Established there, the boys one on each side of her, Katherine listened to the young story-teller, who began fluently:  “There was once two little boys called Jimmie and Frank.  Frank was the biggest; he was very strong and very courageous; and he learned his lessons very well when he liked, but he did not always like.  The two little boys had an aunt; she was nice and pleasant sometimes, but more times she was cross and disagreeable, and she spoiled Jimmie a great deal.  One day they went out to walk a long way, and saw lots of people riding, and Jimmmie grew tired, and so did Frank, but Frank would not complain, and their aunt was so unkind that she would not call a hansom; so when they came to a great street Frank thought he would catch an omnibus, and he ran out quick—­quick.  He would have caught it, but his aunt was so silly and such a coward that she sent a man after him, who nearly dragged him under the feet of a horse that was coming up, and they would both have been killed if Frank had not called out to the cabman to stop.”

“Oh, Cecil, that is you and I. What a story!  Auntie is not unkind, and you did not call out,” cried Charlie.

Katherine could not help laughing at the little monkey’s version of the incident.

“Cecil, Cecil, you must learn to tell the truth—­” she was beginning, when the door was opened, and a small, slight lady in black silk, with a profusion of delicate gray ribbons, jet trimming, and foamy white tulle ruching, stood in the doorway.  She was very fair, with light eyes, a soft pink color, and pale golden brown hair—­altogether daintily pretty.

“Oh, mammy! mammy! where have you been all my birthday?” cried the elder boy, rushing to her.

“My own precious darling, do not put your dear dirty little paws on my dress!” she exclaimed, in alarm.  “I was obliged to go, my boy; but I have brought you a bag of sweets; it is in the hall.  Dear me! how stuffy this room is!  Mrs. Burnett’s house is so cool and fresh!  It looks into a charming garden at the back; and oh, how delightful it must be to be rich!” She had advanced into the room as she spoke, and began to untie and smooth out her bonnet strings.

“It must indeed,” returned Katherine, with a deep sigh.

“I will go and put on an old dress; this one is too pretty to spoil, and the house is so dusty.  Do you think it becoming, Katherine?”

“Yes, very”—­with an indulgent smile.  “You ought always to wear half-mourning; it suits you admirably.”

“I think it does; but I must put it off some day, you know.  Cecil dear, go and ask cook to make me a cup of tea.  I will have it up in my room.  Charlie, don’t cuddle up against your aunt in that way; it makes her too hot, and you will grow crooked.”  Charlie jumped down from his chair and held up his face.

“There, dear,” giving a hasty kiss.  “Don’t worry.”

“Mammy,” said Cecil, with much solemnity, “I was nearly killed to-day.”