going to be very happy at
Wynchcote."

Though it was small, the bungalow was admirably planned, and had many
advantages. The view from its French window was one of the finest in the
district, and it faced a magnificent gorge, wild, rocky, and thickly
wooded, at the bottom of which wound the silver river that ran through
Grovebury. Civilization, in the shape of fields and hedges, stretched
out fingers as far as Wynchcote, and there stopped abruptly. Past the
bungalow lay the open wold with miles of heather, gorse, and bracken,
and a road edged with low, grassy fern-covered banks instead of walls.
The air blew freshly up here, and was far more bracing and healthy than
down in the hollow of Grovebury. The residents of the new suburb
affected seaside fashions, and went their moorland walks without hats
or gloves.

Ingred was joined in the tram-car by Hereward, who attended the King
George's School, and made the journey daily.

"Getting quite used to it now!" he assured his sister airily. "I
had a terrific run yesterday for the train, but I caught it! There's
another fellow in our form living up here, so we generally go
together--Scampton, that chap in the cricket cap standing by the door.
He's A1. He won't come near now, though, because he says he's terrified
of girls. He's going to give me a rabbit, and I shall make a hutch for
it out of one of those packing-cases. See, I've bought a piece of
wire-netting for the door. There's heaps of room at the bottom of the
garden. I believe I'll ask him to bring it over after tea."

"But the hutch isn't ready," objected Ingred.

"Oh, that won't matter! I can keep it in a packing-case for a day or
two."

When Ingred and Hereward reached home they found that tea had been set
out on the patch of grass under the apple trees, and Mother and Quenrede
were sitting sewing and waiting for them. It was one of those beautiful
September days when the air seems almost as warm as in August, and with
the clock still at summer time, the sun had not climbed very far down
the valley. The garden, where Mother and Quenrede had been working
busily all the afternoon, was gay with nasturtiums and asters, and
overhead hung a crop of the rosiest apples ever seen. Minx, the Persian
cat, wandered round, waving a stately tail and mewing plaintively for
her saucer of milk. Derry, the fox terrier, barked an enthusiastic
greeting.

"Come along, you poor starving wanderers!" said Mrs. Saxon. "The
kettle's