{{hwe|ble|possible risk of a scolding, for twisting off the fringe of the rug. There is no baby in the garret to wake up. There is no 'company' in the garret to be disturbed by the noise. There is no crotchety old Uncle, or GrandMa, with their everlasting—"Boys—boys!"—and then a look of such horror!
There is great fun in groping through a tall barrel of books and pamphlets, on the look-out for startling pictures; and there are chestnuts in the garret, drying, which you have discovered on a ledge of the chimney; and you slide a few into your pocket, and munch them quietly,—giving now and then one to Nelly, and begging her to keep silent;—for you have a great fear of its being forbidden fruit.
Old family garrets have their stock, as I said, of cast-away clothes, of twenty years gone by; and it is rare sport to put them on; buttoning in a pillow or two for the sake of good fulness; and then to trick out Nelly in some strange-shaped head-gear, and old-fashioned brocade petticoat caught up with pins; and in such guise, to steal cautiously down stairs, and creep slily into the sitting-room,—half afraid of a scolding, and very sure of good fun;—trying to look very sober, and yet almost ready to die with the laugh that you know you will make. And your mother tries to lock
