f you
were so lucky as to be a pupil at Mrs. Ward's you would be
taught to sing, and, what is more valuable, you would hear
good, wonderful, beautiful singing, and wonderful, beautiful
music of all sorts. Once a week we all go to a concert at
Queen's Hall. Have you ever been there?"

"No! I don't know London at all."

"Well, then, another day in the week," continued Maggie, "we go to
the different museums and picture-galleries, and we get accustomed to
good art, and we are taught to discern good from bad. We learn
architecture at St. Paul's and the Abbey and some of the other
churches. You see, Mrs. Ward's idea is to teach us everything
first-hand, and during the summer term she takes us on long
expeditions up the river to Kew and Hampton Court and all those dear
old places. Then, in addition, she has what she calls reunions in
the evenings. We all wear evening-dress, and she invites two or
three friends, and we sing and play among ourselves, and we are taught
the little observances essential to good society; and, besides all
the things that Mrs. Ward does, we have our own private club and our
own debating society, and--oh, it is a full life!--and it teaches
one, it helps one."

Merry's soft brown eyes were very bright, and her cheeks had a
carnation glow on them, and her pretty red lips were slightly parted.
"You do all these things at school--at school?" she said.

"Why, of course; and many, many more things that you can't even
imagine, for it's the whole influence of the place that is so
delightful. Then you make friends--great friends--and you get to
understand character, and you get to understand the value of real
discipline, and you are taught also that you are not meant to live a
worldly and selfish life, for Mrs. Ward is very philanthropic. Each
girl in her school has to help a poor girl in East London, and the
poor girl becomes in a sort of manner her property. I have got a dear
little lame girl. Her name is Susie Style. I am allowed to see her
once or twice a year, and I write her a letter every week, and she
writes back to me, and I collect enough money to keep her in a
cripples' home. I haven't enough of my own, for I am perhaps the
poorest girl in the school; but that makes no difference, for Mrs.
Ward doesn't allow the word money or rank to be spoken of--she lives
above all that. She says that money is a great talent, and that people
who are merely purse-proud are detestable. Oh, but I've told you
e