"No, I do not," laughed Miss Deveen. "I say that it appears hard to us when our days of youth are passing, and when we see our companions chosen and ourselves left: but, rely upon it, Helen, as we advance in years, we acquiesce in the decree; many of us learning to be thankful for it." "And you young people little think what great cause you have to be thankful for it," cried Lady Whitney, all in a heat. "Marriage brings a bushel of cares: and no one knows what anxiety boys and girls entail until they come." Miss Deveen nodded emphatically. "It is very true. I would not exchange my present lot with that of the best wife in England; believe that, or not, as you will, Helen. Of all the different states this busy earth can produce, a lot such as mine is assuredly the most exempt from trouble. And, my dear, if you are destined never to marry, you have a great deal more cause to be thankful than rebellious." "The other day, when you were preaching to us, you told us that trouble came for our benefit," grumbled Helen, passing into rebellion forthwith. "I remember it," assented Miss Deveen, "and very true it is. My heart has sickened before now at witnessing the troubles, apparently unmerited, that some people, whether married or single, have to undergo; and I might have been almost tempted to question the loving-kindness of Heaven, but for remembering that we must through much tribulation enter into the Kingdom." Anna interrupted the silence that ensued. She came running up with a handful of wild roses and sweetbriar, gathered in the hedge below. Miss Deveen took them when offered to her, saying she thought of all flowers the wild rose was the sweetest. "How solemn you all look!" cried Anna. "Don't we!" said Helen. "I have been having a lecture read to me." "By whom?" "Every one here--except Johnny Ludlow. And I am sure I hope _he_ was edified. I wonder when tea is going to be ready!" "Directly, I should say," said Anna: "for here comes Mrs. Ness with the cups and saucers." I ran forward to help her bring the things. Rednal's trim wife, a neat, active woman with green eyes and a baby in her arms, was following with plates of bread-and-butter and cake, and the news that the kettle was "on the boil." Presently the table was spread; and William, who had come back to us, took up the baby's whistle and blew a blast, prolonged and shrill. The stragglers heard it, understood it was the signal for their return, and came flocking in. The Squire and Sir John said they had been sitting under the trees and talking: our impression was, they had been sleeping. The young Whitneys appeared in various stages of heat; Tod and Featherston's nephew smelt of smoke. The first cups of tea had gone round, and Tod was making for Rednal's cottage with a notice that the bread-and-butter had come to an end, when I saw a delicate little fair-haired face peering at us from amid the trees.