he passers-by.

But the sequel was not so pleasant, for somehow or other Betty's head
would not come in so easily as it went out, and when nurse came to the
rescue with an angry hand, the poor little head was very much bruised
in consequence, and Betty's reward for such dexterity was an aching
head and dry bread for tea. She was a slight, slim little figure, with
big blue eyes, and long, black curved lashes and eyebrows, which made
her eyes the most beautiful feature in her face. Very soft, fine curly
hair surrounded a rather pathetic-looking little face; but her
movements were like quicksilver, and though all the little Stuarts were
noted for their mischievous ways and daring escapades, Betty eclipsed
them all.

She turned from the window soon with a sigh of relief.

'He's coming,' she said, 'old Bags is coming, and it's my turn to-day.'

There was no response. Bobby and Billy, the twins, little lads only
just promoted from petticoats to knickerbockers, were deeply engrossed
in one corner of the room over their bricks. Perched on the top of a
low chest of drawers were Douglas and Molly, and their heads were in
that close proximity that told that secret business was going on.

Betty's heart sank a little.

'Old Bags is coming,' she repeated; 'don't you hear his bell?'

'We're busy,' said Douglas, looking up; 'we won't have Bags' story
to-day.'

'You promised yesterday when you put it off that you would hear it
to-day. It isn't fair. I always listen to you.'

'Tell it to the babies; they'll like to hear.'

This was adding insult to injury, and when the twins trotted up to the
window Betty turned a defiant back upon them, tears of disappointment
dimming the blue eyes.

'She's cwying,' announced Bobby, twisting his head round to look up
into her face.

Betty turned round furiously; a sharp push sent Bobby to the ground,
and in falling he struck his head against one of the feet of the
nursery table. There was a howl, general confusion, and nurse
appeared, to discover and chastise the offender. Betty was led off in
disgrace to a little room on the nursery landing, known by the children
as 'Cells.' Their uncle, a young captain in the Guards, had given it
that name, but in reality it was nurse's storeroom, and was heated with
hot pipes, to air the linen kept there. It was a small, square room,
containing a table and one chair; the window was high above the
children's reach, and locked cupboards were on