Ulyth and Lizzie were too wary to follow the juniors by this path, but scaled the palings at another point, and under cover of a thick copse of gorse-bushes approached the pool from the side that lay in the farmer's field. By most careful scouting they found a spot on the bank where they could see and hear without being seen. Below them, seated on the rocks by the edge of the water, were practically almost the whole of the Lower School. They cuddled close, with their arms round each other, and to judge from their repressed giggles they appeared to be enjoying themselves. Tootie Phillips, a long-legged, excitable girl of thirteen, mounted upon a boulder, was addressing them with much fervour. Ulyth and Lizzie missed the beginning of her remarks, but when they came within earshot they realized that she was in the midst of a vigorous harangue against the seniors. "Are we to be trodden down just because we're a little younger than they are?" urged Tootie. "Why should they lord it over us, I should like to know? They were juniors themselves only a year or two ago. I tell you the worm will turn." "It's turned pretty considerably," guffawed Cissie Newall. "It knows which side its bread's buttered," cackled Irene Scott. "Buttered! You mean sugared, don't you?" At this sally the whole party broke into a shout of laughter. "Good for you, Ciss!" "Sugared! Ra--ther!" "Shut up, you sillies! Someone will hear us," commanded Tootie. "I was saying before, we're not going to be sat upon, either by teachers or monitresses or seniors. We'll take our own way." "A sugary way," chirped Ethel Jephson. The girls hinnied again. There was evidently something underlying the joke. "When perfectly ridiculous rules are made, that never ought to have been made," continued Tootie, "then we've a right to take the law into our own hands and do as we please." "Our pocket money's our own," grumbled a discontented spirit from the back. "Of course it is, and we ought to be able to do what we like with it." "And so are our brooches, if we want to----" "Sh--sh!" "Shut up, stupid!" "Well, we all know." "No need to blare it out, if we do." "I wasn't blaring." "Violet Robertson, remember your oath," commanded Tootie. "If you let a word of--we know what--leak out, you're sent to Coventry for the rest of the term. Yes. Not a single one of us will speak one single word to you. Not even your own room-mates. So there!" "Well, you needn't make such a precious fuss. I'm sure I wasn't letting out secrets," retorted Violet sulkily. "But I think there ought to be some rate of value. My brooch was a far better one than Mollie's." "Right you are, my hearty, and I'm going to speak about it. We mustn't let ourselves be done, even by--you know who!" "And she's sharp." "She's getting too sharp. We must stop it, even if we have to break off for a whole week." "No, no!" "Oh, not that anyhow!" "Well, look here, if you're such sillies, you deserve----"