mostly devoted to visits
to the dentist and the dressmaker, and then boxes were once more packed,
and they started off on the now familiar journey back to Brackenfield.
Joan watched the preparations wistfully.

"Do you think the Empress would take a girl of eight?" she enquired in
all seriousness.

"Not unless you could be used as a mascot or a school monkey," returned
Marjorie. "You might come in handy at the nursing lectures, when we get
to the chapter on 'How to Wash and Dress a Baby', or you'd do to
practise bandaging on. Otherwise you'd be considerably in the way."

"Don't be horrid!" pouted Joan. "I'm to go to Brackenfield some time.
Mother said so."

"You'll have to wait five years yet, my hearty. Why, do you know, even
Dona is called a kiddie at Brackenfield?"

"Dona!" Joan's eyes were big.

"Yes, some of the girls look almost as old as Nora, and they've turned
up their hair. It's a fact. You needn't stare."

"You'll go all in good time, poor old Baba," said Dona. "You wouldn't
like to be in a form all by yourself, without any other little girls,
and there's no room for a preparatory unless they build, and that's not
possible in war-time. You must peg on for a while with Miss Hazelwood,
and then perhaps Mother'll send you to a day school. After all, you
know, it's something to be the youngest in the family. You score over
that."

Both Marjorie and Dona were looking forward to the summer term. Those of
their chums who were old Brackenfielders had dwelt strongly on its
advantages compared with the autumn or spring terms. It was the season
for cricket and tennis, for country walks, picnics, and natural history
excursions. Most of the activities were arranged for out of doors, and a
larger amount of liberty was allowed the girls than had been possible
during the period of short days.

Armed each with a cricket bat and a tennis racket, not to mention
cameras, butterfly nets, collecting-boxes, and botanical cases, they
arrived at their respective hostels and unpacked their possessions.
Marjorie was the last comer in No. 9, and found Chrissie with her
cubicle already neatly arranged, Sylvia with her head buried in her
bottom drawer, and Betty struggling with straps. The two latter were
pouring out details of their holiday adventures.

"I rode in to town every day, and did Mother's shopping for her; and we
went to a sale and bought the jolliest little governess car and
harness."

"We were going to Bright