little superior Boy.' I saw the letter written in a sprawling childish hand with a line of crosses for kisses at the bottom of the page. It was rather sweet, wasn't it? "You never heard such stories as she told me. How he once dressed up in the coachman's livery and took the brougham to fetch his mother from Renwick. It was quite dark, and she got into the carriage without noticing anything. He drove home at a fearful pace, and galloped the horses right up the drive, and pulled up at the hall door with a tremendous jerk. His mother quite thought the coachman was drunk, and as she got out she said very sternly, 'You will come to me in the library immediately, Williams.' 'Yes, darling,' said Francis, and jumped off the box and gave her a great hug. It must have been very funny." "You would think it particularly funny if you had known Lady Louisa," assented Isabella. But she said nothing of a girl who had crouched behind the gatepost, shivering with cold and excitement, to watch the success of the plot which had been hatched by two playmates in the fragrant fastness of the hayloft, which had been always their favourite hiding-place. To this day the scent of hay gave Isabella a delicious tremor, a thrill of the old joyful dread of discovery, which had been the charm of the innocent conspiracies of those far-off days. That it had been her fellow-conspirator who usually undertook the carrying out of the deeds of derring-do, and that upon her had fallen the humbler task of keeping guard against any possible surprise--covering his tracks--averting suspicion--even occasionally taking the blame, though this was without his knowledge,--made no difference to her intense enjoyment. The axiom that one must lead and the other must follow had been early instilled into her by her masculine comrade, and she for her part had been only too content to follow so long as it was he who led. She had forgotten nothing. If it came to stories about Francis as a boy, she could, had she so wished, have recounted as many as old Goodie, but she listened to the recital with a calmness that gave Philippa no hint of her real feelings. "She showed me a lot of his drawings, too," Philippa said presently. "It seems rather curious that he has never spoken of that, for I think he had been painting the first day I saw him. Dr. Gale told me it was one of his occupations during all the years he was ill. Perhaps he will take it up later on--it will be an interest for him."