y,
and the little children stood respectfully at gaze as he passed. He
returned the civility of all by lifting a forefinger to his hat, though
he spoke to none, and Bessie was led to understand that he had the
confidence of his people, and that he probably deserved it. For a sign
that there was no bitterness in his own feelings, each token of regard
was noted by her with satisfaction.

At the lodge Colonel and Mrs. Stokes joined them, and Mrs. Stokes's
bright eyes frankly appreciated the elegant simplicity of Bessie's
attire, her chip bonnet and daisies, her dress of French spun silk,
white and violet striped, and perfectly fitting Paris gloves. She nodded
meaningly to Bessie, and Bessie smiled back her full comprehension that
the survey was satisfactory and pleasing.

Some old customs still prevailed at Kirkham. The humble congregation was
settled in church before the squire entered his red-curtained pew, and
sat quiet after sermon until the squire went out. Bessie's thoughts
roved often during the service. Mr. Forbes read apace, and the clerk
sang out the responses like an echo with no time to lose. There had been
a death in the village during the past week, and the event was now
commemorated by a dirge in which the children's shrill treble was
supported by the majority of the congregation. The sermon also took up
the moral of life and death. It was short and pithy; perhaps it was
familiar, and none the less useful for that. Mr. Forbes was not
concerned to lead his people into new ways; he believed the old were
better. Work and pray, fear God and keep His commandments, love your
neighbor, and meddle not with those who are given to change,--these were
his cardinal points, from which he brought to bear on their consciences
much powerful doctrine and purifying precept. He was a man of high
courage and robust faith, who practised what he preached, and bore that
cheerful countenance which is a sign of a heart in prosperity.

After service Colonel and Mrs. Stokes walked home with Mr. Fairfax and
Bessie, lunched at Abbotsmead, and lounged about the garden afterward.
This was an institution. Sunday is long in country houses, and good
neighbors help one another to get rid of it. The Stokes's boys came in
the afternoon, to Bessie's great joy; they made a noisy playground of
the garden, and behaved just like Jack and Tom and Willie Carnegie,
kicking up their heels and laughing at nothing.

"There are no more gooseberries," c