had saved us ever
so much trouble, and ever so many tears, by teaching us that hardest
lesson "do as you are told," before we were old enough to understand its
difficulty. And Miss Grant was always so bright and happy that she
scarcely ever let us suspect, even in the naughtiest times, that we were
"making the lines come." Out of doors she was the merriest among us, and
grandmamma would often say to Lottie that she was ever so much older
than Miss Grant, because she would walk soberly about with a book, while
Miss Grant was having all sorts of fun with the boys. At last she, too,
caught the infection, and then we all had the merriest romps together!
How well I remember those early summer days, and the luxury of flowers
everywhere. Is there anything so happy-looking, so full of overflowing
delight, as the long grass, and the buttercups and daisies, hawthorn and
bluebells? We thought ourselves very wise about flowers then, and had
very decided opinions on the proper blending of colours. Miss Grant was
teaching us this, and even now, when I see any one making a nosegay of
wild-flowers, I fancy myself running up to her with a handful of bright
things, to watch in my eagerness how they were in a minute turned into
the beautiful bouquet that nobody could equal or copy.

She had been with us some time, when one morning we had a visitor come
to spend the day at Beecham. This lady was not old, yet she had the most
wrinkled, aged face I ever saw. When she was gone, Harry, who never
minded what he said, asked grandmamma about her, and cried out in
surprise when he heard that she had been his own father's playfellow.

"You think Mrs. Mowbray looks double as old as papa, do you?" said
grandmamma. "Ah, it is trouble that has aged her. You would not wonder
at all those lines and wrinkles if you knew all the sorrow and grief her
own poor boys have given her through their sin and wilfulness!"

Lottie and I looked at each other, and then glanced slily at Miss Grant,
but I don't think she noticed us. When we were alone again, we resolved
that we would try ever so hard to be good.

"Because, you know, Sissy, it wouldn't be nice if Miss Grant were to
get her face all puckered and creasy like that, just as if it wanted
ironing out, as Susette did with my frock when Murray scrunched it all
up under his pillow to hide it. But I suppose you couldn't iron out your
face!"

Anyhow, I agreed with Lottie not to run any risks, and I do not think