and shimmered in the light, and it
touched with radiance the figure of a young girl who was standing by a
white gate which led into a copse sloping upward to the crest of a hill,
behind the old manor, and crowned by a belt of fir-trees.

Joyce had her hand on the latch of the gate, but paused for a moment to
look back on the landscape which lay stretched out before her.

A peaceful valley was below, where the tower of Fair Acres church rose
against a background of trees, now in their first fresh beauty. A few
cottages with red roofs clustered round the church, and two or three
farms were sprinkled at a farther distance. A rugged outline of hills at
a higher level, showed where the Ebbor rocks open out a miniature
Cheddar, and on the other side of that little gorge lay the open
country, where the city of the deep springs lies, with its noble
cathedral, and quaint Close, and stately baronial Palace--the beautiful
cathedral village of Wells.

Joyce Falconer was looking forth upon life as upon this goodly
landscape. She was in the fresh spring-time of seventeen summers. Her
father called her Sunshine, and her brothers Birdie; while her mother,
who was a plain, practical person, and who indulged in no flights of
fancy, would say, "Joyce is the child's name; and what can suit her
better? I don't like nick-names."

Nevertheless the nick-names held their own, and as Joyce stood by the
white gate, a voice was heard resounding from the lawn below:

"Hallo, Sunshine!"

"Father, come up the hill. It is so lovely this morning."

The squire advanced with steady, even footsteps. He was a fine, stalwart
man, dressed in a stout suit of corduroy, and with leggings buttoned up
to his knees. He carried a gun under his arm--more from habit than from
any idea of using it just then--and close at his heels walked, with
sedate and leisurely bearing, his chief friend and companion, a large
retriever, Duke; while two little terriers, Nip and Pip, bustled about
in every direction, scenting with their sharp noses, and occasionally
turning upon each other to have a playful passage of arms which, though
accompanied by ominous growls, meant nothing but fun.

"I am up first to-day, daddy!" Joyce exclaimed, as she went down the
gentle descent and linked her arm in her father's. "I am first, and is
not it beautiful to be alive on such a day?"

The squire paused, and putting his arm round his daughter's waist, he
said, looking down at her with