sunny morning. The world was before them: school was behind. They were travelling to London alone—no chaperone; they were no longer schoolgirls, they were young women. The matron saw them off at the station—a kind, stupid woman, but not stupid enough for it to be necessary for them to maintain the serious and respectful mask before her.
"I wish we'd seen Gladys to say good-bye," they said. "You might give her this for us." They pressed half-crowns on the matron. "Poor old Gladys, she"
They were getting into the train, when a clatter of clumsy feet made them turn. It was Gladys, but panting and almost in tears.
"Thought I'd missed it," she exclaimed, thrusting a large box into the carriage. "It's a parting present, miss. For both of you."
"We shall prize it for ever, whatever it is," said Lucilla.
"I got it from me brother," said Gladys, "that's why I'm so late. It's just like him to live the other end of the town. I do wish you wasn't going! I don't know whatever I shall do now you've gone. For of all the old"
"Shish!" said Jane.
"Oh, I beg your pardon, Miss Blake—I didn't see you were there. Oh, good-bye, Miss Jane dear, and you too, Miss Lucy, I'm sure! Good-bye!"
Miss Blake pulled her back. A porter banged the door and the train moved off.
They waved hands from the window till the station was out of sight. Then, withdrawing their heads from the window, they stumbled over Gladys's present.
"Let's see what it is," said Jane.
It was a fine black rabbit in a home-made hutch, not new.
"Well, perhaps it's lucky," said Jane; "like black cats, you know. We'll call it Othello. Poor old Gladys!"
It was a delicious journey. The wildest speculations concerning their future brightened every mile of it. At
