"Don't spill that jam, Robina. See, you are dropping the juice on the table-cloth. Now then, what is your news? I don't suppose it is worth anything." "To begin with: I am going away on a visit in a fortnight." "Indeed?" said Miss Jennings. "That is so likely: little girls do go away on visits without the permission of their elders. That is the modern tendency, I am well aware, but it has not taken root in this house so far." "Mr Durrant has invited me," said Robina, "and I know father and mother will let me go: I am not a bit afraid on that point. Mr Durrant will manage it." "Who is Mr Durrant?" "He is _the_ Durrant, you know: everyone speaks of him. He is one of the greatest men in England at the present day." Miss Jennings stared hard at her niece. "Up to the present," she said, "I always did think you were truthful: but I cannot quite believe that the great African explorer, whose thrilling book I could scarcely lay down when once I began to read it, would take any notice of an inconsequent, silly little girl like yourself." "Oh, but he has," said Robina, in a careless tone. "He is very fond of me. I am his little boy's mother, you know." "Robina: don't open your lips for the remainder of this meal. Lies I will not stand." Robina whispered `prism' under her breath, and sat mute with her hands folded. After a time, Miss Jennings asked if she wished for anything more. She shook her head. "Are you satisfied? Are you no longer hungry?" Robina nodded. "Then leave the room." Robina did so. The next minute she was out of the house, and had rushed round to the stables. "Jim!" she said to the man who had charge of the old grey horse and the very humble chaise which was the only conveyance known at Heather House--the name of Robina's home. "Jim: there is a very beautiful pony coming here to-morrow; or he may not arrive till the next day. He is mine; and I want him to have a stable all to himself, and I want to hire a proper groom to see after him. Do you know any nice boy in the village who can be trained to look after my pony?" Jim, who had always a secret admiration for Miss Robina as a fine, manly sort of young lady who could ride old Dobbin bareback from the time she could walk, and whom he had secretly provided with many a less safe seat on neighbours' horses, now answered with alacrity: "You don't mean, miss, as Mr Starling has gone and bought you a pony of your own?" "No, Jim; nothing of the sort. It is such a comfort to confide in you, Jim: I _won_ the pony as a prize at school." "Lawk-a-mercy!" said Jim: "what queer prizes they do have at that school, now!" "Shall I tell you how I won it? I was good to a child." "Lor! miss."