When I was a little girl, which is now a good many years ago, there came to spend some time with us a cousin who had been brought up in Germany. She was almost grown-up-to me, a child of six or seven, she seemed quite grown-up; in reality, she was, I suppose, about fifteen or sixteen. She was a bright, kind, good-natured girl, very anxious to please and amuse her little English cousins, especially me, as I was the only girl. But she had not had much to do with small children; above all, delicate children, and she was so strong and hearty herself that she did not understand anything about...

'Then good morning, Mrs. Perry. It all promises very nicely, I think. You may depend upon our taking good care of Ruth, and doing our best to train her well. Naylor takes great pride in her training. You will tell Ruth what I say, and impress upon her those two or three broad rules, and if she attends to those, it will be all right.' Mrs. Perry courtesied-her best courtesy, you may be sure; for it was not every day she was honoured with an interview by so grand a personage as old Lady Melicent Bourne of the Tower House, at Hopley. She had known Lady Melicent all her life, for before she...

There was great rejoicing among the children in the farmhouse of Belle Prairie, one of the most flourishing farms in the beautiful part of Touraine where it was situated. To-morrow would be their mother's birthday, and for as long back as any of the small people could remember "mother's birthday" had always been a holiday. For it fell in June, the loveliest month of the year, and the fun began the day before, when, as soon as they were released from school, they, and some chosen ones among their companions, came racing down the village street on their way to what was still called the...

I do not think you could anywhere have found a happier little boy than Ferdy Ross when he woke on the morning of his ninth birthday. He was always-at least almost always-happy, and he had good reason for being so. He had everything that children need to make life bright and joyous: kind parents, a dear sister, a pretty home, and, best of all, a loving, trusting, sunshiny nature, which made it easy for him to be very happy and loving, and made it easy too for others to love him in return and to feel pleasure in being with him. But to-day, his birthday, the fourteenth of May, he was very...

We never thought of Finster St. Mabyn's being haunted. We really never did. This may seem strange, but it is absolutely true. It was such an extremely interesting and curious place in many ways that it required nothing extraneous to add to its attractions. Perhaps this was the reason. Now-a-days, immediately that you hear of a house being "very old," the next remark is sure to be "I hope it is"-or "is not"-that depends on the taste of the speaker-"haunted." But Finster was more than very old; it was ancient and, in a modest way, historical. I will not take up time by relating its history,...

"Mary is crying," said Mr Coo. "No " replied Mrs Coo. But Mr Coo said again- "Mary is crying," and though Mrs Coo repeated- "No " she knew by the way he held his head on one side and looked at her, that he was very much in earnest indeed. I must tell you that when Mrs Coo said 'no, ' it went off into a soft sound that was almost like 'coo'; indeed most of her talking, and of Mr Coo's too, sounded like that, which is the reason, I daresay, that many people would not have understood their conversation. But it would be rather tiresome to write "no," or other words, with double o's at the end, so...

"It's what comes in our heads when we Play at 'Let's-make-believe, ' And when we play at 'Guessing.'" Charles Lamb. It was their favourite play. Gladys had invented it, as she invented most of their plays, and Roger was even more ready to play at it than at any other, ready though he always was to do anything Gladys liked or wanted. Many children would have made it different-instead of "going over the sea to Papa," they would have played at what they would do when Papa should come over the sea to them. But that was not what they had learnt to look forward to, somehow-they were like two little...

"Blue were their eyes as the fairy-flax, Their cheeks like the dawn of day." Longfellow. A soft rather shaky sort of tap at the door. It does not all at once reach the rather deaf ears of the little old lady and tall, still older gentleman who are seated in their usual arm-chairs, one with his newspaper by the window, the other with her netting by the fire, in the exceedingly neat-neat, indeed, is no word for it-"parlour" of Arbitt Lodge. In what part of the country this queerly-named house was-is still, perhaps-to be found there is no particular reason for telling; whence came this same...

A dull afternoon in November. In London, too, where, though bright and beautiful November days are not utterly unknown, they are, it must be allowed, the exception. A not very lively scene indoors either. A large-too large for the present purpose at least-concert-room in a public building, very far from well filled, and somewhat dimly lighted; the dimness aggravated by a suspicion of fog.

"Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashioned country seat." Once upon a time in an old town, in an old street, there stood a very old house. Such a house as you could hardly find nowadays, however you searched, for it belonged to a gone-by time-a time now quite passed away.