ll fell into a reverie, till
something in the children's chatter attracted her attention.

"Wasn't he nice this morning? Never saw him in such a good humour! Why,
he hardly ever speaks to us!--hates children, mamma says. Do you know,
Miss Leigh, Uncle Bromley never walked with us so far before."

"Perhaps he thinks you are getting to a more companionable age," said
Bluebell, blushing; but her heart bounded triumphantly.

It was an intensely hot afternoon. The ladies and some of the gentlemen
were grouped under the lime-trees near the house. Kate, standing by a
gipsy table, was pouring out tea, and keeping up a running fire of merry
nonsense, her usual staff of danglers hovering near. The elder ladies
seemed equally content, knitting shawls and weaving scandal. The bees
were humming in the limes, "the rich music of a summer bird" overhead.
The very air seemed green in the shadow of the trees.

"There," cried Kate, petulantly, "as sure as ever one is innocently happy
in this wicked world, some species of amateur police obliges one to 'move
on.'" And she glanced over her shoulder at a gentleman approaching.

He walked straight up to the group with a business-like, uncompromising
manner, very different to the _dolce far niente_ attitudes; yet four of
the number rose at once to join him.

"Do have a cup of tea," cried Kate, enticingly, with the view to a
reprieve.

"No, thank you; never touch it. There is not _too_ much time, Miss
Barrington."

"I know, I know," with a resigned air, and a shrug to the four who had
risen. And without another word they all mysteriously followed their
summoner to the house.

"What can they be going to do with Mr. Barton?" asked one of the ladies.

"Oh, it's a great secret," said Mrs. Barrington, laughing affectedly,
"if they can only keep it."

In fact, it was a rehearsal. Mr. Barton was stage-manager, and ruled them
with a rod of iron. He made the timid "speak up," the giddy, practise
over and over again which side of the stage they were to enter and leave
by; threw more spirit in here, checked ranting there, and ventured to
object to the key in which Kate, as heroine, sang her song. He permitted
"gagging" as a proof of presence of mind, provided the cue was
forthcoming; but now his great soul was perturbed by the absence of a
prompter.

"We really cannot do without one any longer," cried he, in urgent appeal
to Kate, who rang the bell with an air of conviction.

"I will send f