ons to have time to ponder over the phenomenon.
Only Miss Phipps and Pixie knew that the "grey man" had a tender heart
despite his sternness, and that Lottie had fallen into wise and loving
care.

The next morning all was excitement and bustle, cabs and omnibuses
driving up to the door of Holly House to convey parties of pupils to the
station, gushing farewells and promises to write taking place on the
staircase, mysterious bundles, "not to be opened until Christmas
morning," slipped into trunks at the last moment, and such racings up
and down stairs in search of things forgotten as can be better imagined
than described when thirty girls half-mad with excitement are on the
point of starting for home.

Mademoiselle and Pixie were among the first to leave, and, despite the
very early hour of their departure, came in for such a magnificent "send
off" that they felt quite like royal personages as they drove away from
the door. Meals would be supplied on train and boat, but they were
laden with other comforts for the long journey in the shape of sweets,
scent, books to read, and, alas! specifics against sea-sickness.
Mademoiselle looked pensive whenever she thought of the hours on board
the boat, but for the rest she was as gay as one of the girls
themselves, and much interested in the country through which they flew.
One great town after another appeared, and was left behind as they
roared through the stations, seeing nothing but a blur of white faces
and undecipherable letters upon a board. Hour after hour and never a
stop, morning changing into afternoon, and still no slackening of that
wonderful onward rush. Two o'clock, and then, just as Pixie was
beginning to nod after her lunch, a sudden cry of admiration came from
Mademoiselle by her side, and there, close at hand, so near that but a
step would have taken them upon the beach, lay the beautiful, mysterious
sea, its waters shining in the winter sunshine, the breakers making a
ridge of white along the yellow shore. The bathing vans were drawn up
on the shingle, and there were no active little figures running to and
fro digging castles on the sands, no nigger minstrels and gingerbread
stalls and swarms of donkey-boys. All was still and bare and lifeless,
and as the short day closed in there was an eeriness about the scene
which made the travellers glad to draw the curtains over the windows,
and which gave an added cheeriness to the prospect of tea. When
Holyhead