Out of doors she was the merriest among us, and grandmamma would often say to Lottie that she was ever so much older than Miss Grant, because she would walk soberly about with a book, while Miss Grant was having all sorts of fun with the boys.  At last she, too, caught the infection, and then we all had the merriest romps together!  How well I remember those early summer days, and the luxury of flowers everywhere.  Is there anything so happy-looking, so full of overflowing delight, as the long grass, and the buttercups and daisies, hawthorn and bluebells?  We thought ourselves very wise about flowers then, and had very decided opinions on the proper blending of colours.  Miss Grant was teaching us this, and even now, when I see any one making a nosegay of wild-flowers, I fancy myself running up to her with a handful of bright things, to watch in my eagerness how they were in a minute turned into the beautiful bouquet that nobody could equal or copy.

She had been with us some time, when one morning we had a visitor come to spend the day at Beecham.  This lady was not old, yet she had the most wrinkled, aged face I ever saw.  When she was gone, Harry, who never minded what he said, asked grandmamma about her, and cried out in surprise when he heard that she had been his own father’s playfellow.

“You think Mrs. Mowbray looks double as old as papa, do you?” said grandmamma.  “Ah, it is trouble that has aged her.  You would not wonder at all those lines and wrinkles if you knew all the sorrow and grief her own poor boys have given her through their sin and wilfulness!”

Lottie and I looked at each other, and then glanced slily at Miss Grant, but I don’t think she noticed us.  When we were alone again, we resolved that we would try ever so hard to be good.

“Because, you know, Sissy, it wouldn’t be nice if Miss Grant were to get her face all puckered and creasy like that, just as if it wanted ironing out, as Susette did with my frock when Murray scrunched it all up under his pillow to hide it.  But I suppose you couldn’t iron out your face!”

Anyhow, I agreed with Lottie not to run any risks, and I do not think we did.  At least, all my memories of that happy year at Beecham are mingled with the bright, merry, gentle friend who made easy all the lessons that could be easy, and gave me courage for those that had to be hard; and against whose shoulder I loved to nestle, and listen to Bible-stories with those little hints in them which always set me thinking of my own faults and duties, and made me long to do right, and be the good little Christian girl she wished me to be.

Little reader, dear, are you making lines on anybody’s forehead?

VII.

HURRAH FOR THE HOLIDAYS!

And yet, however pleasant lessons might be, there is no doubt that holidays were pleasant things, too.  Saturday afternoons were always welcome, and all the weeks through we were planning what we would do when they came.  Of course these plans were sometimes upset by a rainy day; but, even then, what with battledore and shuttlecock, painting and spinning tops, we contrived to make out the time very happily.