"Upon my word!" declared Mrs. Elwood. "That Dr. Spencer is as good as a book, but Mr. Norman--I say, father, we will go without the new clock, but we'll send somewhat to they men that built up the church, and has no minister."

"A good move that," said Dr. Spencer. "Worth at least twenty pounds.

That boy has the temperament of an orator, if the morbid were but a grain less."

"Oh, Margaret," exclaimed Blanche. "Dr. Spencer made the finest speech you ever heard, only it was rather tiresome; and Norman made everybody cry--and Mary worse than all!"

"There is no speaking of it. One should live such things, not talk over them," said Meta Rivers.

Margaret received the reports of the select few, who visited her upstairs, where she was kept quiet, and only heard the hum of the swarm, whom Dr. May, in vehement hospitality, had brought home to luncheon, to Ethel's great dread, lest there should not be enough for them to eat.

Margaret pitied her sisters, but heard that all was going well; that Flora was taking care of the elders, and Harry and Mary were making the younger fry very merry at the table on the lawn. Dr. May had to start early to see a sick gardener at Drydale before coming on to Cocksmoor, and came up to give his daughter a few minutes.

"We get on famously," he said. "Ethel does well when she is in for it, like Norman. I had no notion what was in the lad. They are perfectly amazed with his speech. It seems hard to give such as he is up to those outlandish places; but there, his speech should have taught me better--one's best--and, now and then, he seems my best."

"One comfort is," said Margaret, smiling, "you would miss Ethel more."

"Gallant old King! I am glad she has had her wish. Good-bye, my Margaret, we will think of you. I wish--"

"I am very happy," was Margaret's gentle reassurance. "The dear little Daisy looks just as her godfather imagined her;" and happy was her face when her father quitted her.

Margaret's next visitor was Meta, who came to reclaim her bonnet, and, with a merry smile, to leave word that she was walking on to Cocksmoor.

Margaret remonstrated on the heat.

"Let me alone," said she, making her pretty wilful gesture. "Ethel and Mary ought to have a lift, and I have had no walking to-day."

"My dear, you don't know how far it is. You can't go alone."

"I am lying in wait for Miss Bracy, or something innocent," said Meta.

"In good time--here comes Tom."

Tom entered, declaring that he had come to escape from the clack downstairs.

"I'll promise not to clack if you will be so kind as to take care of me to Cocksmoor," said Meta.

"Do you intend to walk?"

"If you will let me be your companion."

"I shall be most happy," said Tom, colouring with gratification, such as he might not have felt, had he known that he was chosen for his innocence.

He took a passing glimpse at his neck-tie, screwed up the nap of his glossy hat to the perfection of its central point, armed himself with a knowing little stick, and hurried his fair companion out by the back door, as much afraid of losing the glory of being her sole protector as she was of falling in with an escort of as much consequence, in other eyes, as was Mr. Thomas in his own.

She knew him less than any of the rest, and her first amusement was keeping silence to punish him for complaining of clack; but he explained that he did not mean quiet, sensible conversation--he only referred to those foolish women's raptures over the gabble they had been hearing at the Town Hall.

She exclaimed, whereupon he began to criticise the speakers with a good deal of acuteness, exposing the weak points, but magnanimously owning that it was tolerable for the style of thing, and might go down at Stoneborough.

"I wonder you did not stay away as Harry did."

"I thought it would be marked," observed the thread-paper Tom, as if he had been at least county member.

"You did quite right," said Meta, really thinking so.

"I wished to hear Dr. Spencer, too," said Tom. "There is a man who does know how to speak! He has seen something of the world, and knows what he is talking of."

"But he did not come near Norman."

"I hated listening to Norman," said Tom. "Why should he go and set his heart on those black savages?"

"They are not savages in New Zealand."

"They are all niggers together," said Tom vehemently. "I cannot think why Norman should care for them more than for his own brothers and sisters. All I know is, that if I were my father, I would never give my consent."

"It is lucky you are not," said Meta, smiling defiance, though a tear shone in her eye. "Dr. May makes the sacrifice with a free heart and willing mind."

"Everybody goes and sacrifices somebody else," grumbled Tom.

"Who are the victims now?"

"All of us. What are we to do without Norman? He is worth all of us put together; and I--" Meta was drawn to the boy as she had never been before, as he broke off short, his face full of emotion, that made him remind her of his father.

"You might go out and follow in his steps," said she, as the most consoling hope she could suggest.

"Not I. Don't you know what is to happen to me? Ah! Flora has not told you. I thought she would not think it grand enough. She talked about diplomacy--"

"But what?" asked Meta anxiously.

"Only that I am to stick to the old shop," said Tom. "Don't tell any one; I would not have the fellows know it."

"Do you mean your father's profession?"

"Ay!"

"Oh, Tom! you don't talk of that as if you despised it?"

"If it is good enough for him, it is good enough for me, I suppose,"

said Tom. "I hate everything when I think of my brothers going over the world, while I, do what I will, must be tied down to this slow place all the rest of my days."

"If you were away, you would be longing after it."

"Yes; but I can't get away."

"Surely, if the notion is so unpleasant to you, Dr. May would never insist?"

"It is my free choice, and that's the worst of it."

"I don't understand."

"Don't you see? Norman told me it would be a great relief to him if I would turn my mind that way--and I can't go against Norman. I found he thought he must if I did not; and, you know, he is fit for all sorts of things that--Besides, he has a squeamishness about him, that makes him turn white, if one does but cut one's finger, and how he would ever go through the hospitals--"