not a hextra fine child for her age. She were a very poor specimint for a good bit, mother says, but she's pickin' up now she's got some teeth through. My-but them shoes is neat, to be sure! They must be for a dolly."

"I've no doll they'd do for," said Peggy, “but I like them just for theirselves. I always put them to stand there on a fine day; they like to look out of the window."

Sarah stared at Peggy as if she thought she was rather out of her mind!—indeed the children at the back had hinted to each other that missy, for all she was a real little lady, was very funny-like sometimes. But Peggy was quite unconscious of it.

"Lor'," said Sarah at last, "how can shoes see, they've no eyes, missy?"

"But you can fancy they have. Don't you ever play in your mind at fancying?" asked Peggy. “I think it's the nicest part of being alive, and mamma says it's no harm if we keep remembering it's not real. But never mind about that-do look at the hills, Sarah, and oh, can you see the white speck shining in the sun? That's the cottage-I call it my cottage, but p'raps," rather unwillingly, "it's the one your papa lived in when he was little."

'D'ye really think so?" said Sarah, eagerly. "It's Brackenshire over there to be sure, and father's 'ome was up an 'ill-deary me, to think as it might be the very place. See it-to be sure I do, as plain as plain. It do seem a good bit off, but father he says it's no more'n a tidy walk. He's almost promised he'll take some on us there some fine day when he's an 'oliday. I axed 'im all I could think of-missy--all about the cocks and 'ens and cows and pigses."

"Not pigs," interrupted Peggy. "I don't like pigs, and I won't have them in my cottage."

“I wasn't a-talking of your cottage," said Sarah, humbly. ""Twas what father told us of all the things he seed in the country when he were a boy there. There's lots of pigses in Brackenshire.”

"Never mind. We won't have any," persisted Peggy. "But oh, Light Smiley, do look how splendid the sky is—all blue and all so shiny. I never sawed such a lovely day. I would so like to go a walk.”

"And why shouldn't you?" asked Sarah.

"There's no one to take me," sighed Peggy. "It's Monday, and Fanny's very busy on Mondays, and I told you that tiresome Miss Earnshaw's not comed." Sarah considered a little.

"Tell you what, missy," she said, "why shouldn't we-you and me-go a walk? I'm sure mother'd let me. I've got my 'at, all 'andy, and I did say to mother if so as missy seed me I might stop a bit, and she were quite agreeable. I'm a deal older nor you, and I can take care of you nicely. Mother's training me for the nussery."

Peggy started up in delight. She had been half sitting on the window-sill, beside the shoes.

Oh, Light Smiley," she said, "how lovely! Of course you could take care of me. We'd go up Fernley Road, straight up—that's the way to Brackenshire, you know, and p'raps we might go far enough to see the white cottage plainer. If it's not a very long way to get there, we'd be sure to see it much plainer if we walked a mile or two. A mile isn't very far. Oh, do let's go-quick! quick!" But Sarah stopped her.

"You'd best tell your folks first, missy," she said. 'They'll let you go and be glad of it, I should say, if they're so busy, and seein' as they let you come over to our 'ouse, and your mar knowin' us and all.”

"It was Miss Earnshaw that let me go," said Peggy, "and then she said she didn't know I'd goned. And Thor said oh no, he only said I

shouldn't have goned to the shop. But I'll ask Fanny-I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll put on my boots and my hat and jacket—you shall help me, Sarah, and then we'll go down and I'll call to Fanny from the top of the kitchen stairs and ask her if I may go out with you, Sarah, dear. I'm sure she'll say I may."

So the two little maidens went into the night nursery, where Light Smiley was greatly interested in looking at her own dwelling-place from other people's windows, and quite in her element too, seeing that she was being trained for the nursery, in getting out Peggy's walking things, buttoning her boots, and all the rest of it.

M

CHAPTER XI

UP FERNLEY ROAD

"But the way is long and toilsome,
And the road is drear and hard;

Little heads and hearts are aching,

Little feet with thorns are scarred."
The Children's Journey.

LIGHT SMILEY kept looking round the room with great satisfaction.

"It is nice in 'ere and no mistake," she said at last. 'Your 'ats and coats and frocks all in a row, as neat as neat, and these little white beds a sight to be seen. I should love for Rebecca and MatildaJane to see it."

"They will," said Peggy, "when I avite you all to a tea-party, you know."

Sarah drew a deep breath. A tea-party in these beautiful nurseries seemed almost too good ever to come true.