o not believe they had
ever seen so many shillings and sixpences before."

"Money will not buy a mother or----" He was going to say "a wife," but
checked himself. Philip Roche was an accurate man.

"Poor Mr. Roche, it must be very lonely," says Eleanor, with genuine
sympathy in her tone.

He smiles enigmatically. It is strange to him to be pitied by the
little farmer's daughter when so many have envied his happy-go-lucky
existence ere now.

"The rain clouds are dispersing," he murmurs, as a stray ray of
sunlight wanders through the barn door to mingle its glory with
Eleanor's hair. How gold those tender silken threads appear under its
burnishing hand!

"What a pity! It has been such a refreshing shower!"

"I feel quite young again," he declares, "young enough to play with the
children for hours. What do you say to kiss in the ring again?"

He presses her hand gently.

She lifts her eyes to his with a slow shake of her head.

"There is the vicar's wife to be considered."

"Good gracious!" he laughs. "You don't mean I should have to kiss her?"

Eleanor's face dimples all over in delightful smiles.

"What an absurd idea!" she gasps gleefully. "I should just like to see
you!"

"I don't think it has _quite_ stopped," murmurs Philip, holding up his
hands to the sky, and pretending the drops from the barn are rain
themselves.

"How silly you are!" cries Eleanor, mockingly, gathering up her skirts
and revealing a well-turned ankle. "But, oh, isn't the grass soaking?"
as Philip takes her arm and guides her to a narrow path. "The children
will ruin their boots, and all go home with colds. Look, they are
tearing about like mad things. How they will sleep to-night!"

"I wonder what will become of them all in the years to follow, and why
they have any existence whatsoever beneath the glimpses of the moon?"

"One will reap," replies Eleanor, wisely, "and another will sow. Some
may slay oxen and wring the fowls' necks, and perhaps for all we know
murder each other. It is a horrible thought, isn't it? They look so
thoroughly innocent, these country children. Do you see that little
boy crying because he was knocked down in the three-legged
steeplechase. His life race is only just beginning. His father is in
gaol for theft, his mother incurable in a Samaritan infirmary, yet he
is only crying because he grazed his knee and did not win a packet of
bull's-eyes."

Eleanor's voice is low and expressive