ts and conversations took place at Christmas-time. The
New Life initiated by them lasted some seven months. Then a little
incident--a mere little vexatious incident--brought it to its close.

Irma collected picture post-cards, and Mrs. Herriton or Harriet always
glanced first at all that came, lest the child should get hold of
something vulgar. On this occasion the subject seemed perfectly
inoffensive--a lot of ruined factory chimneys--and Harriet was about to
hand it to her niece when her eye was caught by the words on the margin.
She gave a shriek and flung the card into the grate. Of course no fire
was alight in July, and Irma only had to run and pick it out again.

"How dare you!" screamed her aunt. "You wicked girl! Give it here!"

Unfortunately Mrs. Herriton was out of the room. Irma, who was not in
awe of Harriet, danced round the table, reading as she did so, "View of
the superb city of Monteriano--from your lital brother."

Stupid Harriet caught her, boxed her ears, and tore the post-card into
fragments. Irma howled with pain, and began shouting indignantly, "Who
is my little brother? Why have I never heard of him before? Grandmamma!
Grandmamma! Who is my little brother? Who is my--"

Mrs. Herriton swept into the room, saying, "Come with me, dear, and I
will tell you. Now it is time for you to know."

Irma returned from the interview sobbing, though, as a matter of
fact, she had learnt very little. But that little took hold of her
imagination. She had promised secrecy--she knew not why. But what harm
in talking of the little brother to those who had heard of him already?

"Aunt Harriet!" she would say. "Uncle Phil! Grandmamma! What do you
suppose my little brother is doing now? Has he begun to play? Do Italian
babies talk sooner than us, or would he be an English baby born
abroad? Oh, I do long to see him, and be the first to teach him the Ten
Commandments and the Catechism."

The last remark always made Harriet look grave.

"Really," exclaimed Mrs. Herriton, "Irma is getting too tiresome. She
forgot poor Lilia soon enough."

"A living brother is more to her than a dead mother," said Philip
dreamily. "She can knit him socks."

"I stopped that. She is bringing him in everywhere. It is most
vexatious. The other night she asked if she might include him in the
people she mentions specially in her prayers."

"What did you say?"

"Of course I allowed her," she replied coldly. "She has a right to
mentio