Lucy found it very difficult to keep up a conversation with Mr. Crawley—the more so, as Mrs. Robarts and Mrs. Crawley presently withdrew into a bedroom, taking the two younger children with them. “How unlucky,” thought Lucy, “that she has not got my muff with her!” But the muff lay in her lap, ponderous with its rich enclosures. “I suppose you will live in Barchester for a portion of the year now,” said Mr. Crawley. “I really do not know as yet; Mark talks of taking lodgings for his first month’s residence.” “But he will have the house, will he not?” “Oh, yes; I suppose so.” “I fear he will find it interfere with his own parish—with his general utility there: the schools, for instance.” “Mark thinks that, as he is so near, he need not be much absent from Framley, even during his residence. And then Lady Lufton is so good about the schools.” “Ah! yes; but Lady Lufton is not a clergyman, Miss Robarts.” It was on Lucy’s tongue to say that her ladyship was pretty nearly as bad, but she stopped herself. At this moment Providence sent great relief to Miss Robarts in the shape of Mrs. Crawley’s red-armed maid-of-all-work, who, walking up to her master, whispered into his ear that he was wanted. It was the time of day at which his attendance was always required in his parish school; and that attendance being so punctually given, those who wanted him looked for him there at this hour, and if he were absent, did not scruple to send for him. “Miss Robarts, I am afraid you must excuse me,” said he, getting up and taking his hat and stick. Lucy begged that she might not be at all in the way, and already began to speculate how she might best unload her treasures. “Will you make my compliments to Mrs. Robarts, and say that I am sorry to miss the pleasure of wishing her good-bye? But I shall probably see her as she passes the school-house.” And then, stick in hand, he walked forth, and Lucy fancied that Bobby’s eyes immediately rested on the bag of gingerbread-nuts. “Bob,” said she, almost in a whisper, “do you like sugar-plums?” “Very much indeed,” said Bob, with exceeding gravity, and with his eye upon the window to see whether his father had passed. “Then come here,” said Lucy. But as she spoke the door again opened, and Mr. Crawley reappeared. “I have left a book behind me,” he said; and, coming back through the room, he took up the well-worn prayer-book which accompanied him in all his wanderings through the parish. Bobby, when he saw his father, had retreated a few steps back, as also did Grace, who, to confess the truth, had been attracted by the sound of sugar-plums, in spite of the irregular verbs. And Lucy withdrew her hand from her muff, and looked guilty. Was she not deceiving the good man—nay, teaching his own children to deceive him? But there are men made of such stuff that an angel could hardly live with them without some deceit.