A CONTINUOUS PERFORMANCE BELINDA paused in the doorway of the Primary School room, which adjoined her bedroom, and stared in amazement at the five scribes. The girls were absorbed in their writing, but the Youngest Teacher was reasonably certain that a fine frenzy of studiousness was not the explanation of the phenomenon. When had Amelia and her "set" ever devoted recreation hour to voluntary study? Suddenly Amelia put down her pen, sat back in her chair and spoke. "I simply will not have Aunt Ellen ride in the third carriage. So there! She'll think she ought to because she's one of the nearest relatives, but I can't bear her, and I don't care whether she goes to the funeral at all. I'd a good deal rather put May Morton in with cousin Jennie, and cousin Sue, and Uncle Will." "It'll make an awful fuss in the family," protested Laura May, while all the girls stopped writing to consider the problem. "I don't care if it does," said Amelia stoutly. "Well, I don't know," Blanche White put in, nibbling the end of her pen reflectively. "Seems as if everything ought to be sort of sweet and solemn and Christian at a time like that." "Christian nothing!" Opposition only strengthened Amelia's opinion. "I'd like to know whose funeral it is anyhow! If you can't have your way about your own funeral it's a funny thing. I never did like Aunt Ellen. She's always telling tales on me and saying that Mamma lets me have too much freedom, and talking about the way girls were brought up when she was young. Mamma makes me be nice to her because she's papa's sister, but when I'm dead I can be honest about her--and anyway if there's a family fuss about it, I'll be out of it. I'm not going to plan any place at all for Aunt Ellen in the carriages." "Your father'll put her in with the rest of the family." "No, he won't--not if I fill every single seat and say that it's my last solemn wish that people should ride just that way." "For charity's sake, girls, tell me what it all means," urged Belinda, seating herself at one of the small desks and eyeing the sheets of paper covered with schoolgirl hieroglyphics. "We're writing our wills, Miss Carewe," said Amelia with due solemnity. "Your wills?" "Yes; I think everybody ought to do it, don't you? I told the girls we all had things we'd like to leave to certain people, and of course we want our funerals arranged to suit us, and there's no telling when anybody may die. It seems to me it's right to be prepared even if we are young." The five looked preternaturally solemn, and Belinda wrestled triumphantly with her mirth. Much of her success with the girls was due to the fact that she usually met their vagaries with outward seriousness, if with inward glee.