All of which facts made it exceedingly
difficult for her even to hint at soap-bubbles--figuratively speaking of
course--as a subject of conversation.

And Pia was slightly irritable too. Of course it was entirely because she
was unhappy, but it didn't conduce to intimate conversation. Prickles
would suddenly appear among the most innocent looking of flowers, in a
way that was entirely disconcerting and utterly unpleasant. And the worst
of it was, that there was no avoiding them. They darted out and pricked
you before you were even aware of their presence. It was so utterly
unlike Pia too, and so--Trix winked back a tear as she thought of it--so
hurting.

At last she came to a decision. The prickles simply must be handled and
extracted if possible. Of course she might get quite unpleasantly stabbed
in the process, but at all events she'd be prepared for the risk, and
anything would be better than the little darts appearing at quite
unexpected moments and places.

"The next time I'm pricked," said Trix to herself firmly, "I'll seize
hold of the prickle, and then perhaps we'll see where we are."

And, as a result perhaps of this resolution, the prickles suddenly
disappeared. Trix was immeasurably relieved in one sense, but not
entirely easy. She fancied the prickles to be hidden rather than
extracted. However, they'd ceased to wound for the time being, and that
certainly was an enormous comfort. Miss Tibbutt, with greater optimism
than Trix, believed all to be entirely well once more, and rejoiced
accordingly.

* * * * *

"Doctor Hilary has been over here rather often lately," remarked Miss
Tibbutt one afternoon. Pia and she were sitting in the garden together.

"Old Mrs. Mosely is ill," returned Pia smiling oracularly.

"But only a very little ill," said Miss Tibbutt reflectively. "Her
daughter told me only yesterday--I'm afraid it wasn't very grateful of
her--that the Doctor had been 'moidering around like 'sif mother was on
her dying bed, and her wi' naught but a bit o' cold to her chest, what's
gone to her head now, and a glass or two o' hot cider, and ginger, and
allspice, and rosemary will be puttin' right sooner nor you can flick a
fly off a sugar basin.'"

Pia laughed.

"My dear Tibby, he doesn't come to see Mrs. Mosely."

Miss Tibbutt looked up in perplexed query.

"He comes on here to tea, doesn't he?" asked Pia, kindly, after the
manner of one giving a le