nk in the bright rays of the August
sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the
narrow row and shines right down into it.

"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my
dear; run off."

"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and
you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle
Bobo?"

"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good
time."

"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo."

Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for
poor Bertha.

Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied
forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and
returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and
chucking them across the counter to Susan, said--

"Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there,
and plenty of air."

Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very
enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise!

The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables,
which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those
who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two
instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison
song.

Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy
Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old
flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded
colours over the feast.

While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little
Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the
pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making
their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had
left. The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were
separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their
pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath.

Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the
children ran down to the water's edge.

The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack--not one
word. She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had
taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light
of her eyes. Why was she so tried? Why was her trouble always to be,
a