oppy opened her eyes when we mentioned
it;--she thought it quite a lot of money, and said we could come to
London out of the savings. I am sure, Primrose, if any one ought to
know, it is Poppy, for her mother is really very poor."

"Mr. Danesfield, too, says we can't live on it," continued Primrose;
"and when I asked Hannah last night, she said 'Of course not'--that no
one expected us to. Now look here, Jasmine, this is all quite fresh to
you and Daisy, but I'm accustomed to it, for I have known it for
twenty-four hours, and what I say is this, if we can't live on our
income we have got to make some more income to live on. If thirty
pounds a year is not enough for us at the end, neither is it enough
for us at the beginning, so we had better see about earning an income
at once, or we'll get into debt, which will be quite awful. Jasmine, I
am afraid the days of our merry childhood are over, and I am so sorry
for you and Daisy, for you are both very young."

"Oh, I don't mind," said Jasmine--"I--I--I'd do anything--I fancy I
could make dresses best, or--Oh, suppose I wrote poetry, and sold it?
You know you and Daisy do like my poems. Do you remember how you cried
over the one I called 'An Ode to the Swallow?'"

"No, I didn't cry over that one," interrupted Daisy. "I thought that
one rather stupid--I cried over the one in which you spoke about my
darling Pink being caught in a trap, and having her leg broken."

"Oh, that one," repeated Jasmine--"I thought that one a little vulgar.
I only made it up to please you, Daisy. Primrose, don't you notice
what a lot of poems there are in all the magazines, and of course,
somebody must write them. I should not be a bit surprised if I could
add to our income by writing poetry, Primrose. All the books, nearly
all the magazines and newspapers, come from London. Poppy will not be
going to London until to-morrow--I'll run round this morning and ask
her to try and find out for me which of the publishers want poems like
my 'Ode to the Swallow.' Perhaps they'd like it in the ---- _Review_;
only the ---- _Review_ is so horribly deep. My ode is deep too, for
Daisy cannot understand it. Perhaps I could send my poem about Pink to
one of the other magazines. Oh, Primrose! may I run round to Poppy,
and see if she can help us?"

Primrose smiled very faintly, and it dawned across her again in rather
a painful manner what a mere child her little sister was.

"I think I wouldn't, darling," she s