rious
pastime.

Eleanor glances across the ring well-pleasedly, guessing that her
dainty figure and deep-fringed eyes have attracted him thither.

A moment later she trips lightly round the chain of children, her heart
beating higher as her feet approach the man's tall figure. Shall she?
Shall she? No time to consider, as the handkerchief falls from her
hand upon Philip's shoulder.

Quick as lightning she flies away--faster--faster--through the
buttercups, while he pursues, nearer--nearer--and then the strong arms
arrest her career, and the inevitable kiss occurs.

Eleanor, her cheeks aflame, frees herself from his audacious caress,
and half laughing, half indignant, walks hastily away. But after their
unconventional introduction Philip is not easily to be foiled.

"You are offended," he cries penitently. "It was only the game; won't
you forgive me, Miss----?"

"Grebby," raising her eyes and pausing. "Eleanor Grebby," she
continues with a prim little air that is quite unnatural, then laughing
spontaneously:

"You see, I was rather taken aback at first, Mr.----"

"Roche--Philip Roche, at your service."

"So now we know each other," holding out her hand.

He grasps it eagerly--such a warm slim hand!

"It was rather a nice introduction, wasn't it?"

Philip thinks how amazingly pretty Eleanor is, as she assents with
deepening colour.

"There! I knew it would come!" she cries, with a thought for her new
poppy-bedizened hat.

"What?" asks Philip, still feasting his eyes on the girl's fair
physique, and unobservant of the gathering darkness overhead.

"Why, the rain, of course. We shall get wet."

"Only a summer shower."

"Yes, but as disastrous in its effects as any other downpour. I shall
make for that barn in the next field; the children have all
mysteriously vanished."

"I am dreadfully afraid of the wet," declares Philip, pretending to
shiver. "May I accompany you?"

He is still retaining her hand as they run together towards the haven
of "shelter.

"How nice of it to rain!" he gasps, applauding the accommodating skies.
"Let me make you comfortable," heaping together a pile of hay for her
to sit upon. "Now tell me all about yourself."

Eleanor sinks down on the soft couch, looking somewhat wistfully
through the open door of the barn.

"I am easily explained. I live here always. My father is a farmer,
and I feed the chickens, dust the house, and teach in the
Sunday-school. Only f