boarders, so she came off very well indeed in the matter of presents. Her home people had also remembered her, and many interesting parcels arrived for her during the course of the morning. Between four and half-past, in the afternoon, she was taking a run round the garden in company with a few friends, when she spied the postman walking briskly up the drive.
"I expect he's got something more for me," she exclaimed, and dived under the laurels to take a short cut to the drive and intercept him.
"Give me the letters, please! It's my birthday!" she said breathlessly.
"Only three this afternoon, missy! Don't know whether any of 'em's for you or not," said the man, laughing.
"Let me see! Yes! yes! I'll take them, please. It's all right."
Not sorry to save the extra walk to the house, the postman departed. He was late, and had a long round before he could return home. Daisy was looking eagerly at the letters. One, a thin foreign envelope, was addressed to Miss Gipsy Latimer, and that she thrust hastily into her coat pocket; the other two were for herself. They both contained postal orders, which elevated her to such heights of satisfaction that she never gave a thought to the letter she had stuffed in her pocket: indeed, in her excitement she had put it away so automatically that the incident faded from her memory almost as soon as it happened. She rushed into the house in a state of
