Opal, however, as head girl, considered herself highly insulted. "You needn't think I'm going to wait at the end of a queue of kids," she retorted angrily. "I don't care about your old fortune-telling, thanks!" and she flounced out of the room. She was very glum indeed all afternoon, and would not look at either of the Ramsays, though Mavis, to make amends, offered the loan of a new penknife, and even tendered a surreptitious chocolate. "I took her down, didn't I?" smirked Merle, as the sisters walked home up the High Street, and watched the retreating figure of Opal, who had scuttled past them with averted eyes, hurrying towards her own front door. Mavis sighed. Her naturally kind and peaceful disposition and her loyalty to Merle were always pulling her in opposite directions. "I'm afraid Opal just detests us. Perhaps you might have let her take Mamie's turn as Mamie actually offered." "Certainly not." (Merle's voice was firm.) "If you begin to let a girl like that butt in whenever she wants, you never know where you are. I think she's the limit. She'd no need to look so annoyed when we arrived at school. What does it matter to her? The Moorings isn't run for her private convenience!" "She couldn't forgive us for taking those spare desks and turning out the museum." "Bother her museum!" "It's rather a nice one anyway. It seems a pity it has to be put by in cardboard boxes." Mavis was really concerned about the little collection of curiosities that had been so neatly spread forth in the unoccupied desks. She cogitated for a long time as to how the difficulty could possibly be overcome. Finally she sought Tom, with whom she was already on terms of great friendship. She found him in the greenhouse, repotting some ferns. "Oh, Tom!" she burst out eagerly. "Do you think there's anything about the place I might take to make a museum?" Tom stroked the grey stubble on his chin reflectively. "A museum?" he repeated. "That's a big order, Miss, isn't it? I went through the museum in the castle grounds at Taunton once. It must be ten years ago. Or will it be twelve now?" "Oh, of course, I don't mean a museum like that," explained Mavis, "only a kind of box arrangement with some glass over it, to put butterflies and birds' eggs in, very like--" (her eyes wandered round the greenhouse) "very like what you grow seeds in." The nice part about Tom was the alacrity with which he caught up suggestions. At his age it was really amazing. "A very good idee, Miss," he agreed. "I know what you want. Master Cyril used to keep his butterflies in boxes like that. I'll hunt about and see what I can find for you." "Smart-looking boxes and some pieces of glass to fit over them?" pleaded Mavis. "You leave it to me," was all Tom would promise, but there was a twinkle in his eye as he stooped over his ferns again.