There was no doubt that Winifrede, when she stepped down from her pedestal, was a most winning companion. She had a charming, humorous, racy, whimsical way of commenting on things, and a whole fund of amusing stories. Marjorie, astonished and fascinated, responded eagerly to her advances, and by the time they reached the farm had formed quite a different estimation of the head girl. The walk in itself was delightful. Their way lay along a road that led over the moors. On either side stretched an expanse of gorse and whinberry bushes, interspersed with patches of grass, where sheep were feeding. Dykes filled with water edged the road, and in these were growing rushes, and sedges, and crowfoot, and a few forget-me-nots and other water-loving flowers. Larks were singing gloriously overhead, and the plovers flitted about with their plaintive "pee-wit, pee-wit". Sometimes a stonechat or a wheatear would pause for a moment on a gorse stump, flirting its brown tail before it flew out of sight, or young rabbits would peep from the whinberry bushes and whisk away into cover. Far off in the distance lay the hazy outline of the sea. There was a great sense of space and openness. The fresh pure air blew down from the hills, cooler and more invigorating even than the sea breeze. Except for the sheep, and an occasional collie dog and shepherd, they had the world to themselves. Winifrede took long sighing breaths of air. Her eyes were shining with enjoyment. "I like the quiet of it all," she told Marjorie. "I can understand the feeling that made the mediaeval hermits build their lonely little cells in peaceful, beautiful spots. Some of the Hindoos do the same to-day, and go and live in the forests to have time to meditate. When I'm getting old I'd like to come and take a cottage on this moor--not before, I think, because there's so very much I want to do in the world first, but when I feel I'm growing past my work, then will be the time to arrange my thoughts and slip into the spirit of the peace up here." "What kind of work do you want to do?" asked Marjorie. "I'm not sure yet. I'm leaving school, of course, at the end of this term, and I can't quite decide whether to go on to College or to begin something to help the war. Mrs. Morrison advises College. She says I could be far more help afterwards if I were properly qualified, and I dare say she's right, only I don't want to wait." "I'm just yearning to leave school and be a V.A.D., or drive an ambulance wagon," sympathized Marjorie. "My sister is out in France at canteen work," confided Winifrede. "It makes me fearfully envious when I have her letters and think what she's doing for the Tommies. I've three brothers at the front, and five cousins, and two more cousins were killed a year ago. My eldest brother has been wounded twice, and the youngest is in hospital now. I simply live for news of them all."