"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...

The house stood on rising ground, and the nursery was at the top of the house-except of course for the attics above-so there was a good view from the two large windows. This was a great comfort to the children during the weeks they were busy getting better from a long, very long, illness, or illnesses. For they had been so unwise as to get measles, and scarlet fever, and something else-I am not sure if it was whooping-cough or chicken-pox-all mixed up together Don't you think they might have been content with one at a time? Their mamma thought so, and the doctor thought so, and most of all,...

Yes," said my father, "there is no doubt about it; it is the best thing to do. So that is decided." The "yes" was no expression of agreement with any one but himself. It was simply the emphatic reiteration of the decision he had already arrived at. He folded up the letter he had been reading, and replaced it carefully and methodically in its envelope, then glanced round the breakfast-table with the slightly defiant, slightly deprecating, yet nevertheless wholly good-tempered air which we all knew well-so well that not one of us would have dreamt of wasting time or energy by beating his or her...

"I was four yesterday; when I'm quite old I'll have a cricket-ball made of pure gold; I'll never stand up to show that I'm grown; I'll go at liberty upstairs or down." He trotted upstairs. Perhaps trotting is not quite the right word, but I can't find a better. It wasn't at all like a horse or pony trotting, for he went one foot at a time, right foot first, and when right foot was safely landed on a step, up came left foot and the rest of Baby himself after right foot. It took a good while, but Baby didn't mind. He used to think a good deal while he was going up and down stairs, and it was...

"Good onset bodes good end." Spenser. "Well?" said Ralph. "Well?" said Sylvia. "Well?" said Molly. Then they all three stood and looked at each other. Each had his or her own opinion on the subject which was uppermost in their minds, but each was equally reluctant to express it, till that of the others had been got at. So each of the three said "Well?" to the other two, and stood waiting, as if they were playing the old game of "Who speaks first?" It got tiresome, however, after a bit, and Molly, whose patience was the most quickly exhausted, at last threw caution and dignity to the winds.

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."

"One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead." I myself have never seen a ghost (I am by no means sure that I wish ever to do so), but I have a friend whose experience in this respect has been less limited than mine. Till lately, however, I had never heard the details of Lady Farquhar's adventure, though the fact of there being a ghost story which she could, if she chose, relate with the authority of an eye-witness, had been more than once alluded to before me. Living at extreme ends of the country, it is but seldom my friend and I are able to meet; but a few months ago I had...

"Those never loved Who dream that they 'loved once.'"-E. B. Browning. "You won't be long any way, dear Auntie?" said Sylvia with a little sigh. "I don't half like your going. Couldn't you wait till the day after to-morrow?" "Or at least take me with you," said Molly, Sylvia's younger sister, eagerly. Auntie hesitated-she glanced up at as much of the sky as could be seen through the lace-shrouded windows of their pretty Paris salon-it was already beginning to grow dusky, for though only half-past three, it was the thirty-first of December, and a dull day-and then turned with decision towards...

It was not their home. That was easy to be seen by the eager looks of curiosity and surprise on the two little faces inside the heavy travelling carriage. Yet the faces were grave, and there was a weary look in the eyes, for the journey had been long, and it was not for pleasure that it had been undertaken. The evening was drawing in, and the day had been a somewhat gloomy one, but as the light slowly faded, a soft pink radiance spread itself over the sky. They had been driving for some distance through a flat monotonous country; then, as the ground began to rise, the coachman relaxed his...

"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...