Whispered comments
upon the change of weather arose, coupled with remarks that there would
be coasting next day, anyhow; then came other remarks, and light
laughter, with occasional clapping of hands, when suddenly Mr. Reed
appeared at the side entrance which led into the hall:

"YOUNG LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! You are now to see a live picture-gallery,
and we ask for your criticism upon the paintings, begging you to be
merciful in your remarks, and not to be too funny while you try to make
the pictures laugh. For, you must know, if any picture in our gallery is
guilty of even a smile, it must instantly pop out of sight, leaving its
frame empty. When all the frames are thus deserted, we shall expect some
of you to fill them again. In fact, each picture in the present
exhibition is to select his or her substitute for the next time."

At this, some of the boys looked troubled, and some of the girls
tittered; but one and all clapped, in hearty applause of Mr. Reed's
little speech.

Then came the tinkle of a bell to announce that all was ready; Ed Tyler
and Donald pushed back the sliding doors, and there, in the great square
doorway, was the picture-gallery. To be strictly correct, we should call
this gallery a gray wall, apparently hung from top to bottom with fine
portraits in broad gilt frames, and all looking wonderfully life-like
and _un_natural; for when a live portrait must not laugh, how can it
feel at ease?

At first the spectators were too surprised to speak. Then came a murmur
of admiration, with cries of "Good, good!" from the boys and "How
lovely!" from the girls; while Liddy, by the parlor door, clasped her
hands in silent rapture at the beautiful show.

Beautiful, indeed, it was. All the portraits were as fresh and glowing
as though they had been "painted yesterday." The drawing was perfect,
the coloring exquisite, and so well were the pictures lighted, so
cunningly provided with dark backgrounds, that they seemed really to be
paintings. Dorry, in a prim Quaker cap and muslin neckerchief, was
prettier than ever. Josie Manning, in red cloak and hood, made a
charming gypsy; little Fandy, with his brown eyes and rosy cheeks, was a
remarkably handsome portrait of himself; and a sallow, black-haired
youth in a cloak and slouched hat, with a paper-cutter in his clenched
fist, scowled admirably as a brigand. The other pictures, though content
to be simply faces trying not to smile, were really very bright and
effe