couth expressions to escape
her. Her behaviour was very quiet, as if she were watching others, or
taking mental stock of how to comport herself. If occasionally she made
some slight mistake she flushed crimson, but she never repeated it. She
was learning the whole time, and the least gentle hint from Mrs. Stanton
was sufficient for her. Miss Teddington need not have been afraid that
the loud laugh would offend the ears of her friends; it never rang out
once, and the high-pitched voice was subdued to wonderfully softened
tones. For her hostess Rona evinced a species of worship. She would
follow her about the house, content simply to be near her, and her face
would light up at the slightest word addressed to her.

"The poor child just wanted a good mothering," said Mrs. Stanton to
Ulyth. "It is marvellous how fast she is improving. You'll make
something of your little wild bird after all. She's worth the trouble."

"I'd no idea she could grow into this," replied Ulyth. "Oh, Motherkins,
you should have seen her at first! She was a very rough diamond."

"Aren't you glad to have a hand in the polishing? It will be such a
triumph."

Two members of the household, at any rate, saw no fault in the visitor.
Dorothy and Peter haunted her like small persistent ghosts, begging for
stories about New Zealand. The accounts of her life in the bush were
like a romance to them, and so fired their enthusiasm that in the
intervals of playing soldiers they tried to emulate her adventures, and
were found with a clothes-line in the garden making a wild attempt to
lasso the much-enduring Toby.

"Rona's very good-natured with them," said Ulyth. "She doesn't mind how
they pull her about, and Peter's most exhausting sometimes. I shouldn't
like to carry him round the house on my back. Dorothy's perfectly
insatiable for stories; it's always 'Tell us another!' How funny Oswald
is at present. He's grown so outrageously polite all of a sudden. I
suppose it's because he's in the Sixth now. He was very different last
holidays. He's getting quite a 'lady's man'."

"The young folks are growing up very fast," commented Mr. Stanton in
private. "It seems only yesterday that Oswald and Ulyth were babies. In
another year or two we shall begin to think of twenty-first-birthday
dances."

"Oh, don't talk of anything so dreadful!" said Mrs. Stanton in
consternation. "They're my babies still. The party on Thursday is to be
quite a children's affair."

Thou