uch a _very_ bad fault--not like telling
falsehoods, or bullying, or anything like that?"

"It is a fault that _leads_ to bad faults," said his mother gravely, "to
waste of time and money--two of our 'talents'--to loss of temper, and
undeserved blame of others, very often. It makes life ugly and
ungraceful, and it puts the burden of our own duty on others. For _some
one_ must be tidy, or what would become of the world? And for my part I
can never think but what untidiness in outside things too often ends in
untidiness of mind and thought."

THE GOBLIN FACE.

[Illustration]

When I was a very little girl, I spent a good deal of my life in a large
old-fashioned house in a very out-of-the-way part of Scotland. It was
not really our home, but it almost seemed so, for we used to go there as
soon as the fine mild weather set in, and stay till the shortening days
and the first frosts told of winter's approach. It was the home of our
uncle--my mother's only brother--and as he had never married, and she
was many years younger than he, she seemed to him more like his daughter
than his sister, and he was never so happy as when he had her and all us
children to brighten up his rather gloomy old house. Gloomy it might be
in appearance, but in nothing else, for my uncle was the kindest of men,
and he and all his old servants used to receive us with a welcome that
would have made the grimmest of abodes seem sunshiny and cheerful. I
could tell dozens--nay, scores of stories of our child-life in the old
castle--of our games in the house, and out of doors, of the cottagers
with all of whom we were on most intimate terms, of all sorts of
adventures that befel us, but just now, I mean only to relate one very
short, and perhaps not very interesting, story, because I think it may
be of use to some children who may read it.

I was about five years old when the first cloud came over my happy life.
I had been ill, but though I do not clearly remember the illness--and it
seemed to me to have been rather pleasant than painful, as I was petted
and made much of in every way--I believe it really was a bad illness,
and had very much weakened me. We went to Scotland sooner than usual
that year to strengthen me, but the weather, unluckily, was cold and
rainy. We could not go out much, and had to amuse ourselves in the
house. It was in this way that one of the old servants one day, meaning
to please us, took to telling us ghost-stories. I w