two years older than her sister.

"Will you--" began to burst from Etheldred's lips again, but was
stifled by Miss Winter's inquiry, "Is your mamma pretty well to-day?"

"Oh! very well," said both at once; "she is coming to the reading."
And Flora added, "Papa is going to drive her out to-day."

"I am very glad. And the baby?"

"I do believe she does it on purpose!" whispered Ethel to herself,
wriggling fearfully on the wide window-seat on which she had
precipitated herself, and kicking at the bar of the table, by which
manifestation she of course succeeded in deferring her hopes, by a
reproof which caused her to draw herself into a rigid, melancholy
attitude, a sort of penance of decorum, but a rapid motion of the
eyelids, a tendency to crack the joints of the fingers, and an
unquietness at the ends of her shoes, betraying the restlessness of
the digits therein contained.

It was such a room as is often to be found in old country town
houses, the two large windows looking out on a broad old-fashioned
street, through heavy framework, and panes of glass scratched with
various names and initials. The walls were painted blue, the
skirting almost a third of the height, and so wide at the top as to
form a narrow shelf. The fireplace, constructed in the days when
fires were made to give as little heat as possible, was ornamented
with blue and white Dutch tiles bearing marvellous representations of
Scripture history, and was protected by a very tall green guard; the
chairs were much of the same date, solid and heavy, the seats in