med the children with a cheerful, "Well,
Master Cecil, you are just in nice time for dinner! Come, get your
things off; your gran'ma has a treat for you."

"Has she? Oh, what is it? Do tell, Lottie!"

"Don't mind, dear, if you are tired; your morning-gown will do very
well, as we are alone."

"No, no; I must honor Cecil's birthday with my best dress. These trifles
are important."

"I suppose so," returned her daughter, looking after her gravely, as she
left the room.

Mrs. Liddell was tall, and the lines of her figure considerably
enlarged. Yet she had not quite lost the grace for which she was once
remarkable. Her light brown hair had a pale look from the increasing
admixture of gray, and her blue eyes seemed faded by much use. It was a
kind, thoughtful, worn face from which they looked, yet it could still
smile brightly.

"She looks very, very tired," thought her daughter. "I must make her lie
down if I can; it is so hard to make her rest!" She too looked uneasily
at the mass of writing on the table, and then went away to remove her
out-door attire.

The birthday dinner gave great satisfaction. It was crowned by a
plum-pudding, terrible as such a compound must always be in June; but it
was a favorite "goody" with the young hero of the day. Grandmamma made
herself as agreeable as though she was one of a party of wits, and drank
her grandson's health in a bottle of choice gooseberry, proposing it in
a "neat and appropriate" speech, which gave rise to much uproarious
mirth and delight. At last the feast was over; the children retired to
amuse themselves with a horse and a wheelbarrow--some of the birthday
gifts--in the back garden (a wilderness resigned to their ravages), and
Mrs. Liddell and her daughter were left alone.

"Now, mother, _do_ come and lie down on the sofa in the drawing-room. I
see you are out of sorts. You hardly tasted food, and you are dreadfully
tired; come and rest. I will read you to sleep."

"No, Kate; there can be no rest for me, my darling," returned her
mother, rising, and beginning to put the plates and glasses together
with a nervous movement. "I _am_ out of sorts, for I have had a great
disappointment. _The Family Friend_ has refused my three-volume novel,
and I really have not the heart to try it anywhere else after such
repeated rejections. At the same time Skinner & Palm write to say they
cannot use my short story, 'On the Rack,' for five or six months, as
they have such a quan