T was very quiet in the old

house at Summerton. It always had been quiet there since Bryda Danvers had known anything about it, for the house was old, and almost every person and everything in it was old. The oak furniture was quite black with age, the drawing room chairs were covered with a chintz, of which the one last bit was sold fifty or sixty years ago. The servants were old; an elderly cat, who had had

so many families of kittens that one never could count them, lay on the costly old rug by the oldfashioned fireplace. Bryda had more than once wondered whether the flies on the windows and walls were the same flies year after year, they seemed to crawl so slowly.

It was quiet in the old house; it had been quiet for many years, but now a heavy stillness hung over the place, for Old King Death, who has been at work as long as the world has stood, had paid the old house a visit. And the dear old couple-Grandmamma, with her sweet dim eyes and her soft white curls; and Grandpapa,

with his handsome head, which looked as if it bent under the weight of the snow upon it-one after the other they had lain down and closed their eyes quietly, to open them in that far Land of which they had read and talked to each other, and sometimes to little Bryda, with cheerful hope for so long.

They had been laid in the same grave, one after the other, and the old Vicar had said some words about ripe corn gathered in in due season, and Bryda had thrown beautiful flowers upon their resting-place, and had gone quietly home with Uncle Jack, whose merry face was sad and grave enough.

'But I don't feel as if I wanted to cry, Uncle Jack,' said Bryda, softly; 'I am sure Grandpapa was quite tired of being alive, and you know Grandmamma never could get on without him, could she?'

'No, indeed, dear,' said Uncle Jack; but I am afraid I shall find it rather hard, too, to get on without either of them,' he added, with a deep sigh, as Gog and Magog, the old horses, went slowly home, while now and then a big tear ran down the wrinkled cheeks of the faithful old coachman, John.

'Uncle Jack,' said Bryda, after a long pause.

'Well, little one?'

'Do you think Father and Mother find it hard to get on without me?'

Do you think a creature of your size could be so important? said Uncle Jack; and then he was silent again.

But some days or weeks later he came to look for Dryda. She was in the middle of a French grammar lesson, and it seemed to be puzzling.

Oh, Uncle Jack, I am so glad to see you!' she said, jumping up, and shutting the book with a bang that drew forth a mild reproof from her governess.

I am very sorry,' said Bryda, becoming rather more subdued; but French grammar is so dreadfully indigestible!'

'Then the safest plan will be to take it in small doses,' said Uncle Jack, laughing, as he turned to the governess. May I give the patient a pill in the shape of an Indian letter?' he asked, and the permission was given with a ready smile.

Soon Bryda and her uncle were sitting snugly in a queer little summer-house lined with shells, which was Uncle Jack's pet place for a pipe or a cigar, with the thin sheets of foreign paper spread out before them.

'Dear Jack,' said the letter, I think it will be best, now that the dear old couple are gone, for Bryda to come out to us. We shall spend all this year, I hope, at a hill-station, and then we hope to leave India for a less trying climate. If you could find some one to take care of her on board

But Uncle Jack read no further then, for Bryda broke out,

· Oh, Uncle Jack, it cannot be really true, you know. It is too nice to be true, I know it is.' Are nice things never true, then?' asked her uncle, with a little smile.

And be a comfort to Mother, eh?' said Uncle Jack, slyly.

'Yes,' said Bryda, looking down.

After that the old house grew livelier with the preparations for a long journey. Uncle Jack made up his mind to take Bryda out himself, which was a great delight to the little girl. Then she begged to have her little dog Bingo, a funny, long-haired, rough little creature, with an endless power of getting into scrapes, and a foolish habit of going off into a fit of barks and wriggles for no particular

reason.

At last Uncle Jack agreed that Bingo should go; and one bright spring day the wonderful journey began.

It was very pleasant as they steamed South to find the air grow more sunny and warm, and the sea more and more blue and beautiful. Bryda liked Gibraltar, that great rock with a town on it, and was very much amused by the gay dresses and the clatter of languages she could not understand. She liked Malta, too, where funny little boys dived for money thrown them by the passengers, playing about as merrily in the clear warm sea as if they were little fishes or mermen themselves. She liked the streets, with people of all nations wearing all sorts of dresses, and speaking all kinds of tongues.

'I think this is the best way to learn geography, Uncle Jack,' she said. 'I shall never forget Gibraltar and Malta now, shall I ?'

Uncle Jack laughed, and said it was rather an expensive way of learning a little geography. Neither he nor Bryda could know how much geography and how many harder lessons she would have to learn before she saw the cool grey shores of England again!

It was hot enough now: Aden looked like a furnace as they passed it. Then came the deep waters of the Indian sea, and by-and-by strange birds came flitting about the ship. At last came a shore unlike the shores of England, with white breakers fringing the wonderfully deep blue sea, and breaking against a sandy coast, from which rose palms and strange plants.

Then came a land journey which lasted many days. Uncle Jack rode, but Bryda had to travel in a strange sort of long box, called a palanquin, carried by men, who held long sticks thrust through holes so as to support the box. Bryda