lighted
a lamp. And the room was like a room of black marble, carved into little
round knobs.

'How lovely!' said Phyllis.

'It's not lovely like the other,' said Mabel; 'but it's more serious,
like when the organ plays in church.'

'Why,' said Guy suddenly, 'it's winkle-shells!'

And it was. Hundreds and thousands of winkle-shells sorted into sizes
and stuck on the walls in patterns, and then, it seemed, polished or
varnished.

'Come,' said Sir Christopher, 'I'll show you the red-room.'

As they turned to go a tall, white figure by the door seemed to come
suddenly into the lamplight. It was covered with a sheet.

'Oh!' said all three, starting back, 'what's that?'

'That's my little girl,' he said.

'Is she trying to frighten us? Is she playing ghosts?' asked Guy.

'No,' he said; 'she never plays at ghosts. It isn't her really. That's
only my fun. It's a statue really.'

'Aren't statues very dear?' asked Guy.

'Very,' said Sir Christopher--'very, very dear.'

He led the way up the winding iron stair and showed them the red-room.
Its walls were covered with bits of red lobster-shells, overlapping like
a fish's scales or the plates of armour.

'How resplendid!' said Mabel; 'I believe you're a mighty magician.'

'No,' he said; 'at least--no, not exactly. There's only one more room.'

The other room was a bedroom, quite dull and plain, with whitewashed
walls and painted deal furniture.

'I like the pearly halls best,' said Mabel: 'they're more eloquent;' and
they all went down to the room where the seventy-two candles of the
Christmas-tree were burning steadily and brightly, though there was no
one to see them.

'Won't you call your little girl?' said Phyllis. 'The candles won't last
so very long; they're the cheap kind.'

Sir Christopher twisted his fingers together.

'It's no use calling her,'he said. 'Would you mind--do you mind leaving
the tree for to-night? You could fetch it to-morrow. And you won't tell
anyone about the inside of my house, will you? They'd only laugh at it.'

'I don't see how they could,' said Mabel indignantly; 'it's the
beautifullest, gorgerest house that ever was.'

'But we won't tell anyone,' said Guy. 'And we'll come again
to-morrow--about the same time.'

Sir Christopher said, 'Yes, please.'

And they all shook hands with him and came away, leaving the
Christmas-tree, with all its seventy-two candles, still making the
pearly room a dream of fairy beauty.

They