"We are glad you have come to live with us!" said Avice, who was always the first speaker, and indeed took the lead in every thing, as I found out afterward. "Yes, we are very glad, because it will be like having our sister again!" said Katherine. "A little like it!" said Avice. And then, seeming to feel she had hurt my feelings, she added— "You know nobody can be quite like one's own sister, but I am sure we shall love you, Cousin Loveday!" "And I am sure I shall love you!" I returned warmly. And then I ventured to ask: "Did you have another sister, and is she dead?" "Yes!" said Avice, with a quivering lip. "She was a beautiful little girl, and she looked a little like you, for she had dark hair and eyes. But she fell into the chincough, and then into a long waste, and died in spite of all that could be done." "But she has gone to paradise—I am sure she has, and we shall see her again some day," added Katherine, her eyes shining with a kind of steadfast light. "I could not bear it, only for thinking of that." There was a little silence, and then Avice asked me how old I was. "I shall be nine years old come Michaelmas—and you?" "We shall be twelve on Midsummer day. Can you read, cousin?" "Oh yes!" I answered, not without a little feeling of vain-glory, I dare say. "I can read and write, and I have begun Latin." "We can read and write a little, but not well;" and then followed a comparison of accomplishments. And soon I found I had nothing whereof to boast, since my cousins could play on the lute and the virginals, embroider in all sorts of stitches, and even knit—an art which I had only heard of at that time, as practiced in that same convent of Gray Nuns whose dissolution had sent me to London. We grew excellent friends over all these inquiries and answers, and when we were called down to dinner we descended the stairs, not hand in hand, but with our arms round each other's waists. We went down to the ground floor this time, and I was led into a great dining-room where was a table splendidly set out—or so it seemed to my unaccustomed eyes—with snowy napery, silver and fine colored ware, such as I had never seen. They were, in fact, china dishes, then only beginning to be used by the wealthy merchants of London and the Low Countries. Sambo and one or two 'prentice lads were just placing the dinner on the table, and my uncle was standing by the window, looking out upon the garden, now all ablaze with flowers, many of which were new to me.