"Tell me all about your life in South America. It is so interesting. I want to hear what your house was like, and your black servants, and the forest and the queer animals. Have you no pictures of them all?" I had not, but I wrote at once to my father, who sent me a charming series of views of the neighbourhood, and enough pocket-money with them for me to be lavish in the matter of frames, so my walls were soon hung with remembrances of my old home. Our bedrooms at The Hollies were rather a feature of the school. They were so arranged that the two little beds and the washstand could be screened off by a curtain, leaving the rest as a sitting-room. A table and two chairs stood in the window, and during the summer term we were allowed to prepare our lessons here instead of in the school-room, a privilege we much appreciated, but which was at once forfeited if we were caught talking during the study hours. It was a point of honour for each girl to make her bedroom as pretty as possible, and we vied with one another in the way of photo-frames, artistic table-covers, book-shelves, mats, and china ornaments. We were allowed to buy flowers on Saturday mornings for our vases, and must have been quite a source of income to the funny old man at a certain stall in the market, who kept us plentifully supplied according to the season. "What was you wantin'? Don't know 'em, leastways by that name," as I enquired for lilacs. "Oh, ay, _loy_lacs! Here you have 'em, purple and white, and no charge extry for smell. Roses? I can bring 'em next week, both Glory Johns and Jack Minnots" (he meant Gloire de Dijon and Jacqueminots!). "Sweet peas is gettin' on gradely, and Fair Maids o' France, just ready for the fair maids who buy 'em!" with an attempt at a compliment which was severely repressed by Miss Percy, who whisked us away in a hurry lest the old man should become "too familiar".