Leigh went to the door of the room and shouted out, "Jerry, Jerry, come down. You're wanted, my man." In a moment the door opened, and the cause of Mr. Leigh's discontent came upon the scene in the form of a dark-eyed, dark-haired, pale-faced boy, tall but slightly built; not, so far as physique went, much credit to the country-side. Yet in some respects a striking-looking if not handsome lad. The dark, eloquent eyes and strongly-marked brow would arrest attention; but the face was too thin, too thoughtful for the age, and could scarcely be associated with what commonly constitutes a good-looking lad. Yet regularity of feature was there, and no one would dare to be sure that beauty would not come with manhood. He was not seen at that moment under advantageous circumstances. Knowing nothing about the distinguished visitors, he had obeyed his father's summons in hot haste; consequently he entered the room in his shirt sleeves, which were certainly not very clean, and with hands covered with red clay. Mr. Herbert looked amused, while the little princess turned up her nose in great disdain. Poor Abraham Leigh was much mortified at the unpresentable state in which his son showed himself. To make matters worse, the boy was not soiled by honest, legitimate toil. "Tut! tut!" he said, crossly. "All of a muck, as usual." The boy, who felt that his father had a right to complain, hung his head and showed signs of retreating. Mr. Herbert came to the rescue. "Never mind," he said, patting young Leigh on the shoulder, "he has been working in his own fashion. I have come on purpose to see those modellings of yours, my boy." The boy started as one surprised. His cheek flushed, and he looked at the speaker with incredulity yet hope in his eyes. "Yes," said his father, sharply. "Go and put your hands under the pump, Jerry; then bring some of 'em down. Maybe, anyway, they'll amuse the little lady." "No, no," said Mr. Herbert. "I'll come with you and see them for myself. Lead the way." Young Leigh did not speak, but his eyes thanked Mr. Herbert. That gentleman followed him from the room, leaving the farmer to amuse the little maid. He did this so far as he was able by producing a well-thumbed copy of the "Pilgrim's Progress," the leaves of which Miss Herbert condescended to turn daintily over until she was quite terrified by the picture of the combat with Apollyon. Meanwhile "Jerry," with a beating heart, led Mr. Herbert up-stairs to a room destitute of furniture save an old table and chair. A bucket half-full of common red clay stood in one corner, and on the table were several of the little clay figures which had excited the farmer's ire and consternation.