Chauncery was an old-fashioned house standing in a beautiful garden
surrounded by fields and woods. If Mollie could have had a companion
of her own age, she would have been perfectly happy there, in spite
of frustrated ambitions and the trial of not being allowed to read;
but the very word "measles" frightened away the neighbours, so that
no one came to keep her company, and she sometimes felt very lonely.
Nevertheless, she had accommodated herself to circumstances, and,
between playing golf with Aunt Mary, driving the fat pony, and
learning to milk the pretty Guernsey cows, she managed to "put in a
very decent time", as she expressed it. Till this third misfortune
befell her.

"First measles, then eyes, and now a sprained ankle," she sighed to
Aunt Mary on the morning after her accident; "what _can_ I do to
pass the time? It's all very well for Baden-Powell to talk, but I
can't sing and laugh all day for a week; it would drive you crazy if
I did. I have smiled till my mouth aches. What shall I do next?"

"You poor chicken!" Aunt Mary exclaimed, with the most comforting
sympathy. "You have had a run of bad luck and no mistake! We must
invent something. You can't read and you can't sew--how about
knitting? Suppose we knit a scarf in school colours for Dick, or a
jumper for yourself to wear when you are better? I could get wool in
the village. That would do to begin with, till I think of something
better."

Mollie agreed that it certainly would be better than doing nothing,
though hardly an exciting occupation for an active girl of thirteen.
So the scarf was set agoing, whilst Grannie read aloud, and the