drive over the downs and into the towns, clattering through the villages and down the lovely lanes, winding the horn, making merry with the cousins, who, packed away like the children of the old woman who lived in a shoe, peeped out everywhere. "Look at this," said Catherine, with an air of joyous mystery, handing her a note. Nina opened it. It was addressed to Louise Compton, and ran as follows: DEAR LOUISE: Mama kindly allows us to ask you over to a party we are giving on Gwen's birthday, and we hope you will come. Such fun as it will be! There will be ten of us girls, and the boys have promised to fetch plenty of water-cresses for tea, and there will be lots of plum-cake and cocoa, and we always have as many helps as we like on birthdays. And afterwards romps and games. And after that we are to be allowed to dance in the schoolroom for an hour. Fräulein will play for us. Don't disappoint us, pray. And come early, for of course it will be all over by eight, and that does come so early. Sincerely yours, CATHERINE MAUDE AUBREY. "Is n't it too jolly for anything, to think of having such a party? What fun we 'll have!" said Catherine. "Is n't it delightful? We've been planning it for a fortnight, but we did n't tell you of it before, dear, because of course we could n't be quite sure that Mama would agree to it until she had quite decided." "We did n't like to raise your hopes too high for it is chiefly for you, Nina, though, Gwen's birthday coming just now, we thought it would be nice to choose that day rather than some other," said Mabel. "Was n't it good of dear mama?" "And we 'll come in and finish off the plumcake. Hip! hip! hurrah for the party!" cried the boys, with riotous enthusiasm and a rousing cheer. "That's nice, is n't it?" asked Uncle Edward, who had heard, and Fräulein beamed benevolence and pleasant anticipation from the back seat. Altogether, Nina did not see her way to saying what she thought about such a party. She determined, though, to open their eyes when the occasion should present itself, and she did so very effectually if not quite in the way she had expected. ronizing fashion when the day and the children came, and marveled at the enjoyment they seemed to find in drinking endless cups of nursery tea or cocoa, eating piles of bread and butter, water-cresses, and, though Nurse said it was certainly a risk, two slices of plum-cake all around. She did not join in their shrieks of laughter over the games that seemed to her insipid, or their delight in dancing with each other in what seemed to her a most clumsy and ungainly fashion; or in the noise and jests and cheery fun of the whole affair, in which Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey and Arthur joined with as much glee as the children. Louise Compton played Mendelssohn for them when the dancing was over, and being a really remarkable little musician for her years, astonished them by her natural gift and excellent technic. "None of my girls play like that," said Mrs. Aubrey," although they have had the best advantages. And what a very well-bred and lovely child she is altogether. She is sweetly pretty and so nice! Are the Americans very musical? Surely it must be a very uncommon thing to hear a child of her age play as she does. Do you play, Nina?" "No, I can't play. I never would practise, Aunt, and that 's a fact. I despise practising. It's perfectly horrid, and I just would n't sit up on that old stool and play the same old tune by the hour, for anybody. But most of the girls at home play, and some do it better than Louise. She 's nothing much. They all could play if they wanted to. -- "I'm not like most American girls. I can't do anything, hardly. That's because I don't care to. If I wanted to, I think I could. I guess I will, some day, if I don't get tired first. I guess I'll paint like Landseer, when I'm ready. His dogs are just too splendid for anything! Louise can talk three languages. She 's more like an American, a great deal, than I am," said poor Nina, eager to abase herself and exalt her country at any cost to her self-love. She had discovered that her cousins made up in accomplishments what they lacked, according to her standards, in dress; and she was determined that America should be creditably represented all around. It was this motive that led She looked on in a perfectly listless and pat- her, later, when Catherine sank down by her exclaiming, "Oh, Nina, has n't it been the greatest fun! Just delightful!" to say: "Well, I suppose you think so, but it is n't what we call a party in my country, I can tell you." The children gathered around, and she forthwith launched into a long and fluent account of various entertainments that she had given and attended- of large parties where there was a band," and a girl would n't dance with a girl, but would go home first," and an elaborate supper; and sometimes she did n't get to bed till nearly one o'clock, and the programs were printed on satin, and the favors for the german cost ever so much!-of a little girl's "pink tea," for which the flowers alone cost twenty dollars, and everybody got an elegant present from Paris;-of Maud Billings's "yellow lunch," with twelve courses, and all the girls dressed to match, and they had perfectly beautiful silver bonbonnières at every plate, and "everything just elegant." Nina thought that these stories were very impressive. Judge of her anger when Reggie laughed scornfully, and blurted out, "If you think we believe all those tremendous stories that you've been telling us, Nina, you 're mistaken, that 's all. The Americans are not such fools; and if I were you, I 'd be ashamed to try to make them out perfect lunatics." TWIDDLEDETWIT. BY MARTHA FINLEY. ONCE there was a woman who lived in a little house by the side of a wood. Her husband was dead, so she was a widow, and lived alone with her two children—a little boy named Billy and a baby. This woman was poor, and had to work very hard to earn enough money to buy food and clothes for herself and Billy and the baby. She used to spin yarn for people, and they would pay her for it with money or with things to eat or to wear. One day she had a great deal of spinning to do; but first she wanted to clean up her house and put everything in its proper place; for she liked to have it look very nice and neat. So she set to work to sweep and dust and scrub; but she had hardly begun when the baby began to cry, cry, cry, wanting its mama to take it. "Oh, baby, dear, hush, hush!" she said; mama has not time to stop and take you — she must do her work." But the baby would not hush; it just kept on cry, cry, crying as hard and loud as ever it could, never stopping to listen when its mother talked to it or sang to it; and though Billy jumped and danced about to please it, whistled and clapped his hands, it took no notice, but just screamed the louder, and held out its arms for its mother to take it. So at last the mother did. She picked it up, and sat down on a chair with it on her lap, and hugged it up close and kissed it, and did everything she could think of to please it and put it in a good humor. It stopped crying after a while; but the minute its mother put it down to begin her work again, it began to scream and cry just as it did before, and to hold out its arms to her. The mother loved her baby-she could hardly bear to hear it cry so; but she must do her work. So for a while she went on doing it, and let the baby cry; but it cried so hard that at last she could not stand it any longer. She left her work and took the baby and sat down with it on her lap. But it did not stop crying that time; it kept right on screaming, while the tears ran down its cheeks. And soon the mother began to cry too. Then Billy cried to see his mother cry. So the mother cried, and Billy cried, and the baby cried, and they were all crying there together, when all at once there came a rap, tap, tap at the door. At that the mother took up the corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. "Somebody is knocking, Billy," she said; "run and open the door, dear, and see who is there." Billy had stopped crying too, and wiped his eyes on his coat sleeve. He ran and opened the door. A little old woman stood on the step. Oh, such a funny-looking old woman as she was! She looked at Billy, and Billy looked back at her again. "Will you please to walk in, ma'am?" he said. Then the little old woman walked in, and went to the other side of the room where the mother sat crying over her cross baby. "What's the matter, dame?" she asked. "Matter enough," sobbed the mother; "my baby is so cross this morning that I can't do a thing. She wants me to hold her all the time, and I can't do my work. And I 've got ever and ever so much work to do! My house is all dusty and dirty, everything out of its proper place, and I ought to be cleaning it up this minute. Besides all that, I have ever so much spinning to do. If I don't do the spinning, there won't be any money to buy bread for me and my children to eat; and we 'll starve to death-boo-hoo-hoo!" The mother and the baby and Billy were all three crying again as hard as they could cry. "There," she said, as she stood back a little to look at the queer word; "I'll be sure not to forget it." "Yes, but you'll want me to pay you ever so much money for doing it, and I can't. I have n't got it to give you," said the mother. "And I'll do your spinning," the old woman "No, no," said the little old woman; I'll said again, and picked up the bundle of wool not ask you for a penny. - not any money; that was to be spun into yarn. "I'll bring it home when it is done. Then if you can't tell me my name, I 'm to have your baby." And away she went. Billy looked scared. "Oh, mother," he said, "don't let that old woman have our baby." "No, Billy; no, indeed!" said his mother, hugging the baby close, and kissing it many times. "We could never spare her, even if she does sometimes cry a little - we could n't spare precious little pet- could we, Billy?" "But she sha'n't get her away, Billy," the mother said. "She can't take away my baby if I remember her name; and I won't forget it. Don't you see I've got it set down on the mantelpiece?" "Oh, yes; and the little old woman sha'n't have our baby. We'll just keep her ourselves, won't we, mother?" "Yes, yes, indeed! I would n't lose my baby for all the world," said the mother, hugging it tight and kissing it all over its face. "But, oh, I am so glad I have n't any spinning to do to-day; for now I can take time to put her to sleep, and then clean up the house. Go out of doors to play, Billy, so that your noise won't keep her awake." "I will, mother," Billy said, putting on his cap. "I want to build a little dam in the brook out there." "Run along, then; but don't go out of sight," his mother said; and away he went. Billy was a good boy. He tried every day to help his mother. He would pick up sticks and chips to make a fire to boil the kettle with, and every night and morning he drove home the cow for his mother to milk. When he had gone his mother sang the baby to sleep, and put it in its cradle. Then she got her broom and swept the house, and put all the things in their proper places. After that she dusted the chairs, the table, and the mantelpiece too; but she was very careful not to rub out even one letter of the old woman's name that she had written on it. And all the time she was doing her work she kept saying to herself, "Oh, I am so glad I have n't any spinning to do to-day!" When the baby awoke the house was all nice and clean, and its mama had time to hold it on her lap; so there was no more crying that day, but the mother and Billy and the baby were all very happy. After supper Billy drove the cow to the door, and the mother fed her and milked her. Then she strained the milk and put it away, washed the dishes, and put them into the cupboard. After that she undressed Billy and the baby and put them to bed. Then she shut the doors and windows and went to bed herself. And all the while she was thinking, "Oh, I am so glad I have n't any spinning to do! And that old woman sha'n't have my baby, either; for I'll not forget her name. How should I, when it is written on the mantelpiece? If I do forget, I'll just go and look at the writing. Maybe I might forget it if it was n't there, for it's such a funny name." That was what she said to herself as she laid her head down on her pillow. Billy and the baby were both asleep, and |