t as upright as ever you can; make your back flat,
child, and don't poke. If I cough, you must draw up. I shall cough whenever
I see you do anything wrong, and I shall be looking at you all day; so
remember. You hold yourself very well, Edward. If Mr. Buxton asks you, you
may have a glass of wine, because you're a boy. But mind and say, 'Your
good health, sir,' before you drink it."

"I'd rather not have the wine if I'm to say that," said Edward, bluntly.

"Oh, nonsense! my dear. You'd wish to be like a gentleman, I'm sure."

Edward muttered something which was inaudible. His mother went on:

Of course you'll never think of being helped more than twice. Twice of
meat, twice of pudding, is the genteel thing. You may take less, but never
more."

"Oh, mamma! how beautiful Combehurst spire is, with that dark cloud behind
it!" exclaimed Maggie, as they came in sight of the town.

"You've no business with Combehurst spire when I'm speaking to you. I'm
talking myself out of breath to teach you how to behave, and there you go
looking after clouds, and such like rubbish. I'm ashamed of you."

Although Maggie walked quietly by her mother's side all the rest of the
way, Mrs. Browne was too much offended to resume her instructions on
good-breeding. Maggie might be helped three times if she liked: she had
done with her.

They were very early. When they drew near the bridge, they were met by a
tall, fine-looking boy, leading a beautiful little Shetland pony, with a
side-saddle on it. He came up to Mrs. Browne, and addressed her.

"My father thought your little girl would be tired, and he told me to bring
my cousin Erminia's pony for her. It's as quiet as can be."

Now this was rather provoking to Mrs. Browne, as she chose to consider
Maggie in disgrace. However, there was no help for it: all she could do was
to spoil the enjoyment as far as possible, by looking and speaking in a
cold manner, which often chilled Maggie's little heart, and took all the
zest out of the pleasure now. It was in vain that Frank Buxton made the
pony trot and canter; she still looked sad and grave.

"Little dull thing!" he thought; but he was as kind and considerate as a
gentlemanly boy could be.

At last they reached Mr. Buxton's house. It was in the main street, and the
front door opened upon it by a flight of steps. Wide on each side extended
the stone-coped windows. It was in reality a mansion, and needed not
the neighboring contrast of the c