firmly.

"I expect it’s Fate," Hughie suggested thoughtfully.

"Why can’t they have Peter Cherry from Woodrising?" said Pamela, ignoring fate.

"It isn’t any good asking me," answered Hughie, "because, how can I tell?  But anyway Woodrising is simply bursting with weeds, and the more there are, the more they come.  He must stay and pull them out, and plant greens for Mrs. Trewby.  She eats greens, she told Mrs. Jeep she _has_ to.  He can’t possibly go to Crown Hill, and Miss Ashington is worried about the garden, Mollie says she is."

The door opened and Miss Chance looked round the edge of it.

"Ah, _there_ you are, little runaway!" she said with her usual sprightliness, "I’ve found you."

"I wasn’t lost, Miss Chance.  I was only talking to Pam," remarked the little runaway, letting himself drop over the back of the sofa in an ingenious and complicated manner.

Miss Chance turned her attention to Pamela.

"You’ve come back, dear," she suggested, "I hope it’s all right about the Stores’ cases; Mrs. Jeep will be so glad to have them."

Pamela explained her accident, mentioned that she had been obliged to walk back, and gave the message from Five Trees, namely, that the cases had not come, but should be sent on at once when they did.  She added that she was just going in to tell her mother.  She said everything she could think of to forestall the inevitable questions, and good Miss Chance swept Hughie away to bed, remarking that it was late, but that the days were getting longer, and the summer would soon be here.

"That’s what will make it harder for poor old Addie, about the yawl," thought Pamela, as she got up from the table, and departed for the scene of woe.  She was very glad that Hughie’s information had "put her wise", as the folk of the far west say--it would have been so galling for Adrian if she had plunged in, and asked what the matter was to start off with.  That was Pam’s way of looking at it.

So she gave the story of her mishap; said she would have to send the bicycle to Salterne, it must go in on Saturday by Timothy Batt’s cart; gave her message about the stores, and made talk of a mildly distracting nature.

Adrian was gloomily turning a magazine; he looked up.

"It’s all knocked on the head about our 

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