and as this was Monday, the girls
were too busy packing to give many mere thoughts to poor Poppy's
somewhat melancholy epistle.

CHAPTER XVI.

PENELOPE MANSION.

The last time in the funny little old-fashioned garden, the last
loving look at Jasmine's carnations, the last eager chase of the Pink
across the little grass-plot, the last farewell said to the room where
mother had died, to the cottage where Daisy was born, the final hug
from all three to dear old Hannah who vowed and declared that follow
them to London she would, and stay in Devonshire any longer she would
not, and the girls had left Woodbine Cottage.

Notwithstanding all their obstinacy, and their determination to have
their own way, quite a bevy of friends accompanied them to the railway
station--Miss Martineau was there, looking prim and starched, but with
red rims round her eyes, and her lips only stern because they were so
firmly shut, and because she was so determined not to show any
emotion--Mrs. Jenkins, Poppy's mother, was also present; she was
sending up a great bouquet of wild flowers and some eggs and butter to
Poppy; and a lame boy, whom Jasmine had always been kind to, came
hobbling on to the platform to bid the young ladies good-bye; and Mr.
Danesfield drove up on his trap at the last moment in a violent hurry,
and pushed an envelope, which he said contained a business
communication, into Primrose's hand. Last of all, just at the very
end, Mrs. Ellsworthy arrived panting on the scene; a footman followed
her, also hurrying and panting, and he put into the railway carriage a
great basket containing hot-house flowers, and grapes, and peaches,
and then Mrs. Ellsworthy kissed the girls, giving Primrose and Daisy a
hurried salute, but letting her lips linger for a moment on Jasmine's
round cheek. During that brief moment two tears dropped from the kind
little lady's eyes.

It was in this manner that the girls went away.

They arrived in London in the evening, and after a surprisingly
successful search for their luggage at Waterloo, managing not to lose
anything, got into a cab, and drove to Penelope Mansion.

Poppy's aunt boasted of the pleasing name of Flint, and when the girls
drove up with their cab piled with luggage to the door of the mansion,
Mrs. Flint herself came out to welcome them.

Jasmine, whose excitable temperament had been going through many
changes during the journey to town, had now worked herself up into an
ard