Three little girls were looking out of the window on a very wet afternoon in March. They were so close together in age and height that sometimes two of them were taken for twins, yet there was a year between each of them. And they were unlike each other in looks.

Charity, the eldest, had a quantity of red auburn hair down her back. She was very lively and talkative, and her eyes were always sparkling with fun and happiness.

Hope, next to her in age, had fair golden hair and blue eyes; she was sweet tempered and rather apt to be an echo of anyone with whom she was.

Faith, the youngest, was a quiet child, with short, dark, curly hair, and thoughtful brown eyes. She had a very sweet little face, but looked fragile and delicate beside her rosy, sturdy sisters.

It was not a very cheerful scene outside the window. One of those quiet, dingy streets towards the outskirts of London, where rows of houses faced each other, all exactly alike, and where the only traffic was the tradesmen's carts rattling along, and an occasional cab or motor. But the little girls were talking fast and happily. The rain beating against the window panes did not depress them. The dark grey sky, the wet pavements, the wind whirling the smoke along the street from the chimneys opposite, the people hurrying by under sodden umbrellas, all interested the six bright eyes.

And at last three voices shouted happily:

"Here she comes, Granny! Here's Aunt Alice!"

They left their post at the window and rushed to the door. Mrs. Blair, their grandmother, who was sitting in an easy chair by the fire, knitting small stockings, sprang up as if she were twenty instead of nearly seventy. She took a small kettle off the hob, and poured the hot water into a teapot.

Tea was laid on a round table in the middle of the room. There was only a loaf of bread and a pot of treacle, but everything was very bright and clean; and the little room looked quite cheerful in contrast to the grey, dingy street outside. There was a canary hanging up in the window, and a handsome black cat sat washing its face on the hearthrug. Bright pictures were on the walls, and in the centre of the table was a big bunch of yellow daffodils.

Amy Le. Feuvre