Marjorie and Dona spent the larger part of the Easter holidays with an aunt in the north. They had a few days at home, mostly devoted to visits to the dentist and the dressmaker, and then boxes were once more packed, and they started off on the now familiar journey back to Brackenfield. Joan watched the preparations wistfully.

"Do you think the Empress would take a girl of eight?" she enquired in all seriousness.

"Not unless you could be used as a mascot or a school monkey," returned Marjorie. "You might come in handy at the nursing lectures, when we get to the chapter on 'How to Wash and Dress a Baby', or you'd do to practise bandaging on. Otherwise you'd be considerably in the way."

"Don't be horrid!" pouted Joan. "I'm to go to Brackenfield some time. Mother said so."

"You'll have to wait five years yet, my hearty. Why, do you know, even Dona is called a kiddie at Brackenfield?"

"Dona!" Joan's eyes were big.

"Yes, some of the girls look almost as old as Nora, and they've turned up their hair. It's a fact. You needn't stare."

"You'll go all in good time, poor old Baba," said Dona. "You wouldn't like to be in a form all by yourself, without any other little girls, and there's no room for a preparatory unless they build, and that's not possible in war-time. You must peg on for a while with Miss Hazelwood, and then perhaps Mother'll send you to a day school. After all, you know, it's something to be the youngest in the family. You score over that."

Both Marjorie and Dona were looking forward to the summer term. Those of their chums who were old Brackenfielders had dwelt strongly on its advantages compared with the autumn or spring terms. It was the season for cricket and tennis, for country walks, picnics, and natural history excursions. Most of the activities were arranged for out of doors, and a larger amount of liberty was allowed the girls than had been possible during the period of short days.

Armed each with a cricket bat and a tennis racket, not to mention cameras, butterfly nets, collecting-boxes, and botanical cases, they arrived at their respective hostels and unpacked their possessions. Marjorie was the last comer in No. 9, and found Chrissie with her cubicle already neatly arranged, Sylvia with her head buried in her bottom drawer, and Betty struggling with straps. The two latter were pouring out details of their holiday adventures.

"I rode in to town every day, and did Mother's shopping for her; and we went to a sale and bought the jolliest little governess car and harness."

"We were going to Brighton, only Mother was so afraid of bombs on the south coast, so Daddy said it was safer to stop at home; and I was glad, because we'd spent last Christmas at Grannie's, so I really hadn't seen very much of home."

"Dick got a week's leave, and we'd an absolutely gorgeous time!"

"James and Vincent brought two school friends home with them—such ripping boys!"

"We went out boating on the lake."

"And we went to the cinema nearly every day."

"What have you been doing, Marjorie?" asked Chrissie.

"Heaps of things. We were staying at Redferne, and Uncle showed us all over the munition works. They're so strict they won't let anybody go through now; but Uncle's the head, so of course he could take Dona and me. And we saw a Belgian town for the Belgian workers there. It's built quite separately, and has barbed-wire entanglements round. There are a thousand houses, and six hundred hostels, and ever so many huts as well, and shops, and a post office, and a hall of justice. You can't go in through the gate without a pass, but Uncle knew the manager, so it was all right."

"I don't call that as much fun as boating," said Betty.

"Or the cinema," added Sylvia.

"It was nicer, because it was patriotic," retorted Marjorie. "I like to see what the country is doing for the war. You two think of nothing but silly jokes."

"Don't show temper, my child," observed Betty blandly. "Sylvia, I'm going down at once to put my name on the cricket list. I'll finish my unpacking afterwards."

"I'll come with you," said Sylvia. "We shan't get an innings to-morrow unless we sign on straight away."

"They're a couple of rattle-pates!" laughed Chrissie as their room-mates made their exit, executing a fox-trot en route. "I don't believe they ever think seriously about anything. Never mind, old sport! I'm interested in what you do in the holidays. Tell me some more about the munition works and the Belgian town. I like to hear all you've seen. I wish I could go to Redferne myself."

"You wouldn't see anything if you did, because only Uncle can take people round the works. Oh, it was wonderful! We went into the danger zone. And we saw girls with their faces all yellow. I haven't time to tell you half now, but I will afterwards. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

"It does one good to know what's going on," commented Chrissie.

The Daylight Saving Act was now in operation, so the school had an extra hour available for outdoor exercise. Whenever the weather was fine enough they were encouraged to spend every available moment in the fresh air. A certain amount of cricket practice was compulsory; but for the rest of the time those who liked might play tennis or basket ball, or could stroll about the grounds. Select parties, under the leadership of a mistress, were taken botanizing, or to hunt for specimens on the beach. There was keen competition for these rambles, and as eligibility depended upon marks in the Science classes, it considerably raised the standard of work.

Dona, who was rather dull at ordinary lessons, shone in Natural History. It was her one subject. She wrote her notes neatly, and would make beautiful little drawings to illustrate the various points. She had sharp eyes, and when out on a ramble would spy birds' nests or other treasures which nobody else had noticed, and knew all the likeliest places in which to look for caterpillars. She was a great favourite with Miss Carter, the Science mistress, and her name was almost always down on the excursion list. One day, in company with eleven other ardent naturalists and the mistress, she came toiling up from the beach on to the road that led to Whitecliffe. Her basket, filled with spoils from the rocks and pools, was rather a dripping object, her shoes were full of sand, and she was tired, but cheery. She had hurried on and reached the summit first, quite some way in advance of her companions. As she stood waiting for them she heard the sound of voices and footsteps, and round the corner came a girl, wheeling a long perambulator with a child in it. There was no mistaking the couple, they were the nursemaid and the little boy whom Dona and Marjorie had met on the cliffs last autumn. Lizzie looked just the same—rosy, good-natured, and untidy as ever—but it was a very etherealized Eric who lay in the perambulator. The lovely little face looked white and transparent as alabaster, the brown eyes seemed bigger and more wistful, the golden curls had grown, and framed the pale cheeks like a saint's halo, the small hands folded on the shabby rug were thin and colourless. The child was wasted almost to a shadow, and the blue veins on his forehead showed prominently. He recognized Dona at once, and for a moment a beautiful rosy flush flooded his pathetic little face.

"Oh, Lizzie, it's my fairy lady!" he cried excitedly.

The nurse girl stopped in amazement.

"Well, now! Who'd have thought of seeing you?" she said to Dona. "Eric's been talking about you all the winter. He's been awful bad, he has. This is the first time I've had him out for months. He's still got that book you gave him. I should think he knows every story in it off by heart."

Dona was bending over the carriage holding the frail little hand that Eric offered.

"You're Silverstar!" he said, gazing up at her with keen satisfaction. "Where are Bluebell and Princess Goldilocks?"

"They're not here to-day."

"Oh, I do so want to see them!"

"They'll be sorry to miss you."

"He'll talk of nothing else now," observed Lizzie. "You wouldn't believe what a fancy he's taken to you three; and he's a queer child—he doesn't like everybody."

"I want to see the others!" repeated Eric, with the suspicion of a wail in his voice.

"Look here," said Dona hastily, "to-morrow's our exeat day. Can you bring him to that place on the cliffs where we met before? We'll be there at four o'clock—all of us. You can leave him with us if you want to go shopping. Now I must fly, for my teacher's calling me."

"We'll be there," smiled Eric, waving a good-bye.

"That's if your ma says you're well enough," added Lizzie cautiously.

Before Preparation Dona sought out Marjorie, and told her of the meeting with the little boy.

"We've just got to be on the cliff to-morrow," she said. "I wouldn't disappoint that child for a thousand pounds!"

"Auntie would send Hodson with us, I'm sure, if Elaine can't go. I'm so glad you happened to see him. We'd often wondered what had become of him, poor little chap! By the by, couldn't we take him something?"

"I'd thought of that. We'll fly down to Whitecliffe to-morrow, first thing after we get to Auntie's, and buy him a book at the Stores."

"I hope to goodness it'll be a fine day, or perhaps they won't let him come."

"I believe he'll cry his eyes out if they don't. He's tremendously set on it."

Very fortunately the weather on Wednesday was all that could be desired. Marjorie and Dona rushed into The Tamarisks in quite a state of excitement, and both together poured out their information. Elaine was as interested as they to meet Eric again, and readily agreed to the proposed expedition.

"We'll take some cake and milk with us, and have a little picnic," she suggested. "Let us tear down to Whitecliffe at once and buy him a present."

Shortly before four o'clock the three girls, carrying a tea-basket and several parcels, were walking along the cliffs above the cove. The long perambulator was already waiting at the trysting-place, and Eric, propped up with pillows, smiled a welcome. Elaine was shocked to see how ill the child looked. He had been frail enough in the autumn, but now the poor little body seemed only a transparent garment through which the soul shone plainly. She greeted him brightly, but with an ache in her heart.

"My Princess!" he said. "So you've come back to me at last! And Fairy Bluebell too! Oh, I've wanted you all! It's been a weary winter. The gnomes kept me shut up in their hill all the time. They wouldn't let me out."

"Perhaps they were afraid the witches might catch you," answered Marjorie.

"Yes, I expect that was partly it, but the gnomes are jealous, and like to guard me. I don't know what I should have done without Titania."

"Did she come to see you?"

"Sometimes. She can't come often, because she's so busy. She's got crowds of young fairies to look after and keep in order, and sometimes they're naughty. You wouldn't believe fairies could be naughty, could you?"

"I suppose there are good and bad ones," laughed Dona.

"He's just silly over fairies!" broke in Lizzie. "Talks of nothing else, and makes out we're all witches or pixies or what not. Well, Eric, I've got to go and buy some butter. Will you be good if I leave you here till I come back? I shan't be above half an hour or so," she added to the girls.

"Don't hurry," replied Elaine. "We can stay until half-past five. We've brought our tea, if Eric may have some with us. May he eat cake?"

"Oh yes! He'll tell you what he may eat, won't you, Eric?"

The little fellow nodded. His eyes were shining.

"I didn't know it was to be a fairy feast!" he murmured softly, half to himself.

The girls were busy unpacking their parcels. They had brought several presents which they thought would amuse the child during the long hours he probably spent in bed, a jig-saw puzzle, a drawing-slate, a box of coloured chalks, a painting-book, and a lovely volume of new fairy tales. His delight was pathetic. He looked at each separately, and touched it with a finger, as if it were a great treasure. The fairy book, with its coloured pictures of gnomes and pixies, he clasped tightly in his arms.

"It's as good as having a birthday!" he sighed. "I had mine a while ago. Titania couldn't come to see me, because the young fairies had to be looked after, but she sent me a paint box. I wish you knew Titania."

"I wish we did. What's she like?"

"She's the beautifullest person in all the world. Nobody else can play fairies as well as she can. And she can tell a new story every time. You'd just fall straight in love with her if you saw her. I know you would! It's a pity fairies have to be so busy, isn't it? Some day when I'm better, and she has time, she's going to take me away for a holiday. Think of going away with Titania! The doctor says I must drink my medicine if I want to get well."

"Don't you like medicine?"

Eric pulled an eloquent face.

"It's the nastiest stuff! But I promised Titania I'd take it. I sometimes have a chocolate after it."

"Will you have one now? We're just going to unpack our basket to get tea. Will it hurt you if we wheel you over there on to the grass? There's such a lovely place where we could sit."

The spot that the girls had chosen for their picnic was ideal. It was a patch of short fine grass near the edge of the cliff, with a bank for a seat. The ground was blue with the beautiful little flowers of the vernal squill, and clumps of sea-pinks, white bladder campion, and golden lady's fingers bloomed in such profusion that the place was like a wild garden. The air was soft and warm, for it was one of those beautiful afternoons in early May when Nature seems predominant, and one can almost spy nymphs among the trees. Below them the sea rippled calm and shining, merging at the horizon into the tender blue of the sky. Gulls and puffins wheeled and screamed over the rocks. Eric looked round with a far-away expression on his quaint little face, and gravely accepted the flowers that Dona picked for him.

"It's enchanted ground!" he said in his oldfashioned way. "Every flower hides the heart of a tiny fairy. I know, because I've been here in my dreams. I have funny dreams sometimes. They're more real than being awake. One night I was floating in the air, just like that bird over the sea. I lay on my back, and I could see the blue sky above me, and look down at the green cliffs far below. I wasn't frightened, because I knew I couldn't fall. I felt quite strong and well, and my leg didn't hurt me at all. Sometimes I dream I can go through the air. It isn't exactly either flying or floating or running—it's more like shooting. I get to the tops of mountains, and see the wonderfullest places. And another night I was riding on the waves. There was a great storm, and I came sweeping in with the tide into the bay. I wish I could always dream like that!"

"You shall have tea with the elves to-day," said Elaine, bringing the little fellow back, if not to absolute reality, at least to a less visionary world than the dream-country he was picturing. "Look! I've brought a mug with a robin on it for your milk. May you eat bread and honey? Honey is fairy food, you know. Here's a paper serviette with violets round it, instead of a plate."

Eric's appetite was apparently that of a sparrow. He ate a very little of the bread and honey, and a tiny piece of cake, but drank the milk feverishly. He seemed tired, and lay back for a while on his pillows without speaking, just gazing at the flowers and the sea and the sky. He fondled his book now and then with a long sigh of content. Elaine motioned to Marjorie and Dona not to disturb him. Her knowledge of nursing told her that the child must not be over-excited or wearied. She felt it a responsibility to have charge of him, and was rather relieved when Lizzie's creaking boots came back along the road.

Eric brightened up to say good-bye.

"I shall tell Titania all about you," he vouchsafed. "Perhaps she'll come and see me soon now. I love her best, of course, but I love you next best. I shall pretend every day that I'm playing with you here."

"I hope he's not too tired," whispered Elaine to Lizzie.

"No, but I'd best get him home now, or his ma'll be anxious. He'd one of his attacks last night. Oh, it'll have done him good coming out this afternoon! He was set on seeing you."

The girls stood watching as Lizzie trundled the long perambulator away, then packed their basket and set off towards Brackenfield, for it was time for Marjorie and Dona to return to school.

"How stupid of us!" ejaculated Elaine. "We never asked his surname or where he lives, and I particularly intended to, this time."

"So did I, but I quite forgot," echoed Marjorie.

"I'm not sure if I want to know," said Dona. "He's just Eric to me—like someone out of a book. I've never met such a sweet, dear, precious thing in all my life before. Of course, if I don't know his name I can't send him things, but I've got an idea. We'll leave a little parcel for him with the girl who looks after the refreshment kiosk on the Whitecliffe Road, and ask her to give it to him next time he passes. She couldn't mistake the long perambulator."

"And write 'From the fairies' on it. Good!" agreed Marjorie. "It's exactly the sort of thing that Eric will like."

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