The dazzling splendor of the scene below."

The frost has gone, for the time being; no snow fell last night;
scarcely does the wind blow. If, indeed, "there is in souls a sympathy
with sounds," I fear Georgie and Cissy and the children must be
counted utterly soulless, as they fail to hear the sobbing of the
coming storm, but with gay voices and gayer laughter come merrily over
the road to Gowran. Upon the warm sullen air the children's tones ring
like sweet silver bells.

As they enter the gates of Gowran, the youngest child, Amy, runs to
the side of the new governess, and slips her hand through her arm.

"I am going to tell you about all the pretty things as we go along,"
she says, patronizingly yet half shyly, rubbing her cheek against Miss
Broughton's shoulder. She is a tall, slender child, and to do this has
to stoop a little. "You fairy," she goes on, admiringly, encouraged
perhaps by the fact that she is nearly as tall as her instructress,
"you are just like Hans Andersen's tales. I don't know why."

"Amy! Miss Broughton won't like you to speak to her like that," says
Cissy, coloring.

But Georgie laughs.

"I don't mind a bit," she says, giving the child's hand a reassuring
pressure. "I am accustomed to being called that, and, indeed, I rather
like it now. I suppose I _am_ very small. But" (turning anxiously to
Cissy, and speaking quite as shyly as the child Amy had spoken a
moment since) "there is a name to which I am not accustomed, and I
hate it. It is 'Miss Broughton.' Won't you call me 'Georgie?'"

"Oh, are you sure you won't mind?" says the lively Cissy, with a deep
and undisguised sigh of relief. "Well, that is a comfort! it is all I
can do to manage your name. You don't look a bit like a 'Miss
Anything,' you know, and 'Georgie' suits you down to the ground."

"Look, look! There is the tree where the fairies dance at night,"
cries Amy, eagerly, her little, thin, spiritual face lighting with
earnestness, pointing to a magnificent old oak-tree that stands apart
from all the others, and looks as though it has for centuries defied
time and storm and proved itself indeed "sole king of forests all."

"Every night the fairies have a ball there," says Amy, in perfect good
faith. "In spring there is a regular wreath of blue-bells all round
it, and they show where the 'good folks' tread."

"How I should like to see them!" says Georgie, gravely. I think, in
her secret soul, she is impressed by the chil