“Oh, yes,” Owlet admitted. “I like him well enough, but he is so awfully big. It sort of crowds one just to look at Uncle Paunchus. Besides, it is so nice and cozy for you and me to be driving through this heavenly place all by ourselves.” Their road wound up and down, over wooded hills and through fertile vales, with glimpses of farmhouses, fields and orchards here and there, until at last, on the outskirts of the village, they came to the church, in the midst of its large, well-shaded, parklike grounds, differing only from a park in the gleaming white gravestones scattered here and there among the trees. Here were gathered many carriages, of every description, from the donkey cart to the family barouche, and horses which were unharnessed, and tethered, so that they might nibble the fresh, luxuriant grass while resting from their labors. Roma drew up, alighted, lifted the child to the ground, and was about to take her horse from the shafts and tether him to a tree, when a voice sounded behind her. “My dear young lady, I am so glad to see you—so surprised and delighted! Let me do that.” She turned and saw her own family physician standing there. “Oh, Dr. Keech! So happy to meet you!” she exclaimed, giving him her hand, which he shook heartily, and retained in his grasp longer than necessary. But the organ from within the church began to peal forth with the opening voluntary, and she added, by way of hastening the release of her hand: “And thank you very much. You may, if you please, do this.” Doing “this” meant unharnessing and tethering the cob, which the doctor quickly effected, while Roma stood by, holding the hand of Owlet. “And who is this young lady?” inquired the doctor, as the three turned to walk toward the church. “She is Catherine Nouvellini, a little ward of mine. You must come to the Hall and make her acquaintance. She is quite worth cultivating, I assure you,” Roma replied. “I have no doubt of it,” the smiling old doctor replied, patting the shoulder of the child. It was impossible to pat her head with such a church steeple of a hat as she elected to wear. “I have no doubt of it. I shall do myself the honor of calling on Miss Nouvellini, or should I say the Signorita Nouvellini or Mademoiselle Nouvellini?” But they were entering the church, so the doctor got no reply to his “chaff,” and fortunately did not hear the muttered criticism of Owlet as to his probable deficiency of common sense. The church was not crowded, but on this fine morning it was full—every pew having its quota of occupants. Roma led little Owlet up the right-hand aisle to her own pew, which was in the corner, to the right of the pulpit. She was scarcely seated when the rector came in from the vestry and took his place at the reading desk.