. I don't know a
healthier, more cheerful farm on these hills than just this one."

Starke's face brightened.

"The ground's not overly rich, Sir. Tough work, tough work; but I like
it. I'm saving off it, too. We put by a hundred or two last year; same
next, God willing. For Richard, Dr. Bowdler. We want enough to give him
a thorough education, and then let him rough it with the others. That
will be the best way to bring out the stuff that's in him. It's good
stuff," in an under-tone.

"How old is he?" said Miss Defourchet.

"Two years last February," said Jane, eagerly.

"Two years; yes. He's my namesake, Mary, did you know? Where is the
young lion?"

"Why, yes, mother. Why isn't Richard down? Morning nap? Hoot, toot!
bring the boy down!"

Miss Defourchet, while Jane went for the boy, noticed how heavy the
scent of the syringas grew, how the bees droned down into a luxurious
delight in the hot noon. One might dream out life very pleasantly there,
she thought. The two men talked politics, but glanced constantly at the
stairs. She did not wonder that Starke's worn, yellow face should grow
so curiously bright at the sight of his boy; but her uncle did not care
for children,--unless, indeed, there was something in them. Jane came
down and put the boy on the floor.

"He has pulled all my hair down," she said, trying to look grave, to
hide the proud smile in her face.

Miss Defourchet had taken Richard up with an involuntary kiss, which he
resisted, looking her full in the face. There _was_ something in this
child.

"He won't kiss you, unless he likes you," said Starke, chafing his hands
delightedly.

"What do you think of that fellow, Mary?" said the Doctor, coming over.
"He's my young lion, Richard is. Look at this square forehead. You don't
believe in Phrenology, eh? Well, I do. Feel his jaws. Look at that lady,
Sir! Do you see the big, brave eyes of him?"

"His mouth is like his mother's," said Starke, jealously.

"Oh, yes, yes! So. You think that is the best part of his face, I know.
It is; as tender as a woman's."

"It is a real hero-face," said the young lady, frankly; "not a mean line
in it."

Starke had drawn the boy between his knees, and was playing roughly with
him.

"There never shall be one, with God's help," he thought, but said
nothing.

Richard was "a hobby" of Dr. Bowdler's, his niece perceived.

"His very hair is like a mane," he said; "he's as uncouth as a young
giant that don't