Sir Cradock Nowell felt a longing to box pretty Amyʼs ears; he had always loved his godchild, Amy, and chastened her accordingly. He now loved Amy best in the world, next to his pet son, Clayton. To tell the truth, he had bathed himself in the sunset–glow of match–making, all the way down the chase. Clayton, proclaimed the heir and all that, should marry Amy Rosedew; what could it matter to him about money, and where else would he find such a maiden? Then, in the course of a few more years—so soon as ever there were five, or, say at the most six children—he, Sir Cradock, would make over the management of the property; that is, if he felt tired of it, and they were both very steady. And what of Cradock, you planning father, what of your other son, Cradock? In faith, he must do for a parson. Sir Cradock retired in no small flurry, and went to the garden to look for Jem. Miss Eudoxia became at once unconscious, as she ought to have been long ago; and thenceforth she would never acknowledge that she had seen the intruder at all; or, indeed, that there had been one. However, it cured her, for a very long time, of those sad attacks of hysteria. This present attack was the natural result of a violent conflict with Amy, who was not going to be trampled upon, even by Aunt Doxy. It appears that, early in the afternoon, the good aunt began to wonder what on earth was become of her niece. Of course she could not be at the school, because Wednesday was a half–holiday; she was not in the library, nor in the back–kitchen, nor even out at Pincherʼs kennel. No, nor even in the garden, although she had a magnificent lot of bulbs to plant, for which she had saved up ever so much of her little pocket–money. “Well”, said Miss Eudoxia, who was thirsting for her gossip, which she always held after lunch—“well, I must say this is _most_ inconsiderate of her. And I promised John to take her to the park, and how am I to get ready? Girls are not what they used to be, though Amy is such a good girl. They read all sorts of trashy books, and then they go eloping”. That last idea sent the good aunt in hot haste to Amyʼs bedroom; and who should be there, sitting by the window, with a small book in her hand, but beautiful Amy herself. “Well”! cried Miss Eudoxia, heavily offended; “indeed, I _am_ surprised. So this is what you prefer, is it, to your own auntʼs conversation? And, I declare, what a colour you have! And panting, as if you had asthma! Let me see that book this moment, miss”! “To be sure, Aunt Eudoxia”, said Amy, rather indignantly; “but you need not be in a pet, you know”. “Oh, neednʼt I, indeed, when you read such books as this! Oh, what will your poor father say? And _you_ to have a class in the Sunday–school”!