she was about it.

"Oh, Kathie, we didn't mean to be naughty, truly we didn't," said little Joan, somewhat awed by the calamities which her big sister was enumerating so glibly; "did we, Paddy?"

"No, didn't mean to be naughty," repeated five-year-old Paddy solemnly, a simply seraphic look on his sweet little face, which was surrounded by a halo of golden curls. "But it was such a dear little monkey!" And he half turned his head, with a longing look after the object of his affections, now almost out of sight in the distance.

But Kathleen drew him on. "Well, promise me never to run off like that alone, again," she said, "or poor mother would be dreadfully upset. Just fancy if I had gone home without you, what would she have said?"

"Spect she'd have said 'good riddance'!" was Master Pat's saucy rejoinder, as he looked roguishly up at his tall sister.

"Oh! Pat, you are well called 'The Pickle,'" she cried, as she held the little chubby hand even more tightly, for this baby brother was the pet and plaything of the whole family, albeit he kept them continually on thorns with the endless mischief he managed to get into.

"Must you tell mother we ran away from you, Kathie?" whispered Joan, beseechingly, as they neared home. She was a very tender-hearted little maiden, who would seldom have given any trouble but for Paddy's mischievous suggestions, and the thought of her mother being grieved troubled her.

"No, dearie, I don't think we will tell her this time; but you won't do it again, will you?" said kind-hearted Kathleen, as she pushed open the heavy iron gate, and the trio walked up the somewhat weed-covered path, leading to a substantial red brick house, well known in Osmington as Dr. Franklyn's.

As they entered the door, a girl of fourteen or so, a younger edition of Kathleen, rushed out into the hall.

"What an age you've been, Kath!" she cried impetuously. "Elsa and I thought you were never coming. Did you get what we wanted?"

"Yes, yes, Olive, I have it all right, but give me time to breathe," said Kathleen, as her younger sister began scrimmaging in her pocket. "Mind you don't upset it!"

"You dear old granny, how can it be upset if it isn't opened yet?" was the laughing reply, as Olive succeeded in securing a large tin of enamel. "But, oh! Kath, what shall we do for a brush?" And her face fell considerably at the thought.

"Well, I may be a 'granny,' but even they can be useful, for I had the sense to bring not only one, but two brushes!" And Kathleen produced them with a merry laugh.

"Well, you are a dear old darling"; and Olive hugged her sister rapturously. "Now Elsa and I can both paint at the same time. Send the children to Nanny, Kath, and then come up quickly to the 'den.' We've only half an hour before tea."

She flew up the shabbily carpeted stairs, two steps at a time, and finally arrived at the top story, breathless. Bursting into one of the roomy attics, Olive sank down upon the first chair she came to from sheer want of breath; but she quickly got up again with an exclamation of dismay, for she remembered now it was too late that that was where she had hastily stood the saucer of turpentine she had been using when she rushed off downstairs to meet Kathleen.

"What's the matter, couldn't Kath get the paint?" queried a voice from the other end of the quaint, odd-shaped room, and her twin-sister came slowly forward.

Strangers never knew Olive and Elsa Franklyn apart, so much alike were they in outward appearance, the dark hair and eyes, full rosy lips and slightly upturned nose of the one being a perfect replica of the other. But the similarity was only external; in habits and character they were as widely diverse as the poles. Elsa was as quiet and methodical as Olive was noisy and impetuous in her actions; indeed their mother sometimes said she wished they could have been a little less alike outwardly, and a little more alike inwardly. It would have been better in every way, she thought; only it was two Elsas, not two Olives, that she would have chosen.

"Oh, I say, mother will be frantic!" cried Olive, as she vainly endeavoured to see the extent of the damage done to her light grey dress. Fortunately, the saucer did not contain much more than the dregs of the turpentine cook had given them, somewhat gingerly; but alas! the old bookcase and table that Olive had been seized with a desire to rejuvenate, had been scarlet during the last phase of their existence, so that the turpentine they had been cleaning them with had become decidedly reddish! Consequently the skirt had taken that tone.

"You have made yourself in a mess," was all Elsa could say, as she stood helplessly looking at the ugly stain which was growing visibly larger, for the material had soaked up all the mixture.

"If that's all you can do to help, you may just as well go on with your old hammering," blurted out Olive, her vexation at the mishap fast turning into anger, for she knew punishment would inevitably follow upon discovery. "I never did know such a stupid thing as you are, Elsa." And Olive blinked desperately hard to keep back the tears, which seemed as if they would choke, as well as blind her.

"I don't see what you can do," said poor Elsa, bravely refraining from an angry retort. There were those among her acquaintances who were wont to declare that she had not sufficient spirit to hold her own with her somewhat tyrannical twin sister. But Elsa Franklyn had lately learnt that it is "the soft answer that turneth away wrath;" and although she was often sorely tempted to return evil for evil, she remembered Him who never answered back, and day by day the quiet, unobtrusive girl was growing more like the Saviour whom she humbly sought to please.

"Hadn't you better change your dress, Olive," she suggested, as her sister twisted the skirt, first this way, and then that, to get a better idea of the extent of the damage.

"Quite a brilliant idea, Miss Elsa," was Olive's sarcastic reply; "just what I was going to do." And the girl, who knew she had only her own carelessness to thank for the catastrophe, gave the unoffending chair such a kick with her foot as she was going out of the door, that the saucer, which was still upon it, slid off the shiny seat, and falling on the linoleum-covered floor, was smashed into little bits.

"Oh, Olive!"

"Horrid, aggravating thing!" cried the hot-tempered girl. "Won't old Cookey be mad, though? She wanted to find an odd one, but she couldn't, so she gave me one of the kitchen set. I shall catch it, when she knows. But there's no hurry about that, the frock's the worst."

Meanwhile, Elsa had been carefully collecting all the broken bits of china into an old box-lid, and was wiping up the floor with some rag they had been using to clean their woodwork with. For a minute she was inclined to let Olive bear the brunt of the cook's wrath, as a punishment for her silly outburst of temper, but the next she said quietly: "I will take this down to the kitchen, Ollie, and explain to cook, while you go and change your frock. And if I can find Kathleen anywhere, I will send her up to you. She will know what had better be done to