They walked to Parksides, expressing pleasure at everything--at the weather, at the scenery, at the pretty village, at the children, at the cottages, at the church--all of which, it seemed to the little party, had put on a holiday garb in honour of Phoebe. The flowers were brighter, the sunlight clearer, the birds sang more sweetly, as they walked and talked, each of the Lethbridges claiming a share in Phoebe's society, and each obtaining it. Now with Bob, now with Fanny, now with Aunt Leth, now with Uncle--she ran from one to another, chatting gaily, and bursting out into snatches of song. It was her day, her very own--a day of sunshine without and within. Mrs. Pamflett's amiability needs a word of explanation. The conversation she had had with her son Jeremiah had opened her eyes as to his intentions; and both to please him and to win Phoebe's favour she had offered to assist the young girl. But for Jeremiah's sake she would not have dreamt of such a thing. She had lain awake half the night thinking of the conversation, and she had come to the conclusion that it would be a fine match for Jeremiah. Much as she had disliked Phoebe, she admired her son for his ambition. Miser Farebrother's "aching of bones" was growing worse every week, every day; suffering as he did, it would soon be impossible for him to give any personal attention to his business in London. No one understood it, no one could attend to it, but Jeremiah. What, then, was more feasible than Jeremiah's scheme of becoming Miser Farebrother's son-in-law? "To think," she mused in the night, "that it never entered my mind! But Jeremiah's got a head on him. He will be a millionaire, and I shall be a lady!" The idea of a repulse--that Phoebe would not think Jeremiah good enough for her--never occurred to Mrs. Pamflett; if it had, she would have rejected it with scorn. What! her son, her bright boy--handsome, shrewd, and clever--not good enough for the best lady in the land! A little chit like Phoebe might consider herself lucky that such a man as Jeremiah should condescend to her. "I can't, for the life of me, see," she mused, "why Jeremiah should be so taken with her; but there's no accounting for a man's fancies. And then he said he wasn't particular. Ah! Jeremiah knows what he's about." All her hopes, all her desires, all her ambitions, being centred in her bright boy, she determined to assist him by every means in her power. She commenced the next morning, on this happy birthday, and, to Phoebe's surprise, wished her a happy birthday and many returns of them, and offered to relieve the young girl of all responsibility in the preparing of the tea for her friends. Phoebe met her advances gladly. On such a day no suspicion of sinister motives could occur to a nature so sweet, so pure, so innocent; and when Mrs. Pamflett asked her to accept a brooch, she received it with a pleasant feeling of gratitude. "It is an old brooch," Mrs. Pamflett said, "a memento; and although it is not very