you, Dimple?"

"Yes," was the reply, "I like it best. The grounds are so lovely. See
those roses."

The two pressed their faces against the iron railing, and let their
eyes wander over the lawn and to the garden beyond.

"How very quiet it is," Florence remarked, presently. "We can't hear a
sound except the wind among the trees, and the robins singing. There
doesn't seem to be a soul about. Who lives here, Dimple?"

"The Atkinsons. Mamma and papa know them."

"Are there any little children?"

"Not now; there used to be a little girl named Stella, but she died two
years ago, and now there is only their eldest son living; he has just
gone abroad with his mother. That is why it's so quiet. They are all
away. You see the house is shut up."

"Ah, I wonder if they would mind if we went in and looked around. Do you
think they would mind? I should love so to go and sit on that porch for
a few minutes."

Dimple hesitated. She wasn't quite sure that it would be right for them
to go in, especially when no one was at home.

"You know," Florence went on, "it would be just exactly the same as if
we went there to call, and they should happen to be out. It won't hurt
anybody or anything for us to walk around and look at the grounds."

At last Dimple consented. So they lifted the latch of the gate and shut
it behind them very gingerly.

"Do you often come here?" asked Florence, when they had made their tour
of the grounds and were sitting on the porch in the shadow of the vines.

"Not so very often, but I have been here with mamma when she came to
call. I remember Stella very well. She died of diphtheria, and they have
a lovely portrait of her. She was such a pretty little girl, and the
portrait shows her with a great big dog she used to have."

"How I should like to see the portrait. Wouldn't it be nice if the door
should suddenly open, and we could walk right in?"

Dimple laughed. "I'd be scared if that should happen. The house is
beautiful inside. I never saw so many pretty things. Mrs. Atkinson's
father was a naval officer, and she has curiosities from all over the
world."

"I wish Mrs. Atkinson had said, 'Dimple, here are the keys, come in as
often as you like while we are away; in fact, I wish you would try to
come in and look around once in a while to see if everything is all
right.'"

"Maybe she would have said that if she had thought of it," returned
Dimple, "for she is always so nice and pleasant."

Flore