even Squire Dimity's pantry-boy might not have the kindness to black poor Mrs. Dimity's boots.

66

My love, what is the use of this consultation? I am perfectly-perfectly-perfectly satisfied with all you decide on about the girls," exclaimed the squire when they were left alone, preparing to bolt.

"Oh no, John! you might reproach me hereafter," and out came a damp handkerchief.

"But, my darling-my darling!" expostulated Mr. Dimity, who always grew extremely affectionate in language during such domestic scenes. Then, as Mrs. Dimity turned to draw her own easy-chair nearer very solemnly, he threw up the window-sash with a cheerful grin, and, the lawn and the hay being just outside, prepared in his own mind "to cut and run," as he mentally expressed it.

"You'll stay, John?" said his wife, with feeble spirit.

And so the poor squire was accordingly obliged to do for the next quarter of an hour by the clock.

CHAPTER II.

There were his young barbarians all at play.

THE two sisters had no sooner left the drawing-room than, on their slow, very slow, progress upstairs to the schoolroom, they twined their arms round each other's waists in sign of mutual sympathy. Young Polly looked very hard in her sister's face, to express consolation and hope. Daisy drooped her head and gazed over the balusters, as who should say, "If I am not to go-it will be my duty to try and bear it; but one may always weep."

Meanwhile, such a fearful racket was going on overhead in the schoolroom, where these two young daily governesses were being missed by their juvenile brethren, that the sisters dared not linger longer on the stairs over their little embraces and mutual agonies of doubt and fear.

Mrs. Dimity said she had heard "a little noise," like the gentle mother of many she was. Why, the din was ear-splitting!

On opening the door, all the Tribe of Gad, as the

squire called his second family, was discovered at tribal play. Billy, the eldest, was standing in his hob-nailed boots on the top of the cottage piano, flinging cane chairs across the room to Bobby, who received them mounted aloft devastatingly among lesson-books and desks on the schoolroom table.

Billy's aim was edifyingly accurate; but his younger brother's missiles generally fell short, when each crash was signalised by a war-whoop and savage dance of joy.

Jemmy, the third, was "niggering" himself, by adorning his rosy cheeks with black, brought with pains from the highest attainable recesses of the chimney. But this was remediable.

On the other side there was meek Master Charlie, Mrs. Dimity's delicate darling, supposed by his mamma to be incapable of mischief, who was now silently amusing himself by snipping short the eyelashes of his baby brother, whom to that end he had propped up in a corner, and fenced in with a sofa cushion, to prevent the recalcitrant infant from crawling away; and, whenever the baby remonstrated with a howl, Charlie either gently pummelled him, or read him a lecture on the sin of rebellion to his elders. Mrs. Dimity destined Charlie to be a clergyman.

The two sisters, being accustomed to such sights, did not wait long to express horror, but very quickly restored some order.

Daisy gently reasoned, young Polly scolded soundly, according to their respective natures.

Then the desks and lesson-books were put to use again; but the two little governesses had not their hearts in the tasks much more than the pupils, their ears being strained to catch the opening of the drawing-room door, and heads being often quickly raised in sudden expectation.

"Now, Jemmy dear, spell gig," said Daisy, encouragingly, but with a secret sigh.

66

Gig!" slowly soliloquised Jemmy; and then, struck with a phonetic inspiration, he uttered confidently, like a young Scotchman, what sounded like, "Gie-i-gie."

66

Now, Jemmy, there is no letter in the whole alphabet that sounds like your gie."

"Then there ought to be."

"Jemmy! That is really naughty. Now listen. G-i-g spells gig. Say it after me."

"G-i-g, jig," observed Jemmy, gazing out of the window. with a heart longing after green fields.

Fresh remonstrances from Daisy; ever increasing obstinacy on the part of Jemmy.

A lively argument began, in which the unfortunate syllable was shuttlecocked to and fro between them, Jemmy stoutly holding to it that his system was the most reasonable, when hark!

That was the drawing-room door at last, and Mrs. Dimity's step ascending in its limp, listless way, as usual.

Daisy's heart beat a tattoo. Polly stood still, in the act of administering a cuff to Bobby.

The door opened, and their stepmother's meek long face looked in with the smile of one whose modest claims as to the respectability of her family had been recognised. "I have laid the whole matter before your father, my dears, and he says- ("Oh! why can't she be quick?" mentally ejaculated the sisters)-" he says... that he sees, after all, no positive objection to your going to stay with my second cousin."

Great joy!

Daisy instantly flew to give her stepmother a kiss, who presented a long-suffering cheek for that purpose. Polly clapped her hands. The tribe, not knowing the cause of rejoicing, but ready to join in any excitement, made sundry ecstatic noises, whilst Jemmy relieved his feelings by shrieking "G-i-g, jig !" several times unreproved.

Then they all clamoured for a holiday.

"Oh, yes, let them off for to-day," pleaded Polly. "There is so much to think of, you know, for Daisy has only three days to prepare."

"Yes, and what shall I wear?" dismally added Daisy, one difficulty no sooner surmounted than a fresh one, like a still higher hill, appeared rising before her.

Mrs. Dimity agreed to the dismissal of the scholars, resignedly indeed, in her own way she was one of the kindest-intentioned of women, though cheerfulness was an effort to her.

So, left in peace, with the schoolroom emptied of all its turbulent inhabitants, the three ladies sat down to hold a severe feminine committee on what articles of dress Miss Dimity must take to Marstown-above all, to discuss the make of that ethereal robe in which she must float before

the admiring eyes of Jack and his brother officers on the great occasion of their regimental ball.

(What shall we wear? Is not that the first tremendous question to nine-tenths of British girls on hearing of any gaiety to come? The remaining tenth may be too rich, or too blue, or too hoydenish, or too slovenly to share the feeling.)

Luckily most luckily-Madame Furbelow, of the adjacent town, had come back from Paris (so she declared) a month ago, bringing one exquisite, white, model ball-gown, which had been admired by all that lady's customers; surreptitiously copied; but not bought-oh, dear, no! for balls were rare, indeed, in that bucolic land, and money, though plentiful enough, was more soundly invested; so Madame Furbelow's gown bade fair to remain on her hands.

"But, now, your father says I may drive in and buy it for you," said Mrs. Dimity, losing all her melancholy at the interesting prospect of shopping. "I told him it was dreadfully dear, but a bargain-lined with Bonnet's white silk, you know—and he said he might as well 'go the whole hog' when he was about it. Very rude of him."

"Very good of him."

The sentences jostled against each other; but, as they all understood each other, no one stopped to give explanations.

Everybody knew the model gown in these parts, and what it cost; but it would strike the beholders in Marstown as something quite new, all three agreed.

"Well, if you two drive over this afternoon, I'll walk to tell the laundress," said Polly, magnanimously. The squire's hired household being modest enough in number, the family employed a cottager's wife to wash, who lived a mile away, down long dusty lanes. "I'd better tell her to put ever so much more starch in your cotton gowns," remarked Polly, with a thoughtful demeanour. "It gives one an air of far greater consequence."

"You have not got a really handsome lace handkerchief for the ball?" considerately observed Mrs. Dimity, adding, with a supreme effort of good-nature, "Well, I will lend you my wedding one. It was a present from my Aunt Jones, and cost three pounds fifteen shillings, so you'll have to be very careful of it."

Was there ever such a pearl of price of a stepmother? Daisy interrupted her with voluble thanks and assurances of so guarding the existence of that handkerchief that, if she kept her promise strictly, it was extremely unlikely that she would enjoy herself at all on the night of the ball in question.

"And I'll lend you my new hat," quoth Polly, not to be outdone in generosity.

But Daisy demurred before accepting such a sacrifice. Had not Polly lumped the little last all of her quarterly allowance on that hat, which was "the sweetest thing" at Madame Furbelow's? Had not the elder Miss Dimity, sighing in admiration, acknowledged she could not afford such another, her accounts being too delicately balanced? -and debt representing itself to the sisters as an abyss of awfulness even blacker (because unknown) than to the good squire's mind.

But Polly insisted, and gained the day. Was there ever such a sister?-Far above rubies!

"Some other time you can, maybe, do as much again for me," said the younger, with an awkward laugh, not wanting to pose as a benefactress.

"Yes, indeed. Some day or other, if your sister is married, she may lend you something smart when you come out, Polly," responded Mrs. Dimity, so animated that she felt inclined to joke in some mild way; although at that the two young sisters shyly drew back, being fastidiously sensitive on such subjects.

The good lady was not fastidious, but still too much of a gentlewoman to utter the thought in her mind—that had, indeed, reigned supreme there ever since Jack's all-important letter came-which was, that maybe Daisy might meet her future husband at Marstown. As a stepmother, Mrs. Dimity indeed feebly hoped it might be so. Of course nobody-no girl, she owned-could be more useful to her little stepbrothers than Daisy.

1

That was very true.

On the other hand, was it not aggravating for a person of Mrs. Dimity's undecided appearance as to age to have such a grown-up stepdaughter?

Strangers had absolutely been rude enough to suppose her to be Mrs. Dimity's own daughter. So ridiculous! "Daisy-Daisy !" the squire was now heard shouting.