have,” said Phyllis; “I always carry my purse about.” She opened it. “There is a five-shilling piece,” she said.

“And may we spend it all?” said Rosie, looking with almost reverence on the solid piece of money.

“Oh, rather! only do get very unwholesome things.”

“I know the kind, trust me,” said Rosie, and she and Ned set to running as fast as they could.

While they were away Susie and Ralph and Phyllis walked up and down, and talked in quite lady-like and gentlemanlike styles, and Phyllis described how Miss Fleet had brought in the dull lesson-books, and how she had tried to crush her bit of fun; and the other two laughed, and told stories on their own account, and said how cross they had been when that horrid letter had arrived.

“Only I knew your real mind,” said Ralph, and he gave a protecting, admiring look at the little girl.

“I guessed you were very nice, Ralph,” she replied, and she laid her pretty hand on his arm.

Thus the time while Rosie and Ned were away buying the unwholesome things went quite quickly; and when they returned bearing large paper parcels and mysterious-looking bottles, they all stole softly into the house.

Phyllis knew exactly how to get in by way of the old unused part. She took the others round to the door over which ivy hung, and instructed Ralph how he was to unfasten the tiny window, and then squeeze in and unbar the door.

This he did with the despatch of quite an accomplished burglar, and when the door was opened the other four figures came solemnly in. They were quite solemn and breathless now in their excitement. When they got inside, their boots were carefully removed, and Phyllis led the way. They went up some narrow stairs. These stairs led to the old tower, and by the tower was another rambling staircase, which conducted them to the attics. So at last there they were safe and sound, as Phyllis explained.

“We must be quiet, but not too quiet,” she exclaimed, “for nobody ever comes to the tower, and nobody ever comes in by that entrance, and Miss Fleet may think for ever and ever before she can possibly imagine that I am having high tea with you four in the big back attic. Oh, perhaps we had better lock the door; but even that is scarcely necessary.”

But the door was locked, and then began a time of wild mirth. The food from the village shop was as decidedly unwholesome as the most venturesome little girl could desire. The cakes were nearly leaden in weight, were richly stored with currants, and were underdone; there were awful-looking lollipops of queer shapes and quaint designs, and there was ginger-beer of the worst quality, and lemonade which had never made acquaintance with lemons. But what mattered that? The food thus acquired was all the sweeter because of that wicked little flavour of wrong-doing about it; and Susie and Ned had also supplied great bags of nuts and some very green apples, so that these young folks thought it really was a feast worth being dreadfully naughty to obtain.

They made a table out of some old boxes, and the cakes were cut, and the lemonade went pop, and the dolls’ cups and saucers were brought into great requisition, and time went very merrily both for the naughty little girl and the Rectory children. After the meal came to an end Phyllis began to show the toys she no longer required—the rocking-horse, which her father had given her when she was four years old, and which she had ceased to ride, and the big, big, wonderful dolls’ house which Susie, aged ten, still found one of the most fascinating things in the world.

“You can have them all over at the Rectory,” said Phyllis, with the royal airs of a young queen. “You can send for them any day you like; and there is a box full of dolls over there, and a trunk of dolls’ clothes. I don’t want them—I don’t care for those sort of things without playmates. I tired of them long, long ago, but you can have them.”

“Oh, I say, Phyllis,” cried Susie, and she put both her arms round Phyllis’s neck, “can’t you come and play with all the darling, lovely toys with playmates over at the Rectory?”

“Yes, I could do that,” said Phyllis, looking wistful; “and I love you all,” she cried. “I have been an awfully happy girl to-day if it were not for Miss Fleet.”