“Wish I hadn’t got no conscience! Tiresome, presuming thing that it is—always poking itself forward and making remarks when it isn’t wanted. I suppose I shall have to go, and run about from morning till night, holding a pair of scissors and nasty little balls of string, for Rosalind’s use! Genius indeed! What’s the use of talking about genius? I know very well I shall not be allowed to do anything but run about and wait upon her. It’s no use staring at me, Mrs. Asplin. I mean it all—every single word.” “No, you don’t, Peggy! No, you don’t, my little kind, warm-hearted Peggy! I know better than that! It’s just that foolish tongue that is running away with you, dearie. In your heart you are pleased to do a service for a friend, and are going to put your whole strength into doing it as well and tastefully as it can be done.” “I’m not! I’m not! I’m not! I’m savage, and it’s no use pretending——” “Yes, you are! I know it! What is the good of having a special gift if one doesn’t put it to good use? Ah, that’s the face I like to see! I didn’t recognise my Peggy with that ugly frown. I’ll write and say you’ll come with pleasure.” “It’s to please you, then, not Rosalind!” said Peggy obstinately. But Mrs. Asplin only laughed, dropped a kiss upon her cheek, and walked away to answer the invitation forthwith. (_To be continued._) ABSENCE. BY INA NOEL. I call to thee across the space that lies Between us now and keeps thee from my eyes; But, like a tired swallow on the sea, Words fall and die, unheard alas! by thee. No tone of mine can reach thee now, belov’d, No sound of human voice will bridge the deep, Only my spirit calling through the dark May stir a smile upon thy lips in sleep. [Illustration] THREE GIRL-CHUMS, AND THEIR LIFE IN LONDON ROOMS. BY FLORENCE SOPHIE DAVSON. CHAPTER V. THE MARCH WIND BLOWS. “Well, Jane, tell us something interesting,” said Ada, as the trio sat toasting their toes before the fire on a gusty evening in March. Jane yawned, and the wind whistled eerily round the house. “I can’t think of anything,” she said, after a minute or two. “My head feels as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. I wish this wind would go down.” “You have not told us any anecdotes of your children for ever so long. How are the little things getting on?” “A detachment of volunteers came to drill in the school yard this afternoon, and they were all longing to look out of the windows and watch.” “Why could you not let them?” “Oh, they never settle down to their work properly if interruptions like that are allowed,” said Jane, getting more wide awake. “Are your classes full?”