no, I didn't. I know when anybody likes me, and when anybody
doesn't. Lady Danby didn't like me, and she give a sneery laugh when
she called me a _protege_, and when you weren't looking that chap made
an offer at me with the black cane he carried, that one with a silver
top and black tassels."

"Did he?"

"Didn't he just! I only wish he had. I'd ha' given him such a oner.
Why, I could fight two like him with one hand tied behind me."

Helen's face grew cloudy with trouble, but she said nothing then, only
hurried the boy along toward the river.

In spite of her determination she avoided the town main street, and
struck off by the narrow turning which led through the old churchyard,
with its grand lime-tree avenue and venerable church, whose crocketed
spire was a landmark for all the southern part of the county.

"Look, look!" cried Dexter. "See those jackdaws fly out? There's one
sitting on that old stone face. See me fetch him down."

"No, no," cried Helen, catching his arm. "You might break a window."

"No, I wouldn't. You see."

"But why throw at the poor bird? It has done you no harm."

"No, but it's a jackdaw, and you always want to throw stones at
jackdaws."

"And at blackbirds and thrushes and starlings too, Dexter?" said Helen.

The boy looked guilty.

"You didn't see me throw at them?"

"Yes, I did, and I thought it very cruel."

"Don't you like me to throw stones at the birds?"

"Certainly I do not."

"Then I won't," said Dexter; and he took aim with the round stone he
carried at the stone urn on the top of a tomb, hitting it with a
sounding crack.

"There, wasn't that a good aim!" he said, with a smile of triumph. "It
couldn't hurt that. That wasn't cruel."

Helen turned crimson with annoyance, for she had suddenly become aware
of the fact that a gentleman, whom she recognised as the Vicar, was
coming along the path quickly, having evidently seen the stone-throwing.

She was quite right in her surmise. It was the Vicar; and not
recognising her with her veil down, he strode toward them, making up an
angry speech.

"Ah, Miss Grayson," he said, raising his hat, and ceasing to make his
stick quiver in his hand, "I did not recognise you."

Then followed the customary hand-shakings and inquiries, during which
Dexter hung back, and gazed up at the crocketed spire, and at the
jackdaws flying in and out of the slits which lit the stone staircase
within.

"And who is this?" sai