f seeing her
coming to again.

There was not a word of defiance from Diana now, and not a single
utterance of reproach, but when she looked at Mrs. Dolman there was an
expression in her black eyes from which this lady absolutely recoiled.

"Uncle William, I's hurted awfu'," whispered Diana. "Let me lie in
your arms, p'ease, Uncle William."

And so she did for the rest of the morning, and the sermon never got
written.

CHAPTER XIV.

DIANA'S REVENGE.

Diana had quite a nice time for the rest of the morning. Uncle William
had not the least idea of sending her back to the schoolroom.

"It's very hot," he said, "and I feel sleepy. I dare say you do also."

"I do awfu'," answered Diana. "You isn't a bad old man, not at all,"
she continued. Here she raised her fat hand and stroked his flabby
cheek. "You hates writing sermons, don't you?"

"Diana," he answered, "I would rather you did not speak about it."

"Oh, I can keep secrets," replied Diana.

"Well, in that case, to be quite frank with you, I do not care for
writing sermons."

"And I don't care for learning lessons. You didn't mean to sting me so
bad with that howid wod, did you, Uncle William?"

Mr. Dolman made no reply with his lips, for he did not like to defy
his wife's authority, but Diana read his thoughts in his rather dull
blue eyes.

"You is a kind old man," she said; "that is, when you isn't tempted by
that naughty, howid woman. You is a kind old man by yourself, and you
shan't be shotted."

"What do you mean by being shotted, Diana?"

But here Diana pursed up her rosy lips and looked rather solemn.

"That's a secret," she answered. "Uncle William, may I have a whole
holiday to-day?"

"I think so, my dear little girl. I really think that can be managed.
It is too hot to work--at least, I find it so."

"Then course I does also," answered Diana, clapping her hands. "Shall
we go out into the garding--what you say?"

"Would you like to?" he asked.

"Yes, more particular in fruit garding. We can eat cherries and
strawberries, and pelt each other. What you say?"

Mr. Dolman looked out of the open window. He was pretty certain that
his wife by this time was absent in the village. The clock on the
mantelpiece pointed to half-past eleven; the early dinner would not be
ready until one o'clock. It would be cool and pleasant in the fruit
garden, and it would please poor little Diana, who, in his opinion,
had been very harshly treated.