"I say, girls, we’ll make some things, won’t we, when we get back?" said Monica, as the quartette wended their way homewards. "Oh, yes!" cried Amethyst and Elsa, simultaneously; and if Olive said nothing, her voice was not missed. "And we’ll get a lot of the High School girls to join us." "I wish Miss Daverel lived at Osmington," said Elsa wistfully; "she would show us just what to do." "Oh, she is wanted in China," was Monica’s decisive reply; "she can’t possibly be spared from there. I daresay we shall be able to make the things by her directions, and we’ll send them to her to give away." "Mother will help, I’m sure," said Amethyst. "And Lois, too," added Elsa; "she cuts out splendidly, and makes the stuff go ever so far, because she fits everything in so well." "It is evident we must begin to save up our pocket-money," said Monica, "because there will be a lot of things to buy, and we want to give it all ourselves, don’t we, girls?" And again, in the eager assent that Monica’s words called forth, if one voice was silent, it passed unnoticed. *CHAPTER XIX.* *"YOU TELL THEM, LOIS; I COULDN’T."* "There is not likely to be any letter for us, this morning, as we are going home to-morrow," said Elsa, the next morning, as the girls stood in the bay window, watching the postman delivering his missives at practically every house in the steep road which led up to Rocklands. They usually filled up the few minutes before breakfast, while waiting for Mrs. Beauchamp’s appearance, in this way. "I hardly expect there will be one for any of us," said Monica, "unless there should be one from dad forwarded on." "He’s coming in our gate," said Olive; and a few seconds later a maid entered, with one solitary letter on a salver. "For Mrs. Beauchamp, miss." "Very well, Ada;" and the girl withdrew, as Mrs. Beauchamp entered. "Only one letter for you, grannie." Somehow, Monica had slipped into the way of calling her grandmother thus, lately, and the shortened form was by no means unpleasant to Mrs. Beauchamp. "Just cut it open for me, Elsa, my dear," said the old lady to her "little right hand," as she called her; "while I pour out the coffee." And Elsa, preparing to do as she was asked, picked up the letter. But as she did so, she observed the writing, and with wonder in her tones, she exclaimed: "I think it must be from Lois!" and she cut it open hastily, a nameless fear taking possession of her. "Thank you, my dear, I will see what it says," said Mrs. Beauchamp, as she adjusted her pince-nez; "possibly it is some arrangement about your return home." She spoke quietly, but she felt otherwise, for she, too, had a presentiment of impending trouble. With eyes which seemed ready to devour her, Elsa watched Mrs. Beauchamp’s face, while she hastily scanned the short letter, and something in its expression made her heart beat with great thumps.