Mildred looked at her book when the girls had retired, fairly wearied with chattering. It was just what she had wanted. How thoughtful of Dr. Heriot. Her name was written in full; and for the first time she had a chance of criticising the bold, clear handwriting. 'From a family friend--John Heriot,' was written just underneath. After all, had it not been a little churlish of her to refuse going with the children? The evening had gone very heavily with her; her brother had been in one of his taciturn moods and had retired to his room early; and finding the house empty, and somewhat desolate, she had betaken herself to the moonlighted paths of the churchyard, and had more than once wished she could peep in unseen on the party. It was not long afterwards that Mildred was induced to partake of Dr. Heriot's hospitality. It was the day before the Castlesteads Rush-bearing. Mildred was in the town with Olive and Polly, when, just as they were turning the corner by the King's Arms, a heavy shower came on; and Dr. Heriot, who was entering his own door, beckoned to them to run across and take shelter. Dr. Heriot's house stood in a secluded corner of the market-place, behind the King's Arms; the bank was on the left-hand side, and from the front windows there was a good view of the market-place, the town pump, and butter market, and the quaint, old-fashioned shops. The shops of Kirkby Stephen drove a brisk trade, in spite of the sleepy air that pervaded them, and the curious intermixture of goods that they patronised. The confectioner's was also a china shop, and there was a millinery room upstairs, while the last new music was only procurable at the tin shop. Jams and groceries could be procured at the druggist's, while the fashionable milliner of the town was also the postmistress. On certain days the dull little butcher's shop, with its picturesque gable and overhanging balcony, was guileless of anything but its chopping-blocks, and perhaps the half-carcase of a sheep; beef was not always to be had for the asking, a fact which London housekeepers were slow to understand. On Mondays the town wore a more thriving appearance; huge wagons blocked up the market-place, stalls containing all sorts of wares occupied the central area, the countrywomen sold chickens and eggs, and tempting rolls of fresh butter, the gentlemen farmers congregated round the King's Arms; towards afternoon, horse-dealers tried their horses' paces up and down the long street, while the village curs made themselves conspicuous barking at their heels. 'I hope you will always make use of me in this way,' said Dr. Heriot, as he shook Mildred's wet cloak, and ushered them into the hall; 'the rain has damped you already, but I hope it is only a passing shower for the little rush-bearers' sakes to-morrow.' 'The barometer points to fair,' observed Polly, anxiously.