have a turn for metaphor, I see." The
"Eunice" slipped out, and immediately brought a deeper tinge of colour
to the girl's cheek. The man was sallow, but his eyes looked away from
her after it was out. "Do you read much, or are your duties at the
vicarage engrossing?" was said with an air of friendly interest only.

"Engrossing, yes. You see, I've to play little mother. One of my charges
is ten and the other nearly seventy. So I feel a centenarian. But I
don't get much time for reading, what with visiting in the parish and
keeping the vicarage in order. No; I'm not a bit clever, and I have only
a dark idea of what a metaphor is."

"Ah, you should tell that to the marines," was all that Henry could say
by way of comment.

He had made obvious conversational progress in the outer world, but
there was an artificial touch about his talk--a literary touch--that was
not quite equal to his swimming dolphin-like, in a sea of talk, around
this child of Nature.

"You are liking Laysford, I hear," the little mother said, after some
paces in silence.

"Immensely! The place teems with life. You've just to stir it and behold
a boiling pot of human interest."

"And how is the stirring done?"

"Ah, there you have me! That's the worst of metaphors. I must rid myself
of the habit; it comes, I fancy, of too much Meredith on an empty
head."

"Dear me! And what is Meredith?"

"It is a man that writes things."

"Like you?"

"Not like me, I hope. He writes for all time; I for an hour--literally.
But don't let's talk of writing. There are greater things to do in this
world. Unless one were a Meredith."

"You didn't always think so."

"No; but I've learned young, and that's a good thing. When I read
Meredith I hide my face at the thought of writing anything. But you've
done very well, so far, without books, if I'm to believe your own
story."

"I suppose folk lived before printing was invented?"

"I used to wonder how they did; but now I am willing to believe it
possible."

"You will come and see Mr. Needham at the vicarage, while you are here,
I hope? He often talks about you."

"I shall be delighted.... And you? You will give us a peep at the old
house?"

"Oh, yes! Dora and I are bosom friends."

"Early next week you can look for me to have a chat with ... Mr.
Needham."

"I'll be in soon ... to see Dora."

They shook hands at the field path to the vicarage, and Eunice went up
the hill hand-in-hand with Marjorie,