t was far on in May when Ursula found herself again in the
sitting-room over the warehouse. Somehow it had not the dainty
well-cared-for air of erst. The pretty table ornaments were out of
sight; the glass over the clock was dim, the hands had stopped; some of
Annaple's foes, the blacks, had effected a lodgment on the Parian
figures; the chintzes showed wear and wash, almost grime; the carpet's
pattern was worn; a basket full of socks was on the sofa; and on the
table a dress, once belonging to Annaple's trousseau, was laid out,
converted into its component parts. The wails of a baby could be heard
in the distance, and the first person to appear was Master William,
sturdy and happy in spite of wofully darned knees to his stockings.

'Mother's coming, if baby will stop crying,' he said, 'and lie in her
cradle.'

'Your little sister! What's her name?'

'Jane Christian,' said the boy, with a much more distinct enunciation
than Alwyn, though a year older, had yet acquired. 'She does cry so!
She won't let mother make my new knickies out of her blue gown!'

Thoughts of the suits that Alwyn was discarding came across Nuttie.
Could they be offered without offence? She asked, however, 'Do you
remember Alwyn--my Wynnie?'

'Wynnie gave me my horse,' cried the boy, unstabling a steed which had
seen hard service since the presentation. 'Where's Wynnie?'

'He is at home. You must come and see him,' said Nuttie, who had not
been allowed to bring him till secure of a clean bill of health. 'But
see, just outside the door, there's something for Billy.'

She had made her servant bring up the parcels to the passage outside,
and Billy was soon hugging a magnificent box of soldiers, wherewith he
pranced off to show them to his mother, leaving the doors open, so that
Ursula could more decidedly hear the baby's voice, not a healthy
child's lusty cry, but a poor little feeble wail, interspersed with
attempts at consolation. 'Come, won't she go to Emily? Oh, Billy-boy,
how splendid! I hope you thanked Cousin Ursula. Baby Jenny, now can't
you let any one speak but yourself? Oh! shall I never teach you that
"Balow, my babe," is not "bellow, my babe." That's better! Now can't
you let Emily have you, while I go to Cousin Nuttie?'

'Let me come! Mayn't I?' exclaimed Ursula, invading the room that
served as kitchen, where Annaple was trying to hush off the child and
make her over to a little twelve years old maid, who stood in