At present the water is generally nearly a mile out from the sea-bank; yet in 1870 there were some very high tides, and many people were afraid they would rise over the bank, in which case all that part of the coast would have been laid under water for miles inland. Such a thing has happened there more than once, and it has been terrible. It is curious to trace the lines of the old sea-banks built at different times along the coast. There is one scarcely a mile from the present bank; and a long straight road which runs through the Marsh, passing just behind our old home, is still called Sea-dyke (Seddick) Road, and was once a sea-bank. These banks are not now called dykes. In the Marsh a dyke is something like what in most other counties you call a ditch; and the great dykes, which are in fact small canals, are called drains. With this bit of explanation, which I hope you have not found dull, I will go on with my story.

At seven o'clock on the next morning after our arrival at Chapel Mere, there came a violent thump at my door while I was dressing; and before I could answer, Mervyn burst into the room.

'Bridget,' he exclaimed in great excitement, 'come into the yard with me. Frank's there, and he's worrying the chickens, and we can't stop him!'

'I'll come,' I said, hurrying on my dress, and flinging all my hair over my shoulders, with the comfortable

reflection that I need not stop to plait it up here. In a very few minutes I ran down into the farm-yard. Really the boy was very ridiculous in his naughtiness. How he had managed it, I don't know; but he had caught a goose, a hen, and a duckling, and had tied them one behind another. Of course the poor things were in a dreadful fright, and when I came down the goose was making straight for the pond, followed by a noisy and unwilling procession. Frank was running after them, shouting with all his might; Mervyn was trying to stop them; Birdie was shedding indignant tears, and Mary calling to Frank in gentle, distressed tones,—she might as well have tried to put out a burning house with a watering-pot.

'Frank!' I called in my sternest voice, 'stop directly.' Frank stopped for a moment, and then, not quite daring to run after them any more, varied his sport by dancing round and round, and turning head over heels, at a safe distance. How I wished Tony were there!

'Frank!' I cried again; 'come here to me, I want you.'

'I'm afraid you will do something to me,' shouted Frank, gathering himself up for a good run. There was a heap of straw lying in his way, and he evidently intended to jump on the top of it. But just as he did so the heap rose up suddenly; Frank was rolled into some mud, and an immense pig stood over him, grunting her

displeasure at being disturbed. I ran up directly, but Frank was already on his feet, though he did not attempt to run away; evidently the fall had sobered him a little. I caught hold of his shoulder, and sent Mervyn to tell one of the farm boys to look after the poor birds.

Haven't I made myself in a nice mess?' asked Frank, looking up at me quite happily. 'I'm almost afraid, though, I shall have to wash my hands again before breakfast.'

The tone of disgust with which he ended his speech was almost too much for me, but I smothered the laugh and replied gravely,—

'Certainly you will. I should never allow any child to sit down to breakfast with me in that state.'

'Perhaps your mother will, though; don't you think she might?' suggested Frank insinuatingly.

'Mamma never comes down to breakfast, so you'll have to do as Biddy tells you!' cried Christie indignantly. 'Hush, Christie,' I said; 'of course Frank will like to make himself tidy, he is not a real pig. Run in at once, Frank; and mind, you must all of you be clean and neat before prayers. I can't have you coming in as you are.'

Frank went slowly in-doors, and I went round to the front of the house and called Margie to come out. It was such a lovely morning, and everything looked so bright and familiar. There was a good old-fashioned garden in front; and beyond that, separated by the

usual Marsh dyke, a field full of sheep. The bridge from one to another was a pretty, fanciful wooden one, arched over with a wild tangle of creepers. To the left was the road, and across that another gate led to the orchard. It was not long before Margie's pretty head appeared at the rose-embowered window.

'Oh, Biddy,' she said, 'are you going to leave all your hair down?'

'I've been dispensing justice in the court-yard,' I said, laughing; 'and I shall not put it up now before breakfast. Let yours alone too, and come down.'

So she came down, and we had half an hour's delicious wandering in the sunlight, talking over our plans for the day, to begin with a visit to our old home directly after breakfast. But I meant to tell you more especially of two birthdays which belonged to those bright summer holidays. Midsummer Eve, which was the twins' twelfth birthday, came first. Every day of that time was very happy, but that one, our children used afterwards to say, was the most delightful of all. We did not think Tony would have been able to join us in time for the first birthday; but on the second day of our stay, as I went down the gravel walk to watch for the postman, whose mid-day arrival was a great event in the Marsh, Margie came dancing towards me with the letters in her hand.

'Joy! joy! Biddy,' she exclaimed, throwing one of them high into the air and catching it again. 'Tony's

coming home in a week's time, because some of the boys have got the scarlet fever.'

'What's that about Tony?' said mamma's voice in the porch.

'Oh, mother, such a joke!' exclaimed Margie excitedly; 'they've got the scarlet fever in Tony's school!' 'Indeed! I don't see the joke,' said my mother, hurrying anxiously from the house. 'Give me Tony's letter, Margie.'

'There's another from the school for you,' said Margie, producing it. I suppose from the master.'

The master's letter was not at all alarming. Only one case of scarlet fever had broken out, not in Tony's house; but all the boys' friends had been so frightened at hearing of it, that, considering the near approach of the holidays, he had thought it best to advise the removal of all the boys. The delay of a week was asked for by Tony himself, as he wanted to visit one of his schoolfellows on the way,-a wish which Margie said she could have understood if he had been going back to Holywell, but now-bah!-she had thought better of Tony!

On the whole, Frank behaved better during those holidays than we had feared. He was not openly naughty, except now and then to the servants; but I could not help thinking sometimes that he was not altogether trustworthy. One day, before Tony had