gone to be played with any longer, but too dear,
for old friendship's sake, to be quite thrown away. The furniture of
the sitting-room was cherry-wood, dark with age; and between the west
windows stood a cherry-wood desk, with shelves above and drawers
below, where Mr. Bright kept his papers and did his writing.

He was sitting there now as Eyebright came in, busy over something,
and in the rocking-chair beside the fire-place was a gentleman whom
she did not recognize at first, but who seemed to know her, for in a
minute he smiled and said:--

"Oho! here is my friend of this morning. Is this your little girl, Mr.
Bright?"

"Yes," replied papa, from his desk; "she is mine--my only one. That is
Mr. Joyce, Eyebright. Go and shake hands with him, my dear."

Eyebright shook hands, blushing and laughing, for now she saw that Mr.
Joyce was the gentleman who had interrupted their play at recess. He
kept hold of her hand when the shake was over, and began to talk in a
very pleasant, kind voice, Eyebright thought.

"I didn't know that you were Mr. Bright's little daughter when I asked
the way to his house," he said "Why didn't you tell me? And what was
the game you were playing, which you said was so splendid, but which
made you cry so hard? I couldn't imagine, and it made me very
curious."

"It was only about Lady Jane Grey," answered Eyebright. "I was Lady
Jane, and Bessie, she was Margaret; and I was just going to be
beheaded when you spoke to us. I always cry when we get to the
executions; they are so dreadful."

"Why do you have them, then? I think that's a very sad sort of play
for two happy little girls like you. Why not have a nice merry game
about men and women who never were executed? Wouldn't it be
pleasanter?"

"Oh, no! It isn't half as much fun playing about people who don't have
things happen to them," said Eyebright, eagerly. "Once we did, Bessie
and I. We played at George and Martha Washington, and it wasn't amusing
a bit,--just commanding armies, and standing on platforms to receive
company, and cutting down one cherry-tree! We didn't like it at all.
Lady Jane Grey is much nicer than that. And I'll tell you another
splendid one, 'The Children of the Abbey.' We played it all through
from the very beginning chapter, and it took us all our recesses for
four weeks. I like long plays so much better than short ones which are
done right off."

Mr. Joyce's eyes twinkled a little, and his lips twitched; but h