The day was warm and beautiful; the glass-doors stood open to the sweet summer air. Light fleecy clouds floated over the blue sky, the sun shone on the green grass of the lawn and sparkled amidst the leaves of the great mulberry-tree. Butterflies flitted past in pairs, chasing each other; bees sent forth their hum as they sipped the honey-dew from the flowers; the birds sang their love-songs on the boughs: all seemed happiness outside, as if to mock our care within. Tod lay back with his eyes closed: I sat on the arm of the old red sofa. The bells of North Crabb Church rang out for morning service. It was rather a cracked old peal, but on great occasions the ringers assembled and did their best. The Bishop of Worcester was coming over to-day to preach a charity sermon: and North Crabb never had anything greater than that. Tod opened his eyes and listened in silence. "Tod, do you know what it puts me in mind of?" "Don't bother. It's because of the bishop, I suppose." "I don't mean the bells. It's like the old fable, told of in 'The Mistletoe Bough,' enacted in real life. If there were any deep chest about the premises----" "Hold your peace, Johnny!--unless you want to drive me mad. If we come upon the child like _that_, I'll--I'll----" I think he was going to say shoot himself, or something of that sort, for he was given to random speech when put to it. But at that moment Lena ran in dressed for church, in her white frock and straw hat with blue ribbons. She threw her hands on Tod's knee and burst out crying. "Joe, I don't want to go to church; I want Hugh." Quite a spasm of pain shot across his face, but he was very tender with her. In all my life I had never seen Tod so gentle as he had been at moments during the last two days. "Don't cry, pretty one," he said, pushing the fair curls from her face. "Go to church like a good little girl; perhaps we shall have found him by the time you come home." "Hannah says he's lying dead somewhere." "Hannah's nothing but a wicked woman," savagely answered Tod. "Don't you mind her." But Lena would not be pacified, and kept on sobbing and crying, "I want Hugh; I want Hugh." Mrs. Todhetley, who had come in then, drew her away and sat down with the child on her knee, talking to her in low, soothing tones. "Lena, dear, you know I wish you to go with Hannah to church this morning. And you will put papa's money into the plate. See: it is a golden sovereign. Hannah must carry it, and you shall put it in." "Oh, mamma! will Hugh never come home again? Will he die?" "Hush, Lena," she said, as Tod bit his lip and gave his hair a dash backwards. "Shall I tell you something that sounds like a pretty story?" Lena was always ready for a story, pretty or ugly, and her blue eyes were lifted to her mother's brightly through the tears. At that moment she looked wonderfully like the portrait on the wall.