panied by smothered
squeals. When Margaret reached the nursery, both boys were in bed.
Merton's blue eyes were wide open, and fixed on her with mournful
earnestness; Basil was asleep, the clothes tucked in well under his
chin. He lay on his back, his mouth slightly opened; he was snoring
gently, but unobtrusively. Poor child! no doubt he was tired enough. But
how had Merton managed to make so _much_ noise?

Margaret looked around her, and Merton's gaze grew more intense. His own
clothes lay in a heap on the floor, but where were his brother's?
And--and what was that, smoothly folded over the back of a chair? A
clean nightgown?

But when Merton saw his cousin's eyes fix on the nightgown, he exploded
in a bubbling laugh. "He--he ain't undressed at all!" he cried,
gleefully. "He never! he's got his boots on, and every single--" The
speech got no further. There was a flying whirl of blankets, a leap, and
Basil was on his brother's chest, pounding him with right good will.
"You sneak!" he cried. "I'll teach you--"

There was no time to think; the child would be killed before her eyes.
Margaret took a firm hold on Basil's collar, and dragged him off by main
strength, he still clawing the air. Unconsciously, she gave him a hearty
shake before she let go; the boy staggered back a few paces; who would
have thought that Margaret had such strength in her slender wrists? The
crisis over, she panted, and felt faint for an instant; Basil, after a
moment of bewilderment, looked at her, and the smile broke all over his
face, a moment before black with rage.

"Got me that time, didn't you?" he said, simply. "He's a mean sneak,
Mert is. I'll serve him out to-morrow, don't you be afraid!"

"Basil, what does this mean?" asked Margaret, severely. "Why are you not
in bed?" Then as Basil sent an eloquent glance at the pillow where his
head had been lying so quietly, she added, "Why are you not undressed, I
mean? I am afraid you have been very naughty, both of you, boys."

"Well, you see," said Basil, apologetically, "there was all kinds of
things in the drawers, and then I got on the rocking-horse, and it
wasn't but just a minute before you came up. I say, isn't this a bully
room, Cousin Margaret? I think Uncle John was awfully good to give us
such a room as this. Why doesn't he sleep here himself? Bet I would, if
I owned the house. I say, do those marbles belong to him?"

"I suppose so," said Margaret, smiling in spite of herself; "ye