"Something's got to be done about that little Ethel Rivers."
Sally sat down in the big tufted chair in the twins' room, and made the
announcement with a positiveness that left no room for doubt.
"What's she been doing now?" Phyllis laughed.
"Why, Prue and I met her in the hall and she walked past us with her
nose in the air. Prue stopped her and asked her where she was going, and
what do you think she said?"
"Can't imagine," Janet shook her head. "Tell us."
"She said she was hurrying back to the new wing for a breath of clean
air."
"Impertinent infant," Ann drawled lazily. She was lying on the foot of
Janet's bed, almost asleep. "It wouldn't have been nearly so bad if she
said fresh, but clean is really outrageous."
"But of course she didn't mean it," Phyllis said.
"That's the funny part of it," Prue came in from the balcony and stood
in the doorway, blotting out the light. "She really did mean it. She's
taken the rivalry of the wings as a deadly serious thing."
"Being entirely without a sense of humor, she would," Sally said
crossly. "Remember Mary Marble last year? I was only a new girl, but I
saw something was going to happen."
"It did. Our little Mary returned not this year."
"What was the matter with Mary?" Phyllis inquired.
"Didn't fit," Sally replied shortly, and dismissed the subject.
There was a knock on the door and Gladys, too impatient to wait for
Janet's "Come in," opened it. By the expression on her face, all the
girls knew that something was the matter; even Ann sat up and looked
surprised.
"What's wrong, Gladys?" she demanded.
Gladys stood with her back to the door, her hand still on the knob.
"The trouble," she said impressively, "is Ethel Rivers."
Sally groaned. "What next?" she inquired.
"She put a sign up on the green door, requesting the occupants of our
wing to be sure and keep it closed, so as not to let in any of the stale
air."
"Oh, that's too much," Prue said indignantly.
"Just like her," Ann replied with a shrug. "What did you do about it,
Glad?"
"Didn't have to do anything. Poppy and Gwen came along just then and
read it. Poppy said, 'I declare, that's no nice way to act,' and Gwen
settled the whole matter with 'Very bad manners for one so young.'"
The girls laughed a relieved sort of a laugh. The Seniors had the affair
in hand, and Hilltop looked from year to year to that little group of
girls to straighten out all their difficulties.
Another knock sounded on the door. Gladys opened it, and one of the
younger children handed her a note. She opened it and read:
"Dear Glad:
Find Ann and Prue and Sally, and come down to the Seniors'
Retreat. We think you are better able to deal with the affair of
Ethel Rivers than we are.
If we give her impertinence special notice, it will be putting
too much importance to the whole silly thing.
Yours,
---- Poppy."
The girls jumped up quickly as Gladys finished reading the note aloud.
"Better go right away," Prue said. "They're waiting."
The rest followed her out of the room.
"Meet you down on the front steps later," Sally called back over her
shoulder, and the twins were alone.
Two weeks had passed since the opening of school, but although Janet and
Phyllis felt perfectly at home in their new surroundings, the life at
Hilltop had never for a second become monotonous. Every day they had
found some fresh interest, and they were beginning to understand that
apart from lessons every girl had a big responsibility towards the
school.
"What a perfectly silly way for that girl to act!" Janet exclaimed. "I'd
like to box her ears."
"So would I," Phyllis agreed. "Come along; let's go down and wait for
Sally."
They went downstairs arm in arm and across the broad piazza. Phyllis sat
down with her back against one of the big pillars, and Janet stood on
the top step.
The close-cropped green lawn fell away from the house in a gracious
slope to meet a fringe of trees that deepened into a woods at all sides.
The tennis courts were visible far away to the right. They were filled
with girls, and in the quiet of the late afternoon their voices floated
laughing on the breeze. To the left the archery target blazed in its
fresh coat of bright colors.
Archery was the chief sport of Hilltop. Each year teams were chosen from
both wings, and on Archery Day the big silver loving cup was engraved
with the name of the girl who made the highest score; then it was
replaced in the center of the mantel-piece in the hall to await the next
year.
Archery Day came at the end of the term, and, although the days before
and after it were filled with tennis matches, basketball, and running,
it stood out in importance above them all.
The tryout for possible candidates was to take place the following week.
The girls in the four upper classes shot five arrows, and the committee
comprised with the Senior class and the faculty judged. Those selected
worked hard and practiced, and just before the Christmas holidays the
teams were chosen.
"Did you ever shoot a bow and arrow, Jan?" Phyllis inquired.
"Loads of them," Janet replied. "Harry Waters used to make them for me.
Little short ones made from the branches of trees, and arrows with a pin
in the end of them. Harry was very good at it, but I was terribly
clumsy."
"I don't believe it," Phyllis protested; "you have a straight eye
anyway. Look at the way you shot Sulky Prescott's gun last summer."
Janet gave a little shiver and looked long and earnestly at the target.
"Don't talk about it," she said. "I'll tell you a secret Phyl. I'll die
of mortification if I don't make some sort of a score next week."
"That's no secret," Phyllis laughed affectionately. "If you could have
seen your eyes when Gwen was talking about the contest; they were as big
as saucers."
Janet flushed a little. "It's a good thing the rest of the girls don't
know me as well as you do," she said.
"That's because I'm your twin. Oh, Jan, if you knew how I love to say
that," Phyllis said seriously.
"I know," Janet nodded. "I'm still afraid sometimes that I'll wake up
and find it's all been a dream."
"Hush," Phyllis cautioned suddenly. "Here comes Ethel."