the Gardens, at that part of it which still remains nearest to
the old Palace of Kensington. Observing close at hand one of
those spacious covered seats, called in England "alcoves," Mr.
Rayburn was reminded that he had the morning's newspaper in his
pocket, and that he might do well to rest and read. At that early
hour the place was a solitude.

"Go on playing, my dear," he said; "but take care to keep where I
can see you."

Lucy tossed up her ball; and Lucy's father opened his newspaper.
He had not been reading for more than ten minutes, when he felt a
familiar little hand laid on his knee.

"Tired of playing?" he inquired--with his eyes still on the
newspaper.

"I'm frightened, papa."

He looked up directly. The child's pale face startled him. He
took her on his knee and kissed her.

"You oughtn't to be frightened, Lucy, when I am with you," he
said, gently. "What is it?" He looked out of the alcove as he
spoke, and saw a little dog among the trees. "Is it the dog?" he
asked.

Lucy answered:

"It's not the dog--it's the lady."