out_ anything,' answered Angela, shrugging her shoulders.
'When the Babe is in a fury, it's never _about_ anything, is it? It's
inside her, or something,' she added, seeking in her mind for some
explanation of the strange moods that made Barbara Berkeley a puzzle
to every one.

'Inside her!' echoed Mary Wells, scornfully. 'What you two can see in that
child I never can make out. Fancy making friends with any one who loses
her temper _inside_!'

'Well, it's better than losing it _outside_ and upsetting everybody by
howling like a baby, because you can't find your pencil-box, isn't it,
stupid?' cried Jean.

Mary blushed painfully at the personal reference, and hastily changed
the conversation. 'Barbara Berkeley is a spoilt little kid,' she retorted.
'She's the most sullen, ill-tempered, obstinate little----' The words
stayed at the tip of her tongue, for the unconscious subject of them had
suddenly joined the group round Mary, and was staring at her in her most
solemn and disconcerting manner.

Mary Wells felt foolish. There was something about the youngest girl
in the school, when she looked like that, that would make any one feel
foolish. But Babs had evidently not heard a word she had been saying.

'Come on,' she said, hooking her arm into Jean's; 'I want to ask you
something.'

The two wandered away together down the long gymnasium.

'Look here,' began Barbara, impetuously, as soon as they were out of
hearing of the others. 'Are you keen on winning that prize?'

Jean drew a long breath. She wanted to take that prize back with her to
the little home in Edinburgh, where she had been adored and spoiled for
twelve whole years, more than she had ever wanted anything in the world;
and she did not know how to answer Barbara's unexpected question.

'Why?' she asked, at length.

Barbara took hold of a rope and waved it backwards and forwards to
give herself courage. 'Because,' she blurted out, 'I want to get it
too,--_awfully_, and so does Angela, and--and we can't all get it, can we?'

'No,' said Jean, looking at her curiously. She had thought she really was
beginning to understand the Babe; and here she was, showing herself in a
more puzzling light than ever.

'You see,' Barbara went on, swarming up the rope a couple of feet and
making her next remark to the black hook in the beam above, 'I'd like
awfully to win it, because I don't want the boys to think I've got too
much like a girl to do things now; and becau