A Bunch of Cherries: A Story of Cherry Court School. Meade L. T.

blind man's buff, or shall we play hare and hounds."

      "Oh, it's much too hot for hare and hounds," said Edith King.

      "Well, let's do something," said Kitty; "we all ought to be very happy on a half-holiday, and I don't mean to be miserable. Now, then, start something. I'll go and hide. Now, who will begin?"

      Kitty laughed merrily; she glanced from one to the other of the girls, saw that their eyes were shining with a queer mixture of curiosity and sympathy, and felt that she would do anything in the world rather than gratify them.

      "After all," she said to herself, as she ran wildly across the cheery orchard, "poor old Tommy and I will have our holidays together, for at the very best, even if father has not lost that money, I will have to stay here during the holidays. Oh, father! oh, father! how am I to live without you? Oh, father, dear, this is too cruel! I know, I am certain you have lost the money, or you would not be going to India away from your own, own Kitty."

      She crushed down a sob, reached a little summer-house, into which she turned, pulled down some tarpaulin to cover her, and, crouching in the corner, lay still, her heart beating wildly.

      "Begone, dull care," she whispered stoutly under her breath; and then she added, with a sob in her voice, "whatever happens, I won't give in."

      That evening was a time of great excitement in the school, for the programme for the Cherry Feast was to be publicly announced, and the girls felt that there was further news in the air.

      Immediately after early tea, between five and six o'clock, Mrs. Clavering called Kitty into the oak parlor.

      "My dear," she said, "I want to have a talk with you."

      Some of the wild light had gone out of Kitty's eyes by this time, and the flush had left her cheeks, leaving them somewhat pale.

      "Yes, Mrs. Clavering," she said; "what is it?"

      "I want you, my dear little girl, not to keep all your troubles to yourself."

      "But what am I to do?" said Kitty, standing first on one leg and then on the other.

      "Hold yourself upright in the first place, dear. After all, the laws of deportment ought to be attended to, whatever one's trouble."

      Kitty gave an impatient sigh.

      "There you are," she exclaimed, "that's what makes you so very queer; that's what makes it almost impossible for me to bear the restraint of school. When – when your heart is almost breaking, what does it matter how you stand?"

      "My dear child, you will find in the events of life that it greatly matters to learn self-control."

      "I have self-control," said Kitty, with a quiver in her lips.

      "Well, dear, I hope you will prove it, for I fear, I greatly fear, that you are about to have a bad time."

      "Oh, I am having a bad time," said Kitty; "don't you suppose that I am not suffering. I am suffering horribly, but I won't let anybody know – that is, if I can help it. I am not going to damp the pleasure of the others; you know that father is going, and I am his only child. He is coming just once to say good-bye to me; yes, he promises me that even in the telegram. He will come in about a fortnight from now, just a week before the Cherry Feast. Oh, I am miserable, I am miserable!"

      All of a sudden the poor child's composure gave way, she covered her face with her trembling hands, and burst into a great flood of weeping.

      A look of relief crossed Mrs. Clavering's face.

      "Now she will be better," she said to herself; "she will understand what I have to say to her better. Shall I say it to her now or shall I wait until the morning? It is very hard; perhaps she had better know all at once."

      So Mrs. Clavering led the weeping girl to the nearest sofa, and presently she stole her arm round her waist, and coaxed her to lay her head on her shoulder, and by and by she kissed the tired, flushed little face.

      Kitty, who had the most loving heart in the world, returned her embrace, and nestled close to her, and felt in spite of herself a little better than she had done before.

      "I know it is very bad, dear," said Mrs. Clavering, "but we can talk about it now if you like."

      "I don't know that there is anything to say," said Kitty; "he would not have gone but for – "

      "But for what, my child!"

      "But for that dreadful money. He was very anxious when he sent me here. Oh, perhaps, I ought not to say anything about it."

      "I think you may, Kitty, for I know, dear. I had a long letter from your father this morning. He told me then news which I considered very sad. You know, my love, that this is an expensive school. All the girls who come here pay well; most of the girls who are here have rich fathers and mothers."

      "Oh, I know that," interrupted Kitty; "and how I hate rich fathers and mothers! Why should only rich people have nice things?"

      "Then you do like this school, don't you, my love?"

      "As much as I could like any place away from father; but what did he say this morning, Mrs. Clavering?" Kitty started restlessly and faced her governess as she spoke.

      "He said, dear, that he must go to India because he had lost a very large sum of money. He said he would send you a telegram as soon as he had made arrangements, as there was no good troubling you before. He thought it best you should know by telegram, as the sight of the telegram itself would slightly prepare you for the bad news. But, my dear little Kitty, in some ways there is worse to follow, for your father cannot afford to pay my fees, and you must leave Cherry Court School at the end of this term."

      Kitty sat silent. This last news, very bad in itself, scarcely affected her at first. It seemed a mere nothing compared to the parting from her beloved father.

      "Yes," she said at last, in a listless voice, "I must leave here."

      "I will keep you with me, darling, until the end of the vacation." Kitty gave a perceptible shudder. "I am going to the seaside with Florence Aylmer, and you shall come with us. I will try and give you as good a time, dear little Kitty, as ever I can, but it would not be fair to the other girls to keep you here for nothing."

      "No, of course it would not be fair," said Kitty. "And where am I to go," she added, after a very long pause, "when the vacation is over, when the girls come back here again at the end of August?"

      "Then, my dear child, I greatly fear you will have to go and stay with your father's cousin, Miss Dartmoor, in Argyleshire."

      "Helen Dartmoor!" said Kitty, suddenly springing to her feet, "father's cousin, Helen Dartmoor! She came to stay with us for a month after mother died, and if there is a person in the whole world whom I loathed it was her. No, I won't go to her; I'll write and tell father I can't – I won't; it shan't be. Nothing would induce me to live with her. Oh, Mrs. Clavering, you don't know what she is, and she – why, she doesn't speak decent English, and she knows scarcely anything. How am I to be educated, Mrs. Clavering? I could not do it."

      "There is a school not far from Miss Dartmoor's; of course, not a school like this, but a school where you can be taught some things, my poor child."

      "I won't go to Helen Dartmoor – I won't!" said Kitty, in a passionate voice.

      "I fear there is no help for it, my love; but when you see your father he will tell you all about it. I wish with all my heart, I could keep you here, but I greatly fear there is no help for it."

      "And is that all you have to say?" said Kitty, rising slowly as she spoke.

      "Yes, dear, all for the present."

      "Then I am a very miserable girl. I'll go away to my room for a little. I may, may I not?"

      "On this occasion you may, although you know it is the rule that none of the girls go to their dormitories during the daytime."

      Kitty left the room, walking very slowly. She had scarcely done so before a loud ring, followed by a rat-tat on the knocker of the front door, was heard through the house.

      A moment later the door of Mrs. Clavering's oak parlor was flung open, and Sir John Wallis