teful?" said Philippa.
"Will his sister look like that when I take her the nourishing things?"

"Perhaps she will," said Miss Mervyn; "but, my dear Philippa, it is not
only giving people things that makes them grateful."

"What does, then?" asked Philippa, with a stare of surprise.

"Well, I think kindness and love make people more grateful than rich
gifts. Your cousin Dennis liked Tuvvy, and took a great deal of trouble
for him. That was better than giving him a great deal of money."

Philippa thought this over a little.

"But," she said at length, "I can't possibly like Dan's sister Becky
yet, you know, because I've never seen her."

"Meanwhile, then," said Miss Mervyn, "you can try to be grateful to all
the people you have seen and love, and who do so much for you every day.
Perhaps if you see Becky, you will like her too, and then you will be
so glad to make her happy, that you will not stop to think whether she
is grateful or not."

"What should you think," pursued Philippa, "are the most nourishing
things of all?"

Miss Mervyn bent her mind anxiously on the subject, and finally decided
in favour of milk, eggs, and beef-tea.

"But," objected Philippa, "they're all nasty, except eggs. Can't she
have something nice? Jelly and tarts, and roast chickens?"

"Suppose," said Miss Mervyn, "we write out a list of things, and then
you can show it to your mother this evening, and hear what she thinks."

That seemed a good plan to Philippa, and she was soon so absorbed in
writing down desirable delicacies, that she would hardly consent to be
dressed when the hour came for her to go to Mrs Trevor. Ready at last,
she flew down-stairs in high spirits with the list in her hand, and at
once burst into the story, jumbling up Becky, Dennis, Dan, and Tuvvy the
wheelwright in such a manner that her mother gazed at her distractedly.
Philippa was too excited to make things very clear, but at last Mrs
Trevor gathered that for some reason or other she wished to go and see
the sister of the boy who worked in the garden.

"And I want to take her these," added Philippa, thrusting a long
scrawled list before her mother's eyes.

Mrs Trevor raised her eye-glasses and looked at it in despair.

"Why, my darling?" she inquired feebly.

"She's ill," answered Philippa. "May Mrs Bunce pack them in a basket?"

"Certainly, you may send them to the little girl if you wish, my dear,
and it's very sweet of you to think of it. But I