ite of
the vigilance of the local police, nothing further was seen or heard of
the enterprising photographer. He had evidently betaken himself and his
camera to other scenes of adventure.

The school talked about the episode for a while with bated breath, then
forgot it in the whirl of other interests. It was getting near Christmas
time, and there was ever so much to be done in preparation. The
excitement of the moment was the rhythmic dancing display. All the term
a teacher had been coming weekly from St. Cyr, and those lucky
individuals who were members of the dancing class had had the time of
their lives. Of course the musical ones, and those with some idea of the
poetry of motion, scored the most, but even those who were not naturally
graceful enjoyed the movements.

Miss Kingsley had decided that her pupils should give a display of what
they had learnt, and invited an audience of parents and friends to the
gymnasium on breaking-up day. The performance was to begin at three
o'clock, and long before that hour the proud band of selected artistes,
arrayed in their costumes, were assembled ready in the small studio
which served as a dressing-room. There were a good many of them, and the
space was limited, so it was a decided cram.

"Everybody seems to take up so much more room than usual to-day,"
declared Patsie, flinging out a long arm with a floral garland, and
hitting Effie Swan by accident in the eye.

"Of course they do, when they're as clumsy as you are," retorted that
distressed damsel, with her handkerchief to the injured orb. "I call you
the absolute limit, Patsie--you're fit for nothing but a barn dance!
Clogs would suit you better than sandals."

"Gently, child, gently! Sorry if I've hurt your eye, but don't let that
warp your judgment. The Flower Quadrille's going to be rather choice,
though I say it as shouldn't."

"The others' part of it, perhaps, but not yours."

"There, don't get excited! I forgive you!"

"It's for me to forgive, not for you, I think!" grumbled Effie. "A nice
object I shall look dancing with my eye all red and inflamed!"

"I wish the gym. were a larger room!" groused Theresa. "The dances would
have a much better effect if there were more space for them, and I
should like a parquet floor."

"What else would you like?" snapped Lorraine. "Some people would grumble
in Paradise. The old gym.'s not such a bad place for a performance, and
the floor has been chalked. I think myself i