ne pretty well," said Winnie.

"How can I tell? Every day I think of something more that I left out
in my papers, and it makes me less and less hopeful. I've borrowed one
of Dad's big pocket handkerchiefs all ready to weep into! I warn you I
shall cry gallons if I've not passed."

Miss Roscoe had arranged that a telegram should be sent to each of the
candidates announcing the lists, and on the day when the news was
likely to arrive the Gascoyne family haunted the rampart on the wall,
watching eagerly for the advent of the telegraph boy. It was Basil who
spied him first, and Giles who got to the gate quickest to meet him,
and Beatrice who tore open the yellow envelope and read the message to
the excited audience.

"'First-class Honours, and Geographical Society's Silver Medal!'"

Gwen nearly dropped on the grass.

[Illustration: "IT WAS BASIL WHO SPIED HIM FIRST"]

"Let me look at it!" she quavered. "Are you sure you haven't made a
mistake, Bee?"

"Here it is in black and white. Look at it yourself, then, you
sceptic, and be convinced! I do congratulate you!"

"Hip, hip, hooray!" yelled the boys with such vigour that their shouts
aroused curiosity in the village, and several parishioners came to
enquire the cause of the rejoicings.

Gwen had known that the Royal Geographical Society offered two medals,
one of silver and one of bronze, to the two Senior candidates who gave
the best answers to the geography papers, but in her wildest visions
she had never contemplated winning one of them. To come out first in
all England in geography seemed an honour almost above the flights of
ambition.

"Miss Roscoe will be so rejoiced!" said Winnie. "She always thought
you'd do well, Gwen. Why, you'll be a credit to the school. She'll
boast about this silver medal for evermore. I expect it will go down
in the prospectuses! You'll get coached up for a scholarship next,
you'll see."

"I still can't quite, quite believe it--it's too absolutely,
perfectly, deliriously scrumpshus!" bleated Gwen hysterically.

"Dad's big pocket handkerchief won't be wanted after all to dry your
tears," laughed Lesbia. "Oh, there's Dad coming up the road now--go
and meet him, Gwen, and tell him your own self!"

The next prize-giving at Rodenhurst was a more than usually special
occasion, for not only had four girls matriculated, but five had
passed the Senior Oxford, two of them in the Honours Division. Gwen's
medal was acknowledged the triump