ard and
candid questions. Mr. Andrewes laughed.

"Well, no. I must confess they are not quite like geraniums in this
respect. And spring flowers are so few and so precious, one may be
excused for not quite cutting them like summer flowers. But it
wouldn't do only to be generous when it costs one nothing. Eh, Regie?"

I laughed and said "No," which was what I was expected to say, and
thanked the parson for the daffodils. He pulled out his watch.

"My dear boy, it's luncheon time. Will you come in and have something
to eat with me?"

I hesitated; Mrs. Bundle had not spoken of any meal in connection with
the ceremony of "dropping in," but, on the other hand, I should
certainly like to lunch at the Rectory, I thought. And, indeed, I was
hungry.

"Oh, you must come," said Mr. Andrewes, leading me away without
waiting for an answer. "I'm sure you must be hungry, and the dog too.
What's his name, eh?"

"Rubens," said I.

"Does he paint?" Mr. Andrewes inquired. But as I knew nothing of
Painter Peter Paul Rubens or his works, I was only puzzled, and said
he knew a good many tricks which I had taught him.

"We'll see if he can beg for chicken-bones," said the parson,
hospitably; and indoors we went. Mr. Andrewes said grace, though not
in the words to which I was accustomed, and we sat down together,
Rubens lying by my chair. I endeavoured to conduct myself with the
strictest propriety, and I believe succeeded, except for the trifling
mischance of spilling some bread-sauce on to my jacket. Mr. Andrewes
saw this, however, and wanted to fasten a table-napkin round me, to
which I objected.

"Too like a pinafore, eh?" said he, with a sly laugh.

"I don't think I ought to wear pinafores now," I said, in a grave and
injured tone. "Leo Damer doesn't, and he's not much older than I am.
But I think," I added, candidly, "he rather does as he likes, because
he's got nobody to look after him."

The parson laughed, and then gave a heavy sigh.

"I wish my mother could come back, and tie a pinafore round my neck!"
he exclaimed, abruptly. Then I believe he suddenly remembered that I
had lost my mother and was vexed with himself for his hasty speech. I
saw nothing inconsiderate in the remark, however, and only said,

"Is your mother dead?"

"Yes, my boy. Many years ago," said Mr. Andrewes.

"Did your father marry anybody else?" I inquired.

"My father died before my mother."

"Dear me," said I; "how very sad! Leo's father an