"First come, first served, my dear," replied one of the elder girls condescendingly, as she returned a serve gaily, but so carelessly, that the ball was netted, and her partner groaned, as the umpire scored "forty--love." "Well, let’s have a game of fives, Monica," suggested Olive, as they left the tennis players. But, alas! the fives courts were all filled by then, so there was no amusement left but to saunter about the large playground arm-in-arm, as several of the others were doing, some, like themselves, in couples, and some in school-girl fashion, in strings of four, or even five. "What do you do on Saturdays, Olive?" said Monica, as they left the tennis players behind them, and strolled round the quieter part of the playground, that nearest to Miss Buckingham’s house. "Oh! all sorts of things. In the summer we have picnics in Disbrowe woods, and sometimes on the river, when my brothers are home." "You never told me you had any brothers but Pat," said Monica, in surprise. "Are they older than you?" "Haven’t I? Why, yes--Roger, that’s the one at St. Adrian’s Hospital, is twenty-two, and Dick is seventeen. He’s with an uncle of ours who is an auctioneer. They’ll both be home in August, and we can have some lovely picnics then, if Mrs. Beauchamp will let you come." "I expect I shall have to go to the seaside with her again, like we did last year," was Monica’s gloomy reply. "She always goes to Sandyshore for a whole month, because it’s quiet and restful, she says. It’s a hateful little place, _I_ think--no niggers, or band, or anything to amuse you all day long. I do wish we needn’t go there this year." "Oh, dear," sighed Olive lugubriously, "I wish I had half a chance of a month by the dear, darling sea! We are so dreadfully poor that father can never afford a holiday at the seaside for us. At least, we haven’t been for years, though we did have a fortnight once, when Elsa and I were about eight or nine, but it is so long ago I can hardly remember it." "Wouldn’t it be awfully jolly if grandmother would let you come with us?" said Monica eagerly. "If pigs might fly!" was her friend’s merry response, as the bell clanging out warned them that "rec." was over. "Olive Franklyn, I want you a minute." The girl turned round at the sound of her name, and saw Lily Howell beckoning to her mysteriously from a little distance. "Whatever does she want? I suppose I must go and see," said Olive, as she slipped her arm out of her companion’s. "I’ll catch you up in half a minute, Monica." "All right; I’m glad she doesn’t want me. I can’t bear that girl." "Nor I." Monica went leisurely round the corner towards the entrance the girls generally used; several of them, hurrying past, advised her not to be late. "I’m just coming," she said, and turned back to look for Olive. There was no one in sight now, except a girl called Maggie Masters, who came flying round the corner in great haste.