"Well, I know you don't like those jokes, but one must sometimes, eh, Nellie?" She looked archly up in the troubled face. "You're a dear old sister," she added, kissing her, "and I'm a tease." "Please don't say anything like that downstairs, Ada." "I won't, you may be sure." She ran off, and Nellie followed, as the second bell sounded. The violets, to say nothing of this homecoming of Walter's, were a diversion from Nellie's headache, and her pale, sorrowful face passed unnoticed. Dr. Arundel was truly delighted with the news which that morning's post had brought, and looked cheered at the thought of having his dear son so much sooner than had been anticipated. Thus the dinner passed in cheerful talk, and Nellie joined with the rest in surmising how soon he would come, and in all the questions which after all could have no answer. When Ada returned from afternoon school, she ran upstairs to Nellie, and found her in the drawing room reading aloud to Tom and the little girls. "Is your head too bad to come to Hampstead?" she asked eagerly. "Papa is waiting outside. He has a patient near there, and he says the carriage shall drive us there, and fetch him on its way back." With this lucid explanation she paused, out of breath. Nellie looked a little bewildered. "Come, make haste; you can have five minutes. Put on your hat, and let's be off. I do long to know what Christina says to our news." Nellie looked doubtfully towards Tom. "Yes, go, Nellie," he answered. "I shall be all right." "Might we have the little tea-things, and have Tom all to ourselves, Nellie?" asked Isabel, imploringly. "Yes," said Ada, "you can. I shall give you leave. Go along, 'Mrs. Ready-to-Halt,' and be 'ready to go.'" The children laughed; and as Nellie went away, Ada put a small table close by Tom, and told the little girls to have tea early. She fished mysteriously into her pocket, and drew forth her purse, and looking quizzically into it, pretended it was empty. "No go," she said, throwing it up in the air; "I declare there isn't a farden' in it." Tom laughed. "Perhaps not," he said. Ada opened it again, and after some more fun produced sixpence. "It's my very last," she said, pretending to cry; "but I'll give it to my starving relatives." "Oh, Ada, we don't want it!" exclaimed Dolly, looking sober. "What do you mean?" "I mean," said Ada, smiling, "that you should get sixpennyworth of buns—halfpenny buns—and enjoy yourselves." "Oh, jolly!" said Isabel. "You are kind, Ada." "Sometimes," said Ada, rather grimly, thinking how little self-denial a sixpence was, compared to giving up one's wishes in some other things. Tom looked interested, and began whispering about laying out the sixpence. "Are we bound to get halfpenny buns?" asked Netta. "Anything in the world you like," answered Ada, "with this reservation—that sixpence will buy it."