in England to exchange letters with
other readers overseas. He gave me Rona. We've been writing to each
other every month for two years."

"I had an Australian, but she wouldn't write regularly, so we dropped
it," volunteered Beth Broadway. "I believe Gertrude had somebody too."

"Yes, a girl in Canada. I never got farther than one short letter and a
picture post card, though. I do so loathe writing," sighed Gertrude.
"Ulyth's the only one who's kept the thing up."

"And do you mean to say this New Zealander's actually coming to our
school?" asked Stephanie.

"That's the joysome gist of my remarks! I can't tell you how I'm pining
and yearning to see her. She seems like a girl out of a story. To think
of it! Rona Mitchell at school with us!"

"Suppose you don't like her?"

"Oh, I'm certain I shall! She's written me the jolliest, loveliest,
funniest letters! I feel I know her already. We shall be the very best
of friends. Her father has a huge farm of I can't tell you how many
miles, and she has two horses of her own, and fords rivers when she's
out riding."

"When's she to arrive?"

"Probably to-morrow. She's travelling by the _King George_, and coming
up straight from London to school directly she lands. I hope she's got
to England safely. She must have left home ever such a long time ago.
How fearfully exciting for her to----"

But here Ulyth's reflections were brought to an abrupt close, for the
train was approaching Glanafon Ferry, and her comrades, busily
collecting their various handbags, would lend no further ear to her
remarks.

The little wayside station, erstwhile the quietest and sleepiest on the
line, was soon overflowing with girls and their belongings. Miss Moseley
flitted up and down the platform, marshalling her charges like a
faithful collie, the one porter did his slow best, and after a few
agitated returns to the compartments for forgotten articles, everything
was successfully collected, and the train went steaming away down the
valley in the direction of Craigwen. It seemed to take the last link of
civilization with it, and to leave only the pure, unsullied country
behind. The girls crossed the line and walked through the white station
gate with pleased anticipation writ large on their faces. It was the
cult at The Woodlands to idolize nature and the picturesque, and they
had reached a part of their journey which was a particular source of
pride to the school.

Any admirer of scenery w