is head.

When at last the atmosphere was clear of this depressing influence, we
met despondently in the potato-cellar--all of us, that is, but Harold,
who had been told off to accompany his relative to the station; and the
feeling was unanimous, that, at an uncle, William could not be allowed
to pass. Selina roundly declared him a beast, pointing out that he had
not even got us a half-holiday; and, indeed, there seemed little to do
but to pass sentence. We were about to put it, when Harold appeared on
the scene; his red face, round eyes, and mysterious demeanour, hinting
at awful portents. Speechless he stood a space: then, slowly drawing his
hand from the pocket of his knickerbockers, he displayed on a dirty
palm one--two--three--four half-crowns! We could but gaze--tranced,
breathless, mute; never had any of us seen, in the aggregate, so much
bullion before. Then Harold told his tale.

"I took the old fellow to the station," he said, "and as we went along
I told him all about the station-master's family, and how I had seen
the porter kissing our housemaid, and what a nice fellow he was, with
no airs, or affectation about him, and anything I thought would be of
interest; but he didn't seem to pay much attention, but walked along
puffing his cigar, and once I thought--I'm not certain, but I THOUGHT--I
heard him say, 'Well, thank God, that's over!' When we got to the
station he stopped suddenly, and said, 'Hold on a minute!' Then he
shoved these into my hand in a frightened sort of way; and said, 'Look
here, youngster! These are for you and the other kids. Buy what you
like--make little beasts of yourselves--only don't tell the old people,
mind! Now cut away home!' So I cut."

A solemn hush fell on the assembly, broken first by the small Charlotte.
"I didn't know," she observed dreamily, "that there were such good men
anywhere in the world. I hope he'll die to-night, for then he'll go
straight to heaven!" But the repentant Selina bewailed herself with
tears and sobs, refusing to be comforted; for that in her haste she had
called this white-souled relative a beast.

"I'll tell you what we'll do," said Edward, the master-mind, rising--as
he always did--to the situation: "We'll christen the piebald pig after
him--the one that hasn't got a name yet. And that'll show we're sorry
for our mistake!"

"I--I christened that pig this morning," Harold guiltily confessed; "I
christened it after the curate. I'm very sorry--but h