of the street of the village to
the door of Mrs. Dale's house. "She always knows, by instinct, when I
am coming. You must understand now that you are among us, that mamma
and I are not mother and daughter, but two loving old ladies living
together in peace and harmony. We do have our quarrels,--whether the
chicken shall be roast or boiled, but never anything beyond that.
Mamma, here is Grace, starved to death; and she says if you don't
give her some tea she will go back at once."

"I will give her some tea," said Mrs. Dale.

"And I am worse than she is, because I've been driving. It's all up
with Bernard and Mr. Green for the next week at least. It is freezing
as hard as it can freeze, and they might as well try to hunt in
Lapland as here."

"They'll console themselves with skating," said Mrs. Dale.

"Have you ever observed, Grace," said Miss Dale, "how much amusement
gentlemen require, and how imperative it is that some other game
should be provided when one game fails?"

"Not particularly," said Grace.

"Oh, but it is so. Now, with women, it is supposed that they can
amuse themselves or live without amusement. Once or twice in a year,
perhaps something is done for them. There is an arrow-shooting party,
or a ball, or a picnic. But the catering for men's sport is never
ending, and is always paramount to everything else. And yet the pet
game of the day never goes off properly. In partridge time, the
partridges are wild, and won't come to be killed. In hunting time
the foxes won't run straight,--the wretches. They show no spirit,
and will take to ground to save their brushes. Then comes a nipping
frost, and skating is proclaimed; but the ice is always rough, and
the woodcocks have deserted the country. And as for salmon,--when the
summer comes round I do really believe that they suffer a great deal
about the salmon. I'm sure they never catch any. So they go back to
their clubs and their cards, and their billiards, and abuse their
cooks and blackball their friends. That's about it, mamma; is it
not?"

"You know more about it than I do, my dear."

"Because I have to listen to Bernard, as you never will do. We've got
such a Mr. Green down here, Grace. He's such a duck of a man,--such
top-boots and all the rest of it. And yet they whisper to me that
he doesn't ride always to hounds. And to see him play billiards
is beautiful, only he can never make a stroke. I hope you play
billiards, Grace, because uncle Christo