ssible we should
strain it into a saucepan and keep it hot till the meat was quite
ready."

"I am sure father will enjoy this roast beef," said Margaret.

"I hope and think he will," said Mrs. Herbert. "Beef roasted in this way
before the fire is most excellent. It is, however, not nearly so common
as it once was, for with the stoves and kitcheners now in use, it is
easier to bake, or, as it is called, to roast meat in the oven. I
therefore wanted you to understand the best way of roasting meat, and
you shall next learn how to roast it in the oven."

(_To be continued._)

HOW PAULINA WON BACK PETER.

A FAIRY STORY.

"Bravo! bravo! bravo!"

It was a tiny voice that spoke, sweet and clear as a nightingale's; but
it was not a nightingale. It was a large brown and scarlet butterfly,
with a dash of purple in its wings.

The mannikins paused in their gambols, and one made a bow, whilst
another skipped up the scarlet runner that had suddenly shot up out of
the ground, and twined in and out in fantastic knots, and brought
himself to a level with the butterfly.

"If you had but wings!" added the butterfly.

[Illustration: "PETER WAS SITTING UP IN BED."]

"Wings, ah yes! how we should like them!
Then we'd fly so high, so high,
Turning somersaults, and fluttering
Like----a graceful butterfly."

"Now," continued the mannikin, "as you are an emperor, I really think
that you might order some wings for us. What do you say?"

"A Red Emperor," observed the butterfly; "but after all there's not much
in it. It is, you see, all in the name. And I haven't really any power
whatever to give wings or anything else. For you must know that I am
under orders myself."

The mannikin looked at the Red Emperor in surprise.

"And you an Emperor?" said he. "Hasn't this scarlet runner sprung up so
that we might run up it to speak to you?"

"That may or may not be," began the Emperor. "But----"

II.

"But what?"

No, the Red Emperor was not speaking now. Somehow the butterfly and the
mannikins had got into the book that Paulina was reading to Peter.

Peter was sitting up in bed; he had also a book in his hand, and he
threw it down and sprang out of bed, crying out--

"But what a splendid butterfly!"

"Oh, your sprained ankle, Peter!" cried Paulina.

But Peter was at the window, in fact, half out of it; and his left
ankle, which was bound up with bandages, suddenly appeared to be quite
as free from pain as