ually do; for his relatives received her favorably, and she made her
home with them at Temple Court in Yorkshire--doesn't that sound like a
book? Well, her uncle died, and she never came back to this country;
but her grandson came in the early part of the century, and, following
the traditions of his race, fell in love with an American girl. They
were married and settled in Massachusetts. But once, when they were
visiting at the old home, my grandmother saw a portrait of her
husband's grandmother hanging in the great hall at Temple Court. She
was fascinated by its beauty; and when she heard the story of the
runaway bride, who was an American like herself, she determined to
have a copy of the portrait, and talked of engaging one of the London
artists to make it for her. An old servant told my grandfather that
he remembered seeing another, painted at the same time and sent over
to this uncle in America. The man was sure that the address of the
uncle was South East. Many a time I have heard my grandmother tell the
story, which so fired my youthful fancy that I dreamed of it for
years, and at last I persuaded papa to come down here this summer, and
let me hunt for the picture. But I am tiring you, I am afraid."

Flint pulled his hat lower over his eyes.

"Pray go on; I am immensely interested."

"Thank you. Well, the desire for the recovery of the portrait is no
longer a sentiment with me,--it is a passion. My daily occupation now
is driving about and asking for a drink of water, or inquiring about
early vegetables, chickens, goslings,--anything which will afford a
plausible excuse for penetrating into the dark halls or stuffy
fore-rooms. Of course I rule out the modern houses. I have even tried
the tavern here at the beach; but the only decorations of the walls
were 'Wide Awake' and 'Fast Asleep,' and other chromos of the same
pronounced and distressing variety."

Flint took off his eye-glasses, and began to wipe them tenderly with
his delicate handkerchief.

"Perhaps," he began, when he was interrupted by a wild whoop just
above. It was from Jimmy Anstice, who shared the delusion, common to
his age and sex, that nothing is so amusing as a sudden and unexpected
noise.

"Oh, Jimmy!" his sister exclaimed.

"Oh, Jimmy!" mocked the boy. "I am glad to find that you are alive.
I've been watching you two these ten minutes, and you've sat as still
as if Mrs. Jarley hadn't wound you up yet."

"She hasn't," said Winifred,