warmly. "I
shall be very glad of your help sometimes; but to-day I really have
nothing for you to do, and besides, I think the first day ought to be
all play. If you can make yourself happy in this quiet place, that is
all I shall ask of you to-day. I shall probably take a little nap
myself, as I often do after dinner, sitting here in my chair."

Obeying Hildegarde's imperative nod, Rose left her seat by the window,
half reluctantly, and moved slowly toward the door. "It seems wicked to
lie down on such a day!" she murmured; "but I suppose I must."

As she spoke, she heard a faint, a very faint sigh from Miss Wealthy.
Feeling instinctively that something was wrong, she turned and saw that
the tidy on the back of the chair she had been sitting in had slipped
down. She went back quickly, straightened it, patted it a little, and
then with an apologetic glance and smile at the old lady, went to join
Hildegarde.

"A very sweet, well-mannered girl!" was Miss Wealthy's mental comment,
as her eyes rested contentedly on the smooth rectangular lines of the
tidy. "Two of the sweetest girls, in fact, that I have seen for a good
while. Mildred has brought up her daughter extremely well; and when one
thinks of it, she herself has developed in a most extraordinary manner.
A most notable and useful woman, Mildred! Who would have thought it?"

Rose slept in the inner bedroom, which opened directly out of
Hildegarde's, with a curtained doorway between. It was a pretty room,
and very appropriate for Rose, as there were roses on the wall-paper and
on the soft gray carpet. Here the ex-invalid, as she began to call
herself, lay down on the cool white bed, in the pretty summer wrapper
of white challis, dotted with rosebuds, which had been Mrs. Grahame's
parting present. Hildegarde put a light shawl over her, and then sat
down on the window-seat.

"Shall I read or sing, Rosy?" she asked.

"Oh! but are you quite sure you don't want to do something else, dear?"
asked Rose.

"Absolutely sure!" said Hildegarde. "Quite positively sure!"

"Then," said Rose, "sing that pretty lullaby that you found in the old
song-book the other day. So pretty! it is the one that Patient Grissil
sings to her babies, isn't it?"

So Hilda sang, as follows:--

"'Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,
Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lulla