o you, when the pweachin's done," Jamie promised. "Keep
close to me."

She did keep close to him when they entered the little grey church, and
found a sense of peace and quietness there. She sat by his side, close
to a massive pillar, near an open window set deep in the ancient wall.
The breath of the warm summer wandered in, and she did not criticise the
singing or the sermon. Through it all she could hear the distant
bleating of flocks and the hum of bees.

If she could always live a simple country life with Jamie, it would be
full of calm content. But the boy would grow up and demand more than her
slender means could provide; and he belonged to Mrs. Verdon. She did not
think she could endure a country life without Jamie. It would be better
to go back to the London street, and care for the children of the poor,
than live in rural solitude.

"Come and see the stone man," whispered Jamie, as soon as the service
was over.

She let him lead her into a side aisle where a battered knightly figure
lay on an altar-tomb. It was still and cool in this dim nook, and faint
lights and shadows fell softly on the old warrior in his repose. The boy
stood looking at him in silence.

"I wonder who he was," Elsie said in a low voice.

"His name was Lionel de Wayne," replied Arnold, at her elbow; "and he
was one of the goodliest knights that ever bare shield. 'His soul is
with the saints, I trust.'"

"Amen," said Elsie gravely. Jamie looked up at both the speakers with
big blue eyes.

"I have some records of him at the Court," Arnold went on. "You must
come and turn them over some day; if you care about such things, you
will find a store."

"I do care," she answered. "Why do you not write a book about the Court,
Mr. Wayne? England likes to know the histories of her stately old
houses, and there is a great deal to tell."

"We will write it together," he said; and her heart gave a sudden throb.

"We had lost you!" Mary Danforth exclaimed behind the pair. "Arnold,
Mrs. Verdon has promised to lunch with us; won't you come too?"

"I'll think about it," he replied, relapsing into that lazy manner which
his friends knew so well.

"There isn't much time to think of it," said Mary, rather sharply. "You
know father likes his luncheon punctually at half-past one."

"Don't let him wait for me. I was always a dawdling fellow."

Jamie held Elsie's hand as they walked home through the meadows. Miss
Ryan asked Mrs. Verdon to let her k