Deep, deep down in the recesses of Darsie's mind there slumbered a fell ambition. If there could be a _real_ fire before her term of office expired! Not a serious one, of course--nothing to imperil the safety of the dear old house, but just sufficient to cause a _real_ alarm, and give the brigade an opportunity of demonstrating its powers! It was almost too aggravating to be borne, to hear one morning that a second- year girl had indulged in a study fire, and had extinguished it of her own accord. Extinguished by private effort, when a captain, two lieutenants, and fourteen "men" were languishing for an opportunity to exhibit their powers! The captain spoke sternly to the second-year girl, and rebuked her. "How," she demanded, "can you _expect_ a reliable force, if precious opportunities are to be wasted like this? Curtains ablaze, and the bedclothes singeing. We may wait for _years_ for another such opportunity!" "But where do _I_ come in?" cried the second-year girl. "I gave ten and sixpence for that quilt. And a jug of water standing close at hand! It was only human nature--" "I hope," returned the captain of the Fire Brigade icily--"I _hope_ that is not the spirit in which you propose to go through life. It's a poor thing if you cannot sacrifice a ten-and-sixpenny quilt in the interest of the public good." And she stalked majestically from the room. CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. TRIPOS WEEK. The Tripos week! Every third-year girl felt as if life and death trembled in the balance during those eventful days. They woke on the Monday morning with much the same feeling as that of a patient who expects to have an arm amputated at eleven, and is morally convinced that she will sink beneath the strain, and when at seven o'clock a second-year friend crept into the study, tray in hand, and administered sympathising cups of tea, the final touch was given to the illusion. Darsie quailed before the prospect of those three-hour papers. Experience had proved that she was not at her best in examinations; imaginative people rarely are, since at the critical moment the brain is apt to wander off on dire excursions into the future, envisaging the horrors of failing, instead of buckling to work in order to ensure success. Historical French Grammar in especial loomed like a pall, and she entered the Mission Room at Saint Columba's with the operation-like feeling developed to its acutest point. For several minutes after taking the first paper in her hand Darsie found it impossible to decipher the words. The type danced mistily before her eyes; and when at last letters shaped themselves out of the confusion, the last state was worse than the first, for she was convinced--drearily, hopelessly convinced--that she could not answer a single question out of the number.