The warm, mellow September sunshine was streaming over the irregular roofs and twisted chimneys of the little town of Chagmouth, and was glinting on the water in the harbour, and sending gleaming, straggling, silver lines over the deep reflections of the shipping moored by the side of the jetty. The rising tide, lapping slowly and gently in from the ocean, was floating the boats beached on the shingle, and was gradually driving back the crowd of barefooted children who had ventured out in search of mussels, and was sending them, shrieking with mirth, scampering up the seaweed-covered steps...

"Dona, are you awake? Donakins I say, old sport, do stir yourself and blink an eye What a dormouse you are D'you want shaking? Rouse up, you old bluebottle, can't you?" "I've been awake since five o'clock, and it's no use thumping me in the back," grunted an injured voice from the next bed. "It's too early yet to get up, and I wish you'd leave me alone."

Drip, drip, drip The rain came pouring down on a certain September afternoon, turning the tennis lawn to a swamp, dashing the bloom off the roses, spoiling the geraniums, and driving even the blackbirds and thrushes to seek shelter inside the summer house. It was that steady, settled, hopeless rain that does not hold out the slightest promise of ever stopping; there was not a patch of blue to be seen in the sky sufficient to make the traditional seaman's jacket; several large black snails were crawling along the garden walk as if enjoying the bath; and the barometer in the hall, which...

"If there's one slack, slow business in this wide world," said Bess Harrison, stretching her arms in the exigencies of a combined sigh and prodigious yawn, "it's coming back to school after the Easter holidays. Tame isn't the word for it It's absolute milk and water. September start is some sport, because one's generally in a fresh form, and there are always changes; and even January is fairly lively; but now Why, there's scarcely even a new girl to make a small excitement, and altogether it's about as stale as beginning again after half-term week-end."

It was the first week of the summer term at Winterburn Lodge. Afternoon preparation was over, and most of the girls had left the classroom for a chat and a stroll round the playground until the tea-bell should ring. From the tennis court came the sounds of the soft thud of balls and a few excited voices recording the score; while through the open windows of the house floated the strains of three pianos, on which three separate pieces were being practised in three different keys, the mingled result forming a particularly inharmonious jangle.

"Gwen Gwen Gascoyne Gwen Anybody seen her? I say, have you all gone deaf? Don't you hear me? Where's Gwen? I-want-Gwen-Gascoyne " The speaker-Ida Bridge-a small, perky, spindle-legged Junior, jumped on to the nearest seat, and raising her shrill voice to its topmost pitch, twice shouted the "Gwen Gascoyne," with an aggressive energy calculated to make herself heard above the babel of general chatter that pervaded the schoolroom. Her effort, though far from musical, at any rate secured her the notice she desired.

"Are they never going to turn up?" "It's almost four now " "They'll be left till the six-thirty " "Oh, don't alarm yourself The valley train always waits for the express." "It's coming in now " "Oh, good, so it is " "Late by twenty minutes exactly "

On a certain morning, just a week before Christmas, the little world of school at Chilcombe Hall was awake and stirring at an unusually early hour. Long before the slightest hint of dawn showed in the sky the lamps were lighted in the corridors, maids were scuttling about, bringing in breakfast, and Jones, the gardener, assisted by his eldest boy, a sturdy grinning urchin of twelve, was beginning the process of carrying down piles of hand-bags and hold-alls, and stacking them on a cart which was waiting in the drive outside.

"Ingred Ingred, old girl I say, Ingred Wherever have you taken yourself off to?" shouted a boyish voice, as its owner, jumping an obstructing gooseberry bush, tore around the corner of the house from the kitchen garden on to the strip of rough lawn that faced the windows. "Hullo Cuckoo Coo-ee In-gred "

Honor Introduces Herself "Any new girls?" It was Madge Summers who asked the question, seated on the right-hand corner of Maisie Talbot's bed, munching caramels. It was a very small bed, but at that moment it managed to accommodate no less than seven of Maisie's most particular friends, who were closely watching the progress of her unpacking, and discussing the latest school news, interspersed with remarks on her belongings.