nced every dance with as joyous a vivacity as if it
had been Christmas in the long parlor at Brook and Harry Musgrave her
partner; and she confessed voluntarily to her mother and Mr. Phipps
afterward that she had been happy the whole day.

"You see, dear Bessie, that I was right to insist upon your going," said
her mother.

"And the kettles never once bumped the earthen pot--eh?" asked Mr.
Phipps mocking.

"You forget," said Bessie, "I'm a little kettle myself now;" and she
laughed with the gayest assurance.

CHAPTER VIII.

_BESSIE'S FRIENDS AT BROOK._

That respite till September was indeed worth much to Bessie. Her mind
was gently broken in to changes. Mr. Fairfax vanished from the scene,
and Lady Latimer appeared on it more frequently. My lady even took upon
her (out of the interest she felt in her old friend) to find a school
for Bessie, and found one at Caen which everybody seemed to agree would
do. The daughters of the Liberal member for Hampton were receiving their
education there, and Mrs. Wiley knew the school.

It was a beautiful season in the Forest--never more beautiful--and
Bessie rode with her father whenever he could go with her. Then young
Musgrave came back from Wells. Perhaps it is unnecessary to repeat that
Bessie was very fond of young Musgrave. It was quoted of her, when she
was a fat little trot of seven years old and he a big boy of twelve,
that she had cried herself to sleep because he had refused her a kiss,
being absorbed in some chemical experiment that smelt abominably when
her mother called her to bed. The denial was singularly unkind, and even
ungrateful that evening, because Bessie had not screamed when he
electrified her round, wee nose. She was still so tender at heart for
him that she would probably have cried now if he had roughed her. But
they were friends, the best of friends--as good as brother and sister.
Harry talked of himself incessantly; but what hero to her so
interesting? Not even his mother was so indulgent to his harmless
vanities as Bessie, or thought him so surely predestined to be one of
the great men of his day.

It was early yet to say that Harry Musgrave was born under a lucky star,
but his friends did say it. He was of a most popular character, not too
wise or good to dispense with indulgence, or too modest to claim it. At
twelve he was a clumsy lad, bold, audacious, pleasant-humored, with a
high, curly, brown head, fine bright eyes, and no features