"Oh! yes; plenty."

"Couldn't you ask some of them one night, and I would tell them a story. I
think at this season they should have a share in what is going, and I have
got one I think they would like."

"I shall be delighted. I will speak to papa about it at once. But next
time--."

"Yes, I know. Next time Harry Armstrong was going to read; but to tell you
the truth, Adela, I doubt if he will be ready. I know he is dreadfully
busy just now, and I believe he will be thankful to have a reprieve for a
day or two, and his story, which I expect will be a good one, will be all
the better for it."

"Then I will speak to papa about it the moment he comes in; and you will
tell Mr. Henry. And mind, uncle, you take the change upon your own
shoulders."

"Trust me, my dear," I said, as I left the room.

As I had anticipated, Harry was grateful. Everything was arranged. So the
next evening but one, we had a merry pretty company of boys and girls,
none older, or at least looking older, than twelve. It did my heart good
to see how Adela made herself at home with them, and talked to them as if
she were one of themselves. By the time tea was over, I had made friends
with them all, which was a stroke in its way nearly equal to Chaucer's,
who made friends with all the nine and twenty Canterbury pilgrims before
the sun was down. And the way I did was this. I began with the one next
me, asking her the question: