“This is a _command_,” she said, addressing Miss Moore. “He always gets his own way. Will you see that the child arrives punctually?” Rachel wanted to jump for joy. “It’s exactly seven days since the last time I saw him,” she exclaimed. “How exciting!” Mr. Sheston’s house was tucked away in a little quiet square, near the Museum. It had a narrow front-door with a brass knocker that shone with much polishing, and above it, in the shape of a crescent, panes of glass divided by a tracery in white plaster. Within, the walls of hall and staircase were panelled with dark wood, and the room into which Rachel followed her host after Miss Moore had left her was, she thought, the nicest she had ever seen. It had three windows, and was long and low, and like the hall, panelled right up to the ceiling. There were cushioned window-seats, and books everywhere, and great bowls of spring flowers on the tables. And in an old-fashioned grate with hobs, a fire sparkled cheerfully, for it was a cold gloomy afternoon. Tea was laid on a table in front of the fire, and in a few moments the dearest old woman in a frilled close-fitting cap and a spotless apron, entered, bringing a teapot and a kettle, which she placed on the hob. [Illustration] She smiled at Rachel. “The very image of her father, isn’t she, sir?” she remarked. “Oh! Did you know Dad?” enquired Rachel, joyfully. “Martha has known all my young friends,” said Mr. Sheston. “Many’s the time your father has sat where you’re sitting now, my dear,” the old woman continued. “He was no older than you then, and had just your look.” She went out of the room quietly, leaving Rachel much interested, and glad to be in a place that Dad had once known well. She would like to have asked all sorts of questions about her father when he was a little boy, but, remembering his letter, she felt in some curious way that it would be better not to do so. Tea was a most cosy and delicious meal, but it was only after old Martha had cleared the table and swept up the hearth that Rachel said rather disappointedly—“Then we’re not going to the British Museum?” Mr. Sheston smiled. “Not to-day. I’m going to tell you a story instead. But first you’ll have to listen to a little lecture.” He took an atlas from one of the book-shelves, and opened it on the table before her. “The story I am going to tell you has something to do with Greece, and in order that you may understand it better, I want you first to look at this. It is a map of Europe as it was three thousand years ago, showing the countries round the Mediterranean Sea. All the parts of the countries that belonged to Greece in those days are coloured pink.” Rachel looked, and saw many pink islands in the Mediterranean Sea, as well as pink strips along the coast of Asia Minor, and even a pink tip to the heel of Italy. “The Greek people had a lot of land—only all scattered about,” she remarked. Mr. Sheston nodded.