“Half-a-crown should be our outside price,” said Gillian. “Or a shilling without photographs, half-a-crown with,” was added. “Shall I ask Uncle Lance what can be done for how much?” asked Anna, and this was accepted with acclamation, but, as Gillian observed, they had yet got no further than Dolores’ Eruption and the unwritten history. “There are lots of stories,” said Kitty Varley; “the one about Bayard and all the knights in Italy.” “The one,” said Gillian, “where Padua got into the kingdom of Naples, and the lady of the house lighted a lucifer match, besides the horse who drained a goblet of red wine.” “You know that was only the pronouns,” suggested the author. “Then there’s another,” added Valetta, “called Monrepos--such a beauty, when the husband was wounded, and died at his wife’s feet just as the sun gilded the tops of the pines, and she died when the moon set, and the little daughter went in and was found dead at their feet.” “No, no, Val,” said Gillian. “Here is a story that Bessie has sent us--really worth having.” “Mesa! Oh, of course,” was the acclamation. “And here’s a little thing of mine,” Gillian added modestly, “about the development of the brain.” At this there was a shout. “A little thing! Isn’t it on the differential calculus?” “Really, I don’t see why Rockquay should not have a little rational study!” “Ah! but the present question is what Rockquay will buy; to further future development it may be, but I am afraid their brains are not yet developed enough,” said Emma Norton. “Well then, here is the comparison between Euripides and Shakespeare.” “That’s what you read papa and everybody to sleep with,” said Valetta pertly. “Except Aunt Lily, and she said she had read something very like it in Schlegel,” added Dolores. “You must not be too deep for ordinary intellects, Gillian,” said Emma Norton good-naturedly. “Surely there is that pretty history you made out of Count Baldwin the Pretender.” “That! Oh, that is a childish concern.” “The better fitted for our understandings,” said Emma, disinterring it, and handing it over to Anna, while Mysie breathed out-- “Oh! I did like it! And, Gill, where is Phyllis’s account of the Jubilee gaieties and procession last year?” “That would make the fortune of any paper,” said Anna. “Yes, if Lady Rotherwood will let it be used,” said Gillian. “It is really delightful and full of fun, but I am quite sure that her name could not appear, and I do not expect leave to use it.” “Shall I write and ask?” said Mysie. “Oh yes, do; if Cousin Rotherwood is always gracious, it is specially to you.” “I wrote to my cousin, Gerald Underwood,” said Anna, “to ask if he had anything to spare us, though I knew he would laugh at the whole concern, and he has sent down this. I don’t quite know whether he was in earnest or in mischief.” And she read aloud--