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“Keeping accounts is a very useful and important thing. I keep mine; and mamma says I have great arth-met-i-cal talent,” added the pale child, who studied too much.

“Come, children; it’s time for dinner. Fancy, you can take the girl to the house; and your uncle will do what he thinks best about letting you keep her,” said Miss Fairbairn, piling them into the basket-wagon.

Fancy kept Lorelei close beside her; and as soon as they reached the great hotel, where they all were staying with mothers and fathers, uncles or aunts, she took her to kind Aunt Fiction, who was interested at once in the friendless child so mysteriously found. She was satisfied with the little she could discover, and promised to keep her,–for a time, at least.

“We can imagine all kinds of romantic things about her; and, by and by, some interesting story may be found out concerning her. I can make her useful in many ways; and she shall stay.”

As Aunt Fiction laid her hand on the mermaid’s head, as if claiming her for her own, Uncle Fact came stalking in, with his note-book in his hand, and his spectacles on his nose. Now, though they were married, these two persons were very unlike. Aunt Fiction was a graceful, picturesque woman; who told stories charmingly, wrote poetry and novels, was very much beloved by young folks, and was the friend of some of the most famous people in the world. Uncle Fact was a grim, grave, decided man; whom it was impossible to bend or change. He was very useful to every one; knew an immense deal; and was always taking notes of things he saw and heard, to be put in a great encyclopaedia he was making. He didn’t like romance, loved the truth, and wanted to get to the bottom of every thing. He was always trying to make little Fancy more sober, well-behaved, and learned; for she was a freakish, dreamy, yet very lovable and charming child. Aunt Fiction petted her to her heart’s content, and might have done her harm, if Uncle Fact had not had a hand in her education; for the lessons of both were necessary to her, as to all of us.

“Well, well, well! who is this?” he said briskly, as he turned his keen eyes and powerful glasses on the new comer.

Aunt Fiction told him all the children had said; but he answered impatiently:

“Tut, tut! my dear: I want the facts of the case. You are apt to exaggerate; and Fancy is not to be relied on. If the child isn’t a fool, she must know more about herself than she pretends. Now, answer truly, Luly, where did you come from?”

But the little mermaid only shook her head, and answered as before, “Fancy found me on the beach, and wants me to stay with her. I’ll do her no harm: please, let me stay.”

“She has evidently been washed ashore from some wreck, and has forgotten all about herself. Her wonderful beauty, her accent, and these ornaments show that she is some foreign child,” said Aunt Fiction, pointing to the earrings.

“Nonsense! my dear: those are white pebbles, not pearls; and, if you examine them, you will find that those bracelets are the ones you gave Fancy as a reward for so well remembering the facts I told her about coral,” said the uncle, who had turned Lorelei round and round, pinched her cheek, felt her hair, and examined her frock through the glasses which nothing escaped.

“She may stay, and be my little playmate, mayn’t she? I’ll take care of her; and we shall be very happy together,” cried Fancy eagerly.

“One can’t be sure of that till one has tried. You say you will take care of her: have you got any money to pay her board, and buy her clothes?” asked her uncle.

“No; but I thought you’d help me,” answered Fancy wistfully.