Free In the Fifth at Malory Towers by Enid Blyton Page B

never come to me,
    That never come to me,
    Ah me!

    Carriages, a lovely gown,
    A flowing silver cloak —
    The embers move, the picture’s gone,
    My dreams go up in smoke,
    My dreams go up in smoke,
    In smoke!”

    She stopped. “That’s as far as I’ve got with that song. Of course, I know it’s not awfully good, and certainly not poetry, only just verse — but I never in my life knew I could even put things in rhyme! And, of course, Irene just gobbles them up, and sets them to delicious tunes in no time.”
    “Yes. It’s very good,” said Sally. “You do enjoy it all, too, don’t you? I say — what will your parents think when they come to the pantomime and see on the programme that Darrell Rivers has written the words — and the songs, too!”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think they’ll believe it,” said Darrell.
    Darrell was not the only member of the fifth form enjoying herself over the production of the pantomime. Irene was too — she was setting Darrell’s songs to exactly the right tunes, and scribbling down the harmonies as if she had been composing all her life long — as she very nearly had, for Irene was humming melodies before she was one year old!
    The class were used to seeing Irene coming along the corridor or up the stairs, bumping unseeingly into them, humming a new tune. “Tumty-ta, ti-ta, ti-ta, tumty-too. Oh, sorry, Mavis. I honestly didn’t see you. Tumty-ta, ti-ta-gosh, did I hurt you, Catherine. I never saw you coming.”
    “Oh, that’s quite all right,” said Catherine, gently, patting Irene on the arm, and making her shy away at once. “We don’t have geniuses like you every...”
    But Irene was gone. How she detested Catherine with her humble ways, and her continual air of sacrificing herself for others!
    “Tumty-ta, ti-ta,” she hummed suddenly in class, and banged her hand down on the desk. “Got it! Of course, that’s it! Oh, sorry, Miss Jimmy — er, James, I mean, Miss James. I just got carried away for a moment. I’ve been haunted by...”
    “You indent explain,” said Miss James, with a twinkle in her eye. “Do you think you’ve got that particular tune out of your system now, and could concentrate, say, for half an hour, on what the rest of the class are doing?”
    “Oh yes — yes, of course,” said Irene, still rather bemused. She bent over her maths book, pencil in hand. Miss James was amused to see one page of figures and one page of scribbled music, when the book was given in — both excellent, for Irene was almost as much a genius at maths as at music. She insisted that the two things went together, though this seemed unbelievable to the rest of the class. Maths were so dull and music so lovely!
    The words of the pantomime progressed fast, and so did the music. It was essential that they should because there could be no rehearsing until there was something to rehearse!
    Belinda was busy with designs for scenery and costumes. She, too, was extremely happy. Her pencil flew over the paper each evening and every moment of free time — she drew everything, even the pattern on Cinderella’s apron!
    Little Janet waited eagerly as the designs grew and were passed on to her. She too was eager and enthusiastic. She turned out the enormous trunks of dresses and tunics and costumes of all periods, used by other girls at Malory Towers in terms gone by. How could she alter this? How could she use that? Oh, what a wonderful piece of blue velvet! Just right for the Prince!
    Little Janet had always been ingenious, but now she surpassed herself. She chose out all the material and stuffs she needed, with unerring taste — she sorted out dresses and costumes that could be altered. She ran round the school pressing all the good needle-workers into her service. She begged Miss Linnie, the quiet little sewing-mistress, to help her by allowing some of the classes to work on the clothes and decorations.
    “I would never have thought that little mouse of a Janet had it