let go of the door, and went down-stairs about as quietly as a
horse would have gone.

"He's such a strange, shy boy," said Mrs. Laurie, apologetically.
"But he has a good heart, and you can do almost any thing with him.
How is Earnest? the dear little fellow."

"Earnest is almost a man. He is as large as I am," replied Mrs.
Fleetwood.

"Indeed! I can't think of him as any thing but a bright little boy,
not so large as my Henry."

As she said this, her Henry, who had gone clattering down-stairs a
few moments before, presented himself at the door again, and
commenced swinging himself, and taking observations of the state of
affairs within the chamber. The mother and aunt both concluded
within their own minds that it was as well not to take any notice of
him, and therefore went on with their conversation. Presently a
happy, singing voice was heard upon the stairs.

"There comes my little Martha, the light of the whole house," said
Mrs. Laurie. In a few moments, a sweet-faced child presented
herself, and was about entering, when Henry stepped into the door,
and, putting a foot against each side, blocked up the way. Martha
attempted to pass the rude boy, and, in doing so, fell over one of
his feet, and struck her face a severe blow upon the floor. The loud
scream of the hurt child, the clattering of Henry down-stairs, and
the excited exclamation of the mother as she sprang forward, were
simultaneous. Mr. Laurie and Mr. Fleetwood came running up from the
room below, and arrived in time to see a gush of blood from the nose
of Martha, as her mother raised her from the floor.

"Isn't it too much!" exclaimed Mrs. Laurie. "I think that it is the
worst boy I ever saw in my life!"

The application of a little cold water soon staunched the flow of
blood, and a few kind words soothed the feelings of the child, who
sat in her mother's lap, and answered her aunt when she spoke to
her, like a little lady, as she was.

"Where are the rest of your children?" asked Mrs. Fleetwood. The
gentlemen were now seated with the ladies.

"You've had a pretty fair sample of them," replied Mr. Laurie,
smiling good humouredly, "and may as well be content with that for
the present. To say the best of them, they are about as wild a set
of young scape-graces as ever made each other miserable, and their
parents, too, sometimes."

"Why, Mr. Laurie!" exclaimed his wife, who had not forgotten her old
opinions, freely expressed, about the ease wi