She was a pretty, demure-looking child, only somewhat thin and fragile in appearance, not in the least like her mother, but I could trace instantly the strongest resemblance to her father. She had the straight, uncurling hair like his, and her dark eyes were a little sunken under the finely-arched brows. It was rather a bewitching little face, only too thin and sallow for health, and with an intelligent expression, almost amounting to precocity. "And where is your brother, my darling?" asked her mother, stooping to kiss her, and at this moment a pleasant-looking young woman came from the inner room with a small, curly-haired boy in her arms. As she set him down on the floor, and he came toddling over the carpet, I forgot Mrs. Morton's presence, and knelt down and held out my arms to him. "Oh, you beauty!" I exclaimed, in a coaxing voice, "will you come to me?" for I quite forgot myself at the sight of the perfect baby features. Baby pointed a small finger at me, "O' ook, gurgle-da," he said, in the friendliest way; and I sealed our compact with many kisses. "Dear me, ma'am," observed nurse, eyeing me in a dubious manner, for probably the news of my advent had preceded me to the upper regions, "this is very singular; I never saw Master Baby take such a fancy to anyone before; he always beats them off with his dear little hand." "Gurgle-da, ook ook," was baby's unexpected response to this, as he burst into a shout of laughter, and he made signs for me to carry him to the canaries. I do not know what Mrs. Morton said to nurse, but she came up after a minute or two and watched us, smiling. "He does seem very friendly; more so than my shy pet here," for Joyce was still holding her mother's gown. "She will be friends with me too," I returned, confidently; "children are so easily won." And then, as Mrs. Morton held out her arms for her boy, I parted with him reluctantly. There was no need for me to stay any longer then. Mrs. Morton reiterated her intention of calling on Aunt Agatha that afternoon, after which she promised to speak to me again, and feeling that things were in a fair way of being settled according to my wishes, I left the house with a lighter heart than I had entered it. (_To be continued._) [Illustration] AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS. BY CLARA THWAITES. Sing among the hollyhocks, "Summer, fare thee well!" Ring the drooping blossoms For a passing bell. Droop the sunflowers, heavy discs Totter to their fall. Up the valley creep the mists For a funeral pall. Lingering roses woefully In the cold expire. Heap the dead and dying For a funeral pyre. While the gale is sighing, While the wind makes moan, Sigh among the hollyhocks Of the summer flown. [Illustration: "SIGH AMONG THE HOLLYHOCKS OF THE SUMMER FLOWN."] NOTICES OF NEW MUSIC. [Illustration] STANLEY LUCAS AND CO.