Well, you know it now, at any rate."

"Does it belong to toffs?"

"It belongs to Lord and Lady Glyncraig. They live there for part of the
year."

"Oh!" said Rona. She put her chin on her hand and surveyed the distant
mansion for several moments in silence. "I reckon they're stuck up,"
she remarked at last.

"I believe they're considered nice. I've never spoken to them," replied
Ulyth.

"I have," put in Stephanie complacently. "I went to tea once at Plas
Cafn. It was when Father was Member for Rotherford. Lord Glyncraig knew
him in Parliament, of course, and he happened to meet Father and me just
when we were walking past the gate at Plas Cafn, and asked us in to
tea."

Merle, Addie, and Ulyth smiled. This visit, paid four years ago, was the
standing triumph of Stephanie's life. She never forgot, nor allowed any
of her schoolfellows to forget, that she had been entertained by the
great people of the neighbourhood.

"He wasn't Lord Glyncraig then; he was only Sir John Mitchell, Baronet.
He's been raised to a peerage since," said Merle, willing to qualify
some of the glory of Stephanie's reminiscences.

"We don't grow peers in Waitoto, or baronets either, for the matter of
that," observed Rona. "I don't guess they're wanted out with us. We'd
have no place in the bush for a Lord Glyncraig."

"You'd better claim acquaintance with him, as your name's Mitchell too.
How proud he'd be of the honour!" teased Addie.

Coral flooded the whole of the Cuckoo's face. She had begun to
understand the difference between her rough upbringing and the refined
homes of the other girls, and she resented the sneers that were often
made at her expense.

"Our butcher at home is Joseph Mitchell," hinnied Merle.

"Mitchell's a common enough name," said Ulyth. "I know two families in
Scotland and some people at Plymouth all called Mitchell. They're none
of them related to each other, and probably not to Merle's butcher or to
Lord Glyncraig."

"Nor to me," said Rona. "I'm a democrat, and I glory in it. Stephanie's
welcome to her grand friends if she likes them."

"I do like them," sighed Stephanie plaintively. "I love aristocratic
people and nice houses and things. Why shouldn't I? You needn't grin,
Addie Knighton; you'd know them yourself if you could. When I come out
I'd like to be presented at Court, and go to a ball where the people are
all dukes and duchesses and earls and countesses. It would be worth
while dancing with a duk