urd! It was ridiculous! It was a kind of
madness, he told himself; and again he walked over to the schools,
determined to be firm and severe. Then he told himself this feeling of
enchantment would pass away, for he should see Hazel Thorne as she
really was, and not through the _couleur de rose_ glasses of his
imagination.

He started then, and walked stiffly and severely down to the schools,
his chin in the air and a condescending bow ready for any one who would
touch his hat; but instead of going, as he had intended, straight to the
girls, he turned in and surprised Mr Chute reading a novel at his desk
while the boys were going on not quite in accordance with a clerical
idea of discipline.

The result was a severe snubbing to Mr Chute, and the vicar stalked
across the floor to go into the girls' school; but just then he heard a
sweetly modulated voice singing the first bars of a simple school
ballad, and he stopped to listen.

He had heard the song hundreds of times, but it had never sounded like
that before, and he stood as if riveted to the spot as the sweet, dear
voice gained strength, and he knew now that just at the back of Mr
Chute's desk one of the shutters had been left slightly open, so that if
he pleased that gentleman could peer into the girls' school.

The vicar did not know how it was, but an angry pang shot through him,
and a longing came over him to send Mr Chute far away and take his
place, teaching the boys, and--keeping that shutter slightly down--
listening always to the singing of that sweet, simple lay.

And then he stood and listened, and the boys involuntarily listened too,
while their master failed to urge them on, as he too stood and forgot
all but the fact that was being lyrically told of how--

"Down in a green and shady bed,
A modest violet grew;
Its stalk was bent, it hung its head
As if to hide from view."

And, as they both listened, the Reverend Henry Lambent and Samuel Chute
felt that Hazel Thorne was in some way identified with that modest
violet hiding from view down in shady Plumton All Saints, diffusing a
sweet perfume of good works, as the song went on to tell in a way that
went straight to both their hearts.

Then their eyes met.

Directly after the sweet tones ceased, and the tune was commenced again
in chorus by the singing class, the modest violet now becoming
identified with the strident voice of Miss Feelier Potts who absolutely
yelled.

The vicar we