efore, when she began to dispense the excellent
breakfast, laid in a large, cool hall at the back of the manor, which
was connected, by a square opening in the thick wall, with the kitchen.

The squire, who was generally so jovial and cheery, ate his cold pressed
beef and drank his glass of "home-brew" in silence. He professed to be
engrossed with a Bath paper several days old, and did not invite
conversation.

Piers played with some bread-and-milk his mother set before him: his
appetite was never good; but Joyce despatched hot rolls and ham with a
great appetite, which I am afraid would shock some of our modern notions
nowadays.

Tea and coffee were not the staple beverages at breakfast in those
times; but when the heavier part of the meal was over Joyce handed her
father a fragrant cup, with some thin toast done to a turn, for which
Mrs. Falconer called from the kitchen through the window, communicating
with it, and fitted with a sliding shutter, which was promptly closed
when the tray had been received from the hands of one of the maids.

"So you are thinking of going into Wells to-day, Arthur?" Mrs. Falconer
said when, breakfast drawing to a conclusion, she began to pile the
plates together, and put all the scraps on one, for the benefit of Nip
and Pip, who had been lying in the window-seat for the past half-hour in
a state of suppressed excitement, with their noses on their paws, and
their eyes fixed upon that end of the table where their mistress
presided.

The noise made by the piling up of the plates was now a decided
movement, and Nip and Pip began to wriggle and leap, and finally subside
on their hind legs as Joyce called out: "Trust, Nip! trust, Pip!" and
then, after what she considered a due time spent in an erect position,
the plate was put down before them, and its contents vanished in a
twinkling.

"Well, Joyce, will you be ready by eleven o'clock?" Mr. Falconer asked
as he left the room.

Joyce was silent, and her mother said:

"Yes, yes, she shall be ready; if she is brisk she can get through all I
want." Then Mrs. Falconer began to put all the silver into a wooden
bowl, and rubbed it herself with the washleather when it was dried.

She had just finished this part of her daily routine when the door
opened and her son Melville came in. His appearance would be ridiculous
in the eyes of the dandies of to-day, but in his own, at least, it was
as near perfection as possible.

His hair was curled