cle is very kind. I'm sure I'm very grateful to
'im,' said Mrs Clay.

'Oh, but it isn't Uncle Howroyd; it's Sykes. He wants us to live in his
Red House on the top of the hill,' cried Sarah, her face aglow with
pleasure at the good news she was imparting.

'Sykes, our butler! I 'aven't come to sharin' my butler's 'ouse,' said
Mrs Clay, bridling.

'But he's going to wait on us just as he used to do,' explained Sarah.

'Wat's the good o' talkin' nonsense, Sarah? 'Ow can I order a man about
in 'is own 'ouse? An' 'ow can you want your poor father to open 'is eyes
an' look upon the ruins o' 'is beautiful mansion? It's downright indecent
o' you to be so glad that you've got to live in a poky little 'ouse; but,
at least, you sha'n't drag your father an' me to live there, to be
reminded o' the beautiful past,' said Mrs Clay.

'Nay, Polly, my dear, you are taking this quite wrong. The children are
behaving as well as can be, and Sykes too; and it's not a poky house, by
any means. In fact, it's as big as this, and I don't know that it would
be a bad idea, after a little while,' urged Mr Howroyd.

'I'm sure, Bill, I don't want to complain; but it's all so strange
without Mark, an' to think o' 'im in Syke's 'ouse, after w'at 'e's been
used to,' said his sister-in-law.

Sarah restrained her first impulse to reply indignantly, and said, 'I
don't think father would mind, and it was partly for his sake I was glad.
I thought he could still have his park and grounds, and you forget he
could not see the ruins of Balmoral, because the plantations come
between.'

'Besides, mother, if things go well we shall perhaps be able to build the
house again,' suggested George. But he was no more successful than his
sister in cheering his mother.

She answered him, quite shortly for her, 'That you'll never do, George.
There'll never be another Balmoral, so don't you think it. There are not
many men like Mark, an' there never was a 'ouse like 'is now'ere, not
even the King's, so I've 'eard, an' I'm glad an' proud to 'ave lived in
it; but I'll try an' be resigned to the will o' Providence; an' if you
both wish it, an' your uncle thinks it right, I'll go to Sykes's 'ouse
w'en your father is able to be moved.'

Mrs Clay said 'Sykes's 'ouse' in a tone of such contempt that her
brother-in-law observed, with his genial laugh, 'One would think it was
the workhouse by the way you talk, instead of being as big as many a
manufacturer's. But I know you