emed to Arthur to be of no
particular use. He could not help thinking of the difference there would
be in that room, if he and Hector were to have a round in it. But it was
very bright and comfortable, he thought; and this opinion seemed to be
shared by a large white dog that lay in front of the fire. "Great, sleepy
thing," thought Arthur; "I would not give old Hector for ten cats like
that."

The tea-table itself was a very attractive object to his eyes just then;
and he turned his attention to it now. Arthur thought it looked rather in
keeping with the rest of the room. The silver teapot and cream-jug were
bright and shining, but they were rather small; and he could not help
thinking that it would take a great many of those daintily-cut slices of
bread and butter, to satisfy his appetite; so he was glad to see a
good-sized loaf on a table near, and other more substantial things which
had been added for the travellers. Indeed he need not have been afraid of
not having enough to eat, for his aunt, in her ignorance of boyish
appetites, would not have been surprised, if he had consumed all that was
before him. So that Arthur had to be quite distressed, that he could not
please her by eating everything.

"I wonder what she lives on herself," he thought, as he noticed the one
tiny slice lying almost undiminished on her plate; "and I wonder how I
should feel if I did not eat more than that."

By and by they drew their chairs to the fire, and Mrs. Estcourt gave
Arthur a beautifully-ornamented hand-screen to shade the heat from his
face; as he sat with his feet on the fender, listening to his father's and
aunt's conversation.

"Well, you have a snug little place here," said Mr. Vivyan.

"Yes, I suppose so," Mrs. Estcourt said; but she sighed as she spoke.

"It seems like old times, eh, Daisy?"

A light shone on her face for a minute and then was gone, as she said,
"'Tis very odd to hear any one call me that, Ronald. I have not heard it
since----," and then that deep look of pain came again. But as she looked
at Arthur almost a merry smile curled the corners of her mouth, and she
said, "Arthur thinks so too, I know."

This was true; for he had just been thinking that if his aunt was like a
flower at all, she was more like a lily or a snowdrop, or a very white
violet. But he only said, "Is that what I shall have to call you, then?
Aunt Daisy! that sounds rather funny, I think."

Mrs. Estcourt laughed and said, "Well, I