the little girl's tears were stopped by the ridiculous appearance of one of Harry's young bunnies, which he held up before her attired in the frock and bonnet of the wounded doll; while Bessie's anger, when Harry seized her best Dorking hen (fluttering in fear as it watched its strange brood of ducklings taking to the water), and sent it flying into the little river Evenlode, telling it "it ought to be ashamed not to go and look after its own young 'uns," was appeased by the willingness with which he stripped off his shoes and stockings to wade in after the drowning bird, and the gentleness with which he brought it out of the water, and placed it in a sunny nook to warm and dry its feathers after the sudden bath he had given it. To this young urchin did Bessie confide the care of her long-eared steed and its little cart, and no high-bred horse in lordly stable was ever more anxiously groomed or more carefully tended than was Bessie's rough little donkey by its young groom, while Rose and Mary vied with each other in gathering nosegays from their own gardens to adorn it ere it started every Tuesday morning for the market in Woodstock.

But donkeys, though gaily adorned and lovingly treated, will be donkeys still, and so it befel that one day, as Bessie with her cartful of goods for market was tripping along by its side, her animal took it into its head to stand stock-still at the foot of a little hill, and no coaxing of Bessie's, no pulling of Harry's, who had gone so far with her on his way to school, could induce the donkey to do more than throw out his hind legs, and threaten to kick in a manner which put into imminent danger her fine fresh eggs and the baskets of delicate mushrooms which Rose had risen at day-dawn to gather. The last resource of hitting the obstinate animal only increased these ominous signs, and Bessie was beginning to despair, when the sharp stroke of a whip, and a sudden push from behind the cart, so startled the donkey that it went off in a brisk trot; while Bessie's already glowing face mantled with the brightest blushes as she turned round to thank the giver of this welcome assistance, and found herself close to Philip Maxwell.

"I am sure if you are obliged to me, Miss Bessie, I am very much obliged to your donkey for making you speak to me once more. I began to think I was never to have the pleasure of hearing your voice again. May I not walk a little way towards the market with you?" he added, as Bessie, though still smiling and blushing, seemed inclined to start off again and leave him alone. "Very likely you may want help again; at any rate, I may as well be at hand in case you do. I have been wishing some time to tell you how glad I am you have a cart now, instead of being obliged to carry your heavy basket. It's no wonder you are growing rich, for my mother says there is no poultry like yours in Woodstock market, and that she, would rather have you to look

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after her farm-yard and dairy than any girl in the country round. She is not the only one who thinks that, Bessie."

"Mrs. Maxwell is very kind, and I thank her for her good opinion of me," said little Bessie, not without a slight tone of triumph in her voice; "but the donkey goes very well now, thank you, sir, and I am so near the market that I do not think there is any fear of his stopping again." And Bessie dropped a little curtsey and went on with her cart, while Philip, between fear of offending the little maiden by following her, and vexation at the cool way in which she received his advances towards reconciliation, stood in the middle of the road looking at Bessie, and tapping the heel of his boot with his whip, for some minutes before he started on his way home again.

"Why, Philip, man, what ails you? I think you are growing soft! Here's little Lizzie been asking you for milk this three minutes, and you've taken no more notice of the poor child than you would of a young sparrow, and now you've just emptied your mug of beer into my teacup! What is come to you, lad? Is Miss Angy coming home with a London volunteer for a lover? She had much better stay, and keep him company there; the London smoke and lamplight will suit her painted flowers better than our fresh country air, where we get the real things for nothing. She's a deal better in London; I hope she is not coming back," said Mrs. Maxwell, as Philip, who had joined the breakfasttable at the farm after his encounter with Bessie, gave evident signs of the preoccupied and not very well pleased state of his mind. "I hope she is not coming back, Philip!"

"I am sure I do not know, mother, and, what's more, I don't care," said Philip.

"That's the best 'don't care' I have heard for many a day," said Mrs. Maxwell; "but if it's not Miss Angy, who, or what is it, makes you look as sour as two-days'-old milk? I declare it sets one's teeth on edge to sit near you! Well, Phil, I don't wish to hurt you, and Lizzie has got lots of milk and sugar, too, now; she is quite happy on your knee, bless her!"

For Lizzie, with a child's instinct, had seen that Philip winced under his mother's remarks, and, with the pretty conceit of a petted one, had clambered up to console her brother by kissing his cheek, and whispering, "Lizzie loves Philip!" whilst he, in return for the little girl's sympathy, had drawn towards her everything on the table that he thought would please her.

"Perhaps it is best to let him alone," said Mrs. Maxwell to herself; "he will come round some day; at any rate, it is a comfort to think he has given up Miss Angy!"

The fields have put on the golden hue of autumn; the hedges are covered with the bright poisonous berries of the nightshade, mingled with the delicate clematis and sweet-smelling honeysuckle;

the blackberries are beginning to ripen; and already the hazelbushes have been rifled by impatient young nutting parties. August has come, and the children in many a village round Woodstock are counting the days that must elapse before the 15th, when the great holiday of the year, the school treat in Blenheim Park, is to be given.

Bessie's fingers have been very busy lately, and more than one visit has the little maiden paid to the linendraper's at Woodstock, for not only must Rose and Mary have new frocks bought with Bessie's savings, but grannie, "dear grannie," is to have a shawl and dress from the same source. The park gates are to be thrown open to all on the treat day-young and old, rich and poor, are to be invited to wander amid the beautiful gardens of Blenheim; and upwards of a thousand boys and girls are to feast upon the cakes and tea provided for them by the kind and noble Duke of Marlborough.

Many a little face was seen peeping from the lattice windows of the cottagers very early on the morning of the 15th, and many an anxious hope was expressed that the clouds would roll away and the sun shine out, while in every village near the park gaily painted waggons were being prepared for the reception of the happy little people by the farmers, who good naturedly afforded them this means of conveyance. By one o'clock the roads from Bladon, Stonesfield, Woodstock, and many other places towards Blenheim, were enlivened by the merry shouts of children as they rode beneath the fresh cool branches of trees which had been fastened to the sides of the waggons to shield them from the midday sun. Along the road walked the parents and the elder brothers and sisters, rejoicing in the happiness of the young ones. At Mrs. Leigh's cottage the bustle had been great. It was arranged that grannie should go as far as the park gates in Bessie's donkey-cart, and Harry's state of excitement and desire to give this an extra cleaning, and to brush the donkey until the patient beast began to doubt whether he should have any coat left, caused this young gentleman to leave his bed at least two hours earlier than usual, and, in consequence, to be so tired and sleepy by breakfast-time, and so cross and perverse, that he narrowly escaped a flogging from his father by Bessie's coaxing him to go and take a good sleep while she got the others ready. Then, when the waggon came, although Harry, Rose, Mary, Willie, and Anne were all ready and willing to enter, it took at least five minutes to induce little Dick to leave his mother and go amongst the other children. At last all were fairly started, and by the time that old Mrs. Leigh, with her son and his wife and Bessie, had found a grassy slope whence they could see the happy gathering, the duke and duchess, with many a high-born friend, and surrounded by their own fair young family, had come to welcome their lowlier,

but not less welcome, visitors of the day. Immediately below the terrace on which they stood were ranged the bands of children, and soon was heard the shrill sweet sound of infant voices singing,

O praise the Lord in that blest place

From whence His goodness largely flows.

The hymn over, the children dispersed to play until the bell summoned them to tea, and then two and two they walked to the feast.

"There's our Harry," said Mrs. Leigh, as the Woodstock boys marched by. "Well, master, I don't think you could find a brighter face than his if you searched for it the longest summer day! How he does step out to the tune the band plays! He won't see us, though," she added, as Harry, his eyes sparkling and his head thrown back, came on in the procession, evidently considering himself in far too dignified a position to take notice of the group who were watching him with so much loving pride. The smaller boys followed, and among them little Dick, but no sooner did he catch a glimpse of his mother, than all the courage they had coaxed into him forsook him. Dropping the hand of his little companion, he sprung to the side of Mrs. Leigh, and, fastening his fat hands in her gown, he held tight, regardless of every entreaty, every temptation to leave her again.

"Me want no cake-me stay with mammy," said the sturdy little fellow, brave enough now that he found himself close to his mother, and saw, young as he was, the fond happy smile which told how glad she was to keep him with her.

Among the many who that day wandered through the gardens of Blenheim, few seemed more interested in the subject of their conversation than our two friends, Mrs. Sprinks and Mrs. Maxwell; but it was not of Alderney or of any other cows they talked.

"Only to think," said Mrs. Sprinks, "that after all her schooling and the three hundred pounds, neither more nor less, she cost us in the three years she was at Oxford-only think, ma'am, of the news my sister sent me of Angy last week!"

Mrs. Maxwell had felt far more charitably towards Angelina since she had ceased to dread her power over Philip, and it was with real kindness she expressed a hope that no ill had befallen

her.

"Well, not ill exactly," whined Mrs. Sprinks, "but she is going to be married to a greengrocer in a London street, who says the only music fit for such as him is what he hears the "Talian boys grind on their organs, and who will expect Angy to wear a cotton gown and mind the shop. It's all my sister's doing, I know; she was always plaguing me, and saying I was doing worse than only wasting my money in giving Angy what she called 'a would-be lady's education; and now she writes me word I may think my

self lucky I have done so little harm, and hopes I shall be thankful to hear my daughter has a prospect of settling herself so respectably. Respectably, indeed! I wish John had his three hundred safe in his pocket again, that I do. Susan says Mr. Brown is a kind, steady, well-to-do man, who will lead Angy all right, and make her a good useful woman some day; and John seems rather glad at the news than otherwise, but I own to you, Mrs. Maxwell, I thought of something better for our girl, after all we had spent, than to look after potatoes and cabbages in a London shop!"

"She won't have much room for those iron hoops there," was Mrs. Maxwell's first laughing thought. "Well, ma'am, it certainly does seem a pity," she said, aloud, "that so much good money should have been spent to get what would have been better left alone; but what is done cannot be helped; it's no use, as they say, crying over spilt milk. Miss Angy might have had worse luck than this, only I don't quite understand how she has made up her mind to do anything so-sensible, if you won't take offence at my saying so."

"No offence taken, ma'am, where none is meant. Susan says she began talking to the girl as soon as she went to her about the nonsense of aping dress and manners which did not belong to her station, and Angy saw how happy her aunt and cousins were doing their duty where God had placed them; so, by degrees, she began to think that busy, useful hands made merry hearts, and that a good husband, whose home she could make happy, would be better than all the balls and love-stories she had liked before; and then, just at the right time, came this Mr. Brown with his plain, honest wooing. Susan backed him, of course, and so Angy soon said, 'Yes.' I hope she will be happy; but, law's me, she little knows the cares she'll have as a family comes around her; it's a'most enough to break one's back, that it is!"

"Oh! the back is well jointed, and bends to its burdens instead of breaking," said Mrs. Maxwell, cheerily. "I am very glad Miss Angy has such happy prospects. But here come all the children back from tea; it does one's heart good to see them look so happy. I would rather be this Duke of Marlborough, with all these young innocent things about my park, than the first duke who brought the palace to the family by spilling the blood of his fellow-creatures, and gaining victories with the lives of thousands of those who were once happy English boys. But still he fought for his Queen and country, and was a brave, good man, they say, and it's not for me to speak disrespectfully of any one belonging to Blenheim; it is a real blessing to have them in our neighbourhood. Here comes Lizzie, and there is little Rose Leigh, and there is your Lucy, Mrs. Sprinks; let us go and see them play on the green sward. I hear the clergy and the ladies are all going to join in the games, and

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