FOR THE HONOR OF THE SCHOOL
"Oh, I'm _sick_ of winter! I wish I was a cannibal living on a tropical
island eating cocoanuts."
"----Missionaries, you mean," laughed Isobel.
Virginia Cox threw her skates over her shoulder; Isobel, Dorrie Carr and
herself were the last to leave the lake. The school grounds were
deserted.
"Oh, look at the snowman someone's started," cried Ginny, as they walked
through the grounds. "Say, this is spliffy snow to pack! Let's finish up
the work of art." In her enthusiasm over her suggestion her ennui was
forgotten. "I know, let's make him into a snowlady."
Ginny's fingers were clever. Her caricatures, almost always drawn in
ridicule of the faculty or her fellow-classmates, were famous. If, in
her make-up, she had had a kindlier spirit and a truer sense of the
beautiful, she might have become a great artist or sculptor.
Now she worked feverishly, shaping a lifelike figure from the huge cakes
of snow that the others brought to her. As she stood back to view her
handiwork a naughty thought flashed into her mind.
"Girls--it's going to be Miss Gray! And mother's got a funny old
lavender crocheted shawl like that thing Miss Gray wears when it's cold,
that the moths won't even eat. And I can fix a hat like the dreadful
chapeau of hers that came out of the ark. And glasses, too----"
Isobel and Dorrie laughed delightedly.
"How can you get them out here?"
"Oh, _I'll_ find a way!" Ginny always could! "Do you think that nose is
pug enough?" She deftly packed it down on each side with a finger, then
gave it a quick, upward touch. "Isn't that better?"
Her companions declared the likeness perfect--as far as snow could make
it.
"And I can hunt up two blue glass allies for eyes." There was, plainly,
no end to Ginny's resourcefulness. "You just wait and see what you'll
see in the morning."
During the night King Winter maliciously abetted Ginny in her work, for
a turn in his temper laid a sparkling crust over everything--and
especially the little snowlady who waited, immovable, on a little rise
of ground near the main entrance of the school.
The pupils, arriving at Highacres the next morning, rubbed their eyes in
their amazement. Not one failed to recognize the English teacher in the
funny, shawl-draped figure, with enormous glasses framing round blue
eyes, shadowed by a hat that was almost an exact counterpart of the
shabby one Miss Gray had hung each morning for the past three winters on
her peg in the dressing-room. But there was something about the rakish
tilt of the hat that was in such strange contrast to the severe
spectacles and the thin, frosty nose, that it gave the snowlady the
appearance of staggering and made her very funny.
All through the school session groups of pupils gathered at the windows,
laughing. There was much speculating as to who had built the snowlady;
the three little sub-freshmen who had begun the work Ginny had finished
were vehement in their assertions that they had not. Gradually it was
whispered about that Ginny Cox had done it.
"We might have known that," several laughed, thinking Ginny very clever.
Then, over those invisible currents of communication which convey news
through a school faster than a flame can spread, came the rumor that
trouble was brewing. One of the monitors had told Dorrie Carr that Miss
Gray had had hysterics in the office; that, in the midst of them, she
had written out her resignation and that, after the first period, not an
English class had been held!
Another added the information that Barbara Lee had quieted Miss Gray
with spirits of ammonia and that Dr. Caton had refused to accept her
resignation and had been overheard to say that the culprit would be
punished severely.
Ginny's prank began to assume serious proportions. Ginny was more
thoughtless than unkind; it had not crossed her mind that she might
offend little Miss Gray. But she was not brave, either--she had not the
courage to go straight to Miss Gray and apologize for her careless,
thoughtless act.
There had been, for a number of years, one well-established punishment
at Lincoln; "privileges" were taken away from offenders, the term of the
sentences depending upon the enormity of the offence. And "privileges"
included many things--sitting in the study-room, mingling with the other
pupils in the lunch rooms at recess, sharing the school athletics. This
system had all the good points of suspension with the added sting of
having constantly to parade one's disgrace before the eyes of the whole
school.
"If Ginny Cox is found out, she can't play in the game against the South
High," was on more than one tongue.
Gyp, deeply impressed by the criticalness of the situation, summoned a
meeting of the Ravens. Her face was very tragic.
"Girls--it's the chance for the Ravens to do something for the Lincoln
School! We've had nothing but spreads and good times and now the
opportunity has come to test our loyalty."
Not one of the unsuspecting Ravens guessed what Gyp had in mind!
"Ginny Cox did build that snowlady--Isobel saw her. But if she gives
herself up she'll be sent to Siberia!"
"Well, it'll serve her right. She needn't have picked out poor little
Miss Gray to make fun of."
Gyp frowned at the interruption. "Of course not. _We_ know all about
Miss Gray and feel sorry for her, but Ginny doesn't. And, anyway, that
isn't the point. I was talking about loyalty to Lincoln." Gyp made her
tone very solemn. "Disgrace--everlasting, eternal, black disgrace
threatens the very foundations of our dear school!" She paused,
eloquently.
"Next week, Tuesday, our All-Lincoln girls' basketball team plays our
deadly enemy, South High. And what will happen without Ginny Cox? Who
_else_ can make the baskets she can? Defeat--ignominious defeat will be
our sad lot----" Her voice trailed off in a wail that found its echo in
every Raven's heart.
"I'd forgotten the game! _What_ a shame!"
"Why _couldn't_ Ginny have thought of that?"
"Maybe Doc. Caton will just let her play that once."
"Not he--he's like iron. Didn't he send Bob Morely down for three whole
days just before the Thanksgiving game 'cause he got up in Caesar class
and translated 'bout the 'Garlic Wars'?"
Gyp sensed the psychological moment to strike.
"Never before in the history of our secret order has such an opportunity
to serve our school been given to us----"
"What can we do?"
"One of us can offer ourself on the altar of loyalty----"
Her meaning, stripped of its eloquent verbage, slowly dawned upon six
minds! A murmur of protest threatened to become a roar. Gyp hastily
dropped her fine oratory and pleaded humbly:
"It's so _little_ for one of us to do compared to what it means, and if
we _didn't_ do it and South High beat us, why, we'd suffer lots more
with remorse than we would just taking Ginny's punishment for her.
Anyway, what did the promise we solemnly made _mean_? Nothing? We're a
nice bunch! _I'm_ perfectly willing to take Ginny Cox's place, but I
think each Raven ought to have the chance and we should draw lots----"
"Yes, that would be the fairest way," agreed Pat Everett in a tone that
suggested someone had died just the moment before.
"I always draw the unlucky number in everything," shivered Peggy Lee.
"There'll have to be two this time, then, for I always do, too," groaned
a sister Raven.
"Shall we do it, girls? Shall we prove to the world that we Ravens can
make any sacrifice for our school?"
"Yes--yes," came thickly from paralyzed throats.
In a dead silence Gyp and Pat prepared seven slips of paper. Six were
blank; upon the seventh Pat drew a long snake with head uplifted, ready
to strike. The slips were carefully folded and shaken in Jerry's hat.
Gyp put the hat in the middle of the room.
"Let's each one go up with her eyes shut tight and draw a slip. Then
don't open it until the last one has been drawn." They all agreed--if
they had to do it they might as well make the ceremony as much of a
torture as possible!
So horrible was the suspense that a creaking board made the Ravens jump;
a shutter slamming somewhere in another part of the building almost
precipitated a panic. After an interval that seemed hours each Raven sat
with a white slip in her nervous fingers.
"Now, one--two--three--_open_!" cried Gyp.
Another moment of silence, a sharp intake of breath, a rattle of paper,
then: "Oh--_I have it_!" cried Jerry in a small, frightened voice.