She had had it for a number of years.

She was a little woman, all skin and bone, with dried withered
cheeks, a large brown nose and protruding ears. Her face had formed
severe lines in self-defence against her brother, but her eyes were
mild, and when she smiled her mouth was rather pleasantly pathetic.

"Oh, she'll never do," thought Mrs. Cole, as she looked at her
dripping in the hall.

"I can't think how I forgot it, said the poor lady, her mind fixed
upon her umbrella. "They said that perhaps they would find it for
me, but there was a man in my carriage, I remember, who will most
certainly have taken it--and it was a nice one with a silver
handle."

"Never mind," said Mrs. Cole cheerfully, "I'm sure they'll find it.
You must come up to the nursery--or the schoolroom I suppose we must
call it now; there's a lovely fire there, and we'll both have tea
with the children to-day, so as to feel at home, all of us, as
quickly as possible."

What Miss Jones wanted was to lie down on a bed in a dark room and
try and conquer her neuralgia. The thought of a lighted nursery
filled her with dismay. However, first impressions are so important.
She pulled herself together.

The children had heard the arrival; they waited in a bunch by the
fire, their eyes partly fixed on the door, partly on the strawberry
jam that they were allowed to-day as a treat in the new governess's