"Of course I do. My governess tells me never to miss attending church twice on Sundays, unless there is very good cause for doing so, and then things will go well with me in the week. But if I wished to stay at home, papa would not let me. Once, do you know, I made an excuse to stay away from morning service: I said my head ached badly, though it did not. It was to read a book that had been lent me, 'The Old English Baron.' I feared my governess would not let me read it, if she saw it, because it was about ghosts, so that I had only the Sunday to read it in. Well, do you know, that next week nothing went right with me; my lessons were turned back, my drawing was spoilt, and my French mistress tore my translation in two. Oh, dear! it was nothing but scolding and crossness. So at last, on the Saturday, I burst into tears and told Miss Shelley about staying away from church and the false excuse I had made. But she was very kind, and would not punish me, for she said I had already had a whole week of punishment." Of all the little chatterboxes! "Is Miss Shelley your governess now?" I asked her. "Yes. But her mother is an invalid, so mamma allows her to go home every Saturday night and come back on Monday morning. Mamma says it is pleasant to have Sunday to ourselves. But I like Miss Shelley very much, and should be dull without her if papa were not at home. I do love Sundays, because papa's here. Did you ever read 'The Old English Baron'?" "No." "Shall I lend it you to take home?" continued Annabel, her cheeks glowing, her eyes sparkling with good-nature. "I have it for my own now. It is a very nice book. Have your sisters read it? Perhaps you have no sisters?" "I have no real sisters, and my father and mother are dead. I have--" "Oh dear, how sad!" interrupted Annabel, clasping her hands. "Not to have a father and mother! Was it"--after a pause--"you who lived with Miss Methold?" "Yes. Did you know her?" "I knew her; and I liked her--oh, very much. Papa used to take me to see her sometimes. With whom do you live now?" "I live in lodgings." She stood looking at me with her earnest eyes--thoughtful eyes just then. "Then who sews the buttons on your shirts?" I burst into laughter: the reader may have done the same. "My landlady professes to sew them on, Annabel, but the shirts often go without buttons. Sometimes I sew one on myself." "If you had one off now, and it was not Sunday, I would sew it on for you," said Annabel. "Why do you laugh?" "At your concern about my domestic affairs, my dear little girl." "But there's a gentleman who lives in lodgings and comes here sometimes to dine with papa--he is older than you--and he says it is the worst trouble of life to have no one to sew his buttons on. Who takes care of you if you are ill?" she added, after another pause. "As there is no one to take care of me, I cannot afford to be ill, Annabel. I am generally quite well." "I am glad of that. Was your father a lawyer, like papa?"