“ISN’T he lovely?” asked Miss Henderson, as we three stood in front of Charlie’s portrait, which had just come from the artist’s hand. “He has such great expressive eyes, so soft, and yet so full of intelligence. The artist has caught the very expression. I think I never saw a more beautiful boy.” “I think I never saw a greater nuisance,” said Miss Maylie, speaking with a good deal of energy and with a slight frown on her face, as though some unpleasant memory was stirred by the sight of the lovely face in the frame. We both turned and looked at her in surprise. “Nuisance!” repeated Miss Henderson. “Why, what can you mean? I have heard that his character is as lovely as his face. He is one of the most generous little fellows, always dividing his goodies with the children.” “Oh! I don’t doubt it,” said Miss Maylie; “but there are other traits in children to be sought after besides that of dividing their goodies.” Then she laughed, as if half-ashamed of the warmth of her manner, and said: “I’ve been a recent victim to one of his habits, and feel somewhat deeply, perhaps. I had an important engagement with his mother yesterday—a business matter for which I had asked an interview—and told her I was pressed for time, and had but a half-hour. I suppose we had been together about two minutes when the door opened without the ceremony of a knock, and Charlie appeared to ask if he might go over to Uncle Harry’s. He was told that he could not, it looked too much like rain; and he argued the matter, assuring his mother that the wind had changed and was blowing from the west; that the cook said it was not going to rain any more; that he would put on his rubbers and bundle up, and I don’t know what else. He was listened to patiently by his mother, and impatiently by me, for my precious half-hour was slipping away. He shut the door at last with a frown on his face which, if it had been painted, would have made this picture much less beautiful, but I am afraid more natural. “It was certainly not five minutes before he was back, and this time it was, ‘Mamma, may I call Jerry to bring in the kittens?’ “‘O, no, dear! not this afternoon; you are dressed for dinner, you know.’ “‘That won’t make any difference; I won’t soil my clothes. The kittens haven’t been out in the mud. Do, mamma, let me.’ “‘No, Charlie; I do not want them in the parlor, you know.’ “‘Then I’ll go to the kitchen and play with them; Jane won’t care.’ “‘Yes, Jane cares very much; the kittens annoy her. Charlie will have to get along without them this afternoon.’