s through a dream. But the awakening came now,
and a rude and cruel one it was.

The little room, dignified by the name of a parlour, was a dingy, stuffy
apartment of the true Dull Street type. The paper was faded and torn,
the ceiling was discoloured, the furniture was decrepit, the carpet was
threadbare, and the cheap engraving on the wall, with its title, "As
Happy as a King," seemed to brood over the scene like some mocking
spirit.

They passed into Mrs Cruden's bedroom, and the thought of the
delightful snug little boudoir at Garden Vale sent a shiver through them
as they glanced at the bare walls, the dilapidated half-tester, the
chipped and oddly assorted crockery.

The boys' room was equally cheerless. One narrow bed, a chair, and a
small washstand, was all the furniture it boasted of, and a few old
cuttings of an antiquated illustrated paper pinned on to the wall
afforded its sole decoration.

A low, dreary whistle escaped from Horace's lips as he surveyed his new
quarters, followed almost immediately by an equally dreary laugh.

"Why," gasped he, "there's no looking-glass! However is Reg to shave?"

It was an heroic effort, and it succeeded. Mrs Cruden's face lit up at
the sound of her son's voice with its old sunshine, and even Reginald
smiled grimly.

"I must let my beard grow," said he. "But, mother, I say," and his
voice quavered as he spoke, "what a miserable room yours is! I can't
bear to think of your being cooped up there."

"Oh, it's not so bad," said Mrs Cruden, cheerily. "The pink in the
chintz doesn't go well with the scarlet in the wall-paper, certainly,
but I dare say I shall sleep soundly in the bed all the same."

"But such a wretched look-out from the window, mother, and such a _vile_
jug and basin!"

Mrs Cruden laughed.

"Never mind about the jug and basin," said she, "as long as they hold
water; and as for the look-out--well, as long as I can see my two boys'
faces happy, that's the best view I covet."

"You never think about yourself," said Reginald, sadly.

"I say, mother," said Horace, "suppose we call up the spirits from the
vasty deep and ask them to get tea ready."

This practical suggestion met with general approbation, and the little
party returned more cheerily to the parlour, where Horace performed
marvellous exploits with the bell-handle, and succeeded, in the
incredible time of seven minutes, in bringing up a small slipshod girl,
who, after a good deal o