LITMIR.BIZ

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what are we going to do with the rest of our time? Had any of you any idea of keeping up studies, or attending classes, or anything of that sort? You see we are left idle—to act entirely on our own initiative—without any suggestions or arrangements whatever on Miss Crabingway's part. And I know that, speaking for myself, I don't want to idle away the next six months."

      "I shouldn't mind being idle," observed Isobel. "In fact mater said the six months' rest would do me no harm. I was just going back to college, you know, when we heard from Miss Crabingway—and of course all my plans were upset—but I didn't mind so much with the prospect of a lovely, lazy holiday at Barrowfield. But still, if you are all going to take up some sort of work, I suppose I must, as well.... I should be bored to death with my own company—if you are all going to work."

      "I only suggest a few hours' work each day," reminded Pamela. "It makes the day seem so much more satisfactory when one has done something."

      The question of what to study, and how to study, gave much food for discussion; but the subject was prevented from taking too serious a turn by Isobel's constant stream of facetious remarks on the kind of work she would take up. She seemed to think it a huge joke; though Caroline, who was apt to take things literally, was much perturbed at the numerous studies Isobel proposed, until she realized that Isobel was only making fun all the time.

      "I should prefer to keep up my music," said Beryl, presently. "And study hard at theory, harmony, and counterpoint—and if it wouldn't annoy anyone—perhaps I could practise on the piano here. I—I should love that."

      "Of course it wouldn't annoy anyone, would it?" Pamela appealed to the other two, who said that it certainly wouldn't annoy them.

      "It isn't as if it were the five-finger exercise—thump—thump—thump," added Caroline cautiously.

      "Well, we should hope you'd got beyond that," said Isobel to Beryl, who flushed nervously.

      "Oh, yes," she hastened to assure them.

      "There are worse things than the five-finger exercise," broke in Pamela. "I have a sister at home who knows one piece, and whenever she gets near the piano she sits down and plays it—thumps it, I should say—because she 'knows we love it,' she says. We always howl at her, on principle, and the nearest of us swoops down on her, and bears her, protesting, out of the room."

      The others laughed with Pamela at this recollection of hers, and attention was distracted from Beryl, much to her relief.

      "Well," said Pamela, "for myself—I am going to do a heap of reading—especially historical books; and I want most of all to continue my sketching. I'm very fond of dabbling in black and white sketching—and I want lots of practice. I've brought with me some books about it—to study."

      "Oh, you energetic people," yawned Isobel. "It makes me tired to think of the work you're going to do."

      "What are you going to do?" Pamela asked, turning to Caroline.

      "Well," drawled Caroline, "I like doing needlework better than anything."

      Isobel put her handkerchief to her mouth to hide a smile. Fortunately Caroline was not looking at her, but Beryl was. Caroline went on undisturbed.

      "I'm not fond of reading or books, but I've been thinking—if there were any classes near by, on dressmaking—cutting out and all that, you know—that I could attend, I wouldn't mind that; but anyway I've got plenty of plain needlework to go on with. I brought a dozen handkerchiefs in my box to hem and embroider—and I've got a tray-cloth to hem-stitch."

      "Mind you don't overtax your brain, my dear," muttered Isobel, giggling into her handkerchief.

      "Eh?" asked Caroline, not catching her remark.

      "Nothing," said Isobel. "I was only wondering what work I could do."

      "I daresay you'll be able to find some dress-making classes, Caroline," said Pamela. "We'll go out and buy a local paper and see what's going on. But, Isobel, what are you going to do?" Pamela asked, looking across at Isobel.

      "Ah me!" sighed Isobel. "Well, if I must decide, I'll decide on dancing. I'm frightfully keen on dancing, you know. I'll attend classes for that if you like—that is, if there are such things as dancing classes in this sleepy little place.... I might do a bit of photography too. I didn't bring my camera—but perhaps I can buy a new one—it's great fun taking snapshots."

      "If there are no classes in Barrowfield there is almost sure to be a town within a few miles, where we can get what we want," Pamela said.

      Matters now being settled as far as was possible at the present moment, Pamela said she was going out to look round the village, and Isobel immediately said she would go with her as she wanted to buy some buttons for her gloves. Beryl would have liked to go with Pamela, but felt sensitive about visiting the village for the first time in Isobel's company—for more than one reason; so she said she would go and unpack her box and get her music books out, and look round the village later on. Caroline also elected to stay and unpack and put her room in order. So Pamela and Isobel started off together.

      They had been gone but five minutes when the post arrived with a registered letter addressed to Pamela.

      "Ah," said Martha knowingly, as she laid the letter in the tray on the hall-stand.

      CHAPTER VI

      MILLICENT JACKSON GIVES SOME INFORMATION

      "What a one-eyed sort of place this is," said Isobel inelegantly, as she came out of the village drapery establishment and joined Pamela, who was waiting on the green outside.

      "I was just thinking how charming the little village looks," said Pamela, "clustering round this wide stretch of green with the pond and the ducks. And look at the lanes and hills and woods rising in the background! It is picturesque."

      "Oh, it may be frightfully picturesque and all that," Isobel replied, "but picturesqueness won't provide one with black pearl buttons to sew on one's gloves. Would you believe it—not one of these impossible shops keeps such things. 'Black pearl buttons, miss. I'm sorry we haven't any in stock. Black bone—would black bone do—or a fancy button, miss?'" Isobel mimicked the voice of the 'creature' (as she called her) who served in the tiny draper's shop.

      "Well, I suppose they're not often asked for black pearl," said Pamela, as they moved on. "And wouldn't black bone do?"

      "Black bone!" said Isobel disdainfully.

      "Well, you can't expect to find Oxford Street shops down here in Barrowfield," smiled Pamela. "And it's jolly lucky there aren't such shops, or Barrowfield would be a town to-morrow. Still, is there anywhere else you'd like to try?"

      "No, I shan't bother any more to-day," Isobel sighed. "I did want them—but I'll wear my other gloves till I can get the buttons to match the two I've lost.... How people do stare at one here. Look at that old woman over there—And, oh, do look at the butcher standing on his step glaring at us! He looks as if his eyes might go off 'pop' at any moment, doesn't he?"

      Although Isobel pretended to be annoyed, she really rather enjoyed the attention she and Pamela were attracting. Naturally the village was curious about these strange young ladies who had come to stay at Miss Crabingway's house. Thomas Bagg had given his version of the arrivals last night as he chatted with the landlord of the 'Blue Boar,' and had professed to know more about the matter than he actually did. In acting thus he was not alone, for most of the village pretended to know something of the reason why Miss Emily Crabingway had suddenly gone away, and why her house was occupied by four strange young ladies. In reality nobody knew much about it at all. It speaks well for Martha and Ellen that they were not persuaded to tell more than they did; maybe they didn't know more; maybe they did, but wouldn't say. The village gossips shook their heads at the closeness of these two trusted servants concerning their mistress's affairs.... And so Pamela and Isobel attracted more than the usual attention bestowed on strangers in Barrowfield—the bolder folk (like the butcher) staring unabashed from their front doors, while the more retiring peeped through their curtains.

      Barrowfield itself was certainly very picturesque; no wonder it appealed to

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