Mrs. Armstrong understood her daughter's character more correctly than her husband, with all his boasted superiority of intellect, and therefore she dreaded a passage of arms between these two so near and dear to her. The trial was more closely at hand than even she for a moment anticipated. Little Freddy often brought home from school a full and particular account of some incident that had occurred during the day, and in which he had been greatly interested. These incidents were listened to by Mary only out of love to her little brother; and although very often Mr. Henry Halford's name stood prominent in these narrations, Mary's interest on that account was very little excited. It gratified her, however, to find that the child was treated with great kindness by both father and son, and to hear his earnest declaration-- "Oh, Mary, I like Mr. Henry Halford so much, he is so kind to us little ones in the playground; he plays at peg-top, and all sorts of games, with us; and sometimes we go into the cricket-field, without the big boys, and he teaches us how to play; isn't it kind of him?" All this was very pleasing to Mrs. Armstrong, more especially as she could discern very clearly that Mary listened to it all as a matter of course. No suspicion that this kindness to her brother could arise from a wish to win the sister, or for her sake, entered her mind. Not so her mother; suspicions of this kind would intrude themselves at times, only to be set aside by her daughter's evident indifference. Mrs. Armstrong, however, was wrong. Henry Halford's kindness to the little boys arose from a natural love of children, and Freddy Armstrong was not favoured more than others. All thoughts of the fair girl whose appearance had so confused him on that cold January morning had been banished with determination. After school duties ceased he became, as usual every day, absorbed in his books, his only recreation a game at cricket, or, as we have heard, the fun with the juniors, which gave him the greatest pleasure. And so the weeks passed on, and brought with them signs of the approach of spring. One afternoon, about a fortnight before Easter, Mr. Armstrong returned from the City rather earlier than usual, to have a ride with his daughter. He had on this account travelled to town and back by the omnibus. "Give me half an hour's rest, Mary," he said, as she came in full of pleasure to ask when he wished to start. "Yes, papa," she replied, "and there will be also time for you to have a cup of tea with mamma; she generally has it about four o'clock." Away ran Mary to hasten the refreshing "cup which cheers but not inebriates," while Mr. Armstrong seated himself and began to talk to his wife. "I shall not be sorry to have a cup of tea," he said, "for I rode outside the 'bus, and the roads are too dusty to be pleasant, whatever the old proverb may say, and perhaps with some truth, that 'a peck of March dust is worth a king's ransom.'"