er angels
cry. You can tell the other one, the Aunt Betty, that I won't climb up
that tree again.'

'Yes, that I will,' Angel said joyfully, and she went downstairs to the
parlour where Betty was reading and Penny clearing away supper, with
her quiet face glowing with happiness.

'Betty,' she said, 'Godfrey is quite sorry now for frightening us. He
told me to tell you that he wouldn't do it again.'

'Bless him!' exclaimed Penny, almost dropping the lamp.

'Darling!' cried Betty, letting her book tumble into the fender.
'Angel, did he--did he say "Aunt Elizabeth"?'

'Well, no,' said Angel, picking the book up and dusting off the ashes;
'but, Betty, do you know, I think perhaps we'd better not make a fuss
about that if he thinks the other sounds nicer; if we're too strict
about little things we sha'n't know what to do about big ones, I think.'

'I thought perhaps he'd find "Aunt Elizabeth" easier to respect,' said
Betty a little regretfully.

'I think he'll respect the person and not mind about the name,' said
Angel, and she added thoughtfully, looking into the fire, 'I really
mind more about my own name, because I'm afraid he mixes me up with
what he has learnt about guardian angels, but I must just wait, and
he'll find out his mistake all in good time.'

Old Penny was carrying the supper tray out of the room, and, as she
stopped to shut the door after her, she remarked to herself:

'Bless your heart, my dear, if young master makes no worse mistakes
than that in his life he won't go far wrong!'

[Illustration: Chapter IV headpiece]

CHAPTER IV

A HEART OF OAK

'For a-fighting we must go,
And a-fighting we must go,
And what's the odds if you lose your legs,
So long as you drub the foe?'

It was Sunday afternoon, the fourth Sunday after Godfrey's coming to
Oakfield. It was almost the end of October now, but the spell of warm
weather which we call St. Luke's summer had come, as it often does in
late autumn, and the sun was warm and pleasant as Angelica paced up and
down the garden path with a book in her hand. Mr. Crayshaw sat in the
sunny parlour window where Angel's work-basket stood on week-days; he,
too, had a book before him, but I'm afraid he was nodding over it, for
there was a sleepy quiet about the house that afternoon. Only at the
bottom of the garden by the arbour voices could be heard, and Angel
caught a word or two every time she reached the end of the gravel