“In light of sun, in gleam of snow
    Myself I bind;
    In speed of lightning, in depth of sea
    In swiftness of wind. 
    God’s Might to uphold me,
    God’s Wisdom to guide,
    God’s shield to protect me
    In desert and wild.”

* * *

    “Christ with me, before me,
    Behind me and in me,
    O Threeness in Oneness
    I praise and adore Thee.”

“In Ireland it is sometimes called the Shamrock Hymn,” said Miss Huntley, “because St. Patrick used the little green shamrock leaf to explain to the chiefs the doctrine of the Holy Trinity.  The original is in a very ancient dialect of the Irish Celtic, and was preserved in an old manuscript book written on parchment.  It always reminds me of the ‘Benedicite omnia opera’ of our prayer-book; the thought is the same in both:  ‘O ye spirits and souls of the righteous, bless ye the Lord’ is about the sum of it all.”

Except for the trifling trouble of vaccination, the effects of which in most cases were soon over, the quarantine party enjoyed radiant health.  Dr. Barnes came twice a week to inspect, and Nurse Robinson kept a vigilant watch for headaches, back-aches, and sickness.  None of these symptoms appeared, however, and all began to congratulate themselves that the infection had been avoided.  There was a burst of warm weather at the beginning of July, which made the hill breezes of Dunheath highly acceptable.  It was too hot during the daytime to play active games; the girls lounged about under the shade of the trees, and read the illustrated papers with which they were kept plentifully supplied.

“I’ve never really had time before to study the toilet hints,” said Beatrice Howell one afternoon, poring over a certain page headed “My Lady’s Boudoir.”  “It seems to me that we ought to take our complexions more seriously.  We actually wash our faces with soap and water, and ‘Lady Veronica’ says here that that’s an absolutely suicidal practice for delicate skins.  She gives all kinds of recipes for what one should do.  I wish I could have a few lessons in face massage.  I wonder how hard one ought to rub?  And why a downward movement all the time?” (Beatrice was stroking her cheeks contemplatively as she spoke.) “Why mayn’t you rub upwards?”

“The Princess recommends gentle pinching,” said Mollie Hill, who was studying the columns of a rival paper, “and then an application of Mrs. Courtenay’s lavender cream.  We ought to be careful not to get freckled or sunburnt.  ‘Lady Marjorie’ gives some splendid prescriptions against both.  I wonder how the papers always get the aristocracy to write their Beauty Hints?  I shouldn’t have thought they’d have condescended to reveal their secrets!”

“My good girl!  Don’t flatter yourself that either ‘Lady Veronica’ or ‘Lady Marjorie’ is a member of the aristocracy,” chuckled Bessie Kirk.  “They’re probably most plebeian and dowdy-looking individuals living in Bloomsbury boarding-houses, with pasty complexions and freckled noses, and they get a percentage on the preparations they recommend.  If you notice, they always tell you to use Mrs. Somebody’s pomade or face cream, and it’s generally very expensive.”