the allowances may be made for the variation in the clock, though, of course, the only absolutely accurate test is the silent motion of a star millions upon millions of miles away. Other lands besides our own have the same method for sending the correct time over wide sections of country. In England, for instance, the standard time is that of the observatory at Greenwich the spot from which we reckon our degrees of longitude. In the main office of the Government Telegraph in London is a clock connected by wire with Greenwich. At two minutes to ten, every day, a bell rings, the telegraph lines are left free for the time service, so that the Greenwich Observatory Clock may give all England the time of day. It seems very strange, when you come to think it over, that the chief factor in all this time service, which has now become so important a feature in our modern life, is a subtile, unseeable, indeed, if you will let me use the word, a non-understandable element. It does the bidding of its masters with unvarying obedience, but it resolutely refuses to disclose its identity or uncover its individuality. Truly it is a time of magic in which we live. All nature joins man in the working of his miracles, and even the eternal stars in their marvelous sweep through the glittering night are willing to give us an answer far down through the infinite spaces of God to our oft-repeated question: What time is it? THE LITTLE MOTHER. By M. M. D. Now, Dolly dear, I 'm going away. I want you to be good all day. Don't lose your shoes, nor soil your dress, And kiss you soon as I get home. I 'd take you, dear, but then, you know, It 's Wilhelmina's turn to go. She 's sick, I 'm 'fraid; her eyes don't work; They open worse the more I jerk. She used to be so straight and stout, But now her sawdust 's running out. My papa says she 's "out of gear." THE following story is the third of the long stories complete in one number that are to appear in the present volume of ST. NICHOLAS. Girls especially will enjoy the account of these three young heroines who, suddenly brought to face a trying situation, show themselves brave, cheery, and capable despite lack of preparation; but boy-readers, too, will be sure to vote the "Wyndham Girls" delightful friends. A touch of romance adds a pleasant flavor. CHAPTER I. POOR HUMPTY-DUMPTY." "No pink for me, please; I want that shimmering green, made up over shining white silk. It will make my glossy brown hair and eyes look like a ripe chestnut among its green leaves." poetical metaphor, figure- what do you call it ? Which do you like best? Have you made up your mind, Jessamy?" "I want all white; probably this mousselinede-soie." The soft May wind from the distant river blew the lace curtains gently to and fro, lifting the squares of delicate fabrics scattered over the couch on which the three young girls were sitting. Jessamy, the elder of the two Wyndham sisters, was at eighteen very beautiful, with dainty elegance of motion, refinement of speech, almost stately grace, unusual to her age and generation. Barbara, a year younger, was her "Now Phyllis, what's the use of spoiling a opposite. Life, energy, fun, were declared in "Oh, Bab, such glistening sentences ! Shimmering green,'' shining white,'' glossy hair' you did n't mean glossy eyes, I hope! Besides, you know, chestnuts don't show among their green leaves; they stay in their burs until they drop off the trees." every turn of her head and hands. Small in figure, with sparkling dark eyes and a saucy tilt of nose and chin, she could hardly have contrasted more sharply with her tall, gray-eyed, delicately tinted sister, and with what Bab herself called "Jessamy's Undine ways." The third girl, Phyllis, was twin in age to Jessamy, unlike either of the others in appearance and temperament. She was their cousin, the one child of their father's only brother; but as she had been brought up with them since her fourth year, Jessamy and Barbara knew no lesser kinship to her than to each other. At first glance Phyllis was not pretty; to those who had known her for even a brief time she was beautiful. Sweetness, unselfishness, content shone out from her dark blue eyes with the large pupils and dark lashes. Her lips rested together with the suggestion of a smile in their corners, and the clear pallor of her complexion was shaded by her masses of dark brown hair, which warmed into red tints under the sunlight. Across the room from her daughters and niece, enjoying the girls' happiness, sat Mrs. Wyndham, rocking slowly. She was a frail creature, sweet and gentle, still clad in the mourning she had worn for her husband for seven years; one felt that she had been properly placed in luxury, fortunately shielded from hardship. The Wyndhams were wealthy, and the beautiful morning-room in the house on Murray Hill was full of evidences of taste and the long possession of ample means to gratify it. Even the samples fluttering under the girls' fingers bore the name of a French artist on Fifth Avenue, whose skill only the highly favored could command, and the consultation under way was for the selection for each young girl of gowns fit for a princess's wearing, yet intended for the use of maidens not yet "out," in the hops at the hotel at Bar Harbor in the coming summer. "I'm afraid I 'm dreadfully vain," sighed Jessamy, stroking the bits of soap-bubble-tinted gauzes as she laid them together on her knee. "I hope I love exquisite things for their own sake, not because I want them for myself; but I'm not sure my love for them is purely artistic." as you want only good pictures in your room," said Phyllis, coming up flushed from the pursuit of some errant bits under the table. "You 're born royal in taste. Bab and I could get on if we were beggared, but I can't imagine" you shabby. Bab would revel in a sunbonnet and driving cows home, and I could be happy in a tenement, if we were together; but you 're a princess, and you can't be anything else." "You 're a bad Phyl, whose object in life is to spoil every one by making them perfectly self-satisfied," said Jessamy. "I hope some of the excuses you find for me are true; I'm as luxurious by nature as a cat I know that. Come to the window; I want to see this oldrose in the sunlight." Bab stopped swinging her feet, and slipped from the arm of her mother's chair, where she had perched, to follow them. "Don't you abuse cats, nor my sister Jessamy, miss," she said, putting her arms around slender Jessamy and peering over her shoulder at the sample of silk, while she rubbed Jessamy's arm with her chin, like an affectionate dog. "They're two as nice things as I know. Madrina, Mr. Hurd is crossing the street, and he 's headed this way." Oh, dear!" sighed Mrs. Wyndham, almost fretfully. "I suppose he is coming to urge me again to withdraw our money from the business; he has tormented me all winter to do it. He says it is n't secure; but that 's absurd, with Mr. Abbott at the helm, whom your dear father trusted as he did himself! It's all because they won't show the books lately-as though I wanted to see them while Mr. Abbott is managing! I can't see why Mr. Hurd is so nervous and suspicious! Mr. Abbott came expressly to see me, and explained how bad it would be for the corporation if I offered my stock in the market. I understand him much better than Mr. Hurd; he is more patient, and won't leave a point until he has made me see it as he does. I am no business woman, and I can't understand these things very well at best. You stay in the room to-day, children, and see if you understand. Mr. Hurd insists that I am risking beggaring you, and that distresses me unspeakably." "Don't mind Mr. Hurd, madrina; he 's an "You do want them for yourself, but it's just Anxious Attorney," said Barbara, with an air of lucidity, as Violet, the black maid, announced the lawyer, who followed at once on the an nouncement. "We are pluming, or more properly donning, our feathers for flight, Mr. Hurd," said Mrs. Wyndham, rising, and pointing to the samples on the couch, as she extended her hand. "Yes, yes!" said the little man, shaking hands with Mrs. Wyndham without looking at her. "Good morning, Miss Jessamy; good morning, Phyllis; how do you do, little Barbara? May I interrupt your gracious powers, dear madam, I mean I must interrupt your plans, Mrs. Wyndham!" Jessamy and Phyllis clutched each other with sudden pallor. The little lawyer's voice shook with emotion. Bab flushed, and ran to her mother, putting her arms around her frail figure as though to place herself as a bulwark between her and ill. "You will not interrupt anything more important than the selection of dancing-gowns for the children," said Mrs. Wyndham, with her soft dignity, though she turned a little paler. "Is there any special reason for your visit,— kind visit always,- Mr. Hurd? And may the girls hear what you have to say, since their interests are at stake?" Special reason, madam? Special reason, indeed! Heaven help me, I don't know how to say what must be said, but I prefer the young ladies to hear it," groaned their old friend. "Evidently you feel that you have something unpleasant to tell me, Mr. Hurd, but I feel sure you magnify it; you know you are always more timid and pessimistic than I," said Mrs. Wyndham, dropping into the nearest chair and trying to smile. "Mrs. Wyndham, my dear lady, it is n't a matter for self-gratulation! If I could have made you listen to me six- even two months ago, I should not be here to-day, the bearer of this dreadful news," burst out the lawyer, impatiently. "Wouldn't it be better to tell us quickly, Mr. Hurd? You frighten us with hints," said Jessamy, in her silvery, even voice, but the poor child's lips were white. 66 Mr. Hurd glanced at her. Yes," he said, "but it is not easy. I heard the definite news last night in Wall Street; rumors have been afloat for days. I wanted to give you one more night of untroubled sleep. It will be in the evening papers." "What will, Mr. Hurd?" burst out Barbara, impatiently. "The failure of the Wyndham Iron Company." There was dead silence in the room, broken only by the low-toned French clock striking ten times. "The company - failed?" whispered Mrs. Wyndham, trying to find her voice. "What does that mean, Mr. Hurd?" asked Phyllis. "It means that your mother's bonds and stocks are valueless, and as she holds everything in her own right, and has kept all that your father left in the business, it means that your inheritance has been wiped out of existence," said the lawyer, not discriminating between daughters and niece in his excitement. I "How can the company have failed? don't believe it!" cried Mrs. Wyndham, starting to her feet with sudden strength. "Dear Mrs. Wyndham, it is too certain," said her husband's old friend and attorney, gently. "When they refused to open up the books for inspection I knew this would come." "Mr. Abbott-" began Mrs. Wyndham. "Mr. Abbott is an outrageous villain," interrupted Mr. Hurd, passionately. "He has got control of the business, and ruined it by running it on a speculative basis- though justice to his business capacity compels me to add that he has secured himself against harm. Henry Wyndham was completely deceived in him." "I never knew any one ruined outside of books," said Jessamy, trying to smile. "What does it mean? Going to live in an East Side tenement and working in a sweat-shop?" "Nonsense, Jessamy!" said her mother, sharply, drying the tears which had been softly falling, while Bab wailed aloud at the picture. "Nonsense! I shall sell some stock, and I am sure we shall get on very well, perhaps economizing somewhat." “Dear madam, you no more grasp the situation than you saw it coming," said Mr. Hurd, struggling between annoyance and pity. "The |