he wood that skirted the bog, the song was answered by
another, trolled in a cheerful bass voice:

"The lady was pleased for to see him so bold;
She gave him her glove that was flowered with gold;
She said she had found it while walking around,
As she was a-hunting with her dog and her gun."

The "blue boy," as she mentally called him, came dancing out of the
wood, throwing up his cap, and singing as he came. At sight of Margaret
he paused, in some confusion, cap in hand.

"I--I beg your pardon," he said. "I trust I did not disturb you with my
carol? There isn't generally any one here, you know; I get rather to
feel as if it all belonged to me. I hope the little chap is all right
to-day, Miss--Is it Miss Montfort?"

"Oh, yes! Certainly!" said Margaret, blushing in her turn. "I ought to
have said, of course--yes, thank you, Mr. Merryweather, Merton is quite
well to-day; and I really think he has had a lesson, for he has not run
away since, and it is two or three days ago. I--my uncle has been
suddenly called away on business, but he asked me to say--that is, we
shall be very glad to see you at the house any day; Miss Montfort, his
cousin,--my uncle's cousin,--is there with me and the children."

"Thanks awfully," murmured Gerald. "I'd like to come ever so much, some
day; but I keep all in a mess so--" he glanced down ruefully at his blue
clothes, and finding them quite respectably clean, brightened visibly.
"My father was at school with Mr. Montfort; Miles Merryweather, perhaps
he told you, Miss Montfort?"

"Yes, he told me. I--I always think Uncle John must have been such a
delightful boy. I am sure they must have had good times together."

"So was the Pater, no end; I mean, my father was an agreeable youth
also." Gerald stopped short, and glanced sidelong at the young girl. He
was well used to girls, having sisters and cousins; but they were used
to him, too, and he somehow felt that this sweet, serious-looking maiden
was not accustomed to young men, and that he must, as he silently put it
to himself, "consider the prudent P, and the quaintly quiggling Q."

"And Uncle John must have been a brilliant scholar!" Margaret went on,
warming to her subject. She had never, as it happened, walked and talked
with a lad before in her quiet life; she did not know quite how to do
it, but so long as she talked about Uncle John, she could not go wrong.
"He knows so much,--so much that he mus