"Who put you up to all this?" repeated the Senior Prefect magisterially. Joey stuck her hands into her pockets. She had been made a fool of; well, it wasn't pleasant, but one must grin and bear it, even the hateful apologising to the justly incensed Professor, which she supposed must be her next proceeding. She wasn't going to get the others into trouble anyway, and Ingrid Latimer's tone suggested trouble ahead. "Oh, never mind!" she said. "I wish to know," Ingrid repeated. "Their names, please?" "Sorry, it can't be done," Joey stuck out hardily. "And if you don't want your boots put on, I'll go--please!" The Senior Prefect looked as though she could hardly believe her ears; but Joey hadn't been educated up to Senior Prefects and their expressions. She bolted straight back to the Lab; it would be best to get that hateful apology over at once. But the door was locked, this time on the inside, and though she knocked till her knuckles were sore, there was no answer. "Hi, Jocelyn Graham, you're to go to Miss Conyngham," shouted a familiar voice, and Noreen hove in sight round the corner. Joey saw her opportunity. "Tell that to some other idiot, if you can find one silly enough to listen to the sort of things you say," she told her. "Personally, I find it jolly interesting to see what a kid like you will try on next; but even I don't want too much funniness, thank you." She marched off, leaving an outraged and astounded Noreen staring after her, and betook herself to the sleepy stream meandering at the bottom of the garden. It was a comfort to feel that Noreen had not succeeded in having her on a third time, but it was about all the comfort there was. Joey felt desperately home-sick and miserable just then, and as if she would give anything in the world to find herself on the heathy moor, or making bannocks for tea in the kitchen of the little grey stone cottage, far away from this puzzling and unfriendly new world. She stared across the sleepy water, wondering whether Father had felt more wretched than this when he was a prisoner among his enemies. Yes, of course it had been worse for him, a great deal worse; for he had been in the midst of dirt and ill-usage and barbarities unspeakable--only--he hadn't expected to find the Huns friendly gentlemen, and Joey had somehow expected a great deal from Redlands. Still, that was no reason for making a fuss; Father hadn't--Joey knew that. She screwed her eyes up tight, and rubbed the back of a grubby hand across them fiercely. And while she was doing that someone spoke to her. "I say, are you Jocelyn Graham?" Joey opened her eyes hastily. A girl was standing by her, a girl with long lovely auburn-brown hair and clear eyes a shade darker, and a delicate clear skin. She wasn't as tall as Joey herself, anything like, and she hadn't the superior way of talking, which Joey had noticed in the rest.