f?"

"Why, it's meant for St. John the Baptist," said Henry.

"It's so like little Angelina Primrose," said she, "the hair is just
hers. I wonder it doesn't strike you."

"It does--it does," said he, smiling at her; "but it's getting late; you
must not be out much longer in the sharp air, and you have nothing for
your throat. I have chosen my books while you have been gazing on that
little St. John."

"I can't think who it is so like," continued she; "oh, I know; it's
Angelina's aunt, Lady Constance."

"Come, Louisa, the horses too will suffer; we must return to our
friends."

"Oh, there's one book, I can't recollect it; tell me what it is, Henry.
I shall be so sorry not to have got it."

"Was it the new work on Gregorian Chants?" asked he.

"Ah, it's true, I want it for the school-children, but it's not that."

"Is it 'The Catholic Parsonage'?" he asked again; "or, 'Lays of the
Apostles'? or, 'The English Church older than the Roman'? or,
'Anglicanism of the Early Martyrs'? or, 'Confessions of a Pervert'? or,
'Eustace Beville'? or, 'Modified Celibacy'?"

"No, no, no," said Louisa; "dear me, it is so stupid."

"Well, now really, Louisa," he insisted, "you must come another time; it
won't do, dearest; it won't do."

"Oh, I recollect," she said, "I recollect--'Abbeys and Abbots;' I want
to get some hints for improving the rectory-windows when we get home;
and our church wants, you know, a porch for the poor people. The book is
full of designs."

The book was found and added to the rest, which had been already taken
to the carriage. "Now, Louisa," said White. "Well, dearest, there's one
more place we must call at," she made answer; "tell John to drive to
Sharp's; we can go round by the nursery--it's only a few steps out of
the way--I want to say a word to the man there about our greenhouse;
there is no good gardener in our own neighbourhood."

"What is the good, Louisa, now?" said her husband; "we shan't be at home
this month to come;" and then, with due resignation, he directed the
coachman to the nurseryman's whom Louisa named, as he put her into the
carriage, and then followed her.

Charles breathed freely as they went out; a severe text of Scripture
rose on his mind, but he repressed the uncharitable feeling, and turned
himself to the anxious duties which lay before him.

CHAPTER III.

Nothing happened to Charles worth relating before his arrival at
Steventon next day; when, the afternoon