n the kitchen." Then she laughed with
some embarrassment at her confession of fear.

"I will go and take off my things now," said Kitty, and she left rather
abruptly and ran quickly to her room.

The throwing off of her hat and coat occupied less than a minute; then,
taking out from a tin box a spirit-lamp and kettle, she filled the
latter and put it on to boil. That done, she ran softly down the stairs
to the pantry. Fortunately for her, Nellie, the schoolroom maid, was
there alone. Nellie, who was an easy-going, good-tempered girl, had
been the pleased recipient of the discarded gray stockings, and had ever
since showed a gratitude which was beyond Kitty's comprehension, for in
her opinion it was she who had most cause to be grateful. To Nellie
Kitty explained her wants, and after a brief, whispered consultation she
was soon speeding back with a little jug of milk, some tea in a small
teapot, and a plate of biscuits on a tray. In her room she had a pretty
teacup of her own, which she meant to use.

The kettle was singing by the time she got back, and a few moments later
she made her way proudly down to Miss Pidsley's room with a fragrant
scent of tea marking her path. This time, when she knocked, Miss
Pidsley really did think she had come for her music lesson, and a little
sigh again escaped her, a sigh which turned to an exclamation of real
pleasure when she saw what Kitty was bringing her. Cornish Kitty had
forgotten all about sugar or a teaspoon, but Miss Pidsley needed her tea
so badly she did not heed the omission, but sat down at once to enjoy to
the full her little picnic meal.

When Kitty returned to her own room again she was surprised at herself
for feeling so happy. "School isn't _all_ bad," she said thoughtfully.
"I dare say I should get quite to like it in time."

Then her eye fell on Betty's newly-arrived letter, and tearing it open,
she read of all her woes and triumphs connected with the detested
woollen stockings. There was a long letter from Dan too, full of a sort
of laughing sympathy as well as jokes and fun, but with here and there
the strain of seriousness which so often astonished Dan's friends, and
made him the dear, lovable old boy he was.

"It was rough on you," he wrote, "to pack you off to school like that,
and jolly unfair too; and I expect you felt you would never smile again.
But you will, and before many weeks are gone by, too; and I do believe
it is the best thing for bo