t of queer
prescience.

"Well," he brought out with an effort, "don't you think it's a pity to
embroil your young people in village troubles? We've been hearing from
Stanley--"

Kirsteen interrupted in her calm, staccato voice with just the faintest
lisp:

"Stanley would not understand."

She had put her arm through Tod's, but never removed her eyes from her
brother-in-law's face.

"Possibly," said Felix, "but you must remember that Stanley, John, and
myself represent ordinary--what shall we say--level-headed opinion."

"With which we have nothing in common, I'm afraid."

Felix glanced from her to Tod. The fellow had his head on one side and
seemed listening to something in the distance. And Felix felt a certain
irritation.

"It's all very well," he said, "but I think you really have got to look
at your children's future from a larger point of view. You don't surely
want them to fly out against things before they've had a chance to see
life for themselves."

She answered:

"The children know more of life than most young people. They've seen it
close to, they've seen its realities. They know what the tyranny of the
countryside means."

"Yes, yes," said Felix, "but youth is youth."

"They are not too young to know and feel the truth."

Felix was impressed. How those narrowing eyes shone! What conviction in
that faintly lisping voice!

'I am a fool for my pains,' he thought, and only said:

"Well, what about this invitation, anyway?"

"Yes; it will be just the thing for them at the moment."

The words had to Felix a somewhat sinister import. He knew well enough
that she did not mean by them what others would have meant. But he said:
"When shall we expect them? Tuesday, I suppose, would be best for Clara,
after her weekend. Is there no chance of you and Tod?"

She quaintly wrinkled her lips into not quite a smile, and answered:

"Tod shall say. Do you hear, Tod?"

"In the meadow. It was there yesterday--first time this year."

Felix slipped his arm through his brother's.

"Quite so, old man."

"What?" said Tod. "Ah! let's go in. I'm awfully hungry." . . .

Sometimes out of a calm sky a few drops fall, the twigs rustle, and far
away is heard the muttering of thunder; the traveller thinks: 'A storm
somewhere about.' Then all once more is so quiet and peaceful that he
forgets he ever had that thought, and goes on his way careless.

So with Felix returning to Becket in Stanley's