Victoria at the moment of her accession.

There was only enough time left for two more representations: Sir Walter
Raleigh spreading his cloak on the ground so that Queen Elizabeth could
escape the mud, and a spirited rendering of Horatius keeping the bridge,
in which last representation Nancy won much applause as the "great Lord
of Luna" clanking a four-fold shield in the shape of large-sized tea
trays. The bridge was typified by a blackboard stretched between two
tables--and the manner in which Horatius made his final dive into a nest
of cushions was blood-curdling to behold. In truth, the hour's
amusement passed like a flash, and when Dreda in ordinary dress re-
entered the drawing-room at the head of her troupe, she was everywhere
greeted with congratulations and applause.

"Supper" was another surprise, consisting, as it did, of fruit salad and
whipped-up cream. The fortunates who were first in the field waxed
eloquent in appreciation, but, alas! the cream soon fell short, and the
last helpings of "salad" were so small as to be almost invisible.

"But some people are never satisfied," quoth Dreda scornfully. "What if
the salad _did_ run short! It was a feast of reason and a flow of soul.
I've no pity for a person whose mind can't soar above stewed prunes!"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The energy with which Etheldreda the Ready set about her work as sub-
editor threatened to ruin the magazine before its birth, for intending
contributors grew so tired of daily and sometimes hourly reminders that
by the end of a week weariness had developed into right-down crossness
and irritation. "For goodness' sake leave me alone. I'm sick of the
name of the old magazine! If you worry me once more I won't do a
thing--so there!" Such answers were more than a little disconcerting to
one who had worked herself up to a white heat of enthusiasm, and could
neither think, dream, nor speak of any other subject under the sun. So
engrossed was Dreda in trying to keep other writers to the mark, that it
was not until ten day's of the allotted fourteen had passed by that she
set to work to think out her own contribution. It was to be a story, of
course--not a stupid, amateury, namby-pamby story, such as you could
read in other school magazines, but something striking and original,
that would make everyone talk and wonder, and lie awake at night. So
far so good; but when the time for writing it arrived it was
astonishingly difficult