nd the legs, after
the manner of enthusiastic small boys.

"Please--please--don't let grandmamma send aunt Vera away to Tripton
to marry Mr. Gisburne! He has red hair, and I hate him; and aunt Vera
doesn't want to go, she wants to stop at home and do something better!"

A moment of utter confusion on all sides; then Vera, crimson to the roots
of her hair, stepped forward and held out her hand.

"Little pitchers have long ears!" she said, laughing: "and Tommy is a
very silly little boy."

"No, but, aunt Vera, you said--you said," cried the child. What further
revelations he might have made were fortunately not destined to be known.
His aunt placed her hand unceremoniously over his small, eager mouth, and
hustled both children in some haste out of the room.

Meanwhile, Sir John, looking the picture of distress and embarrassment,
had shaken hands with the old lady, and inquired if he could speak with
her son.

"Mr. Daintree is in his study; I will take you to him," she said, rising,
and led him away out of the room. She looked at him sharply as she showed
him into the study; and it did come across her mind, "I wonder what you
come so often for." Still, no thought of Vera entered into her head. Sir
John was the great man of the place, the squire, the potentate in the
hollow of whose hand lay Sutton-in-the-Wold and all its inhabitants, and
Vera was a nobody in the old lady's eyes,--a waif, whose presence was of
no account at all. Sir John was no more likely to notice her than any of
the village girls; except, indeed, that he would speak politely to her
because she was Eustace's sister-in-law. Still, it did come across her
mind to wonder what he came so often for.

Five minutes later the two gentlemen were seen going across the vicarage
garden towards the church.

They remained there a very long time, more than half an hour. When they
came back Marion had finished her housekeeping and was in the room busy
cutting out unbleached calico into poor men's shirts, on the grand piano,
an instrument which she maintained had been specially and originally
called into existence for no other purpose. Mrs. Daintree still sat in
her chimney corner. Vera was at the writing-table with her back to the
room, writing a letter.

The vicar came in with his face all aglow with excitement and delight;
his wife looked up at him quickly, she saw that something unusual and of
a pleasant character had happened.

"My dear Marion, we must bot