k instead of saving it. Yet Mrs. Veale felt, as a
Christian woman, that it was her duty to encourage Loveday even at the
cost of her own china. She resolved to do so.

"Many people would not help you, Loveday," she said, "for it is
very difficult to find work suddenly without upsetting the ways of a
household, but you are my god-daughter, and so I have always taken a
special interest in you. My spring-cleaning is not till May this year,
as then the Vicar goes away to stay with his lordship, the Bishop of
Exeter, and I will have you here under my own eye. You will not be of
much assistance at first, but if you are willing and do as you are told
you will be able to learn."

At the mention of the month of May the wings of Loveday's heart folded
once more and let her heart fall like a stone, then opened in a
fluttering attempt to save it.

"What--what time in May, ma'am?" she asked. Perhaps it would be the
first week in that month and all would yet be well, since the Flora was
held upon the eighth.

At Mrs. Veale's next words the wings moulted away, and the bare quills
left Loveday's heart prone and defenceless.

"Not till the second week," said Mrs. Veale, "for the Vicar wishes to
stay till the Flora, as we are permitting Miss Letitia to dance in the
procession this year, and naturally he wishes to be there. The Vicar
feels that these old innocent customs must not be allowed to fall into
disuse."

"Ah!" cried Loveday, "'tis no good to me!"

At this shocking speech--imagine a village girl crying out that an offer
of employment from the Vicarage is of no good to her!--Mrs. Veale drew
such a breath of horror that the hair of the late Canon rose in its
locket.

"What on earth can you mean, Loveday Strick?"

Thus Mrs. Veale, justly outraged. But Loveday, infatuated, rushed upon
her fate--the fate of expulsion from those precincts.

"Oh, ma'am, 'tis no manner of use to me unless I get work before the
Flora. The Flora, ma'am" (repeating the beloved name as an invocation
in time of trouble).

"'Tis this way, I must get a white satin sash come Flora Day, 'cause
if I do I'm to dance along with Miss Le Pettit in the procession.
She's promised me that I should, and indeed I'll die if I don't. I will
indeed. I've fixed my soul on it. I've got the gown and the stockings
and the shoes, and all I want is the white riband, and I must someways
make enough money to buy it come Flora Day. Oh, Mrs. Veale, ma'am, if
you'll let me