urs, and thought his
get-up thrown away.

"No one at all to see," he observed with discontent over our luncheon,
Harold and Dora having returned from roaming over Kalydon Moor.

"I go to afternoon service at Mycening, Harold," I said. "Will not you
come with me?"

"There will be somebody there?" asked Eustace; to which I replied in
the affirmative, but with some protest against his view of the object,
and inviting the others again, but Dora defiantly answered that Harold
was going to swing her on the ash tree.

"You ought to appear at church, Harry," said Eustace. "It is expected
of an English squire. You see everybody, and everybody sees you."

"Well, then, go," said Harold.

"And won't you?" I entreated.

"I've promised to swing Dora," he answered, strolling out of the room,
much to my concern; and though Eustace did accompany me, it was so
evidently for the sake of staring that there was little comfort in
that; and it was only by very severe looks that I could keep him from
asking everyone's name. I hoped to make every one understand that he
was not the squire, but no one came across us as we went out of church,
and I had to reply to his torrent of inquiries all the way home.

It was a wet evening, and we all stayed in the house. Harold brought
in one of his political economy studies from the library, and I tried
to wile Dora to look at the pictures in a curious big old Dutch
Scripture history, the Sunday delight of our youth.

Eustace came too, as if he wanted the amusement and yet was ashamed to
take it, when he exclaimed, "I say, Harry; isn't this the book father
used to tell us about--that they used to look over?"

Harold came, and stood towering above us with his hands in his pockets;
but when we came to the Temptation of Eve, Dora broke out into an
exclamation that excited my curiosity too much not to be pursued,
though it was hardly edifying.

"Was that such a snake as Harold killed?"

"I have killed a good many snakes," he answered.

"Yes, but I meant the ones you killed when you were a little tiny boy."

"I don't remember," he said, as if to stop the subject, hating, as he
always did, to talk about himself.

"No, I know you don't," said Dora; "but it is quite true, isn't it,
Eustace?"

"Hardly true that Harold ever was a little tiny boy," I could not help
saying.

"No, he never was _little_," said Eustace. "But it is quite true about
the snakes. I seem to remember it now, and I'v