necessary in order to sacrifice the present for the sake of something remote--a capacity which lies, we are told, at the basis of all virtue--was singular. CHAPTER XXI Tom was restored to his former position, and Mr. Furze's business began to improve. Arrangements were made for the removal from the Terrace, and they were eagerly pressed forward by Catharine. Her mother pleaded that they could not leave till June; that even in June they would sacrifice a quarter's rent, but Catharine's reply was that they would pay no more if they went beforehand. Her father was anxious to please her, and the necessary alterations at the shop were taken in hand at once, and towards the beginning of May were completed. She was not allowed to move to the High Street with her father and mother; it was thought that the worry and fatigue would be too much for her, and it was settled, as the weather was wonderfully warm, and bright for the time of year, that she should go over to Chapel Farm for a week. At the end of the week she would find the furniture all in its place and her room quite straight. Mrs. Bellamy called for her, and she reached the farm in safety, and looking better. The next morning she begged to be taken for a drive. Mr. Bellamy had to go over to Thingleby, and she was able to go with him. It a lovely sunny day, one of those days which we sometimes have in May, summer days in advance of the main body, and more beautiful, perhaps, than any that follow, because they are days of anticipation and hope, our delight in the full midsummer being sobered by the thought of approaching autumn and winter. When they reached the bridge Mr. Bellamy remembered that he had forgotten his cheque-book and his money, and it was of no use to go to Thingleby without them. "Botheration! I must go back, my dear." "Leave me here, Mr. Bellamy; you won't be long. Let me get out, though, and just turn the mare aside off the road on to the grass against the gate; she will be quite quiet." "Had you not better sit still? I shall be back in a quarter of an hour." "If you do not mind, dear Mr. Bellamy, I should so like to stand on the bridge. I cannot let the gig stay there." "Well, my dear, you shall have your own way. You know," he said, laughing, "I've long ago given up asking why my Catharine wants anything whatsomever. If she wishes it that's enough for me." Catharine dismounted, and Mr. Bellamy walked back.