Aunt Barbara put the baby on her lap, and began to say to it some of the queer old rhymes she had heard in her childhood, seventy years ago. It is not likely that the baby understood aunt Barbara’s funny stories, and wanted to listen,—but this is certain, it stopped crying, and soon closed its eyes and fell into a sweet sleep. When there was silence in the nursery, the noise in the hall sounded all the louder. Mrs. Lee stepped to the door quickly, as if she were going to speak severely to the children, but something within her whispered that they had no idea of the pain their frolic was giving, and that it was joy about their sister’s return that made them so unusually full of glee. When Mrs. Lee reached the head of the stairs, her face had a sweet motherly expression, and before she spoke, she could not help smiling to see little Harry blowing away at his trumpet with all his might, and marching up and down the hall as if he were a fat little soldier on parade, while they jumped up and down, and screamed with delight, to see how fast Marcus could move on his smooth-backed horse. Mrs. Lee knew that in their present state of mind it would be next to impossible to keep the children perfectly quiet, and she resolved to employ them about something, that they might not waste their energy in making a noise. Marcus heard somebody at the head of the stairs, and he looked up with an expression of provoking mischief, as if ready to receive another scolding from aunt Barbara. When he saw his mother’s kind, pale face bending towards him, he felt a little ashamed of the thoughtlessness which had made him forget that her weak head might have suffered from what he called his “fun.” “Well, Mother,” he said looking up cheerfully, “how soon do you think Hatty will come?” “Not for an hour yet, my son,” said the mother, kindly; “and, meanwhile, I have something for you to do. I want you to sweep the pavement, from the door-step to the gate, that it may look neat and tidy to Hatty when she comes home.” “Here, Meg, you go get me a broom, and I’ll set to work in a twinkling,” said Marcus, jumping down from the balusters, with a deafening stamp of his heavy shoes. The sound seemed to touch every nerve in Mrs. Lee’s head, and she drew her eyebrows together with an expression of pain; but she only said, quietly—“I must have a pair of slippers for you to wear in the house, Marcus, and then you can take off your shoes, when you come in, as your father does.” “O that will be first-rate,” said Marcus, with delight. “I should like dog’s-heads for the pattern; won’t you begin them to-day, Mother?” “I will make them as soon as I can,” said the mother, with a languid smile. Meg now came running along the hall, carrying the broom by the brush end, while the handle went “knock, knock,” along the floor, keeping time to the skipping motion with which she generally moved.