"I might want to get over to the North Pole, and be none the nearer to it. MacEveril was bound for some place a mile or two across fields this afternoon, on business for the office, and I promised to go over to walk with him. Promises, though, are like pie-crust, Janey: made to be broken." Jane nodded assent. "And a promise which you are obliged to break is sure to be one you particularly want to keep. I wish I had a pair of new gloves, Oliver. Pale grey." "I wish I had half-a-dozen new pairs, for the matter of that. Just look at those little minnows, leaping in the water. How pretty they are!" He went to the edge of the brook and stood looking down at the small fry. Jane followed. Then they walked about in the Inlets, then sat down again and watched the sunset; and so the evening wore away until they went home. Jane was shut up again the following day, busy with her dress; Oliver, as usual, was in the Buttery with his father. At twelve o'clock Mr. Preen prepared to go out to keep an appointment at Evesham, leaving Oliver a lot of work to do, very much to his aggravation. "It's a shame. It will take me all the afternoon to get through it," ran his thoughts--and he would have liked to say so aloud. "You don't look pleased, young man," remarked his father. "Recollect you will be off duty to-morrow." Oliver's countenance cleared; his disposition was a pleasant one, never retaining anger long, and he set to his task with a good will. The morrow being the day of the picnic, he would have whole holiday. At five o'clock the young servant carried the tea-tray into the parlour. Presently Mrs. Preen came in, made the tea, and sat down to wait for her son and daughter. Tired and hot, she was glad of the rest. Jane ran downstairs, all happiness. "Mamma, it is finished," she cried; "quite finished. It looks so well." "It had need look well," fretfully retorted Mrs. Preen, who had been unable to get at Jane for any useful purpose these two days, and resented it accordingly. "When all trades fail I can turn dressmaker," said the girl, gaily. "Where's Oliver?" "In the Buttery, I expect; he said he had a great deal to do there this afternoon, and I have not seen him about," replied Mrs. Preen, as she poured out the tea. "Not that I should have been likely to see him--shut into that hot kitchen with the ironing." Jane knew this was a shaft meant for herself. At ordinary times she did her share of the ironing. "I will tell Oliver that tea is ready, mamma," she said, rising to go to the other room. "Why, there he is, sitting in the shade under the walnut tree," she exclaimed, happening to look from the window. "Sitting out in the cool," remarked Mrs. Preen. "I don't blame him, poring all day long over those accounts and things. Call him in, Jane." "Coming," said Oliver, in response to Jane's call from the open window. He crossed the grass slowly, fanning himself with his straw hat. His fair face--an unusual thing with him--was scarlet.