and then, perhaps, they won't say you are young-ladyish
any more!'

There was a vision of slim black legs and white pinafore disappearing
across the hall, and Jill could not help laughing. 'I must catch the post,
and write to that child Jean,' she decided, after a moment's reflection.
'It won't be so bad for the poor little mite if she has some one to show
her round.'

Late on the following afternoon the 'adopted kid' found another chance
of making her way to Barbara's heart. Barbara had wandered into the
library, with a whole hour to spare before the carriage should come round
to drive her to school; and, rather to her surprise, she discovered Kit
there, sitting huddled up in the arm-chair, with his shoulders up to his
ears. She had thought that all the boys were out ratting, and she had
not expected to see any of them until they came in at tea-time to bid
her farewell. She was feeling rather doleful, now that the important
moment was so near, for she realised that if she was going to everything
that was new and delightful, she was also going away from the boys for
the first time in her life. It did not cheer her to find Christopher
sitting over the fire with an attack of asthma.

'Kit!' she cried in distress. 'I didn't know you were ill!'

Kit crouched closer to the fire and growled. Asthma always had a bad
effect upon his temper, and to-day he had a grievance as well.

'Of course you didn't know,' he muttered. 'You never know anything now.
Can't think what's come over you lately.'

Barbara reddened, and the tears welled up in her eyes. No one could hurt
her so easily as Christopher. 'I'm awfully sorry, Kit. I suppose I've been
thinking about school,' she said; and she dropped the poker with a bang
that made him wince.

'Lucky for you to be able to go to school,' answered Kit, crossly. 'Look
at me! Just because of that journey on Wednesday I've got to coddle like
an old woman.'

Barbara stood gazing at him helplessly. Her heart was full of pity, but
no one had ever taught her how to show it. 'Poor old boy!' she said
awkwardly. 'Would you like me to tell you a story?'

'Not I! How can you think of a story when you're full of that stupid
school?' was the surly answer.

'But I'm not thinking about school now, Kit,' persisted the Babe, becoming
tearful.

'Oh, never mind. Don't cry, whatever you do; I've got such a headache,'
said Christopher, hastily.

'I'm n--not crying; I never cry,' stammered Barbara, in