ace, and the travellers reached the end of their journey. Then eager
feet began to trot up and down the grass-grown steps, and climb on the
old carved railing, where the griffins fascinated little Grace by their
stony stare, as they used to do her mother years ago. The long-silent
corridors began to resound with joyous laughter, as the merry party
rambled through the old rooms, wishing to identify each place with
historical recollections, founded on their mother's and Uncle Walter's
stories. And was that really the tree that Uncle Walter made believe to
be the rigging of a ship, and one day fell from one of its highest
boughs? And where used they to keep their rabbits, and in what room did
they learn their lessons? These, and such questions, were generally
asked in chorus, to which their mother had to endeavour to reply, as she
wandered among the familiar rooms with her merry boys and girls.

"Mamma, do you know what I should like to see best of all? Two things,
mamma," whispered little Grace, as she caught hold of her mother's
dress.

"And what would my little girl like to see--the toys mamma used to play
with when she was a little girl like Gracie? I believe I've carried the
key of the chest where they lie buried about with me all these years;"
and Mrs. Foster began to look in the little basket she held in her hand
for a shining bunch of keys.

"It wasn't the toys I meant, though I should like to see them very
much," replied the little girl, who was more timid and gentle than her
brothers and sisters, and generally required more encouragement to
unburden her small mind, "it is the room where you taught Geordie that I
want to see--and Geordie's grave among the heather."

Some quick ears had caught a name that seemed to be a household word,
and louder voices said, as the boy's clustered round their mother, "Oh
yes, mamma, do show us where you taught Geordie and little Jean."

So Grace led the way through the dim passages that had once frightened
little Jean, and whose gloom now made the small Grace cling close to her
mother's side. The still-room was dark and unopened, for the servants
had not thought it necessary to include it in their preparations. Grace
went to the window and undid the fastenings, and the yellow afternoon
sun streamed on the dusty wooden bench where Geordie, and Jean, and
Elsie used to sit.

The merry voices were hushed for a moment, and the children looked in
awed silence into the little room,