ry, very hard, Nell, and you have
wise thoughts, though you are so young. Tell me what they are; tell me
at once."

Molly knelt on the grass as she spoke and put her arms round Nell, who
leant up against her and laid her head on her shoulder.

"Now, Nell, speak."

Nell rubbed her cheek against Molly's, as if she found great comfort in
the contact.

"I think that mother is unhappy," she said, "and that, that we won't get
the presents."

"Come along and let's find Jane Macalister," exclaimed Molly suddenly.
She caught Nell's hand and rushed with her towards the house.

When Jane was not teaching, she was, generally, cooking, or mending
clothes, or putting the store-room in order. Jane never wasted a moment
of her time, and she was extremely fond of taking up all the loose
threads of work which other people had dropped. When the girls,
therefore, now found themselves in the great central hall, and Nell's
clear, high voice shouted for Jane, the single word, "store-room,"
seemed to echo back to them from somewhere in the clouds.

The store-room, where the largest supply of preserves and dried goods
was kept, was high up in the old tower--higher up even than the
schoolroom.

"You stay downstairs, Nell," exclaimed Molly; "I wish to see Jane
alone." She reached the spiral stairs, which she began to mount quickly.
By-and-by with panting breath she arrived at the store-room. The door
was open, but there was no Jane.

"Where are you, Jane Macalister?" called Molly.

"Linen press," called Jane from still higher up.

Molly mounted once more. Jane, with an old pillow-case pinned round her
head and a huge apron on, was on her knees sorting feathers.

"What are you doing?" exclaimed Molly.

"Don't speak to me for a moment, Molly; I'm in a perfect rage,"
exclaimed Jane. "There stand out of the draught, child, or you'll get
all this fluff into your hair. I have just discovered that the feathers
put into these last pillows were not properly cured, so I've been
obliged to take them all out, and I'm sprinkling them with lime. Faugh,
what a mess the place is in. This is what comes of taking in an
incompetent kitchen-maid like Susan Hicks. She did not half do the work
of sorting and curing these feathers. Now, what is it you want, Molly?
You can see for yourself that I'm up to my eyes in work."

"I can," said Molly. "Well, I'll wait for a moment."

"You'll wait for a moment!" screamed Jane. "I tell you I shan't have
done f