was only too pleased to do so; they found her uncle waiting in
the drawing-room, where some tea had just been brought in. It was a
pretty sight, so at least thought Uncle Ted, to watch the little girl's
neat and careful ways, as she handled the tea-things with her tiny
fingers, looking as important as if it were a very serious affair
indeed.

'I suppose you've often made tea for your father and mother; you seem
quite at home about it,' said her uncle, as she brought him his cup.

'Yes,' Rosamond replied, 'I used to have breakfast alone with papa
sometimes when mamma was tired and didn't get up early. What pretty cups
these are, Uncle Ted! I do love pretty things, and you and Aunt Mattie
have so many.'

These cups are very old,' said Mr. Caryll, 'they belonged to our--your
father's and my great grandmother--your great, great grandmother that
would be, so they are rather precious.'

Rosamond looked at the cups with still greater admiration.

'I'll be _very_ careful of them,' she said; then, after a pause--'the
cups at Moor Edge were _so_ thick. I never saw such thick cups.'

There came a little laugh from Aunt Mattie in her corner at the
writing-table.

'Things need to be pretty strong at Moor Edge,' she said.

'Yes,' said Uncle Ted, 'the young men there do a good deal of knocking
about, I fancy. How did you get on with them, my little Rose? You are
not accustomed to racketty boys. I hope they didn't startle you?'

Rosamond's quiet little face grew rather pink.

'N--no,' she said slowly, 'I like them very much, Uncle Ted--and-- I
don't mind them being noisy, but'--here she broke off--'they didn't
think _me_ noisy,' she went on with a twinkle of fun in her eyes. 'They
made a new name for me; they call me "Miss Mouse."'

'A very good name too,' said her uncle. 'I didn't think they had so
much imagination, except perhaps Pat, who's got rather too much; he
seems always in a dream. Was it he who thought of the name?'

'Oh no,' Rosamond replied, 'it was the littlest one, Ger they call him.
He's a dear, fat little boy. I don't _think_----' and again she
hesitated.

'Don't be afraid of speaking out about them,' said Uncle Ted. 'I saw you
had something more in your little head when you stopped short before.'

Rosamond grew redder.

'I don't want to seem unkind,' she said, 'but are boys always like that,
Uncle Ted? I don't mean noisy, but so _fighting_. The big ones teach it
to the little ones. I was going to say