er, and taking Poppy by the hand
they started to go down. But at the top of the stairs they found Penelope
and Angela debating and looking about them nervously.

"Ought we to go down, or ought we to wait till we are called?" asked
Angela, turning to Esther, with relief at leaving it to some one else to
decide. "Would it be rude to seem in a hurry, or to keep Miss Charlotte
waiting?"

Esther could throw no light on the dreadful problem, there were so many
things to think of. If they went down they would not know where to go,
and if they stayed in their rooms Cousin Charlotte might wait and wait for
them, thinking they were not ready.

"Anyhow, we can't stand here," whispered Penelope. "It will look as
though we are listening and prying. Let's go back to our rooms--and yet--
oh dear, Cousin Charlotte may be down there now, at this very moment,
getting angry with us and thinking how long we take getting ready, and we
don't really."

Esther's temper suddenly gave way. "I do wish one knew what to do,
always," she said crossly. "But mother never taught us things like this--
yet we are expected to know--"

"P'r'aps it doesn't really matter," whispered Angela, who could not bear
to hear her mother spoken harshly of.

"Oh yes, it does," snapped Esther. "It makes all the difference."

"P'r'aps they'll ring a bell when tea is ready," chimed in Poppy, with
sudden inspiration, "then we will know." And sure enough at that moment a
bell did ring down below, and settled the difficulty. In their relief
Penelope and Angela started off with a rush.

"Oh, girls, don't hurry so," cried Esther nervously. "It looks so bad, as
though we had been waiting."

So the impetuous ones slackened their pace, and four very demure little
maidens entered the dining-room a moment later in a manner as decorous and
restrained as the most polite could wish.

And what a charming scene it was that met their eyes--one that all the
four appreciated to the full: a long, low room with a French window
standing wide open to the garden just a step or two below. On the evening
breeze wafted in the scent of mignonette and flowers, and the low sleepy
clucking of the hens, about to go to roost. Near the window stood the
table, with a silver kettle boiling merrily on its stand, and fruit and
flowers and pretty china in abundance, all looking as dainty and tempting
as heart could desire. There was an abundance too of more substantial
fare, eggs a