The Junior cast what was intended to be a withering glance before she descended. "Gwen Gascoyne, why couldn't you answer when I called you?" she demanded abruptly. Gwen paused in the act of sharpening a lead pencil, and eyed the intruder. "Who asked you to come in here?" she retorted. "You babes must keep to your own classrooms! Hey, presto! Vanish! And be quick about it!" interposed Myra Johnson. "Shan't! Not till I've spoken to Gwen." "Cheek!" "Suppress that kid!" "But I've got a message!" squeaked the babe, as sundry arms of justice thrust her summarily in the direction of the door. "Oh, I have really--a message for Gwen from Miss Roscoe! She's to go to the library--now!" "Then why couldn't you say so at first?" "You never gave me a chance!" Gwen threw the half-sharpened pencil inside her desk and banged down the lid. "What does Miss Roscoe want with me?" she asked in some consternation. "Are you sure she meant me?" A summons from the headmistress rarely boded good fortune to the recipient, and the girls stared at Gwen with interested sympathy. "What have you been doing?" murmured Eve Dawkins. "Glad I'm not in your shoes!" proclaimed Daisy Hurst. "Oh, Gwen, I am sorry for you!" bleated Alma Richardson. "I've not been doing anything!" protested Gwen indignantly. "You've no need to look at me as if I were a cross between a criminal and a martyr! Here, you babe, what did Miss Roscoe say?" "Only that you're to go to the library; and you'd better be quick, because she said: 'Tell her to come at once!' Said it in her snappiest way, too! I shouldn't be a month about going if I were you. Hello! There's the bell. Ta-ta, I'm off! I wish you luck!" and Ida Bridge fled to the region of her own classroom, with a grin on her impish face. Though she might rail at the impudence of the small fry, Gwen was not above taking a hint--headmistresses do not lightly brook being kept waiting--so she started at a run up the passage, turning over in her mind every possible crime which she might unwittingly have committed. "Can't remember using the front gate, or not changing my boots, or talking on the stairs, or--oh, wow! Here I am at the library! Well, whatever I've done, I suppose I'm in for it now! I hope she won't absolutely wither me up!" So far from looking withering as Gwen entered the room, the Principal wore an unusually encouraging and benign expression. She was a handsome, large, imposing woman, with a stern cast of features, and was held in great awe by the whole school. As a rule, Seniors and Juniors quailed alike under the glance of her keen dark eyes.