y.

"You must have been lonely sometimes, dear?" she said.

"Oh, no; never, I think. You see, I learned so many things that I could
play by myself, and it never troubled Papa to have me in the room where
he was writing; I think he rather liked it. I had the waste-paper
basket; that was one of my chief delights. I might do what I wanted with
the papers, if I only put them back. So I carpeted the room with them,
and I laid out streets and squares, and had the pamphlets for walls and
houses. Or I was a queen, with a great correspondence, and all the
letters were brought to me by pages in green and gold, and when I read
them (this was before I could really read, of course), they were all
from my baby sister, and they told of all the lovely things she was
seeing, and the wonderful countries she and Mamma were travelling in.
Aunt Faith, I never see a waste-paper basket now, without feeling as if
there must be a letter for me in it."

"Was there really a baby sister, dear?"

"Yes, oh, yes! she died with Mamma, only a few days after her
birth,--little Penelope! It seems such a great name for a tiny baby,
doesn't it, Aunt Faith? But it is a family name, Papa told me."

"Yes, indeed, many of the Montforts have been named Penelope. You
remember the poor Aunt Penelope I told you about, who made the unhappy
marriage; and there were many others."

"Oh, that reminds me!" said Margaret. "Aunt Faith, you promised to tell
me some day about Aunt Phoebe. Don't you remember? We were speaking of
these white rooms, and you said it was a fancy of Uncle John's to have
them so, and you thought he remembered his Great-aunt Phoebe; and then
you said you would tell me some time, and this is some time, isn't it,
Auntie dear?"

"I cannot deny that, Margaret, certainly. And I don't know why this is
not a very good time; the twilight is soft and dusky, and Aunt Phoebe's
story ought not to be told in broad daylight."

She was silent a moment, as if looking back into the past. "It is the
sequel, rather than the story itself, that is singular," she said. "The
first part is like only too many other stories, alas! Your Great-aunt
Phoebe--your Great-great-aunt, I should say--was betrothed to a brave
young officer, Lieutenant Hetherington. It was just at the breaking out
of the War of 1812, and the engagement was made just as he was going
into active service. She was a beautiful girl, with large dark eyes, and
superb fair hair,--none of you three gir