with Miss Perry, who used to
dawdle so that we were often thoroughly chilled.

In the afternoon we took her to the Esplanade, when Matilda, from her
knowledge of the people, took the lead in the conversation. I was proud
to walk on the other side of our new friend, with my best doll in my
arms. Aunt Theresa came with us, but she soon sat down to chat to a
friend, and we three strolled up and down together. I remember a pretty
bit of trimming on Eleanor's hat being blown by the wind against her
face, on which she quietly seized it, and stuffed it securely into the
band.

"Oh, my dear!" said Matilda, in the emphatic tone in which Aunt
Theresa's lady visitors were wont to exclaim about nothing in
particular--"don't do that. It looks so pretty; and you're crushing it
_dreadfully_."

"It got in my eyes," said Eleanor briefly. "I hate tags."

We went home before Aunt Theresa, but as we stood near the door, Eleanor
lingered and looked wistfully up the road, which ran over a slight hill
towards the open country.

"Would you like to stay out a little longer?" we politely asked.

"I should rather like to go to the top of the hill," said Eleanor.
"Don't you think flat ground tires one? Shall we race up?" she added.

We willingly agreed. I had a few yards start of Eleanor, and Matilda
rather less, and away we went. But we were little used to running, and
hoops and thin boots were not in our favour. Eleanor beat us, of course.
She seemed in no way struck by the view from the top. Indeed it was not
particularly pretty.

"It's very flat about here," she said. "There are no big hills you can
get to the top of, I suppose?"

We confessed that there were not, and, there being nothing more to do,
we ran down again, and went indoors.

Eleanor dressed for the evening in her usual peripatetic way, and,
armed with a homely-looking piece of grey knitting, followed us
down-stairs.

Her superabundant energy did not seem to find vent in conversation. We
were confidential enough now to tell each other of our homes, and she
had sat so long demurely silent, that Matilda ventured upon the
inquiry--

"Don't you talk much at your home?"

"Oh yes," said Eleanor--"at least, when we've anything to say;" and I am
sure no irony was intended in the reply.

"What are you knitting, my dear?" said Aunt Theresa.

"A pair of socks for my brother Jack," was the answer.

"I'm sure you're dreadfully industrious," said Mrs. Buller.

A little lat