hat afternoon when you fished out of the window for sweets.
Will any of the teachers seize upon me and turn me out as a pernicious
character? I shall demand the return of my money if they do!"

"They're too busy," laughed Gwen, "and besides, I don't think anyone
would recognize you. Miss Trent didn't see you, you know; she only
caught me leaning out of the window."

"Then you think I may venture without fear of consequences? I feel
rather like Romeo going into the Capulet mansion. Can you give me a
watchword to use if I get into difficulties?"

"The Rodenhurst Cot and Coin of the Realm are our two watchwords this
afternoon. Stick to those and you can't go wrong, even if you beard
Miss Roscoe herself. She is over there if you'd like to shake hands
with her."

"No, thanks! I've no wish to risk such an ordeal. In fact I'll give
her as wide a berth as possible. Should you be allowed to negotiate an
ice if I brought you one?"

"Not while I'm on duty. Look here: 'You are requested not to speak to
the Woman at the wheel'. Here's a fresh batch of people arriving."

"Mayn't I tear off the checks?"

"Certainly not. Go along and buy some of Lesbia's flowers, if she has
any left by now. If you don't scoot quick, I'll report you for
impeding me in the performance of my work. Then they'd turn you out,
with a vengeance."

"I'll be good," chuckled Dick, as he moved on to find Lesbia, and
invest in her wares.

The cycle parade was about to begin, and those who meant to take part
in it were wheeling their machines through a private door which led from
the stable yard into the field. Not only had the competitors decorated
their bicycles, but they themselves had donned fancy costumes, many of
which were of quite an elaborate description. There was a Dutch maiden
with white sleeves, velvet bodice, starched cap and wooden sabots, a
sweet little Miss Jap-Jap-Jappy in gay kimono, a flower tucked into her
dark hair, an Indian squaw with bead-embroidered garments and fringed
leggings, several pierrettes, a Red Riding Hood, a Goody Two Shoes, and
other characters of nursery fame or fairy-tale lore. But the best of
all, so everyone agreed, was Rachel Hunter, who came arrayed as a cat.
Her costume, cut on the pattern of a child's sleeping suit, was most
cleverly contrived out of brown plushette, painted in bold bars to
represent the stripes of a tabby. She wore a cat's mask on her head, and
made such an excellent representation of a giga