Miss Priscilla's eyes grew almost as big as her precious and endangered saucers, but the dear old tune, sung in the pretty, childish voice, with its tinkling accompaniment, held her spellbound, and she said not a word. As Ladybird finished the refrain she said eagerly: "Now we'll do it again, and you both tap your glasses and sing with me." And would you believe it? Those two old ladies were so interested that they tapped on their glasses with their thin old silver spoons, and sang with their thin old voices for all they were worth. "That was very pretty," observed Ladybird, approvingly, when at last they all laid down their spoons. "And now if you've finished your breakfast, Aunt Priscilla, will you take me out and show me round the garden?" But Miss Priscilla Flint had by no means lost her mind entirely, and she said: "You have no time to go round the garden,--you are to start back to Boston this morning, and from there to London as soon as possible." "Oh, am I?" said Ladybird, with a wise smile, and an air as of one humoring a wayward child. "You are indeed," said her aunt, severely; "and now, if you will come into the morning-room with us, we will ask you a few questions before you go." "All right, come on," said Ladybird; and she grasped Miss Priscilla's hand in both her own, and danced along at the old lady's side. Miss Dorinda followed, and she and her sister took their accustomed seats in the bay-window. Then Ladybird placed a low ottoman at Miss Priscilla's side and sat down upon it, and laid her head against her aunt's knee. Although Miss Dorinda might seem to a casual observer to be a softer, kinder nature than her elder sister, yet for some unaccountable reason Ladybird felt more attracted toward Miss Priscilla; and, too, the child could already see that Miss Priscilla's word was law at Primrose Hall, and that Miss Dorinda merely acquiesced in her sister's decisions. But it was no spirit of diplomacy that actuated Ladybird, and she caressed Miss Priscilla's hand for the simple reason that she was beginning to love the stern old lady. "Now," said Miss Priscilla, glaring at her niece, "will you tell me what your name is?" "Ladybird Lovell," said the little girl, with a bewitching smile. "I mean your real name, not that absurd nickname." "It _is_ my real name. I never had any other." "Nonsense! Your real name is Lavinia Lovell." "It is? All right--Lavinia Lovell, then. I don't mind." "And how old are you?" "Twelve years old." "You are not! You are fourteen." "Yes, 'm. Fourteen." Ladybird began to treat her aunt as one would treat a harmless lunatic who must be humored, whatever she might say. "And why have you black eyes and straight black hair? Your father wrote, when you were a baby, that you had blue eyes and golden curls." "Did he write that? Why, how I have changed, haven't I? Did you ever know a baby to change as much as that before?"