Barnicroft was indeed quite unlike other people;
her very food was different, for she lived on vegetables and drank
goat's milk. It was even whispered that she did not sleep in a bed, but
in a hammock slung up to the ceiling.

Nothing could be more interesting than all this, but the children did
not see her very often, for she went out seldom and never came to
church. Occasionally, however, she paid a visit to the Vicarage, when
she would ask for the vicar and carry on a very long conversation with
him on all manner of subjects, darting from one to the other with most
confusing speed. Mr Hawthorne did not appreciate these visits very
much, but the children were always pleasantly excited by them. When,
therefore, Nancy caught sight of Miss Barnicroft proceeding up the drive
she abruptly left the subject of Kettles' boots and stockings, and lost
no time in pointing out the visitor to her mother.

"I expect Miss Barnicroft wants to see your father," said Mrs
Hawthorne.

And so indeed it proved, for by the time they reached the door Miss
Barnicroft had been shown into the study, and to their great
disappointment the girls saw her no more.

Ambrose, however, was more fortunate, for it chanced that afternoon that
he had been excused some of his lessons on account of a headache, and at
that very moment was lying flat on the hearth-rug in his father's study
with a book. He was afraid, on the visitor's entrance, that he would be
sent away, but was soon relieved to find that no notice was taken of
him, so that he was able to see and hear all that passed. What a lucky
chance! and what a lot he would have to tell the others!

At first the conversation was not interesting, for it was about some
question of taxation which he did not understand; but suddenly dropping
this, Miss Barnicroft began to tell a story of some white owls who lived
in the keep of a castle in Scotland. Just as the point of this history
was reached she dropped that too, and asked, casting a lofty and
careless glance down at Ambrose:

"Is that one of your children?"

"That is my eldest boy," said the vicar. "Come and speak to Miss
Barnicroft, Ambrose."

"Ah!" said Miss Barnicroft with a coldly disapproving look as Ambrose
shyly advanced, "I don't like boys."

"How is that?" asked Mr Hawthorne.

"They grow to be men," she answered with a shudder, "and even while they
are young there is no barbarity of which they are not capable. I could
believ