The happy children kissed everybody good-night, and followed their aunt Madge up stairs. Now, there was a certain small room, whose one window opened upon the piazza, and it was called "the green chamber." It contained a cunning little bedstead, a wee bureau, a dressing-table, and washing-stand, all pea-green. It was a room which seemed to have been made and furnished on purpose for a child, and it had been promised to Grace in every letter aunt Madge had written to her for a year. Horace had thought but little about the room till to-night, when his aunt led Grace into it, and he followed. It seemed so fresh and sweet in "the green chamber," and on the dressing-table there was a vase of flowers. Aunt Madge bade the children look out of the window at a bird's nest, which was snuggled into one corner of the piazza-roof, so high up that nobody could reach it without a very tall ladder. "Now," said aunt Madge, "the very first thing Grace hears in the morning will probably be bird-music." Grace clapped her hands. "And where am _I_ going to sleep?" said Horace, who had been listening, and looking on in silence. His aunt had forgotten that he was sometimes jealous; but she could not help knowing it now, for a very disagreeable expression looked out at his eyes, and drew down the corners of his mouth. "Why, Horace dear, we have to put you in one of the back chambers, just as we did when you were here before; but you know it's a nice clean room, with white curtains, and you can look out of the window at the garden." "But it's over the kitchen!" "There, Horace," said Grace, "I'd be ashamed! You don't act like a little gentleman! What would pa say?" "Why couldn't I have the big front chamber?" said the little boy, shuffling his feet, and looking down at his shoes. "Because," said aunt Madge, smiling, "that is for your mother and the baby." "But if I could have this little cunning room, I'd go a flyin'. Grace ain't company any more than me." Aunt Madge remembered Horace's hit-or-miss way of using things, and thought of the elephant that once walked into a china shop. Grace laughed aloud. "Why, Horace Clifford, you'd make the room look like everything; you know you would! O, auntie, you ought to see how he musses up my cabinet! I have to hide the key; I do _so_!" Horace took the room which was given him, but he left his sister without his usual good-night kiss, and when he repeated his prayer, I am afraid he was thinking all the while about the green chamber. The next morning the children had intended to go into the garden bright and early. Grace loved flowers, and when she was a mere baby, just able to toddle into the meadow, she would clip off the heads of buttercups and primroses, hugging and kissing them like friends.