"I hope you will too—at home," Nigel said with a great effort. He did not hope anything of the kind, really. This "Australian cousin Tom," who was "such a nice fellow," weighed upon him like an incubus. "I am sure to do that. One always can enjoy one's self, one way or another," said Ethel merrily. "And as I shall not have the refreshment of the river, I shall have the refreshment of Tom's talk. He's full of ideas, and he has some fun in him too. I wish you and he could meet, but he only stays one night. By-and-by I hope he will pay us a long visit. Must you go? Well, please don't say a word to Malcolm to spoil his day. He doesn't know about Tom arriving before lunch, Mother only told me just now that she had heard it. We didn't expect Tom till late; but you see that makes a difference. I couldn't possibly be away—could I?" "No; I see." "You'll come in again some day soon, I dare say, for a proper reasonable call. You know how glad we all are to see you always." Nigel did not care about "we all." He wanted Ethel individually to be glad. But he only said "good-bye" seriously, and went. Ethel watched him through the window, till he was out of sight. Then she turned to the table and took up her work, but had to put it down again, for three or four large tears would have their way at last, and everything was deluged in a watery mist. "How silly! Oh I wish I could go! But I know I am right. It would have been such a delight—the river and Nigel and all! There, I mustn't let myself think. Mother mustn't guess how I mind. I'm glad Nigel didn't see. It would have spoilt his day, if he had thought me much disappointed, and now they will all be as merry as kittens. Oh how I wish I didn't so desperately love my own way. There's nothing in the world I should like so much—such a lovely day, and all of them there, and—and only poor good-natured old Tom at home, instead! Yes, of course he has some fun in him, but such slow fun! "Did Nigel mind very much? I hope not—I don't want his pleasure to be spoilt—and yet I shouldn't like him not to care at all. But I suppose he did, a little. When he looks so preternaturally grave it always means that he is vexed or worried. Oh if I could have been with them to-day! There now—I'm going in for discontent again. I think I'll run out and feed the chickens the first thing. It's easier to manage one's self out in the open air. And then I have any amount to get through before Tom comes, with his endless talk about Australia. The sock shall wait," concluded Ethel cheerily. If her eyes were still moist, she left the room singing. CHAPTER VIII FIRE AND WATER "Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that runs for ever By the island and the river."—TENNYSON. "Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes."—SHAKESPEARE.