"'The bridge is broke and I have to mend it, Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri do, The bridge is broke and I have to mend it, Fol de rol de ri.'

"'How deep is the river?' the traveller then asked.

"'Throw in a stone, 'twill sink to the bottom, Fol de rol de ri do, fol de rol de ri--' etc.

"'How can I get across?' was the next question.

"'The ducks and the geese they all swim over, Fol de rol de ri do--' etc.

"And that is all."

"Doesn't the poor man ever get across?" asked Mrs. Morrison.

"I have told you all I know, madam," the Spectacle Man answered, with a little wave of his hand.

"I think there is a story hidden in it, and that is perhaps why children enjoy it; it is like having a picture to look at." It was Miss Sherwin who spoke.

"That is a bright idea," said Mr. Clark; "but who will find the hidden story for us?"

"I believe Miss Sherwin herself can find it," suggested Mrs. Morrison.

"Suppose we give her two weeks to hunt for it, and then have a meeting to hear it."

"Oh, please--" began Miss Sherwin.

"Don't say a word, Lil, you know you can," urged Miss Moore, as her friend tried to make herself heard above the chorus of approval.

"The meeting to be held in my study," added the Spectacle Man.

"But suppose I can't do it," cried Miss Sherwin.

"Father could, if he were here," put in Frances; "he is splendid for stories!"

"Is he the John Chauncey Morrison who writes so charmingly?" asked Miss Sherwin.

"Why, do you know him?" exclaimed Frances.

"No, but I have read his stories."

"I think he writes the nicest ones in the world," said the little girl.

"But we don't expect everybody else to think so, Wink," her mother added, laughing.

CHAPTER SEVENTH.

A PORTRAIT.

One pleasant afternoon Emma came to ask if Frances might go with her to carry home some sewing her mother had finished.

Mrs. Morrison looked a little doubtful, but, before she could speak, Frances exclaimed: "Do please say yes, mother. It is a great lovely house, and I do so want to see it."

"What do you know about it?" asked her mother.

"Emma has told me. May I go? It is such a lovely day."

"I am not sure that it is quite the thing for two little girls to go so far alone."

"But we'll take care of each other, and--it seems to me that what you want to do is never the thing!" Frances said impatiently.

Her mother laughed; "I have known other persons who thought that. Who lives in this wonderful house?" she asked.

"Mrs. Marvin, but she is not at home now; there is no one there but the housekeeper," replied Emma.

"If I let you go you must promise not to stay any longer than is necessary for Emma's errand."

They both agreed eagerly to this, and Emma ran down to get ready.

"You mustn't turn into a little Bohemian, Wink," Mrs. Morrison said, kissing the rosy face under the big hat.

"I don't know what it is, so I guess I couldn't turn into it," laughed Frances, as she followed Emma.

The two children were in a gale of delight over their expedition, and, although they meant to be very dignified, found it impossible to walk more than a few steps without breaking into a skip.

"I wish my hair was like yours," Emma said, looking admiringly at her companion's waving brown locks.

"But braids aren't half so much bother. I have to wear mine this way because daddy likes it; and if you want to, you know, you can put your hair up on kids. That is what Gladys Bowen does; hers doesn't curl one bit."

"Gladys goes to our school, and I don't like her," remarked Emma.

"Why not? Don't you think she is pretty?"

"Yes; but she is so proud of herself. She doesn't like to go with me because my clothes aren't as nice as hers,--I know."

"She gets that from her mother," Frances said sagely. "Whenever I go there Mrs. Bowen asks me who made my dress or something."

"I know I don't have very pretty dresses, but my mother hasn't time,"

said Emma, rather sorrowfully.

"I think you always look nice, Emma, and I like you better than I do Gladys."

"Oh, Frances! do you really? Then I shan't mind," cried Emma.

She was supremely happy at having Frances for a companion on her walk, and at the prospect of showing her this wonderful house; but when at length they paused before the tall iron gate, she was seized with the fear that it might not seem very grand to one who had seen so much of the world.

Frances' critical eye was pleased, however; "I really think it does look like a palace," she said, with the air of having lived among palaces.