Feeling thoroughly satisfied with their shopping expedition, they turned their steps again towards Brackenfield, up the steep path past the church, over the bridge that spanned the railway, and along the cliff walk that led from the town on to the moor. As they passed the end of the bare beech avenue, they met a party of wounded soldiers from the Red Cross Hospital, in the blue convalescent uniform of His Majesty's forces. One limped on crutches, and one was in a Bath chair, wheeled by a companion; most of the rest wore bandages either on their arms or heads. Marjorie looked at them attentively, hoping to recognize some of the patients she had seen at the Christmas-tree entertainment, but these were all strangers, and she reflected that the other set must have been passed on by now to convalescent homes. She was walking at the end of the line, and Miss Duckworth did not happen to be looking. A sudden spirit of mischief seized her, and hastily stooping and catching up a handful of snow, she kneaded it quickly, and threw it at Mollie Simpson to attract her attention. It was done on the spur of the moment, in sheer fun. But, alas for Marjorie! her aim was not true, and instead of hitting Mollie her missile struck one of the soldiers. He chuckled with delight, and promptly responded. In a moment his companions were kneading snowballs and pelting the school. Now wounded Tommies are regarded as very privileged persons, and the girls, instantly catching the spirit of the encounter, broke line and began to throw back snowballs. "Girls, girls!" cried Miss Duckworth's shocked and agitated voice; "come along at once! Don't look at those soldiers. Attention! Form line immediately! Quick march!" Rather flushed and flurried, her flock controlled themselves, conscious that they had overstepped the mark, and under the keen eye of their mistress, who now brought up the rear instead of leading, they filed off in their former crocodile. Every one of the sixteen knew that there was trouble in store for her. They discussed it uneasily on the way home. Nor were they mistaken. At tea-time Miss Rogers, after ringing the silence bell, announced that those girls who had been to Whitecliffe that afternoon must report themselves in Mrs. Morrison's study at 5.15. It is one thing to indulge in a moment's fun, and quite another to pay the price afterwards. Sixteen very rueful faces were assembled in the passage outside the study by 5.15. Nobody would have had the courage to knock, but the Principal herself opened the door, and bade them enter. They filed in like a row of prisoners. Mrs. Morrison marshalled them into a double line opposite her desk, then, standing so as to command the eyes of all, she opened the vials of her wrath. She reproached them for unladylike conduct, loss of dignity, and lack of discipline.