ew up amongst us. It was in the bright frosty days
before Christmas, when the fields and dales were wrapped in snow, when
the logs burned merrily, and the crickets sang, when fairyland was
painted on every window-pane, when our superintendence at the Hall was
over, when all things there had been placed in readiness, even to the
lighting of the fires in the bed-chambers. We had left Mrs. Beatty in
possession of her domain, and in daily expectation of an announcement of
the intended arrival of her master and mistress. Things were in this way
when one day a carriage dashed up to our farmhouse door, and out stepped
Grace Tyrrell and her brother Frederick.

Jane shrank into a corner when I asked her to accompany me down-stairs,
murmuring something I would not hear about my "fine friends." But Mopsie
smoothed her curly locks, put on her best apron, and slipped her hand in
mine as I went down to the parlour.

Grace was impatiently tripping about the room, making faces at the bare
walls and laughing at the old-fashioned furniture. She was clothed in
velvet and fur with feathers nodding from her hat. She put her hands on
my shoulders and eyed me all over critically.

"Pray, little Quakeress," said she, "can you tell me what has become of
my friend Margery?"

"Yes," said I laughing, "I actually happen to have her about me. What do
you want with her?"

"Only to ask her what sin she has committed that she shuts herself up
from the world, starves herself to skin and bone, and dresses herself in
sackcloth?" she replied, touching my dress, and trying its texture
between her finger and thumb.

"We do not starve her," put in Mopsie stoutly.

"And who are you, little miss?" said Grace, using a gold-rimmed
eye-glass, which nearly annihilated poor Mopsie.

"No matter," said the little one, scarlet and trembling. "We are all
Margery's friends, and we love her dearly."

Grace laughed at the child's ardour, as if it were something very funny
and original; but Mopsie, never flinching, held my hand all the time.

"And what about the ploughman, dear?" Grace went on; "would it be
possible to get a sight of him? Yes, do go" (to Mopsie), "like a useful
little girl, and see about getting us some lunch. We are staying in this
country at present, Margery, and when we return to London we intend to
take you with us."

Mopsie's eyes dilated dangerously, but she retreated to the door at a
whisper from me.

"Frederick," said Grace, "come and