en they were all in bloom. It
was like a picture."

"It is like a picture now, I think," said Betty, gazing up at the giant
branches overheard that seemed to be waving a welcome. There was a
listening expression on her face, as if she understood their leafy
whisperings. Lloyd and her mother exchanged glances, and after that she
was disturbed by no word until the carriage stopped. They understood her
silent pleasure in the great trees that they themselves had learned to
look upon as old friends.

At the house Betty leaned forward for an admiring glance at the tall
white pillars, all wreathed and festooned in their green lacework of
vines. "Oh, I know this place," she cried. "It is in my Pilgrim's
Progress, where Christian stopped awhile on his way to the City of the
Shining Ones. It is the House Beautiful!"

"What odd fancies you have!" exclaimed Lloyd, stepping out of the
carriage as she spoke. "But it is dear of you to give the place such a
sweet name. Come on up and see your room. After you have rested awhile
I'll take you all over the house."

As they went down the wide, airy hall, Betty had a glimpse of the
drawing-room through the open doors. In a confused way she noticed
mirrors and statuary and portraits, handsome old furniture and rare
pieces of bric-a-brac; but one thing caught her attention so that she
stood a moment in round-eyed admiration. It was a large harp, whose
gracefully curving frame gleamed through the shadowy room like burnished
gold. Fair and tall it stood, as if its strings had just been swept by
some of the Shining Ones beyond, who were a part of the Pilgrim's dream.

"What did you say?" asked Lloyd, hearing her cry of admiration, and
looking back to see Betty standing in the open door with clasped hands.
"Oh, that is grandmothah's harp. I am learning to play on it to please
grandfathah. I'll teach you some chords while you are heah, if you want
me to. Come on."

At the landing where the stairs turned, Betty stopped again, for there
was a great casement window looking out into a beech-grove, and under it
a cosy cushioned window-seat, where some one had evidently been reading.
There were books and magazines scattered all among the pillows.

"Heah is yo' room!" cried Lloyd, throwing open a door at the head of the
stairs, and leading the way in. Betty followed, her sunbonnet in her
hand, and looked around her like one in a dream. She had never imagined
a room could be so beautiful. If Lloyd