t masters.
"He isn't very pretty, but I s'pose he made up in being clever."

"He is sort of kind-looking," said Beth, who always liked to say
something nice about every one.

"He is better than pretty," said Ethelwyn. "He's a very good musician.
He can play the piano."

"Where does he live?"

"Paradise, I think. Mebbe not, though."

"I'm sorry for his folks."

"This is Handel."

"What of?" and Nan got up to look.

"Not a dipper-handle, but a man of that name. He could play too."

"He looks kind of like a woman--look at his hair."

"That is his wig."

"Was he a bawheady?" and Beth got up to look more closely at the man who
was afflicted like her beloved doll.

"I s'pose he must have been. But it doesn't show like your doll's," said
Nan.

"This is a bust of Diana."

"Where is she busted?"

"All but her head and shoulders."

"Who did it?"

"A man I guess. This is the 'Kiss of Judas.'"

"Oh, isn't Judas mean-looking?"

"Looks like a bug thief." This from Beth.

"Burglar, child," said Nan.

"Bug thief is what I meant," said Beth with dignity, for she didn't
propose to be corrected by Nan or sister. Then she walked over to her
mother. "Are you very old, mother?" she asked. "I've been meaning to
ask. Are you a hundred, or eleven, or is that your size shoe?"

"Elizabeth Rayburn!" said Ethelwyn, dropping the photographs and coming
over to her mother, followed by Nan. "Our mother isn't old at all!"

"No I know she isn't, only she must be toler'bly old, to know so much
goodness."

"I'm just old enough to love you," said their mother, laughing and
hugging them all three at once in a way she had.

"I've some money in the bank," said Nan presently. "I've been thinking
what I'd buy for the Rest, and I've 'bout decided on a feeble chair."

"Goodness me! I shall never sit in it, if it's feeble, Nan," said Aunty
Stevens, laughing.

"No, _for_ the feeble," corrected Nan. "I want my mother to give
something too; she has some money, and I believe if she would give it
for my brother's sake, she would feel better and wouldn't cry so much.
Perhaps she will."

"We are all going to church to-morrow, 'cause your father is going to
preach about the Rest,--pray over it too, and mother's going to sing the
offertory, two verses, if the sermon's too long, and three if it isn't.
You tell your father that, for singing is much more interesting than
preaching any day."

"Ethelwyn!"

"Why it is, mother."

"I'll