fire goin'. A nice cosy kitchen it is, Miss."

"Then I wish I could have my meals there, too."

"Oh, Miss!" cried Mawson in horror.

"Does Miss Bathgate talk to you, Mawson?"

"Not to say talk, Miss. She don't even listen much; says she can't
understand my 'tongue.' Funny, ain't it? Seems to me it's 'er that
speaks strange. But I expect we'll be friends in time, Miss. You do 'ave
to give the Scotch time: bit slow they are.... What I wanted to h'ask,
Miss, is where am I to put your things? That little wardrobe and chest
of drawers 'olds next to nothing."

"Keep them in the trunks," said Pamela. "I think Miss Bathgate would
like to see us departing with them to-day, but I won't be beat. In
Priorsford we are, in Priorsford we remain.... I'll write out some wires
and you will explore for a post office. I shall explore for an
upholsterer who can supply me with an arm-chair not hewn from the
primeval rock."

Mawson smiled happily and departed to put on her hat, while Pamela sat
down to compose telegrams.

These finished, she began, as was her almost daily custom, to scribble a
letter to her brother.

"c/o Miss B. BATHGATE,
HILLVIEW, PRIORSFORD,
SCOTLAND.

"BIDDY DEAR,--The beds and chairs and cushions are all stuffed with
cannon-balls, and the walls are covered with enlarged photographs of men
with whiskers, and Bella Bathgate won't speak to me, partly because she
evidently hates the look of me, and partly because I didn't eat the
duck's egg she gave me for breakfast. But the yolk of it was orange,
Biddy. How could I eat it?

"I have sent out S.O.S. signals for necessaries in the way of rugs and
cushions. Life as bald and unadorned as it presents itself to Miss
Bathgate is really not quite decent. I wish she would speak to me, but I
fear she considers me beneath contempt.

"What happens when you arrive in a place like Priorsford and stay in
lodgings? Do you remain seated alone with your conscience, or do people
call?

"Perhaps I shall only have Mawson to converse with. It might be worse. I
don't think I told you about Mawson. She has been a housemaid in
Grosvenor Street for some years, and she maided me once when Julie was
on holiday, so when that superior damsel refused to accompany me on this
trek I gladly left her behind and brought Mawson in her place.

"She is really very little use as a maid, but her conversation is
pleasing and she has a most cheery grin. She reads the works of Florence
Barcl