"It was very selfish and unkind of him to speak as he did, and father would be very angry if he knew he had done so. Think no more of it, Mavis. You haven't been crying, have you?" "No," Mavis answered. "I've been praying," she added, after a minute's pause. "Praying?" Rose was surprised. "But it isn't bedtime," she said, "I always say my prayers night and morning, don't you?" "Yes, and odd times besides, whenever I feel I want to. It—it comforts me. It's so nice to think Jesus is always near to hear one, isn't it, and to remember He understands what other people can't? I expect Bob thinks it was very selfish of me to go to Oxford with Uncle John—" "I shall tell father how he spoke to you!" Rose broke in, impetuously. "Oh, don't, please don't!" implored Mavis. "Don't let us say any more about it. Promise you won't." Rose gave the required promise, and the two little girls went downstairs together. Bob, who was now ashamed of the jealous spirit he had exhibited, found an opportunity during the evening of telling Mavis he was sorry if he had seemed unkind, and that he was really glad that she had enjoyed the afternoon. September was nearly out now, but the fine weather continued, so that the young folks were able to spend their spare time out-of-doors. They had several blackberrying expeditions, from which they returned laden with luscious fruit, which Jane converted into bramble jelly. Mavis soon knew the prettiest walks around W—, and learnt the dangerous places in the river, where the water was deep and swift. Sometimes in their rambles, the children came upon Mr. Moseley, who generally stopped and talked to them. Rose and Bob, like many country children, were shy, and had little to say for themselves. But Mavis, on the contrary, was always ready to further a conversation. "You should have heard Mavis chattering to the Vicar this afternoon," said Bob to his mother, one Saturday evening. "I should think she talked to him for quite half an hour." "Oh, quite!" agreed Mavis. "I hope he did not think you a forward little girl, Mavis," said her aunt gravely, with a note of rebuke in her voice. Mavis coloured indignantly, and a quick retort rose to her lips, but she refrained from uttering it, and kept silence. "Mr. Moseley asked Mavis what she thought of Oxford, and she told him," explained Rose. "And then he questioned her about Aunt Margaret, and when the 'Nineveh' was due to arrive at Sydney, and of course, she had to answer him." "Yes," assented her mother, "that was quite right. But little girls must not be too ready with their tongues." "Rose isn't," said Bob, with a mischievous glance at his sister. "She scarcely spoke a word to Mr. Moseley this afternoon." "I-I don't know Mr. Moseley very well," stammered poor Rose, "and I was shy, I suppose. So were you, Bob, for that matter."