aired girl, and in the
large, powerful, bronzed, ruddy sailor, with the thick mass of curls,
at which Tom looked with hostility as fixed, though less declared, than
that of his Eton days.

Those were the idle members upon the hearth-rug. On the sofa, with a
small table to herself, and a tall embroidery frame before her, nearly
hiding her slight person, sat Mrs. Ernescliffe, her pretty head
occasionally looking out over the top of her work to smile an answer,
and her artistically arranged hair and the crispness of her white dress
and broad blue ribbons marking that there was a step in life between
her and her sisters; her husband sat beside her on the sofa, with a red
volume in his hand, with 'Orders,' the only word visible above the
fingers, one of which was keeping his place. Hector looked very happy
and spirited, though his visage was not greatly ornamented by a
moustache, sandier even than his hair, giving effect to every freckle
on his honest face. A little behind was Mary, winding one of Blanche's
silks over the back of a chair, and so often looking up to revel in the
contemplation of Harry's face, that her skein was in a wild tangle,
which she studiously concealed lest the sight should compel Richard to
come and unravel it with those wonderful fingers of his.

Richard and Ethel were arranging the 'sick albums' which they had
constructed--one of cheap religious prints, with texts and hymns, to be
lent in cases of lingering illness; the other, commonly called the
'profane,' of such scraps as might please a sick child, pictures from
worn-out books or advertisements, which Ethel was colouring--Aubrey
volunteering aid that was received rather distrustfully, as his love of
effect caused him to array the model school-children in colours gaudy
enough, as Gertrude complained, 'to corrupt a saint.' Nor was his
dilettante help more appreciated at a small stand, well provided with
tiny drawers, and holding a shaded lamp, according to Gertrude,
'burning something horrible ending in gen, that would kill anybody but
Tom, who managed it,' but which threw a beautiful light upon the
various glass dishes, tubes, and slides, and the tall brass microscope
that Tom was said to love better than all his kith and kin, and which
afforded him occupation for his leisure moments.

'I say, Harry,' he asked, 'did you get my letter?'

'Your letter--of what date? I got none since Mary's of the second of
May, when every one was down in the