as going to do with her.
When she came to the gate of the bean-field--the place where Tom had
overtaken her a few evenings before--she stopped, and resting her arms
upon the gate, watched the sun sinking slowly to the west. Thinking
herself quite alone, she said aloud, sorrowfully--"Oh dear! I wonder if
I've never done anything but make mistakes all my life!"

"Ay, we made one the other night, didn't we?" said a voice behind her.

Jenny kept her start to herself.

"Yes, we did, Tom," she replied soberly.

"I've made a many afore now," said Tom gravely.

"Not so many as me," answered Jenny, sorrowfully.

"Tell me your biggest, Jenny, and you shall hear mine."

"There's no doubt of that, Tom. The biggest mistake ever I made was
when I fancied God's service was all gloom and dismalness."

"Right you are, Jenny. That's about the biggest anybody can make. But
what was the second, now?"

"Oh look, Tom, those, lovely colours!" cried Jenny, suddenly seized with
a fervent admiration for the sunset. "Them red streaks over the gold,
and the purple away yonder--isn't it beautiful?"

"It is, indeed. But that second mistake, Jenny?"

"Nay, I was to hear your biggest, you know," said Jenny slily.

"Well, Jenny, the biggest mistake ever I made, next after that biggest
of all that you spoke of just now--was to fancy that I could forget
Jenny Lavender, my old love."

Two hours afterwards, the door of old Anthony's cottage opened about an
inch.

"Uncle Anthony, are you there?"

"Ay, lad. Come in, Tom."

"Don't want to come in. I only want to tell you that the Lord's given
me back the greatest thing I ever gave up for Him."

Old Anthony understood in a moment.

"Ay so, Tom? I'm fain for thee. And thou'lt be glad all thy life long,
my lad, that thou waited for the Lord to give it thee, and didn't snatch
it like out of His hand. We're oft like children, that willn't wait
till the fruit be ripe, but makes theirselves ill by eating it green.
And when folks does that, there's no great pleasure in the eating, and a
deal of pain at after."

"That's true. Well, good night, Uncle Anthony. I thought I'd just let
you know."

"I'm right glad to know it, my dear lad. Good night, and God bless
thee!"

It was not for nine years that the Lanes came back to Bentley Hall.
Their lives would have been in danger had they done so at an earlier
date. They came back with King Charles--when Oliver Cromwell was dead,
and