spare bed at present in the Blue
room,' and we thought she was moving in for the rest of the term! Think
of being boxed up with Laurette! Wouldn't it have been absolutely
grisly?"

"Nothing at all particularly exciting happened while you were away!"
groused Bertha. "We got all the drudgery, and you had all the fun!"

"But we brought you some presents! Just wait till I get to the bottom of
my box!" put in Carmel.

"Oh, have you?" cried Bertha excitedly. "What have you brought? Don't
stop to arrange those blouses! Dump your things out anyhow: I can't
wait! I've never had a foreign present in my life before. O-o-oh! What
an absolutely ducky little locket! Carmel, you're a darling! You
couldn't have given me anything in the whole of this wide world that I
should have liked better. I just love it!"

Though the Ingletons' immediate friends at Chilcombe had been rather
inclined to look with the green eyes of envy upon their long holiday in
Sicily, and consequent immunity from Easter examinations, they were
mollified by the pretty gifts which the girls had brought them, and
while they still proclaimed them "luckers out of all reason," they
forgave them their good fortune, and received them back once more into
the bosom of their special clique. The Mafia had indeed languished
considerably during their absence. Nobody had troubled very much to keep
up its activities, and it had held only one or two half-hearted
meetings. Now that its nine members were together again, however, the
secret society set to work with renewed vigor. Insensibly it had rather
altered its scope. It had begun originally for the purpose of resisting
the aggressions of Laurette, Hester, and Truie, but had grown into a
sort of confraternity for private fun. The meetings held in each other's
dormitories were of a hilarious description, and included games. At
Gowan's suggestion they even went a step farther, and produced literary
contributions--"of a sort," as she wisely qualified the rather appalling
innovation.

"I don't mean exactly Shakespeare, you know," she explained. "But you
can write poetry if you care to, or make up something funny like
_Punch_. Everybody has got to do something!"

"Not really?" objected Dulcie, wrinkling her forehead into lines of
acute distress. "Oh, Goody! It's as bad as lessons every bit. Look here,
I'm not clever, and I don't make any pretence at poetry or the rest of
it. You'll just have to leave me out."

"Pull yourself