elf with Giles or Basil; Gwen's schemes and
projects were miles above her head.

The holidays, though very enjoyable, were quite uneventful. They
slipped away much too swiftly, and the ordinary round of school and
home work began again. It was the summer term, however, and to Gwen
that meant a great deal. She took up tennis with hot enthusiasm,
practising both at home and at school in any time she could spare. Her
long arms and strong wrists stood her in good stead, and it began to
be said in the Form that "Gwen Gascoyne's play was quite decent". She
mowed and rolled the little lawn at the Parsonage vigorously, marked
out the courts with a brush, and persuaded either Beatrice or Winnie
to have a game every evening before bedtime, and Father whenever she
could catch him.

"If only I'd a better racket!" she sighed one night, "it's impossible
to do very much with a wretched old thing that's half sprung. You
should have seen my serves when Netta lent me hers yesterday!"

"Why don't you buy a new one, then?" suggested Lesbia. "You're the
Croesus of the family. Your money box must be bursting, for you've
been hoarding up for ages. How much have you got in it?"

"Ah! Wouldn't you like to know!" returned Gwen, suddenly desirous of
changing the subject.

"You really might get a new racket, Gwen," agreed Winnie. "It's a good
idea of Lesbia's. We'd all borrow it on occasion."

"Oh, I dare say! Very nice for you all, no doubt. Rackets are rather
expensive little luxuries, my dear girl. Otherwise I'd be happy to
accommodate you."

"You're a perfect old miser! What are you going to do with your
wealth? Invest it in an annuity?"

"Probably speculate on the Stock Exchange, or take up Mexican mines!"
declared Gwen, trying to turn things off with a laugh.

"Well, you're the only member of the family who keeps any money."

"A good example in thrift to the rest of you, then!"

Gwen did not dare to complain again about the poorness of her racket,
though it was a serious handicap in her games at school, where most of
the girls came supplied with the very best. In spite of this
impediment her play improved steadily, and she several times beat
Louise Mawson, though she could not vanquish Hilda Brown or Charlotte
Perry, the champions at present of the Form.

"I suppose you're going to take swimming, Gwen?" said Netta one day.
"Miss Trent says we begin this afternoon."

"Haven't heard anything about it. Please condescend to enlig