ought to me by my grandfather when he returned from England," Mrs.
Willis always said. "I was a little girl about six years old. Later he
brought me those two China figures. He was a naval officer and that is
his portrait you see hanging on the wall."

"I love the little house," remarked Edna, knowing that the next word
would be: "You may play with it if you are very careful. It is one of my
oldest treasures and I should be very grieved if it were broken."

The little house was then handed down and Edna examined it carefully.
"It is so very pretty," she said, "that I should like to live in it. I
would like to live in a house with a bright red door."

"I used to think that same thing when I was a little girl," her
grandmother told her.

"I think maybe you'd better put it back so I won't break it," said Edna,
carefully handing the treasure to her grandmother, "and then will you
please tell me about the pictures?"

"The one over the mantel is called 'The Signing of the Declaration of
Independence,' and that small framed affair by the chimney is a key to
it, for it tells the names of the different men who figure in the
picture."

"I will look at it some day and see if I can find out which is which,"
said Edna. "That is Napoleon Bonaparte over there; I know him."

"Yes; and that other is General Washington, whom, of course, you know."

"Oh, yes, of course; and I know that little girl, the black head over
there; it is my great-great-grandmother."

"The silhouette, you mean? Yes, that is she, and she is the same one who
did that sampler you see hanging between the windows. She was not so old
as you when she did it."

Edna crossed the room and knelt on a chair in front of the sampler. It
was dim with age, but she could discern a border of pink flowers with
green leaves and letters worked in blue silk. She followed the letters
with the tip of her finger, tracing them on the glass and at last
spelling out the name of "Annabel Lisle, wrought in her seventh year."

"Poor little Annabel, how hard she must have worked," sighed Edna. "I
am glad I don't have to do samplers."

"You might be worse employed," said her grandmother, smiling.

"Did you ever do a sampler?" asked Edna.

"Not a sampler like this one, but I learned to work in cross stitch. Do
you remember the little stool in the living-room by the fireplace?"

"The one with roses on it that I was sitting on?"

"Yes; that I did when I was about your age, and the