us of our host," said Canninge the next time Hazel
brought a plate. "He carves beautifully, and I've hacked my joint to
pieces."

"Send your knife up here, Mr Canninge," roared Mr W.F.B. from the
other end of the table. "I'll give it a touch on my steel."

"Will you allow me?" said Hazel, who was the only waiter near.

"No, really, I could not think of--Well, if you will--"

"There."

He had paused to wipe the rather greasy handle upon his white
handkerchief, and then, in passing the knife, their hands just touched--
a mere touch, and Hazel had gone.

The meat had disappeared, the puddings and pies had followed, and,
turned waiter now, the young squire had merrily passed along the plates,
till the time for rising had nearly arrived, when accident once more
placed him beside Hazel.

"Your girls have thoroughly enjoyed themselves, Miss Thorne," he said,
for he had learned her name now from one of the elder children--Feelier
Potts, to wit.

"Oh, most thoroughly," said Hazel, smiling brightly and with genuine
pleasure. "It is delightful to see them so happy."

"Do you see that Beatrice?" whispered Miss Lambent from the other end of
the tent.

"Yes."

"Grace next I suppose? Oh, there is my mother beckoning to me, Miss
Thorne," said the squire hastily, "it is a pity to have so pleasant an
affair spoiled. Would you mind hinting to Mr Burge that he should ask
the vicar to say grace!"

"Oh, yes, I will," said Hazel, nodding to him.

"As if he were her equal," said Miss Lambent indignantly; while,
hurrying to the end of the table. Hazel was just in time to whisper to
the host.

"Why, of course," he said. "What a stupid! Thank you. Miss Thorne.
Mr Lambent!" he cried aloud, "would you be kind enough to say grace?"

Out in the field then, with the sun shining, the band playing, and
plenty of enjoyment for the schools, which were separated by a rope
stretched from one end to the other. Races were run for prizes of all
kinds, and, full of animation, while the vicar stood with his hands
behind him patronisingly looking on, the young squire was the life and
soul of the affair, and ready with a dozen fresh ideas to suggest to the
host. There were prizes for the fastest runners, prizes for the
slowest, for the first in and the last in, for jumps and hops, and the
best singers, and the worst singers, scramblings, blindfold-walking,
sports galore.

Hazel forgot her troubles, and with Miss Burge's help she wa