sent the room into a roar, and she
occasionally had to wait for quiet until she could continue her
speeches.

Everybody voted the evening a huge success. The visitors heartily
congratulated Miss Beasley upon the cleverness of her elder pupils,
and hoped they would sometimes give another open performance. The
girls clapped till their hands were sore. Even Miss Gibbs, though she
considered that the love-making had exceeded the limit allowable in
school theatricals, expressed guarded approval.

"We've cleared two pounds three and sixpence!" announced Barbara
gleefully to the Fifth.

"Good!" exclaimed Valentine. "And we made one pound ten, and the kids
one pound seven. What does it tot up to?"

"Five pounds and sixpence," calculated Barbara after a moment's
scribbling on the back of a programme.

"Well, I call it a very decent result for a school of only twenty-six
girls!"

CHAPTER XXII

An Accusation

On the following Monday afternoon the Reverend T. W. Beasley arrived
in readiness to begin, on Tuesday morning, his task of examining the
school. There was great fluttering in the dove-cot, and much anxiety
on the part of the girls to catch the first glimpse of him. They had
decided that, as the brother of their good-looking Principal, he would
be tall, fair, and clean-shaven, with classical features, gentle blue
eyes, and a soft, persuasive manner--the ideal clergyman, in fact, of
the storybook, who lives in a picturesque country rectory and
cultivates roses. To their disappointment he was nothing of the sort,
but turned out to be a short, broad-set little man, with a grey beard
and moustache, and keen dark eyes under bushy eyebrows, and a
prominent nose that was the very reverse of romantic. He cleared his
throat frequently in a nervous fashion, and when he spoke he snapped
out his remarks abruptly, in a very deep voice that seemed to rise
almost out of his boots.

"He isn't half as nice as Professor Marshall!" decided the Fifth
unanimously.

"Looks as if he had a temper!" ventured Fauvette.

"Oh! it's cruelty to give us viva voces! I'll never dare to answer a
question!" wailed Aveline.

"I'm afraid he'll be strict," admitted Katherine.

"Perhaps he's nervous too, and scared of us!" suggested Morvyth.

"Don't you believe it!" laughed Raymonde scornfully. "I flatter myself
I'm pretty good at reading faces, and I can see at a glance he's a
martinet. That frown gives him away, and the kind of glare