ould have said: "How shocking to hear such merry laughter--their
mother has only been dead a month." But Mrs. Ellsworthy had far too
kind a heart to do these children such an injustice. She knew that the
dark lines under Jasmine's bright eyes were caused by the passion of a
great grief; but she also knew that with such a nature sunshine must
follow storm. Daisy in the midst of her play, too, began suddenly to
cry.

"What is the matter, my little one?" asked the lady of the house. The
child put her arms round her neck, and whispered through sobs: "I am
so happy now; but I know I'll be miserable bye-and-bye. I'll want so
badly to tell mamma about you, and mamma won't be there."

Primrose was also serenely happy--she was glad to hear her sisters'
laughter, and she liked to walk about the beautiful place, and to feel
the soft summer air on her cheeks.

The village of Rosebury lay low; but Shortlands stood on rising
ground, and the more bracing air did Primrose good. When she saw how
happy Mrs. Ellsworthy made her sisters she forgave her for not calling
on her mother.

Mr. Ellsworthy took a good deal of notice of Primrose, and showed her
some of his pet books, and talked to her in a sensible grown-up way.
Jasmine and Daisy were young for their years, but Primrose was old,
and she liked to ask practical questions. Had she known Mr. Ellsworthy
a little better she might have even consulted him as to the best way
of laying out thirty pounds per annum, so as to cover all the expenses
of three girls who wished to live as ladies; but she was both shy and
reserved; and when Mr. Ellsworthy, goaded on by certain looks from his
wife, referred to the subject of money, Primrose started aside from it
like any frightened young fawn.

The day, the happy day for all three, passed only too quickly, and it
was Mrs. Ellsworthy at last who determined to plunge boldly into the
heart of the subject which was uppermost in her thoughts.

"Primrose," she said, taking the elder sister aside, "you must forgive
me for speaking plainly to you, dear. I call you Primrose, because you
do not seem to me altogether a stranger, and my husband knew your
father. I may call you Primrose, may I not, love?"

"Please, do," said Primrose, with that sweet smile which came only
rarely to her quiet face; "I like it--it is my name. When people say
Miss Mainwaring I feel--lonely."

"You are Primrose, then, to me, dear. Now, Primrose, take my hand,
and sit quietl