I don’t know whether Harry or Flora enjoyed most those early autumn mornings, when the silvery white mist drew a bridal veil over the orange and tawny woodlands, when the young man’s foot crushed out the aromatic fragrance from the thyme and mint in the pasture; or those winter and spring afternoons, when the sunset reddened the prevailing gray, and the two crouched, stiff but staunch, among the frozen sedges by the silent brook, and trudged home content—although they had got but a single green-necked duck, or were empty-handed—in the gathering darkness, with the stars coming out and twinkling over their heads. The two were excellent company, and in room of speech Harry whistled—oh! with what untiring wind, and how cheerily—in a way that it would have done Lady Margaret’s heart good to hear, leaving echoes which rang pathetically in other hearts throughout the long years. The first great change which made good Flora’s footing in the curate’s family, was Harry’s ultimate choice of the navy for a profession. He had delayed his resolve out of a regard to his father and mother’s reluctance to grant their consent. They were quite elderly people, and were loath to agree to the son of their old age following a rough and dangerous vocation, which, at the best, would take him far from those who had not much time left to spend on earth. But Harry’s bent was too strong, and his father and mother were too wise and kind long to resist the clear inclination, or to call on their son to sacrifice it, with its inspiration of hearty liking, to the growing timidity of their years, and the very clinging love they bore him. It was not the less a trial, which so broke down even the younger and stronger of the two, that Mrs. Bloomfield, who had been known as a highly practical woman, actually took to discoursing to Flora on the subject, doubtless since she could not trust herself to speak to more responsive auditors—least of all to her equally interested old husband. “We’ll miss him, Flora. Ay, you need not wag your tail; there will be few waggings of the tail in the dull days that are coming. I thought you had more sense, old dog. But perhaps you mean that he’ll serve his Maker and his fellow-men as well in a ship as in an office, even as in a church, where I would fain have seen my Harry—only Providence has settled it otherwise, and Providence knows best. We are following unerring guidance; that is one thing to be thankful for. Some old sailor—I daresay Harry could tell me his name and all about him—said he was as near heaven on sea as on land, and so it will be with my boy.”