e sudden change meant though, when Miss
Parrot, the form-mistress of the Lower Fifth, known throughout the
school as "Pretty Polly" from her name and her supposed resemblance to
the bird in question, came briskly into the room. The mistress's quick
ears had caught the sound of the conflict from afar, and she at once
pounced upon Geraldine's unconventional attitude as being the only sign
of disorder her sharp eyes could perceive.

"Geraldine Wilmott, what are you doing, sitting like that in class?
Turn round properly at once. I heard a great deal of noise as I came
along--has anything been happening?"

There was no answer to her question; and after surveying the virtuously
innocent faces before her the mistress was about to let the matter
drop--reflecting that after all it was the first day of term, when a
little leniency might be advisable--when her attention was attracted by
the sight of a screwed-up paper ball lying on the floor just in front
of Geraldine's desk. All the other missiles had been dexterously
cleared away; but Geraldine, not realising any necessity for doing so,
had failed to remove the one sign of the battle that had fallen near
her desk. Indeed, she had hardly noticed that any had fallen there.
Miss Parrot was of a very orderly nature. In her classroom nothing was
ever permitted to be out of place, and the sight of the ball of paper
was too much for her to pass over.

"What is that untidy piece of paper doing there?" she demanded sharply.
"Is it yours, Geraldine? Bring it here to me."

Thus directed, Geraldine rose from her desk, and picking up the ball of
paper took it to the mistress. Having delivered it, she was about to
return to her seat, but the mistress stayed her with uplifted hand.

"Wait," she said authoritatively. "I want to see what this is. Some
of you have been up to mischief in my absence." And she slowly
unrolled the ball of paper, finally disclosing a rough copy of the
caricature of Miss Latham, which Jack had discarded for some reason,
and which Phyllis, all unaware of what it was, had used as a missile.

Although it was unfinished, the sketch bore a sufficient likeness to
the mistress for Miss Parrot to recognise the original. Her face grew
stern as she held the paper out to the girl who was standing beside her
desk.

"Is this your work?" she asked in a cold tone.

Geraldine glanced at the paper. Then she flushed suddenly crimson with
nervous shyness, and stammer