charge of you. Here is a letter that they sent inclosed for you."

"The Countess of Caergwent," was written on the envelope; and Kate's
and Sylvia's heads were together in a moment to see how it looked,
before opening the letter, and reading:- "'My dear Niece,'--dear me,
how funny to say niece!--'I deferred writing to you upon the
melancholy--' oh, what is it, Sylvia?"

"The melancholy comet!"

"No, no; nonsense."

"Melancholy event," suggested Mary.

"Yes, to be sure. I can't think why grown-up people always write on
purpose for one not to read them.--'Melancholy event that has placed
you in possession of the horrors of the family.'"

"Horrors!--Kate, Kate!"

"Well, I am sure it IS horrors," said the little girl rather
perversely.

"This is not a time for nonsense, Kate," said Mr. Wardour; and she
was subdued directly.

"Shall I read it to you?" said Mary.

"Oh, no, no!" Kate was too proud of her letter to give it up, and
applied herself to it again.--"'Family honours, until I could