low blind Faith's head suddenly appeared, and Faith's face beamed out a welcome.

"There is your sister," said Mr. Carlyle, more cheerfully than he had spoken since they left the station. "I expect she is putting finishing touches to your room. Come down," he called up to the open window, but Faith was already coming over the stairs with a rush.

"You have come!" she cried excitedly, hopping over two pairs of shoes and a rattle which strewed the hall floor, "the train must have been very punctual. I was hurrying to clear another shelf in my cupboard for Audrey."

Audrey's heart sank even lower. Then she was expected to share a room with Faith. "Couldn't I—need I disturb—couldn't I have another room," she stammered. "It—it seems too bad to turn you out."

"Oh, you aren't turning me out," laughed Faith. "We have the old nursery for our room, it is so nice and large; there is heaps of room too for Joan's cot to stand beside my bed. I have cleared two shelves in the wardrobe by tipping everything out on to my bed. I must find somewhere to put it all before I go to bed, or I shall have to sleep on the floor—but we shall both settle down in time. Come and see mother, Audrey, she is longing to see you."

"How is she," asked Audrey, as they mounted the stairs together. "Is she really very ill?"

"No—not what you would call very ill. She was last year, and she will never be really well again unless she rests for a whole year."

"It's an awfully long time, isn't it?" said Audrey dejectedly. "When does it count from? From when she was so ill, or—or from when father wrote for me to come home?" She was already calculating in how many weeks time she would be able to get away, and back to Farbridge and granny.

Faith looked at her sister, her soft brown eyes full of mild surprise.

"Oh, I don't know. I don't suppose Dr. Gray can tell to a few weeks, or even months. A lot depends on how quiet she keeps. He said that perhaps by next spring or summer she would be quite well again, and able to go about."

"Oh!" Audrey's face fell, but before she could say anything more, Faith opened a door and in another moment Audrey was in her mother's arms.

"Oh, my dear, my dear, I am so glad to see you. I hardly realised what a great big daughter I possessed. How you have grown, Audrey, and how nice you look, darling. You are going to be tall, like your father, and you have his features." Audrey's face brightened, fond as she was of her mother, it was her father she wished to resemble. Faith had her mother's short tip-tilted nose and big brown eyes, and Audrey had many times envied her the latter, but if she herself had her father's straight nose and aristocratic features, she felt she would not grudge Faith her pretty eyes. Faith was short too—as her mother was—a soft, sweet dumpling of a girl. Audrey admired tall people.

She glanced about her mother's room interestedly and with a happier face. Here, at any rate, all was comfortable and orderly. The litter that lay about was the litter of books and papers, which was what Audrey liked. Perhaps things would not, after all, be as bad as at first they seemed.

"I expect, dear, you would like to take off your hat and coat and have some tea. You must be tired and hungry." Mrs. Carlyle loosened her arm from round her daughter, but reluctantly. "Well," she said, looking after her as she left the room with Faith; "you have your father's features, but you have my mane, I see. Shocking, isn't it, to have six red-headed people in one house!"

"Six red-headed tempers too," laughed Faith, "no five—you haven't a temper, mummy. Come along, Audrey." She hurried along the narrow corridor and opened a door at the other end, "There—that is our room— won't it be jolly? I am sorry it is so untidy now, but it will be lovely when we have settled in, won't it?"

Audrey glanced about her, speechless, "How—how small and—and old-fashioned the room looks," she said at last. "At granny's they are so high, and they look so light and bright. Where am I to put all my things? You see I have rather a lot of clothes."

"Have you?" said Faith wistfully, "well it's lucky that I haven't. I will give you another drawer in my chest of drawers. Now I must run down to baby. Mary is cooking, and there is only Debby to look after her. Will you come down when you are ready? It will soon be tea-time, and I want you to see baby. Oh, Audrey, she is such a darling. You'll be sure to love her. Doesn't it seem odd that you have never seen her—your very own sister!"

"Yes," said Audrey, but without eagerness. "I wish though that she had been a boy. We were too many girls before."

Faith went downstairs with a shadow on her bright spirits. Why was it that nothing seemed quite right? Perhaps she had expected too much. Somehow she had a feeling that Audrey was not pleased with anything, nor comfortable. She could give her another drawer or two and more room in the cupboard, but she could not change the long, low rooms to high, light ones, nor her baby sister into a brother.

"And I don't want to!" she cried as she met the young person in question crawling along the hall to meet her.

"Fay! Fay! Fay!" cried Joan joyfully, and chuckled with delight at sight of her.

Faith caught her up in her arms and hugged her. "Oh, Joan, you darling— but what about your clean pinny that I had put on on purpose to make you look nice when your new big sister saw you for the first time?"

But Joan only caught Faith's curls in her two plump little hands, and drew her face down until she could rub her own soft baby face against it.

A few minutes later Audrey came out of her room, she had made herself as tidy as she could without hot water to wash with, or a brush or comb. Her own were not unpacked, and Faith's were nowhere to be seen. As she descended the stairs a strong smell of cooking poured up to meet her. "Sausages," she thought to herself, "what a funny time of day to have them." She was so hungry though, she could forgive the appearance of such a dish at such an hour.

In the dining-room Tom and Debby were trundling a small tin train across the table from side to side, trying to avoid collisions with forks and spoons and cups and saucers, et cetera, by moving such things away. Faith was playing on the hearthrug with Joan. "Look, Audrey," she cried as her eldest sister entered, "this is baby! isn't she a darling!"

Audrey looked down at the sweet little upturned face, at the big, velvety, violet eyes fixed so earnestly on herself. "Oh, you are a darling," she cried impulsively. "Will you come to me, Joan dear?" But Joan was shy at first and shrank back against Faith, though her eyes still scanned Audrey's face with interest. A moment later there was a crash against the door followed by a rattle of plates and dishes, diverting everyone's attention. Audrey swung round with a cry of alarm. She was not accustomed yet to the ways of the household.

"It is only Mary bringing in the dishes and things," remarked Faith placidly, "she always bumps the door with her tray." Audrey wondered what granny would say if any one so treated the doors at 'Parkview.' She wondered too, when she saw her, what granny would think of Mary; round-faced, untidy, good-tempered Mary, with her crumpled apron, torn dress and untidy head. Audrey did not know then how patient, willing and hard-working Mary was. She only saw an untidy head with hair and cap falling over one ear, a red face and smutty hands, and wondered how her father, who followed her into the room could look at her and not send her away to make herself neat, or give her notice on the spot.

Granny would not allow her to come into the room looking so untidy, and oh! what would Phipps think of her?

She did not know then that poor Mary did more hard work in one day than prim Phipps did in four; did it willingly too, and for far less reward.

"Tea's ready, miss," Mary announced loudly. "Master Tom, you'll have to pick up your toys now; and look at the