"You must call me Kate; say Kate."
I did so; for, like her brother, it was not easy to say her nay. With a kind smile, she sent me on my voyage of discovery. The only apartment that interested me was a room lying at the top of the house, and which I considered to be the lumber-room. It was filled with plaster casts and old dusty pictures without frames; the greater part were turned to the wall; a few that were exposed looked dull in the warm sun-light pouring in on them through the open window; before it stood a deal table, on which, after examining the pictures. I got up.
"Daisy, what are you doing there?" exclaimed Miss O'Reilly, entering the room; "come down."
I obeyed, but said in a tone of chagrin—
"I cannot see the sea!"
"I should think not. Why did you turn those pictures?"
"I found them so, Kate."
She frowned slightly; turned them back, every one, then said gravely—
"You must not come here any more; it is the study of Cornelius. He reads and writes here."
"Did he paint them?" I asked, with sudden interest.