fidence. "I
am here!" announced Darsie's eyes to an admiring world. "Let the band
strike up!"

Some inherent quality in Darsie--some grace, some charm, some spell--
which she wove over the eyes of beholders, caused them to credit her
with a beauty which she did not possess. Even her family shared in this
delusion, and set her up as the superlative in degree, so that "as
pretty as Darsie" had come to be regarded a climax of praise. The glint
of her chestnut hair, the wide, bright eyes, the little oval face set on
a long, slim throat smote the onlooker with instant delight, and so
blinded him that he had no sight left with which to behold the blemishes
which walked hand in hand. Photographs valiantly strove to demonstrate
the truth; pointed out with cruel truth the stretching mouth, the small,
inadequate nose, but even the testimony of sunlight could not convince
the blind. They sniffed, and said: "What a travesty! Never again to
_that_ photographer! Next time we'll try the man in C-- Street," and
Darsie's beauty lived on, an uncontroverted legend.

By a triumph of bad management, which the Garnett girls never ceased to
deplore, their three brothers came at the end instead of the beginning
of the family. Three grown-up brothers would have been a grand asset;
big boys who would have shown a manly tenderness towards the weaknesses
of little sisters; who would have helped and amused; big boys going to
school, young men going to college, coming home in the vacations,
bringing their friends, acting as squires and escorts to the girls at
home. Later on brothers at business, wealthy brothers, generous
brothers; brothers who understood how _long_ quarter-day was in coming
round, and how astonishingly quickly a girl's allowance vanishes into
space! Clemence, Darsie, and Lavender had read of such brothers in
books, and would have gladly welcomed their good offices in the flesh,
but three noisy, quarrelsome, more or less grimy schoolboys, superbly
indifferent to "those girls"--this was another, and a very different
tale! Harry was twelve--a fair, blunt-featured lad with a yawning
cavity in the front of his mouth, the result of one of the many
accidents which had punctuated his life. On the top story of the
Garnett house there ran a narrow passage, halfway along which, for want
of a better site, a swing depended from two great iron hooks. Harry, as
champion swinger, ever striving after fresh flights, had one day in a