ister Henrietta. She was a believing
Christian, and no children ever had greater religious advantages than
these two. As soon as they could speak they learnt hymns or texts of
Scripture, and before they could read they knew whole chapters of the
Bible by heart. George even now, I will say that for him, knows his
Bible better than a good many clergymen. And the Sabbath, too. They were
taught to reverence the Lord's day in a way children never are nowadays.
All games and picture-books put away on Saturday night; regularly to
church morning and afternoon, and in the evening Henrietta would talk to
them and question them about the sermon. And after all, here is George
who says he believes in nothing; and as to Cecilia, I never can make out
what she does or does not believe. However, I am quite happy in my mind
about them. I feel they are of the elect. I am as certain of their
salvation as I am of my own."

A sudden scampering of feet upon the gravel was followed by the
appearance of the boys, rosy with exercise and excitement.

"Well, my darling boys, have you had your cream?"

"Oh yes, Aunt Eleanour," cried Harold, "and we have been into the
farm-yard and seen the little pigs. Such jolly little beasts, Mr.
Lyndsay, and squeak so funnily when you pull their tails."

"Oh, but I can't have my pigs unkindly treated."

"Not unkindly, auntie," cried Denis, swinging affectionately upon my
arm; "we only just tried to make their tails go straight, you know. And,
Mr. Lyndsay, there is such a dear little baby calf."

"But I want to give apples to the horses," cried Harold.

So we went to the fruit-house for apples, which Mrs. Mostyn herself
selected from an upper shelf, mounting a ladder with equal agility and
grace; then to the stables, where these dainties were crunched by two
very fat carriage-horses; then to the miniature farm-yard, and the tiny
ivy-covered dairy beyond; and just as I was beginning to feel the first
qualms of my besetting humiliation, fatigue, Mrs. Mostyn led us round to
the garden--a garden with high red walls, and a dial in the
meeting-place of the flower-bordered paths; and we sat down in a rustic
seat cosily fitted into one sunny corner, just behind a great bed of
hyacinths in flower.

The children had but one regret: Tip had been left behind.

"But mamma would not let us bring him," cried Harold in an aggrieved
tone, "because he will roll in the flower-beds."

"Do you think it is nearly half-past