"Oh, Christie! here are some letters tied up with a ribbon." They were two or three prettily written letters, exhaling a faint odor of refinement and of the pressed flowers that peeped from between the loose leaves.

"I see, 'My darling Fairfax.' It's from some woman." "I don't think much of her, whosoever she is," said Christie, tossing the intact packet back into the corner.
"Nor I," echoed Jessie.
Nevertheless, by some feminine inconsistency, evidently the circumstance did make them think more of HIM, for a minute later, when they had reentered their own room, Christie remarked, "The idea of petting a man by his family name! Think of mamma ever having called papa 'darling Carr'!" "Oh, but his family name isn't Fairfax," said Jessie hastily; "that's his FIRST name, his Christian name.

I forget what's his other name, but nobody ever calls him by it." "Do you mean," said Christie, with glistening eyes and awful deliberation--"do you mean to say that we're expected to fall in with this insufferable familiarity?
I suppose they'll be calling US by our Christian names next." "Oh, but they do!" said Jessie, mischievously.
"What!" "They call me Miss Jessie; and Kearney, the little one, asked me if Christie played." "And what did you say ?" "I said that you did," answered Jessie, with an affectation of cherubic simplicity.

"You do, dear; don't you?
.

.