astonishment.

"She was Hazel's first. Why can't you all be jolly together without
this continual jealousy? You'd be a great deal happier."

"Ye-es," said Sylvia doubtfully. "What I feel, though, is that I mind
so dreadfully, and I'm sure Linda doesn't care half as much, because
she has Hazel."

"Perhaps she cares more than you think. If I were you I should go and
tell her exactly what happened about the shoes, and say you're sorry.
You'll have done your part at any rate, and if she likes to make it up
she can."

Sylvia took Mercy's advice, and, finding Linda mooning aimlessly up
and down the avenue, she went straight to the point without any
further delay, and explained the whole affair.

"I'm afraid it was I who was cross," said Linda. "I've been feeling
perfectly horrid all the morning. I hate being out of friends with
anyone, and especially with you. I wish my wretched dancing shoes had
been at the bottom of the sea. Have you planted all the bulbs yet? We
meant to put the snowdrops in the middle, you know. I don't like my
old garden at all. It's no fun doing it alone. Shall I bring back the
primroses and the hepatica?"

CHAPTER VII

The Story of Mercy Ingledew

One result of the coolness and subsequent reconciliation between Linda
and Sylvia was the establishment of a firm friendship between the
latter and Mercy Ingledew. Sylvia, who had been more accustomed at
home to grown-up people than children, was attracted to Mercy at once,
and the elder girl saw so much that was unusual and lovable in the
younger one's character that she took a strong interest in getting to
know her better. Mercy was a tall, fair girl of sixteen, with a sweet,
thoughtful face, and a particularly pleasant open expression. She was
a great favourite, both with teachers and pupils, a plodding,
conscientious worker, and always ready to give help or sympathy to
anyone who stood in need of either. Miss Kaye had made a wise choice
in appointing her monitress of the upper landing, as no one could have
more fully appreciated the responsibilities of the post. She tried as
much as lay in her power to 'mother' all the eight little girls of the
third class, looking after them in their bedrooms, reviewing their
clothing, helping to brush their hair, settling their disputes,
advising them in any question of right and wrong, and keeping them up
to the mark in matters of school discipline, and she managed to do it
in such a jolly, hearty,