"Well, what do you s'pose?" Gwen asked pertly, and then, without waiting for a reply she caught Sprite's hand and hurried with her into the great hall.
"I brought you in here to show you the pictures," she said, pointing to the family portraits that adorned the walls.
Sprite looked in admiration at the ladies in their quaint gowns of stiff brocade, and at the men in their lace frills, and satin waistcoats.
"The pictures are lovely," she said, "and are they portraits of people that really, truly lived once?"
"Oh, yes," cried Gwen, "and I'll tell you all about them.
"This lady with the pink gown was my great aunt Nora, and that man in the yellow waistcoat was my great uncle Nathan.
"That lady in green velvet was my great aunt Nina, and that young girl beside her was her daughter, Arline.
"That little old lady in velvet and lace was my great grandmother, and the next picture was my own grandma, and I've forgotten who that next one is, but the next lady's name was Jemima, and the one in yellow silk was Elvira, and the one in pink muslin was Honoriah, and the next one,—oh, let me think. What was her name? Oh, I know, it was Anastasia."
"Why, their names grow worse, and worse the farther you go down the hall!" cried Sprite.
"Why no they don't," said Gwen, "for over on this wall, the first picture, this one of the lady with the dog is called Lucretia, and that next one's name was Abagail."