brought with him the
manuscript, so that Pauline could seal it for luck; and they sat in the
nursery while Guy, for the last enumeration, turned over the pages one
by one.

"It represents so much," he said, "and it looks so little. My father
will be rather surprised. I told him I should wait another year. I
wonder if I ought to have waited."

"Oh no," said Pauline. "Everything else is waiting and waiting. It
makes me so happy to think of these pages flying away like birds."

"I hope they won't be like homing-pigeons," said Guy. "It will be rather
a blow if William Worrall rejects them."

"Oh, but how could he be so foolish?"

"I don't think he will, really," said Guy. "After all, a good many
people have indorsed the first half, and I'm positive that what I've
written here is better than that. I rather wish I'd finished the
Eclogues, though. Do you think perhaps I'd better wait, after all?"

"Oh no, Guy, don't wait."

So, very solicitously the poems were wrapped up, and when they were tied
and sealed and the parcel lay addressed upon the table, Mrs. Grey with
Monica and Margaret came in. They were so sympathetic about the possible
adventures in sight for that parcel, and Guy was so much his rather
self-conscious self, that the original relation between him and the
family seemed perfectly restored. Pauline was glad to belong to them,
and in her pride of Guy's achievement she basked in their simple
affection, thrilling to every word or look or gesture that confirmed her
desire of the cherished accord between Guy and the others.

"Now I'm sure you'd both like to go and post Guy's poems," Mrs. Grey
exclaimed. "Yes ... charming ... to go and post them yourselves."

Pauline waited anxiously for a moment, because of late Guy had often
seemed impatient of these permissions granted to him by her mother, but
this afternoon he was himself and full of the shy gratitude that made
her wonder if indeed nearly a year could have flown by since their love
had been declared. Dusk was falling when they reached the post-office.

"Will you register it, Mr. Hazlewood?" asked the post-mistress.

Guy nodded, and the parcel left their hands; in silence they watched it
vanish into the company of other parcels that carried so much less;
then back they came through the twilight to tea at the Rectory, both
feeling as if the first really important step towards marriage had been
taken.

"You see," said Guy, "if only these poems of mine a