siasm about the ceremony and the crowning of herself
queen, he put down all his personal desires and gave a ready consent to
her stay in London until the pageant was over. Then Jane dressed her in
the lace and satin of her coronation robe, with its spangled train of
tulle, put on her bright brown hair the little crown of shining gilt and
mock jewels, put in her hand the childish scepter and brought her into
the drawing-room and bade all make obeisance to her. And the child
played her part with such a sweet and noble seriousness that everyone
present wondered at her dignity and grace, and John's eyes were full as
his heart and the words were yet unknown to human tongues that could
express his deep love and emotion. Perhaps Lord Harlow made the best and
truest of commentaries when he said,

"My dear friends, let us be thankful that we have yet hearts so
childlike as to be capable of enjoying this simple pleasure; for we are
told that unless we become as little children, we are not fit for the
kingdom of heaven."

The next day soon after noon John was in his factory, but the image of
his child still lived in his eyes. His vision was everywhere obstructed
by looms and belts and swirling bands, but in front of them there was a
silvery light and in its soft glow he saw--he saw clearly--the image of
the lovely May Queen in her glimmering dress of shining white with the
little gilt crown on her long brown hair. Nor could he dismiss this
phantom until he went up to Hatton Hall and described her fairy Majesty
to his mother.

"And when are they coming home, John?" asked Mrs. Hatton. "Jane's house
is as fine as if it was new and Martha's governess is wearying for her.
Martha ought to be at her lessons now. Her holiday is over by all
rights."

"The festival will be on the twenty-eighth, and they will come on the
thirtieth if the weather be fine."

"What has the weather to do with it?"

"Well, Jane does not like to travel in wet weather. It drabbles her
skirts and depresses her spirits--always."

"Dear me! It is a pity she can't order the weather she prefers. I was
taught when a year or two younger than Martha six lines that my mother
bid me remember as long as I lived. I have not forgot to mind them yet."

"Why didn't you teach them to me?"

"You never feared rain--quite the other way."

"Tell them to me now, mother. It is your duty, you know," and John
laughed and bent forward and took in his large brown hand the plump,