ho had practised with her
before. Taking Nellie and Trissie for "Asia" and "Australia", she gave
the scene from _Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch_ where that delightful
but haphazard heroine gets herself and the children ready to go to the
opera. The zeal with which she ironed their dresses, her alternate
scoldings and cajolings, her wild hunt for the tickets, which all the
while were stuck in her belt, the grandeur of her deportment when the
family was at last prepared for the outing, all were most amusingly
represented. Doris was really a born actress, and so completely carried
her audience with her that the lack of costumes and scenery was not felt
in the force of the reality that she managed to throw into her part.
Covered with glory, she gave place to her successor, who, while
bewailing the hardness of her luck in having to follow so smart a
performance, recited a humorous ballad which won peals of applause. Mrs.
Arnold again dipped her hand into the bag and unfolded a twist of paper.

"Corona M. Mitchell," she read.

"Not me, surely! I can't do anything," objected Rona hastily.

"You'll have to," laughed the girls. "No one's let off."

"I can't, I tell you. I've no parlour tricks."

"Give us a story, Rona," suggested Ulyth. "One of those New Zealand
adventures you used to tell to Peter and Dorothy. They loved them."

"Yes, yes! A camp-fire story. That would be spiffing!" clamoured the
girls. "Sit on the floor, near the fire, and we'll all squat near you.
We haven't had a story for ages and ages!"

"Tell it just as you did at home," urged Ulyth.

"I'll try my best," sighed Rona, taking a small stool near the fire, so
as to be slightly above the audience clustered round the hearthrug.

"It happened about a year ago," she began; "that's summer-time in New
Zealand, you know, because the seasons are just opposite. It was Pamela
Higson's birthday, and I'd been asked to go over for the day. I saddled
Brownie, my best pony, and started at seven, because it's a twelve-mile
ride to the Higsons' farm, and I wanted to be early so as to have time
for plenty of fun. Brownie was fresh, and he wasn't tired when I got
there, so we decided to give him an hour's rest and then ride up into
the bush and have a picnic. Pamela showed me her birthday presents while
we waited. She'd had a box sent her by the mail, and she was very
delighted about it.

"Well, at perhaps eleven o'clock I set off with Pamela and the rest of
the Hig