down rushed the rain, plashing and leaping up again, bringing
out the delicious scent from the earth, and seeming in one moment to
breathe refreshment and relief on the sick boy. His brow was already
clearing, as he listened to his mother's tones of welcome, as she was
evidently asking the stranger to sit down and wait for the storm to be
over, and the cheerful voice that replied to her. He did not scold Ellen
for, as usual, making things neat; and whereas, five minutes sooner, he
would have hated the notion of any one coming near him, he now only hoped
that his mother would bring Mr. Cope up; and presently he heard the well-
known creak of the stairs under a manly foot, and his mother's voice
saying something about 'a great sufferer, Sir.'

Then came in sight his mother's white cap, and behind her one of the most
cheerful lively faces that Alfred had ever beheld. The new Curate looked
very little more than a boy, with a nice round fresh rosy face, and curly
brown hair, and a quick joyous eye, and regular white teeth when he
smiled that merry good-humoured smile. Indeed, he was as young as a
deacon could be, and he looked younger. He knocked his tall head against
the top of the low doorway as he came into the room, and answered Mrs.
King's apologies with a pleasant laugh. Ellen knew her mother would like
him the better for his height, for no one since the handsome coachman
himself had had to bend his head to get into the room. Alfred liked the
looks of him the first moment, and by way of salutation put up one of his
weary, white, blue-veined hands to pull his damp forelock; but Mr. Cope,
nodding in answer to Ellen's curtsey, took hold of his hand at once, and
softening the cheery voice that was so pleasant to hear, said, 'Well, my
boy, I hope we shall be good friends. And what's your name?'

'Alfred King, Sir,' was the answer. It really was quite a pleasure not
to begin with the old weary subject of being pitied for his illness.

'King Alfred!' said Mr. Cope. 'I met King Harold yesterday. I've got
into royal company, it seems!'

Alfred smiled, it was said so drolly; but his mother, who felt a little
as if she were being laughed at, said, 'Why, Sir, my brother's name was
Alfred; and as to Harold, it was to please Miss Jane's little sister that
died--she was quite a little girl then, Sir, but so clever, and she would
have him named out of her History of England.'

'Did Miss Selby give you those flowers?' sai