he had been assisting
Richard, who was not above being taught by a younger brother; while, on
the other hand, Norman, much struck by his humility, would not for the
world have published that he was fit to act as his elder's tutor.

One evening, when the two boys came in from school, Tom gave a great
start, and, pulling Mary by the sleeve, whispered, "How came that book
here?"

"It is Mr. Harrison's."

"Yes, I know, but how came it here?"

"Richard borrowed it to look out something, and Ethel brought it down."

A little reassured, Tom took up an exciting story-book, and ensconced
himself by the fire, but his agonies were great during the ensuing
conversation.

"Norman," Ethel was exclaiming in delight, "do you know this book?"

"Smith? Yes, it is in the school library."

"There's everything in it that one wants, I do believe. Here is such an
account of ancient galleys--I never knew how they managed their banks of
rowers before--oh! and the Greek houses--look at the pictures too."

"Some of them are the same as Mr. Rivers's gems," said Norman, standing
behind her, and turning the leaves, in search of a favourite.

"Oh! what did I see? is that ink?" said Flora, from the opposite side of
the table.

"Yes, didn't you hear?" said Ethel. "Mr. Harrison told Ritchie when he
borrowed it, that unluckily one day this spring he left it in school,
and some of the boys must have upset an inkstand over it; but, though he
asked them all round, each denied it. How I should hate for such things
to happen! and it was a prize-book too."

While Ethel spoke she opened the marked page, to show the extent of the
calamity, and as she did so Mary exclaimed, "Dear me! how funny! why,
how did Harry's blotting-paper get in there?"

Tom shrank into nothing, set his teeth, and pinched his fingers, ready
to wish they were on Mary's throat, more especially as the words made
some sensation. Richard and Margaret exchanged looks, and their father,
who had been reading, sharply raised his eyes and said, "Harry's
blotting-paper! How do you know that, Mary?"

"It is Harry's," said she, all unconscious, "because of that anchor up
in one corner, and the Union Jack in the other. Don't you see, Ethel?"

"Yes," said Ethel; "nobody drew that but Harry."

"Ay, and there are his buttons," said Mary, much amused and delighted
with these relics of her beloved Harry. "Don't you remember one day
last holidays, papa desired Harry to write and ask Mr. Er