'No; and it is rather disheartening to have to address double ranks of umbrellas,' said Aunt Jane. 'Is the post come?'

'It is always infamously late here,' said Harry. 'We complained, as the appointed hour is eight, but we were told "all the other ladies were satisfied." I believe they think no one not in business has a right to wish for letters before nine.'

Here it comes, though,' said Gillian; and in due time the locked etter bag was delivered to Lady Merrifield, and Primrose waited eagerly to act as postman.

It was not the day for the Indian mail, but Aunt Jane expected some last directions, and Lady Merrifield the final intelligence as to the numbers of each contingent of girls. Dolores was on the qui vive for a letter from Maude Sefton, and devoured her aunt and the bag with her eyes. She was quite sure that among the bundle of postcards that were taken out there was a letter. Also she saw her aunt give a little start, and put it aside, and when she demanded, Is there no letter for me?' Lady Merrifield's answer was, 'None, dear, from Miss Sefton.'

my

Hot indignation glowed in Dolores's cheeks and eyes, more especially as she perceived a look pass between the two aunts. She sat swelling while talk about the chances of rain was passing round her, the forecasts in the paper, the cats washing their faces, the swallows flying low, the upshot being that it might be fine, but that emergencies were to be prepared for. All the time that Lady Merrifield was giving orders to children and servants for the preparations, Dolores kept her station, and the instant there was a vacant moment, she said, fiercely

'Aunt Lilias, I know there is a letter for me. Let me have it.'

'Your father told me you might have letters from Miss Sefton, and there is none from her,' said Lady Merrifield, with a somewhat perplexed air.

'I may have letters from whom I choose.'

'My dear, that is not the custom in general with girls of your age, and I know your father would not wish it. Tell me, is there any one you have reason to expect to hear from?'

Dolores had an instinct that all the Mohuns were set against the person she was thinking of, but she had an answer ready, true, but which would serve her purpose.

'There was a person, Herr Mühlwausser, that father ordered some scientific plates from-of microscopic zoophytes. He said he did not know whether anything would come of it, but in case it should he gave my address, and left me a cheque to pay him with. I have it in my desk up stairs.'

Very well, my dear,' said Lady Merrifield, 'you shall have the letter when it comes.'

'The men are come, my lady, to put up the tables. Miss Mohun

says will you come down?' came the information at that moment, sweeping away Aunt Lilias and everybody else into the whirl of preparation; while Dolores remained, feeling absolutely certain that a letter was being withheld from her, and she stood on the garden steps burning with hot indignation, when Mysie, armed with the key of the linen press, flashed past her breathlessly, exclaiming

'Aren't you coming down, Dolly? 'Tis such fun! I'm come for some table-cloths.'

This didn't stir Dolores, but presently Mysie returned again, followed by Mrs. Halfpenny, grumbling that 'A' the bonnie napery that she had packed and carried sae mony miles by sea and land should be waured on a wheen silly feekless taupies that 'tis the leddies' wull to cocker up till not a lass of 'em will do a stroke of wark nor gie a ceevil answer to her elders.'

Mysie, with a bundle of damask cloths under her arm, paused to repeat, Are not you coming, Dolly? Your dear Miss Constance is there looking for you.'

This did move Dolores, and she followed to the coach-house, where everybody was buzzing about like bees, the tables and forms being arranged, and upon them dishes with piles of fruit and cakes, contributions from other associates. All the vases, great and small, were brought out, and raids were made on the flower garden to fill them. Little scarlet flags, with the name of each parish in white, were placed to direct the parties of guests to their places, and Harry, Macrae, and the little groom were adorning the beams with festoons. The men from the coffee tavern supplied the essentials, but the ladies undertook the decoration, and Aunt Adeline, in a basket-chair, with her feet on a box, directed the ornamentation with great taste and ability. Constance Hacket had been told off to make up a little bouquet to lay beside each plate, and Dolores volunteered to help her.

'Well, dearest, will you come to me on Sunday?'

'I don't know. I have not been able to ask Aunt Lilias yet, and Gillian was very cross about it.'

'What did she say?'

'She said she did not think Aunt Lilias approved of visiting and gossiping on Sundays.'

'Oh! now. hurt voice.

What does Gillian do herself?' said Constance in a

'She does come and teach, certainly, but she stays ever so long talking after the class is over. Why should we gossip more than she does?'

'Yes; but people's own children can do no wrong.'

There Constance became inattentive. Mr. Poulter had come up, and wanted to be useful, so she jumped up with a handful of nosegays to instruct him in laying them by each plate, leaving Dolores to herself, which she found dull. The other two, however, came back again, and the work continued, but the talk was entirely between the

gentleman and lady, chiefly about music for the choral society, and the voices of the singers, about which Dolores neither knew nor cared.

By one o'clock the long tables were a pretty sight, covered with piles of fruit and cakes, vases of flowers and little flags, establishments of tea-cups at intervals, and a bouquet and pretty card at every one of the plates.

Then came early dinner at the house, and such rest as could be had after it, till the pony-chaise, waggonette, and Mrs. Blackburne's carriage came to the door to convey to church all whom they could carry, the rest walking.

The church was a sea of neat round hats, mostly black, with a considerable proportion of feathers, tufts, and flowers. On their dark dresses were pinned rosettes of different-coloured ribbon, to show to which parish they belonged. There was a bright, short service, in which the clear high voices of the multitudinous maidens quite overcame those of the choir boys, and then an address, respecting which Constance pronounced that 'Canon Fremont was always so sweet,' and Dolores assented, without in the least knowing what it had been about.

Constance, who had driven down, was to have kept guard, in the walk from church, over the white-rosed Silverton detachment; but another shower was impending, and Miss Hacket, declaring that Conny must not get wet, rushed up and packed her into the waggonette, where Dolores was climbing after, when at a touch from Gillian, Lady Merrifield looked round.

'Dolores,' she said, 'you forget that Miss Hacket walked to church.' Dolores turned on the step, her face looking as black as thunder, and Miss Hacket protested that she was not tired, and could not leave her girls.

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'Never mind the girls, I will look after them; I meant to walk. Don't stand on the step. Come down,' she added sharply, but not in time, for the horses gave a jerk, and, with a scream from Constance, down tumbled Dolores, or would have tumbled, but that she was caught between her aunt and Miss Hacket, who with one voice admonished her never to do that again, for there was nothing more dangerous. Indeed, there was more anger in Lady Merrifield's tone than her niece had yet heard, and as there was no making out that there was the least injury to the girl, she was forced to walk home, in spite of all Miss Hacket's protestations and refusals, which had nearly ended in her exposing herself to the same peril as Dolores, only that Lady Merrifield fairly pushed her in and shut the door on her. Nothing would have compensated to Dolores but that her Constance should have jumped out to accompany her and bewail her aunt's cruelty, but devotion did not reach to such an extent. Her aunt, however, said in a tone that might be either apology or reproof

'My dear, I could not let poor Miss Hacket walk after all she has done and with all she has to do to-day.'

Dolores vouchsafed no answer, but Aunt Jane said—

'All which applies doubly to you, Lily.'

'Not a bit; I have not run about like all of you,' she answered, brightly. Besides, it is such fun! I feel like Whit Monday at Beechcroft! Don't you remember the pink and blue glazed calico banners crowned with summer snowballs? And the big drum? What a nice-looking set of girls! How pleasant to see rosy English faces tidily got up! They were rosy enough in Ireland, but a great deal too picturesque. Now these are a sort of flower of maidenhood

'You are getting quite poetical, Lily.'

'It's the effect of walking in procession-there's something quite exhilarating in it; ay, and of having a bit of old Beechcroft about me. Do tell me who that lady is; I ought to know her, I'm sure! Oh, Mrs. Smith, good morning. How many girls have you brought? Oh! the crimson rosettes, are they? York and Lancaster ?—indeed. I'm glad we have some shelter for them; I'm afraid there is another shower. Have you no umbrella, my dear? Come under mine.'

It was a fierce scud of hail, hitting rather than wetting, but Dolores had the satisfaction of declaring the edges of her dress to be damp and going off to change it, though Aunt Jane pinched the kilting and said the damp was imperceptible, and Wilfred muttered, 'Made of sugar, only not so sweet.'

In fact, she hoped that Constance, who had told her of hatred to these great functions and willingness to do anything to avoid them, would avail herself of the excuse; but though the young lady must have seen her go, she never attempted to follow; and Dolores, feeling her own room dull, came down again to find the drawing-room empty, and on the next gleam of sunshine she decided on going to seek her friend. What a hum and buzz pervaded the stable-yard! There was the coach-house with all its great doors open, and the row of girls awaken. ing from their first shy and hungry silence into laughter and talking. There were big urns and fountains steaming, active hands filling cups, all the cousins, all their congeners, and four or five clergymen acting as waiters, Aunt Adeline pouring out tea at the upper table for any associate who had time to swallow it, and Constance Hacket talking away to a sandy-haired curate, without so much as seeing her friend! Only Wilfred, at sight of his cousin again, getting up a violent mock cough, declaring that he thought she had gone to bed with congealed lungs or else Brown Titus, as the old women called it. His mother, however, heard the cough-which indeed was too remarkable a sound not to attract any one-and with a short, sharp word to him to take care, she put Dolores down under Aunt Ada's wing, and provided her with a lovely peach and a delicious Bath bun. Constance just looked and nodded, saying, 'You dear little thing, I couldn't think what was

up

become of you,' and then went on with her sandy curate, about—what was it?-Dolores knew not, only that it seemed very interesting, and she was left out of it.

Down came the rain, a hopeless downpour, and there was a consultation among the elders, some laughing, some doubtful looks, and at last Harry, with Macrae and one of the curates, disappeared. Then grace was sung, and speeches followed-one by the rector, Mr. Leadbitter, fatherly and prosy ;-a paper read by the branch secretary, about affairs in general; and a very amusing speech by Miss Mohun, full of anecdotes of example and warning. 'You know,' she said, 'all the school story-books end-when the grown-up books marry their people-with the good girl going out to service under her young lady, and there she But some of us know better! We don't lives happy ever after! know how far the marrying ones always do live very happy ever after

'For shame, Jenny !' muttered Lady Merrifield.

'But,' went on Miss Mohun, 'even you that have been lucky enough to get under your own young ladies know that life here is all new beginnings at the bottom, just as when you were very proud of yourselves for getting out of the infant school, you found it was only being at the bottom of the upper one; and I can tell the twelve-year-oldsI see some of them-that it is often a finer thing to be at the head of Ay, you've got to work up the school than the last in the house. there again, and it is a long business and a steady business, but it is to be done. I knew a girl, thirty-five years ago, that my sister-inlaw took from school, and she was not a genius either, and I am quite sure she could not do rule-of-three, nor tell what is the capital of what you Dahomey, as I dare say every one here can do, but I'll tell she did, and that was, her best, and there she has been ever since; and the last time I saw her she was sitting up in her housekeeper's room, in her silk gown, with her master's grandchildren hanging about her, respected and loved by us all. And I knew another, a much cleverer girl at school, with prettier ways to begin with, but— I'm sorry to say, her fingers were too clever, and it was not very happy ever after, though she did right herself.' And then Aunt Jane went on to the difficulties of having to deal with such quantities of pots and pans, and knives and forks, and cloths and brushes, each with a use of its very own, just as if she had been a scullery-maid herself; telling how sense and memory must be brought to bear on these things just as much as in analysing a sentence, and how even those would not do without the higher motive of faithfulness to Him whose servants we all are. Her finish was a picture of the roving servant girl, always saying 'I don't like it,' and always seeking novelty, illustrated by her experience of a little maid who left one place because she could not sleep alone, and another because the little girl slept with her, a third because it was so lonesome, and a fourth because it was so noisy, and