ssed her in return. Who could have helped doing so? There were tears
in her eyes--those merry bright eyes that I had never before seen
looking sad; and it seemed to me that all of a sudden I found out how
sweet and pretty Emilia was.

"Dear Emilia," I said, and then touching a little knot of
pale-rose-coloured ribbon that she happened to be wearing, and which
seemed just to match the pretty flush in her cheeks, I whispered very
low, "Will _you_ be my pink pet, Emilia?"

She laughed happily. "That reminds me," she said, and out of her pocket
she drew a tiny box, which she gave me. I opened it, and gave a little
cry of surprise. There, in a nest of cotton-wool, there lay before me,
lovely as ever, my beloved shell!

"Emilia!" I exclaimed, "where did you get it? It was broken to bits."

"I brought it," said Aunt Lois. "Don't you remember my saying there had
once been two of those rare shells? Emilia wrote to ask me to hunt all
through the cabinet to see if possibly the other was still there; and I
actually did find it. It was hidden in a very large shell, that somehow
or other it had got into--one of the large shells you seldom played
with."

"How kind of you, and of Emilia," I said. Then I looked at the shell
again. "I should like to keep it _always_," I said, "but I won't make a
pink pet of it."

And I always did keep it. It lies now in a corner of my trinket-case,
where it has lain for many years, and where little fingers have often
reverently touched it, when I told them it was a keepsake from the dear,
merry Aunt Emilia their young eyes had never seen--sister and dearest of
friends while she lived, most precious of memories when she died. For
she died many years ago; but before many years more have passed, I smile
to think that God will let us be again together, and this is one of the
thoughts that makes me not regret to feel that I am really growing into
quite an old woman.

AN HONEST LITTLE MAN

OUR Baby is very fond of coming down to dessert. I almost think it is
the greatest pleasure in his small life, especially as it is not one
that very often happens, for, of course, as a rule, he has to go to bed
before father and mother begin dinner, and dessert comes at the end of
all, even after grace, which I have often wondered at. Our Baby is four;
he has rather red hair, and merry-sad eyes, if you know what I mean; and
in summer, because his skin is so very fair--"quite lost on a boy,"
nurse says--he h