anting_ to study anatomy!"

"The idea of wanting to study anything else," cried Peggy, "except
physics and geometry. It's this horrible literature and stuff that I
cannot bear. But we can't stop and talk, with the box only half
unpacked. Oh, pictures! Now I do like pictures, when they are the right
kind. Bertha, look at this, will you?"

With difficulty she lifted out a large picture which filled the box from
end to end. Both girls uttered a cry of delight. It was the "Automedon"
of Henri Regnault. The great horses rearing and plunging, the heroic
figure of the charioteer, seemed to take Peggy's breath. "It--it's the
kind of thing you dream about, isn't it?" she said. "They are alive; I
believe they'll break through the glass in another minute. Oh, there
can't be anything else as splendid as this!"

[Illustration: "'BERTHA, LOOK AT THIS, WILL YOU?'"]

But when she drew out next a fine photograph of "The Night Watch," she
hardly knew what to say. The gleaming eyes of the lions, prowling
among the ruined columns, fascinated her almost as much as the wild
horses had done. She had less to say to the beautiful photograph of the
Sistine Madonna, which came next; yet she looked at it with eyes of
wistful affection. It was Margaret's favourite picture, and she loved it
on that account as well as its own. Yet her taste was for "critters," as
she freely acknowledged; and she glowed again as Bertha held up an
engraving of "Sheridan's Ride," with the great captain riding straight
out of the picture at her.

"That's the kind of thing she wants!" Mr. Montfort had said, when he and
his niece Margaret were having their delightful "Peggy-lark," as he
called it. "The Sistine by all means, Meg; but no more old masters for
our Peggy. She won't understand them, and she won't like them. What was
it she said about your pet St. Anthony?"

"She said he looked as if he had gone out for clams and fallen into the
mud!" said Margaret, rather ruefully. "I suppose you are right, Uncle
John; but, oh, do look at this lovely Murillo angel! How could she help
loving this?"

"The anatomy of it would distress her," said Mr. Montfort, dryly. "You
know Peggy is strong on anatomy. Better take the 'Automedon.'"

"Which you said was out of drawing!" cried Margaret, with a flash of
mischief. "Oh, if you are going to put false ideas into her head, Uncle
John--" on which she was very properly told to choose her pictures, and
not be saucy.

The last pict