'The weeds are choking them, and they are dried up by the sun. Uncle Jack watered them every evening; don't you remember?'

'I'll tell you what we'll do, Katie. We'll pull up the weeds, and give them a good lot of water. Jack would be quite vexed to find them all dead.'

'But the ground is so dry that the weeds won't come up, and if we water them in the sun, they'll die.'

'Dear me, they're very easily killed! What can we do for them then?'

'Well, suppose we come out in the evening and water them well; then to-morrow evening we could clear away the weeds, and water them again, and tie them up neatly. Oh, mother says there is always something pleasant to do among flowers, and let us keep the garden spick and spandy.'

To all this Mrs. Mayne assented, and the garden proved a great resource, and brought the two together wonderfully. Mrs. Mayne began to interest herself in the dinner every day, and it was comical to hear Katie, who really did not care in the least, praise everything gravely. Moreover, her mind being roused, Aunt Cassie soon stirred up her crinolined handmaiden to greater diligence in sweeping and cleaning.

Before long, Mrs. Mayne could say with truth that Katie was a real comfort to her, and she became exceedingly fond of her. Katie read to her, sang to her, chattered to her, helped in the garden, looked after the fowl, and from pretending an interest in all this for Aunt Cassie's sake, began to take a real interest on her own account.

CHAPTER VII.

ROLAND.

HE Maid of Athens had made her outward voyage very well, and had left Buenos Ayres on her homeward way, but some time must still pass before she reached England, when one Sunday, as Katie and Mrs. Mayne were coming home from church, a young man in a shabby sailor suit, who was leaning against the door of a public-house, waiting, among others, for it to open after church hours, exclaimed:

Katie turned to look, but Mrs. Mayne tried to hurry her on, saying nervously :

'How very impertinent! Come on, my dear. I suppose he knows we've no one to take care of us, and'

But Katie had run back, and was laying hold on the shabby sailor, crying:

'Roland, Roland! is it really you? How glad, how very glad I am! Now I can make Uncle Bryan happy.'

'It's some mistake,' said the sailor gruffly. You don't know me, miss. I'm not your-I'm not Roland-not anybody you know.'

Now, don't be cross, Roland, because the crosser you

Roland; for you Aunt Cassie, this

You heard him

are the more I shall be sure you are always were a little cross, you know. is my cousin, Uncle Bryan's Roland. speak of him. Ask him to come home to dinner,' she whispered energetically. I must get him to write to Uncle Bryan.'

'But, my dear, a common sailor!' murmured Aunt Cassie; but Katie looked so imploring, and Aunt Cassie felt so sure that her Jack would approve, that in the same breath she said:

Mr. Lyle, come home with your cousin, and have a bit of dinner with us, if you don't mind a cold dinner, which we always have on Sunday.'

'Come, Roland; yes, you must come,' cried Katie, and, hustling her captive along between herself and her aunt, she fairly carried him off, to the amusement of the little knot of loungers among whom he had been standing.

'Ay, ay; let its little sister take it home,' sneered one ill-looking fellow; but an old man, with a terribly red nose, gave him a shove with his elbow, and said:

'Let him alone, will you? The road you're going isn't so pleasant, nor the end of it neither, that you need be so anxious for his company.'

So Katie carried off her prisoner. Arrived at Brook Villas, she took him to the pleasant sitting-room, while Aunt Cassie fussed away to see what small addition she could make to the already excellent dinner; for to have a guest, and not to make a difference in the dinner in his honour, was quite contrary to her code of good manners. Roland looked round the room, and sat down with a sigh. This is a pretty room, Katie.'

'Yes; but I'd rather have the keeping-room at home. It would comfort me to see it even once.'