It looked desolate this morning, perhaps because there leapt to her
fancy the animated picture it had presented the day before, when it
had been filled by a crowd of pupils (dressed in their best), their
admiring parents and friends.

Yesterday's programme had followed that of all other girls' school
breaking-up celebrations, with the difference that the passages
selected for recital had been wholly culled from the writings of Mr
Ruskin. Reference to the same personage had occurred in the speech
to the prize-winners (every girl in the school had won a prize of
sorts) made by Mr Smiley, the curate, who performed this office;
also, the Misses Mee, when opportunity served, had not been backward
in making copious references to the occasion on which they had drunk
tea with the deceased author. Indeed, the parents and friends had
breathed such an atmosphere of Ruskin that there were eight requests
for his works at the local free library during the following week.

"Good old Ruskin!" laughed Mavis, as she ran downstairs to the
breakfast room, which was situated in the basement. Here, the only
preparation made for the meal was a not too clean table-cloth spread
upon the table. Mavis went into the kitchen, where she found Amelia,
the general servant, doing battle with a smoky kitchen-fire.

"How long before breakfast is ready?" asked Mavis.

"Is that you, miss? Oi can't see you properly," said Amelia, as she
turned her head. "This 'ere smoke had got into my best oye."

Amelia spoke truly; there was a great difference between the seeing