is," said Nina one chilly February evening when
the members of the third class were gathered round the high fireguard
in the playroom, "there never seems half so much fun going on in the
spring term. In the autumn we have Hallowe'en and the fifth of
November and the Christmas party, and in the summer there are picnics
and the shore, and the sports, and the prize-giving; but unless Miss
Kaye takes us a long walk there isn't anything to look forward to now
until Easter."

"And that's eleven whole weeks off," groaned Connie. "I wish it had
come early this year."

"It wouldn't make any difference if it did," said Marian; "Miss Kaye
keeps to the term. We should only have to spend Easter at school, and
go home as usual in the middle of April."

"That would be horrid. Why should she?"

"Because it would make too long a summer term, and because she likes
our holidays to be the same as those of the boys' schools."

"I hadn't thought of that. Of course it would be no fun to go home if
Percy and Frank and Bertie and Godfrey weren't there. Still, I wish
terms were a little shorter, or that something nice would happen." And
Connie ruffled up her hair with both hands as an expression of her
discontent.

"Couldn't we do something just amongst ourselves?" said Sylvia. "Not
the whole school, but our class."

"There isn't anything new," said Brenda, "unless someone can invent a
fresh game. We're getting tired of table croquet."

"I don't mean exactly a game. Suppose we were each to write a story,
and then have a meeting to read them all out."

"Start a kind of magazine?" said Marian. "That's a good idea. We could
put our tales together into an old exercise book, and perhaps paste
pictures in for illustrations, and make up puzzles and competitions
for the end."

"Oh yes, that would be lovely!" cried the others. "Like _Little Folks
or The Girl's Realm_."

"But look here," said Linda. "The second class mustn't hear a word
about it. They'd only make dreadful fun of us, and it will be ever so
much nicer if we keep it a secret."

"Let us form a secret society, then," suggested Sylvia. "We'll pinch
each others' little fingers, and vow we won't tell a soul in the
school."

"How horridly inquisitive they'll be!" said Nina.

"All the more fun. We'll let them know that we're doing something,
enough to make them wildly curious, but they shan't have a hint of
what it is, and they'll imagine the most ridiculous things, and then
we