y and girl, in eager
self-defence.

"Oh, my dears! It isn't the roof, it's your precious necks, that you
might be breaking at this moment. How are you going to get back? Basil,
it makes me dizzy to look at you."

"Then I wouldn't look," said Basil, cheerfully. "I'm all right, Cousin
Margaret, just truly I am. Why, I just live on roofs, every chance I
get. And this is a bully roof to climb on."

Margaret covered her eyes with her hands, as the boy came tripping along
the ridge-pole towards her; but the next moment she put the hands down
resolutely. "Let me help you!" she said. "Susan, take my hand, dear, and
let me help you in."

But Susan D. needed no helping hand; she scrambled up the slope of the
roof like a squirrel, and wriggled in at the window before Margaret
could lay hands on her. "I'm all right!" she said, shyly. "I didn't find
my stocking, though. I'll get another pair." But Margaret soon found the
stocking, and in due time could report to Cousin Sophronia that the
children were both safe on the ground, and more or less ready for
breakfast. Merton had not shared in the roof expedition; he had climbed
the great chestnut-tree instead, and appeared at breakfast with most of
the buttons off his jacket, and a large barn-door tear in his
knickerbockers.

Miss Sophronia greeted the children with firmness. "How do you do, my
dears?" she said. "I am your Cousin Sophronia, and I shall take the
place of a mamma to you while you are here. If you do as I tell you, we
shall get on very well, I dare say. You are Basil? Yes, you look like
your Uncle Reuben. You remember Reuben, John? What a troublesome boy he
was, to be sure! And this is Merton. H'm! Yes! The image of his father.
Anthony; to be sure! And what is your name, child? Susan D.? Ah, yes!
For your Aunt Susan, of course. And are you a good girl, Susan D.?"

Susan D. hung her head, and looked defiant.

"Always answer when you are spoken to," said the lady, with mild
severity. "I'm afraid your father has let you run wild; but we will
alter all that. Little boy--Merton, I mean, you are taking too much
sugar on your porridge. Too much sugar is very bad for children. Hand me
the bowl, if you please. I am obliged to take a good deal of sugar--the
doctor's orders! There are one--two--three buttons off your jacket. This
will never do!"

"I scraped 'em off, shinning up the tree," said Merton, sadly. "I barked
all my shins, too; but I found the squirrel's nest."

"