began to wonder that they did not see him;
but their heads were all so close together,
peeping and peeping! My father was amongst
them, meaning, he said, to ask them to walk
into the garden with liim, and admire the
beautiful vegetable production, when—oh, my
dear! I tremble to think of it, he looked
through the rails himself, and saw—I don't
know what he thought he saw, but old Clare
told me his face went quite grey-white with
anger, and his eyes blazed out under his
frowning black brows; and he spoke out—oh,
so terribly! and bade them all stop where
they were—not one of them to go, not one
to stir a step; and, swift as light, he was
in at the garden door, and down the Filbert
walk, and seized hold of poor Peter, and tore
his clothes off his back—bonnet, shawl, gown,
and all and threw the pillow among the
people over the railings: and then he was
very, very angry indeed; and before all the
people he lifted up his cane, and flogged
Peter! My dear! that boy's trick, on that
sunny day, when all seemed going straight
and well, broke my mother's heart, and
changed my father for life. It did, indeed.
Old Clare said, Peter looked as white as my
father; and stood as still as a statue to be
flogged; and my father struck hard! When
my father stopped to take breath, Peter said,
'Have you done enough, Sir?' quite hoarsely,
and still standing quite quiet. I don't know
what my father said—or if he said anything.
But old Clare said, Peter turned to where the
people outside the railing were, and made
them a low bow, as grand and as grave as
any gentleman; and then walked slowly into
the house. I was in the store-room, helping
my mother to make cowslip-wine. I cannot
abide the wine now, nor the scent of the
flowers; they turn me sick and faint, as they
did that day, when Peter came in, looking as
haughty as any man—indeed, looking like a
man, not like a boy. 'Mother!' he said,
'I am come to say, God bless you for ever.'
I saw his lips quiver, as he spoke; and I
think he durst not say anything more loving,
for the purpose that was in his heart. She
looked at him rather frightened, and
wondering, and asked him what was to do? He
did not smile or speak, but put his arms
round her, and kissed her as if he did not
know how to leave off; and before she could
speak again, he was gone. We talked it over,
and could not understand it, and she bade
me go and seek my father, and ask what it
was all about. I found him walking up and
down, looking very highly displeased.

"' Tell your mother I have flogged Peter,
and that he richly deserved it.'

"I durst not ask any more questions. When
I told my mother, she sat down, quite faint,
for a minute. I remember, a few days after-,
I saw the poor, withered cowslip-flowers
thrown out to the leaf-heap, to decay and die
there. There was no making of cowslip-wine
that year at the Rectory, nor, indeed, ever
after. Presently, my mother went to my
father. I know I thought of Queen Esther
and King Ahasuerus; for my mother was
very pretty and delicate-looking, and my
father looked as terrible as King Ahasuerus.
Some time after, they came out together; and
then my mother told me what had happened,
and that she was going up to Peter's room,
at my father's desire—though she was not to
tell Peter this—to talk the matter over with
him. But no Peter was there. We looked
over the house; no Peter was there! Even
my father, who had not liked to join in the
search at first, helped us before long. The
Rectory was a very old house: steps up into
a room; steps down into a room, all through.
At first, my mother went calling low and
soft—as if to reassure the poor boy 'Peter!
Peter, dear! it's only me;' but, by-and-bye,
as the servants came back from the
errands my father had sent them, in
different directions, to find where Peter was—
as we found he was not in the garden, nor the
hayloft, nor anywhere about—my mother's
cry grew louder and wilder 'Peter! Peter,
my darling! where are you?' for then she
felt and understood that that long kiss meant
some sad kind of 'good-bye.' The afternoon
went on, my mother never resting, but seeking
again and again in every possible place that
had been looked into twenty times before;
nay, that she had looked into over and over
again herself. My father sat with his head
in his hands, not speaking, except when his
messengers came in, bringing no tidings:
then he lifted up his face so strong and sad,
and told them to go again in some new
direction. My mother kept passing from room
to room, in and out of the house, moving
noiselessly, but never ceasing. Neither she
nor my father durst leave the house, which
was the meeting- place for all the messengers.
At last (and it was nearly dark), my father
rose up. He took hold of my mother's arm,
as she came with wild, sad pace, through one
door, and quickly towards another. She
started at the touch of his hand, for she had
forgotten all in the world but Peter.

"' Molly!' said he, 'I did not think all this
would happen.' He looked into her face for
comfort—her poor face, all wild and white;
for neither she nor my father had dared to
acknowledge—much less, act upon—the terror
that was in their hearts, lest Peter should
have made away with himself. My father
saw no conscious look in his wife's hot, dreary
eyes, and he missed the sympathy that she
had always been ready to give him, strong
man as he was; and at the dumb despair in
her face, his tears began to flow. But when
she saw this, a gentle sorrow came over her
countenance, and she said, 'Dearest John
don't cry; come with me, and we'll find him,'
almost as cheerfully as if she knew where he
was; and she took my father's great hand
in her little soft one, and led him along, the
tears dropping, as he walked on that same