told in her life!" declared Prissie, still
chuckling gleefully at the remembrance of the startled figure fleeing
down the garden.

CHAPTER XIII

The Money-makers

"All Saints'" brought a brief spell of golden weather, a snatch of
Indian summer, as if Persephone, loth to go down into the Underworld,
had managed to steal a few days' extra leave from Pluto, and had
remained to scatter some last flowers on earth before her long
banishment from the sunshine. Under the sheltered brick wall in the
kitchen-garden Czar violets were blooming, sweet and fragrant as those
of spring; the rose trees had burst out into a second crop, and the
chrysanthemums were such a special show that Miss Walters almost shook
hands with Jones the gardener over them. Little wild flowers blossomed
on in quiet nooks at the edge of the shrubbery, and butterflies, brought
out by the bright days, made a last flutter in the sunshine. The leaves,
which Carmel had grieved so much to see fall, lay crisp and golden on
the ground, but the bare boughs of the trees, somewhat to her surprise,
held a beauty of form and tint quite their own.

"They are all sorts of lovely soft delicate colors," she remarked.
"Quite different from trees in Sicily. I think it must be the damp in
the air here that does it; everything seems seen through a blue haze--a
kind of fairy glamour that makes them different from what they are!"

"Wait till you see them on a sousing wet December morning!" declared
Gowan. "You won't find much romance about them then!"

"But in the meantime we'll enjoy them!" said Miss Walters, who happened
to overhear. "Who votes for a walk this afternoon? Anybody who prefers
to stop at home and write French translation may do so!"

The girls grinned. Miss Walters did not often give them an unexpected
holiday, so such treats were appreciated when they came. Twenty-one
enthusiasts donned strong boots, jerseys, and tam-o'-shanters, and
started forth for a ramble on the hill-side. They had climbed through
the wood, and were walking along the upper road that led to the hamlet
of Five Stone Bridge, when they came face to face with a very curious
little cavalcade. Two large soap boxes, knocked together, had been
placed on old perambulator wheels, and in this roughly fashioned
chariot, on a bundle of straw and an old shawl, reclined a little, thin,
white-faced girl. One sturdy boy of ten was pushing the queer
conveyance, while a younger pulled it by a pie