erse together, and then they fell to talking about some of the people
whom they both loved in Oxford, and had a delightful hour together. At
first Betty had not liked to learn long poems, and thought her father
was stern and inconsiderate in choosing such old and sober ones; but she
was already beginning to see a reason for it, and was glad, if for
nothing else, to know the poems papa himself liked best, even if she did
not wholly understand them. It was easy now to remember a new one, for
she had learned so many. Aunt Barbara was much pleased with this
accomplishment, for she had learned a great many herself in her
lifetime. It seemed to be an old custom in the Leicester family, and
Betty thought one day that she could let this gift stand in the place of
singing as Becky could; one's own friends were not apt to care so much
for poetry, but older people liked to be "repeated" to. One night,
however, she had said Tennyson's ballad of "The Revenge" to Harry Foster
and Nelly as they came up the river, and they liked it surprisingly.

Papa reached for the old guitar presently and after mending the broken
strings he began to sing a delightful little Italian song, a great
favorite of Betty's. Then there was a step on the stairs, Aunt Barbara's
dignified head appeared behind the railing, and they called her to come
up and join them.

"I felt as if there must be ghosts walking in daylight when I heard the
old guitar," she said a little wistfully. When she was seated in the
rocking-chair and Betty's father had pulled forward a flowered tea-chest
for himself, he went on with his singing, and then played a Spanish
dancing tune, with a nod to Betty, so that she skipped at once to the
open garret-floor and took the pretty steps with much gayety. Aunt
Barbara smiled and kept time with her foot; then she left the prim
rocking-chair and began to follow the dance too, soberly chasing Betty
and receding and even twirling her about, until they were both out of
breath and came back to their places very warm and excited. They looked
strangely alike as they danced. Betty was almost as tall and only a
little more quick and graceful than her grandaunt.

"It is such fun to be just the same age as you and papa," insisted
Betty. "We do everything together now." She took on a pretty grown-up
air, and looked at Aunt Barbara admiringly. It was only this summer that
she had begun to understand how young grown people really are. Aunt Mary
seemed muc