to her if her child were lifted up
on high.

It was now the beginning of April, which for sportsmen in England is
of all seasons the most desperate. Hunting is over. There is literally
nothing to shoot. And fishing,--even if there were fishing in England
worth a man's time,--has not begun. A gentleman of enterprise driven
very hard in this respect used to declare that there was no remedy for
April but to go and fly hawks in Holland. Fred Neville could not fly
hawks at Scroope, and found that there was nothing for him to do. Miss
Mellerby suggested--books. "I like books better than anything," said
Fred. "I always have a lot of novels down at our quarters. But a fellow
can't be reading all day, and there isn't a novel in the house except
Walter Scott's and a lot of old rubbish. By-the-bye have you read 'All
Isn't Gold That Glitters?'" Miss Mellerby had not read the tale named.
"That's what I call a good novel."

Day passed after day and it seemed as though he was expected to remain
at Scroope without any definite purpose, and, worse still, without any
fixed limit to his visit. At his aunt's instigation he rode about the
property and asked questions as to the tenants. It was all to be his
own, and in the course of nature must be his own very soon. There could
not but be an interest for him in every cottage and every field. But yet
there was present to him all the time a schoolboy feeling that he was
doing a task; and the occupation was not pleasant to him because it was
a task. The steward was with him as a kind of pedagogue, and continued
to instruct him during the whole ride. This man only paid so much
a year, and the rent ought to be so much more; but there were
circumstances. And "My Lord" had been peculiarly good. This farm was
supposed to be the best on the estate, and that other the worst. Oh
yes, there were plenty of foxes. "My Lord" had always insisted that the
foxes should be preserved. Some of the hunting gentry no doubt had made
complaints, but it was a great shame. Foxes had been seen, two or three
at a time, the very day after the coverts had been drawn blank. As for
game, a head of game could be got up very soon, as there was plenty of
corn and the woods were large; but "My Lord" had never cared for game.
The farmers all shot the rabbits on their own land. Rents were paid to
the day. There was never any mistake about that. Of course the land
would require to be re-valued, but "My Lord" wouldn't hear of suc