most a comfort to think that they
had seen Reginald himself trembling before papa. Reginald had a great
deal to tell them about the college, about the old men who made a
hundred daily claims on his attention, and the charities which he had to
administer, doles of this and that, and several charity schools of a
humble class.

"As for my time, it is not likely to hang on my hands as I thought. I
can't be a parish Quixote, as we planned, Ursula, knocking down
windmills for other people," he said, adjusting his round edge of
collar. He was changed; he was important, a personage in his own sight,
no longer to be spoken of as Mr. May's son. Janey ventured on a little
laugh when he went away, but Ursula did not like the change.

"Never mind," cried Janey; "I hope Copperhead will be nice. We shall
have him to talk to, when he comes."

"Oh!" cried Ursula, in a kind of despair, "who taught you to call
gentlemen like that by their name? There is nothing so vulgar. Why,
Cousin Anne says--"

"Oh, Cousin Anne!" cried Janey, shaking her head, and dancing away.
After that she was aware there was nothing for it but flight.

Next day, however, they were more successful. Phoebe, though very little
older than Ursula, was kind to the country girls, and talked to them
both, and drew them out. She smiled when she heard of Clarence
Copperhead, and told them that he was not very clever, but she did not
think there was any harm in him.

"It is his father who is disagreeable," said Phoebe; "didn't you think
so? You know, papa is a minister, Miss May," (she did not say clergyman
when she spoke to a churchwoman, for what was the use of exciting any
one's prejudices?) "and Mr. Copperhead comes to our church. You may be
very thankful, in that respect, that you are not a dissenter. But it
will be very strange to see Clarence Copperhead in Carlingford. I have
known him since I was no bigger than your little sister. To tell the
truth," said Phoebe, frankly, "I think I am rather sorry he is coming
here."

"Why?" cried bold Janey, who was always inquisitive.

Miss Phoebe only smiled and shook her head; she made no distinct reply.

"Poor fellow, I suppose he has been 'plucked,' as the gentlemen call
it, or 'ploughed,' does your brother say? University slang is very
droll. He has not taken his degree, I suppose, and they want him to work
before going up again. I am sorry for your father, too, for I don't
think it will be very easy to get anything