might be angry. Leucha gets
more like her mother each day--a kind of sneering look about her face,
which really gives her a most disagreeable expression. But friendship
is friendship, and I won't forsake her if I can help it.'

So Daisy flew to the Summer Parlour, which was just perceptible in the
twilight. No place could look more cold and comfortless; but Daisy was
so madly anxious to do something that she set about her task with a
will. She had secretly purloined some faggots, bits of coal, and
candle-ends; but she had quite forgotten to ascertain whether the
faggots were dry or not; and she was equally ignorant of the fact that
as a rule even dry faggots require a small supply of paper to enable
them to 'catch' and attack the nice little black lumps of coal, which,
with the aid of the candle-ends, might yield a glowing, gleaming,
beautiful fire. She had made friends with one of the servants, and had
therefore an idea how to lay her fire. She had also secured a candle,
one solitary whole candle, which she placed in a brass candlestick.

To all appearance everything was now ready. She felt certain that her
fire could not fail, and went back in high spirits to Leucha.

'Come,' she said, 'come. I 'm ready to set fire to the pile.'

A good many girls saw these two go out. They had wrapped themselves up
in warm cloaks, which were quite suited to the frosty weather.

Leucha shivered as she walked in the direction of the Summer Parlour.
The new girls were now busily engaged at a private and luxurious tea
with Mrs Macintyre, which was the invariable tribute paid to each new
pupil. They were, therefore, out of the way.

'The hour strikes,' said Hollyhock. 'Come along, Meg.'

Meg shrank and shivered. 'Oh, but, Holly, I'd much rather not.'

'It is too late to change now, dear Meg. You must just think of the
ghost, and the ghost only. Come at once to the ghostie's hut, and I
'll dress you up.-- Lassies, the rest of you had best keep out of
sight, although you are welcome to linger in the shrubbery to see the
fun. But now listen. When _I_ give the words, "Go, ghostie! _Run_,
ghostie, run! I cannot dry your wet hair this night, for I have a
lassie lying in a swoon across my arms," then you must scatter, scatter
with all the speed you have in you, or the sport will be spoiled.'

So, while Leucha and Daisy were struggling in vain with the fire in the
Summer Parlour, which flared up occasionally with a woef