re, and the Merry-andrew must give us a _pas seul_."

Everybody declared the evening to be the greatest success. The
lemonade, fortunately cold, was delicious, and so were the biscuits
that Miss Maitland, through lack of any other dainties, had provided as
refreshments. Half-past nine came far too soon, and the dancers, hot,
flushed, and excited, were forced reluctantly to abandon the
festivities and betake themselves upstairs to tear off their grandeur.

Honor slept between the blankets that night, and her slumbers were
haunted by a vision of Miss Maitland, as an avenging spectre, arrayed
in the mutilated sheets. The dream was certainly prophetic, for the
house-mistress was extremely angry on discovering the damage done, and
gave Honor a lecture such as she richly deserved.

"You will stay in from cricket to-day, and mend the sheets," she
decreed, at the conclusion of the scolding. "You will find them ready
fixed by two o'clock. I shall expect the seams to be neatly run, and
the edges turned over and hemmed."

Honor groaned. After the excitement of yesterday's match, she had been
looking forward to the cricket practice; moreover, she hated sewing.
But there was no appeal. Each house-mistress had authority to suspend
games, if necessary, so she was compelled to pass a weary afternoon at
a most uncongenial occupation.

"It's hard labour!" she exclaimed, when Janie ran in at four o'clock.
"Finished! No! I've only run one seam, and hemmed about six inches. I
feel like the 'Song of the shirt' (only it's the song of the sheet
instead). 'Stitch, stitch, stitch', and 'work, work, work'! My fingers
are getting quite 'weary and worn'. There's one comfort, at any rate:
Miss Maitland won't be likely to keep me away from preparation, and as
the clothes go to the wash to-morrow, perhaps she'll let one of the
maids do the rest of this, and give me some other penance instead. I'd
rather learn five chapters of history, or a scene from Shakespeare; and
I'd welcome a whole page of equations--I would indeed!"

"I'm afraid it's a vain hope," said Janie. "Miss Maitland always sticks
to her word."

She proved right; Miss Maitland was inexorable. The discipline at
Chessington was strict, and any mistress who gave an order was
accustomed to enforce it rigorously. Honor was obliged to forgo the
triumphs of the playing-fields until the very last stitch had been put
in her sheets--a punishment which was severe enough, if not entirely to
w