[Illustration: "Is it like?"] About an hour afterwards Eddy entered the parlour of Mrs. Burns. "Have you brought back your likeness, my dear boy?" was the aunt's first question when she saw him. "Here it is, aunt; what do you think of it?" said Eddy, seating himself on an easy chair, and drawing the little carte from his pocket. He watched the face of his aunt as she closely examined the picture, and rather wondered at the tender expression in her gentle grey eyes, and the smile which rose to her lips. "How like it is!" was her first exclamation. "I'm surprised that you think so," cried Eddy, rather mortified by her words; "I did not fancy myself to be so ugly a dog; but I suppose that no one knows his own face." "The sun will not flatter," said his aunt with a smile, "he is too truthful often to please. May I keep your photo?" added Mrs. Burns. "I shall value it dearly, for it will so remind me of you." "Oh, you're welcome to keep it, or light the fire with it!" cried Eddy, "I never wish to see it again. I wonder whether," he continued, half laughing, "if the sun could draw our characters as he draws our faces in such a dreadfully truthful way, we should recognise ourselves at all." "I rather doubt that we would," said Mrs. Burns, with her eyes thoughtfully fixed upon the photograph, which, though by no means a pleasing, was a very faithful likeness of her nephew. "Well, aunt, some time or other you shall play the part of the sun, and make a photograph of my character. I should like to know what I really am like, and I've heard that you're so sharp at finding out all that folk are feeling and thinking, that you'll hit me off to a hair." Eddy's eye twinkled as he spoke, and his manner was so careless and gay that it was clear that he was not much afraid that any very unfavourable opinion could be formed of himself. Indeed, he considered himself, on the whole, a very pleasant, kind, good-hearted sort of a fellow. "You must give me a little time for reflection and observation, Eddy, before I attempt to take your likeness; and you must not be angry when I have done if my picture does not flatter." "Oh, I like plain truth," cried Eddy; "I don't think that you'll have much worse to say of me than that I like play better than work, and am always up to a lark." Nothing more was said on the subject at that time. Eddy went out to some place of amusement, and did not return till the evening. He then looked heated and flushed, and flung himself down on a chair by his aunt with an air of indignant displeasure. "He's the most ungrateful dog that ever I met with!" muttered Eddy between his teeth. "Of whom do you speak?" asked his aunt.