iend, Babs had never imagined
anything like this grown-up, elegant creature, who did her hair like the
ladies in the park and wore her watch dangling from her wrist. The
child's heart sank as she suddenly thought of her short gymnastic frock,
and her rumpled hair, and her dirty hands. As for Jill, she stared down at
the little person in front of her, and could not help smiling. Whenever
she had particularly dreaded being plunged into this family of boys,
she had always consoled herself by remembering that there would be one
girl among them to take her part. Now, as she looked at the rough little
tomboy before her, with her elf-like face and figure, and her bright
eager eyes, she had to own again to herself that a large family was a
difficult thing to understand.

'So you are Babs,' she began, not knowing what else to say. Then she
remembered her errand, and added hastily, 'Will you please go and see
mother? She is in the library with Uncle Everard.'

Barbara escaped and sped along the hall, full of relief at having got
away from the uncomfortable grown-up feeling that seemed to have come
into the schoolroom with Jill. She even paused outside the library door,
in her quaint, inconsequent way, to ask herself why Jill seemed so much
more grown-up than the nice old gentlemen who came to see her father,
with their pockets full of chocolates for her; and she supposed it was
because they were really old, while Jill was only grown-up, which was far
more alarming because it was so much more mysterious. But hardly had she
settled this question in her mind than a fresh one presented itself
to her. How was she to know that this other stranger, who was waiting
in there to see her, was not also going to stare at her and smile, as
Jill had done? Babs gave a troubled sigh, and opened the door with a
heavy heart.

A little old lady sat on the sofa beside her father, with her hand in
his. She was not beautiful by any means; her back was bent--like an
old witch's, Barbara thought--and she had a nose that might have been
described as hooked, and a mouth that turned down at the corners and
gave her almost a sour expression. But she had two small, keen black
eyes, that took all the ugliness out of her face; sometimes they shone
and sometimes they softened, but more often still they twinkled, as they
did now, when her little niece stole timidly into the room. The moment
the child looked up and met those eyes, she felt she was looking at her