ight do or say to his sister in
the bosom of his own family, he must uphold her before all outsiders,
and particularly in the presence of a school-teacher.

But the school-teacher was in a very happy unprofessional frame of
mind. "Never mind," he said, "Lizzie will beat you all at something,
some day!"

He knew that a good word for the little sister always brought an
approving light into the blue eyes across the table. Annie smiled
radiantly.

"What is Lizzie best at?" she inquired with sweet anxiety.

Young Mr. Coulson looked at his plate and thought desperately. To
discover any subject in which Lizzie Gordon was efficient was enough to
confound any teacher. Then he remembered the caricatures of himself he
had discovered on her slate.

"She has a remarkable talent for drawing," he said generously.

Annie beamed still brighter, and Miss Gordon glanced at him
approvingly. She really did hope the story about the tavern-keeper was
not true.

"Perhaps Elizabeth will be a great artist some day," she suggested.

"And she'll paint all our pictures," added Jean, "and we'll be more
like the Primrose family than ever." The Gordons all laughed. They
generally laughed when Jean spoke, because she was always supposed to
say something sharp.

Mr. Gordon had lately been reading aloud the "Vicar of Wakefield," and,
as always when a book was being read by them, the Gordons lived in its
atmosphere and spoke in its language.

"Father will be the Vicar," said Annie, "and Aunt Margaret"--she looked
half-frightened at her own audacity--"Aunt Margaret will be Mrs.
Primrose."

"And you'll be Olivia," added Jean. "I'll be Sophia, with John and
Mary for my sheep, and Malcolm can be Moses and wear Annie's hat with
the feather in it."

The Gordons all laughed again.

"And who'll be the Squire?" asked little Mary, gazing admiringly at her
wonderful sister. "Mr. Coulson would do, wouldn't he?"

Two faces strove to hide their blushes behind the bouquet of cherry
blossoms which Sarah Emily had placed upon the table in honor of her
return.

There was an intense silence. Mr. Gordon looked up. Nothing aroused
him so quickly from his habitual reverie as silence at the table,
because it was so unusual. He beheld his second son indulging in one
of his spasms of silent laughter.

"What is the fun about?" he inquired genially, and then all the
Gordons, except the eldest and the youngest, broke into giggles. Miss
Gordon's vo