ust like
a lion in a cage," Bertie whispered irreverently. He paid the cabman
while they got out, and then hurried them across the platform and into a
first-class carriage that he had engaged; the door was shut with a loud
bang, and in another moment the engine whistled shrilly, and the train
went out of the station. Mr. Murray held all their tickets in his hand,
and in such a way that even Bertie's keen eyes could not detect their
destination, but as they got completely into the country the places
seemed strangely familiar. At last Eddie drew nearer Bertie, and took
his hand. "Look, Bert! that's Linkworth Station; the next will be
Riversdale," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "Oh! I do hope
we shall not stop there!" Even as he spoke the train seemed to slacken
speed again. The engine shrieked, and stopped at dear old Riversdale.

Mr. Murray sprang out briskly, and assisted Mrs. Clair; the others
followed; and in a few moments they were all driving along the familiar
road towards the old home of the Rivers's. As the carriage turned in at
the lodge gate, Bertie cried out, unable to restrain himself, "Oh! Aunt
Amy, we're _really_ going home to Riversdale. Hurrah!"

Eddie was perfectly silent: he could not trust himself to speak. Little
Agnes clung to her aunt, whose eyes were full of tears, and Mr. Murray
chatted away briskly about the weather, the beauty of the country in its
winter mantle--everything, in fact, but their destination. They arrived
at the hall door, where several of the old servants were waiting,
amongst them Mittens, the housekeeper, who kissed the children
individually and collectively, and laughed and cried at the same time.

"Come in! come in!" Mr. Murray cried, leading the way to the library;
"it's too cold to stand about. And now, children, how do you like your
old home?" he added, as they all stood silent and confused round the
blazing wood fire. Then he suddenly grew very serious, and turning to
Mrs. Clair, placed his hand on her arm. "This was your father's house;
now, through the variations of fortune, it is mine, Mrs. Clair; but one
day it will belong to one of those boys: I won't say which; but Eddie is
the elder, and I think he will deserve to be heir of Riversdale. Bertie
I know I can trust. Meantime, Mrs. Clair, it is your home, and the
little maiden's, and Eddie's. If he cares to continue his artistic
profession, he can have a master here to conduct his studies. If he is
worthy,