the old man's footsteps were heard on the path as he returned to the
Rectory.

It was a very happy afternoon for Ambrose. He enjoyed his dinner of wheaten
bread and creamy cheese; and his mother smiled to see him as he buried his
face in the large mug, and, after a good draught of the spiced drink,
smacked his lips, saying,--

'That is good drink, sweeter than the sour cider of which grandmother gives
me a sup. Aunt Lou says it is as sour as grandmother, who brews it. Aunt
Lucy is having sweet drinks now, and pasties, and all manner of nice
things. Why can't we go to London, mother, you and I?'

'Not yet, my boy, not yet.'

And then Ambrose subsided into a noonday sleep, curled up on the rude
bench which was fixed round the summer bower. His mother put her arm round
him, and he nestled close to her.

Peace! the peace the old Rector had called down upon her seemed to fill
Mary Gifford's heart; and that quiet hour of the Sunday noontide remained
in her memory in the coming days, as the last she was to know for many a
long year.

'The sports, mother!' Ambrose said, rousing himself at last, and struggling
to his feet. 'Let us go to see the sports.'

'Would you please me, Ambrose, by going home instead?'

Ambrose's lips quivered, and the colour rushed to his face.

'I want to see the sports,' he said; 'you promised you would take me.'

Then Mary Gifford rose, and, looking down on the child's troubled face,
where keen disappointment was written, she took his hand, saying,--

'Come, then; but if the crowd is great, and you are jostled and pushed, you
must come away, nor plague me to stay. I am not stout enough to battle with
a throng, and it may be that harm will come to you.'

They were at the Rectory gates now, and people were seen in all their
Sunday trim hurrying towards the field where the tilting match was to take
place.

Mary turned towards the square, on either side of which stood the old
timbered houses by the lych gate, and asked a man she knew, if the horsemen
who were to tilt in the field were to pass that way.

'For,' she added, 'I would fain wait here till they have ridden on. I might
get into danger with the child from the horses' feet.'

'Better have a care, mistress,' was the reply, and he added; 'scant
blessings come to those who turn Sunday into a day of revelry.'

'Ah!' said another voice, 'you be one of the saints, Jeremy; but why be
hard on country folk for a little merry-making, when th