I stood up and made my best courtesy and
said,--

"'Please, sir, would you tell me what time of day you usually look?'

"'O,' he answered, carelessly, 'any time from seven in the morning till
ten at night. I am not a bit particular about time. I often go without
my own meals in order to make a record of table manners. For instance:
last evening I saw you turn your spoon over in your mouth, and that's
very unmannerly for a girl nearly fourteen.'

"'O, I didn't know _you_ were looking,' said I, very much ashamed; 'and
I'll never do it again,' I promised.

"Then he said I might look through the telescope, and I looked right
down into our house. There was mother very busy and very tired, and all
of the children teasing. It was queer, for I was there, too, and the
_bad-est_ of any. Pretty soon I ran to a quiet corner with a book, and
in a few minutes mamma had to leave her work and call, 'Lilian,
Lilian, it's time for you to practise.'

"'Yes, mamma,' I answered, 'I'll come right away.'

"As soon as I said this Santa Claus whistled for 'Comet' and 'Cupid,'
and they came tearing up the tower. He put me in a tiny sleigh, and away
we went, over great snow-banks of clouds, and before I had time to think
I was landed in the big chair, and mamma was calling 'Lilian, Lilian,
it's time for you to practise,' just as she is doing now, and I must
go."

So Lill answered, "Yes, mamma," and ran to the piano.

Effie sank back in the chair to think. She wished Lill had found out how
many black marks she had, and whether that lady was Mrs. Santa
Claus--and had, in fact, obtained more accurate information about many
things.

But when she asked about some of them afterwards, Lill said she didn't
know, for the next time she had traveled in that direction she found
Santa Claus Land had moved.

WHAT HAPPENED TO KATHIE AND LU.

It was a very great misfortune, and it must have been a sad affliction
to the friends of the two children, for both were once pretty and
charming.

It came about in this way.

Little Winnie Tennyson--she wasn't the daughter of Mr. Alfred Tennyson,
the poet-laureate of England, but _was_ as sweet as any one of that
gentleman's poems--had been to the city; and she had brought home so
many wondrous improvements that her two little bosom friends, Lu Medway
and Kathie Dysart, were almost struck dumb to behold and to hear what
Winnie said and what Winnie had.

For one thing, there were some wooden bloc