The speakers were Nellie and Rupert Coker, children of Mr. Coker, of Haldon Hall. They were returning from the village of Haldon, about a quarter of a mile from, which their home was situated, and were now passing Westhill, a picturesque old farmhouse built close to the high road.

Westhill was the property of Mr. Coker, and was in the occupation of Farmer Wills and his wife, a capable, hard-working, middle-aged couple.

As Nellie was evidently reluctant to make a call at the farm, Rupert decided that he would stop, for the sake of having his own way. He was eight years old, a year younger than his sister, and he never allowed her, on the strength of seniority, to dictate to him. So he marched up to the door and rapped upon it sharply with his knuckles. To his disappointment, the rosy-cheeked servant—Sally—who answered his somewhat imperative summons, informed him that Mrs. Wills was not at home. She had driven to the nearest railway station, two miles distant, to meet her husband.

"I did not know Farmer Wills was away," Rupert remarked.

Whilst Nellie, who had been standing at a little distance with the dogs—a spaniel and a terrier, fearful lest they should dash into the house and bespatter the spotless kitchen floor with their muddy feet, drew nearer, her face suddenly becoming full of interest. Like most children brought up in the country, they were vastly curious about their neighbours' affairs.

"Master's been away for several days," Sally informed them, "in London."

"In London!" they echoed.

Had Sally mentioned Timbuctoo instead of the metropolis, they could not have looked more surprised.

"I never heard of Farmer Wills going to London before," Nellie said reflectively. "He told me once, he hadn't slept out of his own bed for nearly thirty years. I suppose he went for a holiday, Sally?"

"He went to see his brother—Colonel Wills. The poor gentleman died a few hours after master reached him."

"Oh, how very sad!" cried Nellie, much shocked. "I have heard father speak of Colonel Wills."

"Yes," chimed in Rupert, "he was a soldier—a splendid fellow! He fought in the South African War, and won the Victoria Cross."

"He died nearly a week ago of pneumonia," Sally explained, "and he was buried yesterday; and this afternoon, master's bringing home his little son—about your age he must be, Master Rupert—to live here at Westhill. The poor child has no mother—she died when he was a baby."

"What's his name?" Nellie asked, looking sympathetic.

"Robert; but I'm told they call him Bob."

As Sally had apparently no more information to give, the children bade her good-afternoon, and proceeded homewards. Their way along the high road was thickly strewn with withered leaves, for the time was late autumn, and the trees on either hedge were nearly bare; but the weather was dry and mild still, and the sun shone in a sky of cloudless blue. Every now and again the young folks paused to give Tim, the terrier, opportunities of digging in rabbit holes, whilst Crack, the spaniel, watched him with anxious eyes. And on one of these occasions carriage wheels were heard, and a few minutes later, Farmer Wills' dog-cart appeared round a turn of the road, driven by the farmer himself, his wife by his side, and their visitor on the back seat of the vehicle.

Nellie nodded and smiled, and Rupert took off his cap to Mrs. Wills; then as the dog-cart passed by they were able to have a good look at the stranger—a blue-eyed, fair-haired boy, who returned their curious stares by distorting his face into the most hideous grimace possible.

Rupert laughed; but Nellie reddened angrily.

"He doesn't know who we are," said Rupert, who, as the son and heir of the largest landowner in the district, had no slight opinion of his own importance, "but Farmer Wills will tell him that father is his landlord."

The children soon reached the entrance to the grounds which surrounded their home. They flung open the heavy gate, and ran up the long carriage drive to the house.

"You had better take the dogs round to the yard," said Nellie.

"No—you," Rupert promptly replied; "it's as much your place to do so as mine."

"We'll both go; it won't do to let them into the house, because they're dreadfully dirty."

Accordingly the dogs were coaxed round to the yard, and shut into a stable to clean themselves in a bed of straw, whilst their young mistress and master went into the house and upstairs to the schoolroom, where their sister Lilian, and their governess, Miss Long, were busily engaged, the former with some knitting, the latter making clothing for a doll. Lilian Coker was a pretty little girl of eleven years of age, with wavy brown hair, and a face which wore a singularly bright and happy expression. She turned a pair of large grey eyes in the direction of the door as her sister and brother entered the room. No one seeing her at the moment would have guessed the truth—that she was blind.

"Where have you been all the afternoon?" she asked. "Miss Long and I have been getting on with the things for the Christmas tree. Of course there are six weeks yet to Christmas, but time does fly so fast."

"It does indeed," agreed Miss Long, glancing a trifle reproachfully at Nellie, who coloured and looked confused.

Every Christmas Eve Mr. Coker was in the habit of giving an entertainment in the village schoolroom to the working people of the parish. It generally consisted of a substantial tea, followed by a magic-lantern and Christmas tree for the children; and weeks beforehand preparations were being made for the all-important night. Nearly every member of the household at Haldon Hall was making some article to be hung on the Christmas tree. Nellie, who had commenced knitting cuffs with great zeal some weeks previously, had grown tired of her task, and had not touched her self-chosen work for days.

"It seems a shame to sit indoors on such a lovely afternoon as this," she said excusingly, "and Rupert and I have had such fun. And, oh, what do you think? That brave brother of Farmer Wills is dead. Isn't it sad?"

"Do you mean Colonel Wills, who distinguished himself in the South African War?" inquired Miss Long. "Your mother told me all about him—that he entered the army as a private, obtained a commission, and rose to be a colonel."

"Farmer Wills went to London to see him," Nellie proceeded, "and this afternoon, he has come home and brought Colonel Wills' little boy with him. We met Mr. and Mrs. Wills driving back from the station in their dog-cart, and the little boy was on the back seat. He made faces at us."

Miss Long smiled. She was a good-tempered young woman, and, though she was their governess, the children found her very companionable.

"I expect he'll be taken aback when he finds out we live here, and that his uncle is father's tenant," said Rupert; "he'll soon learn to know his place."

"You had better not speak like that before your father," Miss Long told him reprovingly.

Rupert made no answer. He was rather an important person in his own estimation.

The Squire, as Mr. Coker was generally called, and his wife were very proud of their only son, for he was a handsome little fellow with engaging manners, and really had many excellent qualities. He was affectionate and kind-hearted, and had never been known to tell a lie. But he was wayward and domineering, and, though he loved Nellie very dearly, he always tried to take the lead with her. And she, being a spirited child and a year older than her brother, would not be mastered. And the result was frequent quarrels, which, however, were generally followed by speedy reconciliations.

Though Rupert made no response to his governess, he had the grace to feel a little ashamed of himself; but at the same time, he made up his mind that Colonel Wills' son must be taught to know his place.

CHAPTER II.

BOB WILLS.

"MISS LONG, I want you to give Rupert a holiday, if you please," said Mr. Coker one morning a few days later, as the family at Haldon Hall, having finished breakfast, rose from the table. "I am going to Westhill, and I should like Rupert to make the acquaintance of Colonel Wills' little son. I saw him with his uncle yesterday, and asked him to come and spend Saturday here."

"Oh, father, do let me go to Westhill with you, too!" exclaimed Nellie. "You know," she added coaxingly, "we're not likely to have this fine weather long."

Mr. Coker laughed, and, turning to his wife, said:

"What do you say, my dear? Shall all three children have a holiday? Nellie and Rupert can accompany me to the farm, and you might order the carriage and go for a drive with Miss Long and Lilian."

Mrs. Coker agreed to this. So an hour later saw Mr. Coker start for Westhill with his two younger children, who plied him with questions about the stranger all the way.

"He has come to stay," Mr. Coker told them, "for Farmer Wills is now his guardian. Poor little orphan! You must be very kind to him. He is only eight years old, and he has been at a boarding school for two years."

"At boarding school!" the children echoed in amazement.

"Yes. When his father's regiment was ordered to South Africa, he was placed in a school, and there he remained till Colonel Wills was invalided home from the war."

On reaching Westhill, they were informed that the farmer was out, and that Master Bob was in the orchard. Mr. Coker went into the house to have a chat with Mrs. Wills, after having suggested that Nellie and Rupert should find Bob and make themselves known to him, with which proposition they readily agreed.

Crossing the yard, therefore, the children passed into the orchard beyond, and looked around in search of Bob. He was not visible, however, and they were retracing their footsteps when an apple, flung not over gently hit Rupert on the shoulder; and the next moment there was a rustling overhead, and a blue-eyed, fair-haired boy dropped from the lower branch of a tree into the long orchard grass.

"Fancy you not seeing me!" he cried. "And most of the leaves are down too!"

Then as neither of the others spoke, he continued, laughing merrily: "That was a good shot of mine, wasn't it?"

"Did you mean to hit me?" Rupert inquired, rubbing his shoulder.

"Rather! Did it hurt you?"

"It did," was the answer, given in a dignified manner.

"Oh, sorry, then! You were looking for someone, weren't you?"

"Yes, for you. We—my sister Nellie and I—have come to see you. Father says you're going to spend Saturday with us at Haldon Hall."

"Oh, yes! He asked me, and I said I would, I like your father, he's so jolly."

There was a slight pause. Bob Wills stood with his hands thrust in his trousers pockets, in an attitude of unstudied carelessness. Though only the age of Rupert, he had an assured manner, and appeared older than his years. He had grieved deeply at the loss of his father, and there was still a very sore spot in this heart; but the kindness of his aunt and uncle had done much to assuage his sorrow, and already he was beginning to take an interest in his new surroundings. He was the one to break the silence.

"I say, how you two stared at me the day I arrived!" he remarked. "Did you think me a wild animal?"

"No, we knew who you were," Nellie replied, a smile breaking over her countenance; "we'd just been hearing about you, and—and I'm afraid we were rather rude, but not so rude as you. I never saw any one make such faces!"

The next moment ... a fair-haired boy dropped
from the lower branch of a tree.

Bob laughed, and drew his face into a most hideous grimace. He appeared quite proud of this capability of distorting his visage, which he evidently considered a great accomplishment, and explained that he had learnt it at school.

"You were very young to be sent to school," Nellie remarked; "how did you like it?"

"Oh, pretty well. I wasn't the youngest there. It was a school for kids whose mothers and fathers were abroad—in India, and different places. But I was glad when father came home. He said we should have such good times together, but—but—" The bright blue eyes grew misty for a moment, the clear voice choked; then, with a struggle for self-control, he continued: "Father was wounded, you know, but he was getting better, only, he caught a cold, and—he died."

"We are so sorry for you," Nellie said gently. "I hope you'll be friends with us—will you?"

Bob nodded. His heart warmed towards his companions, and he replied heartily, "Of course we'll be friends. I'm looking forward to Saturday. Are there only you two? I mean, are you Mr. Coker's only children?"

"Oh, no! There's Lilian," Rupert answered; "she's eleven years old, but she doesn't go about with Nellie and me much."

"Is she a stuck-up sort of girl, then?" inquired Bob.

"Oh, no, no! You mustn't think that. But she can't do just as we do, because she is blind."

"Blind!"

"Yes, she has been blind all her life, but you'd never think it to see her. She's very clever, plays the piano beautifully, and—"

"But isn't she dreadfully unhappy?" Bob interposed. "I should think she must be."

"Oh, no, indeed!" Rupert assured him. "She's such a merry girl—you should hear her laugh!"

"But never to be able to see anything or any one! It must be awful. And you say she has always been blind? Couldn't a doctor make her see?"

"No. Father and mother have taken her to several very clever doctors, and they all say the same, that she will always be blind," Nellie replied.

Bob looked inexpressibly shocked. He asked several more questions about Lilian, and finally said:

"Well, I should think you must always be trying to do things to please her to make up for her being blind."

His companions greeted this remark in silence, both being conscious that, on the contrary, it was generally Lilian who tried to please them. Then, by way of changing the conversation, Rupert spoke of the preparations which were being made for Christmas, to all of which Bob listened with great interest, wondering if he would be allowed a sight of the Christmas tree.

By-and-by Bob suggested that they should go into the house, and have some lunch; so they left the orchard, strolled through the farm-yard, and entered the large kitchen with its red-tiled floor. Only Sally was there, so they made their way to the dairy, where they found Mr. Coker in conversation with the mistress of the establishment, who was packing butter and eggs for market.

"Well, young people, have you made friends, eh?" Mr. Coker asked, as the children entered.

"Yes," assented Bob. "I was in an apple-tree in the orchard, and they didn't see me at first; but I let them know where I was by shying an apple at him," he said, indicating Rupert with a nod. "It was a true shot. You would have laughed to have seen how silly he looked, and how astonished!"

Rupert coloured and was vexed, for he was unaccustomed to being ridiculed. He had intended to be very kind to Bob; but, all the same, he had meant to give him to understand that he did not desire to be on too familiar terms with him immediately.

The children were regaled with bread and cream by Mrs. Wills. She, good soul, was delighted that her landlord evinced such interest in her little nephew, and thought it very kind of him to invite the boy to Haldon Hall. After her visitors had left, she asked Bob how he liked his new acquaintances.

"Oh, pretty well, Aunt Mary," he replied carelessly; "the girl seems rather nice, but I think the boy is a bit of a prig. If he shows any stuck-up airs to me, I shall soon let him see I won't stand them."

"Bob!" exclaimed Mrs. Wills. "I hope you'll behave well when you go to Haldon Hall."

"I shall show him he can't have his own way in everything," Bob said, with a mischievous gleam in his blue eyes. "If he'd been to school as I have, he'd have been taught that before."

CHAPTER III.

BOB'S FIRST VISIT TO HALDON HALL.

WHEN Bob Wills marched up to the front door of Haldon Hall on the following Saturday, it was opened by Nellie and Rupert.

"We expected you before," the latter informed him. "Why didn't you come directly after breakfast?"

"I wanted to," he responded truthfully, "but Aunt Mary wouldn't let me."

"Well, come and speak to mother—she's in the dining-room with Miss Long."

The next minute Bob was shaking hands with Mrs. Coker, who greeted him very kindly. And then he was introduced to Miss Long, after which Rupert espied Lilian in the garden, and going to the open window called to her:

"Come in, Lilian! Bob Wills is here!" he shouted. "No-wait! We'll come to you," he added on second thoughts.

Bob regarded Lilian with mingled curiosity and sympathy when they joined her in the garden. If he had not been told she was blind, he would never have guessed the fact.

"I'm so glad you've come at last," she said, as she shook hands with him. "What would you like to do?"

"We thought we'd take him round the gardens and stables this morning," Rupert interposed. "It seems as though it might rain later on."

The gardens were well worth seeing. Bob, who loved flowers, was delighted; whilst Nellie and Rupert, who cared much less about them, grew a little impatient, as their visitor lingered over a bed of autumn violets.

"How sweet they are!" Bob cried, sniffing appreciatively.

Then, to his amazement, Lilian stooped over the bed, and gathered a bunch which she presented to him.

"Oh, thank you," he said, "but how could you pick them when you cannot see?"

"I can feel though," she replied, with a smile.

That was not the only time Lilian surprised him that day. She appeared absolutely fearless, and when they visited the stables, even climbed after the others up the steep ladder which led to the loft. The children sat down on bundles of sweet-scented hay, and became exceedingly confidential and sociable.

Bob recounted many of his school experiences, all of which, it must be confessed, went to show that Master Robert Wills must have been rather a troublesome pupil. And, not to be beaten, Rupert told how he and Nellie had defied Miss Long on more than one occasion. Lilian grew somewhat silent and grave as she listened; and at last Nellie said:

"Lilian thinks it's wrong to worry Miss Long—don't you, Lil?"

"Yes, I do," was the frank reply. "Mother and father expect us to obey her, so of course we ought. And she's so kind! See how hard she's working for the Christmas tree, and she knitted several rows to your cuffs yesterday, to help you on, Nellie. You'll come to the Christmas tree, won't you?" she asked, turning to Bob.

"Shall I be invited?" he inquired eagerly.

"Oh, yes! There'll be an entertainment in the village schoolroom, and Mr. and Mrs. Wills will be certain to bring you. It's only five weeks to Christmas; one doesn't realise it is so near because the weather is so fine and mild."

After the mid-day meal, the visitor was taken all over the house. Several hours passed in playing an entrancing game of hide-and-seek, in which Lilian joined with as much zest as the rest. They had tea with Miss Long in the schoolroom; and afterwards the boys went off together, whilst the girls settled down quietly to their work for the Christmas tree. As was natural, the conversation presently turned upon their visitor.

"It is a pity he put on his best suit of clothes to-day," said Nellie seriously, "because he got so dusty in the attics; but he said Mrs. Wills would not let him wear his old things, although he told her how much more comfortable he feels in them. Father says he may come and play with us every Saturday if he likes, and he's coming. I do hope he'll agree with Rupert," she added as an afterthought.

"Why should he not?" Miss Long inquired.

"They got nasty with each other more than once this afternoon," Lilian said, "I noticed that. You know Rupert is rather selfish. He likes hiding better than finding—we all do—and when it came to my turn to hide, he wanted to take my place, and Bob wouldn't hear of it. I should not have minded much, but Bob said we must play the game properly, and Rupert grew quite angry with him."

"Well?" Miss Long questioned.

"Then Bob made fun of Rupert, and laughed at him. I thought they were going to quarrel; but fortunately the tea-bell rang just then."

"Oh, dear!" sighed Nellie, "I shall never make these cuffs. My fingers are so stiff and slow, and I keep on dropping stitches. I do wish you'd finish them for me, you dear old Lil, and then I could have a doll to dress instead."

"Very well," Lilian responded good-naturedly. "Miss Long, don't you think Bob Wills seems more than eight years old?"

"Yes, he certainly does, perhaps because he has been to school. He has an independent way with him which I remarked at once. Dear me, something has happened!"

Well might the governess say so, for at that moment the schoolroom door was flung violently open, and Rupert, holding a handkerchief to one eye, entered, followed by his visitor, whose countenance was exceedingly red.

"I hit him," Bob explained hastily, "and I'm afraid I've given him a black eye. Yes," he continued, as Rupert removed the handkerchief from his face, "I see I have. Oh, dear!"

"Was it an accident?" Miss Long inquired, as she examined her pupil's injury.

"No, he did it on purpose," Rupert informed her, his voice quivering with anger.

"Oh!" cried the little girls, whilst Bob hung his head guiltily.

"But why? What made him do it?" Miss Long questioned.

"We fell out," Bob commenced to explain, lifting his blue eyes to her face. "He said he believed he could run faster than I could, and I said he couldn't. So we had a race and I beat him, and then I laughed at him for being so sure he'd win, and he got mad and pushed me against a stone wall and hurt my hand; and then I hit him harder than I meant to. I've told him I'm sorry, but he won't speak to me." And Bob regarded Rupert in a somewhat disgusted manner.

"Look how his hand is scarred!" exclaimed Nellie, turning her attention from Rupert to Bob. "Oh, do let me get some warm water and bathe it for him!"

This she accordingly did, whilst Miss Long bathed Rupert's eye, which was already beginning to discolour. Lilian slipped quietly away to acquaint her parents with what had happened, and to beg them not to blame one boy more than the other. Mr. and Mrs. Coker wisely decided to treat the matter lightly and to have little to say about it; and when Bob said good-bye to them a short while later, to his intense relief, he found that his invitation for the following Saturday still held good.

It was Lilian who coaxed her brother into a better temper, and prevailed upon him to shake hands with Bob and make friends.

"I'm really very sorry." Bob said, "but you know you hurt me first."

"You had no right to laugh at me," Rupert murmured ungraciously, "but since you're sorry—"

"I'm not sorry I laughed at you," the other interrupted candidly, "I should do the same again; but I'm sorry I've given you such a dreadful black eye."

"Well, say no more about it," Lilian advised. "It's so stupid to fall out about a trifling matter like this, and you were getting such good friends, weren't you? You know, Rupert, you are always complaining that you've only girls to play with; you'll be as badly off as ever if you keep up a quarrel with Bob."

Rupert recognised the truth of his sister's words, so he threw off his fit of sulks, and graciously requested Bob to come early on the following Saturday.

Bob returned to the farm in high spirits, and enjoyed the sensation he caused there, when, after having given a glowing description of his day's pleasure, he brought his tale to a close by an account of how he had given Rupert Coker a black eye.

"And yet you are invited there again next Saturday?" Mrs. Wills said wonderingly.

"Yes," nodded Bob, "and I'm going earlier next time; and oh, Aunt Mary, need I wear my best clothes?"

Mrs. Wills put on her spectacles and surveyed her nephew's dusty suit of black in silence for a moment, then she replied that perhaps, all things considered, his every-day clothes might do.

CHAPTER IV.

THE BEGINNING OF THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS.

"THERE! No more work for a month!" And the speaker, Nellie Coker, jumped from her seat at the schoolroom table as the clock struck twelve, and was making for the door, when her governess called her back.

"Not so fast, my dear. Put away your lesson books, and help to clear the table. Why are you in such a hurry?"

"Mother and cook are making the Christmas puddings, Miss Long; and I don't want to miss my stir."

"You are not in the least likely to do so. We will all go down to the kitchen presently."

It was only a week to Christmas now; and the young people at Haldon Hall were to have a month's holiday from to-day. The weather, which had been remarkably mild during the early winter, had suddenly changed; the soft west wind had given place to a north-eastern one. And that morning at breakfast, Mr. Coker had declared there was a probability of a real old-fashioned Christmas.

Miss Long was going to her home in London on the morrow, so she was quite naturally as lighthearted and elated at the prospect of the holidays as were her pupils, and helped them to pack their books and papers away in the cupboard retained for that purpose, after which she accompanied them to the kitchen. Preparing the Christmas puddings was always a business of importance at Haldon Hall. A row of buttered moulds of various sizes stood on the big table in the centre of the kitchen, whilst the mistress of the house at a side table weighed out the ingredients which cook was mixing in a big pan.

"We are nearly ready for you," Mrs. Coker said, as the governess and the children appeared upon the scene. "Rupert, run and fetch your father. Miss Long, will you have the first stir?"

"Mind you wish hard," instructed Nellie, as the governess took the spoon.

After the governess, the little girls each had a stir, then Rupert returned with his father, and they had their turns, followed by the servants. And finally the moulds were filled and tied down with cloths, and the business was finished.

The preparations for Christmas at Haldon Hall were nearly completed now. All the various articles, useful and ornamental, for decorating the Christmas tree were finished, and Mr. Coker had decided which of the young firs in one of his plantations should be cut down. And, in short, little else was talked of but the coming festive season.

They were obliged to walk fast . . . to keep themselves
warm.

"I should like to go and say good-bye to Mrs. Wills this afternoon," said Miss Long to her young charges after the mid-day meal. "I daresay you will all accompany me?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Rupert. "I haven't seen Bob Wills for days."

The governess, with a little girl on either side and Rupert hurrying on ahead, started for the farm about three o'clock. The wind was so keen that they were obliged to walk fast in order to keep themselves warm.

"I wish you were going to spend Christmas with us, Miss Long, but I suppose you would rather be with your own people," Lilian remarked. "Yes, of course," she went on as the governess assented, "but you'll think of us all on Christmas Day, won't you? We'll be sure to think of you."

"Indeed, I shall think of you," Miss Long responded earnestly. "I shall want you to write and tell me all about the entertainment on Christmas Eve, and you must please remember to say who gets the top doll from the Christmas tree."

"Oh, yes! Mother was saying to father yesterday how good it had been of you to take so much trouble and work so hard for the Christmas tree, when you won't have any enjoyment from it," said Nellie.

"But I have had a lot of enjoyment in making the things," the governess declared. "And I shall tell my little sisters and brothers of your plans for Christmas, and they will be so interested."

"How shall you spend Christmas, Miss Long?" inquired Rupert, waiting to allow the others to come up to him.

"Very quietly, I expect—but very happily, I have little doubt. I shall not be going to any parties or entertainments, I daresay; but, you know, the joy of Christmas doesn't depend upon festivities and gaieties, but upon whether or not the angels' message of peace and goodwill finds an echo in our hearts. We shall all of us spend a happy Christmas, if we try to make those around us happy for Jesus' sake."

The children knew all about Miss Long's home, for she had often talked to them about it. She had told them it was situated in a thickly populated London suburb; but they understood it was the dearest spot in the world in her sight, for it held a wealth of love within its narrow limits not to be bought with gold.

Arrived at Westhill, Miss Long and the two little girls went into the house to see Mrs. Wills; whilst Rupert, having been informed that Bob was in the yard, joined him there.

Bob had lately become the proud possessor of a young ferret, a pretty, pink-eyed creature as white as snow, which he was taking great pains to tame. He showed the little animal to Rupert, who looked and admired, but was timid about touching it.

"You're afraid of it!" Bob exclaimed. "You need not be. I don't think it will bite."

"I never thought of keeping a ferret as a pet," remarked Rupert. "I believe it knows you, Bob."

"Of course it does. Did you say Miss Long had come to say good-bye?"

"Yes, she's going home to-morrow. Father will drive her to the station to catch the fast train to London. We're to have a month's holiday."

"Jolly! We'll see each other every day. Uncle says if the wind goes down to-night—and he thinks it will—we shall have frost. I hope it's going to be fine Christmassy weather; I don't mind how cold it is."

"The colder the better, for then the pond in the lower meadow will freeze, and we shall have skating."

"I can't skate, but I can slide."

"There's Nellie calling," said Rupert. "I suppose they're ready to leave. Why, how the light is going! You may as well walk a little way with us—that is, if you don't mind the dusk?"

"Rather not!"

Bob accompanied his friends some distance on their homeward road. And then, having wished the governess a very happy Christmas, he hurried back to the farm to be in readiness for tea.

That night Farmer Wills' prediction came true; the wind died away and it began to freeze. In the morning, the faint beams of the December sun fell on a world white and beautiful under the touch of the frost king, and everyone declared the expected spell of severe weather had set in at last.

Miss Long, well wrapped up in anticipation of a cold journey, took her departure from Haldon Hall soon after breakfast, bearing with her the heart-felt good wishes of the whole household, and the substantial gift of a big hamper, laden with good things, to enrich her mother's larder at home.

"Now we can do as we please for a whole month," said Rupert, capering with delight as the gig, driven by Mr. Coker with Miss Long at his side, disappeared from sight; "the holidays have really begun."

"One would think you are glad she is gone," Lilian told him reproachfully.

"Well, so I am!" he replied, with a laugh. "Oh, you needn't look at me like that, Nellie. I'm as fond of Miss Long as you are; but think what a whole month without lessons means, with no one to say 'You mustn't do this,' or 'You mustn't do that'! What a splendid time we'll have! The Christmas tree is to be cut afternoon. Bob and I are going to see it felled, and you girls can come too, if you like."

"I am going to the village with mother," said Lilian; "but I daresay Nellie will like to see the tree cut down."

"Oh, yes!" cried Nellie eagerly, "I'd far rather go with the boys."

CHAPTER V.

AN AFTERNOON'S EXPERIENCES.

HALDON village consisted of about a score of thatched cottages, dotted around a large square of waste ground always spoken of as Haldon Green. At one side of the Green was the parish church. Close by, between the churchyard and the vicarage, was the schoolroom, a modern red brick building where the entertainment for the villagers was to be held on Christmas Eve.

As Mrs. Coker's well-known pony-carriage, drawn by the no less well-known brown pony, Bess, drew up before the post office, which was also the one shop of the place where groceries and household commodities could be obtained, heads appeared at the cottage windows; and a group of children, who had been playing a game of "last-touch" on the Green, drew near in anticipation of being spoken to by the occupants of the carriage—Mrs. Coker and Miss Lilian.

"Will one of you hold Bess, please?" Mrs. Coker asked with a smile. And immediately a roguish-looking urchin stepped forward and took up his post at the pony's head.

Mrs. Coker and Lilian alighted. The former had a word for each of the children; and the latter, though she only smiled upon them, left behind her a pleasant impression of sweetness and goodwill as she followed her mother into the post office.

"My! Don't I wish I was Miss Lilian to have such grand clothes to wear!" exclaimed one little maiden, who had been struck with admiration by Lilian's fur-trimmed jacket and cap to match.

"Oh, you forget!" cried another. "For my part, I'd rather be without the grand clothes, and be able to see. She has been blind all her life, as we all know, and always will be—my mother does charing at the Hall, and the servants there told her so."

A hush fell upon the little group, and no one spoke further of envying the blind child. And when she appeared again, they regarded her with a kind of reverence, wondering how, when God had laid such a heavy affliction upon her, she could appear so bright and happy.

The children watched with the greatest interest as Mrs. Coker and her little daughter went from cottage to cottage, the latter running to and from the pony-carriage with the various parcels she herself had helped to pack.

In the last cottage they visited was a very old woman, who sat by the fireside, bent nearly double with rheumatism. Her name was Nannie Davey. She lived by herself, and had the unenviable reputation of being the worst-tempered person in the parish. For her there was a small Christmas pudding, and some warm garments which Mrs. Coker had made.

"Are you coming to the entertainment in the schoolroom on Christmas Eve, Nannie?" inquired Mrs. Coker, after Nannie had thanked her with real gratitude for her kindness.

"I'm too old, ma'am," Nannie responded, as she felt the comfortable new clothing she held on her lap. "A poor, helpless body like me is best at home."

"Oh, no!" cried Lilian eagerly. "You must come, Nannie, if you possibly can, indeed you must! It will quite spoil my pleasure to know that you are spending Christmas Eve alone!"

"Oh, my pretty dear, it's good of you to care about me," said the old woman, "but—"

"I want you to be happy," Lilian interposed, "especially at Christmas time! Oh, I hope you'll make up your mind to come!"

"I'll come missie," Nannie replied—"that is, if I'm well enough; but I never can tell one day how I may be the next."

The old woman hobbled out to the door of her cottage after her visitors, and saw them take their seats in the pony-carriage and drive off. Lilian smiled and waved her hand to the children, who watched their departure, and called out to them in her bright clear voice:

"Good-bye! Mind you're all at the schoolroom in good time for tea on Christmas Eve! Don't forget!"

"No fear of that," remarked the little girl whose mother did charing at the Hall. "As though we should be likely to forget, indeed!"

Then her eyes fell upon Nannie Davey standing in the doorway of her cottage, with a gentler expression upon her face than it usually wore, and she said to her: "Miss Lilian doesn't look blind, does she? And yet they say she will never see as long as she lives!"

"Poor dear," murmured the old woman; "but there, she doesn't need pity—she's one of the happiest children I ever knew, and so thoughtful for other folks, too!"

Meanwhile Mrs. Coker and Lilian were homeward bound, and Bess, being fully conscious of the fact, trotted over the ground as fast as she could go—not so fast as she would have liked, perhaps, for the roads were slippery with frost, and the driver had to keep a tight hand on the reins, especially going downhill.

"Shall we stop and see Mrs. Wills?" inquired the little girl, as they approached Westhill.

"No, not this afternoon, my dear. I should like to be home before dark, and the light is fading fast."

So they drove past Westhill, to the disappointment of Lilian, who had looked forward to a chat with Mrs. Wills. But, just beyond, Mrs. Coker pulled up to speak to an aged man, who, accompanied by a large, fierce-looking sheep-dog, was making his way slowly-towards the farm.

"It's Jeffry," she said to Lilian. "How are you, Jeffry?" she inquired.

"Quite well, thank you, ma'am," he replied. "I hope you and Miss Lilian are the same?"

"Yes, thank you," Mrs. Coker answered. "You are not to be at the entertainment on Christmas Eve, I understand," she proceeded. "Mrs. Wills told me, when I last saw her, that you had kindly offered to remain at home in order that the rest of the household may be at the schoolroom. You will not be forgotten, however; Mrs. Wills will bring you a present from the Christmas tree."

"Thank you, ma'am," said Jeffry. "Yes, I've promised to keep house during the others' absence," he went on; "the farmer doesn't like to lock up."

"You will have Wolf for company," remarked Lilian. "Is Wolf here?" she asked.

"Yes, missie," the old man replied. "Ah, he heard you mention his name! There he is, close to you, hoping you'll give him a word."

The dog had approached Lilian's side of the carriage, and was waiting with an expectant expression on his face for her to notice him. The little girl put out her hand and patted his rough head, speaking to him in endearing terms, whereupon, he licked the bare patch of skin between her glove and the sleeve of her jacket.

"You wouldn't think he was savage, would you, ma'am?" said Jeffrey.

"No, indeed!" responded Mrs. Coker. She was watching the child and the dog with smiling eyes.

"Savage?" cried Lilian. "Why, he's a dear quiet old fellow!"

Jeffry chuckled. "He may be to you, missie—I see he is—but he's not to everyone. He won't allow a stranger in the yard after dusk, and folks about here are mostly in fear of him. He's been keeping guard over my coat all the afternoon, and if any one had dared touch it, he'd have flown at that body in a minute."

Jeffry was a faithful old servant who lived at the farm. Age prevented his doing hard labour now; but he was a much-valued dependent, for he was thoroughly trustworthy, and Mr. Wills found him light jobs of work about the place. This afternoon he had been trimming hedges, and carried a reaping-hook in one hand.

"I'm sure he is a faithful doggie," said Lilian; and Wolf raised his eyes to her face and beamed at her.

"Oh, yes, he's faithful," Jeffry agreed, "and he can be very gentle and sweet-tempered on occasions; but he looks just like a wild animal when he shows his teeth and snarls. Why, here's Miss Nellie!" he cried with an abrupt change of tone, as a small figure came flying round the corner. "Where's she running at such a rate, I wonder!"

"Something has happened, I fear!" exclaimed Mrs. Coker, in accents of alarm. "What is it, Nellie?" she inquired anxiously, as the child approached them.

Nellie was breathless and her cheeks were nearly as red as the "tam-o'-shanter," she wore, which had slipped far back on her curly head.

"Oh," she gasped, as she stopped by the side of the pony-carriage, "I mustn't stay a minute, I must get on! I'm going to Westhill to tell Mrs. Wills—we're afraid she'll be dreadfully angry, and it was really my fault—"

"What was your fault?" interposed her mother. "What has happened? Explain, Nellie."

"Bob Wills has met with an accident, mother. He might have been drowned, but he wasn't; he's all right, except that he's soaking wet, and all of a shiver. Oh. I do hope he'll hurry and not catch his death of cold! If he does, I-I shall never get over it!" And Nellie finished her sentence with an excited sob.

"You have been to the pond in the lower meadow, and Bob has fallen into the water?" questioned Mrs. Coker.

"I pushed him in," admitted Nellie. "Oh, mother, I didn't think the ice would give way."

"What took you to the pond? I quite thought you had gone with your father this afternoon!"

"Yes, mother. Father took us to see the Christmas tree cut down, and Bob was there and Farmer Wills too. We selected the tree—such a pretty shape it is, not too tall, but with nice thick branches. And, after it had been cut down, father and Farmer Wills went off together and told us to go home—father had asked Bob back to tea with us. Then Bob said there was a coating of ice on the pond in the lower meadow, and we thought we'd go and have a look at it; so we did. It looked quite firm, and the stones we threw at it just slid along and didn't go through; but I remembered that father had said it wouldn't bear properly for a few days, so I wouldn't go on it, though the boys did. They laughed at me and said I was afraid, but I think they were a bit afraid themselves, for they kept close to the edge. I didn't say anything, but I was vexed, and by-and-by, when Bob came up close to where I was standing, I gave him a push—just a very little push—and he fell and went right through the ice into the water!"

"Oh, Nellie!" cried Lilian. "If it had been a deep part, he might have been drowned!"

"Yes, I know," said Nellie, her eyes drooping beneath her mother's reproachful gaze. "But he clutched hold of a clump of grass at the edge of the pond, and Rupert and I managed to pull him out. They told me to hurry on and tell Mrs. Wills; they're coming behind."

Even as she spoke, the boys appeared round the corner of the road. Bob was in a pitiable condition. He was soaked to the skin, his teeth were chattering, and he was shivering with cold. His eyes flashed wrathfully as they encountered Nellie's.

"Oh, mother, it was not Bob's fault," Rupert was commencing, as they neared the pony-carriage, but his mother cut him short.

"I know all about it, Rupert," she said. "I will go with Bob to the farm and you can go home with Lilian—that is, if Jeffry will be so obliging as to drive you home?"

"Certainly, ma'am," replied Jeffry.

"Thank you, Jeffry. You can bring back the pony-carriage to Westhill; Miss Nellie and I will wait there till you come."

Mrs. Coker now got out of the pony-carriage, and Jeffry took her place, whilst Rupert jumped into the seat opposite, secretly much relieved at the turn matters were taking. Two minutes later, the pony-carriage had disappeared from sight, with Wolf following behind.

Bob felt he had just cause for anger against Nellie; but when she apologised to him very humbly for the rude action which had been the cause of his accident, he could not but be magnanimous and forgive her, especially as her mother, too, seemed very upset. So he told her not to worry, that he was sure he would not catch cold, and that the only thing he was vexed about was that he feared his aunt would not allow him, after he had changed his clothes, to return with them to Haldon Hall to tea.

"You shall come another day," said Mrs. Coker. "Mrs. Wills will be sure to put you to bed as soon as you get home."

This proved to be the case. When Westhill was reached and Mrs. Wills caught sight of her nephew, without waiting for explanations, she ordered him to bed. The copper warming-pan, which hung against the kitchen wall, was taken down and filled with wood coals from the hearth, and in a very short while Bob was lying between hot blankets, a glow of pleasant warmth creeping through his chilled frame.

"I think he'll be all right—don't you, mother?" Nellie questioned, a half-hour later, as she and her mother were driving home.

Mrs. Coker assented. "I hope this will be a lesson to you, Nellie," she said, "and that you will not let your temper get the better of you another time."

"It was such a little push I gave him, mother."

"I daresay, my dear, but great consequence spring from little causes sometimes. In this case, I don't imagine much harm has been done; and, as you say, I think Bob will be all right."

It cheered Nellie to hear this, but she remained somewhat depressed in spirit till the next day, when, accompanied by her brother, she went to inquire for their friend and found him in his usual health. He had never felt better in his life, he assured her, and her sense of relief was intense.

CHAPTER VI.

A CHRISTMAS EVE ADVENTURE.

MUCH to the satisfaction of everyone, the dry, cold weather continued for several days. After three nights' frost, the ice on the pond in the lower meadow was pronounced really firm enough to skate upon, and the village lads made a splendid slide from one side to the other. Bob Wills, who had never felt any ill effects from his accident, proved an adept in the art of sliding, and under his instructions, Rupert soon became as proficient as himself. Nellie would have liked to join the boys and learn to slide, too, but she was torn two ways, as there were the church and the schoolroom to be decorated; and finally she decided in favour of her mother and sister's society, and spent long hours in making paper roses, and twining festoons of holly and evergreens.

Great excitement reigned in the village as twilight gathered on the afternoon previous to Christmas Day. And five o'clock found the schoolroom a scene of festivity, full as it was of men, women, and children seated at the long, narrow tables which intersected the room, partaking of a substantial tea. Nearly every one in the parish was there, including the Vicar, a middle-aged bachelor, who, with the family from Haldon Hall, busied himself in waiting on Mr. Coker's guests. The meal was nearly over when it suddenly dawned upon Lilian that she had not come across Nannie Davey, and she inquired of her mother if the old woman was present.

"I have not seen her," was the reply. "No, I do not think she is here; perhaps she has changed her mind about coming."

"Nannie meant to come, ma'am," said a girl who had overheard Lilian's question and Mrs. Coker's answer, "but her rheumatism is that bad to-day she daren't stir outdoors. She's very disappointed, she told me so herself; I live next door to her, ma'am."

"Oh, how sorry I am she cannot come!" Lilian cried. "Mother, don't you think I might take her some bread and cream, and plum cake? Oh, do let me!"

"You will miss the magic-lantern—" Mrs. Coker was commencing, when the little girl interposed eagerly:

"Oh, mother, I shall not mind that! It is not as if I could see!"

"You shall do as you wish, my dear; but get either Rupert or Bob Wills to go with you."

Mrs. Coker packed a basket full of good things, and handed it to Lilian. Then the little girl, basket in hand, passed between the crowded tables in the direction of the door. On her way she encountered, in turn, Rupert and Bob, to each of whom she explained where she was going, and asked his escort to Nannie's door, but Rupert said: "Oh, Bob will go with you!" And Bob said: "I wouldn't bother about the old woman, if I were you. I don't want to miss the fun."

"How selfish they are!" she thought. "Never mind, I'll go by myself."

A minute later, she was crossing the Green. It was quite dark now, for great banks of heavy snow-clouds were gathering overhead; but darkness and light were alike to Lilian, and she made her way straight to Nannie Davey's cottage, which was at the far end of the waste ground. On knocking at the door, Nannie's voice, querulous in tone, bade her come in.

The old woman was surprised and delighted at the sight of her visitor.

"And you've left them all in the midst of their festivity to bring these dainties to me!" she exclaimed, as the little girl placed the contents of her basket on the table.

"I wanted to come," Lilian answered earnestly. "It seemed so hard that you should be spending Christmas Eve by yourself. They are going to have the magic-lantern now, and you know that will be no loss to me. I'm so sorry you cannot join us to-night."

"I meant to be with you, dearie, but I'm dreadful bad; the rheumatism is like red-hot needles running into all my joints, and 'tis agony to move."

"Oh, poor soul!" said the child sympathetically. "I am so very sorry you suffer so much. You'll try to eat some of these nice things I've brought you, won't you? The cake is very good; our cook made it."

"It looks delicious," said the old woman, stretching out a knotted hand and helping herself to a slice. "Yes, it's the best cake I ever tasted," she declared, smacking her lips approvingly.

Pitying Nannie's lonely, suffering condition, Lilian remained talking to her longer than she had intended, and when at last she said good-bye to her and left the cottage, she found it was snowing fast.

However, she set out in the direction of the schoolroom; but she had taken only a few steps across the green when a sudden gust of wind caught her, and it was all she could do to keep her feet; and when the gust had passed, she felt so confused that she could not tell which way she had been going. She walked on, and at last came to a full stop as she realised she had left the Green for the road, and had actually turned her back on the village.

"How stupid of me!" she thought in vexation. "The wind must have twisted me round. Well, all I've to do now is to go back. Why, here's the gateway leading to the pathfields! How Nellie and Rupert will laugh when I tell them how far I wandered out of my way."

Suddenly she heard men's footsteps coming towards her, and unknown voices. To whom could they belong? she wondered. She was not in the least timid, but she was rather shy, and it occurred to her that she might be asked to account for her presence there alone in the snowstorm; so she crept under the shelter of the hedge, and waited for the strangers to pass, shivering as she drew her shawl close around her shoulders.

"You're sure there'll only be the old fellow to deal with?" questioned a man's voice, in a hoarse whisper, as the footsteps drew near.

"Quite sure," was the answer. "The farmer and all his household are in the schoolroom with the rest of the parish. There'll be no one to interfere with our little game after we've settled with the old chap; he's feeble with age, and won't give us any trouble. We'll knock at the door, and old Jeffry—as I've learnt he's called—will open it, then I'll manage him, whilst you set to work and—"

Lilian lost the end of the sentence; but a second later the first voice remarked:

"There's a surly brute of a sheep-dog about the place, so we must be cautious. The farmer's considered stocky; I wonder if he keeps much money in the house."

The footsteps and voices died away as their owners, having passed Lilian unnoticed in the blinding snow, proceeded in the direction of Westhill.

The little girl was horrified at what she had overheard. She shuddered at the thought that the unsuspecting caretaker would most probably open the door to two desperate characters, and, it might be, meet his death at their hands. What should she do? If she returned to the schoolroom with her tale, perhaps Jeffry would be dead before help could be sent to him. No, she must save him herself. She knew the short cut to Westhill, through the fields, and could reach the farm long before any one could do so by road.

To think was to act with Lilian; so, without waiting to consider the matter further, she scrambled over the gate into the field beyond, and ran as fast as she possibly could along the path, heedless alike of the driving snow and the cutting wind. Panting and almost exhausted, ten minutes later, she was hurrying through the orchard into the yard at Westhill. A low growl greeted her ears as she neared the house, and she called softly: "Wolf, Wolf," whereupon the sheep-dog, recognising her voice, changed his tone to a whine of pleasure, and, coming to her side, licked her hand.

Lilian rang the door-bell violently, and almost immediately she heard shuffling footsteps inside the door; and her heart beat with thankfulness as a voice inquired who was there.

"It is I—Lilian Coker. Let me in at once. Be quick, oh, please be quick!"

The door was opened then, and Lilian, followed by the sheep-dog, stumbled, almost done up with running so fast, across the threshold.

"Shut the door again, Jeffry!" she cried, as the old man began to utter exclamations of amazement. "Bolt it! Mind you bolt it! There are thieves about—coming here! Have you put up the chain? Yes. Oh, Jeffry, thank God I am in time!" And she burst into a flood of tears.

When she was somewhat more composed, she repeated to the old man the scraps of conversation she had overheard, and explained how she had run all the way to Westhill through the pathfields on his account. He listened with growing wonderment; and when the little girl had finished her tale, he made her sit down by the kitchen fire and take off her wet shoes, whilst he bustled about and lit all the lamps and candles he could lay hands on, placing them in the various rooms.

"They won't find us in darkness now," he chuckled. "It'll be a bit of a disappointment to them to see the house lit up—they'll hardly dare break in. You're a brave little maid, Miss Lilian!"

Lilian, followed by the sheep-dog, stumbled . . .
across the threshold.

"Oh, no, I'm not!" she replied. She was shaking like an aspen leaf now, and straining her ears, listening for the faintest sound out-of-doors. Wolf seated himself by her side, and rested his rough head on her knee. "I'm afraid mother will be anxious about me," she said, with a sigh, "but there only seemed one thing for me to do, to come here and warn you, Jeffry."

"And I am very grateful to you, Miss Lilian," said the old man fervently. "I wonder you weren't too timid to come through the pathfields in such a snowstorm alone. What's that?" he asked, lowering his voice to a whisper, as she lifted a warning hand.

"They're in the yard," Lilian whispered. "I heard them."

Wolf raised his head from her knee as she spoke, then, with a fierce growl, he sprang snarling towards the door. Presently his excitement died away, and he returned to his previous position beside the fire.

"They've made off, you may depend," said Old Jeffrey, drawing a deep sigh of relief, "they fancy they've made a mistake, and that there's something going on in the house. We shall have no robbers breaking in here to-night now. How I should like to know who the rogues are! You didn't recognise their voices, Miss Lilian?"

"No, I'm certain I never heard them in my life before."

The old man warmed some milk, which he insisted upon Lilian's drinking. She was troubled in mind at the thought of the anxiety which her absence from the schoolroom was doubtless causing her parents; but, at the same time, she was conscious she had done what was right under the circumstances. By-and-by, a feeling of intense lassitude crept over her, and, worn out with excitement and fatigue, she fell asleep.

CHAPTER VII.

CHRISTMAS DAY.

THE lights had been lowered in the schoolroom for the magic-lantern, so that no one had missed Lilian during that part of the entertainment. But when the lights were turned up again, and the screen was removed which had hidden the Christmas tree in one corner of the room, her mother noticed she had not returned. Rupert and Bob were obliged to admit, on being questioned, that as far as they knew, Lilian had gone to Nannie Davey's cottage alone.

It was then discovered that it was snowing fast; and Mr. Coker suggested that Lilian was probably waiting for some one to fetch her. Accordingly, he went in search of his little daughter, only to find that she had left the old woman more than an hour before. With a sensation of chill dismay at his heart, Mr. Coker returned to the schoolroom, and, beckoning to Mr. Wills and a couple of men to join him outside, he hastily explained the situation to them.

"She cannot be far away," he said, "and I don't wish my wife or anyone to be needlessly alarmed, so we must try to keep the fact that she is missing a secret. Perhaps she has fallen and hurt herself."

Five minutes later a lantern had been procured, and a careful search was made all over the village Green. The falling snow had obliterated the traces of Lilian's footsteps, and no clue to her whereabouts could be discovered. Mr. Coker was in despair, when a brilliant idea struck Farmer Wills, and he exclaimed:

"I'll fetch Wolf! Never was there such a dog as that for sharpness. Many a lost sheep has he found for me before now. He'll find Miss Lilian right enough, if she's anywhere near. If I go by the pathfields, I shall soon reach Westhill, and I shall be back with Wolf in no time."

Mr. Coker and the others continued their search during the farmer's absence. To the anxious father, the minutes dragged away slowly and seemed like hours, but it was actually only little over half-an-hour later when the footsteps of a horse were heard, and Mr. Wills flung himself from the back of his mount in front of the schoolroom door.

"She's safe!" he cried joyfully. "I found her asleep by the kitchen fire at Westhill."

"At Westhill!" echoed Mr. Coker, scarcely able to believe he had heard aright.

"Yes, I never knew such a plucky little soul," Mr. Wills proceeded admiringly, and he forthwith poured the story of Lilian's adventure into his listeners' ears. "She's pretty nigh tired out," he explained; "she said she'd stay with old Jeffry, and you must please call for her on your way home. I don't think I'd mention the thieves to any one to-night, sir, or folks will be nervous."

Mr. Coker agreed that it would be wiser not to do so. He re-entered the schoolroom, and assured his wife, who had been anxiously on the look-out for him, that Lilian was safe, at the same time telling her he would explain matters later on. So the entertainment was brought to a close, without anything having happened to mar the happiness of the evening as far as Mr. Coker's visitors were concerned; and it was not until the following day that it became generally known that, but for Lilian, Westhill would have been robbed, and poor old Jeffry perhaps murdered.

After a good night's rest, Lilian was quite herself again, and went to church on Christmas morning with the others of the family from Haldon Hall.

The snowstorm was over, and the sun was shining in a sky of cloudless blue. It was an ideal Christmas Day.

Many were the questions Lilian had to answer, concerning her adventure of the previous night, as she stood in the churchyard after the glad service was over. And she grew quite embarrassed, as she listened to the complimentary speeches made to her upon her bravery and presence of mind.

"I only wish the thieves could be found," said Bob Wills, who had run ahead of his aunt and uncle and caught up his young friends on their way home. "I hear two tramping sort of men were seen loafing about the village yesterday; you may depend those were the ones you overheard talking."

"Very likely," Lilian agreed, "for I'm sure they were strangers."

"I ought to have gone across the Green with you last night," Bob confessed.

"No, Bob, it was I who ought to have gone with her," Rupert was constrained to admit; "but I only thought of myself and missing the magic-lantern. And poor Lilian was done out of everything—even the Christmas tree—"

"Oh, never mind that!" Lilian interposed hastily. "You and Nellie have told me all about it, and how pleased the children were with their presents, so I shall be able to write and tell Miss Long all she wants to know just as though I had been there."

"And I shall write and tell her how brave you were last night," Nellie declared, for she felt exceedingly proud of her sister. "If I had been in your place, Lilian, I should have been frightened to death. And I wouldn't have gone through the pathfields by myself after dark in a snowstorm for anything, and I don't believe the boys would have either!"

"You see there is one advantage in being blind," said Lilian brightly, "one can get about by night as well as by day."

"You'll come up to our place this afternoon, won't you?" Rupert inquired of Bob ere they parted outside Westhill. "I heard father asking you. Be sure you come."

"Oh, yes, I will," Bob answered. "I don't know what I should have done this last two months without you three!" he cried in a sudden burst of confidence. "You can't imagine how unhappy I was when I first came to Westhill; and I am sure when I saw you, Nellie, and you, Rupert, staring at me that day I arrived, I never guessed we should be friends. Why, here's old Jeffry coming across the yard. How excited he looks! Well, Jeffry," he said, as the old man came up, "what has happened?"

"The thieves have been caught, Master Bob," was the unexpected response, "leastways two men have been arrested, who, it seems probable, are the ones that meant to rob Westhill last night. They were caught at Halwick by the police, in the small hours of the morning, breaking into a house. By this time, they're safe under lock and key."

Halwick was the nearest town. Jeffry hastened to explain that he had learnt the news from the village constable, who, as soon as he had heard of the attempted burglary, had concluded the captured thieves must be the men whose plans Lilian had frustrated, and had gone to the farm with the story of their arrest. Whilst the old man was telling all this, Mr. and Mrs. Coker and the farmer and his wife joined the little group, and Jeffry, swelling with importance, had to recount his story again.

"I am satisfied now the rogues are caught," the old man declared. "But to think of their breaking into a house—real burglars they must be! Ah, Miss Lilian, what would have become of me, but for you!"

"If Lilian had not been so concerned for another's happiness, she would not have been in the way of hearing the plans of those desperate men," Mrs. Coker said, with an affectionate glance at her elder daughter. "I think Providence guided her footsteps last night."

"I am sure of it," Mrs. Wills replied earnestly. "We shall be able to rest in our beds in peace, now we know the thieves have been caught. I confess I did not sleep for thinking of them last night, though we kept Wolf in the house, and my common sense told me there was nothing to fear."

Goad-byes were now exchanged between the two families; and the Cokers proceeded on their way homewards, Bob shouting after them that he would join them during the afternoon.

"You almost live at Haldon Hall," Mrs. Wills remarked to her nephew with a smile. "I'm very glad you're friendly with the Squire's young folk. I don't think you find Master Rupert such a prig as you fancied him at first, do you?"

"No, he's all right now we've got to know each other better," Bob responded with a laugh. "By the way, he's going to the Vicarage next term to be taught by the Vicar, and he wants me to go with him." He looked at his uncle as he spoke.

"Mr. Coker has been speaking to me about it, and I think it would be a very good plan, if the Vicar agrees to it, and I believe he will," put in the farmer; "but that's a matter to be discussed later on. It's fully dinner time now, and we mustn't let the turkey be spoilt."

THE NORMAN DAVY PRINTING CO., LTD., LONDON AND LOUTH.

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUIRE'S YOUNG FOLK ***

The Squire's Young Folk.