putting away, and then we'll go and have some fun in the long garret.'

This suggestion cleared the room very speedily; for the long garret was much esteemed by the young Dalrymples, on a wet afternoon like the present, as a capital substitute for the garden or the park. Here they had a long and exciting game of hide-and-seek; and it was not till the autumn afternoon was near its close, and twilight was gradually creeping on and filling the corners of the garret with gloom, that Silvia, the least active of the party, and tired of the sport, stole away by herself to one of her favourite haunts. This was the top step of the fine old oak staircase, which formed one of the chief beauties of the house of Horsemandown. From there she could peep through the carved, twisted bannisters, and watch whatever went on in the hall below. Sometimes it was Sir Bernard Dalrymple's brown setter and Robin's little rough terrier romping on the mat by the hall door which engaged her attention; sometimes it was her mother watering the flowers, that seemed to bloom perpetually in the sunny hall window; and sometimes it was Sydney and Christie having one of their most exciting games of battledore, which were really worth looking at, so well did they both play.

When these amusements failed, and the hall was deserted, as was the case at present, Silvia found plenty of companions in the pictures, which covered the walls. around her. Beyond the fact that they were most of them portraits of her own ancestors, she knew very little

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about them. But that did not matter, for she used to find names for them all out of whatever book she was reading. These names generally had nothing to do with their style of dress, which Silvia considered a matter of no consequence: she only cared for some imaginary likeness of feature or expression. Thus, a tall, thin, dark-eyed gentleman with a vandyke beard had been. christened by turns "Hamlet," "Prince Giglio," or Osmond de Centeville," according to whether Silvia was absorbed in Lamb's Tales from Shakespeare, The Rose and the Ring, or The Little Duke; while a severe-looking dame, with powdered hair and an unmistakeable hoop, did duty with equal faithfulness for "The Lady of Branksome Tower," or the Witch Aunt in Mrs. Leicester's School.

i

On the present occasion Silvia was not left long in undisturbed possession of her favourite nook, for on the dispersion of the garret-party she was joined by Robin; who, after remarking with a yawn that prisoners'-base indoors was decidedly slow, tried to get rid of his superfluous energy by sliding down the bannisters to the bottom of the staircase. Silvia felt obliged to put down her book, and watch him as he climbed slowly up again outside the railing, and felt much relieved when he appeared at the top.

'What book are you poring over now?' he inquired with some contempt, peeping over his sister's shoulder. 'History! Oh Silvia, how can you-in play-time?'

It's not history; it's a story,' said Silvia indignantly;

' at least it is just like a story. And it is so interesting.'

'But it's all true?' said Robin, with a face of great disgust.

'Well, it is just as nice as if it wasn't,' replied his sister. ‘And besides, I think I rather like books to be true, or, at any rate, to think that they might be true. I can't think why you hate all the people in history so, Robin!'

'I don't hate them all,' said Robin, after pondering the subject with a very grave face. 'I like them when they do something uncommonly jolly; and, besides, there certainly are some that I want to know about very much indeed. One's own relations, I mean. I know they are in history books—that is, some of them: relations who lived a long time ago. What do you call them?'

'Ancestors, do you mean?' said Silvia. 'I want to know about them too; for Uncle Algernon once told me that there were some very curious stories about the pictures in this house, especially those on the staircase.'

'Did he ?' said Robin. Then that's what papa meant when I asked who that boy was.' (Robin pointed, as he spoke, to a picture that hung on the wall opposite.) 'He said I must ask Uncle Algernon, for he was a namesake of his, and knew all about him. I always call him "Bluecoat," and I want to know about him more than any of them.'

Silvia surveyed the picture in question with a great deal of interest. It represented a boy of about Robin's age, with dark, bright eyes, handsome features and ches

nut curls, which hung down as low as the rich lace scarf which was tied round his neck. He wore lace ruffles at his wrists, and the blue velvet coat which had earned him Robin's nickname was adorned with the most elaborate embroidery.

'I wonder when he lived,' said Silvia thoughtfully. 'But, Robin, I should like to know still better about that little girl next him. Do you think she is his sister?' alike,' pronounced her brother.

'They are not a bit

'Oh Silvia, she's got regular green sleeves, don't you see, like that old woman in Granny's Wonderful Chair?'

'Yes; I found that out long ago. I always call her "Lady Greensleeves,” replied Silvia.

'She is very pretty, I think, in spite of that funny dress. But she looks very proud and dignified.'

'I suppose she was some grand lady. How she stares at one!' added Silvia, hastily turning her eyes away, but only to meet the gaze of other generations of Dalrymples, who frowned or smiled on her in all directions. It is very odd that they should look at one so hard, isn't it?' she said in a half-whisper to Robin. 'I always notice it, especially when I am coming up to bed.'

'Yes,' replied her brother, 'it was Bluecoat staring at me so, that first made me notice him; and now I don't mind it a bit, but always nod to him and say good-night when I come up-stairs. I wish I knew all about him. Now, if we had but the goloshes of fortune, Silvia, what fun it would be! We would make all the pictures tell us their stories.'

'How would it be if I was to ask them ?" said a voice

just above the children.

Silvia started and looked round. Some one was leaning over the balustrade in the passage behind them.

'Why, Uncle Algernon !' exclaimed Robin after a pause of surprise; 'you haven't heard all we have been saying?' 'Well, I don't know about all,' said Uncle Algernon, laughing; 'but I heard about Bluecoat and Lady Greensleeves and the goloshes of fortune. So you want the portraits to tell you their stories, do you, Silvia ?'

'Oh Uncle Algernon, do you think us very silly? But papa says you know their stories. Do you really? And how did you find them out?'

'How do you know that I haven't a pair of those goloshes hidden away in that cupboard in my dressingroom?'

'I wish you had!' sighed Silvia, looking wistfully at Lady Greensleeves' mischievous brown eyes and rosy smiling mouth.

'Well, but if you do know the stories, why shouldn't you tell them to us?' suggested Robin. 'It would be almost as jolly as if the pictures were to speak themselves; wouldn't it, Silvia ?'

'Not quite, I think,' Silvia said, with a doubtful glance at Uncle Algernon. You see, it would be so nice to hear all that they used to think, and how Horsemandown looked in those days,-all in their own words, you know, Robin.'

'Ah, but then they would talk in an old way, like the