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Indoors things look somewhat more cheerful, especially at the Merivales, who are an early-rising family. It still wants a few minutes to eight, but Doris and Honor, true to habit, are already kneeling on the rug before the bright fire, spreading their hands as near as they dare over the glowing coals, and carrying on a spirited talk, which proves that the few hours' sleep of which they have been deprived has not done them much harm. The door opens, and enter Molly—yawning hopelessly, and it must be confessed looking haggard and pale, with dark rings round her large blue eyes.

"Hallo, Moll! late hours don't evidently suit you, my dear. You do look an object of pity, upon my word. Here, come to the fire and stop chattering your teeth, for goodness' sake!"

Molly accepts the invitation and joins her sisters, and after a few minutes Mr. Merivale comes in rubbing his hands briskly.

"Now, girls, let the old man see a bit of the fire! Ah! just eight," taking out his watch and comparing it with the clock on the mantel-piece. "Good girls, to be punctual after your late hours. Ring the bell, Honor; it's no use waiting for your mother this morning. She has one of her bad headaches, and I shouldn't wonder if she does not come down at all. She said she would send word by Lane after prayers, so we need not wait now."