Christmas was over. The twins, Allan and Jessie, had romped and played away the whole delightful day, in doors and out.

Wonderful to tell, they had wearied of all the pretty new toys, and found an end to play. After tea they sat quietly in the fire-glow, talking with mamma about the beautiful new picture that was her gift to them. It was a charming group of gayly dressed children—little Princes and a Princess, the children of the unhappy King Charles I. of England. The tallest was a handsome boy, in a suit of scarlet velvet, with a broad collar of rich old lace. He held by the hand a tiny tot, in a frilled cap and a dress of blue silk, who timidly clung to the protecting arm of his big brother. The third was a quaint little damsel in a robe of creamy satin, standing with her dainty hands demurely folded before her. Her long stately dress touched the floor with its border of Vandyck points, and her small head was curiously dressed in a by-gone courtly fashion. About her pretty throat was a necklace of costly pearls, and she looked the perfect model of a tiny old-time lady of high degree. A pair of graceful spaniels crouched at the feet of the children, and behind them was a curtain of some rich foreign stuff. The fire-light flashed on the sweet young faces and shining auburn hair, touching the waves and curls, while the shadows danced and nickered until it seemed to Allan that the bright eyes smiled back to him as he looked up. It was like a pleasant dream, and Allan's blue eyes grew slowly dim and dimmer. Jessie's eyelids had been drooping from the time mamma began to tell about the royal children, and directly the twins were fast asleep. Papa came in, and mamma laughed with him at the effect of her story, and then the little sleepers were playfully shaken until they were wide awake enough to walk up stairs.

There was a sleepy good-night kiss all around, a double "Now I lay me," and two heads nestled down on two soft pillows, and the long delightful Christmas-day was quite gone.

In almost no time Allan felt a hand on his shoulder, and a voice said, softly, "Allan, Allan, wake up, my man, and come and show me about the things."

Allan turned over, rubbed his dazed eyes, and then jumped straight up in bed, winking and blinking in wonder at what he saw. Standing beside his bed was a handsome lad, about his own size, in a scarlet velvet suit. The stranger was laughing merrily at his surprise, as he spoke again: "My good fellow, don't sit staring at me, but put on your doublet and the rest, and come on. We have not long to stay." At this, Allan glanced through the open door of Jessie's room, and there by her bed he saw in the moonlight the dainty little dame in the trailing satin. She was whispering to Jessie. In an instant the visitors vanished hand in hand through the doorway, and the children heard their soft footfalls on the stairway. "Prince Charlie! Princess Mary!" was all they said, but they fairly danced into their clothes, and then ran quickly down to the library; and when the door opened, what a strange sight met their astonished eyes! There was a famous fire in the grate, and by the bright blaze they saw Prince Charlie mounted, on the new velocipede, tugging at the bridle, and cracking his whip until it snapped again, but the queer steed moved not a pace. The little Princess sat holding Nannette—Jessie's French doll—speechless with delight. She turned the pretty head from side to side, she moved the arms and feet, she examined the tiny kid boots with their high heels. Then she admired the long gloves with no end of buttons, and the scrap of a bonnet, made of shreds of flower and feather in a wonderful way, and perched on a high tower of fluffy flossy hair.

"Do you like it, Princess Mary?" asked Jessie, most respectfully.

"Oh, it is bonny," was the answer; "so much prettier than any I ever saw. Is your father a great King, and does he have such wonderful dolls made for you?" she asked.

"Oh, dear me, no, Princess," said Jessie, hastily, and wanting very much to laugh. "My father is a great doctor, though. We have no Kings in our country."

"No Kings!" echoed the little lady, incredulously. "Who reigns, then? But do not say Princess every time; call me Mary. We must go back so soon, and I have a hundred questions to ask about so many strange things. We are very tired of looking at them from up there," glancing at the picture.

"Indeed, we have longed to get down close by you ever since we came," exclaimed the Prince. "I am sure you saw us smile at you last evening," he added.

"So I was right," cried Allan, joyfully. "I thought so;" and looking up to the picture, he saw the pretty spaniels quite alone against the rich drapery. They were huddled together in a lonely way, a silky heap of noses and paws. At Prince Charlie's voice one of them threw up his head for a dismal howl, but at a sign from his young master he patiently curled down to wait.

The Princess missed Jamie, and turned to look for him. There, in a corner on the floor, sat the baby Duke, in his sky-blue silk, dancing Jessie's droll Japanese "Ning-Ping" until the limp arms and legs fairly flew. He stopped a moment to look into the narrow sleepy eyes, and to touch the long braid that hung down behind, and the stiff little fringe, like a brush, on top of the queer head, and then again the legs and arms rattled a tune, while Jamie's round, solemn eyes seemed not even to wink, so intent and wondering was his look. In the mean time his stately sister held Nannette close in her arms, as she moved about, looking, listening, and questioning.

Just then Jamie called, softly, "Charlie! Charlie! Mary! come and see."

The little fellow had found a box of jointed wooden animals and people. He was twisting the legs and arms and paws and wings into all manner of shapes, and then standing up the funny wry shapes, and laughing in high glee.

Allan noticed how quietly they all spoke and moved. Even when they laughed heartily, or called out, they did not make any loud noise. He wondered if it was being pictures so long had made them so still.

Presently Jessie took her lacquered box, full of small treasures, from the table to the sofa, where the two girls cozily seated themselves. All of the simple, pretty things seemed equally new and curious to the little stranger. Jessie tried to have the Princess Mary keep a few trifles which she seemed most to admire, but in vain; she only drew up her small quaint figure, and said, quietly, "A Princess may not accept gifts." Somehow, although she smiled graciously, this little speech troubled Jessie, who feared she had been rude, although she did not in the least know how.

Duke Jamie had in the mean time wearied of his wooden people, and went wandering about in his baby fashion, but never for a moment dropping Ning-Ping. Just then he spied his brother careering around on the velocipede, having learned from Allan how to manage it. Of course Jamie cried for a ride, and fortunately got it. While the Prince was whirling round, Allan had wound up his engine with the long train of passenger coaches, and sent it spinning across the floor in front of the fire. In a twinkling Prince Charlie jumped down to see the new wonder. The Princess at once lifted Jamie astride of the strange steed, and with one arm about him, walked in a motherly way by his side, pushing the curious vehicle.

"What is this long carriage?" asked young Royalty.

"Only a steam-engine and train of cars," was the reply.

"But where is the steam?" said the Prince.

"Oh, there is none here; this goes by wheels, like a clock; but the real cars that we travel on run by steam."

The long train began to creep slowly, and the wheels whirred and buzzed a little in running down. Allan handed the key to his guest, and Prince Charlie wound it up with a zest, and watched it awhile; then he turned to Allan with, "I say, how do they run by steam?"

"Why, the steam is made by the fire under the engine boiler, like a big tea-kettle," explained Allan, carefully, and feeling like a professor; "this turns the engine wheels somehow, and the cars being all fast to it, they go like lightning almost."

He soon bethought himself of his little engine, and in a few minutes it was steaming up, with the piston-rod pumping and the wheels whizzing, and the Prince quite lost in wonder. It was a very novel and pleasant sensation to know so much more than a royal Prince, and Allan enjoyed it hugely. Looking about him for new marvels, he chanced on his printing-press. The fire-light was dying out, and it was too dark for type-setting, so he quickly struck a match and lighted the gas jet. When he turned, his guests stood stupefied and open-mouthed with most unroyal amazement.

The Prince gasped out, "Sister, did you see him set fire to a hole? Surely he did it, and with a dry splinter."

The Princess turned quite pale. "Are the walls full of fire?" she asked, anxiously, hugging baby Jamie closely.

This was, indeed, like magic to the royal pair, and, truth to tell, the young magician was nearly as much at a loss to explain the phenomenon.

"It is gas, only gas," said Allan.

"And what in the name of all the saints is this gas?" returned the Prince.

"Oh, something that is made from coal, and runs in tubes in the wall, and burns in the air like oil," said Allan. "It is not loose; it can not get out of the tubes. It is quite safe," he assured the frightened Princess, "and the dry splinter has something on the tip—phosphorus, I think—that fires when it is scraped." Thus re-assured, the royal pair amused themselves for some time drawing matches, quite like common children. After this Allan introduced his treadle press, and soon the boys were deep in the mysteries of type-setting, inking, and taking impressions. The Prince wondered greatly at a printing-press for a boy's pastime, and still more to see it revolve so rapidly.

"I once went," he said, "to see them print our London weekly. They had no treadle, for the press was worked by hand; but then they had famous printers there, and plenty of them, you see, and could send out a thousand papers in a day," and he looked to Allan for admiration.

"That was doing very well," was the calm response; "but with a treadle I could work off about twice as many myself. In our country we use steam to drive every sort of machine, and to-day our Yankee presses just buzz round, and throw about eight thousand or ten thousand newspapers an hour, all cut and folded."

"Don't! don't!" cried Prince Charlie; "that is a little faster than I can think. I am sure there can't be people enough to read so many. I should lose my breath in your fast country. What, pray, is the use of driving things like lightning? Let us try those cards; and now go slow, my man, and let me see how you do it."

Very soon they had printed, in old English type, "Charles Stuart, 1640," and in a neat script, "Allan Wallace, 1880." The Prince decided he would rather have the treadle press than anything he had yet seen.

Meanwhile Jessie was doing her best to entertain the Princess Mary, who had watched all of these wonders in her quiet way, holding Jamie by the hand lest he should get into mischief. After the gas-lighting she was more careful of him than ever, fearing some harm might befall the baby brother in this new world of strange ways.

But shortly after this a sharp cry made them all start; Jamie had caught his busy, plump little hand in a wheel; he could not release it, and was screaming with fright. Princess Mary ran to his relief.

"What may this be?" she asked, when Jamie was soothed again. "Is it a spinning-wheel?"

"Indeed no," said Jessie; "I should be very glad to see one; but this is a sewing-machine."

"A what?" exclaimed her guest.

But Jessie, for answer, had opened the cover, and taking two strips of cloth from a drawer, began to stitch a seam at a flying speed. She was very proud of this accomplishment, having but just learned. "I can play better on this than on the piano," she remarked. The swift wheel whirled while she talked, and the long seam flew from under the needle, and in an instant was done. The trio stood in amazement, little Jamie being spell-bound by the flying wheel.

"Wonderful! wonderful!" cried Prince Charlie; "this is magic."

The Princess asked, eagerly, "May I try it?"

Jessie rose at once. The little lady daintily drew aside her satin robe, and put her small shoes on the treadle. With the help of Jessie the wheel was soon spinning briskly. The low hum and whir grew rapidly louder. "What!" cried the Prince, "a tune?" and, wondering, Allan heard the swift humming change to a lively measure. Louder and clearer it rose, till the leal old Scotch ballad, "Wha'll be King but Charlie?" rang out right gayly. The Prince seemed overjoyed, and directly began a merry whistle to the loud swift music of the wheel.

"What a stunning whistle!" commented Allan, admiringly. Higher and clearer it rose, nearer and shriller it came, until it sounded close into his very ear, piercing its sharp way like a steel point. He started, and sprang aside to escape it; then it suddenly stopped.

"Well, sir, is it possible you are awake at last?" said a cheery voice. "You go down to your work like one of the Seven Sleepers. Here I've been whistling 'Wha'll be King but Charlie?' right in your very ear, long enough to wake the Sleeping Beauty herself." It was his father who spoke. There he stood by Allan's bedside, laughing and tossing the covers off from the bewildered boy. "Listen, sleepy-head; your mother has been playing the same tune for ten minutes at least on the library piano. She says the new picture brought back the old tune. Come, sir, breakfast is waiting. Dress on the double-quick, you sluggard."