to be greatly troubled about the
girls' clothing; and by and by, as her illness progressed, she left the
matter altogether to Jean. Jean was to supply what garments the young
ladies required, and Jean set about the work with a right good will. So
the coarsest petticoats, the most clumsy stockings, the ugliest jackets
and blouses and skirts imaginable, presently appeared out of the little
wooden trunks.

The girls sorted them eagerly, putting them pell-mell into the drawers
without the slightest attempt at any sort of order. But if there were
very few clothes in the trunks, there were all sorts of other things.
There were boxes full of caterpillars in different stages of chrysalis
form. There was also a glass box which contained an enormous spider.
This was Sylvia's special property. She called the spider Dickie, and
adored it. She would not give it flies, which she considered cruel, but
used to keep it alive on morsels of raw meat. Every day, for a quarter
of an hour, Dickie was allowed to take exercise on a flat stone on the
edge of the moor. It was quite against even Jean Macfarlane's advice
that Dickie was brought to the neighborhood of London. But he was here.
He had borne his journey apparently well, and Sylvia looked at him now
with worshiping eyes.

In addition to the live stock, which was extensive and varied, there
were also all kinds of strange fossils, and long, trailing pieces of
heather--mementos of the life which the girls lived on the moor, and
which they had left with such pain and sorrow. They were all busy
worshiping Dickie, and envying Sylvia's bravery in bringing the huge
spider to Haddo Court, when there came a gentle tap at the door.

Betty said crossly, "Who's there?"

A very refined voice answered, "It's I;" and the next minute Fanny
Crawford entered the room. "How are you all?" she said. Her eyes were
red, for she had just said good-bye to her father, and she thoroughly
hated the idea of the girls coming to the school.

"How are you, Fan?" replied Betty, speaking in a careless tone, just
nodding her head, and looking again into the glass box. "He is very
hungry," she continued. "By the way, Fan, will you run down to the
kitchen and get a little bit of raw meat?"

"Will I do what?" asked Fanny.

"Well, I suppose there is a kitchen in the house, and you can get a bit
of raw meat. It's for Dickie."

"Oh," said Fanny, coming forward on tiptoe and peeping into the box,
"you can't keep that