The rector looked astonished. Then, as he turned to look at Roma, and met her glance, his eyes twinkled and his mouth twitched with suppressed mirth; it would not be seemly to laugh out loud then and there. “I am afraid she has a cavity where her bump of veneration ought to be, Dr. Shaw, but you will help me to train her properly. Come, Catherine, we must go,” said Roma, anxious to get the child away before she should have another chance of expressing her opinion. “Good-by, dear Dr. Shaw. I shall expect you to dinner to-morrow.” “Thank you, Roma. I will be there. Now, I would not really let you hurry away if I did not know by instinct that many of our friends are waiting to speak to you outside. Good-by, my child. Good-by, my small monitress,” said the rector, warmly shaking hands with Roma and then with Owlet. As soon as the two found themselves outside the church door they were surrounded by a crowd of Roma’s old friends and neighbors, who showered welcomes upon her, and questions about the Grays, and their life at Delfcome; and when these were satisfactorily received and answered, came inquiries concerning her little companion. To all these last Roma gave the same answer that she had already given to the physician and to the rector. At length she was free to return home, and very glad when she went to her pony chaise, attended by Dr. Keech, who harnessed her horse, lifted little Owlet into the chaise, assisted Roma to her seat, and gave her the reins. Then he stood with old-time courtesy, hat lifted, until the young lady drove off. Roma felt a strong disposition to give Owlet a lecture on good behavior, but refrained, partly from the reluctance of the strong and powerful to hurt in any way the weak and dependent, and partly from despair of such a lecture doing the child any good. So they would have driven home in silence but for the prattle of Owlet, who, refreshed by her long nap in the church, was wide awake, and keenly alive to the delights of the drive over the wooded hills and through the fertile vales that lay between Goeberlin and the Hall, on that fine spring day. So at length they reached home in time for their early afternoon dinner. After this Owlet went out, to wander through the garden, with no companion but her bull pup, George Thomas, leaving Roma to read alone until the child was called in to supper and to bed. The next day the rector came, early in the forenoon. As he rode up to the house on his easy-going old brown mare he saw Owlet walking on the lawn, with her shadow, Ducky Darling, waddling by her side. They had just got through their morning lessons, which in the duckling’s case had been quite as unsuccessful as those of the preceding Saturday—her notions of imbibing knowledge being to chew it up. The minister dismounted, tied his horse to a post, and came up to the children. “Well, Miss Catherine, how do you do?” he inquired, patting Owlet’s cheek.