ently.

After this there was a silence which lasted longer than the previous
interval in their talk. They were at the top of the ill before either
of them spoke.

Then Vixen laid her hand lightly upon her old playfellow's arm, and
said, with extreme earnestness:

"You will go into Parliament by-and-by, no doubt, and have great
influence. Do not let them spoil the Forest. Do not let horrid
grinding-down economists, for the sake of saving a few pounds or
gaining a few pounds, alter and destroy scenes that are so beautiful
and a delight to so many. England is a rich country, is she not? Surely
she can afford to keep something for her painters and her poets, and
even for the humble holiday-folks who come to drink tea at Rufus's
stone. Don't let our Forest be altered, Rorie. Let all things be as
they were when we were children."

"All that my voice and influence can do to keep them so shall be done,
Violet," he answered in tones as earnest. "I am glad that you have
asked me something to-night. I am glad, with all my heart, that you
have given me something to do for you. It shall be like a badge in my
helmet, by-and-by, when I enter the lists. I think I shall say: 'For
God and for Violet,' when I run a tilt against the economic devastators
who want to clear our woods and cut off our commoners."

He bent down and kissed her hand, as in token of knightly allegiance.
He had just time to do it comfortably before Mr. and Mrs. Scobel, with
the children and their master and mistress, came marching up the hill,
singing, with shrill glad voices, one of the harvest-home processional
hymns.

"All good gifts around us
Are sent from heaven above,
Then thank the Lord, oh thank the Lord,
For all His love."

"What a delicious night!" cried Mr. Scobel. "I think we ought all to
walk home. It would be much nicer than being driven."

This he said with a lively recollection of Titmouse's performances on
the journey out, and a lurking dread that he might behave a little
worse on the journey home. A lively animal of that kind, going home to
his stable, through the uncertain lights and shadows of woodland roads,
and driven by such a charioteer as Violet Tempest, was not to be
thought of without a shudder.

"I think I had better walk, in any case," said Mr. Scobel thoughtfully.
"I shall be wanted to keep the children together."

"Let us all walk home," suggested Roderick. "We can go through the
plantations. It will be very