After that they all grouped round the window in the little parlor, and repeated to their mother every word of their conversation with Mr. Drummond. Mrs. Challoner grew alarmed and tearful in a moment. "Oh, my darlings, promise me to be more careful for the future!" she pleaded. "Of course it was only fun, Phillis and he will not think anything of it. Still, in a strange place, where no one knows you----" "Dulce and I will never run a race again, I think I can promise you that," replied Phillis, very grimly, who felt that "Bravo, Atalanta!" would haunt her in her dreams. "And--and I would not walk about with Mr. Drummond, though he is our clergyman and a very gentlemanly person. People might talk: and in your position, my poor dears"--Mrs. Challoner hesitated, for she was very nice in her scruples, and not for worlds would she have hinted to her daughters that Mr. Drummond was young and unmarried, and a very handsome man in the bargain: "You see, I cannot always be with you, and, as you have to work for your living, and cannot be guarded like other girls, you have all the more need to be circumspect. You don't think me over strict, do you, darlings?" "No, dear mother, you are perfectly right," returned Nan, kissing her. "I knew how you would feel, and so we came home directly to get rid of him: it would never do for the vicar of the parish to be seen walking about with dressmakers." "Don't, Nan!" exclaimed Phillis, with a shudder. Nevertheless, as she turned away she remembered how she had enjoyed that walk down the Braidwood Road that very morning, when he offered to carry home Mrs. Trimmings's dress and she would not let him. CHAPTER XXV. MATTIE'S NEW DRESS. The remainder of the week passed harmlessly and without any special event to mark it, and, thanks to Nan's skilful management and Phillis's pride, there were no further _contretemps_ to shock Mrs. Challoner's sense of propriety. The work progressed with astonishing rapidity: in the mornings the young dressmakers were sufficiently brisk and full of zeal, and in the afternoons, when their energies flagged and their fingers grew weary, Dulce would sing over her task, or Mrs. Challoner would read to them for the hour together; but, notwithstanding the interest of the tale, there was always great alacrity manifested when the tea-bell gave them the excuse for putting away their work. On one or two evenings they gardened, and Mrs. Challoner sat under the mulberry-tree and watched them; on another occasion they took a long country walk, and lost themselves, and came back merry and tired, and laden with primrose-roots and ferns: they had met no one, except a stray laborer,--had seen glow-worms, picked wild flowers, and declared themselves mightily refreshed. One evening Phillis, who was not to be repressed, contrived a new amusement.