angles with ours. We have great times with them. I’ll tell you about our latest craze.”

Noreen and Ida sat breathlessly listening to the history of the telegraph, till it was time to go into the house for lunch, when Darsie was introduced to Mrs Percival, a very smartly dressed lady, who looked astonishingly young to be the mother of a grown-up family. After lunch the three girls attempted tennis, but gave it up in deference to the visitor’s lack of skill, visited stables and kennels and conservatory, and were again brought face to face with the different points of view existing between the town and the country dweller.

“Do all people who live in the country go and stare at their horses and dogs every day of their lives?” demanded Darsie with an air of patient resignation, as Noreen and Ida patted, and whistled, and rubbed the noses of their four-footed friends, fed them with dainty morsels, and pointed out good points in technical terms which were as Greek in the listener’s ears. “Aunt Maria goes every single day; it’s a part of the regular programme, like knitting in the afternoon and Patience at night. I get—so bored!”

The shocked looks which the Percival sisters turned upon her seemed ludicrously out of proportion with the circumstances.

“Don’t you—don’t you love animals?”

“Certainly—in their place. But I cannot see the interest in staring in through a stable door at the same horses standing munching in the same stalls day after day. It’s no use pretending that I can,” declared Darsie obstinately. “And the dogs make such a noise, and drag at your clothes. I’m always thankful to get away. Let’s go back to the garden and look at the flowers. I could stare at flowers for ages. It seems too glorious to be true to be able to pick as many roses as you like. At home mother buys a sixpenny bunch on Saturday, and cuts the stalks every day, and puts them into fresh water to make them last as long as possible, and we have nasturtiums for the rest of the week. I love the fruit and vegetable garden, too. It’s so amusing to see how things grow! Especially,”—she laughed mischievously, showing a whole nest of baby dimples in one pink cheek, “I warn you frankly that this is a hint!—especially things you can eat!”

Noreen and Ida chuckled sympathetically.

“Come along! There is still a bed of late strawberries. We’ll take camp-stools from the summer-house, and you shall sit and feast until you are tired, and we’ll sit and watch you, and talk. We seem to have had strawberries at every 

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