preparatory to going up to Cambridge, was removed by continents of superiority from day-school juniors. Occasionally in their disguise of the deadly jealousy which in truth consumed them, the Garnett family endeavoured to make light of the personality of this envied person. To begin with, his name! “Dan” was well enough. “Dan” sounded a boy-like boy, a manly man; of a “Dan” much might be expected in the way of sport and mischief, but—oh, my goodness—Daniel! The Garnetts discussed the cognomen over the play-room fire.

“It must be so embarrassing to have a Bible name!” Lavender opined. “Think of church! When they read about me I should be covered with confusion, and imagine that every one was staring at our pew!”

Clemence stared thoughtfully into space. “I, Clemence, take thee Daniel,” she recited slowly, and shuddered. “No—really, I couldn’t!”

“He wouldn’t have you!” the three boys piped; even Tim, who plainly was talking of matters he could not understand, added his note to the chorus, but Darsie cocked her little head, and added eagerly—

“Couldn’t you, really? What could you, do you think?”

Clemence stared again, more rapt than ever.

“Lancelot, perhaps,” she opined, “or Sigismund. Everard’s nice too, or Ronald or Guy—”

“Bah! Sugary. I couldn’t! Daniel is ugly,” Darsie admitted, “but it’s strong. Dan Vernon will fight lions like the Bible one; they’ll roar about him, and his enemies will cast him in, but they’ll not manage to kill him. He’ll trample them under foot, and leave them behind, like milestones on the road.” Darsie was nothing if not inaccurate, but in the bosom of one’s own family romantic flights are not allowed to atone for discrepancies, and the elder sister was quick to correct.

“Daniel didn’t fight the lions! What’s the use of being high falutin’ and making similes that aren’t correct?”

“Dear Clemence, you are so literal!” Darsie tilted her head with an air of superiority which reduced the elder to silence, the while she cogitated painfully why such a charge should be cast as a reproach. To be literal was to be correct. Daniel had not fought the lions! Darsie had muddled up the fact in her usual scatterbrain fashion, and by good right should have deplored her error. Darsie, however, was seldom known to do anything so dull; she preferred by a nimble change of front to put others in the wrong, and keep the honours to herself. Now, after a momentary 

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