do to me? I should suffer by it,” she said. While Lady Randolph was thus employed down stairs Lucy and Jock were seated together at the window of the pretty little sitting-room, which had been so carefully prepared for the girl’s comfort and pleasure. It was high up, but it had a pretty view over the gardens of the neighboring square, where soon the trees would begin to bud and blossom, and where even now the birds began to hold colloquies and prelude, with little interrogative pipings and chirpings, till it should be time for better music, while in front, though at some distance down, was the cheerful London street, in which there was always variety to eyes accustomed to the Terrace at Farafield. They had not tired yet of its sights and sounds, or found it noisy, as Lady Randolph sometimes did. The house was situated in one of the streets heading out of Grosvenor Square, and all sorts of things went past, wheelbarrows full of flowers, flowers in such quantities as they had never seen in the country, tradespeople’s carts of every description, German bands, all kinds of amusing things. “Here is another organ,” cried Jock, with excitement; and he added, with a scream of delight, “it’s got a monkey! and there is another little boy on a pony,” the child added, with a sigh, half of pleasure, half of envy. “What a long, lovely tail it has got! and here are two carriages coming, and a big van with a great picture outside. Did you think there were as many things in London, Lucy? There is something passing every minute, and every day.” “Oh, yes, I knew,” said Lucy, with calm superiority, from the other end of the room. “I told you all about Madame Tussaud’s, don’t you remember, before you went there? I read all that book about London,” she said, with modest pride. “It isn’t a book,” said Jock, “it is only a guide. What a funny thing it is that you can read that, and you don’t care for stories, or histories either.” Then there was a little pause. The boy on the pony cantered away, the big furniture-van with the landscape painted upon it, lumbered along so slowly that its interest was more than exhausted, the carriages drew up at a house out of sight. There was a momentary lull, and Jock’s interest flagged. He turned round, recalled to himself by this recollection of his favorite studies. “Am I always to live here?” he asked suddenly.