s?"

"No, I hope not," was the reply.

"But he is a friend of yours, is not he?"

"Yes, he is a friend--up to a certain point. Do not think me
ungracious."

"Oh! no. I understand."

"Melville thinks a great deal of you, and is so proud that you have come
here. I am glad you have come also, now I have seen you, though when I
first heard you were coming I dreaded it; and so did mother. But I must
not stop to talk any more now, except to ask you to make mother feel as
you have made me feel, that you are not so very grand, after all."

The squire was seen at the door of the Crown as Joyce and Mr. Arundel
turned into Saddler Street, and Joyce ran quickly towards him. Her
father waved his hand impatiently.

[Illustration: S. Cuthbert's, Wells.]

"Come, Joyce; come, make haste!"

In another moment she had mounted to her seat by his side, and they were
off at a quick trot. The good old horse knew that her head was turned
homewards and went cheerily down the High Street, past the noble
church of St. Cuthbert, where there was no traffic to impede its
progress.

The squire was silent until they were fairly out of the town, when he
said:

"So your grand brother can't ride in his father's carriage! He and his
fine friend may pay for the chaise; I shall not."

"I do not think the friend is fine after all," Joyce said; "he laughed
at the idea of the post-chaise."

The squire cracked his whip impatiently.

"He may well laugh. Ah! little Joyce, there are many graver questions at
issue than the freaks of an over-indulged, reckless boy like Melville.
We had a stormy scene in the court to-day. That man who was let off a
month, in gaol richly deserved punishment; but there was a division on
the bench and my conviction was overruled."

"Oh!" Joyce exclaimed, "I saw a crowd of rough people going up the
Bristol Road; they had taken a pony out of a cart, and were dragging it
up the hill, with a man in it, who was half asleep."

"Half drunk," said the squire; "that is more likely. They are a rough
lot on Mendip, more like savages than the inhabitants of a civilised
country."

"What is to be done to make them better, father? Has not Mrs. More tried
to get the children taught?"

"Yes, she has been trying for years to make the schools succeed; but
there is plenty of labour and little to show for it."

"Perhaps," said Joyce, "there is some good done, though we don't see it.
It is always easier to see bad things than good on