ercise. Whenever the weather was fine
enough they were encouraged to spend every available moment in the fresh
air. A certain amount of cricket practice was compulsory; but for the
rest of the time those who liked might play tennis or basket ball, or
could stroll about the grounds. Select parties, under the leadership of
a mistress, were taken botanizing, or to hunt for specimens on the
beach. There was keen competition for these rambles, and as eligibility
depended upon marks in the Science classes, it considerably raised the
standard of work.

Dona, who was rather dull at ordinary lessons, shone in Natural History.
It was her one subject. She wrote her notes neatly, and would make
beautiful little drawings to illustrate the various points. She had
sharp eyes, and when out on a ramble would spy birds' nests or other
treasures which nobody else had noticed, and knew all the likeliest
places in which to look for caterpillars. She was a great favourite with
Miss Carter, the Science mistress, and her name was almost always down
on the excursion list. One day, in company with eleven other ardent
naturalists and the mistress, she came toiling up from the beach on to
the road that led to Whitecliffe. Her basket, filled with spoils from
the rocks and pools, was rather a dripping object, her shoes were full
of sand, and she was tired, but cheery. She had hurried on and reached
the summit first, quite some way in advance of her companions. As she
stood waiting for them she heard the sound of voices and footsteps, and
round the corner came a girl, wheeling a long perambulator with a child
in it. There was no mistaking the couple, they were the nursemaid and
the little boy whom Dona and Marjorie had met on the cliffs last
autumn. Lizzie looked just the same--rosy, good-natured, and untidy as
ever--but it was a very etherealized Eric who lay in the perambulator.
The lovely little face looked white and transparent as alabaster, the
brown eyes seemed bigger and more wistful, the golden curls had grown,
and framed the pale cheeks like a saint's halo, the small hands folded
on the shabby rug were thin and colourless. The child was wasted almost
to a shadow, and the blue veins on his forehead showed prominently. He
recognized Dona at once, and for a moment a beautiful rosy flush flooded
his pathetic little face.

"Oh, Lizzie, it's my fairy lady!" he cried excitedly.

The nurse girl stopped in amazement.

"Well, now! Who'd have thoug