e leaning over the gate to
look after the gypsies, "that that little girl is not theirs--she's as
different as possible from the other children. How I should like to see
her again!"

"Well, my dear," said Austin, "for my part I decidedly hope you won't.
The sooner that fellow is several miles away from here, the better I
shall be pleased."

"She was a lovely little thing," repeated Mrs Vallance with a sigh.

"Well, well," said her husband; "I daresay. But here's something quite
as lovely. Just look at this Captain Christie. It's the best rose I've
seen yet. I don't believe Chelwood has a finer."

"Not one of the little Chelwoods was ever a quarter as pretty as that
gypsy child, even when they were babies," continued his wife gazing
absently at the rose, "and now they're getting quite plain."

She could not forget the beautiful child all that evening, though she
did not receive the least encouragement to talk of her from her husband.
Mr Vallance was not so fond of children as his wife, and did not
altogether regret that he had none of his own. His experience of them,
drawn from Squire Chelwood's family who lived a little further up the
valley, did not lead him to think that they added to the comfort of a
household. When they came to spend the day at the vicarage he usually
shut himself into his study, and issuing forth after they were gone, his
soul was vexed to find footmarks on his borders, his finest fruit
picked, and fragments of a meal left about on his smooth lawn. But Mrs
Vallance grudged them nothing, and if she could have found it in her
heart to envy anyone, it would have been Mrs Chelwood at the White
House, who had a nursery and school-room full of children.

On the morning after the gypsies had passed, the Reverend Austin
Vallance was out even earlier than usual in his garden. He was always
an early riser, for he liked time for a stroll before taking the service
in his little church. Just now his roses were in full perfection, and
the weather was remarkably fine, so that it was scarcely six o'clock
before he was out of doors. It was certainly a beautiful morning. By
and by it would be hot and sultry, only fit for a sensible man to sit
quietly in his study and doze a little, and make extracts for his next
sermon. Now, it was deliciously cool and fresh. The roses were
magnificent! What a pity that the blaze of the sun would soon dim their
glorious colours and scorch their dewy fragrance.