Margaret was half amused, half touched, half flattered; but she did not let the amusement show. She said, gratefully, “You are very kind to take so much interest in a stranger like me.” “I do not feel as if you were a stranger,” cried Harry eagerly; and then not knowing how to explain this warmth of expression, he added in haste, “you know I have known--we have all known your cousin for years.” Margaret accepted the explanation with a smile, “You all? You are one of a family too--you have brothers and sisters like Charles and me?” “Not like you. I have lots of brothers and sisters, too many to think of them in the same way. There is one of my sisters whom I am sure you would like,” said Harry, who had always the fear before his eyes that the talk would flag, and his companion get tired of him--a fear which made him catch wildly at any subject which presented itself. “Yes?” said Margaret, “tell me her name, and why you think I would like her best.” From this it will be seen that she too was not displeased to keep up the conversation, nor quite unskilled in the art. “The tea’s coming,” said little Sibby, running in and taking her seat on her footstool. Perhaps Harry thought he had gone far enough in the revelation of his family, or perhaps only that this was a better subject. He held out his hand and made overtures of friendship to the little girl. “Come and tell me your name,” he said, “shouldn’t you like to come up with me to the house, and play with my little cousins in the nursery? There are three or four of them, little things. Shouldn’t you like to come with me?” “No without mamma,” said little Sibby, putting one hand out timidly, and with the other clinging to her mother’s dress. “Oh, no,” said Harry, “not without mamma, she must come too; but you have not told me your name. She is shy, I suppose.” “A silly thing,” said Margaret, stroking her child’s dark hair. “Her name is Sybilla, Sybil is prettier; but in Scotland we call it Sibby, and sometimes Bell for short. Now, dear, you must not hold me, for the gentleman will not eat you, and here is the tea.” Harry felt himself elected into one of the family, when Mrs. Sims came in, pushing the door open before her, with the tray in her arms; upon which there was much bread and butter of which he partook, finding it delightful, with a weakness common to young men in the amiable company of the objects of their affection. He drew his chair to the table opposite to Margaret, and set Sibby up on an elevated seat at the other side, and felt a bewildering sensation come over him as if they belonged to him. It was not a very high ideal of existence to sit round a red and blue table in a cottage parlour of a winter’s afternoon, and eat bread and butter; but yet Harry felt as if nothing so delightful and so elevating had ever happened to him before in all his life.