," cried Hermione. "I
think I can unravel your mysterious secret, little girl, you are a
favourite with the housekeeper," added she, whispering in Hermione's
ear, "and she has just given you an orange."

"You are a very bad guesser of secrets," whispered Hermione in
return. "It's no such thing!"--"Then it's an apple." "No, nor an
apple."--"Then it's a peach, and your new frock will be spoilt." "No
it isn't a peach either, and it's a secret." The young lady loved fun,
and a playful struggle ensued between her and Hermione; in the course
of which the large grey worsted ball and its long ravelled tail were
drawn from the little pocket.

Hermione had now to tell the history of the ball, which she did
naturally and honestly, but when she added, quite seriously, that she
intended, when they had done talking to her, to go behind her Mamma's
chair and finish winding it up, you may guess how they laughed.

"Come here, my little dear, and let me look at you," cried an elderly
lady in spectacles, putting out her hand and laying hold of
Hermione's. "Why what an industrious little soul you must be! a
perfect pattern! There now! you may go behind my chair and finish your
ball of worsted; nobody wants to talk to you any longer."

This old lady was rather crabbed, and had not quite believed Hermione
sincere, so she did this to try her, and expected to see her pout and
refuse. To her surprize, Hermione only said "Oh thank you, ma'am,"
with a quite smiling face, and going behind the chair, sat down on the
floor to her worsted. For a few moments the old lady kept thinking "It
won't last long: she'll soon be glad of an excuse to come out:" but no
such thing happened; and just what Hermione expected did happen. The
ladies fell to talking among themselves, and in a very short time the
presence of the little girl was quite forgotten, even by the old lady,
who was handed out to dinner, without once remembering whom she had
left behind her chair.

Hermione stayed in the room till her task was over, and then rushed up
stairs to the nursery, and stopping at the door, half opened it and
rolled the great grey worsted ball so cleverly in, that it hit the old
Nurse's foot as she sat (once more rocking the baby) over the fire.
"Goodness, bless me! what ever is that?" Then, spying a laughing face
at the door, "Oh dear heart, it's you I declare, Miss Hermione! will
you never leave off waking the baby? I thought a great black dog was
laying hold of