gazed at them as bold as Hector, and they gazed at
him again in mute amazement--a cherub of four years old or thereabouts,
with big blue eyes and yellow curls. When he had satisfied himself with
gazing, he descended the steps and set off suddenly at a run for the
archway. The housekeeper had a flushed, uneasy smile on her face as she
recognized Mrs. Stokes--a smile of amused consternation, which the
little lady's shocked grimace provoked. Bessie herself laughed in
looking at her again, and the housekeeper rallied her composure enough
to say, "Oh, the self-will and naughtiness there is in boys, ma'am! But
you know it, having boys of your own!"

"Too well, Mrs. Burrage, too well! Is Mr. Laurence Fairfax at home?"

"I am sorry to say that he is not, ma'am. May I make bold to ask if the
young lady is Miss Fairfax from Abbotsmead, that was expected?"

Bessie confessed to her identity, and while Mrs. Stokes wrote the name
of Miss Fairfax on one of her own visiting-cards (for Bessie was still
unprovided), Burrage begged, as an old servant of the house, to offer
her best wishes and to inquire after the health of the squire. They were
interrupted by that rude little boy, who came running back into the
court with Sally in pursuit. He was shouting too at the top of his
voice, and making its solemn echoes ring again. Burrage with sudden
gravity watched what would ensue. Capture ensued, and a second evasion
into the street. Burrage shook her head, as who would say that Sally's
riotous charge was far beyond her control--which indubitably he was--and
Bessie forgot her errand entirely. Whose was that little boy, the
picture of herself? Mrs. Stokes recovered her countenance. They turned
to go, and were halfway across the court when the housekeeper called
after them in haste: "Ladies, ladies! my master has come in by the
garden way, if you will be pleased to return?" and they returned,
neither of them by word or look affording to the other any intimation of
her profound reflections.

Mr. Laurence Fairfax received his visitors with a frank welcome, and
bade Burrage bring them a cup of tea. Mrs. Stokes soon engaged him in
easy chat, but Bessie sat by in perplexed rumination, trying to
reconcile the existence of that little flaxen-haired boy with her
preconceived notions of her bachelor uncle. The view of him had let in a
light upon her future that pleased while it confused her. The reason it
pleased her she would discern as her thoughts