pale, sweet face was bent towards her daughter's, Constance, a graceful
girl of one and twenty; and Annabel, a troublesome young lady of nearly
fourteen, was surreptitiously giving twitches to Tom's hair.

Arthur moved from the place next his father when Hamish entered, as if
yielding him the right to stand there. A more united family it would be
impossible to find. The brothers and sisters loved each other dearly,
and Hamish they almost reverenced--excepting Annabel. Plenty of love
the child possessed; but of reverence, little. With his gay good
humour, and his indulgent, merry-hearted spirit, Hamish Channing was
one to earn love as his right, somewhat thoughtless though he was.
Thoroughly well, in the highest sense of the term, had the Channings
been reared. Not of their own wisdom had Mr. and Mrs. Channing trained
their children.

"What's the matter, sir?" asked Hamish, smoothing his brow, and
suffering the hopeful smile to return to his lips. "Judith says some
outrageous luck has arrived; come express, by post."

"Joke while you may, Hamish," interposed Mrs. Channing, in a low voice;
"I shrink from telling it you. Can you not guess the news?"

Hamish looked round at each, individually, with his sunny smile, and
then let it rest upon his mother. "The very worst I can guess is not so
bad. We are all here in our accustomed health. Had we sent Annabel up
in that new balloon they are advertising, I might fancy it had capsized
with her--as it _will_ some day. Annabel, never you be persuaded to
mount the air in that fashion."

"Hamish! Hamish!" gently reproved Mrs. Channing. But perhaps she