know you did, and it was ever so kind of you. I'm only sorry you
should have all the trouble. It's been nice to see you, though, and we
do thank you for coming."

"It must be a relief to find we don't squint or hobble on crutches,"
added Dulcie naughtily. "How _shall_ we explain to Miss Walters if she
catches you?"

"I'd better be going!" declared Everard. "Isn't that your school-bell
ringing? Well, I'm glad at any rate to find you all right. Shan't dare
to believe any of your letters in future, Dulcie!

"'Matilda told such awful lies,
It made you gasp and stretch your eyes.
Her aunt, who from her earliest youth
Had kept a strict regard for truth,
Attempted to believe Matilda--
The effort very nearly killed her.'

"Good-by, Carmel! Keep my bad young sister in order if you can. She
needs some one to look after her." And Everard, with a hand on Rajah's
bridle, nodded smilingly after the girls as they ran towards the house
in response to the clanging school-bell.

The rest of the summer term at Chilcombe Hall seemed to pass very
rapidly away, and the space in this book is not enough to tell all that
the girls did during those weeks of June sunshine and July heat. There
were tennis tournaments and archery contests, cricket matches, picnics
and strawberry feasts, as well as the more sober business of lessons,
examinations, and a concert to which parents were invited. To Carmel it
was the pleasantest term she had spent at school, for she had settled
down now into English ways, and did not so continually feel the call of
her Sicilian home. The "Hostage," as Dulcie still sometimes laughingly
called her, if she pined for the Casa Bianca, had contrived to make
herself happy in her northern surroundings, and had won favor with
everybody. School girls do not often make a fuss, but, when breaking-up
day arrived, and the Ingletons drove away in their car, a chorus of
cheers followed them from the doorstep, and, though the hoorays were
given to all three without discrimination, there is no doubt that they
were mainly intended for Carmel.

"She's a sport!" said Gowan, waving in reply to the white handkerchief
that fluttered a farewell. "I don't know any chum I like better. She
always plays the game somehow, doesn't she?"

"Rather!" agreed Noreen. "I think the way she's taken her place at
Cheverley Chase without cuckooing all that family out, or making them
jealous, is just marvelous. If anybody de