"There never was such a child," thought the woman as Sibyl dashed away, banging the door after her; "she's not shy, and she's as sweet as sweet can be, and yet she's a handful of spirit, of uppishness and contrariness. Well, God bless her, whatever she is. How did that heartless mother come by her? I can understand her being the master's child, but her mother's! Dear me, I'm often sorry when I think how mistook the poor little thing is in that woman she thinks so perfect." Sibyl, quite happy, her heart beating high with excitement, poked her radiant little face round the schoolroom door. There were three children already in the room--Mabel, Gus, and Freda St. Claire. They were Lord Grayleigh's children, and were handsome, and well cared for, and now looked with curiosity at Sibyl. "Oh, you're the little girl," said Mabel, who was twelve years of age. She raised her voice in a languid tone. "Yes, I _are_ the little girl," said Sibyl. She came forward with bold, confident steps, and looked at the tea table. "Where is my place?" she said. "Is it laid for me? I am the visitor." Gus, aged ten, who had been somewhat inclined to sulk when Sibyl appeared, now smiled, and pulled out a chair. "Sit down," he said; "you had better sit there, near Mabel; she's pouring out tea. She's the boss, you know." "What's a boss?" said Sibyl. "You must be a silly not to know what a boss is." "I aren't no more silly than you are," said Sibyl. "May I have some bread and butter and jam? I'll ask you some things about town, and perhaps you can't answer me. What's a--what's a--oh, I'll think of something real slangy presently; but please don't talk to me too much while I'm eating, or I'll spill jam on my money frock." "You are a very queer little girl," said Mabel; but she looked at her now with favor. A child who could talk like Sibyl was likely to be an acquisition. "What a silly you are," said Gus. "What did you put on that thing for? We don't want frilled and laced-up frocks, we want frocks that girls can wear to climb trees in, and----" "Climb trees! Oh," cried Sibyl, "are you that sort? Then I'm your girl. Oh, I am glad! My ownest father would be pleased. He likes me to be brave. I'm a hoyden--do you know what a hoyden is? If you want to have a few big larks while I am here, see to 'em quick, for I'm your girl." Gus burst into a roar of laughter, and Mabel smiled. "You are very queer," she said. "I don't know whether our governess will like our being with you. You seem to use strange words. We never get into scrapes--we are quite ladylike and good, but we don't wear grand frocks either. Can't you take that thing off?" "I wish I could. I hate it myself." "Well, ask your servant to change it." "But my nurse hasn't brought a single shabby frock with me." "Are all your frocks as grand as that?" "Some of 'em grander." "We might lend her one of our own brown holland frocks," said Freda. "Oh, do!" said Sibyl; "that will be lovely."