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“Are you girls always as good as this?” asked Mrs. Garden on the third day after her arrival. Her tone expressed something akin to despair.

“Don’t you ever frolic, do anything young, perhaps something you ought not to do? You’re like my grandmothers.”

Mary and Jane laughed, glancing at each other.

“We’re being good purposely, you know,” said Jane. “It isn’t an accident.”

“Very likely Florimel is in mischief this minute,” Mary added consolingly. “She’s always likely to be, and it’s a good while since she has travelled off a walk.”

“How did you happen to name Mel that, madrina?” asked Jane. “Nobody else has that name.”

“I thought it pretty. The Gardens named you two; it was my turn to name a baby. Flori