his head and kissed the blushing cheek of his wife
as heartily as if he had been really a farmer.

From the terrace at Laughton, turn to the humbler abode of our old
friend the vicar,--the same day, the same hour. Here also the scene is
without doors,--we are in the garden of the vicarage; the children are
playing at hide-and-seek amongst the espaliers which screen the winding
gravel-walks from the esculents more dear to Ceres than to Flora. The
vicar is seated in his little parlour, from which a glazed door admits
into the garden. The door is now open, and the good man has paused from
his work (he had just discovered a new emendation in the first chorus of
the "Medea") to look out at the rosy faces that gleam to and fro across
the scene. His wife, with a basket in her hand, is standing without the
door, but a little aside, not to obstruct the view.

"It does one's heart good to see them," said the vicar, "little dears!"

"Yes, they ought to be dear at this time of the year," observed Mrs.
Fielden, who was absorbed in the contents of the basket.

"And so fresh!"

"Fresh, indeed,--how different from London! In London they were not fit
to be seen,--as old as---I am sure I can't guess how old they were. But
you see here they are new laid every morning!"

"My dear," said Mr. Fielden, opening his eyes,--"new laid every
morning!"

"Two dozen and four."

"Two dozen and four! What on earth are you talking about, Mrs. Fielden?"

"Why, the eggs, to be sure, my love!"

"Oh," said the vicar, "two dozen and four! You alarmed me a little;
't is of no consequence,--only my foolish mistake. Always prudent and
saving, my dear Sarah,--just as if poor Sir Miles had not left us that
munificent fortune, I may call it."

"It will not go very far when we have our young ones to settle. And
David is very extravagant already; he has torn such a hole in his
jacket!"

At this moment up the gravel-walk two young persons came in sight. The
children darted across them, whooping and laughing, and vanished in the
further recess of the garden.

"All is for the best, blind mortals that we are; all is for the best,"
said the vicar, musingly, as his eyes rested upon the approaching pair.

"Certainly, my love; you are always right, and it is wicked to grumble.
Still, if you saw what a hole it was,--past patching, I fear!"

"Look round," said Mr. Fielden, benevolently. "How we grieved for them
both; how wroth we were with William,--how sad