eyes of loving pride:

"Beautiful! yes," thinking, though he did not say so, that the most
beautiful thing in all that beautiful world was his little Sunshine, his
darling Joyce.

"I hope the weather will keep fine for the hay," he said; "but the glass
went up with a gallop yesterday; still, it looks fair enough this
morning."

"When are we to begin to cut the grass, daddy?"

"To-morrow, in the home meadow," was the reply. "I am going into Wells
to-day, for the magistrates' meeting."

"May I come, father?"

"Well, I've no objection, if mother has not," was the answer. "You must
ask her leave."

"I expect she will let me come. She is sure to have some shopping to do;
and you don't like commissions at shops, daddy."

The squire gave a significant shrug of his broad shoulders, and then the
two began to thread their way through the copse, and came out at last on
the side of the grass-covered hill, up which Joyce skipped with the
light step of a young fawn, with Nip and Pip scuffling along with her in
the highest glee, while the squire and Duke followed more slowly.

As she stood there in the light of the morning, Joyce Falconer was a
fair picture of happy, joyous maidenhood. Her figure was lithe and
supple, and though I am afraid her lilac cotton frock would be despised
as only fit for a maid-servant in these days, it became her well. It was
made with a full skirt and a loose body, cut rather low at the neck,
with sleeves which were large on the shoulder, gradually tightening to
the wrist, and displayed to advantage a well-rounded arm. Joyce's shoes
were thick; but though, perhaps, a trifle clumsy, they did not spoil the
symmetry of her pretty ankle and high-arched instep. Snowy "tuckers" of
crimped muslin were sewn into the neck and wrists of her gown, and she
wore an apron with a bib; an old-fashioned apron, guiltless of bows or
lace.

Her abundant chestnut hair was gathered on the top of her small head,
and fell in curls on either side of her smooth white brow; not concealed
now by the large Dunstable straw bonnet, which was hanging to her arm by
the strings, and left the gentle breeze of the morning free, to play
amongst the clustering curls, at their own sweet will.

Joyce's features were regular, and her complexion rosy and healthy.
Indeed, everything about her seemed to tell of youth and the full
enjoyment of the gifts which God had given her.

"A perfect little rustic!" her aunt in the Vicar's close a