and handed the bridle to Bates.

"I'm going to walk home with Mr. Vawdrey," she said.

"But, Vixen, I can't, really," said Roderick; "I'm due at home at this
moment, only I couldn't leave without saying good-bye to little Vix."

"And you're over due at Oxford, too, aren't you?" cried Vixen,
laughing; "you're always due somewhere--never in the right place. But
whether you are due or not, you're coming up to the stables with me to
give Titmouse his apples, and then you're coming to dine with us on
your last night at home. I insist upon it; papa insists; mamma
insists--we all insist."

"My mother will be as angry as----"

"Old boots!" interjected Vixen. "That's the best comparison I know."

"Awfully vulgar for a young lady."

"You taught it me. How can I help being vulgar when I associate with
you? You should hear Miss McCroke preach at me sermons so long"--here
Vixen extended her arms to the utmost--"and I'm afraid they'd make as
much impression on Titmouse as they do upon me. But she's a dear old
thing, and I love her immensely."

This was Vixen's usual way, making up for all shortcomings with the
abundance of her love. The heart was always atoning for the errors of
the head.

"I wouldn't be Miss McCroke for anything. She must have a bad time of
it with you."

"She has," assented Vixen, with a remorseful sigh; "I fear I'm bringing
her sandy hairs with sorrow to the grave. That hair of hers never could
be gray, you know, it's too self-opinionated in its sandiness. Now come
along, Rorie, do. Titmouse will be stamping about his box like a maniac
if he doesn't get those apples."

She gave a little tug with both her small doeskin-covered hands at
Roderick's arm. He was still standing by the gate irresolute,
inclination drawing him to the Abbey House, duty calling him home to
Briarwood, five miles off, where his widowed mother was expecting his
return.

"My last night at home, Vix," he said remonstrantly; "I really ought to
dine with my mother."

"Of course you ought, and that's the very reason why you'll dine with
us. So 'kim over, now,' as Bates says to the horses; I don't know what
there is for dinner," she added confidentially, "but I feel sure it's
something nice. Dinner is papa's particular vanity, you know. He's very
weak about dinner."

"Not so weak as he is about you, Vixen."

"Do you really think papa is as fond of me as he is of his dinner?"

"I'm sure of it!"

"Then he must be very fond of