the precious delightful holidays at chagmouth seemed to be flying only too fast. all the various young people were busy with their several hobbies, but they liked to meet and compare notes about them, and took a keen interest in one another's achievements. bevis's bird-photography, and especially his cinema camera, was highly appreciated, particularly by the younger members of the party, who persistently tried to track him and follow him, greatly to his embarrassment, for their presence frightened the birds away and defeated the very object for which he had gone out. mavis had struck up a friendship with miss lindsay and lorraine forrester, and often went to see them at the studio which they had temporarily hired. lorraine's principal branch of art was sculpture, and she was modelling a bust of morland, who came readily for sittings, though he had refused point-blank to act model for his father.

the two were on terms of what lorraine called "sensible friendship," which mavis suspected might mean a good deal more some day, if morland stopped merely drifting and put his shoulder in dead earnest to the wheel of life. lorraine was much the stronger character of the two, and could generally wind up morland's ambition while he was with her, though it often came down again with a run as soon as her influence was removed. whether or no her feelings went deeper than she would at present allow, she was a loyal chum to him, and almost the only person who could really persuade him to work. to claudia also lorraine was a splendid friend. the girls lived together at a students' hostel in london, and shared all their jaunts and pleasures. claudia held a scholarship at a college of music, and was training for grand opera. with her talent and lovely face she had good prospects before her, but the castleton strain was strong in her, as also in morland, and it needed lorraine's insistent urging to make her realise that it does not do only to dream your ideals, that you must toil at them with strong hands and earth-stained fingers, and that on this physical plane no success can ever be achieved without hard work.

"they'll both of them absolutely have to be towed through life!" thought mavis. "i could shake the whole family sometimes. beata's the most practical, but the others might have strayed out of a poetry book! of course they're all perfectly charming and romantic, but you want to frame them and glaze them and hang them in exhibitions, not set them to do ordinary every-day things. they don't fit somehow into the twentieth century. lorraine stirs them up like yeast. she'll be the making of morland if she elects to take on so big a job."

the ramsay girls were very much attracted by the macleods. they liked fay and her father and mother, whose experience of the world and sensible views appealed to them. they often went to bella vista and enjoyed a chat, or sat looking at american art magazines, while morland, who could not keep away from the grand piano, sat improvising memories of debussy or compositions of his own. mrs. macleod was one of those delightful women who can appreciate other people's daughters as well as their own. her adoration for fay did not hinder her from genuinely admiring mavis and merle and romola, and the other young friends who flocked to her hospitable house. she had a nice word for them all, and was so sympathetic that they always wanted to tell her of their little achievements. it was a most congenial atmosphere.

"she's such a dear!" commented mavis. "now when fay and i went out painting together, she praised my sketch, although it was a daub compared with fay's! once i was silly enough to show one of my efforts to mrs. earnshaw; she put on her pince-nez, and looked at it most critically, and said,' oh, you must see opal's work! she's done some really beautiful paintings at brackenfield! they know how to teach there!' i felt so squashed!"

"mrs. earnshaw is the limit!" agreed merle. "the last time i went to tea there-when you had a cold and couldn't go-she asked me to play the piano. i'd brought my music, but i didn't like to seem too anxious, so i said i'd rather not. 'oh, never mind then!' she said, 'you play something, darling!' (to opal). and then she whispered proudly to me, 'opal plays magnificently since she's been to brackenfield!' i wanted to sing out 'cock-a-doodle-doo!' only i remembered my manners. then a friend came in, and she introduced us. 'this is miss ramsay,' she said casually, 'and this (with immense pride) is our daughter opal!' i felt inclined to quote, 'look on this picture and on that!' it was so evident which of us he was expected to take notice of! i simply wasn't to be in it at all!"

"opal's more decent, though, since she's been at brackenfield."

"there was room for improvement. i shall never like her, not if i know her to all eternity."

the glorious three weeks at chagmouth were over at last, and there would be no more picnics on the beach, or walks down primrose-decked lanes, or rambles on the cliffs, or merry parties at the haven or bella vista, or expeditions in search of flowers or shells. the girls were almost weeping when it came to saying good-bye to burswood farm, and to mr. and mrs. treasure, and william and little connie, and ethel the small servant (brought up from the village to wait on the visitors), and charlie, the boy who helped to milk the cows and weed the fields. mavis and merle had been very busy concocting one of their wonderful rhyming effusions, and wrote it in the visitors' book, much to the delight of their landlady, who appreciated such souvenirs.

who welcomed us to burswood farm

amid the heart of devon's charm,

with skies so blue and seas so calm?

'twas mrs. treasure.

who was it chopped our logs of wood

to make our fires so bright and good,

and brought from durracombe our food?

'twas mr. treasure.

who brought our luggage to the door

and then went back to fetch some more,

and showed us cows and pigs galore?

'twas charlie.

who made our boots and shoes to shine,

and brought us plates wherewith to dine,

and boiled our breakfast eggs by nine?

'twas ethel.

who was it gave us ferns so green

from hedges that we'd often seen,

and called the holiday a dream?

'twas william.

who was it down the passage ran

and shouted, 'kiss me if you can!'

and hid her face when we began?

'twas connie.

who was it left with many a sigh,

as to the farm we said good-bye,

and wanted sheets wherein to cry?

we all!

the very best of things, however, must come some time to an end; schools were reopening, college terms recommencing, mr. tremayne's duties claimed him in london, and, most prosaic of all, another batch of visitors was expected at burswood, so that they could no longer have the rooms. after tremendous leave-takings the jolly party separated, dr. ramsay fetching mavis and merle in the car, while mr. and mrs. tremayne took clive home with them, for he was to try another term at his preparatory school. it seemed quite quiet at bridge house without their lively young cousin, though in some ways his absence was rather a relief. after his many escapades at chagmouth the girls felt that discipline under a headmaster would be very wholesome for him. they themselves were busy with the work of the coming term, and not sorry to be free from his continual interruption of their preparation time. there were other things besides lessons. they meant to take up tennis very seriously, and practise both on the school courts and at home. miss mitchell was a tennis enthusiast and also miss barnes.

"if we can only persuade miss hopkins and mademoiselle to do their duty we could have a match 'mistresses versus girls,'" sighed merle. "it would be something new at 'the moorings,' and such an excitement for every one."

"i wish they would!"

"if i were a boarder i'd simply make them! what they want is somebody to keep them up to it. day-girls are really very much hampered. they haven't half a chance when they go home from school at four o'clock. i really sometimes think i'd like to be a boarder, just for the fun of it."

it is not very often we get what we want, but on this occasion fortune waved a fairy wand and gave merle the luck she coveted. it happened that the cook at bridge house developed a sore throat, and dr. ramsay, having his suspicions, had the drains examined and found them to be in an exceedingly wrong condition. it was necessary to take them up at once, and as the process would probably be unpleasant, mrs. ramsay arranged for the girls to stay at 'the moorings' until everything was once more in good sanitary condition.

"you can't be too careful where young people are concerned," was her motto. "mavis is so marvellously well now that we don't want to run any risks, and merle, too, strong though she is, will be better out of the way of drains. we elders can take our chance."

to be temporarily transformed into boarders was a novel experience for the girls. to merle it meant an opportunity for making a much more intimate acquaintance with her idol miss mitchell, with whom she would now be at close quarters. to sit at the same table with her for meals seemed an unspeakable privilege. merle was at the age for enthusiastic hero-worship, and in her eyes the popular mistress almost wore a halo. that she bestowed no particular tokens of favour made the devotion none the less, because it gave an added incentive for trying to win at least a glance or a smile.

though merle's schoolgirl affections centred in miss mitchell, whose modern, up-to-date, twentieth-century methods and opinions entirely appealed to her, mavis was glad to see something more of miss pollard and miss fanny. she had loved 'the moorings' best as it was a year ago, a little 'homey' school, where the classes had been like working with a private governess. she immensely admired the two sweet, grey-haired sisters, with their refined, cultured atmosphere and beautiful, courteous, dignified manner. they seemed the epitome of the nineteenth century, and marked a different era, a something very precious that was rapidly passing away. if flowers are the symbols of our personalities she would have set them down as rosemary and lavender. they had withdrawn almost entirely from teaching, so that the day-girls now saw little of them, but in the hostel they still reigned supreme, and kept to their old custom of amusing the youngest boarders for half an hour before bedtime. the elder ones, owing to the large amount of preparation required under the new regime, could very rarely find time now to come and join this pleasant circle, which met in quite an informal manner in miss pollard's room. to mavis it was a bigger attraction even than tennis, and she would give up her turn at the courts, or would hurry over her home-work, in order to creep in among the juniors for that cosy half-hour.

"have you written down any more devonshire folk-tales?" she asked once. "i do so love your stories of the neighbourhood. it makes the pixies seem almost real when you tell about them!"

"they seemed real to the old people from whom i heard them years ago, and who had learnt them from their grandfathers and great-grandfathers. i loved them when i was a child. yes; they're written in my little manuscript book. i put them carefully down for fear i might forget them. read you one? if the others would like it! we haven't had a fairy tale for quite a long time, have we, doreen?"

as the younger children plumped for a story, miss pollard fetched her manuscript volume, and hunted for something they had not yet heard. she was a most excellent reader, having that charm of voice and vividness of expression which makes a narrative live before its hearers. it was as if some electric cord linked her with those who listened, and restless little fidgets would sit quite quietly for as long as she chose to go on. the tale which she selected to-night was:

ginnifer's dowry

in the days when good king arthur ruled all the west country from exeter to land's end, a maiden named ginnifer lived with her father in a little, round, stone hut on the top of dartmoor. they were poor, but she was a good girl, and she could spin, and weave baskets, and do many things about the house. one day a young hunter knocked at the door and asked for hospitality, and as there was much game to be had in the neighbourhood he remained for many weeks as a guest of the cottage, going out every day fishing or fowling, and sharing his captures with his hosts. no doubt ginnifer's blue eyes and gentle glances were the main attraction, and in a short time indeed the young folk became attached to one another. it was only when ginnifer's father at length questioned the youth, that he confessed to being the son of the great lord of the neighbourhood, who lived in the big castle beside the river beyond the moor. this was sad news for ginnifer, for in those days a young noble might not wed with a poor girl, and must marry a bride who could bring a rich dowry with her of jewels and ornaments and silver money. so she quietly told her sweetheart to go back to his father, and learn to forget her; and he went away very sadly, vowing he would get permission to return and marry her, or else he would never wed anyone. when he was gone, ginnifer went out over the moor among the heather, where she might fight her grief alone, with only the birds and the flowers to see her weep. she lay on the short moorland grass among the sweet bog-myrtle and asphodel, until the sun was setting in a red ball over the hillside. then, all of a sudden, she heard a rustling and a whispering like countless leaves blown by an autumn wind.

"who is this?" said a voice. "who dares to lie in our pixie ring?"

"it's a mortal! a mortal!" cried another.

ginnifer raised her head. all the moor was alive with tiny pixies, whose green garments were like moving fronds of fern. they crowded eagerly round her.

"it's ginnifer!" they said. "ginnifer who lives in the stone hut on the moor! ginnifer who tended the plover with the broken wing, and watered the harebells that were withering in the burning sun, and who treads so lightly that the birds don't trouble to fly away from her. we know her kindness and her gentle heart, for the 'good folk' watch over the children of the earth, and, unseen, we have followed her through all her simple life. pretty ginnifer, tell us your trouble. the pixies cannot bear to see you weep."

they stroked her hair with their tiny fingers, they bathed her eyes with dewdrops and wiped them with the petals of a wild rose. at first ginnifer was frightened, but the little folk were so kind that she took courage and told them her trouble. they began to dance and jump about with delight, and clapped their little hands.

"is that all?" they shouted. "would he wed you if you were a great lady?

tell us what dowry his father would expect his bride to bring?"

"silks and jewels!" sobbed poor ginnifer, "and rich embroidered dresses, and trinkets of gold, and caskets of silver money! and i have nothing at all!"

the pixies laughed lustily, throwing up their wee green caps into the air and catching them again for sheer joy.

"ginnifer dear! we'll find you your dowry! quick! let us set to work! we must finish our task before daybreak."

by this time the moon had risen and had flooded the moor with light. like a flight of busy buzzing bees the little people went flitting up and down. they pulled the gossamer from the gorse bushes and wove it into the finest silk; they caught the great brown moths and sheared their soft fur and spun it on the daintiest little spinning-wheels in the world; and with skilful touches they wove together the harebells and the wild rose petals into the most wonderful of embroidered gowns. the tears which ginnifer had shed in her sorrow lay shining among the grass, and gathered up by magic fingers they turned into pearls and diamonds fit for a queen. the gorse flowers became golden ornaments, and the little smooth pebbles in the brook changed into pieces of silver money.

the pixies dressed ginnifer in the softest of the gossamer silk robes, they clasped the golden bracelets round her arms and twisted diamonds into her hair.

"now she is a fairy princess," they said. "there is none lovelier in all

elfland. we must build her a palace worthy of her!"

hither and thither they ran, gathering up the dewdrops, and piling them one above the other till the most wonderful castle rose up on the hillside: as clear as glass, it shone with all the colours of the rainbow, and here they stored the silks and the beautiful ornaments and the caskets of silver money.

next morning ginnifer's lover came riding back to tell her that his father forbade the match, but that he meant to marry her whether or no. and lo and behold! he found her at the door of a pixie palace, and directly he set foot inside it, it sank through the ground and carried them both with it into elfland. and there they have lived ever since, as happy as the pixies themselves, though no one on earth saw them any more. but sometimes when the late sickle moon shines over the moor, travellers who have lost their way have been set in the right path by a lovely lady in gauzy green garments, who sprang up, as it seemed, from nowhere, and vanished away again into the mist, and to this day the children, hunting for bilberries on the hillside, call the shining dewdrops 'ginnifer's tears.'"

"have you ever seen any pixies yourself, miss pollard?" asked doreen eagerly.

"no; but i've seen the dewdrops shining just like diamonds, and i've seen the mist make wonderful pixie castles in the moonlight. we can live in a fairy world of our own if we look at the right things. it depends on your eyes. those people who keep their childhood have the pixies all round them."

"you have!" said mavis, as miss pollard rose to say good-night to her circle of listeners. "you're like peter pan, and never grow old!"

"i had such a happy childhood! and it seemed so much the best part of life that i've always been reluctant to let the glamour go. children ought to be brought up on fairy tales! they're incipient poetry, and should be woven into the web of our lives as a beautiful border, before all the dark prose part follows. if the shuttle only weaves matter-of- fact threads it spoils the pattern!"