Mr. Achilles

egun her study of Greek art; and the photographs gathered from every source-were piled high in the window-prints and tiny replicas and casts, and pictures of every kind and size-they overflowed

vour of Zeus. She took him up in her fingers again, with a little flourish of the paste-tube, and made him fast. Poseidon must go, too.

e child looked up. Miss Stone sto

ped down from her chair and came across, holding the book outstretched before her. "You see I've put Poseidon in. He n

e seemed always, somehow, like Miss Stone's smile-but bigger-because he filled the whole earth. She lifted her hand and stroked the

the flushed face with her fingers. "Put it awa

a moment, lugging the book to her and looking at the scattered gods in the great window, before she walked demurely across and began

s. The servants took care of the house for you, and brought you things to eat, and made beds for you, and fed the horses and ironed clothes... but your own things-the gods and temples and scrapbooks and paste that you left lying about-you had to put away yourself! Her fingers found the paste-tube and screwed it firmly in place-with a little twist of the small mouth-and hovered above the prints with quick touch. The servants did things-other things. Constance mended your clothes and dressed you, and Marie served you at table, and sometimes she brought a nice little lunch if you were hungry-and you and Miss Stone had it together on the school table-but no one ever-ever-ever-

ed to slip away into Miss Stone's room-and stand very still, looking about her, hardly breathing. It was like a church-only clearer and sweeter and freer-perhaps it was the woods-with the wind whispering up there. She always held her breath to listen in Miss Stone's room; and when she came back, to her own, child's room-with its canopied bed and royal draperies and colour and charm, she held the stillness and whiteness of Miss Stone's room in her heart-it was like a bird nestling there. Betty had never held a bird,

ering lake, the child came across the room, skipping a little. "I should like to wear my hat with the cherries, please," she said.

Stone. She was still smiling as she touc

" She was looking intently at the quiet cheek close beside her own, with its little flush of pink,

rew her to her. "I will look

hut, I can see them bob-Please, Constance-" She turned to the stiff maid who had

ut them on with careful touch, tyin

go and go and go-Come, Miss Stone." She took the quiet hand, and danced a little, and held it clos

nd clicked their hoofs and stood still; and James, leaning a respectful ear, touched his hat-b