Rose claimed her mother's promise.

"Well," said Elsie, glancing dreamily about, "this parlor where we are all
sitting occupies the same part of the house, and is almost exactly like
the one where the scenes I told you of took place."

"What scenes?" asked Dr. Conly, drawing near, with a look of interest.

Mr. Dinsmore, too, turned to listen.

"I have been telling the children about the Christmas holidays at
Roselands the first winter after my father's return from Europe," she
answered. "It was before you were born, Cousin Arthur, while your mother
was still a very young girl."

"Mamma," asked Rosie, "where was grandpa sitting when you went to him and
confessed that you had let Carry Howard cut off one of your curls?"

"Near yonder window. Do you remember it, papa?" she asked, looking
smilingly at him.

"Yes, I think I have forgotten very little that ever passed between us.
You were a remarkably honest, conscientious child--would come and confess
wrong-doing that I should never have known or suspected, even when you
thought it likely I should punish you severely for it."

"Now, mamma," said Rosie, "won't you go into the hall with us and show us
just where papa caught you, and kissed you, and gave you the gold thimble?
And then your room and grandpa's?"

"Arthur, have we your permission to roam over the house?" Elsie asked,
turning to him.

"Yes; provided you will let me go along, for I am as much interested as
the children."

"Come, then," she said, rising and taking Walter's hand, Rosie, Lulu, and
Gracie keeping close to her, and Mr. Dinsmore and Arthur following.

Pausing in the hall, she pointed out the precise spot where the little
scene had been enacted between herself and him who was afterward her
husband, telling the story between a smile and a tear, then moved on up
the stairs with her little procession.

Opening a door, "This was my room," she said, "or rather my room was here
before the old house was burned down. It looks just the same, except that
the furniture is different."

Then passing on to another, "This was papa's dressing-room. I have passed
many happy hours here, sitting by his side or on his knee. It was here I
opened the trunk full of finery and toys that he brought me a few days
before that Christmas.

"Papa," turning smilingly to him, and pointing to a closed door on the
farther side of the room, "do you remember my imprisonment in that
closet?"

"Yes," he answered, with a rem