ile the rest of the room was a comfortable mystery in
which the parlour-maid's cap and apron flitted whitely to and fro. Nor
did Michael go to bed immediately after supper, for he actually sat
grandly in the drawing-room, one of a semicircle round the autumnal fire
of logs crackling and leaping with blue flames. He sat silent, listening
to the pitter-pat of Mrs. Carthew's Patience and watching the halma
board waiting for May to encounter Joan, while in a low voice Nancy read
to him one of Fifty-two Stories of Adventure for Girls. Bed-time came at
the end of the story and Michael was sad to say good night for the last
time and sad to think, when he got into his ribboned bed, that to-morrow
night he would be in Carlington Road among brass knobs and Venetian
blinds and lamp-posts and sounds of London. Then came a great surprize
that took away nearly all the regrets he felt at leaving Cobble Place,
for Miss Carthew leaned over and whispered that she was coming to live
at Sixty-four.

"Oh!" Michael gasped. "With us--with Stella and me?"

Miss Carthew nodded.

"I say!" Michael whispered. "And will Stella have lessons when I'm going
to school?"

"Every morning," said Miss Carthew.

"I expect you'll find her rather bad at lessons," said Michael
doubtfully.

He was almost afraid that Miss Carthew might leave in despair at
Stella's ineptitude.

"Lots of people are stupid at first," said Miss Carthew.

Michael blushed: he remembered a certain morning when capes and
promontories got inextricably mixed in his mind and when Miss Carthew
seemed to grow quite tired of trying to explain the difference.

"Will you teach her the piano now?" he enquired.

"Oh dear, no. I'm not clever enough to do that."

"But you teach me."

"That's different. Stella will be a great pianist one day," said Miss
Carthew earnestly.

"Will she?" asked Michael incredulously. "But I don't like her to play a
bit--not a bit."

"You will one day. Great musicians think she is wonderful."

Michael gave up this problem. It was another instance of the chasm
between youth and age. He supposed that one day he would like Stella's
playing. One day, so he had been led to suppose, he would also like fat
and cabbage and going to bed. At present such a condition of mind was
incomprehensible. However, Stella and the piano mattered very little in
comparison with the solid fact that Miss Carthew was going to live in
Carlington Road.

On the next morning befo