Kate disengaged herself from Rose, and hastened to the Rectory. She opened the garden gate. She was a privileged person there, coming when she liked about choir matters, sent messages by her uncle, who was churchwarden, running in when she had a spare hour to look at Mr. Fielding’s picture-books, in strawberry time to gather the fruit and eat it, in preserving time to collect his raspberries, currants, plums, for the cook to convert into jams. She saw the rector sitting under a mulberry tree on his lawn with a book on his lap. He had removed his hat, and the spring air fluttered his silver hair. He saw Kate at once, and, smiling, beckoned to her to come and sit by him on the bench that half encircled the old tree. This she would not do, but she stood before him with downcast eyes and folded hands, and said, “Please, sir, I am afraid you will be cross with me.” “I am never that, Kitty.” “No, sir, never.” She raised her flashing blue eyes for a moment. “Perhaps you may be vexed with me. I’ve just gone and done clean contrary to what you said.” “What did I say?” “You said after my holiday I was to go home, and obey my uncle and aunt in everything.” “I am sure I never said that.” “It was something like it—be obliging and good.” “Well, have you not been obliging and good?” “No, sir.” “What have you done?” “I’ve crossed them, and I fancy father will be cross too.” “What have you done to cross them?” “Refused Jan Pooke.” The rector drew back against the tree and smiled. “Refused? I don’t quite understand.” “Please, sir, Jan wanted to make me his wife.” “Well?” “And I said ‘No.’” “You had made up your mind already?” “I knew I must say ‘No.’ Do you know, sir, Jan thought that silver peninks came from daffodil roots.” “Oh! and accordingly you could not say ‘Yes’?” “It was silly; was it not?” “And that was your real, true reason for saying ‘No’?” Kitty looked down. “You are not angry with me, sir?” “No. Are your relations so?” “Yes; uncle and aunt are dreadfully vexed, and that is what has made me cry. I came home wishing to do everything to please them, and the first thing I did was to make them angry and call me a little viper they had brought up in their bosom. You do not think I did wrong? You are not angry also?” “No; I do not think you could have done otherwise, if you did not care for John Pooke.” “I did, and I do care for John Pooke.” “Then why did you not take him? Only because of the silver peninks?” “No, sir; not that only. I care for him, but not enough; I like him, but not enough.” “Quite so. You like, but do not love him.” “Yes, that is it.” Kate breathed freely. “I did not know how to put it. Do you think I did right?” The rector paused before he answered. Then he said, signing with his thin hand, “Come here, little Kitty. Sit by me.”