Sunday afternoon was hopelessly wet; but the fact was less regretted than usual, as from three to four was the time put aside for writing home. So far a postcard to announce safe arrival had been the only word written, and each girl was eager to pour forth her feelings at length, to tell the latest news, and report changes of class. The two new- comers had a score of complaints and lamentations to record, and Rhoda, at least, entered unhesitatingly into the recital. She had never been so miserable in her life. The girls were hateful, domineering, and unfriendly--Miss Bruce had spoken to her three times only--the food was good enough in its way, but so plain that she simply longed for something _nice_; the lessons were difficult, the hours unbearably long.--It took three whole sheets to complete the list of grievances, by which time her hand was so tired that she read it over by way of a rest, with the result that she was quite astonished to discover how miserable she had been! Everything she had said was true, and yet somehow the impression given was of a depth of woe which she could not honestly say she had experienced. Perhaps it was that she had omitted to mention the alleviating circumstances--Miss Everett's sweetness, Fraulein's praise, hours of relaxation in the grounds, signs of softening on the part of the girls, early hours and regular exercises, which sent her to the simple meals with an appetite she had never known at home. Five days at school, and on the whole there had been as much pleasure as suffering. Then, was it quite fair to send home such a misleading account? Rhoda drew from her pocket the latest of the five loving letters penned by the maternal hand, and read it through for the dozenth time. Sunday was a lonely day for new-comers, and the period occupied by the sermon in church had been principally occupied by Rhoda in pressing back the tears which showed a presumptuous desire to roll down her cheeks and splash upon her gloves. It had been a sweet consolation to read over and over again the words which showed that though she might be one of a crowd at "Hurst," she was still the treasured darling of her home. There was nothing original in the letter; it simply repeated in different words the contents of its four predecessors--sorrow for her absence, prayers for her welfare, anxiety for the first long letter.