stern. Perhaps, thought Lena, "that was because he was accustomed to command his soldiers, and had been in battle." She hoped he did not always look like that, for if he did she might be a little bit afraid of him, though Auntie did say, "there was no fear of such a thing happening."

Lena Graham had only a very dim, childish remembrance of her parents, for it was fully six years since she had seen them. Just half her young life had been passed under Aunt Mary's loving care.

Six years before our story commences, Colonel Graham's regiment was ordered to India. At first both he and his wife had hoped to take their little girls out with them, but just at that time Lena was taken ill; and though better and stronger when the time came for their leaving England, she was not strong enough, the doctor said, to stand a hot climate. It was then that Miss Somerville, Mrs. Graham's sister, had offered to take charge of the little Lena.

Millicent was a strong, healthy child, and well able to stand the climate, at any rate for a year or two. About a year after their leaving England, Colonel Graham was offered an appointment for five years at one of the hill stations, which he gladly accepted, as the climate was as cool and healthy as at home, and thus was able not only to keep Millicent with them, but the baby sister that had been born after their arrival in the far East.

The five years had now come to an end. And the day before we make the acquaintance of their daughter Helena, or Lena as she was always called, Colonel and Mrs. Graham had arrived in England.

The child was naturally all eagerness to see them; not even the knowledge that in a few days she would be separated from her Aunt could cast a shadow over her, and, childlike, she was too much absorbed in her own prospects of happiness, to note the shade of sadness that sometimes crossed her Aunt's kind face, as she listened to her merry chatter, at the thought that would intrude itself, of how sorely she would miss her little niece's loving companionship, and how dull the house would be when the sound of the bright young voice would be heard there no longer.

The last few years had been very happy ones to both aunt and niece, and Lena warmly returned all the love and care that had been lavished on her.

Miss Somerville was not strong, and both from this circumstance, and also from inclination, her life had been a secluded one, and her whole time and attention had been devoted to the education and bringing up of her young charge.

It would be a different life, she knew, that her niece would lead after this, for in the future she would have to share not only her lessons but her pleasures with her sisters, and instead of being the first to be considered, as had been the case hitherto, she would be one among others, and would have to learn not only to take but give. (And as our story goes on, we shall see what fruits she will show of the loving training she had received.)

As these thoughts passed through Miss Somerville's mind, the postman's knock was heard at their door. With one bound Lena was out of the room, exclaiming, "There he is at last!" returning in a very short space of time with a letter in her hand.

"It's from Papa; I know his handwriting. Do make haste, Auntie, and read it. I wonder Mama did not write to me."

"They will be here to-morrow, darling. Poor Mama had a headache, from all the bustle and noise of London, I should think. The black nurse she brought home with her has already got an engagement to return with a lady to her own country, so they will have to come without a nurse. Hester will be able to look after Lucy until Mama finds one to suit her."

"O Auntie, I will look after Lucy; I am sure I could do all she wants."

Auntie laughed as she answered, "I don't think you quite understand the duties of a nurse, dear, but you can be of great use and comfort to Mama, I am sure."

"Yes, I mean to be," was the confident answer.

"You mean, dear, you will try to be."

But Lena did not wait to answer. She left the room, saying, "I must go and tell Hester that they are really coming to-morrow." And off she went, only to return with some new question that she wanted Auntie to answer.

Not until the bell rang for prayers did she quiet down, and when she rose from her knees there was a very grave, subdued look on her face.

As soon as they were alone, she flung her arms round her Aunt's neck, exclaiming, "Ah, I do wish you were coming too! It won't be perfectly happy without you, Auntie, darling."

"Dear one, you must not expect perfect happiness anywhere in this world," she answered, returning her embrace.

"But I shall miss you so."

"And I shall miss you sadly; but I cannot be so selfish, as to grudge Mama the happiness of having her eldest daughter with her."

"I do so long to see her, my very own Mama, but I want you too."

"What a greedy little creature! Why, you will have Milly and Lucy, as well as Papa and Mama, and not satisfied!"

"If I had you too, I should be perfectly satisfied. I should not want anything else in the world."

"Ah, Lena dear, I fear that you would not find it so."

"Yes, I am sure I should."

Auntie shook her head. "Don't be too confident, dear; you must not expect that in the future you will have everything you want. You will have to share your pleasures with Milly."

"Oh, I shall like that."

"I am very glad to hear it, dear," was the quiet answer.

"Now, Auntie, don't look so grave; for you will see how well I shall behave, and show that your child can be really good."

"Not my child, Lena dear. To be really good you must be the child of God."

Auntie spoke so gravely that Lena, humbled and ashamed, whispered, "Yes indeed, Auntie, I will try," as she gave and received her good-night kiss.

Miss Somerville lived in a pretty sea-coast town called West Meadenham. In truth, it was but a suburb of Meadenham proper, but that town had grown so large of late years that the numerous streets, squares, and terraces that had sprung up around it, considered themselves important enough to have a name of their own; but as if to show to the world in general, that they did not wish to throw off all allegiance from the dear old town, that nestled so comfortably at the foot of the high cliff that sheltered it from the cold east winds of spring, it modestly christened itself, West Meadenham, instead of choosing a new name.

The next day arrived, fine as heart could wish, a bright sun shining overhead, and a soft breeze blowing from the sea. No wonder that Lena exclaimed, "How lovely!" as she came out of the house and gazed around her as if drinking in the beauty of the morning.

The trees were all decked in their first fresh young green, the air scented with the sweet perfume of the spring flowers, that made the garden of Scarsdale Villa look quite gay even in April. Their house was the last of a row of villas almost in the country, and before and behind them stretched green fields.