."

"Oh, I'm so thankful I'm not clever enough to be on the programme!"

After careful consideration of her pupils' best points, Miss Ledbury,
the music-mistress, had at last compiled her list. She put Rona down for
a song. Rona's voice had developed immensely since she came to school.
For a girl of her age it had a wonderfully rich tone and wide compass.
Miss Ledbury thought it showed promise of great things later on, and,
while avoiding overstraining it, she had made Rona practise most
assiduously. There was rather a dearth of good solo voices in the school
at present, most of the seniors having more talent for the piano than
for singing, otherwise a junior might not have obtained a place on the
coveted programme.

"But of course Rona's not exactly a junior," urged Ulyth in reply to
several jealous comments. "She's fifteen now, although she's only in IV
B, and she's old for her age. She's miles above the kids in her form. I
think Teddie realizes that. I shouldn't be at all surprised if Rona
skips a form and is put into the Upper School next term. She'd manage
the work, I believe. It's been rather rough on her to stay among those
babes."

"Well, I say Miss Ledbury might have chosen a soloist from V B,"
returned Beth icily. She was not a Rona enthusiast.

"Who? Stephie's playing the piano and Gertie's reciting, Merle croaks
like a raven, you and Chris don't learn singing, Addie's no ear for
tune, and the rest of us, as Leddie says, 'have no puff'. I'm glad Rona
can do something well for the school. She's been here three terms, and
she's as much a Woodlander now as anyone else."

Rona herself seemed to regard her honour with dismay. The easy
confidence which she had brought from New Zealand had quite disappeared,
thanks to incessant snubbing; she was apt now to veer to the side of
diffidence.

"Do you think I'll break down?" she asked Ulyth nervously.

"Not a bit of it. Why should you? You know the song and you know you can
sing it. Just let yourself go, and don't think of the audience."

"Very good advice, no doubt, but a trifle difficult to