mischief, always getting into trouble, because she would try to do
everything that her brothers did.

The gardener fished her out of the fountain twice in the week she was
there. She was reaching for the goldfish with her fat little hands,
and toppled in, head first. Phil began the week by getting a bee-sting
on his lip, and a bite on the cheek from a parrot that he was teasing.
As for Stuart, I think he had climbed every tree on the place before
the first day was over, and torn his best clothes nearly off his back.
The gardener had a sorry time of it while they stayed. He complained
that "a herd of wild buffalo turned loose to rend and destroy" would
not have done as much damage to his fruit and flowers as they. "Not as
they means to do it, I don't think," he said. "But they're so
chock-full of _go_ that they fair runs away with their selves." The
gardener's excitement did not long last, however.

[Illustration]

There came a day when there was no noise in the garden. The boys
wandered around all morning without playing, now and then wiping their
eyes on their jacket sleeves, and talking in low tones. Once they
threw themselves down on the grass and hid their faces, and cried and
sobbed, until their grandfather came out and led them away. The blinds
were all drawn next morning, and the gardener came and cut down nearly
all his lilies, and great armfuls of the Gold of Ophir roses to carry
into the house.

Another quiet day went by, and then there was such a rumbling of
carriage wheels outside the garden, that I climbed up a tree and
looked over the high walls. There was a long, slow procession winding