ns, but to these Pen
scarcely listened. Her face was pale with joy. She had worked hard; she
had plotted much; she had succeeded.

"I feel as though I'd like to be really quite good," was her first
thought.

Nurse expected that she would be nearly mad with glee; but she left the
nursery quietly. She went downstairs quietly. Her sisters were at
breakfast. She entered the room and stood before them.

"Pennies, please," she said.

"What do you mean?" asked Briar, who was pouring out coffee.

"Pennies from all of you, quick."

Josephine put on a supercilious face; Lucy sniffed; Helen and Adelaide
went on with their breakfast as though nothing had happened.

Penelope came a little nearer.

"Must I speak up?" she said. "Must I ask again? Is you all deaf? I am
going to Easterhaze to Aunt Sophy. Darling aunty can't do without me. She
has sent for me as she wants me so badly. I'm going by the first train. I
am much the most 'portant person in the house, and I's won my bet. I like
betting. A penny from you all if you please."

The girls were excited and amazed at Pen's news.

"You are clever," said Briar. "How in the world did you get her to do
it?"

"Tum-tum and sore froat," said Penelope bluntly. "Oh! and vinegar and
paling down."

"You are really such an incomprehensible child that I am glad Aunt Sophy
is going to manage you," was Patty's remark. "Here are your pence. Shall
we help you to pack your things?"

"They are a'most packed. I did some myself last night. I took your new
little trunk, Briar. I don't 'uppose you'll mind."

Briar did mind, but she knew it was useless to expostulate.

By eleven o'clock Penelope was off to Lyndhurst Road station. By twelve
o'clock she was in charge of a red-faced old lady. In five minutes' time
she was _en route_ for Easterhaze. The old lady, whose name was Mrs.
Hungerford, began by considering Pen a plain and ordinary child; but she
soon had reason to change her views, for Pen was not exactly plain, and
was certainly by no means ordinary. She stared fixedly at the old lady,
having deliberately left her own seat and planted herself on the one
opposite.

"Vinegar will do it," she said.

"What are you talking about, child?" asked Mrs. Hungerford.

"You are so red--such a deep red, I mean--much the same as chocolate.
Vinegar will do it. Take three small glasses a day, and pay your Betty
with vulgar sort of things out of an old bandbox."

"The unfortunate child is evide