Robin Redbreast: A Story for Girls. Molesworth Mrs.

was in a higher class than her sister, but she was greatly interested in Frances's success. For Frances was rather a giddy little person. Till the companionship and emulation at school had roused her, she had never bestowed more attention on her lessons than was absolutely unavoidable.

      'I don't know what to do,' said the elder girl after some reflection. 'I don't see how you are to get the book till Monday.'

      For there was a strict rule at the school, that day-scholars were neither to go there nor to send messages from their homes, out of school hours. So that forgettings of books required for preparation, or other carelessnesses of the kind, became serious matters.

      'If I don't get it till I go to school on Monday, I needn't get it at all,' said Frances. 'There's no comfort in telling me that. You know the class is on Monday morning, so I've as good as lost my chance already, and I needn't bother about it any more. I'll never try for a prize again, I know that.'

      She began to hum a tune in a would-be-indifferent, reckless way, but Jacinth knew that this was only bravado, and that it would be followed by great vexation of spirit, and she felt sorry and anxious.

      'I'll tell you what, Frances,' she said at last, after sitting for some time, her head resting on her hand, her own work at a standstill for the moment – 'I'll tell you what: the only plan is this – for you to go straight to Miss Scarlett herself and tell her all about your having forgotten the book, and how anxious you are about the prize. I daresay she'd let you go to your shelf and fetch it; she would see you had not broken her rule.'

      It was a good idea, and Frances recognised this, but all the same she did not like it at all.

      'I'd have to go to the front-door,' she said reluctantly, as she sat drumming her fingers on the table, 'and I can't go alone.'

      'There's no need for you to go alone: take Phebe. Aunt Alison wouldn't mind your taking her in the morning for once. I'll help her to put away our things from the laundress, or whatever it is she's busy about. And I think you'd better go at once, Frances, if you're going.'

      'Aunt Alison won't be in till dinner-time, so I can't go till after then,' said Frances.

      'Yes, you can,' Jacinth persisted. 'You know you can. I undertake to put it all right with Aunt Alison. Do go at once. If I have half an hour quietly to myself, I shall have finished my lessons by the time you come in – it won't take you more than half an hour – and then I can help Phebe.'

      'If I could see Miss Marcia Scarlett I shouldn't mind so much,' next said Frances, still irresolutely.

      Jacinth's patience began to give way.

      'You are too bad, Frances,' she said. 'You are spoiling my work and losing any chance you have of getting the book. If you wait till the afternoon, most likely all the Miss Scarletts will be out or engaged, and I rather think – yes, I am sure the boarders told me that the school-books are locked up at noon on Saturday till Monday morning. Ask for Miss Marcia, if you like; you've just as good a chance of seeing her as the others. But you must decide. Are you going or not?'

      Frances got up slowly from her seat and moved towards the door.

      'I suppose I must,' she said in a martyrised tone. 'You do scurry one so, Jacinth.' And then when, having borne this certainly unmerited reproach in silence, Jacinth with relief heard the door close on her sister and began to hope she was going to have a little peace, it was opened again sufficiently to admit Frances's fluffy head, while she asked, in a half-grumbling, half-conciliatory tone, if she might take Eugene.

      'Of course,' said Jacinth; 'a little fresh air in the morning is always good for him.'

      She heard no more except, ten minutes or so later, the closing of the front-door, and the next three-quarters of an hour passed, rapidly, so absorbed was she in her own work, till the old church clock striking twelve – for St Blaise's in the Market Square was but a stone's-throw from Miss Mildmay's house – made her look up suddenly, and at that moment came a rushing of eager feet across the stone-tiled hall, quickly followed by Frances's voice in great excitement.

      'Jacinth, Jass!' she exclaimed, and almost before the elder girl had time to say to herself, 'I do hope nothing has gone wrong,' her sister's bright face reassured her.

      Frances was like a veritable April day – gloom and sparkle, tears and laughter, succeeded each other with her as swiftly as the clouds rushing before the wind alternately veil and reveal the sun's bright face, though underneath all this fitfulness and caprice lay a sturdy foundation of principle and loyalty which circumstances, so far, had scarcely brought out, and which Jacinth certainly did not as yet realise or appreciate.

      'Oh Jass,' exclaimed the little girl, 'I am so glad I went. Such a nice thing has happened! I saw Miss Marcia – I asked for her at the door, and she was crossing the hall; wasn't it lucky? She was so kind about the book, and she took me herself to the big schoolroom to fetch it. None of the girls were there – it looked so funny all empty, you can't think – they were out in the garden. And Jass, to-day they 're going to have their last out-of-doors tea for this year, you know, as it's getting cold. They have tea in the garden every fortnight all through the fine weather. And she invited me, Jass – just fancy! She said she was sure you wouldn't mind, as it's quite an extra thing to invite a day-scholar, you see, and' —

      Here Frances was forced to take breath, and Jacinth got a chance of putting in a word.

      'Of course I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm very glad indeed, very glad for you to have a little fun. And we couldn't have gone much of a walk this afternoon, as Eugene is still tired with yesterday.'

      'And you think Aunt Alison will let me go?' said Frances.

      'Oh yes, I'm sure she will. If you will get on with your lessons now, Frances, so as to be able to say at dinner that you have quite finished, I will go down-stairs and watch for Aunt Alison. She will be in by one, to-day, and I'll ask her for you.'

      'Oh thank you, Jass,' said Frances gratefully. 'Yes, I'll hurry up. But – Jass' —

      'Well?'

      Francie's face grew very grave.

      'It's about my things, Jass. What do you think I should wear? I'm so afraid Aunt Alison will be vexed if I put on my best things – and of course black frocks do get spoilt if one runs about much – and yet my every-day frock is so shabby now, and – I don't want the girls to think we're never properly dressed.'

      Jacinth considered. They were still in deep mourning, for Miss Mildmay's ideas on such subjects were 'old-fashioned,' and she quite recognised that the late Mrs Denison's memory should be treated with the fullest respect. But Jacinth sympathised with Frances's feelings.

      'I was looking at our dark-gray frocks with Phebe the other day,' she said. 'The ones we had new just before – before our mourning. You know they were got for half-mourning because of old Sir George Mildmay's – papa's uncle's – death, and they look quite fresh and nice. I don't think you've grown much, Francie – and oh, by-the-bye, I believe there's a tuck that could be let down.'

      'Yes,' said Frances, 'there are little tucks – a lot – above the hem.'

      'Then I'll run up and tell Phebe to get them out, yours at least. I'll explain to Aunt Alison; and if I lend you my wide black sash, I'm sure it will look quite mourning enough.'

      'Oh Jass,' exclaimed Frances, 'how good of you!'

      The honour and glory of Jacinth's best black sash was almost too much for her.

      'Really, I should never be cross to Jass. She is so very, very kind and unselfish,' thought the grateful little girl.

      The gray frock was looked out and soon got ready. It was lying on a chair in the girls' room when Jacinth, a little before half-past one, at last heard her aunt's step in the hall, and ran forward to meet her, primed with her request.

      Miss Mildmay was still in a somewhat conciliatory mood, and she listened to Jacinth's story with as much kindliness as was in her nature to show.

      'Yes,' she said, 'I suppose she may as well go, though you know, my dear, I cannot encourage any schoolgirl friendships. It would be impossible for me to invite other children here, and