The code of signals was easily mastered by the society, but they jibbed at the cryptogram. "It's too difficult, and I really haven't the brains to learn it," said Betty decidedly. "It's as bad as lessons," wailed Sylvia. Even Chrissie objected to being obliged to translate notes written in cipher. "It takes such a long time," she demurred. "I thought _you'd_ have done it," said Marjorie reproachfully. "I'm afraid you don't care for me as much as you did." The main difficulty of the society was to find sufficient outlets for its activities. At present, knitting socks seemed the only form of aid which it was possible to render the soldiers. The members decided that they must work harder at this occupation and produce more pairs. Some of them smuggled their knitting into Preparation, with the result that their form work suffered. They bore loss of marks and Miss Duckworth's reproaches with the heroism of martyrs to a cause. "We couldn't tell her we were fulfilling vows," sighed Marjorie, "though I was rather tempted to ask her which was more important--my Euclid or the feet of some soldier at the front?" "She wouldn't have understood." "Well, no, I suppose not, unless we'd explained." "Could we ask Norty to let us save our jam and send it to the soldiers?" Marjorie shook her head. "We couldn't get it out to the front, and they've heaps of it at the Red Cross Hospital--at least, Elaine says so, and she helps in the pantry at present." "We might sell our hair for the benefit of the Belgians," remarked Betty, gazing thoughtfully at Marjorie's long plait and Sylvia's silken curls. "Oh, I dare say, when your own's short!" responded Sylvia indignantly. "I might as well suggest selling our ponies, because you've got one and I haven't." "If I wrote a patriotic poem, I wonder how much it would cost to get it printed?" asked Enid. "I'd make all the girls in our form buy copies." "We might get up a concert." "But wouldn't that give away our secret?" With the enthusiasm of the newly-formed society still hot upon her, Marjorie started for her fortnightly exeat at her aunt's. She felt that the atmosphere of The Tamarisks would be stimulating. Everybody connected with that establishment was doing something for the war. Uncle Andrew was on a military tribunal, Aunt Ellinor presided over numerous committees to send parcels to prisoners, or to aid soldiers' orphans. Elaine's life centred round the Red Cross Hospital, and Norman and Wilfred were at the front. She found her aunt, with the table spread over with papers, busily scribbling letters.