reaties which might, as she dreaded, place him in peril of
disobedience.

In a few moments Mr. Geoffrey Langford was sitting in the great red
leathern chair in the study, writing as fast as his fingers would move,
apparently without a moment for thought, though he might have said, like
the great painter, that what seemed the work of half an hour, was in
fact the labour of years. His daughter, her bonnet by her side, sat
opposite to him, writing with almost equal rapidity, and supremely
happy, for to the credit of our little Queen Bee let it be spoken, that
no talk with Henrietta, no walk with grandpapa, no new exciting tale,
no, not even a flirtation with Fred and Alex, one or both, was equal in
her estimation to the pleasure and honour of helping papa, even though
it was copying a dry legal opinion, instead of gliding about on the
smooth hard ice, in the bright winter morning's sunshine.

The two pens maintained a duet of diligent scratching for some twenty
or five and twenty minutes without intermission, but at last Beatrice
looked up, and without speaking, held up her sheet.

"Already? Thank you, my little clerk, I could think it was mamma. Now
then, off to the skating. My compliments to Fred, and tell him I feel
for him, and will not keep him waiting longer than I can avoid:" and
muttering a resumption of his last sentence, on went the lawyer's
indefatigable pen; and away flew the merry little Busy Bee, bounding off
with her droll, tripping, elastic, short-stepped run, which suited so
well with her little alert figure, and her dress, a small plain black
velvet bonnet, a tight black velvet "jacket," as she called it, and a
brown silk dress, with narrow yellow stripes (chosen chiefly in joke,
because it was the colour of a bee), not a bit of superfluous shawl,
boa, or ribbon about her, but all close and compact, fit for the
diversion which she was eager to enjoy. The only girl among so many
boys, she had learnt to share in many of their sports, and one of the
prime favourites was skating, a diversion which owes as much of its
charm to the caprices of its patron Jack Frost, as to the degree of
skill which it requires.

She arrived at the stile leading to "Knight's Portion," as it was
called, and a very barren portion must the poor Knight have possessed if
it was all his property. It was a sloping chalky field or rather corner
of a down, covered with very short grass and thistles, which defied
all the attacks of Unc