ed, and in
this Miss Sabina concurred. One of Fred's fancies had been to make a
playmate of little Nancy Forest. It followed, then, that she had been a
great deal at the Manor; but when the children grew older, and Fred took
what his aunt and father termed "an absurd fancy" to be a musician, as
his mother had been, it occurred to them that possibly later on he might
take a yet more absurd idea, and want to marry his old playmate. Nancy
was therefore banished from the Manor Farm.

But Fred, who was not accustomed to be crossed, often met his old friend
on the hills and in the valleys; and after she had become apprenticed,
he would often walk home with her part way--not as a lover, however. For
the last two months he had broken this habit, and Nancy had not seen
him.

But we were saying that girls of Nancy's age liked pretty things to
wear. Nancy was no exception, but she had no pretty things; her clothes
had, in fact, become deplorably shabby, though by dexterous "undoing"
and "doing-up" she did manage to make the very most of her dark blue
serge costume. The dress and rather coquettish little jacket were of the
same material; and she had a felt hat of the same colour, which in some
mysterious way altered its shape to suit the varying fashions. Last
winter the wide brim was straight; this winter it was turned up at the
back, with a bunch of dark blue ribbons on the crown. Altogether her
appearance was picturesque, though the odd mingling of the rustic with
the latest Paris fashion-plate might call up a smile to your lips. The
smile which the costume provoked was sure to die, however, when you
looked at the girl's face. You wondered at once why the lovely brown
eyes looked so sad and appealing, and why the little mouth was so
tremulous, and why the colour came and went so frequently on the
finely-moulded cheeks, which were just a little thin for perfect beauty.
And if you happened to be a student of human nature, you would read in
one of Nancy's glances a story of conflicting emotions--disappointment,
timid expectancy, hope, and a dawning despair: at least, this is what I
read there when I looked at Nancy from the Vicar's pew one Sunday
morning at Shenton church. I was on a visit at the Vicarage then.

Of course, it must not be supposed that Miss Michin read Nancy Forest's
face in this way; but the little dressmaker had a warm heart, though
worried by the making of garments, and more by making two ends meet
which natur