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“Yes, Mosey, I jist want to go to my mornin’-glory garding to tell it good-night.” She rubbed her sleepy tear-stained eyes. By this time, Nell was struggling with a dish of hard underdone crab-apples. She chased a refractory apple round and round in its small dish. Finally, with a feeling of triumph, she brought the apple to a halt. Alas! it did not yield to the prodding of the spoon, but bounced up and with an accuracy worthy of a better cause, landed on the eye of Howard Eliot. Betty, all this time feasting her eyes on the new-comer, and enjoying the unusual opulence of the table, burst into hearty laughter. CHAPTER XII.—THE AUTOGRAPH QUILT..

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May Nell had learned to use the towel; and the two children usually “did” the dishes at night; but now she was away with Edith at the Opera House, and mother and son were alone in the kitchen. “Well, the Prince will see that the glass slipper’s tied fast. He’s got no ‘Ho, minions!’ to hunt for you if you turn Cinderella again.” He stooped and fastened her tie. Betty gazed shyly at her inquisitor. Her brown eyes sparkled with the adventure of meeting a real live piannerist, as she called him. Dinner was over and Mr. Zalhambra stood before the fire in the drawing-room grate. Stooping to warm his large white hands over the flame, his hypnotic eyes reflected strangely the glow of the fire. He watched Nell Gordon as she sat stroking the flowing fair tresses of Betty. “Yes, I can see that the wind, the shaking tower, the creaking mill, would bring such dreams,” his mother said. “Hear the wind howl now!”.