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 who was standing, and moved easily away at the end of this correct little speech.

“It is dreadfully dull for her when there is no company,” said Mrs Vincy, who was seated at the old lady’s side. “I am sure I thought so when Rosamond was ill, and I was staying with her. You know, Mrs Farebrother, ours is a cheerful house. I am of a cheerful disposition myself, and Mr Vincy always likes something to be going on. That is what Rosamond has been used to. Very different from a husband out at odd hours, and never knowing when he will come home, and of a close, proud disposition, I think”—indiscreet Mrs Vincy did lower her tone slightly with this parenthesis. “But Rosamond always had an angel of a temper; her brothers used very often not to please her, but she was never the girl to show temper; from a baby she was always as good as good, and with a complexion beyond anything. But my children are all good-tempered, thank God.”

This was easily credible to any one looking at Mrs Vincy as she threw back her broad cap-strings, and smiled towards her three little girls, aged from seven to eleven. But in that smiling glance she was obliged to include Mary Garth, whom the three girls had got into a corner to make her tell them stories. Mary was just finishing the delicious tale of Rumpelstiltskin, which she had well by heart, because Letty was never tired of communicating it to her ignorant elders from a favourite red volume. Louisa, Mrs Vincy’s darling, now ran to her with wide-eyed serious excitement, crying, “O mamma, mamma, the little man stamped so hard on the floor he couldn’t get his leg out again!”

“Bless you, my cherub!” said mamma; “you shall tell me all about it to-morrow. Go and listen!” and then, as her eyes followed Louisa back towards the attractive corner, she thought that if Fred wished her to invite Mary again she would make no objection, the children being so pleased with her.

But presently the corner became still more animated, for Mr Farebrother came in, and seating himself behind Louisa, took her on his lap; whereupon the girls all insisted that he must hear Rumpelstiltskin, and Mary must tell it over again. He insisted too, and Mary, without fuss, began again in her neat fashion, with precisely the same words as before. Fred, who had also seated himself near, would have felt unmixed triumph in Mary’s effectiveness if Mr Farebrother had not been looking at her with evident admiration, while he dramatised an intense interest in the tale to please the children.

“You will never care any more about my one-eyed giant, Loo,” said Fred at the end.

“Yes, I shall. Tell about him now,” said Louisa.

“Oh, I daresay; I am quite cut out. Ask Mr Farebrother.”

“Yes,” added Mary; “ask Mr Farebrother to tell you about the ants whose beautiful house was knocked down by a giant named Tom, and he thought they didn’t mind because he couldn’t hear them cry, or see them use their pocket-handkerchiefs.”