s
after all, so we can go on talking quite like old friends. You have made
me forget the time. Oh dear, how dark it is getting! and the gas gives
only a glimmer of light."

"It will not be quite dark, because of the snow. Do not let us think
about the time. Some of the passengers are walking about. I heard them
say just now the man must have reached Cleveley, so the telegram must
have gone--we shall soon have help. Of course, if the snow had not
ceased falling, it would have been far more serious."

"Yes," returned Miss Sefton, with a shiver; "but it is far nicer to read
of horrid things in a cheerful room and by a bright fire than to
experience them one's self. Somehow one never realizes them."

"That is what father says--that young people are not really
hard-hearted, only they do not realize things; their imagination just
skims over the surface. I think it is my want of imagination helps me. I
never will look round the corner to try and find out what disagreeable
thing is coming next. One could not live so and feel cheerful."

"Then you are one of those good people, Miss Lambert, who think it their
duty to cultivate cheerfulness. I was quite surprised to see you look so
tranquil, when I had been indulging in a babyish fit of crying, from
sheer fright and misery; but it made me feel better only to look at
you."

"I am so glad," was Bessie's answer. "I remember being very much struck
by a passage in an essay I once read, but I can only quote it from
memory; it was to the effect that when a cheerful person enters a room
it is as though fresh candles are lighted. The illustration pleases me."

"True, it was very telling. Yes, you are cheerful, and you are very fond
of talking."

"I am afraid I am a sad chatterbox," returned Bessie, blushing, as
though she were conscious of an implied reproof.

"Oh, but I like talking people. People who hold their tongues and listen
are such bores. I do detest bores. I talk a great deal myself."

"I think I have got into the way for Hatty's sake. Hatty is the sickly
one of our flock; she has never been strong. When she was a tiny, weeny
thing she was always crying and fretful. Father tells us that she cannot
help it, but he never says so to her; he laughs and calls her 'Little
Miss Much-Afraid.' Hatty is full of fear. She cannot see a mouse, as I
tell her, without looking round the corner for pussy's claws."

"Is Hatty your only sister, Miss Lambert?"

"Oh, no; there are three