you must be sick of the subject." And he
gave a sort of laugh.

"The army?"

"I never can fancy anything else, never;
and I know my father wouldn't mind,
though it isn't much in his line. And once
in it I'd make my pay do, and never ask
him for a farthing. I'd get to India if I
could. But of course it can't be—I know
that well enough—but it is hard lines."

"It is indeed. Couldn't we save?"

"Save, out of two hundred and fifty
pounds a year, and with seven mouths to
feed! Do you suppose I'd ask such a thing?
With mother wearing herself out, as it is,
and poor Cilla who ought to be having port
wine and good things all day long, they say,
mid the little ones to be looked after too!
No, I'm not such a selfish beast as that;
I have never told anybody but you. But
somehow," he said, turning to her with a
brighter face, " one can't help telling you.
everything, old Polly."

"What does papa mean you to do?"

"Hasn't mother told you? I couldn't
bear to write about it, but I dare say it'll
be all right when I'm used to the idea. Mr.
Bagshawe has offered me a place in his
office under old Hobbs. Forty pounds a
year to begin with, and a rise if I behave
myself."

"An attorney's clerk!" cried Mary, her
colour rising. " Oh! Harry, I hope not!"

There was a long pause. Mary broke it
by saying with renewed cheerfulness: "After
all, Harry dear, God knows best, if we could
only think so. You'll be a good man, and
a gentleman too, whatever you are. I know
that."

Harry muttered something, and then
broke out with: " The injustice of the
thing is what makes me frantic. To see
that fellow Langley, for instance, throwing
away sums on his horses and carriages,
and balls and stuff", when a quarter of the
money would set us all up for life. And
that old twaddle, Lowther, pocketing his
nine hundred pounds a year for the living,
and just giving my father two hundred
pounds for doing all his work. I've no
patience."

"Has Dr. Lowther been heard of lately?"
said Mary, trying to lead away from the
subject.

"Sent my father a cheque, as usual, for
the almshouse dinner on Christmas Day,
and the school feast and all that, and hoped
we would accept all the compliments of the
season, stupid old bloke."

Mary laughed irreverently at her bro-
ther's mention of the rector, who, though
nominally resident, yet suffering from a
variety of nervous complaints, really spent
almost one half of the year at Ventnor and
the other at Malvern; and even when at
Farley, seldom emerged from his
comfortable rectory.

"But mamma said that Dr. Lowther was
really much worse," she remarked.

Harry shrugged his shoulders and laughed,
and at that moment, as they reached the top
of a long hill, Mary uttered a joyful exclamation
as the lights of Farley twinkled out
in the broad green valley below.

The descent was rapid, and in about a
quarter of an hour they passed over a
picturesque old-fashioned bridge, and entered
the straggling, irregular village street. The
"Blue Anchor" stood with hospitable open
door; then came the blacksmith's open shed,
casting its red warmth and light out into
the chilly evening; further on, the village
shop, the centre of gossip and business in
Farley. Cottages stood on either side of
the road, some detached, some in blocks of
two or three together. Harry drew rein at
last before a little garden gate leading to
a white- washed cottage not much above the
labourers' dwellings by which it was
surrounded; but it was home; the home of
Mary's heart.

In a moment, she was at the open door
—in the little passage—in the small square
parlour—fond arms were round her, eager
hands were freeing her from her cloak and
shawl, all the dear voices were talking at
once, and nobody listening to anybody!
And when the first buzz of welcome
subsided, it was more delightful still: when
Mary had taken off her bonnet in the little
room which she shared with Cilla, and had
come down again to the sitting-room, and
when Harry had returned from putting up
the gig, and when Mr. Mackworth had come
in from his parish work, and had added
his affectionate greeting to that of the rest,
then Mary gaily insisted on resuming old
habits and performing all her old home
duties—to try, as she said, to fancy that she
had never been away. She lighted the
candles, trimmed the fire, helped to spread
the supper table, and afterwards to clear it
away, and finally sat down, between her
father and mother, and with Cilla, and
Harry, and the two younger boys, close by,
and talked and listened, enjoying the full
tide of home talk.

The first interruption came when her
boxes came, which was not until late,
Dobson's progress, never rapid, having
been further delayed by the number of
Christmas hampers he had had to deliver.