walk,
words that mingled strangely with the book of poetry she was reading.

'Be useful where thou livest, that they may
Both want and wish thy pleasing presence still,'

read Angel as she strolled along the path. Then came Betty's clear
tones from behind the yew hedge which separated her from the arbour:

'Now, Godfrey, say after me: "To love, honour, and succour my father
and mother."'

'No, Aunt Betty, I needn't learn that. Penny says we oughtn't ever to
waste precious time, and I hav'n't any papa and mamma to succour, so
it's waste of time to learn about succouring them.'

'No, Godfrey, it isn't; because it means any one that stands in the
place of a papa and mamma to you, your relations and friends that take
care of you.'

'Aunts?' inquired Godfrey.

'Yes, certainly aunts.'

'Cousins?' asked Godfrey, with much unwillingness in his tone. Angel
had turned round again before Betty's answer came. She was rather glad
the question had not been put to her. Godfrey always would have his
inquiries answered, and Angel felt sure he would not like to be told
that it was his duty to succour Cousin Crayshaw. She paced up the
gravel path and back again with her head bent over her book.

'Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree,
Love is a present for a mighty king.'

She had got so far when she reached the arbour again, and this time
there was a shadow of impatience in Betty's tones.

'Godfrey, you are not attending. "Not to covet nor desire other men's
goods."'

'What are goods?'

'Things that belong to them. If you wanted my desk or Cousin
Crayshaw's watch it would be naughty of you. Godfrey, you must not put
your foot on Miss Jane's head; her nose is off already.'

'I don't want his watch, I want a much bigger one. Aunt Betty, was
that lady as ugly when she was alive as she is now?'

'Godfrey, that isn't a kind thing to say. People have been cruel to
her--you wouldn't be pretty if your nose was off; and besides, she is
dead, and it isn't right to speak so about her.'

'What killed her?' asked Godfrey gravely.

'Well, of course, we don't know for certain, but your Aunt Angelica and
I feel almost sure she died young. You see she was _Miss_ Jane, she
wasn't married, and we have always had an idea that she died of a
broken heart.'

'What broke it?' said Godfrey's interested voice.

'Of course I don't know for certain; but she was a maiden, you
see--'demoiselle' means a maiden--an