ed by hand. "Welcome to our
Sister," ran one inscription, and others were, "There is No Place like
Home," "Cicely for Ever," and "No Popery."

The twins watched eagerly for signs of surprised rapture and were
abundantly rewarded. "But that's not all," said Joan, and led her up to
the dressing-table, upon which was an illuminated address running as
follows:

"We, the undersigned, present this token of our continued esteem to
Cecilia Mary Clinton, on the occasion of her home-coming to Kencote
House, Meadshire. Do unto others as you would be done by.

"_Signed_, Joan Ellen Clinton Nancy Caroline Clinton."

"I think it's rather well done," said Nancy, "though our vermilions had
both run out and we didn't like to borrow yours without asking. Starling
bought us the gold paint on condition that we put in the Golden Rule. It
doesn't look bad, does it, Cicely?"

"I think it's lovely," said Cicely. "I shall always keep it. Thanks so
much, darlings."

After the subsequent embraces, Nancy eyed her with some curiosity. "I
say, there _was_ a dust-up," she said. "Have you made it up with father,
Cis?"

"Don't be a fool," said Joan. "She doesn't want you bothering her. It is
quite enough that we're jolly glad to have her back."

"I was rather dull," said Cicely, with a nervous little laugh, "so I
went away for a bit."

"Quite right too," said Joan. "I should have done the same, and so would
Nancy. We thought of putting up 'Don't be Downtrodden,' but we were
afraid mother wouldn't like it, so we put up 'No Popery' instead. It
comes to the same thing."

"We're doing the Gordon Riots in history," Nancy explained further.
"Father was awful at first, Cis, but he has calmed down a lot since. I
think Dick poured oil on the troubled waters. Dick is a brick. He gave
us half a sovereign each before he went up to Scotland."

"We didn't ask him for it," said Nancy.

"No," said Joan, "we only told him we were saving up for a camera, and
it took a long time out of a bob a week each pocket-money."

"Flushed with our success," said Nancy, "we tried father; but the moment
was not propitious."

"It was your fault," said Joan. "You would hurry it. Directly I said,
'When we get our camera we shall be able to take photographs of the
shorthorns,' you heaved a silly great sigh and said, 'It takes _such_ a
long time to save up with only a shilling a week pocket-money,' and of
course what _could_ he say but that when he wa