hink the Squire will, too; and Mr. Forth is no chaperon. Even
you understand that.'

'Oh, I can get an old man--don't be afraid, said Rose. 'Or must I have
and old woman, aunt?'

The lady raised her eyelids slowly on Rose, and thought: 'If you were
soundly whipped, my little madam, what a good thing it would be for
you.' And that good thing Mrs. Shorne was willing to do for Rose. She
turned aside, and received the salute of an unmistakable curate on foot.

'Ah, Mr. Parsley, you lend your countenance to the game, then?'

The curate observed that sound Churchmen unanimously supported the game.

'Bravo!' cried Rose. 'How I like to hear you talk like that, Mr.
Parsley. I didn't think you had so much sense. You and I will have a
game together--single wicket. We must play for something--what shall it
be?'

'Oh--for nothing,' the curate vacuously remarked.

'That's for love, you rogue!' exclaimed the Squire. 'Come, come, none o'
that, sir--ha! ha!'

'Oh, very well; we'll play for love,' said Rose.

'And I'll hold the stakes, my dear--eh?'

'You dear old naughty Squire!--what do you mean?'

Rose laughed. But she had all the men surrounding her, and Mrs. Shorne
talked of departing.

Why did not Evan bravely march away? Why, he asked himself, had he come
on this cricket-field to be made thus miserable? What right had such as
he to look on Rose? Consider, however, the young man's excuses. He could
not possibly imagine that a damsel who rode one day to a match, would
return on the following day to see it finished: or absolutely know that
unseen damsel to be Rose Jocelyn. And if he waited, it was only to hear
her sweet voice once again, and go for ever. As far as he could fathom
his hopes, they were that Rose would not see him: but the hopes of youth
are deep.

Just then a toddling small rustic stopped in front of Evan, and set up
a howl for his 'fayther.' Evan lifted him high to look over people's
heads, and discover his wandering parent. The urchin, when he had
settled to his novel position, surveyed the field, and shouting,
'Fayther, fayther! here I bes on top of a gentleman!' made lusty signs,
which attracted not his father alone. Rose sang out, 'Who can lend me a
penny?' Instantly the curate and the squire had a race in their pockets.
The curate was first, but Rose favoured the squire, took his money with
a nod and a smile, and rode at the little lad, to whom she was saying:
'Here, bonny boy, this will buy you--