"Won't you open that, please, Mr. John," said she; — "I can't open it; I guess it will do her good, for Ellen says it's delicious. Mamma used to have Cologne water for her headaches. And here, dear Alice, won't you eat these? — do! — try one." "Hasn't that bottle been open yet?" said Alice, as she smilingly took a grape. "Why, no, to be sure it hasn't. I wasn't going to open it till I wanted it. Eat them all, dear Alice — please do!" "But I don't think you have eaten one yourself, Ellen, by the look of the bunch. And here are a great many too many for me." "Yes, I have, I've eaten two; I don't want 'em. I give them all to you and Mr. John. I had a great deal rather!" Ellen took, however, as precious payment, Alice's look and kiss; and then, with a delicate consciousness that perhaps the brother and sister might like to be alone, she left the library. She did not know where to go, for Miss Sophia was stretched on the bed in her room, and she did not want any company. At last, with her little Bible, she placed herself on the old sofa in the hall above-stairs, which was perfectly well warmed, and for some time she was left there in peace. It was pleasant, after all the hubbub of the morning, to have a little quiet time that seemed like Sunday; and the sweet Bible words came, as they often now came to Ellen, with a healing breath. But after half an hour or so, to her dismay she heard a door open, and the whole gang of children come trooping into the hall below, where they soon made such a noise that reading or thinking was out of the question. "What a bother it is that one can't play games on a Sunday!" said Marianne Gillespie. "One _can_ play games on a Sunday," answered her brother. "Where's the odds? It's all Sunday's good for, _I_ think." "William! — William!" sounded the shocked voice of little Ellen Chauncey — "you are a real wicked boy!" "Well, now!" said William, "how am I wicked? Now say — I should like to know. How is it any more wicked for us to play games than it is for Aunt Sophia to lie a-bed and sleep, or for Uncle Howard to read novels, or for Grandpa to talk politics, or for mother to talk about the fashions? — there were she and Miss What's-her-name for ever so long this morning doing everything but _make_ a dress. Now which is the worst?" "Oh, William! William! — for shame! for shame!" said little Ellen again. "Do hush, Ellen Chauncey, will you?" said Marianne, sharply; — "and you had better hush too, William, if you know what is good for yourself. I don't care whether it's right or wrong, I do get dolefully tired with doing nothing." "Oh, so do I!" said Margaret, yawning. "I wish one could sleep all Sunday." "I'll tell you what," said George — "I know a game we can play, and no harm either, for it's all out of the Bible." "Oh, do you? let's hear it, George," cried the girls. "I don't believe it is good for anything if it is out of the Bible," said Margaret. "Now stare, Ellen Chauncey, do!"