In the Fifth at Malory Towers

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Authors: Enid Blyton
this.”
    Catherine put on a saintly face, pressed her lips together as if stopping herself from retorting, and went on darning.
    There was a knock at the door. Irene groaned. “Go away! Don’t come in!”
    The door opened and Connie’s face peered round. “Is Ruth here? Ruth, can you come for a minute? Bridget is out here. We’ve got rather a good idea.”
    “I don’t like Bridget,” said Ruth, in a low voice. “And anyway I’m busy. So's everyone else here.”
    “But, Ruth — I’ve hardly seen you this week,” protested Connie. “Come on out for a minute. By the way, I’ve mended your roller-skates for you. They’re ready for you to use again.”
    Irene groaned. Darrell groaned, too. She was trying to draft out the third act of the pantomime.
    “Either tell Connie to go, or go yourself,” said Irene. “If not, I’ll go! I’ll go and sit in the bathroom and take this with me. Perhaps I’ll get a few minutes peace then. Tirretty-tirretty-too. Yes, I think I’ll go.”
    She got up. Connie fled, thinking Irene was going to row her. Ruth looked round apologetically, but said nothing.
    “It’s all right,” said Darrell, softly. “Keep Connie at arm’s length till she leaves you in peace, Ruth — and don’t worry about it!”
    But Catherine had to be silly about it, of course. “Poor Connie,” she said. “I really can’t help feeling sorry for her. We oughtn't to be too hard on her, ought we?”

The weeks go on
    NOW the days began to slip by more quickly. Two weeks went — three weeks — and then the fourth week turned up and began to slip away, too.
    Everything was going well. There was no illness in the school. The weather was fine, so that the playing fields were in use every day, and there was plenty of practice for everyone. Work was going well, and except for the real duds, nobody was doing badly. Five lacrosse matches had already been won by the school, and Darrell, as games captain for the fifth, was in the seventh heaven of delight.
    She had played in two of the matches, and had shot both the winning goals. Felicity had gone nearly mad with joy. She had been able to watch Darrell in both because they were home matches. Felicity redoubled her practices and begged Darrell for all the coaching time she could spare. She was reserve for the fourth school-team, and was determined to be in it before the end of the term.
    The plans for the Christmas entertainment were going well, too. So far no help had been asked from either Mr. Young, the music-master, or Miss Greening, the elocution mistress. The girls had planned everything themselves.
    Darrell had been amazed at the way she and Sally had been able to grasp the planning of a big pantomime. At first it had seemed a hopeless task, and Darrell hadn’t had the faintest idea how to set about it. But now, having got down to it with Sally, having read up a few other plays and pantomimes, and got the general idea, she was finding that she seemed to have quite a gift for working out a new one!
    “It’s wonderful!” she said to Sally. “I didn’t know I could . I’m loving it. I say, Sally — do you think, do you possibly think I might have a sort of gift that way? I never thought I had any gift at all.”
    “Yes,” said Sally, loyally. “I think you have got a gift for this kind of thing. That’s the best of a school like this, that has so many many interests — there’s something for everybody — and if you have got a hidden or sleeping gift you’re likely to find it, and be able to use it. There’s your way of scribbling down verse, too — I never knew you could do that before!”
    “Nor did I, really,” said Darrell. She fished among her papers and pulled out a scribbled sheet. “Can I read you this, Sally? It’s the song Cinderella is supposed to sing as she sits by the fire, alone. Her sisters have gone to the ball. Listen:

    “By the fire I sit and dream
    And in the flames I see,
    Pictures of the lovely things
    That

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