The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls

IN SPITE OF OPPOSITION.

But although Mrs. Ellsworthy wept and lamented, although she tried both persuasions and scoldings, and finally left the cottage in a state of deep offence, vowing within herself that she would never trouble her head again over the affairs of such silly and obstinate girls, she could not in the least shake Primrose's quiet resolve.

Primrose said over and over again: "Two things are absolutely indispensable—we must be independent, and we must keep together. I can think of no better plan than this—it may fail, but we can but try it—we are certainly going to try it."

Mrs. Ellsworthy kept up her offence for twenty-four hours, then she began to soften, and to agree with her husband, whose solitary remark was, "My dear, you cannot coerce the children, and upon my word it's a plucky notion, and if those girls are brave enough to carry it out they must have real stuff in them."

"They may have plenty of stuff, and the plan may be as plucky as you like, Joseph," replied his excitable little wife. "I am quite willing to admire it in the abstract, but I am quite determined, if I have any influence whatever, to prevent them carrying it through."

Then she went off to Miss Martineau, invading the schoolmistress in the sacred hour when she was engaged with her pupils. Mrs. Ellsworthy carried Miss Martineau away from her school, and shutting the door of that lady's little parlor, clasped the governess's thin hands, and poured her troubles into her ears.

"Joseph calls it plucky," said Mrs. Ellsworthy at the end of her narrative.

But Miss Martineau's face was perfectly aghast.

"Plucky!" she ejaculated. "Dear Mrs. Ellsworthy, pardon me, but your husband is a man—what can a man know about the intricate workings which go on within the breast of a perverse girl? Plucky!—I call it wicked—I call it wanting in all decorum, in all right sense. Primrose Mainwaring has disappointed me deeply; she showed undue temper when I spoke to her here the other day—oh yes, this thing must be prevented by main force, if necessary."

Miss Martineau's pupils could not imagine what was the matter with her that morning. She was known to be a most strict disciplinarian, she was reported to have the sharpest eyes, and the quickest ears; her pupils believed that nothing ever could pass Miss Martineau's observation; nevertheless, after Mrs. Ellsworthy's visit she was distrait, she was indifferent to mistakes, and she allowed her naughtiest and most troublesome scholar to gabble through her French translation without once correcting her. School over, Miss Martineau discovered that she had no appetite for her dinner; she left quite a nice little repast, cooked in French style, untasted on the table, and hurrying up to her bedroom, put on her mantle and poke bonnet and went out. She had made up her mind to visit the Mainwarings, and to expostulate with these headstrong and naughty girls on their daring scheme. "Wicked, I call it," she ejaculated many times under her breath!—"a wicked scheme, wicked, and a tempting of Providence. Oh, my poor orphan children, I must do my utmost to prevent your having your own perverse way in this matter!"

She arrived at Woodbine Cottage to find the neat little house already in sad confusion. Hannah favored her with an expressive look, and a grave shaking of her head.

"I don't know if they'll see you," she said—"they won't see you if it is on a lecturing errand you've come, ma'am. Their minds is made up, ma'am, and obstinate is no word for them. Dear Miss Martineau, you means well, and you has known them most of their lives, poor darlings, so sit you down in the hall, and I'll see if I can get them to have a word with you."

Jasmine, however, had heard her old governess's voice, and now running out, looking extremely untidy but very pretty, she exclaimed in her eager tones—

"Now, you dear Miss Martineau, say you're not—do say you're not!"

"Not what, my dear?" asked the governess, who really felt quite angry with Jasmine at this moment. "If you mean that I am not displeased—I am displeased; and if you mean that I am not to oppose you, my dear, I should not be doing my solemn duty, the duty which I owe to your poor dead mother, if I did not oppose you to the very uttermost. My dear, Mrs. Ellsworthy has told me all about your mad scheme; my poor child, it cannot be allowed for a moment."

"Come into the drawing-room and hear what Primrose has to say," answered Jasmine, in quite a meek and unruffled voice. "Primrose is very busy, for she is dusting and packing all our books and little knick-knacks. Do you know, Miss Martineau, that just when I heard your ring at the hall-door I came across a pincushion which you gave me ages and ages ago. You gave it to me when I could say, Le thé est chaud with a Parisian accent. It was such a pretty pincushion made of pink silk, and dotted over with steel beads to look like pins. Just when you were ringing the bell I had it in my hand, and I felt so soft and loving towards you, and of course I had to run out to see you, and—; Primrose, dearest, here is Miss Martineau. She is dreadfully opposed, and she says she won't let us go."

Primrose was bending over a battered old trunk which had been hauled down from the lumber-room. She was filling it with books, and her fair face was slightly flushed, and her eyes were brighter than usual.

"How do you do, Miss Martineau?" she said, rising to her feet. "It is very kind of you to call. I feel sure you are annoyed, and think us girls rather silly, but I'm afraid we must do what we think right ourselves in this matter. We have taken our first steps, and now that we have quite and absolutely made up our minds, mean to leave Rosebury as quickly as possible. It is very kind of you to be interested in us, and I am sorry that I spoke bitterly the other day, but the plan which was to divide us girls was of course impossible, and we could not listen to it for a moment. We have made our own little scheme, and perhaps we shall not fail. Daisy, darling, hand me dear old 'Sandford and Merton,' I have just got a nice corner for it here."

Primrose went down again on her knees, and serenely continued her packing, while Miss Martineau, standing over her, then and there gave way to a burst of passion.

She was well aware that she lost ground with her pupils by not controlling her temper, but as she said afterwards, she really could not help herself. Such coolness, such perversity, such a headstrong flying in the face of their elders, she had never encountered in three young girls before.

Poor Daisy quite sobbed, and even Jasmine felt a little frightened at Miss Martineau's bitter and angry words; but no language she could use, no threats of the direst failure she could utter, had power to shake Primrose's resolve.

"We have no guardian, and we can go if we please, and we have really made up our minds to go," replied that perverse young lady.

As a last resource Mr. Danesfield was appealed to, but he, being an old bachelor and not quite at home with girls, although in his heart he was very fond of them, declined to interfere.

"I gave Primrose Mainwaring some uncalled-for advice when she came to see me the other morning," he said. "She is perfectly at liberty to choose her own life, and I, for one, am not going to add to her troubles by needlessly opposing her. Very likely the girls will get on in London—they are spirited girls, and they may do better for themselves by struggling for independence than by living with the Ellsworthys. I always did maintain that work hurts no one."

So Primrose carried out her little plans, and made all arrangements, and her friends, when they found she would not yield, came round her, and began to counsel her as to the best place to go to.

Mrs. Ellsworthy was, after all, the first to forgive the girls. She felt very indignant, and stayed away for more than a week; but one evening, when the day's packing was over, and the three, rather tired but quite cheerful and full of hope, were sitting down to their tea, her carriage was seen to draw up to the door, and the little lady, bustling and good-natured as ever, entered the drawing-room.

"My dears," she said, holding out a hand each to Primrose and Daisy, but imprinting a kiss on her favorite Jasmine's brow, "my dears—Oh, of course, I am still very angry! I see, too, that you are at that horrid packing; but if you must go, there is a Mrs. Moore—such a good soul, a widow, and quite a lady—indeed, I may say highly connected. She lives in Kensington, and I have written to her. My dears, she would be charmed to take you all into her family. She would give you comforts—oh! I don't mean luxuries, but the necessary comforts that young girls who are using their brains require. She would feed you well, and chaperone you when you went out, and, in short, see to you all round. I know her house so well. It is very pretty—indeed, charming—and she would take you in for a pound a week between you. She would give you board and lodging, and all you require, for a pound a week. I hope, my dear Primrose, you don't consider that too dear. It is, I believe"—here Mrs. Ellsworthy coughed slightly—"considered cheap for Kensington."

This torrent of words, poured forth with rapidity and yet with distinctness, rather astonished the girls. They were afraid they had lost Mrs. Ellsworthy for their friend, and they, every one of them, hailed this overture of kindness with delight. Innocent Primrose never even suspected that a pound a week for the lodging and maintenance of three girls was at all unusually cheap. She little guessed that Mrs. Ellsworthy had written to her special friend, Mrs. Moore, telling her the girls' story, begging of her to give them a home, to provide them with every comfort, and even luxury, and asking her to look to her, Mrs. Ellsworthy, for the necessary payment.

Jasmine began to dance about, and to say, softly—

"Oh! this is too delightful! You darling Mrs. Ellsworthy, you are beginning to approve of our scheme. Oh, yes; I know you are, although you were too proud to say so. Now, is it not a little bit wrong of you to be proud after the way you lectured Primrose? Well, Primrose, shall we go to Mrs. Moore? I don't know anything about Kensington, but I suppose it is as good as any other place. I don't suppose, either, a pound a week is too much for the three of us. Shall we go to Mrs. Moore, Primrose?"

Daisy also joined her voice in favor of going to Mrs. Ellsworthy's friend, and after all, but for that obstinate young person Primrose, the good little lady might have had her way, but Primrose, although she was quite ignorant of fashionable localities or of any London expenses, was very firm, very firm indeed, when she made up her mind.

"It is most kind of you to call and say all this to us," she answered. "Oh, yes, we would come if we had not quite decided on an altogether different plan. That being the case we cannot go to Mrs. Moore—thank you so much."

When Jasmine heard her sister speak her face first fell and then brightened up considerably. "How stupid of me to forget!" she said. "Oh, yes, we have made a lovely plan, and of course we could not go to anybody whom anybody knew. Oh, no, of course not. I cannot think how I came to forget."

Again Mrs. Ellsworthy tried persuasion and even entreaty, but again she had to own herself vanquished by that most obstinate girl Primrose. "I really cannot make out why I care for them all," she said to herself as she drove away. "I do care for them, poor children! I would do anything to help them, but I am simply not allowed. Well, Primrose, no doubt you would be a great trial to me if you were my daughter; I could never bear obstinate characters, and yet to a certain extent I admire you."

Miss Martineau also made up her mind to forgive these naughty girls, and to give them the benefit of her most sapient counsel. She too wrote a private letter to a London friend, and arrived at Woodbine Cottage primed with what she considered valuable information. "Now, my dears, you must go to Shepherd's Bush—that is the place, and the only place where you can live within your means. My friend Constantia Warren has rooms there, and she says—I have written to her, my loves—she says if you will let her accompany you in your search she may be able to secure you a clean, respectable bedroom in a fairly good locality. Constantia is an excellent woman; she is fifty, and plain in her tastes, and has no nonsense about her. She has promised me, for my sake, to accompany you to church in the evenings, and to see that you wear your veils down when you go out, and that you are back in your bedroom—you can't afford a sitting-room, so don't think of it—that you are back in your bedroom by five o'clock in the evening, as all girls who have any idea of what is correct and proper are of course in by that hour in London. Now, my dears, Constantia will be a sort of protectress to you three, and I had better write to her at once. My dears, it is a relief to me to know you will be near Constantia, for London is a pit—a pit, and a snare."

Miss Martineau had talked herself quite out of breath, and looked quite pleading, but the same obstacle which had prevented the girls' acceding to Mrs. Ellsworthy's request now debarred their taking up their quarters near Constantia Warren.

They spoke of their plans, but would not tell what they were, and Miss Martineau again went away offended.

"There is no secret in the matter," she said, when talking over the affair with Mrs. Ellsworthy. "Primrose tries to make a mystery, and Jasmine likes to look mysterious, but there is not the smallest doubt that all the girls really want is to have their own way, and to be beholden to none of us."

"Nevertheless, I love them, and shall always love them," answered Mrs. Ellsworthy.

"Oh, for the matter of that, so will I always love them, Mrs. Ellsworthy. It seems to me they want a lot of pity, poor misguided young things!"

Primrose, Jasmine and Daisy all this time felt wonderfully serene. They were very sorry to hurt their friends, but it is quite true that they did want to have their own way. They had made distinct plans, but they must go to London to carry them out. They thought their wisest course was to go up to Penelope Mansion for a few days, and make their final arrangements from there.

"I'd be very lonely in London if I wasn't near Poppy," said Jasmine; and Primrose too said that she thought their wisest course was to go up to Penelope Mansion, and make their plans from there.

Accordingly, one afternoon, when Poppy Jenkins had been three weeks in her new place, she received a letter from Primrose Mainwaring, to which she sent the following reply. Poppy's spelling need not be copied, but her language ran as follows:—

Penelope Mansion,
Wright street, off the Edgware Road,
July 22.

HONORED Miss,—

"Your letter was that gratifying. I am so glad you have put by your savings, and are coming to visit this vast Babylon. Miss Primrose, it will do me a sight of good to see your face, and the face of Miss Jasmine, and the face of Miss Daisy. The ladies here, miss—for I must own to the truth—are not as beautiful as was to be expected. Neither in their visages nor in their manners are they beautiful. Sharp's the word from morn till night here, and many a time I cry. I hasn't had no moment yet to visit the sights, for aunt's hands are very full, and she looks most natural to me to assist her, which I do, as in duty bound. I'm told that there isn't much of the real London to be seen from Penelope Mansion, so I live in hopes that it is as beautiful as we pictured it beyond these dull walls. Miss, I has spoken to my aunt, and she will be very pleased to receive you three, and will put you in a bedroom to the front of the house. You'll be fretted by the roar from the continuous multitude which passes these windows all day and all night, but otherwise the room is cheerful, although somewhat hot. Miss Primrose, I'll give you all such a welcome.

"Your humble and most devoted friend,
"POPPY JENKINS."

This letter was received by the girls while they were eating their breakfast. Primrose read it aloud to her sisters, and the effect of Poppy's words was certainly not enlivening. Jasmine was the first to recover her spirits.

"Never mind," she said; "Poppy feels a little dull and it is more than ever our duty to go up to London, and try and cheer her. Poor Poppy! it is very wrong of her aunt not to let her go out to see the sights, and you see, Primrose, she really knows no part of London yet, except Penelope Mansion. Poor Poppy! how she did long to go to see the wonderful city; but she was a little frivolous, and seemed only to want to look at the shop windows and to examine the newest fashions. We go to this grand, great London in a different spirit—we go determined to conquer, don't we, Queen Rose?"

"We go to do what seems to be our duty," answered Primrose, solemnly. "Oh, Jasmine! I hope we are doing right—I hope, I pray that God may help us."

Then a letter was written to Poppy, in which the noisy room was secured for the following Thursday, and as this was Monday, the girls were too busy packing to give many mere thoughts to poor Poppy's somewhat melancholy epistle.

PENELOPE MANSION.

The last time in the funny little old-fashioned garden, the last loving look at Jasmine's carnations, the last eager chase of the Pink across the little grass-plot, the last farewell said to the room where mother had died, to the cottage where Daisy was born, the final hug from all three to dear old Hannah who vowed and declared that follow them to London she would, and stay in Devonshire any longer she would not, and the girls had left Woodbine Cottage.

Notwithstanding all their obstinacy, and their determination to have their own way, quite a bevy of friends accompanied them to the railway station—Miss Martineau was there, looking prim and starched, but with red rims round her eyes, and her lips only stern because they were so firmly shut, and because she was so determined not to show any emotion—Mrs. Jenkins, Poppy's mother, was also present; she was sending up a great bouquet of wild flowers and some eggs and butter to Poppy; and a lame boy, whom Jasmine had always been kind to, came hobbling on to the platform to bid the young ladies good-bye; and Mr. Danesfield drove up on his trap at the last moment in a violent hurry, and pushed an envelope, which he said contained a business communication, into Primrose's hand. Last of all, just at the very end, Mrs. Ellsworthy arrived panting on the scene; a footman followed her, also hurrying and panting, and he put into the railway carriage a great basket containing hot-house flowers, and grapes, and peaches, and then Mrs. Ellsworthy kissed the girls, giving Primrose and Daisy a hurried salute, but letting her lips linger for a moment on Jasmine's round cheek. During that brief moment two tears dropped from the kind little lady's eyes.

It was in this manner that the girls went away.

They arrived in London in the evening, and after a surprisingly successful search for their luggage at Waterloo, managing not to lose anything, got into a cab, and drove to Penelope Mansion.

Poppy's aunt boasted of the pleasing name of Flint, and when the girls drove up with their cab piled with luggage to the door of the mansion, Mrs. Flint herself came out to welcome them.

Jasmine, whose excitable temperament had been going through many changes during the journey to town, had now worked herself up into an ardent desire to see Poppy—she jumped out of the cab first of all, and, running up the steps of Penelope Mansion, said eagerly—

"Oh, if you please, Mrs. Flint—I know, of course, you are Mrs. Flint—may I run down to the kitchen, and find Poppy?"

"My niece will come to you presently, Miss Mainwaring," answered Mrs. Flint.

Somehow Mrs. Flint's calm and carefully modulated voice had an instant effect in subduing Jasmine. The mistress of Penelope Mansion resembled perhaps more a cushion than a flint—she was fat, round, and short, had a good-humored and unruffled face, and a voice which was always pitched in one key.

"We call my niece Sarah in these premises," she said; "Poppy signifies nothing whatever but a weed, untidy, straggling, the worry of the farmers. Sarah will see to your comforts presently, young ladies. At the present moment tea is on the table. We tea at six o'clock precisely—we sup at nine. Will you like to go upstairs and wash your hands, or will you come at once with me, and partake with the other inmates of the meal which is now going forward?"

"I don't like her, but she seems to speak very correct English," whispered Jasmine to her sister: "I wonder, does everybody in the great city speak like that? I suppose she'll do as a study in style. I must study style, mustn't I, if I'm to make money by writing?"

This speech was tumbled into Primrose's ear with wonderful rapidity, while Mrs. Flint stood gently by, looking most contented and uninterested.

"Hush, Jasmine!" whispered Primrose. "Daisy darling, hold my hand. Thank you very much, Mrs. Flint; we will have some tea now, if you please, and then go at once to our room."

"Does Poppy—I mean Sarah—wait at the tea-table?" inquired Jasmine, as their hostess led the way up a flight of stairs, and down a passage. "I hope she does—I want to see her so badly."

"Sarah's duties at the present moment are in the kitchen," responded Mrs. Flint, with some graciousness. "Now, young ladies, let me precede you, and introduce you to my guests. Miss Mainwaring, Miss Jasmine and Miss Daisy Mainwaring—Mrs. Mortlock, Mrs. Dredge, Miss Slowcum. Young ladies, will you seat yourselves at the table?"

Mrs. Flint moved to her place at the head of the board; the three girls dropped into seats, and were stared broadly at by Miss Slowcum and Mrs. Mortlock. Mrs. Dredge, however, did not stare, but stretching out one rather plump white hand, took Daisy's within her own and gave it a little squeeze.

"Tired, pretty little dear!" she said; "tired and cold. Ah, I know all about it."

"No, she's not cold, she's hot," responded Jasmine; "this is the hottest, closest room I've ever been in. You are Mrs. Dredge, are you not? Please, Mrs. Dredge, can you tell me how near we are to the real glories of the city from here?"

"I don't know, my dear—I fancy a very long way," answered Mrs. Dredge, with a sigh—this sigh was instantly taken up by Mrs. Mortlock and Miss Slowcum, and Miss Slowcum remarked that the situation might certainly be considered the worst in London.

"Ha, ha!" said Mrs. Mortlock, "you will have to come down in your prices after that, Mrs. Flint. Ha, ha! your question was a very leading one, Miss Jasmine Mainwaring."

Poor Jasmine began to feel quite alarmed, and instantly resolved not to open her lips again during tea.

The meal proceeded, and very dull it was; nor was the fare appetizing, for the tea was weak and the bread was stale. The three young faces, so fresh from the country and from home, began to reflect the general dulness. Mrs. Flint always made it a rule never to speak except when obliged—Daisy was nearly asleep, Primrose felt a dreadful lump in her throat, and Jasmine's dark curly head was bent low, and her bright eyes were not seen under their long lashes, for she was very well aware that they were full of tears.

She was a most impulsive creature, however, quick and variable in her moods, unselfish in her character. Suddenly it dawned upon her that it was not fair to the rest of the party that she should be so dull. She had always been considered the sunbeam at home; why should she not try to become the sunbeam of Penelope Mansion?

"I know what will do it," she exclaimed, jumping from her seat, and nearly upsetting her own tea and Daisy's. "Of course, how silly of me!—I know what will alter things directly." Then she flew out of the room, returning the next moment with Mrs. Ellsworthy's great basket of fruit and flowers.

"Primrose," she said, "mightn't we share these with the ladies? They are all quite fresh from the country. Oh yes, of course we may share them. Mrs. Flint, which will you have, some flowers, a bunch of grapes, or a peach?"

Mrs. Flint selected a good-sized bunch of grapes with a placid smile, and a "Thank you, Miss Jasmine"—Mrs. Mortlock also took grapes, Miss Slowcum selected flowers, and Mrs. Dredge partook of a peach with great relish, calling it, as she did so, a "sweet reminiscence of the blooming country."

After this little incident the ladies of Penelope Mansion and the Mainwaring girls became quite friendly; nevertheless the three cried themselves to sleep that night.

ESCORTED BY MISS SLOWCUM.

"Within the house at least," remarked Poppy Jenkins, "it ain't what we dreamt of."

She was standing the next morning in the room where the three sisters had slept—it was early, only five o'clock in the morning, but this was Poppy's London hour for rising. Jasmine was sitting up in bed and regarding her earnestly, Primrose was also awake, but Daisy slept like a cherub.

"It ain't what we dreamt of," continued Poppy—"it's work, and it's dirt, and it's dust, and it's smuts. Oh, my word! the smuts is enough to turn one crazy. Nothing is white here, as you calls white in the country—speckled is more the word. No, no. Penelope Mansion is, taking it all in all, a biting disappointment."

"Well Poppy, Penelope Mansion is not the whole of London," said Jasmine, in a rather quavering, but would-be wise voice.

"Yes, but it's the London I has got to do with," answered Poppy Jenkins—"and oh! the worst of all is, that aunt won't have me called by my home name—she speaks of it most bitter as a 'weed.' She says poppies are what are meant in the Scripter by the tares. Don't it sound real awful?—I trembled all over when she told me that. So Sarah I am here, and Sarah Ann, and Sarah Jane, and Sarah Mary the ladies calls me. When they're in a very good humor I'm Sarah Mary, and when they're a bit put out it's Sarah Jane they calls for, and now and then I'm Sarah Ann—then I know I'm in for a scolding. Oh yes, Miss Primrose, London is not what we thought it."

"Never mind," said Primrose sweetly; "you'll always be Poppy to us, dear, and I know the tares were not poppies, so don't you fret—the poppy is a sweet flower, and Poppy is a sweet name for a girl. Why we four are all called after flowers, and we must just be very friendly, and very brave and loving and sweet in this London, and then, perhaps, it won't disappoint us."

"You're real kind, Miss Primrose," said Poppy. "Yes, it's a great ease to me to know as you three are in the house. I won't be so lonesome-like now, and I won't be dreaming that I'm a tare. It's awful to think of yourself as a tare, but I know now that aunt made a mistake. Oh, ain't Miss Daisy beautiful in her sleep? Now look here, you're all tired, and I'll bring you up your breakfasts in bed. You shall have some of mother's fresh eggs and real country butter. I'll run downstairs, and bring you up some breakfast the very first thing."

The girls spent that morning in their room. They unpacked a few of their things, and put their mother's picture on the mantel-piece, and Primrose opened Mr. Danesfield's letter. It contained an enclosure within and on this enclosure was written, in a funny little printing hand, "When you want me, use me; don't return me, and never abuse me."

Primrose's face grew rather red. She read the funny little motto two or three times, then put the enclosure unopened into her trunk.

"I think," she said, looking at Jasmine, "that we will not send this back. I had a queer dream last night. It seemed to me that mother came to me and said, 'Are you not foolish to cast away all your kind friends? Try to remember that true independence is not too proud to lean on others. Primrose, for my sake do not be over proud.' Mr. Danesfield was always a friend of mother's," continued Primrose, "so I will keep his letter until we want it, and will write him a little note to thank him for it."

Then the girls sat down by the open window and looked out into the street. It was a very dull street, and the day was warm and murky, with no sun shining.

"This afternoon we will go out," said Primrose. "I shall speak about it at lunch, and ask Mrs. Flint to allow us to take Poppy with us. I am so sorry Poppy feels dull. Now, girls, we must just make up our minds not to do that—we must keep up brave hearts, and not sigh and look dismal; that would never do. We have elected our own course, and if we are not courageous we shall be beaten. I for one am determined not to be beaten."

"I've always heard," said Jasmine, "that to sigh was very weakening. What I propose is this—that we give each other a fine whenever we are heard sighing, and another much more severe fine if we grumble, and the worst fine of all if we cry. Now, what shall the fines be?"

After a little consideration the girls decided that the fines might as well lead in the direction of their education. Accordingly they marked out for themselves some of the most ponderous passages in "Paradise Lost" to learn by heart, and as a severe punishment they selected little bits of a very incomprehensible book, called Butler's "Analogy." When they had carefully made these selections a rather feeble bell was heard to tinkle in the mansion, and they went downstairs to lunch.

"I hope you are comfortably unpacked now, young ladies?" inquired Mrs. Flint.

"And I trust you have recovered from the fatigues of your long journey?" questioned Mrs. Dredge. "It is a weary way from Devonshire—a long and weary way."

"You speak of it as though it were a kind of disappointment to come from Devonshire to London," remarked Miss Slowcum, "whereas London is the place for aspiring souls."

"Oh, I'm so delighted to hear you say that!" said Jasmine—"Poppy—I mean Sarah—spoke quite dismally this morning, but I knew she must be wrong."

"The young country servant," responded Miss Slowcum, "Sarah Jane, I think her name is—oh, well, her judgment need scarcely be depended on. Yes, London is the place of places. I have lived here for years, and I ought to know."

"We quite believe you," said Jasmine—"don't we, Primrose?—we have come up here because we quite feel with you; we are going out after lunch to see the beauties of the city."

"May I ask, young ladies, if this is your first visit to the metropolis?" suddenly inquired Mrs. Mortlock.

Primrose answered her "Yes; we have never been here before."

"Then, Mrs. Flint, I put it to you, is it safe to allow these young unfledged birds out into this vast and bewildering place? ought not some one to chaperon them?"

"We thought of asking for Poppy," answered Jasmine.

Here Mrs. Flint frowned at her.

"Allow me to make one request, Miss Jasmine Mainwaring; the young person you speak of is not known here by a name which signifies a tare or a weed. Yes, I shall be pleased to allow Sarah to go out with you this afternoon for a short time, but she knows as little of London as you do. I cannot go myself, as Friday is a busy afternoon. I can, however, give you a map, and if you all keep close together and don't wander too far, and are careful only to inquire of policemen your destination you may get back safely. Don't forget, tea at six."

Here Miss Slowcum, turning her eyes slowly, looked carefully all over the three girls.

"I am most particular," she said; "I never wander abroad without carefully choosing my company, but on the whole I feel satisfied a kindred spirit to my own lurks in your eyes, Miss Jasmine. Permit me, young ladies, to escort you forth this afternoon."

This offer was accepted very gladly, although Jasmine had quickly to remember her fine, or she would have given a very deep sigh when Miss Slowcum pointed a comparison between them. In the delight, however, of going into real London all these minor considerations and discomforts were forgotten.

IN ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.

Miss Slowcum was right in saying that she was very particular with regard to her company. She prided herself on having select taste. She thought it well to assume distant airs to the other inmates of Penelope Mansion—Mrs. Dredge she thought quite beneath her notice, Mrs. Mortlock was slightly more tolerated, but Miss Slowcum never really unbent to either of these ladies. As she said to herself, she could never forget that she came of the Slowcums of ——shire that her father had been Captain Slowcum of the Royal Navy, and that, all things considered, her true position in society was with the county folk. What, therefore, could a lady of such patrician birth have in common with a Mrs. Mortlock or a Mrs. Dredge? Alas! however, Miss Slowcum was poor—she was very poor, and she was a great deal too genteel to work. The terms at Penelope Mansion were by no means high, and in order to live she was obliged to put up with uncongenial company. She was a very tall and angular person—her face was long and thin, her eyes small, her mouth undecided, but in her heart of hearts she was by no means wanting in good nature; and when, the night before, Jasmine, with her charming little face, offered her some of the country flowers, she began to take an interest in the fresh girls who had come to the rather antiquated house in Wright Street.

It was really good-natured of Miss Slowcum to offer to accompany the girls on their first walk in London. She had the greatest horror of ever appearing remarkable and she felt really alarmed at the thought of taking four unsophisticated country lasses abroad. It was bad enough to offer to escort the Mainwarings, who, however gauche they might appear, were undoubtedly ladies, but to take Poppy, alias Sarah, as well, was really trying. Without Poppy, however, the girls refused to stir. There was no help for it, and Miss Slowcum only trusted that their first walk might be short and uneventful.

"It is an unpleasant arrangement, but I do not see any help for it," she said, addressing her little party as they assembled in the hall; "we must sally forth as though we were a school. You, Miss Jasmine, will have the goodness to walk in front with me. Miss Mainwaring and her youngest sister can immediately follow us, and Sarah, you will please to keep behind."

"Oh, lor!" ejaculated Poppy, "I thought me and Miss Jasmine was to stay together—it's what I has been looking forward to through all the toils of the work, and the smuts and the Sarah Janes, and the Sarah Marys this morning. It is another biting. Well, London seems to be made up of them. All right, Miss Slowcum, I'll keep behind. I suppose there's nobody to forbid me gazing well into the shop windows. I hope you'll take us into a gay street, miss, where there are lots of new bonnets and hats to be seen."

"I'm going to walk with you, Poppy," said Jasmine; "Miss Slowcum is very kind, but I should not think of walking with any one else. Please, Miss Slowcum will you go in front, with Primrose and Daisy, and Poppy and I will promise to behave very well behind."

In this order the little party did set out, and in an incredibly short space of time they left the dull region of Penelope Mansion far behind, and found themselves in Oxford Street, and then in Bond Street, and finally walking along Piccadilly towards the Park.

Primrose could always restrain her emotions, but Jasmine and Poppy, notwithstanding their promise to behave well, were certainly guilty of many extravagant exclamations. Jasmine became nearly as excited over the new bonnets as her companion. The picture-shops were marvels of wonder and delight to her, and poor Miss Slowcum was obliged to draw up short on many occasions, or she would have lost the little loiterers, as they stood still to gaze. At last she made a proposition which nearly took her own breath away with the magnitude of its generosity. She would treat the entire party to a drive in the omnibus to St. Paul's Cathedral. Poppy earnestly begged to be allowed to go with Jasmine on the roof, but this the good lady negatived with horror. She finally ushered her young charges into the seclusion of an omnibus going citywards, and then was conscious of breathing a sigh of relief. Inwardly she made a vow that never again should her good-nature lead her into such a troublesome adventure.

"We must be solemn here, Poppy," said Jasmine, as they were entering the cathedral; "we must forget the beautiful bonnets, and those dear little tight-fitting jackets, and those muslin dresses. We must forget the little story we made up of imagining ourselves rich enough to buy all these things. Perhaps we may think a very little of one or two of the pictures, but we must forget the vanities now. It has always been one of my dreams to come in here—oh! oh!—Poppy." Jasmine clasped her companion's hand, and her excitable little face grew white—the magnitude of the great cathedral, the solemn hush, and quiet, and sense of rest after the rushing noise outside, was too much for her—her eyes filled with tears, and she was very nearly guilty of committing the offence which would have obliged her to learn some of Butler's "Analogy" by heart. The rest of the party wandered about the cathedral, and looked at the monuments, and presently went up into the Whispering Gallery, but Jasmine felt suddenly tired and disinclined to move about.

"Go on with Daisy, Poppy," she said to her companion; "I will rest here for a little;" then she seated herself on one of the chairs, and in a moment or two went down on her knees and covered her childish face with her hands.

Not at all long was Jasmine's prayer, but somehow it was very fervent, and it certainly reached a Presence which gives strength and peace. She was no longer oppressed by St. Paul's—she was comforted and strengthened.

"I do hope God will help us," she said to herself. "Oh! was it very, very rash of us to come up here?—and yet, what else could we do? It was Primrose's thought, too, and she is always so wise, and so grown-up."

Jasmine looked round the cathedral, hoping to see her party—they were, of course, nowhere within sight, and the little girl began to walk about by herself, hoping soon to rejoin them. She dropped her umbrella, and a gentleman who had been watching her for some time with interest stooped to pick it up. He was a young man of about six-and-twenty, with a bright and pleasant face.

"This is your first visit here?" he said, looking kindly at the child.

"Oh, yes," said Jasmine. Then feeling that she had a sympathetic listener, she continued—"It is so beautiful here!"

"Yes," answered her companion; then he added, with a second glance at the forlorn little figure, "Are you alone, or have you lost your party?"

Jasmine half laughed.

"I cannot find my party at the present moment," she said; "but I am by no means alone—my two sisters have come here also to-day for the first time, and a friend is with us, and a lady has very kindly brought us here."

"I see," said the stranger. "Well, it is a curious coincidence, but neither am I alone—I have brought a little lad here to show him the cathedral—he has gone into the Whispering Gallery, and I am waiting for him. Perhaps your friends have also gone into the gallery. While we are both waiting, shall we look round this delightful place? and may I tell you a little of what I know about it?"

It was in this manner, and apparently quite by accident, that Jasmine made the acquaintance of Arthur Noel, who turned out to be one of the best friends the girls were to make in London. Mr. Noel had taken a fancy to Jasmine's sweet little face, and Jasmine, when she met with a sympathetic listener, could be only too communicative. Before Miss Slowcum and her sisters and Poppy joined them Mr. Noel knew something of Jasmine's ambitions and of Primrose's modest hopes. Jasmine had even confided to him the brave resolve the three sisters had made not to sigh, or grumble, or wear themselves out with useless tears. He was very kind, although he could not be persuaded to say that he thought Primrose's scheme a wise one, but this chance encounter might never have led to anything further but for a little coincidence which shows what a small place the world is, after all. When Primrose and Daisy, Poppy and the sedate Miss Slowcum, joined Jasmine, as she stood with her companion examining Nelson's monument, they were accompanied by a handsome, bright-faced boy, who ran up to Mr. Noel, and linked his hand within his arm. This boy turned out to be young Frank Ellsworthy, and, as the girls all exclaimed on hearing the name, Mr. Noel assured them that the Ellsworthys were his greatest friends—that he loved Mrs. Ellsworthy almost as if she were his own mother.

"I felt that I must speak to you," he said to Jasmine. "I cannot tell you why nor wherefore, but your face seemed familiar—I did not think you would turn out to be an absolute stranger."

Thus the girls made a very valuable acquaintance; nevertheless, owing to circumstances, it was many a long day before they met Arthur Noel again.

A BRIGHT DAY.

Last times are always sad to write about and think about, but first times are generally pleasant. Notwithstanding a certain sense of disappointment which certainly did assail the three girls on their entrance into London, notwithstanding the fact which Jasmine only too quickly discovered, that the streets were not paved with gold, nor the air replete with promises, yet there was still something left in that same London air, a sort of mystery and wonder about it. There was still something of untold fascination in the busy and crowded streets, which brought a great sense of delight and exhilaration to the three young adventurers.

Jasmine spoke about the stories which met her at every turn; she felt almost melted to tears at the sight of the sadness in the eyes of some women, and some little children. But again, beautiful ladies driving past in carriages made of almost fairy lightness caused her to laugh with pleasure.

Primrose was more gravely impressed by London than Jasmine. Her emotions were not so keen as her younger sister's, her purpose was far more steadfast; and even in the first few days when the girls gave themselves up to seeing the wonderful sights of the great metropolis she could never forget the real object for which they had come.

Daisy, when she had become reconciled to the smuts and disagreeables, and the slights to which the Pink was exposed all day long in Penelope Mansion, began to enjoy life in a serene but unqualified manner. Each of the girls had her own particular tastes; and these they were by no means slow to express to one another.

Primrose, who intended to study china painting—to make it, in short, a profession—liked to stand opposite some large shop in Oxford Street, and to study and try to carry away in her mind's eye the shape and beauty of the many lovely things displayed in the windows.

Jasmine, who during the first few days had quite made up her mind not to worry at all about the future, did not much care for these gazing fits of Primrose's. She wanted to get into the parks. She exclaimed in ecstasy over the horses, and those picture-galleries which were free to the public quite enchanted her. Daisy frankly admitted that she liked toy-shops, and of all toy-shops those which displayed rows of dolls in their windows the best. Primrose had decided that the three should have one week's holiday, and it was during this week that they began to make a certain first acquaintance with London. "It is the heart of the world," Jasmine was heard to say. "Primrose, it is what we pictured it; in many ways it is even greater than what we pictured it. Oh, don't your cheeks glow, and don't you feel that your eyes are shining when you look down Oxford Street? Yes, it is lovely and grand, and I think we ought to show poor dear Poppy some more of its delights."

Primrose was only too glad to give Poppy all the happiness in her power, and she and Jasmine arranged that they would take the little girl out with them on another expedition before they settled down finally to the great work of their lives.

"We'll spend five shillings," said Primrose, "we must not on any account spend more, but we will be extravagant, and give poor Poppy a real treat with one crown piece."

"We had better ask her to come to-morrow," said Daisy; "five shillings seems a lot of money. Do you think there will be enough over, Primrose, to buy me a tiny, tiny little doll?"

Primrose kissed Daisy, and said she would try somehow to manage the doll, and Jasmine was elected to go downstairs and sound Poppy on the subject of the morrow's treat.

The little maiden had made herself pretty well at home in the Mansion by this time, and she soon discovered Poppy in what was called the back scullery. The ladies had all finished their mid-day meal, and were out. Even Mrs. Flint had sallied forth to a distant market to secure some cheap provisions, and Poppy had the back scullery to herself. She was handling the dinner-plates in a rather clumsy manner, and, after the fashion of a discontented little girl, was sighing over her work, and not doing it properly.

"Oh, let me help you!" said Jasmine, dancing up to her: "I hate washing china, or delf, or whatever you call it, after people have eaten, but I like wiping it if the cloths are clean. Poppy, I have come to you about a most delicious and important scheme."

"Lor, Miss Jasmine," said Poppy, her fingers trembling violently, and the large dish which she was washing nearly slipping out of them. "Lor, miss, you do startle me. I was in the dumps, and you are for all the world like the sun coming out. Why, deary me, the back scullery ain't by no means such a bad sort of place when you're in it, Miss Jasmine."

"It is very damp and gloomy, all the same," answered Jasmine. "I do hope you will be quick, Poppy, in washing up those uninteresting dinner-plates. Now, look here, Primrose and Daisy and I have been making up such a lovely plan. We want to take you out with us to-morrow; we are going to spend five shillings, quite lots of money, you know, and we are going to have dinner out, and perhaps tea out; and we are going a good long way. Can you come with us to-morrow, Poppy?"

"Hold me," said Poppy, suddenly stretching out her hand, "the scullery is damp and close, and my head a-going round. Let's get out into the back yard, Miss Jasmine. Now I can breathe. Oh, didn't I say that London was dazzling, and isn't it you three that has got the hearts of gold. Say it all over again to me, please, Miss Jasmine. What is it we're all a-going to do to-morrow?"

"Oh, what a silly, Poppy, you are," said Jasmine; "why even I do not get as excited as you do. We are going out, and you are coming with us, and we are going to spend five shillings."

Poppy's cheeks flushed a vivid crimson, her eyes sparkled, and her small feet began involuntarily to dance.

"I has set my heart on something beauteous," she said, "and, oh, dear, Miss Jasmine, you will do it, won't you? You won't let none of them biting disappointments with which the air is choke full, as full as it is of smuts, come in the way. If you three darling ladies spend a crown piece, and take me abroad, we'll be on pleasure bent, and on pleasure alone. Say so, do, Miss Jasmine."

"Why, Poppy, of course we are going for pleasure; what do you mean?"

"Only that we won't be going Cathedraling and Towering. I don't say nothing ag'in them places, but when I wants real pleasure, and a crown piece spent on me, I don't go in for no Cathedraling."

Jasmine laughed. "I tell you what," she said, "you shall choose the pleasure yourself, Poppy. It's your treat, and you shall choose. Now, do say what hour you will be ready to start to-morrow, for we want to go early, and have a real long day."

"Let's think," said Poppy. "To-morrow is, yes, to-morrow is Thursday. Cold joint to-morrow, and a salad made with stale lettuce which we gets cheap; potatoes boiled plain and not mashed, and a apple dumpling to follow. The ladies is very particular that their pastry should be light. Miss Slowcum says she can't sleep a bit at night if her pastry is heavy. She called me Sarah Martha Ann the last time I made it, and she looked most vinegary. Yes, Miss Jasmine, the dinner's plain to-morrow, and I'll get up with the daybreak, and do my cleaning. I don't see why Aunt Flint shouldn't let me go with you, miss."

Mrs. Flint, when properly attacked, proved herself quite vulnerable. She was anxious to please the Mainwarings who she hoped would take up their abode with her, for naughty Primrose had by no means divulged her real plans. Accordingly, Poppy was allowed to get her dinner beforehand, and a very happy little quartet left the Mansion soon after eleven o'clock.

They had gone some little distance from Penelope Mansion, and found themselves in a far more cheerful and bright-looking street, before Poppy divulged her plans.

"I has got to choose," she said, "and as I stated distinct to Miss Jasmine yesterday, I don't go in for the glooms of the Tower, nor the solemns of the Cathedral. I'd like to walk from end to end of Oxford Street first, and then I'd like to take a penny boat on the river."

"A penny boat!" exclaimed the three sisters in a breath, "that does sound delightful, and so cheap. Where did you hear of penny boats, Poppy?"

Poppy's face became radiant.

"It was the last charwoman at the Mansion," she answered. "She said that if you wanted a pleasure, and a pleasure cheap, there was nothing in all the world like a penny boat. You sit in it, and there you are, as snug as snug; plenty of room and plenty of company, and plenty of sights. Mrs. Jones said that if there was a pleasure to rest a tired charwoman it was to be found in a penny boat."

"Well, we are not charwomen, but we may as well have a little rest and fun while we can," answered Jasmine. "I think yours is a lovely treat, dear Poppy, and we will try and get into the penny boat as fast as possible."

"I don't know how we are to reach the boats," said Primrose. "I begin to know my way a little about Oxford Street, but how are we to find the river?"

Poppy, however, had made good use of her acquaintance with Mrs. Jones the charwoman. She knew the name as well as the color of the omnibus which would safely convey them near to the pier at Westminster. She also knew, being instructed by Mrs. Jones, that a policeman was the right person to give her information as to where this special omnibus was to be found. She was by no means shy in making her desires known to one of these useful and worthy members of society, and in a short time the four found themselves bowling away in the direction of Westminster, and then, without any insurmountable difficulty, secured comfortable seats on one of the river steamers.

The day was perfect, neither too hot nor too cold, and the summer breezes fanned the young cheeks pleasantly, and raised the youthful spirits to an exhilarating height. Poppy forgot her troubles in Penelope Mansion, her difficulties with regard to the name of Sarah. She forgot the gloom of the back scullery, and the discontented frown quite vanished from her brow. London was again dazzling in her eyes, and her own future was replete with hope.

Primrose also ceased to worry over the anxieties and cares of the future; she ceased to reflect on the plan which was so soon to be carried into execution. Her serene face looked sweet and careless as in the happy days of her mother's lifetime. She leaned back in her seat, gazed at the beauties of the river, and gave herself up to the happiness of the hour.

The two younger girls, being never over anxious and being always more or less full of hope, were to-day only more hopeful and bright than usual. Many people turned to look at the pretty sisters, and to laugh at Poppy's innocent expressions of rapture.

They landed at Battersea, and wandered about the pretty park, and had refreshments in a quaint restaurant, where they really managed to satisfy their hunger at a very moderate charge.

That evening they returned to the Mansion, having kept within the limits of the prescribed five shillings, and each of them declaring that she had never known a happier day.

"But now," said Primrose, addressing her two sisters solemnly, "we must remember that after to-night we have done with pleasure. To-morrow we must seriously set about forming our plans."

GETTING LOST.

Primrose's scheme had, of course, been considered most wild and most foolish by all her friends at Rosebury but even they were not prepared for her crowning act of folly. She, Jasmine and Daisy had a consultation together. This consultation was really nothing but a matter of form, for Primrose, quiet as she appeared could lead her two sisters as she willed—her slightest word was law to them, and the most outrageous plan proposed by her would have been delightful in their eyes. Her suggestion to them was as follows:

"We will go to London," she said—"we will try to be independent, and to earn our own living, and in order to do so really, and to prevent ourselves being tempted by Mrs. Ellsworthy's riches, or by Miss Martineau's advice, we will not give our address. We will stay for a short time at Penelope Mansion, and then we will go away. We will find those nice, clean, cheap lodgings, where we can hang up our muslin curtains, and keep things lovely and fresh, even though we are in London, and we will stay there without troubling our friends about us until we have succeeded. The moment we have succeeded in earning enough to live on we will write home."

Jasmine, and of course little Daisy, approved of this idea—Jasmine said it was both romantic and strong—Daisy said she only wanted to be with her own Primrose and her own Jasmine, and if the Pink might always stay with her too she would be quite happy.

Accordingly, when the girls' week of pleasure had quite come to an end, Primrose reminded her sisters that it was time for them to begin to get lost.

"We are not really lost here," she said. "Mrs. Ellsworthy thinks nothing of coming to town, and she could come to us at the Mansion any moment; and now that we have met that friend of hers, that Mr. Noel, she may be sending him to see about us—so you see it is more important than ever that we should find a place where we can really commence our work."

"I don't dislike Mr. Noel at all," said Jasmine. "It is a great pity he is related to our darling Mrs. Ellsworthy, for we might have had the comfort of his advice without being considered dependent. Oh, Primrose! is it possible that we are too independent—I can't help it, Primrose; I do feel lonely. I must cry just for a minute. I'd rather do a page of the 'Analogy' to-night than not cry for a minute."

"My darling," said Primrose, putting her arms round Jasmine, "I am sure that girls like us cannot be too independent, but I won't go on with it if it really breaks your heart, Jasmine."

"Oh, but it doesn't really," said Jasmine; "I think it's a noble plan; I wouldn't give in for the world. I have had my cry now, and I'm better—but, Rose, how are we to look out for these nice, clean, cheap lodgings if we aren't to consult any one?"

"We can consult people, and find out the locality we want, but we need never tell the people we consult what number in the street we really choose. Oh, there are lots of ways of finding out what we really want to know."

"I'll talk to Mrs. Dredge to-night," said Jasmine. "I think Mrs. Dredge is very practical and kind, and I don't know why Miss Slowcum should dislike her so much. I'll get her all by myself this evening, and talk to her."

Accordingly that evening, after the inmates of Penelope Mansion had, as Mrs. Flint styled it, "tea'd," Jasmine sat down on a footstool at Mrs. Dredge's feet, and laid herself out to be bewitching. No one could be more charming than this little maiden when she chose, and she had tact enough to adapt herself on most occasions to her company.

"I'm sure you have lots of experience, Mrs. Dredge," she began; "you look as if you had—your face tells me that you have gone through many episodes"—(Jasmine was rather proud of this expression; she began to consider that her style was forming).

"Episodes, my dear, and experiences?" answered Mrs. Dredge. "Well, well, I'm not to say over young, and years bring knowledge; but if you mean, Miss Jasmine, that I'm up to the acquirements of the present day, that I'm not, and I never will be,—no, thank Heaven! that I never will be."

"Do you mean with regard to education?" remarked Jasmine. "Is the education of the present day wrong?—is that why you're so thankful you are not up to it?"

"My dear Miss Jasmine," answered Mrs. Dredge, with great solemnity, "the education of the present day is to the heart hardening, and to the mind demoralizing. No, no; none of it for me. Miss Slowcum, now! Miss Jasmine, between you and me I don't admire Miss Slowcum."

"Oh, she's very kind," answered Jasmine; "but look here, Mrs. Dredge, what I want to consult you about has nothing at all to say to education, and it has a great deal to say to experience. It's a great secret, Mrs. Dredge, but we want to find cheap lodgings."

"Oh, my dear! and don't you want to abide at the Mansion—all things considered, it's a respectable and safe quarter—you are all three young and attractive, my dears, and you have the advantage of being guarded here by women who have years on their shoulders. Yes, my dear Miss Jasmine, with the exception of your three selves and the maid Sarah, there is no one in Penelope Mansion who will ever see fifty again. Don't talk to me of Miss Slowcum being younger than that—I know better."

"Dear Mrs. Dredge, it is a secret, but we are really not going to stay here long, and we want, if possible, to find very cheap lodgings."

"Very cheap, love; and you think I can guide you? Well, well, I have had, as you wisely say, my experiences. About what figure would you be inclined to go to, my dear?"

"I don't know," answered Jasmine. "Our house in the country was twelve pounds a year—I don't think we ought to pay as much as that, for of course we should not want a whole house, only two rooms. A nice, large, airy bedroom, and a cheerful sitting-room. We should not mind how plain the furniture was, if only it was very, very clean. You know the kind of place, with snow-white boards—the sort of boards you could eat off—and little plain beds with dimity frills round them, and very white muslin blinds to the windows—we have got our own white muslin curtains; Hannah washed them for us, and they are as white as snow. Oh! the place we want might be very humble, and very inexpensive. Do tell us if you know of any rooms that would suit us."

While Jasmine was speaking Mrs. Dredge kept on gazing at her, her round face growing long, and her full blue eyes becoming extended to their largest size.

"My dear child," she said, "wherever were you brought up? Don't you know that the kind of lodgings you want are just the hardest of all to get? Yes, my dear, I have experience in London apartments, and about them, and with regard to them, there is one invariable and unbroken rule—cheapness and dirt—expense and cleanliness. Bless you! you innocent child, you had better give up the notion of the cheap lodgings, and stay on contented and happy at the Mansion."

Jasmine smiled faintly—said "Thank you, Mrs. Dredge," in a pretty gentle voice, and a moment or two later, with a deeper carnation than usual in her cheeks, she quietly left the room.

"Primrose," she said upstairs to her sister, "we mustn't ask advice about our lodgings; we must take the map with us, and go and look for them all by ourselves. Mrs. Dredge says that clean lodgings are very, very dear, and it is only dirty lodgings that are cheap."

When Jasmine ran into the room Primrose was standing by the dressing-table, and in her usual methodical fashion was putting tidily away her own things and her sisters'; now she faced Jasmine with a little smile on her face.

"There is just one thing," she said, "that we can do—we can with our own hands make the dirty lodgings clean. Never mind, Jasmine darling, we won't ask anybody's advice; we'll go out and look round us to-morrow."

Early the next morning the three sisters set out—Daisy having first locked the Pink in their room. It may be remarked in parenthesis that the Pink did not like her new quarters, and had already made herself notorious by breaking two saucers and a cup, by upsetting a basin of milk, and by disappearing with the leg of a chicken. In consequence, she was in great disgrace, and Mrs. Flint had been heard to speak of her as "that odious cat!" The Pink, however, was safe for the present, and the girls set out on their little pilgrimage of discovery.

"London," said Primrose, in a somewhat sententious voice, has "points of the compass, like any other place. It has its north and its south, its east and its west. The west, I have been told, is the aristocratic and expensive quarter, so of course we won't go there. In the east, the miserably poor and dirty people live—we won't trouble them—therefore our choice must lie between the south and the north. On the whole, I am inclined to try the north side of London."

"For dark and true and tender is the North,"

quoted Jasmine with enthusiasm. "By all means, Rose, we will go northwards, but how shall we go?"

"We'll inquire at the post-office just round this corner," answered Primrose, with decision.

Accordingly, having received some rather lucid instructions the girls found themselves in a few moments in an omnibus going towards Holloway. About noon they were landed there, and then their search began. Oh, the weariness of that long day! Oh, the painful experience of the three! They knew nothing about London prices—they had not an idea whether they were being imposed upon or not.

"On one point we have quite made up our minds," said Jasmine, sturdily; "we won't go back to the Mansion until we have found rooms."

The truth of Mrs. Dredge's prophecy became only too apparent. All the apartments that were bright and clean and cheery were quite too expensive for Primrose's slender purse. At last she came to a resolution.

"Girls," she said, "we must take rooms that look dirty, and make them clean. We have at least been taught how to polish, and how to scrub, and how to clean. You know, Jasmine, how shocked Miss Martineau was when she saw you one day with a pair of gloves on down on your knees polishing the drawing-room grate at Rosebury. You said you liked to do it. How distressed she was! and how that grate did shine!"

"Don't let us talk about Rosebury just now," said Jasmine, with a quiver in her voice. "Yes, Primrose darling, of course we can make our own rooms clean—we can even re-paper the walls, and we can whitewash the ceilings. Now we know exactly what to do. At the very next house where we see 'Apartments to Let,' we'll ask for dirty rooms, then of course we'll get them cheap."

"Those attics that we saw at that last house?" questioned Primrose, thoughtfully. "They were rather large, and not very dark. If we took down that paper, and put up a fresh one, and if we whitened the ceilings and scrubbed the floors, why, those rooms might do. They were not very expensive for London—only twelve shillings a week."

"A frightful rent!" said Jasmine. "No wonder the people here look careworn, and pinched, and old. We'll go back to that house, Primrose. On the whole, the rooms may suit us. What is the landlady's name?—Oh, Mrs. Dove. We'll go back to Mrs. Dove and take her rooms."

Accordingly, in a funny little street off the Junction Road, the three Mainwaring girls found a nest. It was a queer nest, up at the top of a tall and rambling house; but Mrs. Dove appeared good-natured, and had no objection to the young ladies doing their own papering and white-washing, and as Primrose took the rooms on the spot, and paid a week's rent in advance, she became quite gracious. Every morning, as soon as ever breakfast was over at Penelope Mansion, the girls started off to the new home they were preparing for themselves. There they worked hard, papering, white-washing, and, finally, even painting. By the end of a week Mrs. Dove scarcely knew her attic apartments—elegant she now called them—a charming suite. The enthusiasm of the three young workers even infected Mrs. Dove, who condescended to clean the windows, and to rub up the shabby furniture, so that when, at the end of the week, the attics were ready for occupation, they were by no means so unlike Jasmine's ideal London rooms as might have been expected. The girls kept their own counsel, and during the week they were preparing for their flight to Eden Street—for No. 10 Eden Street would be their future address—they told no one at Penelope Mansion of their little plans. The good ladies of the Mansion, Mrs. Flint excepted, were very curious about them; they wondered why the girls disappeared every day immediately after breakfast, and came back looking hot and tired, and yet with bright and contented faces, at night; but Jasmine had ceased to confide in Mrs. Dredge; and Primrose, when she chose to be dignified, had quite power enough to keep even Miss Slowcum at a distance. Mrs. Mortlock, who was stout, and rich, and good-tempered, tried the effect of a little bribery on Daisy, but the sweet, staunch little maid would not be corrupted.

"Oh, thank you so much for those delicious chocolate creams," she said. "Yes, I do love chocolate creams, and you are so kind to give them to me. Where do we spend our day?—but that is Primrose's secret—you would not have me so naughty as to tell!"

So the week drew to an end, and the nest, as the girls called their rooms, was finally ready for its inmates. The snowy-white muslin curtains were really put up to the now clean windows—the walls, covered with a delicate paper, had a soft, rosy glow about them—some of the pretty home ornaments were judiciously scattered about, and the rather small bedroom had three very small, but very white, little beds in it.

"We'll go in for lots of flowers, you know," said Jasmine. "I don't suppose even in London flowers are very dear."

At last there came a morning when the girls went away from Penelope Mansion as usual, and only Mrs. Flint and Poppy knew that they were not returning in the evening. Mrs. Flint felt rather indignant with the young ladies for deserting her—not that she said anything for she always made it a rule not to wear herself out with unnecessary words, or with fretting, or with undue excitement; nevertheless, on this occasion she was a little indignant, for surely, what place could compare with the Mansion? Poor Poppy bade the young ladies, whom she loved, good-bye with an almost breaking heart.

"It's all one, Miss Jasmine," she exclaimed; "if it was my dying breath, I'd have to own that London is not what we pictered it—vanities there is, and troubles there is, and disappointments most numerous and most biting. But for the one happy day I spent out with you dear young ladies, I hasn't known no happiness in London. Oh, Miss Jasmine," drawing up short and looking her young lady full in the face—"what dreadful lies them novels tells! I read them afore I came, and I made up such wonderful picters; but I will own that what with the ladies in this mansion, as worrit me almost past bearing, and what with you going away all secret like, and what with me being no longer Poppy the tare, but Sarah Jane the drudge, even if I was to get one of the bonnets that they show in the shop windows in Bond Street, why, it wouldn't draw a smile from me Miss Jasmine!"