lled, and, scrambling down the bank, managed
to make a long arm and hook his stick into the poodle's collar and drag
the almost strangled creature to shore.

Until Rona had cautiously wriggled round on the bough, and crept back
safely, the spectators watched in considerable anxiety. They need not
have been alarmed, however, for after her many New Zealand experiences
she thought this a very poor affair.

The owner of the dog shouted his thanks from the opposite bank of the
stream and disappeared behind the high hedge. The whole episode had not
taken five minutes.

"Do you know who that was? It was Lord Glyncraig," said Addie in rather
awestruck tones.

"Was it? Well, I'm sure I don't care," returned Rona a trifle defiantly.
"I'd have saved John Jones's dog quite as readily."

"What a pity he didn't ask your name! He might have invited you to tea
at Plas Cafn, then you'd have scored over Stephie no end."

"I'm sure I don't want to go to tea at Plas Cafn, thank you," snapped
Rona, rather out of temper.

"But think of the fun of it," persisted Addie. "I only wish they'd ask
me."

"They won't ask any of us, so what's the use of talking?" said Lizzie.
"Let's go back to the others; it must be time for lunch."

They found the rest of the girls seated on the wall, as being the driest
spot available, and already attacking their packets of sandwiches. Some
had even reached the jam-tartlet stage.

"It's a good thing we've each got our own private basket, or there
wouldn't be much left for you," shouted Mary Acton. "Where have you been
all this while?"

"Consorting with members of the Peerage," said Addie airily. "Oh yes, my
dear girl! We've had quite what you might call a confidential talk down
by the stream with Lord Glyncraig."

"Not really?" asked Stephanie, pricking up her ears.

"Really and truly! He's not your special property any longer. Rona has
quite supplanted you."

"I don't believe it. You're ragging." Stephanie was rather pink and
indignant.

"Ask the others, if you want to know."

No one was particularly sorry to take a rest after all the scrambling.
The lunch tasted good out-of-doors, and the last tartlet had soon
disappeared. Rona, perched on a tree-stump, began her orange, and tossed
long yellow strands of peel on to the bank below her.

"Oh, stop that, before Teddie catches you!" urged Ulyth; but she was too
late, for Miss Teddington had already spied the offending pieces.

"Who threw those