'I know I oughtn't to be here,' answered Babs, ruefully. 'I never am where I ought to be.'
'But Finny sent for you, ages ago,' said Ruth, looking astonished. 'Didn't Jean tell you? She's a young horror, that Jean. Never mind, come along with me, and I'll show you the way.'
She hurried the child through the baize door into the front hall, and pointed out a room that was close to the foot of the stairs. 'That's Finny's study,' she said hastily. 'You'd better look sharp. Good luck to you!' She gave her an unexpected kiss that promptly secured her the child's allegiance from henceforth, and ran off with her books under her arm.
Barbara entered the room, and looked round for Miss Finlayson. Only the head girl was there, however, sitting at the table with a frown upon her face.
'You ought to have been here before this,' she began reprovingly. 'Miss Finlayson couldn't wait any longer, so I've got to miss the history lecture and examine you, instead of her. Why couldn't you come, directly Jean told you?'
Barbara turned a little red and tried to look unconcerned, in which she signally failed. 'I think,' she said, 'that you'd better ask Jean.'
Margaret looked at her sharply, and muttered something that sounded uncommonly like 'Little beast!' which seemed to the child rather more than she deserved, considering that it was really Jean's fault and not hers at all. She was rather surprised at the head girl's next words, which seemed quite gentle by comparison.
'Why, you look blue with cold, child,' she remarked, and drew her round by the fire. 'Now, stand there, and tell me what history books you have been using.'
'I haven't used any,' answered Babs. 'I haven't had any history lessons, you see.'
'Do you mean to say you know nothing about the history of England--nothing about wars or kings or laws, or any of those things?' inquired Margaret, raising her eyebrows.
Barbara's face brightened. 'Oh, yes,' she said, 'I know all about _them_ from father, and the British Museum, and books. I didn't know that was history.'
Margaret was a little puzzled. The examination of this new girl looked as though it were going to present difficulties. 'What kind of books?' she asked doubtfully.
'Lots of kinds,' answered Barbara, glibly. 'Napier's _History of the Peninsular War_, and somebody else's _History of the Anglo-Saxons_, and another one called _The Four Georges_, and--and--oh, that long stuffy one, cut up into volumes, with ever so many funny words in it, called _Cromwell's Life and_----'