fruit sent to us once a week, but papa said it was to be preserved."
"I hate preserves," says Jack, "nasty apologies for fresh fruit; blackberry jam's good though?"
"Did you ever make jam sloes?" I ask George Tempest, "that cleaves to the roof of your mouth and won't be swallowed?"
"Never! Did you?"
"Once, but we only made one pot, and it lasted years; whenever we were very hungry, and quite at our wit's end, we used to take it out and look at it, but never got any further, and at last it withered up. I wish I knew where to get some blackberries now, large juicy, soft ones, like raspberries; but it's full early, I don't think we'll get any worth having before September."
"I saw a lot this morning," says George, as I was riding across the lower———("Jack!" calls mother in the distance, "I want you.")—landslip," finishes George as Jack goes. "Would you like to go and get some?"
"So much!" I say quickly. "Are there many?"
"I think so; why cannot you and Dolly come with me to-morrow morning?"
"We are forbidden to go out alone," I say thoughtfully; "you won't mind Amberley coming?"
"Indeed, I shall," he says laughing. "What do you want with that stupid old woman? We could have such a jolly morning."
"So we could," I say, considering; "I think I could dodge her all right; but how about the governor?"
"He goes for a ride sometimes."
"Yes, but not always. Supposing he were to inquire for us and we were missing?"
"What then?"
"What then? Oh, nothing! A vision rises before me of the
