settled down comfortably.

“There never was anybody like you, nursey,” she said. “You always see the common-sense, possible side of things.”

“Eh!” said nurse. “If I hadn’t seen the common-sense, possible side of things many years ago, where would I be with the handling and bringing up of you ten young ladies? For, though I say it that shouldn’t, there ain’t nicer or bonnier or straighter children in the whole Forest; no, nor better-looking either, with cleaner souls inside of them; but for all that, anybody else”—and here nurse gave a little sort of wink that set Pauline screaming—“anybody else would say that you were a handful. You are a handful, too, to most people. But what I say now is this. You needn’t take any notice of me; you can keep your own counsel and say nothing; but if you want her to go—the lady that has no call to be here—the lady that’s forced herself where she ain’t wanted—why, you have got to be handfuls. And now I’ll go into the house with my two precious lambs.”

The elder “precious lamb” looked very cross at being suddenly informed that she was to go indoors while the sun shone so brightly and the summer warmth surrounded her.

“No, I won’t,” said Penelope. “I am going to stay out with the others. I’m a very big girl; I am not a baby any longer. And you aren’t to keep me in the nursery any longer, Verena. And I won’t be naughty. I’ll make up to Aunt Sophia like anything—that I will—if you keep me in the nursery any longer.”

This was such a daring threat that, although Penelope was not thought much of as a rule, the girls looked at her now with a sort of awe.

“She might as well stay for a quarter of an hour longer, mightn’t she, nursey?” said Briar.

“No, that she ain’t to do, Miss Rose. She comes right indoors and prepares for her bed like a good child. Is it me that’s to be shortened of my hours of rest by a naughty little thing like this? Come along this minute, miss, and none of your nonsense.”

So Penelope, her heart full of rage, retired into the house with nurse and baby Marjorie.

“I hope she won’t do anything mean and nasty,” said Pauline. “It’s the sort of thing she would do, for she’s frightfully clever.”

“Oh, we needn’t consider her,” said Verena. “Do let’s make up our minds what to do ourselves.”

“I have all sorts of things in my head,” said Patty. “The pony-carriage might break down as it was coming from the station. I don’t mean her to be badly hurt, but I thought she might get just a little bit hurt, so that she could stay in her bed for twenty-four hours. An aunt in bed wouldn’t be so bad, would she, Renny?”

“I don’t know,” said Verena. “I suppose we must be polite. She is mother’s half-sister, you know. If mother were alive she would give her a welcome. And then Padre will have to talk to her. He must explain that she must go. If he doesn’t, we will lead him a life.”

The girls talked a little longer. They walked round and round the ugly, ill-kept lawn; they walked under the beautiful trees, entwined their arms round each other’s waists, and confabbed and confabbed. The upshot of it all was that on the following day a very large and very shabby bedroom was got ready after a fashion for Miss Tredgold’s arrival; and John, the sole factotum of the establishment—the man who cleaned the boots and knives, and swept up the avenue, removed the weeds from the flower-beds, cleaned the steps whenever they were cleaned, and the windows whenever they were cleaned—appeared on the scene, leading a tumble-down, knock-kneed pony harnessed to a very shabby pony-cart.

“I’m off now, miss,” he said to Verena, pulling a wisp of hair as he spoke. “No, miss, there ain’t any room. You couldn’t possibly sit on the back seat, for it’s as much as ever I’ll do to bring the lady home in this tumble-down conveyance. Our own is too bad for use, and I had to borrow from Farmer Treherne, and he said he wouldn’t trust any horse but old Jock; this carriage will just keep together until the lady’s here.”

“But whatever he thinks,” said Verena, “do you suppose we can have a smart, neat carriage ready to take Miss Tredgold back again this day week? You will see about that, won’t you, John?”

“I will, miss. There’ll be no difficulty about that; we’ll get the lady away whenever she wants to go.”

“Very well. You had better be off now. You must wait outside the station. When she comes out you are to touch your hat and say, ‘This is the carriage from The Dales.’ Be sure you say that, John. And look as important as ever you can. We must make the best of things, even if we are poor.”

“You never saw me, miss, demeaning the family,” said John.

He again touched his very shabby hat, whipped up the pony, and disappeared down the avenue.

“Now, then,” said Briar, “how are we to pass the next two hours? It will take them quite that time to get here.”

“And what are we going to give her to eat when she does come?” said Patty. “She’ll be awfully hungry. I expect she’ll want her dinner.”

“Dinner!” cried Josephine. “Dinner! So late. But we dine at one.”

“You silliest of silly mortals,” said Verena, “Aunt Sophia is a fashionable lady, and fashionable ladies dine between eight and nine o’clock.”

“Do they?” said Josephine. “Then I’m glad I’m not a fashionable lady. Fancy starving all that long time! I’m always famished by one o’clock.”

“There’s Penelope!” suddenly said Patty. “Doesn’t she look odd?”

Penelope was a very stout child. She had black eyes and black hair. Her hair generally stood upright in a sort of halo round her head; her face was very round and rosy—she looked like a kind of hard, healthy winter-apple. Her legs were fat, and she always wore socks instead of stockings. Her socks were dark blue. Nurse declared that she could not be fashed with putting on white ones. She wore a little Turkey-red frock, and she had neither hat nor coat on. She was going slowly and thoughtfully round the lawn, occasionally stooping and picking something.

“She’s a perfect mystery,” said Pauline. “Let’s run up to her and ask her what she’s about.”

Catching Patty’s hand, the two girls scampered across the grass.

“Well, Pen, and what are you doing now? What curious things are you gathering?” they asked.

“Grasses,” replied Penelope slowly. “They’re for Aunt Sophia’s bedroom. I’m going to make her bedroom ever so pretty.”

“You little horror!” said Pauline. “If you dare to go against us you will lead a life!”

Penelope looked calmly up at them.

“I’ll make a bargain,” she said. “I’ll throw them all away, and be nastier than you all—yes, much nastier—if you will make me a schoolroom girl.”

Pauline looked at her.

“We may be low,” she said, “and there is no doubt we are very poor, but we have never stooped to bribery and corruption yet. Go your own way, Penelope. If you think you can injure us you are very much mistaken.”

Penelope shook her fat back, and resumed her peregrinations round and round the lawn.

“Really she is quite an uncomfortable child,” said Pauline, returning to her other sisters. “What do you think she is doing now? Picking grasses to put in Aunt Sophia’s room.”

“Oh, let her alone,” said Verena; “it’s only her funny little way. By the way, I wonder if Padre has any idea that Aunt Sophia is coming to-day.”

“Let’s invade him,” said Patty. “The old dear wants his exercise; he hasn’t had any to-day.”

The eight girls ran with whoops and cries round the house. Penelope picked