gay as a lark, and as fond of variety as any butterfly. One moment she would be gleefully scampering along the slippery oakfloored passages in full pursuit of Crossley's ill-favoured cat, or awakening the echoes of some unoccupied chamber in the most outof-the-way part of the house; the next, she might have been found in the library, sitting upon Mr. Faversham's knee, quietly listening to his conversation, or perhaps consulting him with an air of the utmost gravity as to what particular costume she should select from her Polly's extensive wardrobe to replace the fashionably-made one in which the doll was at that instant arrayed, but which Lily would suddenly pronounce old and ugly.

And, although Mr. Faversham could not be expected to evince any great interest in such a trifling affair, he never checked her by word or deed. Only sometimes, while she was talking to him in her quaint confiding way, a curious expression, half tender, half bitter, would flit over his face-the tenderness being for her, the bitterness all for himself; that he should have lived so long, and yet known so

little of those kindly emotions for which she evidently gave him credit; and that the simple truths which even to her baby mind seemed real and convincing should be dim and obscure to his more complex understanding.

The secret of Lily's influence, probably, lay in her being so totally unconscious of it. Her word soon became law, but she never seemed to be aware of the fact !-never took the smallest advantage of the indulgence shown her, or evinced any symptom of being spoiled by all the praise and admiration which were so freely lavished upon her.

It was natural for her to ask for what she wanted, and give utterance to her own childish thoughts, and feelings, and opinions; therefore she did it. It was also natural for her to be petted and made much of, so that she accepted Mr. Faversham's attentions and the servants' caresses quite as a matter of course, without for a moment supposing that it could possibly be a subject of surprise to any one.

But although Lily was, as a rule, the merriest little creature imaginable, full of life

and enjoyment, seeing beauty and brightness in everything, bestowing sunshine and smiles wherever she went, there were times when she sadly pined for her mother; and on those occasions it required all Crossley's powers of persuasion, as well as a vast amount of coaxing on the part of Mary, to reconcile her to the separation.

For a while Mr. Faversham was kept in ignorance of this touching proof of the child's affectionate disposition; but one night he happened to be passing Lily's room about an hour after she had retired to rest, and, hearing a muffled sound as of some one in distress, he opened the door, and went in.

He found the poor child alone, sitting up in her bed, with her face hidden in her hands-crying bitterly.

It was some time before he could discover the nature of her grief, so incoherent were the replies she gave to his anxious inquiries; but she managed at length to make him understand that she had been dreaming of her mamma!

"And then I just woke up," she explained, with a fresh burst of tears, "and thought I

should see her; but she isn't here at all, and Lily does want her so!"

A long, weary sigh wound up the sentence; and Mr. Faversham, who scarcely knew how to comfort her under such an unexpected calamity, put his hand softly upon her bowed head, and tried by a few gentle, soothing words, to induce her to forget her disappointment.

When he saw that every attempt he made to turn her thoughts into another channel was ineffectual, he took up a large, warm shawl which lay on a chair beside the bed, and, wrapping it closely around her, carried her down to the library, hoping he might in this way be more successful in creating a diversion in the poor child's mind.

For a considerable time, however, he appeared to make no progress; for though Lily clung to him as fondly as ever, and seemed to derive a certain degree of comfort from his kindness and sympathy, yet every now and then the tears would begin afresh, and the piteous wailing cry burst from the little loving heart-"Oh, ganpa! Lily does so want to see her own mamma."

By-and-by a bright thought flashed across Mr. Faversham's brain. He remembered the strange question which Lily had with such startling abruptness put to him when she first made her appearance in that very room; and being by this time, thanks to her own ingenuousness, sufficiently conversant with her character to know the kind of argument which would be most likely to influence her, he resolved on reminding her of what had then occurred.

"Don't you think it would vex your mamma if she knew you were crying?" he asked, in rather a grave voice.

"Why doesn't she come to me?" moaned the child; "she said she would, and she hasn't!

"Did she say she would come?" inquired Mr. Faversham, with a sudden start, and contraction of his brows.

"Yes," replied Lily, in a tone of sorrowful reproach; "she told me to be good, and then she p❜omised she would take Lily home again some day."

"Very well, then," said Mr. Faversham, forcing himself to speak cheerfully, though