tie, and a goatee beard. I want to meet some real out-and-out Yankees."

"Won't your cousins from Petteridge ever come over to see you, Di?"
asked Magsie.

"Perhaps they may, sometime," replied Diana thoughtfully. "I should say
it's quite within the bounds of possibility, considering they only live
ten miles away."

"Gee-whiz! I guess I'd just admire to make their acquaintance!" mocked
Vi. "I reckon they'll be _some_ folks!"

Diana's eyes were fixed upon her with an inscrutable look, but she
answered quite calmly:

"I'll take care to introduce you if they come."

It was in the course of the next few days that a parcel for Diana
arrived from Petteridge Court. What it contained nobody saw except
herself, for she did her unpacking in private. Judging from certain
outbursts of chuckling, the exact cause of which she steadily refused to
reveal, the advent of her package gave her profound satisfaction. The
next Saturday afternoon was wet: one of those hopelessly wet days that
are apt to happen in a land of lakes and hills. Banks of mist obscured
the fells; the garden walks were turned to running rivers, the bushes
dripped dismally, and cascades poured from the gutters. The school,
which had been promised a country tramp, looked out of the windows with
woeful disappointment. The seniors consoled themselves by holding a
committee meeting, from which all but their elect selves were rigidly
excluded. The juniors took possession of the play-room, and relieved
their spirits by games which made the maximum of noise. Several of the
intermediates peeped in, but, finding the place a mixture of a
bear-garden and the Tower of Babel, they retired to the sanctuary of
their own form-room, where they sat making half-hearted efforts to read
or paint, and grousing at the weather.

"Is _every_ Saturday going to be wet?" demanded Magsie in an injured
voice.

"Seems like it!" mourned Jess Paget. "Of course it can be beautifully
fine on Friday, when we have to stop in and do dancing; and it just
keeps all the rain for Saturday. I call it spiteful! I wish I knew what
to do with myself. I'm moping."

"Get a book out of the library."

"I loathe reading."

"Do some painting."

"You know I can't paint."

"Go and romp with the juniors."

"I'd as soon spend an hour in a monkey-house."

"Then I can't do anything for you, I'm afraid. You'll just have to
mope."

"Where's Sadie?" asked Peggy Collins. "She promised to give me back my
cr