“A most extraordinary narrative!” said Dawson. “Who would have thought a Dianœa had such power!” “Deuced rum yarn!” said young Sinclair. “Evidently a matter-of-fact, truthful man,” said the doctor. “Or the most original liar that ever lived,” said I. I wonder which he was. OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. “Bob!” I shouted. No answer. “Bob!” A rapid crescendo of snores ending in a prolonged gasp. “Wake up, Bob!” “What the deuce is the row?” said a very sleepy voice. “It’s nearly breakfast-time,” I explained. “Bother breakfast-time!” said the rebellious spirit in the bed. “And here’s a letter, Bob,” said I. “Why on earth couldn’t you say so at once? Come on with it;” on which cordial invitation I marched into my brother’s room and perched myself upon the side of his bed. “Here you are,” said I: “Indian stamp--Brindisi postmark. Who is it from?” “Mind your own business, Stumpy,” said my brother, as he pushed back his curly tangled locks, and, after rubbing his eyes, proceeded to break the seal. Now, if there is one appellation for which above all others I have a profound contempt, it is this one of “Stumpy.” Some miserable nurse, impressed by the relative proportions of my round grave face and little mottled legs, had dubbed me with the odious nickname in the days of my childhood. I am not really a bit more stumpy than any other girl of seventeen. On the present occasion I rose in all the dignity of wrath, and was about to dump my brother on the head with the pillow by way of remonstrance, when a look of interest in his face stopped me. “Who do you think is coming, Nelly?” he said. “An old friend of yours.” “What! from India? Not Jack Hawthorne?” “Even so,” said Bob. “Jack is coming back and going to stay with us. He says he will be here almost as soon as his letter. Now don’t dance about like that. You’ll knock down the guns, or do some damage. Keep quiet like a good girl, and sit down here again.” Bob spoke with all the weight of the two-and-twenty summers which had passed over his towsy head, so I calmed down and settled into my former position. “Won’t it be jolly?” I cried. “But, Bob, the last time he was here he was a boy, and now he is a man. He won’t be the same Jack at all.” “Well, for that matter,” said Bob, “you were only a girl then--a nasty little girl with ringlets, while now----” “What now?” I asked. Bob seemed actually on the eve of paying me a compliment. “Well, you haven’t got the ringlets, and you are ever so much bigger, you see, and nastier.” Brothers are a blessing for one thing. There is no possibility of any young lady getting unreasonably conceited if she be endowed with them.