There was a good deal of the mist of frost in the bracing, pleasant air; but high above the haze was a cold, distinct, full moon. It did not cast down a very clear light however through the veil which hung between the earth and the sky, and the youngsters in the Main Street of Fendie decidedly preferred the shop-windows. Opposite the important shop of Mr Elliot Bell, the principal grocer of Fendie, a group of little girls were enjoying themselves in the bright spot illuminated by the lights within. They were performing one of those childish dramas which look like relics of some early stage not without a certain art in their construction. Who that has had the good fortune to be born a girl in Scotland does not remember the monotonous expectancy of the first act, and the quite startling nature of the last in that famous play of “Janet Jo?” It made rather a pretty scene in the quiet street of Fendie. A pile of packing-cases and empty boxes standing securely in a street innocent of thieves because the premises of the great drapers, Messrs Scott and Armstrong, had no room for them, formed the back-ground; demurely arranged in the shelter of these stood a row of little girls; while advancing and retiring before them was another line of little figures, keeping time to their chant. The light shone pleasantly upon the small, sparkling faces--every Jean and Mary, and Maggie among them, had been already summoned by their respective mothers, but the play was not played out, and the young performers remained at their post. The banker stood at Mr Elliot Bell’s door with his daughter, very graciously pleased and admiring. The other part of the street lay in shadow; the soft, brown haze faintly lighted by the moonbeams hung between them and the serene unclouded sky, and through the mist, the spire of the church at the other end of the street shot strangely up, making its sharp point visible against the clear, blue arch above; and the sweet voices of the children, in their monotonous chant, were in harmony with the time. The banker was not easily moved by the æsthetics of common life; but the society of his favourite melted his heart. “Where have these children learned to move so gracefully, Hope?” asked Mr Oswald, in the incautiousness of his gracious mood; “they might have been with the French dancing-master, whom your friend Adelaide speaks so much about.” “The French dancing-master, papa!” exclaimed Hope; “he could not make people graceful. Adelaide Fendie is not graceful; she only knows how to put her feet--” Mr Oswald laughed. “Well then, Hope, what about these little girls?--it must be natural to them.” Hope began to tremble as she adventured her first direct experiment. “I think I know what it is, father.” “Well, Hope?” “It’s because--because they have a gentlewoman to teach them,” said the brave Hope, with a considerable tremor.