When Leonard brought Marjorie and Dona back to The Tamarisks there was still one more golden half-hour before they need return to school. Aunt Ellinor proposed tennis, and suggested that her nephew should play his sisters while she sat and acted umpire. The game went fairly evenly, for Leonard was agile and equal to holding his own, though it was one against two. They were at "forty all" when Dona made a rather brilliant stroke. Leonard sprang across the court in a frantic effort to get the ball, missed it, slipped on the grass, and fell. The girls laughed.

"You've been a little too clever for once," called Dona. "That's our game!"

"Get up, you old slacker!" said Marjorie.

But Leonard did not get up. He stayed where he was on the lawn, looking very white. Mrs. Trafford ran to him in alarm.

"What's the matter?" she cried.

"I believe I've broken my ankle—I felt it snap."

The accident was so totally unexpected that for a moment everyone was staggered, then, recovering her presence of mind, Aunt Ellinor, with Marjorie and Dona's help, applied first aid, while Hodson hurried into Whitecliffe to fetch the doctor. He was fortunately at home, and came at once. He helped to carry Leonard into the house, set the broken bone, and settled him in bed.

"You'll have to stay where you are for a while," he assured him. "There'll be no walking on that foot yet. It'll extend your leave, at any rate."

"I can't imagine how I was such an idiot as to do it," mourned Leonard. "I just seemed to trip, and couldn't save myself."

"We'll borrow you some crutches from the Red Cross when you're well enough to use them," laughed the doctor. "You'll be well looked after here. Miss Elaine is one of my best nurses at the hospital."

Marjorie and Dona arrived back at school late for Preparation, but were graciously forgiven by Mrs. Morrison when they explained the unfortunate reason of their delay.

"It's ripping to have both Leonard and Larry at Whitecliffe," said Dona to Marjorie in private.

"Rather! I think I know one person who won't altogether regret the accident."

"Leonard?"

"Yes, Leonard certainly; but somebody else too."

"I know—Elaine."

"She'll have the time of her life nursing him."

"And he'll have the time of his life being nursed by Elaine," laughed Dona.It was now getting very near the end of the term, and each hostel, according to its usual custom, was beginning to devise some form of entertainment to which it could invite the rest of the school. After much consultation, St. Elgiva's decided on charades. A cast was chosen consisting of eight girls who were considered to act best, Betty, Chrissie, and Marjorie being among the number. No parts were to be learnt, but a general outline of each charade was to be arranged beforehand, the performers filling in impromptu dialogue as they went along. To hit on a suitable word, and think out some telling scenes, now occupied the wits of each of the chosen eight. They compared notes constantly; indeed, when any happy thought occurred to one, she made haste to communicate it to the others.

An inspiration came suddenly to Marjorie during cricket, and when the game was over she rushed away to unburden herself of it. She had thought several of the performers might be in the recreation room, but she found nobody there except Chrissie, who sat writing at the table.

"I've a lovely idea, Chris!" she began. "You know that word we chose, 'cough', 'fee'—'coffee'; well, we'll have the first syllable in a Red Cross Hospital, and the second in an employment bureau, and a girl can ask if there's any fee to pay; and the whole word can be a scene in a drawing-room. Chrissie, do stop writing and listen!"

Her chum shut up her geometry textbook rather reluctantly. She was putting in extra work before the exams, and was loath to be interrupted. She kept on drawing angles on her blotting-paper almost automatically.

"They'd be ripping if we could get the right properties," she agreed. "Could we manage beds enough to look like a hospital? Yes, those small forms would do, I dare say. The employment bureau will be easy enough. The drawing-room scene would be no end, if we could make it up-to-date. I ought to be an officer home on leave, and you're my long-lost love, and we have a dramatic meeting over the coffee cups!"

"Gorgeous! Oh, we must do it! Shall I droop tenderly into your arms? What shall I wear?"

"Some outdoor costume, with a picturesque hat. I must have a uniform, of course."

"A brown waterproof with a leather belt?"

Chrissie pulled a face.

"I hate these make-ups out of girls' clothes! I'd like a real genuine uniform to do the thing properly."

"But we couldn't get one!"

"Yes, we could. It's your exeat on Wednesday, and you might borrow your brother's. He's in bed, and can't wear it."

"What a ripping notion!" gasped Marjorie. "But I couldn't carry a great parcel back to school. Norty'd see it, and make one of her stupid fusses."

"We must smuggle it, then. Look here, when you go to your aunt's make the clothes into a parcel and leave it just inside the gate. I've a friend at Whitecliffe, and I'll manage to write to her and ask her to call and take it, and drop it over the wall at Brackenfield for me."

"Won't Norty ask where we got it, when she sees you wearing it?"

"She might be nasty about it beforehand, but I don't believe she'd say anything on the evening, especially if the charade goes off well. It's worth risking."

"You'd look ripping in Leonard's uniform! Of course it would be too big."

"That wouldn't matter. Will you get it for me?"

"Right oh!"

"Good. Then I'll write to my friend."

"You're writing now!" chuckled Marjorie, for Chrissie had been scribbling idly on the blotting-paper while she talked. "Look what you've put, you goose! 'Christine Lange!' Don't you know how to spell your own name? I didn't think it had an e at the end of it!"

Chrissie flushed scarlet. For a moment she looked overwhelmed with confusion; then, recovering herself, she forced a laugh.

"What an idiot I am! I can't imagine why I should stick on an extra e. Lang is a good old Scottish name."

"Are you related to Andrew Lang, the famous author?"

"I believe there's a family connection."

The charades were to be held on the evening of the next Wednesday, after supper, which was fixed half an hour earlier to allow sufficient time for the festivities afterwards. That afternoon would be Marjorie's and Dona's last exeat before the holidays, and they were determined to make the most of it. They would, of course, visit Leonard and Larry, and they also wished if possible to say good-bye to Eric. They had begged Elaine to leave a note at the kiosk, asking him to be waiting at their old trysting-place on the cliffs at five o'clock, and they meant to take him some last little presents. If they did not see him to-day it would be the end of September before they could meet again.

"He'll miss the fairy ladies when we've gone home," said Dona. "Sweet darling! I wish we could take him with us!"

"I wonder if he ever goes away?" speculated Marjorie.

"I shouldn't think he'd be strong enough to travel."

When the girls arrived at The Tamarisks they found Leonard installed in bed, a remarkably cheerful invalid, and apparently not fretting over his enforced period of rest.

"I've got a little Red Cross Hospital here all to myself," he informed his sisters. "A jolly nice one, too! I can thoroughly recommend it. I shan't want to budge."

"Then they'll send an army doctor down to examine you for shirking," laughed Marjorie.

"I can't hop back to the front on one leg," objected Leonard.

Elaine was head nurse in the afternoons, an arrangement which seemed to be appreciated equally by herself and the patient."I'd run up with you to the Red Cross Hospital to see Larry," she assured Marjorie and Dona, "but I oughtn't to leave Leonard. Hodson shall take you, and go on with you to the cove afterwards. Give my love to Eric. I hope the dear little fellow is better. I bought the things for him, as you asked me. They're on the table in the hall. We'll have tea in Leonard's room before you start."

Under a pretence of inspecting Eric's presents, Marjorie ran downstairs. She wanted somehow to get hold of Leonard's uniform, and she was afraid that if she mentioned it, Elaine, in her capacity of nurse, would say no.

"I shan't ask," decided Marjorie. "Elaine is a little 'bossy', and inclined to appropriate Leonard all to herself at present. Surely his own sister can borrow his uniform. I know it's in the dressing-room. I could see it, and I got up and shut the door on purpose. I'll go round by the other door and take it."

The deed was quickly done. Leonard's suit-case was lying open on the floor, and she packed in it what she wanted, not without tremors lest Elaine should come in suddenly from the bedroom and catch her. She could hear nurse and invalid laughing together. Bag in hand, she hurried downstairs and out into the garden. Down by the gate a woman was already hanging about waiting. It would be the work of a moment to give it to her. But Marjorie had not calculated upon Dona. That placid young person usually accepted whatever her elder sister thought fit to do. On this occasion she interfered.

"What are you doing with Leonard's suit-case?" she asked.

Marjorie hastily explained.

"Don't," begged Dona promptly. "Leonard will be fearfully savage about it. How are you going to get his things back to him?"

"I don't know," stammered Marjorie. She had, indeed, never thought about it.

"I've been watching that woman," urged Dona, "and I don't like her. She asked me if this were 'The Tamarisks', and she speaks quite broken English. You mustn't give her Leonard's uniform."

"But I promised to get it for Chrissie to act in."

"Marjorie, I tell you I don't trust Chrissie."

The woman, seeing the two girls, came inside the gate, and advanced smilingly towards them. Marjorie, annoyed at Dona's interference, and anxious to have her own way, greeted the stranger effusively.

"Have you come for the bag? For Miss Lang? Thanks so much. Here it is!"

Then for once in her life Dona asserted herself.

"No, it isn't!" she snapped, and, snatching the bag from her sister's hand, she rushed with it into the house.

Marjorie followed in a towering passion, but her remonstrances were useless. Dona, when she once took an idea into her head, was the most obstinate person in the world."Leonard's things are back in the dressing-room, and I've opened the door wide into his bedroom," she announced doggedly. "If you want to get them you'll have to take them from under Elaine's nose."

Full of wrath, Marjorie had nevertheless to make the best of it. The woman had vanished from the garden, and Elaine was calling to them that tea was ready in Leonard's bedroom. The invalid had a splendid appetite, and, as his nurse did not consider that he ought to be rationed, the home-made war buns disappeared rapidly.

"It's top-hole picnicking here with you girls," he announced. "Wouldn't some of our fellows at the front be green with envy if they only knew!"

Marjorie was distant with Dona all the way to the Red Cross Hospital, but recovered her temper during the ten minutes spent with Larry. They were not allowed to stay long, as it was out of visiting hours, though Elaine had obtained special permission from the Commandant for them to call and say good-bye to him. Still laughing at his absurd jokes, they rejoined Hodson, and set off along the road over the moor. As they neared the cove they looked out anxiously to see if Eric were at the usual trysting-place, but there was no sign of him to-day. They sat down and waited, thinking that the long perambulator had probably been wheeled into Whitecliffe, and had not yet returned. In about ten minutes Lizzie came hurrying up alone.

"I've run all the way!" she panted. "He got your letter, did Eric, and he was that set on coming, but he's very ill to-day and must stop in bed. He's just fretting his heart out because he can't say good-bye to you. He'll say nothing all the time but 'I want my fairy ladies—I want my fairy ladies!' His ma said she wondered if you'd mind coming in for a minute just to see him. It's not far. It would soothe him down wonderful."

"Why, of course we'll go," exclaimed the girls with enthusiasm. "Poor little chap! What a shame he's ill!"

"I hope it's nothing infectious?" objected Hodson, mindful of her duties.

"Oh no! It's his heart," answered Lizzie. "He's got a lot of different things the matter with him, and has had ever so many doctors," she added almost proudly.

She led the way briskly to the little village of Sandside. Where did Eric live, the girls were asking themselves. They had always wondered where his home could be. To their amazement Lizzie stopped at the "Royal George" inn, and motioned them to enter. Hodson demurred. She was an ardent teetotaller, and also she doubted if Mrs. Trafford would approve of her nieces visiting at a third-rate public-house.

"Wait for us outside, Hodson," said Marjorie rather peremptorily.

"I'll go into the post office," she agreed unwillingly. "You won't be long, will you, miss?"

The passage inside the inn was dark, and the stairs were steep, and a smell of stale beer pervaded the air. It seemed a strange place for such a lovely flower as Eric to be growing. Lizzie went first to show the way. She stopped with her hand on the latch of the door.

"His ma's had to go and serve in the bar," she explained, "but his aunt's just come and is sitting with him."

Dona and Marjorie entered a small low bedroom, clean enough, though rather faded and shabby. In a cot bed by the window lay Eric, white as his pillow, a frail ethereal being all dark eyes and shining golden curls. He stretched out two feeble little arms in welcome.

"Oh, my fairy ladies! Have you really come?" he cried eagerly.

It was only when they had both flown to him and kissed him that the girls had time to notice the figure that sat by his bedside—a figure that, with red spots of consternation on its cheeks, rose hastily from its seat.

"Miss Norton!" they gasped, both together.

The mistress recovered herself with an effort.

"Sit down, Dona and Marjorie," she said with apparent calm, placing two chairs for them. "I did not know you were Eric's fairy ladies. It is very kind of you to come and see him."

"This is Titania," said the little fellow proudly, snuggling his hand into his aunt's. "She knows more fairy tales than there are in all the books. You never heard such lovely tales as she can tell. Another, please, Titania!"

"Not now, darling."

"Please, please! The one about the moon maiden and the stars."The dark eyes were pleading, and the small mouth quivered. The child looked too ill to be reasoned with.

"Don't mind us," blurted out Marjorie, with a catch in her voice. Dona was blinking some tear-drops out of her eyes.

Then a wonderful thing happened, for Miss Norton, beforetime the cold, self-contained, strict house mistress, dropped her mask of reserve, and, throwing a tender arm round Eric, began a tale of elves and fairies. She told it well, too, with a pretty play of fancy, and an understanding of a child's mind. He listened with supreme satisfaction.

"Isn't it lovely?" he said, turning in triumph to the girls when the story was finished.

"We must trot now, darling," said his aunt, laying him gently back on the pillow. "What? More presents? You lucky boy! Suppose you open them after we've gone. You'll be such a tired childie if you get too excited. I'll send Lizzie up to you. Say good-bye to your fairy ladies."

"Good-bye, darling Bluebell! Good-bye, darling Silverstar! When am I going to see you again?"

Ah, when indeed? thought Dona and Marjorie, as they walked down the steep dark stairs of the little inn.

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