up tales. She used to tell us them in bed, (like that creature with the name in the Arabian Nights). We used to say:

“Now then, Florence, go on—tell us Fraulein’s love-story!” and she would clear her throat, and cough, and say—“It was a glorious summer afternoon in the little village of Eisenach, and the sunshine peering down through the leaves turned to gold the tresses of young Elsa Behrend as she sat knitting under the trees.”

It was just like a book, and so true too, for Fraulein is always knitting! The Romance de Mademoiselle was awfully exciting. There was a duel in it, and one man was killed and the other had to run away, so she got neither of them, and it was that that soured her temper.

I really must go to bed—Lorna keeps calling and calling—and Florence is crying still—I can hear her sniffing beneath the clothes. We shall be perfect wrecks in the morning, and mother won’t like it if I go home a fright. Heigho! the very last night in this dear old room! I hate the last of anything—even nasty things—and except when we’ve quarrelled we’ve had jolly times. It’s awful to think I shall never be a school-girl any more! I don’t believe I shall sleep a wink all night. I feel wretched.

PS—Fancy calling me pretty! I’m so pleased. I shall look nicer still in my new home clothes.

Chapter Two.

Bed-time; my own room. May 14th.

It is different from school! My room is simply sweet, all newly done up as a surprise for me on my return. White paint and blue walls, and little bookcases in the corners, and comfy chairs and cushions, and a writing-table, and such lovely artistic curtains—dragons making faces at fleur-de-lys on a dull blue background. I’m awfully well off, and they are all so good to me, I ought to be the happiest girl in the world, but I feel sort of achey and strange, and a little bit lonely, though I wouldn’t say so for the world. I miss the girls.

It was awful this morning—positively awful. I should think there was a flood after I left—all the girls howled so, and I was sticking my head out of the carriage window all the journey to get my face cool before I arrived. Father met me at the station, and we spanked up together in the dog-cart. That was scrumptious. I do love rushing through the air behind a horse like Firefly, and father is such an old love, and always understands how you feel. He is very quiet and shy, and when anyone else is there he hardly speaks a 

 Prev. P 4/133 next