ef,
mutton, and resurrection pie, and is inclined to declare that if the
only way to become strong is to consume everlasting suet puddings, why,
then, as a choice of evils, she prefers to be weak!

"Is it always as bad as this?" Dreda demanded plaintively of her room-
mates as they brushed their locks in company before retiring to bed on
the evening of her fifth day at West House. "Do you _never_ have
anything nice and light, that doesn't taste of suet and oven? Does it
get better as summer comes on?"

"Worse!" pronounced Nancy shortly.

Dreda had devoted five whole days to the study of Nancy's character, and
to this hour could not make up her mind whether she most liked or
detested her. She was the oddest of girls: nothing seemed to excite
her, nothing to trouble, nothing to please. Occasionally she would show
swift, kindly impulses, as when she had offered to become Dreda's coach;
but not a flicker of disappointment did she portray if such impulses
were repulsed, not a gleam of pleasure if they were accepted. At other
times she seemed to take a perverse pleasure in making the worst of a
situation and playing the part of Job's comforter.

"Worse!" she sighed. "Much worse! Because it's warm weather, and your
fancy lightly turns to nicer things. It's a bit of a cross to see
strawberries in the shop windows, and them come home to `Brother, where
art thou?'"

"What brother?"

"Raisins!" said Nancy, and sighed again. "They lose each other in such
steppes of suet."

Conscientious Susan exclaimed in protest.

"Nancy! Too bad. There is always stewed rhubarb!"

But this was poor comfort, for Dreda disliked stewed rhubarb almost as
much as suet itself. She pouted disconsolately for several moments,
then smiled with sudden inspiration.

"I'll get a doctor's order!"

"What for?"

"Plenty of fresh ripe fruit. Vegetarian diet. Fruit, and cream, and
eggs during the summer heat!"

"How will you manage to get it?"

"I'll have something... I'll ask Rowena what's the best complaint:
headaches or dizziness, or feeling tired. I'll tell mother it's the
heavy food, and mother'll tell him, and he'll write to Miss Bretherton.
I shall eat strawberries, and watch you search for `brothers.'"

Nancy stared solemnly with her long, dark eyes.

"There was a girl here who tried that before--Netta Bryce. That very
same dodge."

"Well?"

"She wished she hadn't."

"Why?"

"Try, and you'll find out."

"Nanc