es,
and made them white in the blood of the Lamb' (Rev. vii. 14).

'That's a good child; are you sorry?'

'Yes,' was the reply, rather absently given, for Betty's mind was on
the white-robed throng; and how could she let nurse know all the
workings of her busy brain over the verse she had been taking into her
heart and soul?

'And remember,' said nurse gravely, 'that no naughty children who
quarrel and fight will ever be in heaven.'

'Not even if they've been through great tribulation?' quickly demanded
Betty.

But nurse did not hear, and Betty was received into the well-lighted
nursery with acclamation from the others, already seated at the round
table for tea.

'We've made a new game, Molly and I,' announced Douglas.

He was a fair, curly-headed boy with an innocent baby face, and a
talent for inventing the most mischievous plans that could ever be
concocted, with a will that made all the others bow before him. Molly
was also fair, with long golden hair that reached to her waist; extreme
self-possession and absence of all shyness were perhaps her chief
characteristics. 'I am the eldest of the family,' she was fond of
asserting, and she certainly claimed the eldest's privileges. Yet her
temper was sweet and obliging, and she could easily be swayed and led
by those around her.

'Is it one for outdoors or indoors?' asked Betty with interest.

'Indoors, of course; we'll tell you after tea.'

'Your mother wants you in the drawing-room after ten,' put in nurse;
'you and Miss Molly are to go down.'

Molly looked pleased, not so Douglas. At last, putting down his piece
of bread and butter, he looked up into nurse's face with one of his
sweetest looks.

'Why are grown-up people so very dull, nurse? They all are just the
same, except Uncle Harry. They are dreadfully heavy and dull.'

'They have so little to amuse them,' Molly said reflectively: 'no games
or toys; they never make believe, or pretend the lovely things we do.'

'And their legs get stiff, and their dresses trip them up if they try
to run.'

'But they never get punished, and they're never scolded, and they're
never wicked.'

This from Betty.

'It's their talk that is so stupid,' went on Douglas; 'they look nice
until they begin to talk; they make me dreadfully sleepy to listen to
them.'

'Shall I go down instead of you to-night?' asked Betty eagerly.

'Don't chatter such nonsense; it's strange times when children begin to
pick their