eaming face, which,
as he came closer, grew clouded with anxiety.

"I'm afraid you've got another headache, and I've got nothing to bring
now," she said. "Blackberries wouldn't do. They are rather nasty,
daddy thinks."

"I've not got a headache, Kitty, thank you," said Paul, leaving the
question of blackberries in abeyance. "What made you think I had?"

"You were frowning; but perhaps it was the sun in your eyes. Has your
sister bigger than me come yet?"

"Oh yes; she has been here quite a time, and you have not been to see
her."

"I've been away; did not you know?--away with daddy," with a proud
glance up at her father. "It was lovely; he had no one to think of but
me, and I was with him on the beach nearly all day long."

"Ah, that's how you come to have such roses in your cheeks. Well, when
are you coming to have tea with Sally and me? You shall choose your
own day."

"Would to-morrow do? It's Sunday; and daddy likes me to have all the
happiest things on Sunday. But I forgot; Nurse was to come, too, but
she goes out on Sunday afternoon."

The sweet-faced woman who wheeled Kitty about gave an amused little
laugh.

"It would be rather nice for you to go this once alone, Miss Kitty; and
I could wheel you there on my way out----"

"And Sally and I could bring you home. Would not that do?" said Paul
to Mr. Curzon.

"If you are sure you will not be troubled with her."

"Oh dear, no; it has been a long-standing engagement--has it not,
Kitty?"

"Daddy dear, lift me out, please!" said Kitty, when Paul had gone on
his way. "I like him so much, although I don't remember his name.
It's rather a funny one, but I like him; he has such kind eyes."

Mr. Curzon tenderly lifted his little daughter out of her carriage, but
made no answer to her remark about their new neighbour. To himself he
was free to admit that the new squire's views troubled him sorely.

"We are to have our first tea-party to-morrow, Sally. I have invited
the district visitor."

"Who?" asked Sally, in considerable astonishment.

"Kitty Curzon--whose loving care for my head has won my heart. The
child persists in believing that I live in a chronic state of headache,
and resorts to her own methods of cure. Ours is a friendship doomed to
be nipped in the bud, alas! Let us make the most of it while it lasts."

"What is to kill it?"

"The father is the difficulty; he has caught sight of my cloven hoof
this morning, and, depend u