‘You may have a chance,’ said Lady Merrifield, ‘for here is a note from Mrs. Blackburn to ask if I will be so very kind as to let them have the festival here. They had reckoned upon Tillington Park, where they have always had it before, but they hear that all the little Tillingtons have the measles, and they don’t think it safe to venture there.’ ‘It will be great fun!’ said Gillian. ‘We will have all sorts of games, only I’m afraid they will be much stupider than the Irish girls.’ ‘And ever so much stupider than the dear 111th children,’ sighed Mysie. ‘Aren’t they all great big girls?’ asked Valetta, disconsolately. ‘I believe twelve years old is the limit,’ said her mother. ‘Twelve-year-old girls have plenty of play in them, Vals, haven’t they, Mysie? Let me see--two hundred and thirty of them.’ ‘For you to feast?’ asked Harry. ‘Oh, no--that cost comes out of their own funds, Mrs. Blackburn takes care to tell me, and Miss Hacket will find some one in Siverfold who will provide tables and forms and crockery. I must go down and talk to Miss Hacket as soon as lessons are over. Or perhaps it would save time and trouble if I wrote and asked her to come up to luncheon and see the capabilities of the place. Why, what’s the matter?’ pausing at the blank looks. ‘The jam, mamma--the blackberry jam!’ cried Valetta. ‘Well?’ ‘We can’t do it without Gill, and she will have to be after that Miss Constance,’ explained Val. ‘Oh! never mind. She won’t stay all the afternoon,’ said Gillian, cheerfully. ‘Luncheon people don’t.’ ‘Yes, but then there will be lessons to be learnt.’ ‘Look here, Val,’ said Gillian, ‘if you and Mysie will learn your lessons for tomorrow while I’m bound to Miss Con., I’ll do mine some time in the evening, and be free for the jam when she is gone.’ ‘The dear delicious jam!’ cried Val, springing about upon her chair; and Lady Merrifield further said-- ‘I wonder whether Mysie and Dolores would like to take the note down. They could bring back a message by word of mouth.’ ‘Oh, thank you, mamma!’ cried Mysie. ‘Then I will write the note as soon as we have done breakfast. Don’t dawdle, Fergus boy.’ ‘Mayn’t I go?’ demanded Wilfred. ‘No, my dear. It is your morning with Mr. Poulter. And you must take care not to come back later than eleven, Mysie dear; I cannot have him kept waiting. Dolores, do you like to go?’ ‘Yes, please,’ said Dolores, partly because it was at any rate gain to escape from that charity-school lesson in the morning, and partly because Valetta was looking at her in the ardent hope that she would refuse the privilege of the walk, and it therefore became valuable; but there was so little alacrity in her voice that her aunt asked her whether she were quite rested and really liked the walk, which would be only half a mile to the outskirts of the town. Dolores hated personal inquiries beyond everything, and replied that she was quite well, and didn’t mind.