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 an unconquerable desire to laugh at the effects of it. Her sunny temper was never ruffled by the vexatious queries so annoying to her mother's childhood. Having blue eyes and curly hair, she resembled her somewhat, yet not so—much as that picture of her father's which first arrested Walter's attention and opened the way for their acquaintance. She sometimes visited her father's studio, but only to misplace every thing she could lay her hands upon and add variety to his sketches after her own plan. The whole house was at her command and she reigned queen over them all, for no one could think of being impatient with the source of so much happiness. Mr. Livingston seemed quite like himself again, and Kate, who had been the impersonation of gravity since the death of Lilly, finding no words to express her grief, made the house ring with music as she kept time to the patter of childish glee. This was better fun than criticising Milly's novel, a theme already exhausted for her, and she seldom intruded into that sanctum now. Better also than settling the troubles of young house-keepers, or enumerating "Sykes" adventures. Such is the unconscious power of childhood.

"Will mother have a full blown rose this morning?" said Mr. Livingston as he brought her in crowned for the first time with a wreath of flowers as he had often crowned Lilly in her babyhood. Her rosy, dimpled cheeks and joyous laugh showed how fully and keenly she entered into the lively appreciation of every pleasure the physical world affords. Hear her now as she gives a jerk to free her hands