Then the prize-giving--an armful to Gabrielle, but Remove II. B Maths. for Joey, and composition to Noreen. They grudged nobody else anything in the world after that, and Joey wanted nothing but that her people should be there. Cousin Greta had 'phoned that Mums had business in town last night, and would not come to Mote till to-day; but Joey had never thought she would be late for the prize-giving. Still she couldn't see the door from where she sat; Mums and Cousin Greta and John and Gracie might be standing among the group there who had come in late, and would not disturb the performance by moving about to find seats. Prize-giving on Old Girls' Day always concluded with the singing of Newbolt's stirring verses, "The Best School of All," sung only by collegers, past and present, standing. After that would come the great announcement--the result of the Election for the coming year. As the first bars were played there was a stir and a movement among the audience. In little groups--in single state--people were standing up. The years had rolled away from these; they were Redlanders again each one of them, from shy Jean Hyde, who had only left last term, to old Lady Rownham, quite blind and bent with rheumatism, but who would never dream of forgetting that she had been a Redlands girl seventy years ago. Visitors sat to listen to the great school song; old girls stood to sing with the school, and for five blissful minutes forgot everything--except that they were back at Redlands, and Redlands was theirs, and they were Redlands' still. Newbolt's splendid words rang out to their slow, grave marching tune. "It's good to see the school we knew, The land of youth and dream, To greet again the rule we knew Before we took the stream. Though long we've missed the sight of her Our hearts may not forget, We've lost the old delight of her, We'll keep her honour yet." Girls and old girls had got into their swing by now; the great hall rang! "To speak of Fame a venture is, There's little here may bide, But we may face the centuries, And dare the deepening tide. For though the dust that's part of us To dust again be gone, Yet here shall beat the heart of us, The school we handed on. We'll honour yet the school we knew, The best school of all, We'll honour yet the rule we knew, Till the last bell call. For working-days and holidays, And glad or melancholy days, They were great days and jolly days, At the best school of all."