t
the following day, only saying, while stroking her hair as usual,
"Well, my little maid, we must stick to our bargain. Apple-pie
order must wait till next year, I fancy; but come over all the
same, and welcome, to Lady's Mead. You and Mary-Anne can have your
romp together; and you must forget it's your own birthday, that's
all. I'm just about as much pleased with you for your last month's
doings as if all your books were safe in your bag, mind you that;
and now wipe your tears, my little lass."

The next morning rose as bright and beautiful as you could well
wish to see, and Phoebe, seated by her father behind the old grey
horse Robin, with her mother and Charlie in the back seat, almost
forgot her sorrows while driving down the sweet, shady lanes in all
their beautiful autumn colours, and while looking forward to Lady's
Mead, and the delight of seeing her dear little cousin Mary-Anne.

Lady's Mead was such a pretty place, with a very large orchard full
of rosy-cheeked apples; and there was a dairy, large, and cool, and
sweet, with great bowls of delicious milk, and such a beautifully
white, clean floor. Out of doors there was a swing, and a pretty
mossy summer-house down by the stream, and such delightful little
paths through clipped yew hedges, and an old sun-dial on the grass,
and in one corner a stone figure of a little boy kneeling, with his
hands clasped and his face looking up to heaven. It was altogether
such a place as children did not weary of; and had it not been for
little Phoebe's late troubles, she would have been as joyous as the
birds which were singing in the trees all round them.

There were many "rubs" to bear, though; first, the meeting with her
uncle and aunt and Mary-Anne, and receiving from them no happy
birthday wishes as usual; and then seeing her brother Bob's
disappointed face when he came over from the county town where he
was serving his apprenticeship, bringing with him a nice little
parcel, which looked very like a doll, wrapped up in thin brown
paper, and stowed away in one of his pockets for his little sister.
The parcel was not taken out, however.

Cousin Mary-Anne, who was a dear, good little girl, no sooner heard
that Phoebe was to dine at a side-table with little Charlie,
instead of the treat of sitting at the great long one with the
older people, than she declared that she would do so too; and
though Phoebe would not listen to this at first, yet Mary-Anne
would have it so, a