"Here we are, grandmamma," said Monica, as the victoria pulled up at the iron gates over which the regulation doctor’s lamp was swinging, and in a moment more she was on the pavement. "Now, Monica, remember, you are on no account to be late in getting ready to come home. Richards will be here punctually at seven, and you must be sure not to keep the pony standing." "Very well, grandmother." Monica could see a well-known face at one of the windows, so she was eager to be off, and promised readily. Her hand was on the iron gate, when her grandmother’s voice recalled her. "Oh! and, Monica----" Very reluctantly she turned back, and the face under the upturned hat-brim did not look quite so fascinating, with the expression of vexation it had assumed at the delay. "Please to remember that you are my granddaughter, and behave yourself as such." Fortunately, the horses grew restive and made a jerk forward, before Monica’s pettish exclamation, "I never get a chance to forget it!" reached Mrs. Beauchamp’s ears, or that lady would have had her return drive disturbed by the thought of her grandchild’s ingratitude. The little cloud soon disappeared from Monica’s brow, and her face was all smiles again as she received a boisterous welcome from her "chum." "It is jolly to have you, Monica!" "It’s ever so much more jolly to come, then!" And the two girls laughed gaily, in their buoyancy of spirit. "Come up and take your things off first, and then you shall investigate our ’den’ and all its treasures," suggested Olive, as the two girls ascended the staircase, arm-in-arm. As they went up, Olive pointed out the various rooms, lowering her voice as they passed her mother’s closed door. "Mother wants to see you ever so much, Monica, but she always has to rest in the afternoon, so I am to take you to her room later on. This is our room--Elsa’s and mine," she continued, as they crossed the wide landing, and entered a half-open door. "It’s not very big, so we keep most of our property upstairs." If Monica thought she had never been in such a small, poorly furnished room before, she made no outward sign. Two small beds, a simple wash-stand, and chest of drawers (which also did duty as toilet table), a couple of chairs, and an impromptu wardrobe made by a shelf and some cretonne curtains, was all the furniture the room contained. How vastly different was it from the elegant apartment she called her own at Carson Rise! Her hat and coat were off in a moment, and then the two friends climbed another flight of stairs, and the "den" was reached. "Now, isn’t it a dear old place?" cried Olive, enthusiastically, as she showed her friend into every nook and corner of the queer L-shaped room, and Monica warmly agreed with her. "What do you use it for, and who does it belong to?"