queens of society, who never by any chance
wear anything false, and who are well known
to abhor shams in every department—they
were good and picturesque, and made with
exquisite neatness. Jack's artistic aid was
often called in to devise effective shapes
and contrasts of colour, and then Polly's
nimble fingers went to work, and carried out
his ideas with wonderful dexterity. Polly,
indeed, was endowed with that talent for all
branches of needlework which appears to be a
positive inspiration with some women; and as
she was remarkable also for personal neatness
and the care she took of her clothes, the
inheritance which Mabel had come into of her
cousin's theatrical costumes was by no means a
despicable one.

"What pretty lace this is round the black
velvet jacket, Aunt Mary!" called out Mabel
from her room. She was contemplating the
costumes spread out on her bed, with secret
delight. At seventeen, one may still take pleasure
in that source of happiness known to children
as " dressing up."

"Oh yes," answered Aunt Mary, shaking out
a brocaded satin petticoat from its creases,
"that's real point, Mabel, and remarkably fine
old lace. I gave it to Polly years ago. It was
part of the wedding-dress of Uncle John's and
of course also your father's great-aunt; but if
you want to see fine old lace you must coax
Mrs. Darling to show you her store."

"Mrs. Darling?"

"Our first old woman. She is the strangest
old body you can fancy; but she has a wonderful
wardrobe—such antique brocades, high-
heeled shoes, fans, buckles, flowered satins,
such as they don't make now-a-days, and, above
all, such lace! I believe that she would not sell
a yard of it to save her life; and some of it is
of considerable value."

"Do you know all the other members of the
company, Aunt Mary?"

"Why, yes; most of them, I believe. There
are the Copestakes, husband and wife; he plays
the heavy business, and she second old women,
or whatever is wanted. Then there are Mr.
Moffatt himself and his daughter; Miss Lydia
St. Aubert, the leading lady; old Shaw, the first
old man—his real name is O'Shaughnessy, but he
always denies being an Irishman; I'm sure I
don't know why—and one or two more. I'm
not at all clever at describing people; but you
will very soon find them out for yourself."

In the evening Jack returned, and, having
posted his mother's letter, came back to give
an account of what he had heard and done at
the theatre.

"Here's the bill of the first night," said he,
pulling from his pocket a long narrow playbill,
still reeking with damp printer's ink. "We
open with Macbeth, you see."

"Yes; I knew that was to be the first piece.
And the farce is the Two Gregorys."

"There's a list of the company, Mabel. No
stars. Moffatt entirely objects to the starring
system. He won't even give Miss St. Aubert,
who is a great favourite here, a line to herself in
the bill. He says it would be invidious to the
rest of the company."

Mabel ran her eyes over a number of names
printed in a double line at the head of the bill.
First came Mr. Moffatt's name in very large
letters. "That's because he's the manager, you
know," explained Jack. But by-and-by the
name occurred again in a preliminary address or
opening flourish, setting forth to the inhabitants
of Kilclare at what vast trouble and expense
Mr. Moffatt had succeeded in getting together
a company of artists "culled from the principal
members of the leading provincial and
metropolitan theatres."

"Mr. Moffatt's name is in very conspicuous
capitals here, too," observed Mabel.

"Ah, yes—well—of course you see he likes
to have a little pull over the others. It makes
the people fancy him a big man."

"And here, too, Miss Moffatt's name is quite
striking in the size of its letters."

"Well, you know she's his daughter, and, of
course—"

Mabel could not help recalling La Fontaine's
fable, in which the lion hunts with the heifer,
the goat, and the sheep, in a quadruple partnership;
but when it comes to the division of the
spoil, the king of beasts, having found good and
sufficient reasons for taking three-fourths to his
own share, puts his paw on the sole remaining
portion, and simply announces that as to that
quarter, should any one offer to touch it, he will
be strangled without more ado.

"Who is this lady?" asked Mabel, pointing
to a name in the list.

"Ah! Who should you think, now?"

Mabel coloured, and said, hesitatingly, "Is
it—it isn't—I?"

"Yes it is, though. That was my idea.
Nobody had ever thought of a name for you."

"I should not have been ashamed of my
own."

"Well, you can take it afterwards, if you
like. But, for the present, there you are,
transformed from Mabel into Miss M. A. Bell! I
thought it ingenious; but if you don't
approve—"

"Oh no, dear Jack. It will do beautifully.
And when I said I should not be ashamed of my
own name, I didn't think of Aunt Mary's having
generously given up the name she had a right
to bear, to spare a selfish pride. But I should
think there's no one left now, to whom it matters
very much whether I am Miss Earnshaw or
Miss M. A. Bell in the playbill."

"The call is at ten, in the green-room, for the
music of Macbeth, and at eleven on the stage.
Everybody."

"I'm so glad I have nothing to do the first
night but go on as a witch. I shall get a little
accustomed to the look of the theatre. But I
shall feel very shy at first, amongst all the actors
and actresses."

"It isn't a very big ' all.' Courage, Miss M.
A. Bell. Good night; and get a good rest to
prepare yourself for to-morrow."